Catching Rays

In the 1100s, Abbot Suger watched as his craftsmen hoisted plates of stained glass into the towering walls of the first Gothic cathedral. The way he saw it, the laser-like rays of red, blue, and green that streamed from windows and settled in the apse of St. Denis embodied the very presence of God.

As I begin the drudgery of de-decorating this year's Christmas tree, I'm adjusting my attitude by meditating on what the Abbot knew:  there is power and mystery in the jewel-like ornaments, and if the spiritual is meant to be studied and held in reverence, then a burst of liquid color is the perfect delivery system.

During a way-too-short summer studying the churches of France, one purpose that united our class (if you exempt the celebration of wine and cheese) was to properly photograph this magic of sun streaming through stained glass.  We set up our small tripods in the naves and transepts of St. Denis, Amiens, Chartres, and Notre Dame. We steadied our bulky Nikons against piers, crouched under rose windows, and lay flat on chilly limestone floors--all in the hopes of capturing that instant when sleeping space is awakened by streams of color and light.

Sometimes we were rewarded by the perfect ray, and at that moment we frantically focused, snapped, and--without the instant gratification of digital cameras--waited faithfully to see what fish was in the net.

Trying to capture these jewel-tones is an obsession that transcends time and place. Indonesian craftsmen must have been speechless as they first held fiery, crackled batiks against a wall of sun. Equally dazzling are Morris Louis' fields of color and Dale Chihuly's prismic works of glass. They take my breath away.

When I was younger I planned to obtain my bliss:  finish a degree, get the kids through college, burn the mortgage. Now I've learned that joy resides in things I can't contain--there's darkness, pure cadmium crimson, and then a burst of fire.

My friend's companion piece:
http://btalan.blogspot.com/2011/01/catching-rays.html