Sometime in the winter of 1995/96 my friend and mentor Milania Austin Henley introduced me to the artwork of Michael Schrauzer who, like Milania, was associated with St. Andrew’s Abbey, a Benedictine Monastery at Valyermo. She did so through the “Journal of the Arts and Religion” called Image. Schrauzer’s work is formal, often housed in rich cabinets, yet inviting, contemplative. The Annunciation consists not of cabinetry but of interlocking frames: a gilt T—the last letter in the Hebrew alphabet—foreshadows the Cross; its setting sun smolders in the base of the letter’s upright, bisecting a white rose. It is almost cruel in its “truth, perfection, completion.”1 It’s the obverse of Oscar Wilde, who describes his wonder at the, well, banality of this consequential moment.
Ave Maria Gratia Plena
Was this His coming! I had hoped to see
A scene of wondrous glory, as was told
Of some great God who in a rain of gold
Broke open bars and fell on Danae:
Or a dread vision as when Semele
Sickening for love and unappeased desire
Prayed to see God’s clear body, and the fire
Caught her brown limbs and slew her utterly:
With such glad dreams I sought this holy place,
And now with wondering eyes and heart I stand
Before this supreme mystery of Love:
Some kneeling girl with passionless pale face,
An angel with a lily in his hand,
And over both the white wings of a Dove.
— Oscar Wilde, Vatican Gallery, Rome, 1877
Continue reading “Ways of the Cross”
