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Inside
NCR Artist looks at passion through the dark
Things went downhill quickly after
that Sunday with the throng of people and the palms waving and donkey-ride. The
Thursday dinner obviously made a big impression on some who were there,
although we will never know for sure just who was there. Then Good Friday came
upon them fast. From the perspective of our time and place, when a legal
execution takes 12 to 20 years to carry out, its hard to keep up with all
that happened on that Friday.
When Jesus was finally dead -- so the gospel story goes --
darkness came down. Ever since then, his followers have been intrigued
imagining what happened. A great diversity of art has come out of this wonder
and speculation.
One recent effort is Tenebrae, a large triptych
by Melissa Weinman, which graces our cover this week. Weinman, from Tacoma,
Wash., was placed fourth by Sr. Wendy Beckett in NCRs Jesus 2000
contest for her Study of Christ.
Tenebrae is presently on view as part of a solo
exhibition of Weinmans work at the Sandpiper Gallery in Tacoma.
The following is what the artist herself wrote about the process
and the picture:
In March 1999, I began work on a 13-by-6 foot triptych
about grief. I call this picture Tenebrae, a liturgical term.
Tenebrae, which is Latin for darkness, refers to the three hours of
darkness that occurred between 6 and 9 on the day Christ was crucified. I chose
the darkness as a visual metaphor for grief, thus Tenebrae is a fitting
title for my painting of the grief-stricken Mother Mary on the day of
Christs death. The two flanking, smaller canvases are centered against
the middle canvas forming a cross, thereby alluding to the crucifixion without
actually painting it. The picture is large in order to reflect the enormity of
this emotion. The scene is a construction site landscape (conveying the
torn up aspect of grief), in which the viewer can see a vast space
that extends all the way to the horizon under a thick blanket of dark clouds.
The horizon is situated just above the vertical center of the picture, which
gives it the effect of containing -- even pushing down on -- the figures and
everything in the landscape. Orange traffic cones and barriers keep our eyes
from following the horizon off the left and right edges of the composition and
remind us that this scene is from the 20th century. Mother Mary convulses
with grief in the foreground while another Mother Mary (we see her in two
phases of torment, literally split in two by the ferocity of her feeling) pulls
her from behind and throws her head back to utter a cry, which is nearly
stifled by the blade of light coming over the horizon at her neck. The viewer
must cross over the water (often a metaphor for rite of passage) to reach the
side in which the landscape is calm and serene under a brilliant light, leaking
from between the clouds. This is a sign of hope, as well as the promise of
resurrection.
Bad news from Bolivia, a country
that already has enough misfortune. Word from missionaries and others (we
consider it prudent not to mention names) is that social convulsions that
climaxed this past week have caused President Hugo Banzer to impose martial
law. Banzer, who ruled as a dictator from 1971 to 1978, has taken an
action that suspends almost all civil rights, disallows gatherings of more than
four people and puts severe limits on freedom of the press, one source
told NCR. One after another, local radio stations have been taken
over by military forces or forced off the air. Several people were
killed; many others wounded or detained.
The moves come after a week of protests and strikes that brought
much of the country to a standstill. State officials responded that they would
give in to the protesters main demand and cancel a controversial contract
that put the city of Cochabambas public water supply in the hands of
foreign investors. The concession was quickly reversed by Banzers
national government, an affront that forced the governor to resign.
-- Michael Farrell
National Catholic Reporter, April 21,
2000
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