Church According To Cynthia

Mt. Carmel Church

Available in prints and cards here.

“Only he can be an artist who has a religion all his own.

An original way of viewing infinity.”

– Vincent Van Gogh -

 

I asked my husband, Wyn, what he thought I should do with myself.  I have so many things I could do, but I am 64.  I want something to involve me at my deepest level.  There is no time to waste.  Without a moments hesitation he said, “Paint.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because you’re happy when you paint.”

What a surprise.  I thought he would say, “Find a job.”

That night I went to a birthday party for my friend, Jill André.  While talking to several people there, who were also trying to figure out what to do with themselves – all of us were about the same age – I mentioned I was thinking of making a commitment to painting.  They wanted to know what I liked to paint and I told them I had two paintings in Jill’s house.  Before I knew it there were six of us standing around my paintings in Jill’s bedroom.

Well, they could not have been more complimentary.  They loved them.  There were two women who knew something about art and started talking about the perspective, what ever that is, and the believability of my art.  “It draws you into its world and holds you there with all the detail,” one woman said. I drove home in a daze.

I had started a painting of the Mt. Carmel Catholic Church when I first moved into the cottage in Montecito where we lived for a year and a half, until recently.  Mt. Carmel was a block away from my cottage.  It looks like a small Mission, done in the most delightful adobe, with a wonderful bell tower with a huge bell.  I had drawn it months ago, and then began painting the church.  The color, instead of tan adobe, became a passionate, sunset color.  I tried to talk myself into making it more realistic, but another part, the painter, could not do it.  Passionate mauve/pink it stayed.  Then I painted the brightest dark blue sky. The bell, instead of grey, became an orange/gold color.

I stared at it, wondering if it was okay to paint an orange church bell.  I could justify anything in doors – any bright color was possible, but would that same style work out doors?  Then I began painting the plants around it – penis shaped blossoms, orgasmic flowers, flirting palms, all for Love.   Oh dear!

The next evening I attempted to paint clouds around my church.  I looked through all of Van Gough’s books, looking at his skies.  Oh my what skies.  There was even a green one and a gold and orange one.  Mine of course was blue, and it needed some clouds.  I tried to paint a Van Gough cloudy sky.  It turned to mud.  Mud on high would not do.  So I painted little white puffs.  It looked like an illustration.  I don’t want to be an illustrator; I want to be Van Gough.

Today I read in Van Gogh’s Complete Works, “Only he can be an artist who has a religion all his own.  An original way of viewing infinity.”

Though our religions have failed us they point to something that reflects our true home.  Isn’t that what we are all seeking?  Home.  A place that is our own.  Comfort.  Kindness.  Blessings.  Full self-expression.  Rest.

This is what I was seeking when I first began to paint.  Home.  My home.  My church.  My painting showed me that I had finally created my own religion with my own church, according to Cynthia.