Old Stuff, New Stuff

"Venite" Edward Riojas. 2020. Oil on panel. (Zion Lutheran Church, Wausau, Wisconsin)

Copyright © Edward Riojas

I promised myself that I would neither mention by name the previous year, nor the thing that seemed to distinguish it. I just isn’t worth the time.

It is, however, worth the time to a name a few things that distinguished a productive year for me in spite of “things,” as well as look at a few projects coming in the new year. In spite of my laziness and everything else that hindered, here are a few artistic highlights of this past year:

“The Venite”
A series of four panels, based on the Venite, were completed and delivered to Zion Lutheran Church in Wausau, Wisconsin. The piece makes use of flora and fauna of the Wausau area, and acts as a set of windows for the chapel. Incidentally, another piece of mine, the "Zion Altarpiece," resides in the same chapel.

"The Hymn Writer." Edward Riojas.
2020. Oil on panel.
(Collection of Rev. Stephen Starke)

“The Hymn Writer”
Although I had to keep this piece under wraps for much of the year, the commissioned piece was finally unveiled on the occasion of Rev. Stephen Starke’s retirement. (Hint: This may very well be made available as a print during the coming year.)

“Ode to the Age of Innocence”
This large, non-sacred piece was intended for ArtPrize. Along with an endless list of other events, the art competition was cancelled. Still, I was able to indulge in yet another large “troll” painting, thereby increasing the visual clutter of my studio spaces.

Crucifixes
I made the time to create a distinctly-Lutheran processional crucifix [which still needs a good home], and also executed [pardon the pun] a commissioned altar crucifix. Both were done when the weather allowed me to work in my unheated woodshop.

“The Hardening of Israel’s Heart & The Hardening of Heart in the Church”
Technically, the cover art of this book – my sole contribution – was created in 2019, but I’ve thrown this in because the work, put together by Rev. Michael Holmen, was released this past year.

“The Ethereal Land of Heavenward Stairs”
This book, my third collaborative project with Rev. Tyrel Bramwell, takes a Seussian slant on more serious subject matter. The illustrated book was a nice stylistic change from my other work.

"Ode to the Age of Innocence."
Edward Riojas. 2020.
(collection of the artist)

“The Wolf and The Lamb”
This may be a bit premature, but the bulk of illustrative work has been completed on a yet-to-be-released book by Rev. William Weedon. I jumped style again and resorted to one of my older tricks – pen-and-ink stippling – for the children's book illustrations. Keep your eye on the horizon for this.

Ecclesiastical Sewing
I worked on various projects for the stellar – yes, I said stellar – vestment/parament company, Ecclesiastical Sewing, during the year. It’s always nice to bring my “A” game to their table. Some projects have exacting custom requirements, while others have a much broader appeal. I look forward to continually upping the game for pieces that are not only gorgeous, but are also confessionally Lutheran.

Speaking up
“Extrovert” isn’t the first thing that should come to mind when contemplating this artist, but I was asked to do an interview with KFUO’s “Concord Matters” host, Rev. Sean Smith. I gave my two cents-worth on the subject of artwork in the sanctuary, and was apparently able to string together whole sentences in the process. We’ll chalk it up to the wonders of modern radio.

What’s Coming on the Horizon
While a mountain of proposed projects are still in a fluid state, a few things are pretty much set in stone. I have one non-commissioned painting on my easel, and at least two other non-commissioned pieces are ready if time permits.

An article I wrote on sacred art has been accepted by Logia: A Journal of Lutheran Theology, and will be published in its Easter edition. 

Following in that same vein, I’ve recently written a series of nine articles for The Lutheran Witness that deal with sacred imagery. This little project was born out of negative feedback on the December 2020 cover art. It was seen as a teaching moment, so hopefully I will straighten out some misconceptions about sacred art. At the very least, I will offer a much better target for rotten tomatoes.

“Parthians and Medes and Elamites”

Copyright © Edward Riojas

Long ago, when the Iron Curtain was a viable thing, I had a conversation with a friend about the “Evil Empire.” The phrase, “Bomb them back to the stone age,” was lobbed out in the open. Strangely, I wondered in that very macho moment if any of our enemies were praying for us.

We sometimes assume too much. Americans in particular have a knack for thinking the rest of the world wants to be like us. We often feel we are at the epicenter of many things. Freedom comes to mind. So does modernization, as well as economics and natural resources and health care. At other times, our feelings of self-aggrandizement drift into areas where they don’t at all belong – places like theology.

Perhaps we take cues from the now-emasculated British Empire in thinking we have a monopoly on the Gospel and that the Lord needs us specifically to spread “our” excellent theology. It’s important to remember that way before English speaking peoples ever had it spoken to them, the Gospel often came from Germans or Swedes, who in turn might have received it from Italians and Greeks, who possibly received it from Parthians and Medes, who received it from a handful of Jews. As recipients of the Gospel go, we are about as far from the epicenter as one can get.

I was recently tasked with converting a couple of my designs into a different language. My initial, knee-jerk reaction was to hold off on the requests and even ignore them, but that was just me being a jerk. In the end, I ignored the possible hassles of international trade, and simply focused on the request; a fellow Christian was in need of something I had, and it mattered not that they lived a bit further afield than my little bubble.

Hence, an ordination certificate was translated into Portuguese for use in the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Brazil, which is in fellowship with the LCMS. A young pastor asked, and I simply couldn’t find a reason to refuse.

A Baptismal certificate which I also created was translated into German by Rev. Peter Gürth for his congregation, and is now wending its way to the Old Latin School in Wittenberg. I donated the digital file to them so that it can be domestically printed and its proceeds directly benefit the organization.

It is a great honor to fulfill such modest requests from the Church at large. The greater honor, however, lies at the feet of our Lord, Who sees fit to spread His Gospel through the words and actions of “Parthians and Medes and Elamites and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, Cretans and Arabians.” We might add Germans and Brazilians and, perhaps least of all, Americans.

“From My Walls To Yours”

Copyright © Edward Riojas

The walls of my house simply can’t handle any more artwork. Neither can the closets, with artwork stacked sometimes ten deep with blankets to protect them, nor can my art rooms, with artwork peeking from behind other artwork like Russian nesting dolls. I needn’t mention the five cases filled with newspaper illustrations from another life, and I don’t need to bring to mind countless other images that have been all but forgotten. Every nook and cranny of my house is filled with artwork, and I need to declutter -- if that word even applies.

Most everyone knows that I sell giclée prints of original pieces, but not everyone knows that many of the originals themselves are for sale. I do realize that there is an inherent sticker shock associated with original artwork, but keep in mind that weeks and months of work went into each piece and as I’ve been told many times, “The workman is due his wages.” Whether or not you can afford a Riojas original, here’s your chance to peruse pieces that are languishing on my walls. Perhaps one of them will beg to be on your wall...

“Gospel Processional Crucifix” Approximately 81” tall, with base. $15,000. This non-commissioned piece was the focus of an earlier blog post. The black walnut staff springs from its VDMA base, and the bronze corpus [of my own design] hangs on a black walnut cross, which is supported by an image of the Church and the four Gospel writers.

“Saint Michael Contending [With the Devil Over the Body of Moses]” 28.8” x 40.5” Framed. $10,000. This piece was recently returned to me after a long stay at the Fort Wayne seminary. It’s weird and wonderful and packed with theology. And it’s for sale.

“Archangel Gabriel” 18” x 28” Framed. $3,000. This piece was also returned from Fort Wayne. In case you can’t see from the online photo, the piece is composed entirely of miniscule dots. I created “stippled” illustrations ages ago, but carpal tunnel syndrome is indeed a thing and I thought it wise to back off of the physically-demanding technique, saving it for very special pieces like this one.

“Archangel Michael” 34” x 49” Framed. $5,000. This piece is an old friend, and is a visual reminder of those who do the will of God perfectly, while protecting us from the evils of this broken world.

“Ambrei as Potamiaena” 48” x 84” Unframed. While depicting a martyred saint from the early Church, I can also see this hanging in an entry foyer or some other calm, but dignified space. This pleasant piece currently commands the "Pirate Room" in my house. See what I mean about clutter?

“Precious in the Sight of the Lord” 31” x 37” Framed. $5,000. Unlike ‘Potamiaena,’ this is the sort of image that takes some getting used to. While comforting, the image is somewhat better suited to sympathy cards instead of residential walls. That being said, it confesses mightily, whether in the home or on the wall of a Christian institution.

“O That My Words Were Written” 37” x 70” Framed. $10,000. The words of Holy Scripture are enough, and are sometimes sufficient as a painting. Although he was arguably the most pitiable of men by the world’s standards, the comforting words of Job point to a greater reality that, by Faith, was already Job’s – and it is ours, as well.

“Two Men Went Up To Pray” 24” x 48” Unframed. $5,000. This is one of several pieces which I was simply compelled to paint. The focus of the painting is neither the proud pharisee in the center of the piece, nor the cowering publican in the shadows. Rather, the point of the piece is a shrouded Figure ascending the stairs, Whose outstretched, pierced hand, touches the shoulder of the penitent.

“Under Slottet Bron” 156” x 96” Framed. $20,000. Not every piece I create is considered “sacred.” I occasionally make things that are intended for the simple enjoyment of the viewer. Those pieces are, however, handled with the same high standards which are expected of any God-given vocation. This piece is so large that its carved frame has been disassembled and is in various locations of my home [and barn]. The unframed painting itself hogs one entire 11-foot wall of our living room. To be frank, I would love to see this in a beer hall or in a Scandinavian environment or, as some have suggested, as a rather large headboard.

If you are interested in any of these pieces, OR any of the prints that I offer, please email me at edriojasartist@gmail.com

“The Chancel: A Foretaste”

A proposed chancel

Copyright © Edward Riojas

It is perhaps fitting that this, the second of several related posts, follows on the heal of All Saints Day. But more on that later.

These drawings are of a hypothetical church building. They are not necessarily how a church should look, but rather are meant for the contemplation of any church and the purposes for which that church exists. This week’s installment takes a look at the chancel.

At first glance, the designs may look familiar, and I wouldn’t doubt that a similar structure can be found somewhere in Christendom. Its general shape is a quadrant of a sphere. This gives a nod to an interpretation of  Biblical description of heaven as being of equal width, length, and height. Usually this is taken to be a cube, but a sphere could assume the same dimensions, and the sphere – or orb – has always been symbolically associated with the fullness of heaven and the created cosmos.

The meaning behind the design, therefore, is to show that heaven descends here to us. Specifically, this happens in the Lord’s Supper. The idea of descending is further underscored by a figure of the living Christ, in front of an empty cross, and suspended by cables that converge downward toward the altar. The altar itself is in the center of the assumed sphere.

On the wall of the dome-like chancel is a fresco of ranks of angels in adoration. The dome, being devoid of anything besides its two-dimensional fresco, would act as an acoustic amplifier.

Altar with tiled design

Obvious omissions are pulpit, lectern, and chairs for clergy and acolytes. This follows an older design of moving the pulpit out into the sanctuary, but it also points to a greater reality: This is where Christ comes to us; this is where His real presence is manifest; this is where He IS. No one presides over the altar, nor do they serve there, but Christ alone comes down to us and serves us. This is the Divine Service.

Seats for clergy and acolytes, simple plinth-like structures just outside of the chancel proper and at the base of the arch, would accommodate seating when necessary. On one side, a simple, bisecting screen would create a confessional space.

A circular Communion rail and raised platform would fit within this sphere quadrant. There would be no carpeting, giving more punch to the acoustics. As if issuing from the altar, a path of blue inlaid tile, edged by red tile, would run the entire length of the sanctuary and into the baptistry opposite the chancel.  The patterning would suggest a flood of water and blood, connecting the sacraments of Holy Communion and Holy Baptism with the crucifixion of Christ Jesus. But there is more.

Transparent memorial blocks

The Communion rail would be in the round, but only half would be used by congregants. A gated railing would bisect the platform. The “gates” would be intentionally narrow, and would be embellished with Alpha-Omega and Chi-Rho, pointing to Christ as the only gate into heaven.

What lies beyond the gate are those whom we cannot see, but who share in the Lord’s Supper and the foretaste of the feast to come. The floor of that side of the circle would be a memorial to those who have gone before us. Names would be inscribed on transparent acrylic blocks. They would be stacked, layer upon layer, so that they could be read into near infinity. This acrylic assembly would be illuminated from below, giving light not only to those in glory, but also to the entire angelic dome. 

The words, “...together with angels, and archangels, and the whole company of heaven” would make much more sense in this sort of chancel, and we would be compelled to confess it – not just verbally, but visually, as Christ descends to His helpless children and feeds them with His own body and blood.

“Making An Entry”

Cutaway of the Baptistry

Copyright © Edward Riojas

This is the first of several posts that will be dedicated to a set of drawings in progress. The drawings are architectural in nature, though I do not claim to be an architect. The closest I can get to that vocation is claiming an older brother who IS an architect, and in admitting that I occasionally helped him with college projects. I can also claim to have learned rudimentary knowledge of blueprints when translating them into cutaway drawings during my 31-year tenure in the newspaper industry. No one has asked me to create these drawings – like a few other “odd” projects, I was simply compelled.

Originally, this post was to be called something like, “If I ran the Circus McGurkus,” but I’m sure there are countless copyrights and trademarks on such a title and, besides, the very idea was not close enough to my thoughts. Neither is this post about how church buildings should look, nor the ideal of what might have been. Rather, it’s a opportunity to contemplate what actually happens – indeed, what we confess happens – in Lutheran churches in particular.

Detail of Scriptural text mural

Of course, church buildings run the gamut from grand facades to storefronts, and if there is any truth to the adage that “the Church is not the building,” then this would be a pointless exercise. That adage, however, does not say it all and falls woefully short of describing those peculiar houses that contain both the Lord’s children and the Lord Himself.

As with any structure, we must first make an entry. Unlike other buildings, however, the Church has a peculiar means of ingress. In my example, the building follows suit with a integrated Baptistry.

Many get their first taste of baptistry as a separate structure when studying Italian architecture. The famous “Leaning Tower of Pisa” is but one free-standing structure associated with the Pisa Cathedral. The leaning tower is a bell tower, but there is also a free-standing Baptistry that puts many churches to shame with its scale and detail. The fact that it was constructed as a separate facade points to the importance of the Sacrament of Holy Baptism.

Layout of Baptistry "Garden"

In my design, several elements come together to make a point; to confess what we believe. I think the initial impression would be of a rather suppressed dome. Embellishment would be restricted to Biblical quotations of Christ Jesus confronting demons, along with exorcism language taken from the Baptismal Rite.

The space is intended to be serious and sobering. To intensify this, there are visual references to catacomb niches. While there is ample room to gather and witness a baptism, there is little room to escape our own mortality. Only an oculus window breaks the gloom with an image of the Holy Spirit.

In the center of all this gloom is yet another tomb. Three steps down into a square chamber with surrounding low platforms is actually a reconstruction of the type of tomb that could have held the body of Christ. The platforms were intended for bodies, and shallow channels for the morbid use of draining body fluids while rot ensues. This, however is not a dead end – it is a portal.

Issuing from a simple Alpha-Omega cross, water traverses one of the channels and pours into a conspicuously-low, eight-sided Baptismal font. The only way one may be baptized with this design is to symbolically sit where Christ lay or to be held by someone who does the same. In a visual double entendre, a cloth for post-baptismal wiping “lays folded to one side.” This is also a perfect opportunity to allow fragrant incense and spices to waft. 

The Font chamber

Just as one must sit where Christ was laid, so also the simple act of standing, after the sacrament is administered, confesses what we believe: That He did not remain dead, but arose to life. Dead men tell no tales, but neither do they stand. In this, we thumb our noses at Satan and death, and relish it with abandon.

The Baptismal Rite thus ended, all leave behind the confines of death and hell, and enter the place where our Lord promises to meet us – the sanctuary of the church, and the Church Eternal.

“Skirmishes and Victory”

Copyright © Edward Riojas

I was recently asked to create what is certainly the smallest sculpture I’ve done to date. Every commission I’ve tackled has had its own constraints, but this particular piece had to fit in the space 2.5” by 2.5” by 4.75”. It was to be a crucifix.

I have seen larger pectoral crucifixes, so this carved piece is on a jewel-like scale. Without engaging in a convoluted and costly cast metal alternative, I decided to use hard maple. Being somewhat delicate, I made use of a stout back and base as protection.

Protection. We often take the word for granted, and along with it those who, through their vocation, protect us. This tiny crucifix was destined for a portable Communion kit used by a military chaplain.

A last-minute decision was made to add a detail to the piece – one which would serve as a double entendre of immense importance. Using an ancient device, characters of the Greek word “NIKA” were placed around the cross. “Victory.”

In a military setting, the word has significance – an objective met; an obliterated foe; no man left behind. In this case, however, the word goes way beyond the obvious, even though it is accompanied by an image of a dying God. Whether on a smoke-filled battlefield or in a bed at a veteran’s home or in seemingly mundane civilian life, the skirmishes of this life pale in comparison to the greater battle for our souls. His death, though seen as an insignificant, foolish loss by the world, was precisely how Christ Jesus ambushed Satan and won our epic victory.

“Photoshop And That Darned Tree”

"Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil"
Jost Amman. 1587.

Copyright © Edward Riojas

No, I didn’t photoshop either of these masterful representations of the Garden of Eden. Neither is this a post about glossing over the Fall. Or sin. There is, however, a strange connection between the software application and that darned tree.

When I was younger, I misunderstood the danger of the Tree of the knowledge of good and evil. I credit that ignorance to Satan himself, who lied to Eve in declaring that she would “be like God, knowing good and evil.” Somewhere in the stupider parts of my brain I reasoned that, once having eaten the forbidden fruit, we would know important stuff – like passwords into heaven and other classified information – which really wasn’t ours to have.

Experience this side of heaven has taught me differently. I now know stuff I’d rather not know. I’ve experienced things that didn’t exist in Eden, and it sucks so much. The Lord in His infinite wisdom tried to keep that sort of knowledge from us, but Adam and Eve did not heed His voice. And we are no better.

Strangely, this knowledge of good and evil cascades out of our sinful lives and ends up in unexpected places. I’ve heard stories from police officers, for example, who relate how little parts of them die with each horrible crime case they handle. We shall surely die, indeed.

Detail of "Garden of Eden"
Lucas Cranach the Elder. 1530.

Which brings me to an assignment I had ages ago while working as an artist in a press newsroom. Having expertise in Photoshop was one of the many skills at my disposal. Normally, the photo editing software was used to create cover art or to clean up otherwise unusable photos.

One day an assignment came from “the other side of the building,” where advertising and classified departments reigned. It was an extremely rare assignment. It was handed to me personally, and was done so somewhat clandestinely.

A photo was given to me to “fix.” It was an old photo that was to be paired with a present-day photo of a couple who were celebrating a landmark wedding anniversary. In the old photo, the husband stood behind the wife, who was holding a toddler. The child had to go.

From a technical perspective, the assignment was a nightmare come to life. Nixing the child was one thing, but reconstructing the various folds of clothing and rebuilding non-existent arms was another. After several hours, I somehow made a convincing image. But something horrible remained.

I felt as if I had been privy to tragedy; to heartbreak; to an unspoken history hidden under layers of years and silence. No one would suspect any of this by looking at the photo – not even if they searched pixel by pixel. But I became intimate with it all as the child’s face was erased and a striped blouse of 1950’s vintage was put in its place. Even in my own ignorance, I knew more than I cared to know.

And now you know.