Tenth artwork in the Faith Series. As we age, we inevitably face one of life’s greatest certainties-that those we love will not remain with us forever. Grief has a way of emptying the spirit. It causes us to withdraw, to question, and sometimes even to wonder where our faith has gone. Yet it is often within those deepest sorrows that faith is transformed from belief into endurance.
The architecture in this piece comes from one of the oldest and most sacred churches in Taos, New Mexico. Many believe that the church was built upon a spiritual vortex, a place where heaven and earth feel unusually close. Its massive adobe buttresses were constructed to support the weight of the building and to withstand centuries of hardship. During the nineteenth century, the church also served as a fortress against Comanche attacks. Its walls became a place of refuge during fear and uncertainty. I was struck by the symbolism that faith, too, must be built with strength enough to carry us through our darkest seasons.
The Marian image dates to the eighteenth century and represents a remarkable departure from earlier portrayals of Mary. Traditionally she was depicted with unwavering composure and quiet strength. Here, however, she appears overcome by grief. Her eyes closed, her face softened, and she seemed unable to bear the full weight of her sorrow. It is a profoundly human image that reminds us even the strongest hearts can break.
At first glance, the artwork appears simple. Yet the weathered surface, the pitted texture, and the quiet depression invite the viewer to linger. We instinctively search her face for understanding, much as we search for meaning after the loss of someone we love.
I have come to believe that grief and faith are not opposites. Time does not erase sorrow, but it can deepen compassion. Faith grows alongside our wounds, gives us wisdom, hope, and eventually quiet strength to help carry the burdens of others.
