Pathway
In 2020, the Sasse Museum of Art* in Pomona, California published a book, 14 Stations. It featured the work of Fr. Bill Moore, produced as his last large project, in which he created fourteen paintings, one for each Station of the Cross, a series of devotions commemorating the last day of Christ. Historically, Stations of the Cross began as a practice of medieval pilgrims unable to make the journey to Jerusalem, to “follow” the Via Dolorosa, the actual path followed by Jesus on the day of his crucifixion. The devotions focus on 14 moments from that day, beginning with Christ’s condemnation and ending with his being laid in the tomb.
14 Stations also contained the work of Louisa Jenkins, an artist who had created a series of mosaics which also commemorated the 14 moments on that last day. Louisa Jenkins’ mosaics were created in 1951, composed of a rich variety of textures and materials, including many in tones of gold, which are now located in a Benedictine community of faith in Oregon. Jenkins, who died in 1989, went on in her artistic journey, abandoning mosaic art and focusing on scroll-making, integrating those efforts with time spent in a Zen monastery in Japan.
These two artistic endeavors, one in mixed media (Fr. Bill) and one in hard materials suitable for mosaics (Jenkins) were in stark contrast to each other in terms of their mediums but revealed a significant and abiding connection. In 14 Stations, both artists sought to connect with a deeper reality through abstraction. Jenkins’ mosaics drew from the tradition of the earliest mosaic artists and used the simplicity, symbolism, and iconography of that earliest form. In her words, “[The early mosaic artists] adopted these techniques to convey staggering truths which had no counterparts in nature, which could be told in no other way.” Commenting on the hard road of the Via Dolorosa, she said, “That’s the road we’re all on.” These words resonated with me, a struggling Episcopalian with Roman Catholic roots.
What was striking about this book, however, was the “conversation” that the art of Fr. Bill and the art of Louisa Jenkins engaged in, on the subject of each moment. His painting of a scene appeared on one page, while Jenkins’ mosaic of the same station appeared on the facing page. Together they created a new kind of understanding about the deeper truth each was trying to express. And the whole of this truth was greater than simply the sum of its two parts. Much of this effect was the result of Fred Hartson’s design touches in laying out a faint, almost watermark, effect of cobblestones at the bottom of each page.
Aside from the stunning visual production quality of the book, what is even more stunning is the shared sense of using art as a path to enlightenment. In his artist statement, Fr. Bill Moore said, “My art is all about hope in, and love for the physical world, which according to my beliefs and traditions, can link us to the spiritual realms — to God.” It is in those moments of linkage, moments recognized by Louisa Jenkins almost seventy years earlier, that result in transformation. In a conversation with Fr. Bill, I learned that he had a deep appreciation for things of the senses: things from the earth, music, found objects. But not for their own sake. He believed they are transformative ways to connect with “The Other,” “The Divine.”
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In our talking, I found Fr. Bill’s references to The Other, to The Divine, comfortingly reminiscent of how some agile writers have done “god talk.” Those writers find ways of referring to God that are relatable and not intimidating to people who are just beginning their faith journey or who are struggling along the way. Brian Doyle, a deeply Catholic poet from the Pacific Northwest, in his A Book of Uncommon Prayer, refers to God sometimes as The Breath, or The Imagination, or The Designer. This way of transforming language, of abstracting it, is similar to the way that Fr. Bill and Louisa Jenkins abstracted color, shape, line, and texture in order to reach beyond to deeper realities.
Fr. Bill’s faith in the transcendence of art and its power to connect us with those deeper realities is fully offered in 14 Stations. It is a kind of faith that we too must find in order to weather today’s and tomorrow’s loss, despair, and fear, the results of environmental damage, political unrest, and the ever-growing distances we construct with each other. It is a faith in the human capacity to express the inexpressible, to find linkage with things only the spirit can know.
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This is the fourth and final essay regarding Fr. Bill Moore and his art. I chose them as the inaugural series for the Interlude column in The Journal of Radical Wonder, because they are examples of an unexpected interlude that can be startlingly healing . My posts in this column will occur about every two weeks or so. However, I invite other writers to submit their own stories about transformative interludes in their lives.
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Kate Flannery is an Editor at Large at The Journal of Radical Wonder. She lives in the small college town, of Claremont, California, where she also practices law. Her essays, poetry and fiction have been published in Chiron Review, Emerge, Shark Reef, Ekphrastic Review, and Pure Slush as well as other literary journals. She was a finalist in Bellingham Review’s 2022 Annie Dillard Award for Creative Nonfiction. She is currently working on a curated volume about Palmer Canyon after the Grand Prix Fire of 2003.
