I was on holiday in France and, as always, had my beloved camera to hand.
A morning market, glowing in low morning sunshine, held a thousand possible images that I wanted to capture, from glistening bowls of olives to bleached wooden shutters, racks of brilliantly-dyed scarves to chilled cabinets of cool white cheeses.
I’m not the sort of person to happily invade the privacy of another, but as I stood beneath a canopy a lady passed me with the most exquisitely beautiful child cradled on her back in a sling. Wide-eyed, with glinting hair, the child silently soaked up the world as the mother chatted intently with her friend. I couldn’t resist; I snapped several photos of the wider scene, including the mother and child. Somewhere in my mind a painting was being born.
Back in England, I uploaded my images and began to sift through them. At last I could stare at this gorgeous mother and child… I felt almost as if I had stolen a moment from them by taking the photograph, but my French is pitifully poor. There was no way I could have conveyed the complex message that I’d like to use their picture to turn into a painting of Mary carrying baby Jesus and turn it into a Christmas card.
Aside from the natural beauty of both mother and child, I loved the play of light and shadow in the jumble of hands and the expressive qualities of face and fingers. The rich, golden light intensifies the shadows from the right, but the child’s face and hair are illuminated by a bluer tinge from the left, too. Suddenly I understood why so many of the Old Masters spent their lives in the South of France!
I made many changes, partly to ensure that the lady was an inspiration and not recognisable. Some of the changes are more obvious, such as the background and introduction of a halo. Mary’s scarf (signifying her married status) and her blue clothing is a nod to tradition, whilst her clothing style remains contemporary. I wanted to capture her humanity and the reality of motherhood. After the biblical account of Jesus’ birth and events immediately following, there’s a huge gap until we encounter twelve-year-old Jesus teaching adults in a temple. During those intervening early years, Mary would have gone to the market, bought food, chatted with friends, discussed events and would have been a ‘normal’ mother. However, she was aware that her child was anything but ‘normal’. Her child was destined to be exceptional, although exactly how was not yet revealed. It was this aspect of her role as mother that I wanted to capture; the extraordinary ordinariness of her situation.
Jesus and Mary. Oil on linen board, 30x30cm. Copyright Sally Prendergast
But what was going on in the head of her child? What did Jesus think when Mary carried him to market? How did he see the world around him? In my own journey of faith, I’ve sometimes felt aware of Christ’s presence just behind me, just out of sight. I loved the idea of Mary’s child and God being so close to her, held tight in a sling on her back and yet outside her field of vision. Her friend is bare-headed and slightly unkempt, perhaps needy in some way, and Jesus’ concern shines on the friend indirectly, through Mary.
I’ve deliberately kept Mary’s expression ambiguous, and also the gender of the friend, in an attempt to allow the viewer to identify, empathise or engage with one of them more easily. I’ve also kept the child’s gender as neutral as possible, and I’ll explain why.
The Hebrew language does not enable gender neutral language and so, in the description of the creation, God is referred to in the masculine form. However the bible also tells that we are made in God’s image, male and female. One only has to Google ‘God as female’ or a similar phrase, to see that many people have difficulty in accepting God as solely male – or female. Or as an entity that, beyond our understanding, encompasses both. I was delighted when, on posting the child’s face alone on social media (without mentioning the narrative of the painting) some people referred to ‘him’ and some to ‘her’. Whilst Jesus was fully human and male, I wanted to reflect the mystery of his divine identity, subtly embracing feminine elements. God fills in the blanks in our lives; if we lack a father-figure, he will provide for us; if we lack a mother, he will fulfil that role.
If there is more to this painting, with its intentional ambiguity, then that is for you to find. Listen for the quiet voice of God.
The painting is available as a Christmas card. 50p from each pack of five goes to The Brain Tumour Charity and another 50p to St Nicholas Church, Great Kimble.
The original will be available once it’s dry – please contact me if you’re interested.
Mustard seeds and acorns 