The paintings have a sameness about them: endless rows of holy women CLASP their hands to their hearts, eyes raised as they EXALT and glorify God. Countless saints fall to knees on LOAMY soil, preparing to BRAWL with demons and dragons. All focused on a Holy GRAIL, to be worthy, to overcome essentially sinful human nature. I speed up my steps, uncertain that I can take one more Madonna with a still and expressionless face, one more oddly mature baby Jesus, weirdly proportioned. I rush forward in time, looking for secular, messy, more human-than-God art. I want to see well-fed Dutch merchants, glorious still-lifes with rabbit carcasses and snails, fishwives displaying their wares, rosy-cheeked Bacchus offering grapes with a seductive smile.

Georg’ann

Sitting with is the LEAST,
and the most, we have to offer.
Make no CLAIM, no FRAIL attempt
to present a gilded GRAIL.
All that is holy is right here,
me with you, you with me.

Heather