Some time in the early 1990's I was given a book about stained glass, an art form that has always intrigued. The friend who gave me the book knew I had an interest in both stained glass and tapestry.That's how yet another tapestry was conceived.
The artist Roger Fry (a member of the Bloomsbury Group) designed and created a stained glass roundel in 1914, on a theme after a painting by Cezanne. I found a print of it in my book, yet another visuaI experience in which spirituality, theology and image coalesced. The roundel has rich connotations of ploughed fields, seeds and plants growing towards harvest, perhaps a channelled river, two pillars of light suggestive of ripening grain, and the varied light of a sky mirroring the cycle of the seasons and the weather.
Drawn on to the canvas, and with the book photo for guidance I tried to make the copy as exact as possible given that the medium was square canvas and the subject was a roundel! By now I was becoming much more aware of the relation between art and theology, and especially how colour, image and shape could provide a visual exegesis of those inner truths we struggle to articulate in words.
As a preacher and theologian, whose first degree is in moral philosophy, I had perhaps become too comfortable with abstract thought, too focused on intellectual constructs. Working with threads and immersing in colour was becoming a new way of moving into contemplative mode. I remember a comment from a very good friend, John, who trained as a ship's carpenter, one of the finest woodworkers I've known. "I widnae hae the patience for that - nor the eyesight!" I knew what he meant, but I was loving it. At no stage have I ever felt the need to hurry. Weeks can go past with little stitching done.
When I pick up the tapestry frame it becomes fairly obvious if I'm stressed. It's to do with the tension in the thread, the evenness of the stitching, the pull of needle and thread as itself an exercise in self-restraint, and therefore a willingness to let the materials and tools do their work on the canvas, and on the mind and spirit. It may be that the art of prayer is caught up into those activities in which we create, invest time, develop skills and become creatures ourselves made in the image of the Creator.
Back to the Cezanne inspired roundel. Roger Fry's Harvest roundel was created just as War broke out across Europe in 1914. Context matters when interpreting art, I think we all recognise that. This window celebrates the seasons of life, growth, fruitfulness, the beauty of earth, the fertility of soil, the life-giving sunlight that enables photo-synthesis. One critic described Fry's work: "His work was considered to give pleasure, communicating the delight of unexpected beauty and which tempers the spectator's sense to a keener consciousness of its presence."
Against the backdrop of militarism, the advent of war, a future in which millions of young lives were sacrificed on the say-so of Europe's political and military elites,this beautiful scene of cultivated human life and promised harvest is art at its most defiant, subversive and prophetic. The artist could not have imagined the immense tragedy about to engulf a generation of young Europeans. His window is a window into hopefulness, created as the world looked through a different window with the light diminishing rapidly towards darkness.
Once again, the tapestry has faded in the 30 years since it was made. But it remains a favourite, mainly because of the contextual story it tells, of defiant hope in the face of impending tragedy. And add to that the implied contrast between human work on the land to bear fruitful harvest, and human industry creating machines for the explicit purposes of death.
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