Editor’s Note: Today, Christian LeBlanc shares another perspective with us. His friend Mary-Michelle Moody does her own Christmas cards, and the one pictured is one that he particularly enjoyed. After hearing what she had to say, he encouraged her to write it down. She did, and he shares it below.
In stillness, a tiny seed is planted. In the growing warmth of the sun, in the cool moist darkness, it yearns for the sun it does not yet know, or completely discern, yet with a small burst of faith in the unseen, a hopeful desire for unity appears…it grows.
The Seed: Art Background
Crayons, colored pencils and oil pastels…there went my meager childhood allowance. In adolescence artistic pursuits faded into the limited venue required for high school projects disappearing altogether throughout college–although my roommate was a graphic design major.
At 30 I stumbled into my first informal art class: an artist-instructor circulating among the adult students, showing techniques while critiquing their oils, acrylics, and watercolors. Overwhelmed by the collective expertise, wondering if I should be in this class, my apprehension was suddenly interrupted: “Sketch the photo you brought!”. The teacher promptly departed to work with the others.
Her first round completed, returning to her newest student, she appeared rather puzzled by my sketch. “Did you measure this?” Responding that I had not, but wondering if perhaps I should have, she snatched it away. “This is what I have been telling you. I can teach you the mechanics, but this is an artist’s eye, something you are born with, and I cannot give you that.” Absolutely stunned, trying to compose myself, I now sat afraid to pick up the pencil.
She moved after that session, but a few years later I found Julia Peters’ art classes where I attended on and off, exclusively using watercolors, before taking an 8-year hiatus from classes. About 2 years ago, I yearned to foray into the richness of oils, so I again sought Julia’s instruction. My first oil, “Primera Sunflowers”, was created using palette knives instead of brushes releasing a boldly different style from my watercolors—surprising us both.
Piercing through: Mission
Since childhood, my creativity became the means to express love. Seeing the disappointment of coworkers on Valentine’s Day led to years of packaged greeting cards delivered with small handmade gifts. Restless to give something more personal during the holidays I was struck with the idea of sharing cards created from my paintings, which became my reason to paint. These fledgling, and very blank, cards needed a greeting, a verse, a message. What started as simple standard verses began to grow, to develop, finally blooming into the desire to impart the love of God through my cards.
Flowering: Paintings became Poetry, then Poetry became Paintings—
a unified desire to radiate God’s love and light to others became an offering of Prayer.
Hanging on the wall, the compelling image of Christ’s soulful eyes, a pierced-burning heart surrounded by a crown of thorns, while the cross drew me to Him. His bitter passion, the cruel suffering, my grievous sins, and still His gaze: warm, safe, forgiving. How could this be? The Sacred Heart image imprinted on my soul…..a memory left from my mom’s devotion when I was a child.
Years later, embracing the Divine Mercy chaplet, I read the Diary of Saint Faustina. I pondered His right hand in blessing, the left pointing to His anguished Sacred Heart, all the suffering unseen under the “transfigured” white robe of resurrection and redemption. It was His Sacred Heart that became a Fount of Mercy streaming the rays of red and pale…a last gush of unbridled, inconceivable Mercy, an ocean of grace, and a refuge for sinners…Jesus, I trust in You!
In prayer, as I contemplated Jesus’ love for us, my heart saw: “The Most Sacred Heart of His Divine Mercy.” So during Lent, with brushes and palette knives, I began…..
”painting now poetry, poetry now painting”…as images of the sacred, of Holy Week, Easter, Divine Mercy, and Pentecost flowed onto the canvas.
First a mantle of blue, for His Blessed Mother’s “Yes”, Mary the New Eve. He was flesh of her flesh, “her seed,” as she knew not man. Next came the heart of our redeemer fully God, yet fully man, incarnate through Mary, by the power of the Holy Spirit. Christ’s unquenchable love and thirst for us–the flame burst forth.
At the Last Supper, the institution of the Eucharist, the Priesthood: the Sacred Host now framing His Heart. The appearance is uneven and wavy—symbolizing His bloody sacrifice although once and for all, re-presented at every Mass, timeless, us joining him at Calvary, the sacrifice always present before the Father. At the top a small particle is missing having been placed in the chalice to signify the unity of the Body and Blood of the Lord in the work of salvation.
The heart badly beaten and bloody, the crown of thorns, the wound from the lance: taking our sins upon himself in His Passion and Death—His anguished Heart in the Stations of the Cross.
In some Eucharistic miracles Christ has revealed to us that the host is indeed His flesh. Later, scientific analysis has determined the tissue, the cells, to be cardiac–heart muscle. There is a darker oval on the heart to remind us it is indeed “His Most Sacred Heart” that Christ gives us at the table.
Above emerges the cross of Christ’s victory over sin and death—the flame His burning love for us. The Holy Spirit, is represented by the “wings of a dove” surrounding the flame and the 7 little tongues of fire atop small pools of blue: fire and water. We recognize the Spirit’s intimate action in our lives: from Creation, Incarnation, Baptism, Pentecost, fruits of the spirit, seven sacraments, and seven virtues…seven, the number of perfection.
The streams of gold are holiness and power beginning as red, becoming gold: the redemptive power of Christ’s blood. Finally, the rays of red and pale stream from the wound that allowed His DIVINE MERCY to now flow from his resurrected side: an ocean of grace, the lifeblood of our soul, forgiveness, and a refuge to even most grievous sinner who seeks Jesus in the healing rays of His Divine Mercy. Jesus, Most Sacred Heart of Divine Mercy, I trust in You.
Even a tiny imperfect seed that has a fledgling desire to love Him, to show compassion, to give love…God woos it to grow…to pierce through the safety of the soil into the unknown: the sapling left in awe.
Contact Mary-Michelle at [email protected]
Copyright © 2013, Christian LeBlanc
Christian LeBlanc
Christian LeBlanc is a revert whose pre-Vatican II childhood was spent in South Louisiana, where he marinated in a Catholic universe and acquired a Catholic imagination. During his middle school years in South Carolina, Christian was catechized under the benevolent dictatorship of Sister Mary Alphonsus, who frequently admonished him using the nickname "Little Pagan." After four years of teaching Adult Ed and RCIA, he returned to Sr. Alphonsus' old classroom to teach Catechism himself. Married to Janet, the LeBlancs have five children and two grandsons. Christian and Janet belong to St. Mary's Parish in Greenville, South Carolina. Christian also posts at Amazing Catechists and his blog, Smaller Manhattans. He is the author of The Bible Tells Me So: A Year of Catechizing Directly from Scripture.
One response to “The Story of a Painting”
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.
That’s quite a painting, Christian. Thanks for sharing the story here.