Little House in the Big Church

Photo courtesy of ecclesiasticalsewing.com

Copyright © Edward Riojas

This isn’t about Laura Ingalls Wilder, although it could have been, had Pa attended something other than a Congregational church. This post takes a quick look at things common in some churches – specifically paraments and vestments – things that would have been decidedly lacking in Congregational churches back in Laura’s day. Even among men of the cloth.

One might assume that pastoral vestments and church paraments are meant solely to pretty-up a modern sanctuary, but there are often back-stories involving common-sense practicality overlaid with deep symbolism. When the former became less of a concern, the latter became more important. Altar cloths and coverings, for example, were originally used to keep the Bread and Wine free from dirt, condensation, and falling plaster. Vestments were used not only to identify those in the Office of the Ministry, but also to show that they, too, needed to be “covered” by Christ’s righteousness. They still do.

A new collaboration with Carrie Roberts, who heads the fledgling Ecclesiastical Sewing enterprise, has reminded me of the depth of meaning within church visuals, and coupled with it comes a discipline in which I find myself a novice at best. Roberts is no blue-haired, altar guild lady. She holds a fashion degree and has a deep interest in the historicity of sanctuary cloths. While machines largely produce the embroideries that her company offers, Roberts has received instruction in hand embroidery at Hand and Lock and the Royal School of Needlework, both based in London, along with the Williamsburg School of Needlework.

During our initial correspondence, words like “frontal” and “superfrontal” and “orphrey” and “galloon” and “drops” were thrown about with seeming abandon, and it was up to me to catch on. I was approached by Roberts to create exclusive designs for her enterprise. Both of us understand the need for confessional designs that are well-conceived and produced. If you happen to be Lutheran, it's probably best that you keep watch for what will soon come of our collaborative efforts.

Our first project is a set commemorating the 500th Anniversary of the Lutheran Church. We could have slapped Luther’s Seal on a nice embroidery and been done with it, but we envisioned something a bit more historic and a lot more confessional. It is a bit too early to show the finished products which Ecclesiastical Sewing will be offering, but suffice it to say that, yes, there will be Luther’s Seal, along with the Six Chief Parts, and the VDMA Cross – a device used by the Hanseatic League back in Luther's day. The four letters of that cross are shorthand for “The Word of the Lord endures forever.”

Ecclesiastical Sewing offers various fabrics (one of which I had a small hand in designing), embroideries, patterns and the like for all paraments and vestment applications, including chasubles. And speaking of chasubles, the fancy vestment has  humble origins in a rather ordinary, poncho-like, Roman cloak – which wearers fondly referred to as “a little house.”

Snoozing in the Stable

Copyright © Edward Riojas

The vision is nearly perfect. Baby Jesus is swaddled in a manger. Cattle are lowing. Heavenly light streams through an opening in the stable roof as an angel descends into the rustic tableau. Mary reclines near the newborn Christ. And Joseph is getting a little shut-eye.

“Joseph's Dream in the Stable at Bethlehem”
Rembrandt van Rijn. 1645.
(Gemäldegalerie, Berlin)

There are oodles of artistic interpretations of the Holy Nativity and events surrounding the birth of the Christ – each loaded with symbolism, drama and reverence. A fair amount, however, veer away from what most might envision and show Joseph in deep sleep.

Poor Joseph. He might as well be snoring in church. There is a slight stigma that Joseph can’t seem to shake, and it’s due, in part, to paintings like Rembrandt’s “Joseph's Dream in the Stable at Bethlehem.” In defense of the dozer, Joseph is getting some badly-needed divine input. Because he was given so much direction through dreams, Joseph is often depicted as sleeping – even when it seems most inappropriate.

“Joseph’s Dream”
Georges de La Tour. c. 1640.
(Musée des Beaux-Arts de Nantes, France)

It is so easy to take Joseph's sleep out of context that the idea becomes laughable. Orthodox imagery goes light on Joseph. Icons of the Nativity show Joe sitting with a hand on his jaw, as if he has a sore tooth. In reality, he is supporting his sleepy head.

Georges de La Tour takes the sleep-deprived saint and adds the idea that Joseph was older than dirt in his painting, “Joseph’s Dream.” The artist then increases the saint’s age by contrasting it with an excessively-juvenile angel. We can only assume that Joseph’s walker has been stored nearby.

And then there’s the trip to Egypt. Joseph is more than road-weary in Orazio Gentilischi’s “Rest on the Flight into Egypt” – he has crashed and burned. Gentilischi’s painting is uncomfortable on so many levels that we find ourselves gazing at the donkey out of sheer desperation. (Would SOMEBODY please wake up or cover up!)

“Rest on the Flight into Egypt”
Orazio Gentilischi. c. 1625.
(Birmingham Museums & Art Gallery, UK)

Unfortunately, the sleeping thing has gotten a tad out of hand. Pope Francis, we are told, has a little statue of sleeping Joseph in his Vatican office. There’s no word on whether the rest of the Holy Family is in the pontiff’s office. One may wonder if there is a close connection to Joseph being the patron saint of lost causes. But I digress.

It becomes odd when those little statues are taken out of the Nativity and consequently out of context, then used for all manner of odd rites and prayers and superstition. For those who indulge in the cutsie, little Joseph figurines, I have a few words for you: “WAKE UP! Your Light has come!”

Getting Cozy with Currier & Ives

Copyright © Edward Riojas

“...It'll nearly be like a picture print
By Currier and Ives.
These wonderful things are the things
We remember all through our lives!”
~ excerpt from “Sleigh Ride”

Look at me. It’s almost Christmas and I’m getting all nostalgic.

Leroy Anderson’s lyrics have been sung by countless vocalists. The words echo off our smiling brains even when “Sleigh Ride” is performed by an orchestra, sans vocals. With sleigh bells jingling in the background and the clip-clop of hooves keeping cadence, we can vividly see the quintessentially-quaint image of a cannon exploding aboard the U.S.S. Princeton. Wait! What? That’s not the image!

“Explosion Aboard the USS Princeton”
N. Currier Lith & Pub. 1844.

Let’s try this again. Surely, among the ‘things we remember all through our lives’ is an image of the New York Merchant Exchange burning to the ground. That‘s loaded with holly and tinsel, isn’t it?

You’re right. Those lithographs were produced by the ballooning “picture print” company when Nathaniel Currier was alone at the helm; that was before James Merritt Ives joined the firm, and before Ives became a full partner in 1857.

During the company’s strong run, artists were cranking out two to three new images per week – for 64 years. Nostalgic winter scenes were but a small part of what they produced. Everything from political satire to newsworthy disasters to fluffy kittens with balls of yarn to embarrassingly-racist trash was fair game. While keeping close tabs on public demand and keeping cost at a minimum, the affordable prints ended up on everyone’s walls. Women’s magazines fanned the flames, encouraging housewives to decorate with the lithographs.

“Ruins of the Merchant’s Exchange N.Y.”
N. Currier Lith & Pub. 1835.
After John H. Bufford

The enterprise would have been the envy of the late Thomas Kinkade. Operations taking up three floors of a New York building were streamlined by late-comer Ives, causing it to churn out pedestrian art by the boatload. That artwork often originated from well-known contemporary artists including George Inness, Thomas Nast, and Eastman Johnson. The firm also employed artists who specialized in particular genres – Arthur Fitzwilliam Tait, who specialized in sports; George H. Durrie, who supplied winter scenes; and Frances Flora Bond Palmer, who created panoramic American landscapes.

Ives was keen to put the burgeoning company on a pace with the rest of the industrial revolution. Preparation of lithography stones was conducted on one floor. Hand-operated printing was done on another floor. Hand coloring was executed on yet a different floor.

Even the hand coloring was handled in assembly line fashion. A group of talented women applied the color after the black image was printed. Each woman was tasked with a single color, and passed on the print to the next colorist along a line until the image was completely colored.

“The Road Winter”
N. Currier Lith & Pub. 1853.

Those images produced by the long-defunct firm have endured, and are still collected. But it‘s the Christmas-y images that pull at our nostalgic strings.

The passing of time has helped us forget Currier and Ives’ penchant for sensational disasters. It lets us ignore the outdated visual drivel that bloated the company‘s inventory. It urges us to forgive the firm’s politically-incorrect images. The cream of their efforts, its seems, has slowly risen in the form of fluffy nostalgia, to be regaled in song and yearned for in a bass-ackwards sort of way. The epitome of Currier and Ives work is “The Road Winter,” an image of a one-horse open sleigh pulling a young couple through a pristine landscape. It was responsible in part – if not in whole – for “Sleigh Ride’s” lyrics.

The lithograph’s popularity is somewhat remarkable, given the original art was possibly not intended for the general public. The image was probably a portrait of Nathaniel Currier and his wife, created as a wedding gift by his staff.

What Does This Mean?

All images
Copyright © Edward Riojas.
Symbols may not be
reproduced for any reason.

Copyright © Edward Riojas

It started with the Chi-Rho.

Someone once asked me if it was a secret, Masonic symbol. Another person wondered why we use such a “catholic” symbol. Sigh.

We have confessional creeds and explanations of doctrine and volumes written on what we believe, but to my knowledge there are no classes dealing with the stuff that often confronts us in the church sanctuary. Christian symbolism isn’t necessary for salvation, so it often gets ignored. Ignorance of those things that teach, however, can be a bad thing.

Please consider this, therefore, a primer of the very basics of Christian symbolism. Whether you are as dumb as a rock or you have a list of credentials longer than my arm, chances are you will learn a little something about the stuff you stare at every Sunday.

The few images considered here are but a tiny fraction of the thousand or so symbols I’ve collected and drawn for a [very] back-burner book project on the subject. Stay tuned – it might even get published before the Lord’s return.

The Cross: You might be surprised that this is NOT the oldest symbol of the Christian Church – not even by a long shot. Why? It was an image of public torture and death. The cross was ugly and embarrassing. It took a couple of hundred years after Christ ascended before the Church began using it.

The Crucifix: It took another hundred years or so after the cross gained popularity before an image of a dead or dying Christ was even considered. Knowing this adds immense power to St. Paul’s boasting in the cross.

The Good Shepherd: Now this symbol is OLD. It actually pre-dates Christ (which isn't, of course, possible). The 23rd Psalm was known by the Jews, and images of pastoral David were popular in their culture. Images of a shepherd deity were also known in the Roman empire. It became an easy step, therefore, to use a very similar image to represent the Lord, Jesus Christ in the role of the Good Shepherd.

Chi-Rho (XP): Simply put, it’s a Greek abbreviation for “Christ.” We might write it in English as “CR.”

I-H-S: There must be millions of brass altar crosses out there with this little thing attached. It is a Latinized version of the Greek abbreviation for “Jesus.” Some have stretched it to mean “Jesus, Savior of Men.” Others have assigned its use to off-shoots of Roman Catholicism, but that’s pushing it. Confused? Good, because you might also see the variation “I-H-C,” as depicted here.

The Tri-radiant Nimbus: Now we’re getting fancy. A special device was needed to differentiate the Lord from the rest of Christendom when depicted together in art, so the three-rayed halo was employed. No, it is NOT a cross. It is reserved for depictions of The Father, and of The Son, and of The Holy Ghost. See how they did that?

Nimbus:  A halo (or nimbus) is a very old pagan device. Christians, being clever enough to re-purpose garbage to their own advantage, began using halos to identify Christians in artwork. To my knowledge, I don’t have one hovering behind my head, and I’ve never painted one on a self-portrait. But once I leave this world, if you would be so kind...

Not So Fast

Copyright © Edward Riojas

Whatever happened to Advent?

Hobgoblins and warty-nosed witches were hardly in the clearance bins when strains of “White Christmas” started piping into stores. Maybe Advent accidentally got thrown in with that old Halloween merchandise. Maybe the lament of those waiting for the redeeming King got lost in the din of a Burl Ives-infused “Holly Jolly Christmas.”

This isn’t about a humbug attitude over holiday cheer. It IS about working ourselves up into a joyful lather weeks ahead of schedule, while forgetting the reason for celebration. The joy in celebrating the Savior requires an understanding that we need saving in the first place. In case you don’t know, life isn’t one big snow globe of happiness. It is fraught with heartache and misery and strife – all manufactured by our own sin.

Efforts to illustrate this with a dandy piece of Advent art were quickly halted by a wasteland devoid of examples. Sure, there are plenty of violet-tinged pieces, but most have a star, or the Holy family, or magi on the road. There is little contrition in those images

“By the Rivers of Babylon” Gebhard Fugel. 1920.

(Galerie Fähre, Germany)

.
Perhaps it’s a stretch, but an Advent thread surely runs through the Babylonian captivity. Gebhard Fugel’s “By the Rivers of Babylon” hits close to the mark. His image shows people on the verge of losing all hope. It is hard to look at because we don’t want to identify with them – especially with Bing Crosby crooning in the background and magical snowflakes drifting by our windows.

The Babylonian captives were a pretty messed-up bunch looking forward to the Lord’s deliverance. It took the heavy hand of the Lord to wipe them clean of pride and dissuade them from running after foreign gods, but eventually they got the point. And they waited. And hoped. And waited. These are "The people that in darkness sat."

One wonders if a chord was struck much later among the Jews, when Christ mentioned the “distant land” where a prodigal wasted his inheritance. One wonders if either account strikes a chord with us today.

The immeasurable joy of Christmas comes when we remember the God who descended from His royal throne and into a cesspool of humankind – all to save us from ourselves and our deserved sentence of death.

Christmas will not sustain you if you think you can sustain yourself apart from the Savior. If, however, you are down-trodden and miserable and tired and hurting and hoping, then the arrival of the Savior – even in the form of a fragile infant – is reason indeed to hope, and reason for celebration.

A Lavish Record

“Mark” Chuck Close. 1979.

(Museum of Modern Art, New York)

Copyright © Edward Riojas

It is something which artists rarely intend, but it happens.

Every artist loves to make marks, and making a mark in history is every artist’s dream. Becoming a reliable source for historical reference, however, isn’t exactly a high priority among the artsy-fartsy. There is a nomadic side of the artist that wants to follow every creative vein in sight and live the Bohemian life, and producing reference material doesn’t fit too well in that mold.

But time happens. Eventually, everything man touches becomes dated – art included. Becoming associated with a place in time isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but eras tend to harden and cure over time like concrete. Then they become immovable; they become repositories of history.

“Boomtown” Thomas Hart Benton. 1928.

(Memorial Art Gallery, Rochester, N.Y.)

Chuck Close’s photorealistic piece, “Mark,” could have been done by any photo-copying knucklehead today, until the viewer actually looks at the piece. Then they ask, “Where did the subject get those glasses, and – wait a minute – is that shirt polyESTER?” Like it or hate it, the piece has been firmly placed in history.

The further back one travels in time, the more significant those artistic details become to historians. A Thomas Hart Benton cityscape of a Depression-era town might simply be a pleasant painting until we realize the place was dozed long ago for a strip mall. It is only then that we set aside esthetics and look at the painting for the placement of buildings, checking out their architectural details.

“White Cloud, Head Chief of the Iowas”

George Catlin. 1845.

(National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C.)

Early frontier artist George Catlin approached his subjects with a much keener eye on preserving a place in time when whole nations of people were disappearing. With near-scientific observation, the likenesses and details of Native Americans were recorded for those who might otherwise forget. We view Catlin’s images, lament the passing of cultures and appreciate the historicity of his paintings.

Taking a giant leap back in time, Gothic and Renaissance artists unknowingly left historians a valuable store of knowledge. Nowhere else is this more obvious than in Sacred art from those eras.

While ancient Rome and Greece were held with high regard in the Renaissance mind, the Holy Lands were not. Without having accurate information and reference when painting religious subjects, early artists deferred to images of the dress and lifestyle they did know. Hence, the Virgin Mary may be depicted wearing a cotehardie or a houpelande or some other European dress typical of the day, but not a frock indigenous to the Holy Land.

“Altarpiece with the Passion of Christ” (detail)

Unknown German artist. c. 1490.

(The Walters Art Museum, Baltimore, Md.)

The same is true when artists depicted Roman soldiery. While speaking the languages of antiquity were marks of a Renaissance man, having equal knowledge of their weapons cache apparently was not. Gothic and Renaissance paintings are a prime reference source for armor and weapons of the Renaissance, including flamberges, falchions and halberds, but one won’t find in Renaissance art an example of a Roman gladius or pilum – both standard issue for the Roman foot soldier. And the viewer doesn’t really care. Or notice.

Average museum-goers are so used to these incongruities that viewers of old paintings translate the costumes and accoutrements as authentic. They are authentic, but only to the time and culture in which the work was created. It is the same thing as a modern artist producing a painting of Mary and Joseph wearing jeans and t-shirts or top hat and hoop skirt. Well, sort of.

Of course, we needn’t chastise artists long gone for their lack of authenticity. These artists have put a clear time stamp on their own works, and have certainly created timeless pieces in the process. Thus, we inherit a double blessing in our own day.

The Art Curmudgeon’s Gift Guide

“With No Sense For Time”
Fine art giclée print by Hope Olson.
Starting at $38
hopeolson.com

Copyright © Edward Riojas

I’m caving in to the commercialism-thing, and it’s not even Thanksgiving.

Many of you will be shopping before that mangled turkey is even cold, or you will be, at very least, planning your attack on Black Friday, so please allow me to turn you in a different direction before you drag your bloated self to the nearest mall. Besides, you don’t want to roll out of bed at the crack of whatever on Black Friday, just to suck on a five dollar coffee and stand in line two miles from the nearest cash register. I know it’s the American way, but it doesn’t have to be. You can be more American by going online and supporting the arts in the good ol’ U.S. of A. All this while wearing your jammies.

“Parable of the Buried Treasure”
Fine art giclée print by Edward Riojas.
Starting at $75
edriojasartist.com or adcrucem.com

Consider this your gift guide for folks who are slightly more deserving than a Hai Karate cologne set. Admittedly, my picks are limited in scope, but they’re all good stuff. They might also whet your appetite to search beyond my choices.

The first of my picks is the work of Hope Olson, who shared a venue with moi during ArtPrize. Her work is extremely fresh and equally affordable. She re-interprets cubism using a designerly color palette, which begs her delightful pieces to be hung and enjoyed. “With No Sense For Time,” above right, is available as a giclée print. The original has been sold, but there are plenty of other originals available on her site, beside a new selection of prints.

“Sola Fide”
Painting by Tanya Nevin. $168
adcrucem.com

Speaking of prints, I sup-POSE I should toot my own horn and mention that I also offer a large variety of prints in several sizes. A few of the originals are also for sale, in case you want to give an extremely special gift. Shown here is one of the more popular prints. “Parable of the Buried Treasure” is a slightly different, but strong interpretation of the parable of the Kingdom of Heaven. A print selection can be found at edriojasartist.com or in the “Giclee Prints for Sale” album in the public Facebook page "Edward Riojas - Artist." Or, if you really want to use that plastic to purchase the same, then go to adcrucem.com.

While you’re at Ad Crucem, check out the work of other artists represented on the site, including Tanya Nevin. Her work takes the sacred and gives it a feminine touch in a truly original approach. “Sola Fide” is just one example of her pieces available from Ad Crucem. Prints and originals are both available at the site. The best endorsement I can give is that I own a couple of Tanya’s original pieces.

“Martin Luther: Treasures of the Reformation”
Published by Sandstein Verlag. $39
Artbook, via Minneapolis Institute of Art
new.artsmia.org

One other splendid idea is an art book. If, like me, you’ve resigned yourself to the fact you probably won’t be able to attend one of the Luther shows in Atlanta, Minneapolis or New York, then the catalog is the next best thing. The book represents 400 exhibits in art and writing, most of which are being shown abroad for the first time. If, on the other hand, you CAN attend one of the three U.S. shows, then tickets to the Luther show are a must on your list.

There’s always one in every family – the oddball who has everything, including a wry sense of humor. If you have one lurking somewhere in your gene pool, then consider perusing the online art museum gift shops that abound. The Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago is listed as one of the top ten museum gift shops by the Wall Street Journal. Like other top ten shops, it is loaded to the gills with all manner of unusual gifts that ooze taste and artsy-fartsy-ness. For those with a sense of humor, I suggest the Marie Antoinette salt and pepper shaker set by Terry Kerr. Oh yes, it will definitely fit in with the antique china in that corner hutch. If it doesn’t, then heads will roll.

“Marie Antoinette Salt and Pepper Shaker” by Terry Kerr. $25. Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago.
mcachicagostore.org