Introducing: The Sin of Power
I grew up Roman Catholic, and it's complicated.
You see, I was born in sin. A "bastard" to a teen mom who was balancing the world (she did amazing by the way, hi Mom!). Despite her being a good Catholic her entire life, my Mom had a hard time getting me baptized when I was born. Without a baptism in the church, I was damned to purgatory.
A priest - a monsignor, no less, who preaches repentance and forgiveness in the actions of Christ - looked at a teenage girl holding a baby she loved and, at her most vulnerable moment, when she needed community, support, and guidance more than EVER, denied her. Two children, damned by an old man who holds the power of an ancient system.
After a few years, a new Dad upgrade (hi Dad!), and a new church, I was baptized. Through the many traditions, I completed my first communion in my white little dress. I confessed my sins to a priest. I attended religious education classes and learned about the many rules and roles of the church.
It wasn't until I was a teenager that I really began to question the teachings and positions that church took, that I was unable to sit with and accept. Birth control, marriage between man and woman, authority. . .it was all about power. The church held it all, and that was that.
At the request of my parents I confirmed in the Basilica of St. Mary, in Minneapolis Minnesota. I skipped the writing letters and volunteering stuff - as after one particular clash in my religious ed class left me fuming and leadership telling me "I'll pray for you" (the Catholic version of you're going to burn in hell and I'm glad for it). I declined further class involvement.
I just couldn't sit and be told a girl or woman could be 'dirty', that original sin exists, or that women were the cause of original sin. In my eyes, woman are sacred, strong, and the creator of life. How could women, the creator of everything that breathes, be told we couldn't decide when we were to become pregnant? With time, lack luster answers to my many questions, my faith in the teachings dwindled.
I continued to learn of the Church and its history. My curiosity grew from awe, to frustration, and to disgust; all at the same time. When I grew into my artistry, my heart could never stray away from the artwork that surrounded the churches I attended. The old Latin, the incense, the hymns and architecture, it was all so beautiful. In every painting, every stained glass window, and each gold statue, there was power and wealth that no one person could ever understand. The juxtaposition of rotten and ethereal. I couldn't look away. How did I manage this cognitive dissonance?
Well, I went to college. Two degrees and a profession in data, I developed a more nuanced understanding of the world and human behavior. Yet, I couldn't stop asking myself, "what the fuck?".
So, I traveled. My sketchbook is decorated in scribbles of attempts to recreate what I saw in these cathedrals. Austria, Germany, France, Spain, England, Italy, Czech Republic, Guatemala, Mexico; making pit stops in New Orleans, NYC, Chicago . . .Every city, and each country, as many cathedrals as possible. I needed to learn more, see more, observe the spaces that held my heart and mind in conflicting positions.
My obsession has only grown with each grand entrance and hazy lighting. You see, despite the sins of man - the Cathedrals and their artwork show what we are capable of, given the tools and time. Angels defeating demons, saints of women, martyrs, tiny candles flickering with prayer, pews freckled with the faithful. In many of these cathedrals I lit my own little candle, and said a small prayer for my paternal Grandfather (a Catholic man who accepted and loved me from the moment we met).
So how do I manage these conflicting beliefs, contradictions, and passion?
You see, if I were to ever find or meet god. . .it would be in a hazy Cathedral built in a time that didn't know electricity, social media, or AI. I have yet to find something comparable, where I can feel the presence of what love can look like, regardless of whoever tries to stand in front of the door or blocks the pew. These structures are a great equalizer in some ways - the beauty of art and architecture is you don't need to know the language of the land, the customs of the locals or the stories of the past to appreciate the beauty and grandness surrounding you. That is, if you don't want any of the power.
It all comes down to power. The church has the power and resources to do anything, everything. They could give power of leadership positions to dedicated women. They could protect children, using the power of the judicial system to prosecute those who harm them.
But they don't.
I write this, with no resolution.
I still feel my heart flutter over the old masters. I stand in awe when hearing an organ play, or incense smoke dance through the sunlight peaking through stained glass windows. My mind dances in the presence of sculptures which were hand chiseled, depicting pain, loss and sacrifice. I continue to paint with frustration toward the gluttony and hypocrisy of the Vatican; when the church doors shut at night with the homeless sleeping on their steps. I have more questions than answers, and only a paintbrush to process. So that's what I did.
Please enjoy this collection. Each piece is built from my own photos, travels, observations, drawings and paint. My painting references are sketched in two separate journals, including notes and scratches. The painting technique uses hundreds of layers of pigment, building backwards to the level of detail you see. At minimum, each painting took over 40 hours to complete, and at least one previous iteration. I hope you can see the love, admiration, and obsession each cathedral demanded of me, which challenged my skills in all new ways.
May you find your power,
Devon