The architecture looks jerry-rigged, unplumbed, and held together with spackling compound, as if the crumbling arches and angel-bedecked stone overhangs might collapse at any minute.
Boo is firmly enshrined in my personal communion of saints, a subset of which is “Writers Who Are Catholic Without Being Catholic.” Would that more of us wrote with her curiosity, excellence, intelligence, willingness to suffer, and heart.
I may not look like I’m doing much, but believe me, the wheels are turning! My spirit is forming and firming up by the minute. And to top it all off, from walking around for hours every day in the blazing sun, I’m getting a tan!
Notes Lev, “Despite his ubiquity … he has returned to the sidelines of artistic innovation. The statues go unnoticed; his placement at the Nativity, pro forma; his might and authority, almost forgotten. St. Joseph has become so visible as to have become invisible.”
When we cease to be shocked by the suffering of either ourselves or our neighbors, we become protagonists in an ongoing drama. We’re no longer bots in a humorless, culturally programmed wasteland. We become free.
Did those straitjacketed, swaddled structures represent the trauma of 35 years of institutionalization? Were they meant to telegraph that no matter how deeply the world tries to bury the human spirit, it will rise triumphant and exuberant?
Her women are sturdy, strong, questing, joyful. Of “Portrait of Sara, Head in Profile, Arms Akimbo” (2017), she observes: “Leonardo da Vinci says: The human foot is a masterpiece of engineering and a work of art.”
From War Is a Force that Gives Us Meaning, by journalist Chris Hedges : a story about new life and a lowly cow and an old man who sacrificed so that the light shine for someone else. A story, in other words, about Christmas: “I sat one afternoon with a Bosnain Serb couple, Rosa and […]