In 2018 I went to a concert (link:Marc Marcovic) at Zionskirche, Berlin. This church is an active supporter of the arts holding regular exhibitions (link:Zionskirche) for local artists.
I began to wonder what I would paint for that space given the chance and immediately saw two large canvases either side of the large alter, two figures looming from the shadows illuminated by the fading light on the central cross. Following the tradition of religious painting, Maria and Johannes look toward their dying friend.
I sketched as the music swirled around, feelings of loss, grief, and shock mingling with the notes and motes in the air, I experienced a powerful sense of empathy with what those two figures may have been thinking:
They had put their trust in him, they’d walked with him for three years, he spoke about God like no one they’d ever met before. This wasn’t about rules and regulations, this was relationship, beautiful and intimate. Love. Some had hoped he might be the one to save them from oppressive governance. Some had dared to believe he might even be the Saviour, the Messiah. How then could he be dying before their very eyes? Surely this could not be happening? All hopes dying with him, leaving confusion, anger, disappointment. Yet something in her belly told her to have hope.
At the time, just before the pandemic broke, I had no idea that a few months later, the world would shut down and we would all become familiar with the feeling of being distanced from our loved ones, hands pressed against screens.
Eight years later, and many hours practice after that first concert, I was invited to Zionskirche for a meeting… it was time to present my long held vision! Find out what happened in the next post.