Sanctuary for a Tapestry

Copyright © Edward Riojas

There are all sorts of reasons why I shouldn’t like them – but I do.

The word “tapestry” always brings to mind ancient, faded images wrought in clunky fibers. Those wall hangings, meant to decorate and insulate castle walls, make me think of moth balls and copious amounts of dust. Though woven with great skill and patience, tapestries have always seemed the simpleton cousins of oil paintings and not much more than a rug on the wall. I suppose I now must amend my opinion of them.

Tapestry detail.

John Nava’s tapestries were created for the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels in Los Angeles. The new cathedral was not quite finished when Nava's tapestries were unveiled in Belgium 15 years ago. It is clear the hangings were integral to the master plan of the new Roman Catholic landmark. Tapestries hung on the north and south walls of the cavernous sanctuary are filled with a procession of 135 “blesseds” and canonized saints, some of whom lean toward annoyance.

I am a product of the German Reformation, and while I embrace the legacy of sacred art handed down through the Church, I stop short of embracing all things Roman. Doing so would be going against my beliefs. Indeed, a handful of saints included on the tapestries were vehement enemies of the Reformation. Martin Luther and Philip Melanchthon are noticeably absent. Still, there is something very attractive about Nava’s tapestries.

Tapestry detail.

It’s certainly not the photos translated into another medium. I hate that lazy approach, and the artist used photographs with abandon. Yet I can understand why. There was a definite schedule to which Nava was bound, coupled with a strong desire to use faces of real people. The artist went so far on that count as to employ a casting agent of sorts to find folk who might fit the part of long-dead, historical figures. Costumes were also created to help fill visual gaps.


Where Nava differs from the usual shoot-a-photo-and-call-it-good method is that he translated those images into his own style – a decidedly-illustrative approach in which heavy outlines distinguish individual figures and compositional areas. It’s the sort of technique that isn’t natural to a photograph, but rather is a conscious effort on the part of the artist. It can be found in the work of early illustrators, including Norman Rockwell. Perhaps it is coincidental, but Rockwell also knew a thing or two about the face of the masses [pardon the pun]. Both artists, whether consciously or not, used the common face of humanity in a most uncommon way.

Nava carefully choreographed the poses in a cross-section of heavenly lay. Had the tapestry only contained Roman movers and shakers, it would have appeared pompous, but mingled among the miters and tonsures are young women with children, humble visages, and representatives of cultures beyond our own. The viewer is drawn in because the tapestries are in essence a portrait of ourselves.

North and South wall tapestries. John Nava. 2001.
(Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels, Los Angeles)

But then there’s that Photoshop thing – the one that [cringe] shows up on hallowed walls. For those of us who have used, over-used, and abused Photoshop techniques, we can see digital tinkering a mile away. They might look good in a tabloid, but they don’t belong in high art. Nava, however, dances a fine line with an obvious “grunge” technique to antique the images, making them very much at home on the sanctuary walls. They don’t look tabloid-slick. Neither do they look like the typical felt banners made by an altar guild. And they aren’t.

The artist definitely did not use a glue stick or sequins. Each image was digitized – a massive undertaking in itself – and the electronic files were then translated by state-of-the-art looms in Belgium. An effort that would have taken decades in the Middle Ages was designed in 20 months and woven during a further two months.

The results are stunning, and there is a wonderful compliment between the tapestries and the walls on which they hang. They simply belong. Neither paintings, nor mosaics could have done so well. It very well may be that that the medium was chosen over painting or sculpture or mosaic simply for the rich metaphor woven into this piece – a tapestry of the Roman Catholic Church.