That Which Lies in the Mirror

Detail from the "God's Own Child Mural." 2019. Edward Riojas
(All images Copyright © Edward Riojas. Images may not be reproduced.)

Copyright © Edward Riojas

I don’t need to go far to be reminded of sin’s consequences. That sort of thing crops up in nearly every piece of art I create.

A case in point are some of the figures in a current project, the “God’s Own Child Mural,” destined for St. Paul Lutheran Church in Council Bluffs, Iowa. Out of more than 70 figures, mortality stared at me from a single face. In the mural, an elderly man shuffles behind a procession of sinner-saints. He could easily be me in a couple of decades. Or less.

The Fall not only created  a mess of Biblical proportions, it also made a mess of “lesser” things. In spite of what usually rolls off the tongue, aging is NOT a normal part of life. It wasn’t meant to be so ugly. It wasn’t supposed to be so debilitating. It shouldn’t be part of a ghastly, downward spiral.

Detail from the "God's Own Child Mural."

So the face before me was painted with wrinkles and age spots – attesting to the degeneration of muscles and degradation of elastic skin. In its place, the cartilage of ears and noses continues to grow – sometimes in ridiculous proportions. Bones degrade and dissolve so that the back refuses to hold up the shoulders and head. Senses fail. Hearing loss, cataracts, and macular degeneration wreak havoc. Youthful minds become hidden behind gnarled countenances and aching joints. Often, youthful minds simply dry up and blow away.

But to be honest, I don’t need a painting to remind me of all this. All I need is a mirror.

The affects of the Fall, however, are not exclusive of the mature or aged. Infants can die in the womb. Some are born broken. Toddlers die. This is neither natural, nor part of some morbid “circle of life.” Sin, Death, and Satan suck.

But thanks be to God, we have a Redeemer in Christ Jesus, who has changed things mightily. He has taken our sin on Himself, put Death to death, and has defeated the hellish knucklehead, Satan. This should be abundantly obvious in the mural – even more so than an image of an elderly man. In spite of the reality of our condition; in spite of the reality of aging and illness and death, the realities of Christ’s cross, our redemption, and eternal life far outshine that which lies in the mirror.

An Artist’s Prayer

(Photos courtesy of the Art Curmudgeon)

Copyright © Edward Riojas

I’ve often thought it would be wonderful to have a prayer, specifically by and for artists, that could be a daily anchor for my vocation. I’ve often thought that I should sit down and compose such a prayer. Maybe it would be based on some of the great collects. Perhaps it would be patterned after the Lord's Prayer. The notion of doing such a thing, however, seems naive and trite and contrived.

One doesn’t have to search very far to find examples of artist’s prayers. And, um, yes, a good share of them are naive and trite and contrived. Some are so flowery in prose and nebulous in content that they seem exercises in creative writing. Bad bits of fiction they are.

Others ask for ridiculously-stupid things. I ran across one prayer by an artist-type in which the general gist was akin to, “Father God, .... please let me nail that guitar riff on Sunday...” One can almost hear the Divine amplifier feedback in answer to such supplications.

Some carry on in meterless poetry with so many words that the prayer says nothing at all. It asks nothing at all. In the end, it IS nothing at all.

Thankfully, some come close to the mark. The prayer “For church musicians and artists,” listed in the Lutheran Service Book (CPH), has a close cousin in the Book of Common Prayer. I’ll let greater minds determine which influenced which. The LSB’s version reads:

“God of majesty, whom saints and angels delight to worship in heaven, be with Your servants who make art and music for Your people that with joy we on earth may glimpse Your beauty. Bring us to the fulfillment of the hope of perfection that will be ours as we stand before Your unveiled glory; through Jesus Christ, our Lord.”

The prayer comes close, but it's more of a prayer FOR artists, and not BY artists. The difference may seem slim, but as one who creates art for the Church, I’d like to ask for something more than just a glimpse of the Lord’s beauty, even if that is a noble and righteous thing.

For the time being, I suppose I’ll keep nagging the Lord with my simple and honest supplication that simultaneously begs what I need and hints that my labors might benefit others in the Kingdom. The prayer isn’t very eloquent and its grammar is questionable. It certainly isn’t flowery or poetic, but it’s been on the top of my studio easel for a long time. For many years it has been on the tip of my tongue.

Of Color

“The chief function of color should be to serve expression.” – Henri Matisse

Working drawing of the 'God's Own Child' Mural. Edward Riojas. 2019. Finished size will be 5' tall by 24' wide.
(All photos courtesy of the artist. Copyright © Edward Riojas. Images may not be reproduced.)

Copyright © Edward Riojas

Being of a peculiar breed, it shouldn’t come as much of a surprise when artists wax eloquently – or obsessively – about color. For some artists, color is a delicious dream. For others, it is an elusive reality. Yet other artists sometimes ponder over it in unnatural places – in Claude Monet's case, on the face of a dead woman laid out at a funeral.

Color, however, can serve other purposes beyond the kind of expression to which Henri Matisse was alluding. In church, for example, most can tell what Church season it is simply by what color dominates the chancel. Those specific colors were developed throughout the history of the Church and have meaning attached, even if we jostle each other over violet or blue or [gasp!] rose. And there are yet other purposes for color.

A current project for St. Paul Lutheran Church, Council Bluffs, Iowa, makes use of color in a mural based on Erdmann Neumeister’s hymn, “God’s Own Child I Gladly Say It.” In what is becoming a favorite visual theme among clients, a large body of saints processes across the mural. The client made it clear early on in the project that this procession of saints should truly reflect the spectrum of God’s children. Hence, the use of color was made to serve a deliberate purpose.

Detail of the mural in progress.

There aren’t only representations of buttoned-down, Germanic Europeans. There aren’t simple, token delegates of African descent. There is such a variety of facial types and ages and stylistic lifestyles to guarantee the viewer that, yes, God’s children come from every walk of life and every corner of the earth.

What struck me once the painting was under way is that every figure in the mural – no matter what ethnic origin – was painted with warm colors. In artistic parlance, the warm umbers and siennas and ochres used in human flesh are often called “earth colors,” because the pigments used to produce those colors often come from different types of clay.

This simple fact is profound, if only we allow it. Adam was formed of the dust of the earth. “Dust you are, and to dust you will return.” There is great humility in knowing we are only as good as the dirt beneath our feet.

Thanks be to God that there is another group of colors in the mural. Beneath the earth tones is a flood of blues, greens, and other cool colors. These colors change the way the figures appear beneath water. That life-giving water issues from a Baptismal font, washing over the procession of saints, and finally bears them up in the resurrection of the flesh.

Things Unseen

The unfinished base. (Photos courtesy of the Curmudgeon.)

Copyright © Edward Riojas

Artists are rightly squeamish about showing a piece before it’s finished. Like writers, artists often wrestle with their work, and it isn’t always pretty.

I imagine the same is true of many occupations. We appreciate a good sermon, for example, but are often oblivious to the struggles of Greek and Hebrew classes that go into it. Most of use aren’t really into jots and tittles. So, too, are we glad when a plumber pays us a visit to correct some life-threatening problem. Few of us bother to consider the trade school involved just to deal with other people’s “stuff.”

On a far different plane, we are also ignorant of the massive Spiritual happenings behind our physical world – the heavenly battle against Satan and his hordes; the divine wrangling to work out things for our good. In spite of our curiosity, I doubt many of us have a real desire or the fortitude to witness that sort of thing this side of heaven.

I’m currently working on retro-fitting a wooden base for a processional crucifix. The processional was not behaving nicely, and I was tasked with adding stability. To accomplish this, I made a slightly larger base plate of the same material to give the existing base a larger footprint. I also added ten pounds of bar steel. The steel, however, will remain hidden. As in many things, what is not seen is of greater consequence and carries more weight than what will be immediately obvious.

Concealed steel weights in the wooden base.

On The Walls Of An Old Church

In the sanctuary: Working on Matthew 11:28
(Photo courtesy of Rev. Seifferlein)

Copyright © Edward Riojas

The Lord provided a background of an evening thunderstorm rolling through Wisconsin farmland. I was perched on scaffolding in an old church sanctuary, mahlstick in hand, and staring Scripture in the face. It was a little bit of heaven.

I had come to Adell, Wisconsin, to work on-site at Emmanuel Lutheran Church. While I prefer to work in the studio, a select few projects demand that I travel. When recently asked to paint blocks of embellished Scripture on church walls, I took the opportunity to play the part of an itinerant artist – if only for a couple of days. I elected to sleep in the cavernous underbelly of the old church building so I could work late, rise early to do the same, be not too much of a bother to anyone, and then go home.

Living as an itinerant artist was more commonplace in the days of our great-great-grandparents. The decoration of fledgling Lutheran churches in America were sometimes jobbed out to artisans with skill enough to paint walls, create decorative trim, and embellish spaces with Bible verses. Often that was done in German. Always it was done by hand.

Getting a taste of the life of a travelling artist was pretty much limited to bedding down on a hard floor, climbing scaffolding, and working in the solitude of an empty sanctuary. My gracious hosts, the Rev. and Mrs. Seifferlein, had loaded the church kitchen with enough food for an army of artists, and a battery of electric fans kept the summer heat at bay. Itinerant artists of the day did without such luxuries.

In the Narthex: Completed excerpt from the Te Deum
(Photo taken by the artist)

I relished working long hours in the relative silence that was punctuated by children’s laughter somewhere outside, bells chiming out hymns at Matins, noon, and six, and the evening thunderstorm. That sort of wealth does not exist everywhere, and it is worth finding.

It is good, too, to appreciate things of long ago. When we did without internet; when things were slow, but deliberate; when convenience was rare, families gathered to hear the Word of God preached in all its purity and loveliness, and they did so in a building that was designed with the Lord in mind instead of praise bands and air-conditioned comfort.

While in Adell, I was offered a peek into the nuances of an old country church. I was shown were the two entrances once were – one for the men and one for the women. I was told that the recently-refinished floor had worn more on one side of the sanctuary – presumably from the hobnailed soles of men’s shoes. I was shown curious channels and holes carved into the window sills – features that drained condensation when frost began to melt on the window panes. I was shown the original bit of clear glass in an otherwise stained-glass window in the bell tower – a peep hole so an elder knew when to toll the bell at the arrival of the funeral hearse.

No old photos exist of the interior of the church. Like many churches, extensive remodeling of the sanctuary took place in the 1940s and 50s. That was when old altars and ornate altarpieces and "outdated" pulpits were all fair game. So, too, were sentimental, old photographs. I took great satisfaction, therefore, in knowing that what I came to do was in keeping with an earlier time, and knowing that some still appreciate the inherent beauty contained in passages of Scripture.

With Angels and Archangels

Detail of 'Michael Contending,' by Edward Riojas (Copyright © Edward Riojas. Image may not be reproduced.)

Copyright © Edward Riojas

The back-story begs to be told.

In the opening verses of his letter to fellow believers, Jude writes about the judgment of false teachers. He makes a case for the sovereignty of God and the presumptions of men, and in so doing casually mentions an odd event in the history of God’s chosen people.

“Yet in like manner these people also, relying on their dreams, defile the flesh, reject authority, and blaspheme the glorious ones. But when the archangel Michael, contending with the devil, was disputing about the body of Moses, he did not presume to pronounce a blasphemous judgment, but said, “The Lord rebuke you.” But these people blaspheme all that they do not understand, and they are destroyed by all that they, like unreasoning animals, understand instinctively. Woe to them! ...” (Jude 1:8-11a)

In a single sentence, surely the reader must have nearly lost Jude’s point. The back-story of Michael contending with the devil is one thing, but fighting over the body of Moses magnifies the strangeness of the event. The reader thinks, "Wait. What?!"

What is not revealed in this New Testament book is that God Himself buried the body of Moses, and no one knew where that was. (Deut. 34:1-6) It is clear, however, that the old Serpent wanted the body for some nefarious purpose, and the Archangel Michael was called to action. This is the setting of my painting, “The Archangel Michael Contending With The Devil Over The Body Of Moses.” (Yes, it’s a long-winded title, but there is no better way to say it.)

This is such an odd subject for a sacred painting that I doubted another artist had done anything with it. I was wrong. While it does take a little hunting, there are a few examples out there. Each of them is a slightly different interpretation of what might have taken place. Some of those examples look like a bad day at the debate club, with little action other than some finger-pointing.

"The Archangel Michael Contending
With The Devil Over The Body Of Moses"
2019. Edward Riojas. Oil on panel.
(Copyright © Edward Riojas.
Image may not be reproduced.) 

Because Holy Scripture does not describe angels with the schmaltzy, Hallmark pattern of flaxen-haired damsels, I went with the model of a warring angel. Michael isn’t just arguing with the devil – the archangel is giving his nemesis a good thrashing. The devil cowers in darkness like a cockroach and, like a cockroach, he simply won’t give up. His hand defiantly points to himself.

Michael, however, points to the glow of heaven. Knowing neither a personal rebuke nor a judgment are his to give, Michael appeals to heaven, “The Lord rebuke you!”

I found out after the fact that, while the archangel Gabriel is associated with the color blue, Michael’s color is typically red. I gave him a red cloak simply because the painting needed some color. What I also realized after the fact is that Michael’s cloak seems to be floating down, as a funeral pall, over the wrapped body of Moses. How appropriate that a symbol of Christ’s blood covers a saint in death, becoming a vivid reminder that not even Satan, with all his biting and clawing and accusing, may claim what is the Lord’s by virtue of His own death and resurrection!

...............

Giclée prints of 'Michael Contending' are available from the artist. For more information or to order prints, please e-mail the artist at edriojasartist@gmail.com

 Sizes/prices for prints for 'Michael Contending:'
12” x 18” / $80  ·  16” x 24” / $110  ·  24” x 36” / $180

Illuminating Szyk

"The Manciple" Arthur Szyk. 1945.

Copyright © Edward Riojas

We cannot fault Arthur Szyk too much for placing a swastika on the Old Testament image of Haman hanging from a gallows. Szyk (pronounced Shick) was an artist/illustrator, proud of both his Jewish and Polish heritage, who lived and worked during the horrors of two world wars. Sentiments expressed in his politically-charged illustrations often found their way into other, unrelated work.

Arthur Szyk (1894-1951) was a bit of an anomaly. He avoided modern movements in fine art, skirted trends in illustration, and instead relied on a more classical approach, using richly-detailed motifs pulled from his cultural heritage. Add to that a strong affinity for Medieval illumination, with an uncompromising approach to the same. If that were not enough, Szyk visually railed against the Axis powers of WWII and embraced political freedom expressed with patriotic zeal – first for his native Poland, then France and England, and finally for his eventual home in the United States.

"Statute of Kalisz" Arthur Szyk. 1927.

This heady mix is at once opulent in detail and rich in symbolism. Although fine artists often deplore the term “craft,” Szyk knew his craft well – and revelled in it.

“The Manciple,” an illustration for the “Canterbury Tales,” is a good primer for Szyk’s style. The medieval figure is crafted in such a way that even its outer shape is attractive. Well-designed, ornate patterns fill the figure’s cloak, then smaller spaces, and then every space between. But, really, Szyk is only toying with us.

We see something far different when the artist begins to flex his illuminator muscles. The frontispiece of the “Statute of Kalisz,” depicting Casimir the Great, is truly a jewel. Szyk’s love for his motherland is evidenced in every nook and cranny of this 1927 work. Significance spills from the focal figure to the very margins of the piece. It would have been impossible for the reader to turn the page without lingering over such mastery.

Dedication page for
"The Szyk Haggada" 1936.

While Szyk was not a practicing Jew, the obvious love for his heritage is found in another book, “The Szyk Haggada.” Like other Haggadas, it narrates the Exodus and is read during Passover. Unlike other narrations, however, Szyk totally avoids ‘graven image’ arguments found in Jewish aniconism, and further convolutes things by introducing unorthodox imagery, some of which needed to be edited. (Yes, swastikas had to be removed from the arms of the oppressive Egyptians!)

Because Polish publishing houses were squeamish about the book, a publishing house was established in England for the sole purpose of printing the book. The opulent quirkiness of the 1936 volume is obvious in Szyk’s dedication page to King George VI.  The dedication reads:

“At the feet of your most gracious majesty I humbly lay these works of my hands, shewing forth the afflictions of my people Israel. Arthur Szyk, illuminator of Poland.”

“Humbly” seems to be a formality, for a self-portrait of Szyk is in the corner, next to the Polish eagle and a small vignette of modern Israelites. The rest is largely devoted to imagery pulled from the Royal arms of England.

"Four Freedoms: Prayer"
Arthur Szyk. 1949.

The artist was a staunch opponent of tyranny in general and Nazism in particular, but his allegiance could also be a bit pliable. Sorry, King George, but after settling in the U.S., Szyk created elaborate pieces based on constitutional freedoms, and suddenly Americana flooded the corners of his work with red, white and blue bunting, eagles, and bewigged patriots. Perhaps most strangely, he created an illumination of The Lord’s Prayer for the January 1946 issue of Coronet magazine. When compared to his other work, however, it becomes apparent that Szyk’s heart wasn’t quite up to the task.

The quirkiness of Arthur Szyk, in part, made him the popular artist that he was. Giving homage to past and present kings, as well as presenting his work to folks like Eleanor Roosevelt proved his worth. Thrusting barbs – some of which are extremely familiar [and hilarious] – at bullies like Hitler and Mussolini displayed his mettle. Creating such timeless pieces that equal – and surpass – illuminated masterpieces showed that he truly cared.