Good Friday

Each year, for the last few years, I've approached Easter with thoughts of one station of the cross. This year, though different due to the world-wide covid-19 pandemic, I return to the rhythm of my Lenten preparation. For me, and other artists in my church, St Patrick's Episcopal Church, this is a time of meditating, visualizing, and actualizing a depiction of one station of the cross.

As you may know, stations of the cross are a tradition in many Christian churches. I think the goal of the tradition is to remember Christ in his darkest period, a time when he knew what was next, and his closest friends could not fathom the days to come. There are several versions of the Stations with differing numbers of stations. This year, ours has 14 stations.

I chose Station 11, the repentant thief. It is based on this passage from Luke 23:

42. Then he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom."
43. Jesus answered him, "Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise."

My journey began with a trip to the High Museum. One of the art leaders at St Pat's took a group of us there and taught me (us?) a new way to visit a museum. She explained that the viewer of art completes the art, and so we are all participants, and without us, no piece of art is complete. She also encouraged us to sit with a piece for a while and be still.

The piece that spoke loudest to me was Stefan Bondell's "Pyramid."

Dark, isn't it? It's huge and sits in a room with an audio installation that sounds like a Gregorian chant. Commanding. Not pretty. Not pretty at all.

It's a trinity, of sorts, and references the 3 Abrahamic religions - Islam on the lower left, Judaism on the lower right, and wait, what's that at the top? The closer I looked, the less I wanted to look, but I also felt drawn in, inexplicably.

The top of this pyramid is based on a well-known depiction of our (USA) atrocities committed in Abu Gharib in 2003. So, no, this is not a pretty picture. The image stayed with me and I began to imagine the three on the cross, only not crosses. Instead I imagined them posed on boxes, dressed in rags, heads covered (it would have been harder to ignore their humanity without covering their faces), and wires extending from parts of their bodies.

I thought, yes, this will become my station.

But I could not do it. I mean, I could sketch, I could add a little paint, but then nothing. When covid-19 reared its head, I gave up and listened to my need for nurture and beauty.

In the past, I've sketched and painted but then transformed the idea into cloth. This year, I decided to paint my station. It was a leap. I have never worked so large and it was a learning activity for sure.

my husband's right hand

I like drawing hands; I took my time playing with hand images.

And I was enjoying the now-flowering Dogwood near my deck.

This is a small (8x11)  mock-up that I later ruined in order to learn some techniques.

Many times, I was ready to wad it up and go back to cloth, something I know well. I could not start another painting, as I had the one piece of watercolor paper this size. So I continued. There are some aspects of it that are not pleasing to me, but not enough to trash it. More than that, I'm satisfied with it. It suits my need for beauty at this dark time in the history of our planet.

I was introduced to Dogwood trees when I moved to Atlanta in 1989. They are beautiful and usually arrive at the beginning of spring, foreshadowing of the riot of color on its way. And, as it happens, there is a Christian tradition associated with the Dogwood tree, with its strong, lean branches and delicate flowers. According to the legend, the cross of Christ was constructed from Dogwood.

And the story in Luke is full of beauty and hope. Hope for new beginnings, even while observing the darkest day in the Christian calendar.

With all the restrictions, of course, we cannot hang our stations in the church this year. I am so pleased that our director of communications put together a web site containing each piece with the accompanying narrative. It's not as powerful as the starving artists' dinner we usually have where we share our artistic journeys, but it is a nice way to document the stations for 2020. If you are interested, you may see them here:

https://stpatsart.com/stations-of-the-cross/

Also, if you would like to see our stations from 2019, and if you are interested in a meditation on Good Friday, I encourage you to watch this video narrated by the youth of my church. They put it together for today, and used images from last year's stations:

https://www.facebook.com/stpatdunwoody/videos/157585615546928/

I hope you are well. I am dreaming of new beginnings.