But for those among us who prefer to get their adrenaline rush elsewhere – whose interests are piqued by, well, sticking to the road and staying indoors – ArtSpeak invites you to seek out the Cathedral of Saint Augustine and the Chapel of the Immaculate Conception at Xavier University on your next trip to the City of Golden Friendship.
On a day trip there last week, I could not have anticipated the inspiring images, which met my jaded countenance as I stepped into these places of worship. All along, I had thought that Baroque religiosity, framed within the intent of churchmen to educate and inspire the Mass-going masses in the tenets and icons of the Catholic faith through visions in stained glass, had somehow been supplanted in the present age by the severity of windows made in the style of Louis Comfort Tiffany, or the more rectilinear and cerebral Piet Mondrian.
How mistaken I was to think this! Perhaps that notion came from my overexposure to more visually tranquil retreats in Manila and overseas, and my bias for temperance and restraint; for in actual fact, the truth of the matter was really quite the opposite: Heart on sleeve figuration – with its uncomplicated immediacy – remains the norm of spiritual induction for millions of Filipinos even centuries after the Council of Trent issued its dicta on religious art.
Indeed, the styles may have varied, but the emotive candor was clearly in evidence.
The Pre-Raphaelite windows at Saint Augustine, originally made in England, are perhaps the most splendid examples of this art form in the country. Transported from an abandoned church in New York in the early part of last century, and donated to the city’s first bishop and archbishop, Rev. James Hayes, SJ, who in turn installed them at the cathedral, I was transfixed – more so captivated – by these most astonishing channels of Christian faith. Albeit grimy and shattered in certain spots, a mesmeric lavender, turquoise and rose-tinted glow continued to shine through. Combining traits of Romanticism and Medievalism, the alabaster-skinned apostles and the Holy Family surrounded by stylized emerald foliages, sumptuous drapery and luxuriant arabesque canopies appeared as if they had just stepped out of one the canvases of Dante Gabriel Rosetti, their fine detail and ambient lightness lending themselves befittingly to the soaring expanse of the church’s Neo-Gothic interior.
Over at Xavier University, a more colorific super abundance surrounded worshippers at the school chapel. Built in 1954, the edifice only recently unraveled a series of 33 stained glass panels honoring its Patroness, the Virgin Mary. Placed at the back and sides of the chapel, the windows feature key episodes of salvation history, the 20 mysteries of the expanded Rosary, aspects of Our Lady – including a unique triad representation of the Nuestras Senoras de Buenviaje, Penafrancia y del Rosario (La Naval) – as well as a suite of Jesuit saints.
While new, the inspiration behind their creation hearkened to practices in earlier times. Financed by many of the city’s leading citizens and school alums, what interested me most was the appearance in the windows of eminent figures in the life of the university, together with more simple folk: Retired professors, students and – following tradition which goes back to Chartres – the artist himself, a young undergraduate student by the name of Ryan Carreon, who rendered the designs in watercolor before these were executed (or shall I say re-interpreted?) by Kraut Art Glass in Pasay City.
Quite honestly, I found these faces more interesting than the comic book-like, cookie-cutter, Mario Parialesque visages that were used to fill the glass panels. A tribute to the pervasive influence of the Angono school even in these parts, the conglomeration of human figures, palm fronds, candles and aureoles led me to consider another way of appreciating this art genre.
Beyond their decorative function, and their power to kindle empathy, I saw these windows as votive mediums seeking to compress so many narratives and desires in a very limited space. To me, they symbolized articles of faith emanating from a single source; dispersed, they emerged overhead like tongues of fire, spreading messages at once inscrutable as they were consuming.
Ultimately, I saw a beam of light passing through those stained, multifaceted prisms, dispensing grace, and illumining my flagging spirit.