Street Legal

Copyright © Edward Riojas

Lodz, Poland

Some time ago, I stumbled out of my little bubble and came across the work of Etam Cru – a creative and talented art duo comprised of Bezt (Mateusz Gapski) and Sainer (Przemek Blejzyk). Now before you get all over my case about my sloppy typing, you should know that Etam Cru ‘s tandem artists are Polish – hence, their consonant-laden names.

The work of Bezt and Sainer is not only well-known in Poland, but can also be seen all over Europe, and is showing up in places like Montreal, Honolulu and Richmond, Va.  On top of that, it’s legal.

I’m talking street art – as in, graffiti. I realize a large chunk of graffiti is not legal, so I’m not endorsing the crap that shows up overnight in the uglier parts of town. On the other hand, some graffiti – tagging and moronic junk aside – is beautiful, clever and provoking. The West Coast barrios, for example, are prime locations for what can happen when artistic talent explodes under the radar.

Vienna, Austria

But the work of Bezt and Sainer is much different. Theirs isn’t the kind of crap you see on overpasses. You won’t find their work clogging the bottom third of a box car. In Etam Cru’s case, their art has been elevated out of the gutter of juvenile graffiti to a place of great sophistication and beauty. It is planned with care and executed from bucket lifts. It is sought after. And it is brilliant.

Using a slick, visual style that is more akin to illustration than muralism, their work most often combines three ingredients: conglomerations of visually dissimilar elements, large surfaces of otherwise boring buildings, and intense color. And one might add a fourth ingredient: playfulness.

Honolulu, Hawaii

On a wall in Lodz, Poland, a birdhouse perches on the blue topknot of a teenager, her image screaming with vibrant reds and blues. A wall in Vienna features a flaming redhead with fish swimming close to her demure, but classy, dress. On a building in Hawaii, an image of a girl  sticks out her tongue to catch – of all things – flakes of snow. On a wall in Richmond, Va., a sultry beauty can be seen bathing in a jar of strawberry-infused moonshine.

While the pair uses cans of spray paint, and while they can be frequently seen wearing hoodies and grungy jeans, don’t think for a second that they sleep under bridges or hustle a buck to make ends meet. They have a state-of-the-art studio filled with all manner of equipment to supplement their exterior work.  Prints of their murals and smaller work are available from their website, and videos allow a peek into their process. Art shows of their work have hit all the global hots pots. Business savvy oozes from their pores. If you’re interested in a 16-color litho print of their work, you’d better start saving your pennies, though, because their signed/numbered prints are in high demand and often end up in swanky galleries.

Richmond, Virginia

The artistic duo certaily realize, of course, that the ginormous murals they create must stand the test of time. Folks who actually live nearby must daily look at the visual behemoths and not grow tired of them. I can only imagine the surprise and delight when rounding a street corner and facing one of their murals. I also imagine that, even as the surrounding cityscape changes and grows dull, Etam Cru’s work will long remain brilliant.

Trained Monkeys

Copyright © Edward Riojas

“Wow! That looks just like a photograph!”

The official opening of ArtPrize is still weeks away, but that exclamation and others just like it are bearing down on us by the boatload. The compliment is coming as sure as shootin’ and, to be honest, it bugs the crap out of me.

On the one hand, I hate to chastise well-meaning folks who are kind enough to pay a compliment, and I know those compliments come as high praise – even if they aren't intended for me. I also know that compliments and encouragement are wonderful gifts, even if they are of the equine kind, and it’s not prudent to look that gift horse in the mouth. But let’s lay those gracious gestures aside for the moment and look at what’s in the other hand.

I have a huge beef with artists who take a photograph and, with very little brain at all, turn it into a carbon copy using a pencil, brush or 900 pounds of macaroni. The exercise of copying photographs and passing it off as high art is increasing, with pieces popping up like mushrooms. Most folks seem to be immune to the fungus and are simultaneously taken by its supposed skill.  But copying photographs is wrong on so many artistic levels.

Let’s address the first and most obvious problem with it – plagiarism. That ugly, little word that dogs writers is just as ugly when thrown on a barn-sized canvas or a nine foot-long sheet of paper. Unless the artist shot the photograph in the first place, it is NOT fair game. And please don’t think that because you used dots or squiggles or packing peanuts to reproduce it, you’re off the legal hook. You’re not.

Patron admiring “Frank,” by Chuck Close.
1969. (Minneapolis Institute of Arts)
Photo courtesy of Tim Wilson

If an artist uses his own photos to copy as fine art, it raises some issues, too. Super-realists – most notably Chuck Close – did that very thing, but it’s been decades since the super-realists first got in our faces and there’s nothing new to it anymore.

Tons of artists also use photographs as reference, but they understand a photo’s limitations and proper use. A bottom line for an artist  who uses his own photos can be put in this question: If the original photo is so great, then why mess with it? A second question is like the first: If the original photo is not so great, then why mess with it?

Another problem is that very little skill is necessary in translating a photo into another medium – heck, even grade schoolers do it. One only need a grid to keep proportions under control before putting the brain on “Monkey see, monkey do” mode. Being faithful to a grid square, no matter what size, is child’s play. Further than that, it is mindless work. Cadavers could do it. For the life of me, I don’t understand why artists zombify themselves and lean on such a huge crutch.

The alternative, obviously, is to use the eyes and noodles the Good Lord gave artists. It takes so much more discipline and understanding to look at a free object in space and, without photo-mechanical aid, allow our faculties to interpret mountains of nerve impulses moving at light speed and translate the information into a reasonable facsimile via our hands. I use the word “understanding,” because the notion moves my argument into a different area.

Artists who progress through academia are educated in disciplines other than art. They are taught rudimentary physics through properties of light and how it governs our perception of the world. They are taught the delicate workings of the human body with its sophisticated mechanics covered by living tissue, and how gravitational pull affects its form. They learn  a bit about psychology and how artwork can evoke emotions and change attitudes.

Cameras – even smart ones – do not have any understanding of the world. They don’t give a rip. That is their beauty, that is what sets them apart from the artist’s eye and that is why they are no substitute for an artist’s mind.

A dear pastor once commented to a group of graduates that we are “educated” – not “trained.” “Training,” he said, “Is for monkeys.” Oddly, some art schools have trained budding artists through use of the copy-the-photograph method. At best, it is an exercise for the brain-dead. Unfortunately, the same exercise is dragged along, post-mortarboard, into the real art world, and we are the worse for it.

Of Giants and Men

"Under Slottet Bron" assembled with its frame for the first time.

Copyright © Edward Riojas

Everyone notices the tear.

Out of 30 square feet painted with dense detail and another 50 square feet of elaborate framing, people quickly pick out one of the smallest features that struggles to fill a quarter inch of space. I’m describing, of course, a work of mine – this year’s ArtPrize entry entitled “Under Slottet Bron,” or “Under the Castle Bridge.” It is a reprise of a theme I used two years ago when I painted an enchanted Scandinavian forest, “Förtrollade Skogen,” for ArtPrize.

Like the former painting, this year’s entry is packed with lush detail and is populated by humans and folkloric creatures and natural fauna in a style that draws influence from illustrator John Bauer. There are insects for children to find and small animals that are warm and fuzzy enough to elicit the unavoidable “Awwwww!” There are also runes transliterated between a Scandinavian tongue and English with seeming abandon and lack of authenticity. The whole is meant to be an escape and an ode to the human imagination. But I also wanted a connection to reality, even if it was no more substantial than a gossamer. Hence, the tear.

That detail was a later addition which seemed more necessary as time passed and the painting progressed. The strange thing is that the tear is neither on a little girl, nor a lost boy, nor any other human – it is rolling down the cheek of a giant troll.

The painting’s imagery was inspired by visitors who viewed my 2013 entry, “Förtrollade Skogen.” One gentleman of Scandinavian heritage pointed to a troll in that painting and related how he was so steeped in folklore as a child that he did not cross a bridge “vittout tinkink twice.” “Under Slottet Bron” is dominated by a bridge that connects the worlds of reality and imagination. Under the bridge crouches a giant troll. Among those crossing the bridge is a small boy who seems to be the only one aware of what lies beyond reality. And just outside of his view is the troll.

Perhaps the tear is not what the viewer expects. After all, the troll has a near-toothless skull hanging from his belt and a tree-sized club in his hand. There is a chain terminating in a morning star, and fingernails worn to points. Sorrow and pain do not fit the image of such a figure.

Trolls, of course, do not handle daylight very well and will turn to stone in the sun. Originally, the troll was simply sleeping in the shadows, waiting for daylight to fade into darkness. He wasn’t exactly menacing, but he wasn’t Mr. Congeniality, either.

Vulnerability, when given to monsters, makes them lamentable – even pitiable. It makes them approachable. It makes them human. In a way, the troll is a portrait of me – the Curmudgeon. People who know me understand that I can be harsh and exacting and demanding. I can be ornery and ugly. But those who know me well also know I can be very brittle and fragile. Gender doesn’t matter, neither does outward bravado. Or size. The hurt is simply bigger.

Telling comments about the tear range from, “Why is he crying?!” to “I don’t WANT him to cry.” For an artist, getting responses like those are golden. Artists want to affect viewers. Otherwise, we fail in visually expressing ourselves.

“Under Slottet Bron” is rather like an unfinished story without beginning or end, and the viewer’s reaction to it is important. The title of the painting comes from an ambiguous, poetic string of words I wrote for the piece. Runes, running around the frame, transliterate the verse, “The tale is told of a sleeping troll under the castle bridge...But his tears that swelled the oceans were all but forgotten.” Somewhere between those small words is a very large story.

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“Under Slottet Bron,” by Edward Riojas, aka The Art Curmudgeon, will be hosted by DeVos Place Convention Center, in Grand Rapids, Mich. ArtPrize runs Sept. 23 through Oct. 11, and is a public vote/juried competition with a total purse of more than $500,000. For more information on the event, go to artprize.org

Artists, Artists, Everywhere

Copyright © Edward Riojas

Apparently, there are way more artists at ArtPrize than previously thought.

For those of you who don’t know, ArtPrize is the best artistic thing EVER to come to West Michigan, certainly the Midwest, and quite possibly the entire U.S. of A. It’s a ginormous contest in which hundreds of venues host thousands of artists competing for a purse of hundreds of thousands of dollars. Yes, it’s colossal. It’s impressive. It has grabbed the attention of the art world. And I hope it never goes away.


While not being a fault of the event, ArtPrize does seem to be an effective catalyst for some really dumb things being said out loud regarding the fine arts, and here’s a doozy: “Everyone is an artist.” I heard that not-so-brilliant line uttered on air by a local DJ, and two other DJs immediately agreed. Ignorance must be highly contagious, because I’ve heard similar comments by the pedestrian crowd during ArtPrize.

Here are the facts: I’m sorry, but not everyone is an artist. Neither is everyone a brain surgeon. Here are a few more related facts: A box of band-aids doesn’t come with a medical license. Having a socket set and a couple of pliers doesn’t make you a mechanic. You might have been dragged into court, but that doesn’t make you a lawyer. Your flag football injury does not make you an expert on the NFL. And throwing a few words like these on a goofy blog page doesn’t make me a writer.

But I do know a thing or two about fine art. I’ve been producing art professionally for close to 35 years and producing art non-professionally for another 10-15 years. Call me crazy, but I think that might make me an artist.

I realize that definitions of some professions are sort of fuzzy around the edges. I also realize there is a massive spectrum of talent and proficiency among all professions – even brain surgeons.

Even though a Fine Art degree is lurking in a musty box somewhere in my house, conferred degrees like mine don’t necessarily define an artist. I’ve known exceptions to both sides of that argument. I know an artist who barely has any art education at all, but there is no doubt he is an artist. In his case, a single finished piece is proof enough. His portfolio makes it undeniable. I also know of others who have plenty of art education under their belts, but can’t draw well enough to save their own lives.

Even in this murky world with its ever-deteriorating view of art, most people with a brain at the end of their neck have an idea of who really is an artist and who is a wanna-be. Those folks who have a doorknob where a head should be are the ones who say stuff like, “Everyone is an artist.”

Now I’m not telling you to refrain from painting or drawing or sculpting. Dabbling in art is good therapy for folks with heavy emotional baggage, which includes a sizable chunk of society. The simple act of moving hands around a complacent surface tends to even out emotions, and provides a vehicle for self-expression – the good, the bad and the ugly. What is more, I encourage you to try your hand at an artistic discipline, if only to make you better appreciate those who work hard at honing their artistic skills. And don’t forget that creating art is fun. I don’t want to keep all the fun stuff to myself, and I encourage you to go for it.

The sad, but honest truth is that not everyone is an artist, and it doesn’t take a brain surgeon to see that. I’d kick this dead horse a bit more, but someone is coming over for a lobotomy and I best get at it.

A Lesson from Christian Imagery

Copyright © Edward Riojas

I thought of St. Martin of Tours the other day. Then I thought differently.

My mind was wandering a few days ago, as it is often wont to do, and eventually it hovered over a back-burner project of mine – a collection of Christian symbols that may number 1,000 when I am finished. And I thought of St. Martin of Tours, and his symbol.

"St. Martin of Tours symbol"
© Edward Riojas
(Collection of the artist)

St. Martin of Tours usually shows up on Roman Catholic radars, but not so much on Lutheran screens. According to tradition, Martin was a conscripted Roman soldier. As the saint was riding his horse one winter, he came upon a poor beggar dressed only in rags. Immediately, he unsheathed his sword, cut his own cloak in two and gave one half to the beggar. Historians have tacked on other events in his life and embellishments have been added, but this simple and immediate act of charity is perhaps the one thing for which the saint is known. His symbol is a sword with a cloven garment.


The charitable act of the saint resonates with many. These days, acts of charity can get pretty convoluted. “Service Projects” pop up like mushrooms on some church calendars, drawing folks who want to lend a hand to those in need. You can heft a wheelbarrow or haul concrete in impoverished locations. You can knit scads of little caps for newborn babies. You can put together care packages for children of prison inmates and do the same for poor kids in third world countries. There are quilts to make, diapers to purchase, and mailings to fill. The list is seemingly endless. But needs don’t always show up on a church schedule, and they don’t always happen in third world countries conveniently sporting tropical beaches. Oftentimes there are needs in lack-luster locations. Sometimes a need pops up down the road. Sometimes it slides under the radar, going nearly unnoticed until you re-read someone’s social media post.

“St. Martin of Tours”  12th Century.
(Basel Minster, Basel, Switzerland)

If you think about it, we’re all “projects” in God’s eyes. We may not need clothing to keep us from freezing, and we may not need cash to keep collection agencies at bay, but we all are in desperate need. Without Christ, we are dirt-poor.

The sword-cloak thing seemed so noble a vision to me. And then I thought of another image - Christ hanging on the cross. I thought of His garments being divided and His tunic taken away. I thought of Him in unflattering historical context and not with a covering of modesty as artists have most always portrayed the Corpus. I thought of Him completely naked and humiliated, without privacy and without the benefit of a single grape leaf.


The link between Moses’ bronze serpent and the naked, crucified Christ is closer than we realize. Not only were both hoisted between heaven and earth; not only were they both the remedy for death, but both were also visual abominations. Both were unclean. The early Israelites knew a thing or two about serpents. The Fall was much closer to their existence than it is to our day, and the bronze serpent must have conjured up visions of Satan-turned serpent. Look at an unclean snake for a cure? No wonder many said “No, thank you,” and promptly died. So it was for the dying Christ, hanging as a bloodied, naked, cursed Man on a tree. Even the Father turned His countenance away, and because of it the earth darkened in damning shadows. Many still refuse to look to the Christ, even after His resurrection. Many still die an eternal death.

Rare examples of the naked Corpus: “Crucifix Gallino,” left,
attributed to Jacopo Sansovino [possibly Michelangelo].
c. 1495. (Museo Nazionale del Bargello, Florence, Italy)
“Crucifix,” right, Michelangelo Buonarroti. 1492.
(Santa Maria del Santo Spirito di Firenze, Florence, Italy)

St. Martin of Tours gave the beggar half of his own cloak, but our Gracious God does not deal in half-measures. His Holy Charity grossly overshadows that of any saint – Roman or otherwise. Christ was denuded. Completely. In the end, The Savior of the world even gave His life. He was spent. What He gave, He gave entirely for us. While many dared not look at that ugly spectacle on the cross, He was looking out for us all. He was looking to our needs, and provided, as He still provides, all that we ever need – namely, forgiveness and salvation. Without our merit. Apart from our works.

But Christ did not remain dead. He arose to life in order to give us eternal life. Because He lives, we live. And because He gave, we give. We help those in need. We haul concrete; we knit caps; we give of our own blessings to reflect – if ever so dimly – our Gracious Lord.

Still, there is no out-giving The Giver of all good things. We can give to our neighbor, but our hands are always completely empty in futile attempts to bring something to God and to our Salvation. Martin Luther, named in honor of St. Martin of Tours, laid bare this blessed truth in his simple statement, “We are all beggars before God.”

The Scoop on ArtPrize

Copyright © Edward Riojas

When it comes to art, they say bigger is better. Maybe. Maybe not. But when it comes to art competitions, it’s hard to argue with ArtPrize. It is big enough to attract artists from around the world. It is big enough to host more than 1,500 entries, and it is big enough to turn the heads of movers and shakers in the art world – and I do mean “world.”

But here’s the thing: It won’t mean diddly if you’ve never heard of the competition or if you don’t know how it works, so consider this your inside scoop.

“But, dearest Curmudgeon,” you ask, “What qualifies YOU to expound on ArtPrize?”

I may not know a ton about the economic side of the event or the wrangling of benefactors and brains it takes to pull off such a behemoth of a competition, but for years I have attacked the event from lots of other angles. Yearly, I mine artprize.org for information and visually relate that knowledge to the readers of MLive Media Group (mlive.com), a major newspaper group. For a time, I did a bit of art reviewing of the event, and I participate in ArtPrize as an artist. It’s also in my back yard. I have become intimate with it all – beauty marks and bunions included.

ArtPrize is more of an organic thing than some realize, and whatever subtle changes come along each year affect major portions of the competition. Still, there are some constants. Sort of.

Boundaries

Apparently, they are meant to be ignored. Originally, the border was a rigid rectangle of streets surrounding three square miles of downtown Grand Rapids, Michigan. All venues were located within that area. A couple of years into the event and the Frederik Meijer Gardens & Sculpture Park were included as part of ArtPrize territory. Never mind the fact that they are miles out of bounds. I know the Gardens are a hefty patron of the arts and are a national hot spot, but perhaps the planet Pluto should be included, too, if it ever gets colonized by artists. Oh, and a second venue popped up out of bounds for this year’s competition. See what I mean about boundaries?

An “Open” Competition

I put that word in quotes because ArtPrize will certainly take your $50 entry fee. Oh, you wanted to compete? Not so fast. First, you need to “connect” with a venue. This part is nerve-wracking for artists. It’s like sending out resumes into a void,  hoping to be hosted by a venue, while the days tick away toward deadline. And being an open competition doesn’t necessarily mean it’s open to YOU. Some swankier venues go searching for their own artists who otherwise couldn’t care less about ArtPrize. Those same venues have artistic reputations to uphold, and they don’t want commoners or serfs spoiling their hallowed walls, thank you very much.

A Prize Purse bigger than the Zeppelin

This is part of what makes ArtPrize successful. And ridiculous. The purse is huge. The total yearly purse hovers around $500,000, but it can grow well beyond that, based on other prizes and grants that get thrown into the mix by outside benefactors. Other art competitions with reputable names dot the globe – The Turner Prize, The Kandinsky Prize and The Carnegie Art Award, to name a few – but ArtPrize came out of nowhere with cash enough to dwarf them collectively. Yes, the carrot is big, and that’s what makes artists scurry out of the woodwork and head to Grand Rapids, Michigan, in mid-September.

More than the Carrot

If an artist comes to the event with only a prize in mind, he is a fool. There is much more to ArtPrize than money, and I don’t mean hob nobbing with cyan-haired women or hanging with people who use the word “esoteric” with abandon. This is a rare chance for artists to see their adoring masses face-to-face. Even if you can’t draw to save your life, SOMEone will love what you do. It’s a good bet that at least one day out of the two and a half weeks will give cause to feel good about your art – whether that means painting like nobodies’ business or replicating the Sistine Chapel ceiling with dryer lint. (Yes, it’s been done.) The fact is: This is by far the most you’ll ever get out of a $50 entry fee – if you end up in a good venue.

Good Venue/Bad Venue

Location, location, location. An artist once hauled his crap all the way from Germany, and then proceeded to piss and moan about his venue and the lack of attention his piece got. He didn’t do his homework. Just because a venue is in-bounds doesn’t mean crowds will throng there. Some venues get a hundred thousand viewers or more during the event, and some will get a few score. There are so many pieces to see – too many, actually – that patrons will go to larger venues in close proximity  and ignore smaller, scattered venues. It’s common sense. And who wants to go into a restaurant to look at a nice piece hanging over table #10, where someone is relishing their Sauteed Duck Foie Gras? Not me. More common sense.

The Public Has the Vote. Does not. Does Too.

Originally, ArtPrize was based solely on a public vote to decide which piece was the crème de la crème. It was a cool idea, but votes began leaning toward “pedestrian” taste – you know: Crappy art. So elitists pushed to have jurors, too. Folks with art credentials a mile long and poor taste got to make their picks based on “cutting edge” esthetics – you know: Crappy art. Anyway, at this writing, entries get prizes from the public AND judges, meaning the big Kahuna prize has been watered down a bit.

The big Kahuna

Let me state it here: I won’t turn down the top prize if, by some humongous miracle, I happen to win it. That being said, it should also be stated that the biggest carrot is just plain stupid. Nothing ever came out of ArtPrize that is actually worth that much money. To wit, one need only do a bit of research to see what REAL art is fetching. Honestly, it’s possible to snag a piece done by one of the masters for less cash than ArtPrize has under their sofa cushions.

ArtPrize is Edjamacational

No matter how you spell it, ArtPrize is a great learning experience. Not only is it good stuff for artists who enter, but it’s even better for folks who don’t know much about art, and it’s also great for kids. Thankfully, local schools take advantage of the event. Most mornings and early afternoons are jammed with students running amok, trying to amass collections of artist’s business cards, while their teachers feebly attempt to explain foreign concepts like “composition” and “DON’T RUN!” Mid- to late-afternoons are filled with the baby stroller crowd and older folks. Evenings fill up with hipsters, college students, blue collar workers, and well-heeled folk headed to the symphony. And then there’s always the quirky convention crowd – grown adults racing around with scavenger hunt lists, trying to find art or get artist’s signatures. Weirdies.

The Art

At one point I coined the name “KitschPrize.” It still holds for some pieces. Anytime the Ripley’s Believe it or Not folks come around – and believe me, they shop at ArtPrize like it’s an outlet mall – you know things can get out of control. Photo reproductions done with a million sequins. Or corks. Or push-pins. Or Rubik's cubes. Been there, done that. I’m waiting for packing peanuts and elbow macaroni. Oh, and did I mention large? This isn’t the place for miniatures. Anything larger than NASA’s rocket assembly building might be considered by a venue. And if you can’t get paper large enough for your same-scale drawing of planet Earth, simply scotch tape it together. Or use Gorilla Tape. Or penny nails. No one will notice. Not even the judges. Oh, and “Art” has expanded to include music and street performers trying to act like hideous statues, but I’m not going to even talk about that.

Don’t Miss it

I have plenty of negative things to say about ArtPrize, but don’t let my curmudgeonly words dissuade you from coming to the event or entering as an artist. I have far more positive things to say about the event, and it would be silly to dismiss the competition as not being worth the time or energy. I mean, where else can one see thousands of artists baring their souls and displaying months of effort for all to see? In many cases you can talk with the artist, who will be working the crowd for a few votes. This year I will again be among them. I’ll probably be handing out piles of business cards with a voting number, and schmoozing with anyone who wants to stop and ask about my piece – even cyan-haired women. So please consider this an invitation to join the ArtPrize masses spilling into the streets. Give yourself a heavy dose of art, and, if you find me, see what an Art Curmudgeon can do. If you simply cannot make the trip to Grand Rapids, then go to artprize.org and get a good taste of the event, take a peek at this year’s art, and read a little about the artists.
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The Art Curmudgeon, aka Edward Riojas, will be showing his piece, “Under Slottet Bron,” at DeVos Place Convention Center, 303 Monroe Ave. NW, during ArtPrize. His piece is considerably smaller than NASA’s rocket assembly building, and is not made with macaroni. Darn.

The Kingdom of Heaven

Copyright © Edward Riojas

At first, the painting seemed rather ordinary.

Then I became unsure if the image was heretical, or simply odd. I had a growing suspicion that it wasn’t normal.

It is sort of like the Church. The Kingdom of Heaven must make those outside of it scratch their heads in puzzlement. The Kingdom is an odd picture filled with peculiar folk and reigned by an unlikely King. On the surface there doesn’t seem to be much to it.

So it was with my painting. Perhaps it was my hesitation that caused me to put the little painting away in a closet – out of sight and out of mind. There were other things needing my attention. I was busy. I have a feeling many people would do the same with the Church – just get it out of the way in order to focus on other things.

The closet door closed. Months past. Then a year, and more months.

A young lady asked about the painting gathering dust. This family friend asked an innocent question about a work that, for years, hadn’t seen the light of day.

“Is it done?” “Did you ever do anything with it?”

I had nearly forgotten the painting. Her question caused me to pull it out of the closet. I pondered the image, dusted off the panel, took a photo of its bluish under-painting, and set the thing on my studio easel.  Then I posted the photo and a few descriptive words on Facebook.

That post immediately lit up with action, eventually receiving nearly 10,000 hits and 141 shares. While it was getting hits, the painting was apparently hitting home for many. Since the work’s completion, I have heard a few stories of the pain it softens; of the comfort it brings, so I’ve decided to share it here, along with the original explanation posted when the painting was finished...

"The Parable of the Buried Treasure," by Edward Riojas. 2013. (Collection of the artist) Copyright © Edward Riojas

“The Parable of the Buried Treasure”

Here is a view of the completed painting. This small painting is something I started after pondering the parable of the buried treasure in light of Christ’s love for us.

I couldn’t get around the idea of the field being a cemetery, with its scattered stones, and the man – Christ Jesus – coming to claim his hidden treasure. “For joy, he sold all he had and bought that field.”

Holy Scripture sometimes contains the most understated truths. “All he had” was his very life, given for us, “Not with gold or silver,” as we are told, “but with His holy, precious blood.” So that Man pulls out a treasure with His pierced hands. The wounds are permanent, but His crucifixion and death are not.

The painting points to Holy Scripture with another finger: It illustrates just how much we contribute to Salvation – nothing. We were dead. Not only were we dead, but we were dead in our trespasses. If that were not enough, we were bound in Satan’s chains. We were in a box from which we could not escape.

Yet Christ calls us His treasure. The English language helps us in this scenario – the words “coffin” and “casket” are derived from the same words that are used for containers of wealth. Furthermore, “vaults” are used to inter this wealth.

What points to Christ’s love for us is not only His payment for our sins through His sacrifice, but also the reality of what He considers valuable. He treasures not gold or silver, but the sinful, the lost, the dregs of humanity, the rotting, the forgotten, the discarded for convenience, the destroyed by design, the consumed by disease, the consumed by conflagration, the consumed by woe. This mess of ugliness He treasures. Not only did Christ Jesus give His all for it, but He also enfolds it in His arms and holds it to His breast.

This is what the kingdom of heaven is like.