marieely

Announcement: Sacred Paintings

In 1944 the Museum of New Mexico published

Sacred Paintings on Skin

This publication features twelve silkscreen prints by Martha Ann Walker and interpretive poems by Marie Schmitt Ely, and explanatory notes by E. Boyd Hall. The prints are renditions of 18th century paintings done by Franciscan missionaries. Because the original paintings were based oil canvases brought from Mexico on mission supply caravans. The silkscreen reproductions are meant to reconstruct the original paintings done in vegetable dyes on animal skins (chiefly deerskin). Since the originals are severely faded, the silkscreen print is an attempt to reconstruct its color and feel as closely as possible. The blank verse poems are written from the viewpoint of former users of the paintings.

The Passion

The Passion

Betrayed and tortured, there upon the cross
Christ hung: His tired head with a crown of thorns
Bowed to one side; his desperate, aching arms,
His pain emblazoned hands, outstretched.
His body, lashed and scourged, sagged ever down,
And all about Him, their torture tools;
The cock that signaled Peter seemed to leer;
The vinegar reeked acrid at his feet;
The dice lay, grinning wickedly at him;
The spear to pierce His heart gleamed bright and keen;
The whips and axes, ropes and ladder too - -
The all bore witness to Our Savior’s pain.
The cloth Veronica held up to Him,
Which bore the imprint of that weary face - -
That, too, attested to His woes.
About Him, all was still and blood-besmeared;
But as His pain-racked body first grew cold
A host of angels seemed to hover ‘round;
And God the Father blessed His mighty son
And all those sacrificial implements
Became, by Jesus’ death upon the crucifix,
The shining means to save men’s souls.
At first a few alone believed Him God,
But more and more became His followers
Until that lonely figure of Christ crucified
Is now in all the world the most beloved.

St. Francis of Assisi

St. Francis of Assisi

Francisco was a wealthy youth, well-loved
By all his friends, and loving pleasure, too.
Made prisoner in Perugia, he found
His life an empty one, and searched his mind
For friends and deeds of honest godliness.
From this time on, he cast aside the world
And turned to simple, daily things
Which of no moment seemed to him before.
With poverty he armed himself, as with
A shining, costly cloak; all living things
His brothers were; he preached unto the birds
With gentleness and sweet sincerity.
So honest and so forthright were his words
That birds and beasts, and humans, too were won.
St Francis for his brethren made the rule
Of poverty, and chastity, and of
Obedience. Franciscans they were called
And to this way of life they still and here.
The all wore simple habits, girded with
A rope, barefoot, in humble penitence.
But Francis wore, in hands and feet and side,
The glorious marks of Christ’s own wounds
Upon the Cross - - the stigmata.
‘Tis thus we see him in New Mexico—
Garbed simply, sandals on his feet,
A hemped cord about his waist.
He contemplates a crucifix, and in
His hand he holds a skull to signify
The emptiness of Life. Behind him are
His monuments to God – Before him are
All living things to whom he gently speaks,
As long ago he spoke unto the birds.

St. Anthony of Padua

St. Anthony of Padua
The Infant Jesus stands within his arms,
And in his hand a lily sheaf he bears;
Saint Anthony is rightly pictured so,
For pure in heart and soul was he.
He was a learned man, imbued with zeal,
And taught in many universities
Until, like Francis, he went forth among
His fellow men and spoke to them of all
The miracles and marvels of his God.
Twas when one day he sought to tell
The miracle of God made man that there
Appeared upon his book the Infant Christ.
A man called Bobadilla uttered doubt
That God indeed dwelt bodily within
The Eucharist and called for proof.
Saint Anthonly who in procession bore
The Host, bade Bovadilla’s mule to kneel –
And to his knees the humble creature fell
While all looked on and marveled at the sight,
And Bonvadillo sought in vain to tempt
Te beast with oats he held beside his head.

The patron of the poor, Antonio
Of Padua is called, and for a score
Of things his fame has spread.
His aid is sought to find lost articles;
And those with child beseeech his guardianship;
The men who sail on ships ask him to guide
The safe to port, and through his grace with God
He smooths the troubled seas and shows them too
The miracle of faith.

St. John Nepomucene

St. John Nepomucene
In jaded courts of kings and emperors
Too oft is perfidy the rule.
To curry favor, man will sell his soul,
Betray his vows, and thus demean his God.
Bohemia, where Wenceslaus was king,
Had often seen this proved. The king was proud,
And jealous of his power, mistrustful
Of his queen. He sought in eager hate to find
The proof of what his fevered mind had built,
Into an edifice of vast proportions.
Confessor to the queen, San Juan Nepomuceno
Was called to Wenceslaus and told to break
The holy silence which the penitent received
When to her God she bared her sins.
But John was true, and stood steadfast
‘Gainst desecration of his vows.
They tortured him with rack and fire - -
Such was the frantic furor of the king - -
To no avail. Nor for his constant virtue
Was John praised, but died a martyr’s death.
King Wenceslaus was foiled again,
For over San Juan’s floating corpse there glowed
A light so bright and pure it filled the sky.
The people, loyal, humble, full of faith,
Defied the king and claimed the saint for theirs.
The honored him - - and so his story lived.

Bohemia to Mexico - - his fame
Has spanned six hundred years and many miles,
And counsels us to hold in highest trust
The wise discretionary use of words,
The honor due a vow.

St. Barbara

St. Barbara

St Barbara clasps a tower in her arm;
Twas here she found the holy mystery
Of faith, and clasped it to her youthful soul.
Her father held her prisoned deep within,
But she had workmen carve three windows there
To symbolize the Holy Trinity.
In furious rage he sought to capture her
But angels bore her safe away from him.
A shepherd told him of her hiding place,
And he denounced her to the Roman wolves.
In spite of awful torture she endured
She would not yield to pain nor fear;
Staunch in her faith she gained at length the crown
Of martyrdom, and carries thus the palm.
Her earthly father dealt the blow
Which severed that fair head, and sent her soul
To rich rewards her Heavenly Father held.
Communion of the spirit gave her strength
And sustenance to bear her heavy woes;
Thus artists picture her with chalice in
Her hand, and gleaming Host above.

Saint Barbara is patroness of those
Who fashion armor, and she speeds the hands
Of those who haste to fortify their Lands.
She watches too, when thunder rumbles loud
And lightening flashes bright. Her steady faith
Stands as a tower of strength; her shining deeds
Show us the windows through to heaven.

St. John the Baptist

St. John the Baptist

A comely man, with naught of arrogance
Or pride of self, nor yet desire for wealth,
He said he only came to lead the way,
To urge repentance of our sins,
He wished to take us by the hand
And baptize us to wash our guilt away
His preaching had a desert tang, of strength
And fervor hardly won, but rooted deep.
He wore a tunic made of camel’s hair
And cloak of some poor suff. His staff was rough,
And bore the legend of the heartfelt words
He so when first he met his Lord
And baptised him: “Behold the Lamb of God!”
And from that time; he urged upon us more
And ever more a firmer sorrow
For our sins. Sometimes we’d think we saw a Lamb
Beside him there, with shining fleece, and face
Of such pure light we’d blink and scare could look.

Yea—John was strange and strong - -
He stood alone and spoke his words with fire.

Our Lady of Guadalupe

Our Lady of Guadalupe

“December roses on a stony hill?
Poor fool—he’s mad, completely mad, poor fool!”
Thus spoke the unbelieving ones.
But from his tilma Juan Diego cast
Before them roses, red and velvet-soft,
And there upon the homely cloth
There glowed an image of his vision fair.
'Twas just as she had come before
Upon the hills where Juan was hunting herbs,
And told him softly of her wish to build
Upon that spot a place of prayer and praise.
She stood in shining brightness, tall and fair;
Her hands were clasped in attitude of prayer;
The crescent moon, content to touch her feet,
The stars, to cling upon her azure robe.
The sun, which all around her spread its rays,
Were to her brightness as is dawn today.

They’d asked for facts, for proof—well, here it was—
A miracle! The unbelieving knew;
The scornful bowed; the simple-hearted prayed,
And all together build the shrine she asked.
Thus Guadalupe wrought a miracle
Of gentleness and faith. In human hearts
Uncounted everlasting shrines were born.

St. James the Greater

St. James the Greater

It came to pass, a thousand years ago,
The Spaniards vowed no longer to be shamed
By giving tribute to the heathen Moors.
Their armies floundered, helplessly o’ercome,
Until the king in dreams was promised help
From heaven above to win his righteous cause.
Then in the thick of battle Santiago rode
On steed of purest white, with banner high,
To lead the soldier Christians on to fame.
His surging spirit filled their souls, and they
Swept on to smite the furious heathen Moors
Till, strewn upon the sand, they felt the swords
Of all of Santiago’s men; yea, swords and more- -
The heavy, thundering hoofs which smote them as
Death clutched their souls- -the hoofs of that white steed
Which James bestrode in just and furious wrath.

Embattled Spaniards, many centuries hence,
Who fought to win Nuevo Mexico,
Were close to death at Indian hands, when lo!
Santiago came with flaming sword upraised
And swept the foe as sand before the wind.
He struck them down in furious haste, and they
In terror gazed upon the Maiden Mary
By his side. But when the battle’s din was stilled,
And search was made to find these two,
Nowhere could they be seen. And thus they knew
'Twas he, Saint James, who rode on snowy steed
In Spanish soldier’s garb, to win their cause,
And vanished ere the swirling dust had ebbed.

The Crucifix

The Crucifix

The black mantilla’d women say
Their beads, and in the sorrowful mysteries count
Ten prayers for that lone night of agony
Endured within Gethsemane;
Ten more for all the scourging that He bore;
And ten again for His inhuman crown.
They say ten Aves for His way up to
The cross, and ten self – deprecating prayers
In memory of His death. And then they cross
Themselves, and kiss the crucifix,
And put their rosary away.
And who shall say the mumble only words,
Become mere habit through their frequent use?
Each time they tell their beads, they live again
The story of Christ’s birth and childhood days,
His agony and death upon the cross,
Or all his glory after death.
He died to save men’s souls – to wash away
Their guilt – and by His death He opened up
The door of heav’nly peace. But even more,
I think, He wanted us to imitate
His ever-gentle kindness and His love
Of all humanity, and not to scorn
That which we do not understand.
His was an all-embracing love. His arms
Upon the cross are spread unto us all.