Judoc, also known as Josse, was the son of a Breton king. There doesn’t seem to be much of a record of his life or doings, except for his taking a pilgrimage to Rome at some point in his life, after which he renounced power and fortune and retired to become a hermit. There is mention of locals who took to worrying him for miracle cures, which I suspect inspired him to move further from the madding crowd.
His biggest claim to fame comes after his death. It seems that in the middle ages people just couldn’t leave the dead alone, moving their bodies from place to place, or just dropping in for a visit. Judoc’s brethren discovered that his body remained incorrupt after death, and that his hair, beard, and nails continued to grow — to the extent that his successors in the hermitage had to cut them from time to time, lest they fill his crypt and flow out into the church.
Saint Christina the Astonishing, also known as Saint Christina Mirabilis, died at a young age, and then, astonishingly, came to life again in the midst of her funeral mass.
She immediately floated to the ceiling of the cathedral, to escape the stench of sin that emanated from the congregation.
She was not finished with her astonishing behavior. She told the congregation that angels had brought her to both purgatory and hell, where she recognized many acquaintances. She was then brought to heaven, where she was “regarded with a favorable eye” (according to her biographers) and given the choice to remain there, or to return to earth and, by leading a life of suffering and example, relieve the torments of those in purgatory and gather new souls for heaven. She chose to return, and is quoted as saying about her planned life and penances, “It will be so extraordinary that nothing like it has ever been seen.”
As chronicled by her contemporaries, she threw herself into burning furnaces and there suffered great tortures for extended time uttering frightful cries, yet coming forth with no sign of burning upon her. In winter she would plunge into the frozen Meuse River for hours and days and weeks at a time all the while praying to God and imploring His Mercy. She would hop around on one leg exclaiming “Look upon me o Lord, for I am like unto a flamingo.” She allowed herself to be carried by the currents down river to the mill where the wheel “whirled her round in a manner frightful to behold” yet she had no dislocations or broken bones. She was chased by dogs that bit and tore her flesh. She ran from them into thickets of thorns, and though covered in blood she would return with no wound or scar.
I’m not the only person intrigued by Christina the Astonishing. Here is Nick Cave singing about her.
In his book, Making Saints: How the Catholic Church Determines Who Becomes a Saint, Who Doesn’t and Why, author Kenneth Woodward notes that “A saint is always someone through whom we catch a glimpse of what God is like.”
I like that god may be like unto a flamingo.
Christina the Astonishing
Linoleum block print, 2010
Open edition
Sarah-Hope had a busy day a couple of weeks ago, flying back and forth to San Diego to pick up her nephew, who was shuttling from one set of grandparents to another. My job was to drop her off at one airport (San Jose) and pick her up at the other (Oakland), which left me to my own devices for a hefty part of the day.
The Oakland Museum of California (or OMCA, which is much easier to type) was built in the 1960s, a classic cast-concrete box of that era. True, it included hanging gardens and intriguing open spaces, and was often mentioned in architectural literature as a perfect example of its style, but the galleries were previously dark, dreary, and often dead-ended into strange little cul-de-sacs. The exhibits also showed their age, the labels incomplete or damaged, the lighting inadequate, the taxidermed animals a bit tattered. (The museum has three sections: art, history, and natural history.)
Now? It is gorgeous. It is amazing. It is worth spending an entire day visiting. And that’s even without the natural history section, which is still under renovation.
I visited the California History section first, and was met with a stunning variety of Native American baskets, tools, and gear, all clearly labeled, explained, and set in context. This segued into a section on the arrival of the Spanish conquistadors and missionaries, and then into life on the Spanish missions. Each transition made sense, and what used to be those dark cul-de-sacs now contain small interesting asides, such as how artists traveling with the European explorers recorded the people and animals they encountered. Thus the museum leads you through California’s history, with good content, excellent physical materials, and spaces to stop and learn more on one’s own –with real books (and not just monographs from OMCA), and comfortable chairs (appropriate to the period, no less, so the 60s section features bean bag chairs, while the turn of the century has mission-style furnishings): so much more, and more appropriate, than the usual museum computer kiosk that’s merely a nod towards depth.
I was so excited! This was great! And then I was so stressed: I only had two hours on the meter, and time was running out. On to the art galleries.
And again: wow wow wow wow.
They are light. Airy. Open. No more dingy little dead-end alleys, but clear paths between styles, and eras, and subject matter. You can see connections between artists, and their work, and their predecessors, and their successors. And one of the things I liked best was that the extensive and excellent OMCA collection of photography not only had its own area in the galleries, but was also interspersed with other art, again giving context and depth to the experience. And again, reading areas, with books, and comfy chairs, and good light.
So go, go soon, go often. I (almost) wish I still lived in Oakland, just so I could be a regular visitor. You will not be disappointed.
Hip hip hooray, Oakland Museum of California! Well done!
I am usually an early riser, and consider a day unfit for hiking –or much of anything, for that matter– if I’m up and about any later than 7am. The day’s already half gone! Too late!
But I think I’m still experiencing the mellowing effects of our day at the spa. This morning we slept in, I made coffee, we played with the cats and worked on our variouswebpresences. I hauled a ‘free!’ table out to the side of the road, we played with the cats some more, and by the time I hit the hiking trail it was 11am. So like Noel Coward’s mad dogs and Englishmen, I was out in the mid-day sun.
Yes, it’s been ages since I’ve gone hiking, thanks to too much art (if there is any such thing). So I went to my favorite go-to park, Wilder Ranch State Park.
The sun was bright, but there was a good sea breeze to keep things from getting too hot. The hills are definitely in their ‘tawny’ phase, but there were still abundant wildflowers.
And bees.
I started out on the Wilder Ridge Loop, climbing steeply. Oak trees by the side of the trail offered welcome shade. I love their twisted branches.
After a couple of miles, I turned on to the Twin Oaks Trail. My plan, since it was hot and I had forgotten my sunscreen, was to head for the shadier trails. This worked as far as sunburn is concerned, but what I didn’t think about was the shade is in the canyons, meaning my hike had a whole lot of ups-and-downs to it. Oh well, it’s good exercise.
After about a mile on Twin Oaks, I joined the Eucalyptus Loop Trail. There really aren’t any eucalyptus on this trail, except for a sentinel line of about 10 old trees at the trail’s head. Instead, it is a mix of oak, chaparral, and redwoods, with a couple of streams thrown in for good measure. Here some spiderwebs catch the sun.
Every so often, the woods would open out into another meadow.
The Eucalyptus Trail led to the Old Cabin Trail, and thence to the Wild Boar Trail. No boars were in sight, but if there had been I bet they’d have liked these berries.
And soon, my first glance of the ocean. This is looking out over the Monterey Bay, with Big Sur and Monterey in the distance. Not too shabby a view, eh?
It was all downhill from there, down to the historic buildings, goats, sheep, chickens, and gardens at the ranch that gives the park its name.
I am a happy hiker!
Incidentally, there is an annual 4th of July celebration at the historical buildings of Wilder State Ranch every year, where they celebrate the 4th of 100 hundred years ago; this year, it will be 1910. Freshly-made ice cream, strawberry shortcake, hayrides, and good old-fashioned fun. Come out, support your state parks, and celebrate!
I time-traveled this past weekend, back to 16th century Scotland, as I participated in my first-ever Renaissance Festival as a vendor (in fact my first-ever festival of any sort).
In some ways it was a good fit: a lot of my prints relate to that period. I displayed prints from the Camino de Santiago, my set of fairy tale prints, and prints from my new series on saints. So the subject matter was dead-on.
In other ways, it was not such a good fit. My displays are too modern, even with fabric draping the metal display grids. And my observation is that the vendors who did best were those who serve to self-perpetuate a Renaissance festival, such as swordsmiths and people selling period costumes.
Most importantly, it was a great learning experience. Things I learned include how much work it takes to travel and set up a tent (a LOT, even if it’s local and I can go home at night); how much gear and art I can fit in my van, and how to pack it most effectively; how to set up my display on uneven ground (bungee cords to the rescue). I already have a different display idea in my head, should I do this festival again. And by getting ready for this event, I also got ready for the two or three I have scheduled for the fall: clear bags, mats, and backing boards are all on hand in good supply; I can now accept credit cards; I have plenty of prints framed and ready to hang. Now I can concentrate on new images I have queued in my head.
So on to Open Studios! And in the meantime, here are some images of this weekend’s Scottish Renaissance Festival.
The archery field was right next to my tent. This man knows what he is doing; many did not. Be very afraid.
Ladies go shopping, wine goblets in hand.
The best dragon costume, ever.
A juggler entertains the crowd.
Ladies strolling by.
A lady and her owl.
A pony walks past vendors’ tents.
Mary, Queen of Scots passes by with her retinue.
The Loch Lomond highland games were going on at the same time. Here are photos of burly men in kilts, throwing heavy objects.
Ta-da! Another show of my prints is now officially up and running. Composed primarily of my Fairy Tales series, this show is at the Santa Cruz County Government Center, on Ocean Street here in beautiful sunny Santa Cruz. The show will remain up through August 19.
This time I am not alone; I share the building’s hallways with four other artists. And I must say, it’s a really interesting mix of really good work. Besides my linoleum block prints, there is metalwork and jewelry by Carol Webb; an excellent series of paintings about voting by Myra Eastman; moody pastels of houses and seacoast by Jan McGeorge; and lively abstract paintings by Dana Lee Weigand.
Here’s my wall of prints:
I also put up my three prints about violence against women by the entrance to the building:
Here’s the official listing!
And a general view of the main hallway:
On a personal note, I am quite fond of the County Government Center, because it’s where Sarah-Hope and I got married two years ago. Everyone we encountered was incredibly helpful, enthusiastic, supportive and generous. So I am quite pleased to have my work there, and hope I can give some pleasure back to the people who helped make our wedding day special.
First Friday
The exhibit at the Government Center is part of First Friday Santa Cruz. So please come join us on Friday, June 4, 5 - 8pm, at 701 Ocean Street. Meet the artists, enjoy the art, and sip some wine. It will be fun!
I found some excellent convertible pants on sale at REI a few weeks ago, and being by nature cheap, had them shipped to my local store (free!). The drawback was that my schedule got totally crazy for a while, so the pants languished in the Marina REI’s storeroom for a few weeks before I could pick them up. The bonus was that Marina is right on the coast, between Moss Landing and Monterey, so it was a good opportunity to explore some new shoreline.
I asked the friendly clerk at the checkout which beach access point was best, and she directed me to one of the newer state parks: Fort Ord Dunes State Park. Formerly part of the Fort Ord military base, it underwent extensive Superfund cleanup to remove unexploded ordnance and large quantities of lead before opening to the public.
I took the short trail between the towering dunes to the beach. To give you an idea of their scale, I’ve circled another hiker in red.
First view of the water.
It was an absolutely gorgeous day, with bright sun, refreshing breeze, light waves, and nobody else on the beach. Here is the view to the north, towards Moss Landing.
And south, towards Monterey.
I decided to head south. There wasn’t a map of the park, so I wasn’t sure if there was more than one point where the paved trail inland connected to the beach. If there was, I planned to cut inland on my return. And I wasn’t sure about the tide; it looked like it was going out, but there was enough beach so that even if it was coming in I’d have enough room between the water and the dunes to make my way back. So I set out, care free and footloose.
Hmmm. The sign said they had collected all of the ordnance. Did they miss some? Or is this just a metal float? I did not poke it to find out. There were three of these on the beach.
This was definitely a float.
There were many signs of human usage on the beach: drainpipes, old pilings, old fenceposts, rusted metal scraps.
And more recent usage: grafitti carved into the soft rock, alongside some swallow nests.
There were also a lot of birds. A pair of plovers was convinced I was up to no good, and squeeked and squeeked at me endlessly. Unfortunately I had no English-to-bird dictionary, so while I tried to tell them I had no interest in hurting them or their young, it was to no avail. Immediately after my run-in with the plovers, I came across a turkey vulture eating something nice and dead and stinky on the beach.
Some friends came to join him.
I watched the vulture eat for a while, and tried to take photos of the other vultures circling over my head. Circling. Circling.
Circling lower, and lower, and lower…. hey! Get away from me! I’m not dead yet! I jumped up from my log and left the birds to their meal. It was time to turn around and head back to the car, anyway.
More dunes.
The sadness of the abandoned chair.
After climbing back up from the beach, I took a short walk on a boardwalked trail to a viewpoint. Lovely!
I would definitely recommend this beach to anyone who wants solitude, views, fishing, or birdwatching. Swimming or surfing is not recommended, as there are riptides all along the beach. There are also biking trails all along the inland side of the dunes. And for the hardy and adventurous, one can walk all the way along the beach to Monterey.
Anderson wrote his fairy tales in the 1830s, during the height of the industrial revolution. It was a time of great contrasts between rich and poor, owners and workers. The Little Match Girl reflects this era, with the poor little girl trying to sell matches to indifferent passers-by on a freezing new year’s eve. Unable to sell her matches, unable to return home from fear of her father’s anger, she huddles in an alley and lights matches to keep warm. Magically, images of a happy holiday appear in the matches’ circle of light, ending with the little girl being carried away in her grandmother’s arms.
In my version, the girl is looking at one of the holiday scenes that appear. She sees holiday revelers: the haves, the robber barons, the investment bankers, the top 1% who control 42% of this country’s financial wealth. They enjoy themselves heartily, oblivious to the plight of the poor.
And the girl? Why can’t she go home? Perhaps her parents, foolishly, believed they could afford a balloon mortgage, and have been forced into the street when their house was foreclosed. Perhaps her parents were laid off, and since health care is tied to employment in this country –still, even with some health care reforms– all their money goes to paying for medicine for a sick family member. She fears her father’s anger; perhaps she and her mother would be better off in a shelter for battered women, but state budget cuts have closed their doors.
Did I say this was a story about the industrial revolution? Unfortunately, it’s a tale for our time, as well.
The Little Match Girl
Linoleum block print with hand coloring
Edition of 22
****
There is a lot of interesting contemporary work based on this story. Here are some links for you.
• An interesting interview with David Lang, composer of the Little Match Girl Passion, winner of the 2008 Pulitzer Prize for music. He talks about the story and its imlicaitons and his reaction to it. Well worth the visit.
I participated in a mini-marathon of printing as I got ready for my current show at the Simpkins Swim Center, and fell behind in posting my new prints. So here’s another: Rumpelstiltskin.
You are probably familiar with the story: A poor miller goes to see the king on some random business, but, in the worst stage-parent manner, tells the courtiers that his beautiful young daughter can spin straw into gold. Of course he is whisked to the head of the line, for what ruler can resist such a story? The king has the daughter brought to court and installs her in a room packed full of straw, with the instruction that she must spin it all into gold before daybreak, or she will be put to death. The poor young girl is distraught, until a strange little man appears in the straw-filled room and promises to take on the task for a reward. This happens for three nights running, with the upshot being that the king wants to marry the girl –the phrase cash cow comes rather rudely to mind– and the prize demanded by the little man escalates to her first-born.
I’ve chosen to illustrate the poor girl locked into the chamber with bale upon bale of straw — a veritable cathedral of straw. (I did, in fact, refer to photos of the Romanesque abbey church of Saint-Philibert in Tournus, France, when I drew the columns and arches.) She is overwhelmed by the volume of straw, and in despair.
I suspect most of us can relate to the feeling of too much to do, being dwarfed by a gigantic to-do list, without the faintest idea of how to get it all done. At least we don’t have a death threat behind it!
