Jésucristo, retablo of Jesus Christ by Tesuque artist Juanito
Jimenez, photo © 2008 by ybonesy. All rights reserved.
Where to begin? There are so many authoritative sources on the origins of the retablo that I dread trying to give a historical overview. Truth is, I don’t want to. I’ll make a deal, though. At the end of this post, I’ll provide a list of the books that will do exactly that — give anyone who’s interested everything there is to know about retablos.
I’d rather talk about the power of the retablo for Hispanic Catholics in New Mexico. Oh, and here I should clarify — retablos are not unique to my state. They came with the Spaniards during the conquest of the “New World,” then flourished during the colonization of indigenous peoples throughout what was then known as “New Spain.” But the making of devotional art in general — and the retablo, in particular — has thrived for centuries in New Mexico, passed on from generation to generation.
Well, there I go. I guess I can’t get away from at least giving a layperson’s understanding of the retablo. Devout Catholics (and devout believers in saints) in this part of the world use them both as art and for altars in our homes. We pray to them for anything and everything. The retablos depict Jesus, Mary, Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe, and many saints.
Through the centuries certain attributes persist in each depiction of a particular saint. For example, Santa Verónica. According to legend, she was so moved by the sight of Jesus on his way to Calvary that she pushed her way through the crowds to wipe the sweat and blood from his face. The towel she used was imprinted with his image, and so any time Saint Veronica is painted, she is shown with a cloth bearing Christ’s face.
Certain saints are intermediaries for certain needs. San Yisidro is the saint of the crops; he figures prominently in the Rio Grande Valley. Santo Niño de Atocha is the patron for freeing prisoners. He is believed to have power to perform miraculous rescues for any person in danger, especially from violent acts and for travelers. Mater Dolorosa is invoked for pain and sorrow.
There are patrons for most ailments — Santa Lucía for blindness and clarity; Santa Librata for help with burdensome husbands or unwanted suitors; Santa Ana for the old and mothers, both (it just dawned on me, she’d be ideal for old mothers like myself); San Antonio de Padua to find lost objects, including husbands for unmarried women. The list is endless.
For Valentine’s Day in 1998, when I was seven months pregnant with my youngest daughter, Jim came home from running errands. He had for me a retablo he’d bought from a folk artist who’d set up shop on a vacant lot in our then-neighborhood of Albuquerque’s barrio Griegos. The retablo was new but made to look old.
“That’s why I bought it,” Jim said. He told me the artist had lots of pieces to choose from but that this was the only one that looked ancient. The saint was male, holding a staff in one hand and a three-crowned object in the other and wearing a red robe and golden cape.
The name of the saint wasn’t written on the back of the wooden board, as on most of our retablos, but we found in barely discernable lettering near the figure’s robe this notation: San Ramón Nonatus.
Neither of us had heard of San Ramón Nonatus, so I went to my bookshelves and pulled down a book on saints. (Jim had gotten into the habit of giving me for most birthdays or holidays a new book on saints.) On page 131 of Mexican Folk Retablos by Gloria Fraser Giffords, I found the entry (this saint is also known as San Ramón Nonato). Here is what I read out loud to Jim:
His last name Nonatus — “not born” — commemorates his caesarean birth at the time of his mother’s death. For this reason, he is the patron of midwives and women giving birth.
I looked up from the book. Jim’s mouth was open. Being the types to faint at the sight of blood and the smell of hospitals, we had already decided to birth our baby at home, attended by a midwife. This wasn’t our first home birth, but because I’d been thinking about the challenges of labor with my first child (especially the pain) I had become anxious about this upcoming birth.
As it turns out, when the due date arrived, the umbilical cord was wrapped tightly around my babe’s neck. Our midwife guided me through pushing such that she could gently lift the cord around Em’s head between contractions. Em came out more purple than most newborns, but she was big and healthy and so very alive. She was perfect.
I have over the years given up my faith in the institution of the Catholic Church, much like one finds that a particularly strong yearning has over time finally and quietly faded to nothing. I don’t mean to offend practicing Catholics; my father, some of my siblings, several nieces, nephews, cousins, and friends all attend mass each Sunday. Being who I am — pragmatic and at times challenging of authority — I simply reject the notion that celibate men can understand my particular troubles.
But I have faith in the personajes — Mary, Jesus, and the saints — of my Catholic upbringing. Perhaps that is why I surround myself with these images. So that every day when I wake up, I am reminded of the miracles and protections they provide in this world. And that I know, always, that everything will be OK.
Garden of Eden, retablo by Juanito Jimenez, photo © 2008
by ybonesy. All rights reserved.
- The Saint Makers: Contemporary Santeras y Santeros by Chuck & Jan Rosenak
- Santos & Saints: The Religious Folk Art of Hispanic New Mexico by Thomas J. Steele, S.J.
- Behind the Altar: A Collection of Paul LeBaron Thiebaud, published by the Sacramento State University Library Gallery (this exhibit came to the Harwood Museum in Taos in 2007)
- Mexican Folk Retablos by Gloria Fraser Giffords
- New Mexico Santos: Religious Images in the Spanish New World by E. Boyd
- New Kingdom of Saints: Religious Art of New Mexico 1780-1907 by Larry Frank
- Art & Faith in Mexico: The Nineteenth-Century Retablo Tradition
Ybonsey,
Being a former catholic myself and given the circumstances in my life, I no longer want to attend any kind of church. However, I do surround myself with a few saints including St. Joseph the patron saint of families, San Pasqual the patron saint of kitchens, and of course Mary. Often times when I find myself worrying and being anxious more than I should be, I pray the rosary. I love my rosary and also still have my scapular from when I made my first communion at Queen of Heaven. These bring comfort to me.
Lastely, don’t think me morbid but I do get comfort and (somewhat) enjoy going to rosaries. I like being around family and friends in a church-like setting praying the rosary. I have such a strong feeling of comfort and belonging when I attend these. Family weddings do the same for me also but my family is at the stage where there are more rosaries than weddings. DD
PS – where can I find a San Antonio de Padua – LOL!!
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I know what you mean about the rosaries. The first time I went to one after a long absence from any kind of mass, I wept through almost the whole thing. There was something so powerful about a churchful of people all reciting the same words, like they’d been imprinted in their souls. I couldn’t believe it. How did they know? I was overpowered.
(Unfortunately, after that, I fixated on other parts of the ritual and then got fits of inappropriate giggling at more recent rosaries I’ve attended.)
My mom has taken to praying the rosary. She can add you to her list, if you want. She’s probably more powerful than San Antonio de Padua. Just kidding.
Sad, isn’t it, the thing about more rosaries than weddings?? Us, too. 😦
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Actually yes, I would like very much if your Mom added me to her list. What a comfort that would be!!
I laugh at funerals too (but not as much as I used to.) I don’t know what it is about them but I just can’t help it. The worst was at my grandmother’s funeral. My sisters, cousins and I all got into a laughing fit (we were in our teens and early 20s) and when my mother turned around and whispered to us (with clenched teeth) to be quiet, we totally lost it. I think my grandmother would have been laughing as well though.
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Thank you for this post, ybonesy. I am yet another former Catholic, and though I too have lost my faith in the entity of the church (and to some extent, even in God), I still find great comfort in Mary and the saints. I also love Spanish/Mexican religious folk art, and this was a beautiful post. I would love to find some retablos out here…perhaps I should ask my mother to send me some!
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Thanks, teaspoon. That’s right, “she made the sign of the teaspoon” — isn’t that your motto? Sorry if I’m misquoting it.
Your mom should be able to find some great pieces. I have some that came from Santa Fe galleries, not to mention she can contact some of the santeros directly who live in the area to buy from them. One of my favorite artists is Juanito Jimenez. He is also my painting mentor.
I hope to be able to write about other forms of Spanish/Mexican religious folk art — bultos (statues) and ex-votos. I’ve kind of been delaying writing about this topic just because of all the historical underpinning that seemed too broad and deep to go into in a blog post. Anyway, thank you for letting me know that you liked it.
Neece, your giggling fit at your grandmother’s funeral sounds horrible and wonderful all at once, as is the nature of inappropriate giggling. At least you weren’t in it alone. Has your mother forgiven you? I’m sure she has. I wonder if she and her siblings had some laughs when they got together and remember their mother. I know my mom and her siblings laughed like crazy the night after their mom’s funeral. So much release — pain, sorrow, joy all together.
Also, do you ever go into a church now and as soon as you walk in worry whether you’re going to be able to hold it together?
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ybonesy,
That’s an amazing story about Jim’s gift of San Ramon Nonatus and the connection to Em’s birth. I thought for sure the story would end with you having to have a C-section. It was a moment of great bravery for you to trust!
I became Catholic when I was 38. It made it very easy to “take what I liked and leave the rest.” There was no struggle, and could easily shrug my shoulders and ignore what didn’t resonate for me. It’s harder, I think, when you’re raised in a religion. There needs to be a throwing-off to get clear. I can hardly bear to enter the church where I was raised–same stuff, different denomination.
Really beautiful images. Thanks, y.
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Wouldn’t that have been the pits? (Ending up having a C-section!!)
I think you’re absolutely right. We have so much baggage with whatever religion of our youth, the one for which we have no choice…yet when we can pick freely as adults, it’s easier to have a healthy relationship.
There are wonderful aspects about Catholicism. I love the rituals, the community, the richness. The churches themselves are incredible. Contemplative lives of the nuns and priests. I suppose there is goodness in eschewing modernity and sticking with tradition, but I do wish they would evolve. But as with anything, a really good priest, leader of a church, can make all the difference.
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Ybonesy – marvellous images, I especially like St Lucia with the eyeballs on the plate. Is it one you painted?
I was also raised Catholic and love the liturgy and the nature of Mass. Still have my first rosary. It hangs with a lovely icon copy of the Virgin of Vladivostok Rumpole brought for me from Bulgaria in a little altar where my great grandma’s crucifix is also. I light a candle and still say prayers there from time to time.
Now, I shall have to research some about the saints, some of which information I have forgotten as a lapsed catholic.
Thanks for the list of references on Retablos;shall search them out. G
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love this kind of art–interesting post
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This post really moved me (and I’m not that easily moved *grin*….that first image, so beautiful, made me catch my breath and the history, so interesting, but most of all this:
But I have faith in the personajes — Mary, Jesus, and the saints — of my Catholic upbringing….exactly. I am a lapsed Catholic who has no faith in the organisation but has faith in both those inspired by it or who inspired it themselves. I cannot shake that off, call it superstition, what you will or just a need to believe in goodness, purity of heart…….wonderful post (ps sorry I’ve not been by, I’m packing to go away for ten days tomorrow and this week has been manic, kids off school means blogging time is severly reduced).
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Hi G., yes, I painted Santa Lucia with her eyeballs on the plate. She is one of my favorite saints. (BTW, I tried to include descriptions of each image in the WordPress formatting, such that you could see who did each piece by moving your cursor over the image, but the system is not cooperating.)
Speaking of the Virgin of Vladivostok, I was in Ghost Ranch yesterday with my painting mentor, and he said he once taught a retablo class on the different Virgin Marys of the world. So many different countries and regions have their own version. It’s a fascinating thing and speaks to the power of the saints as a people’s “religion.”
Thanks, Scot and Jo. Not to worry, Jo. I’m impressed that you made time to comment while getting ready for the trip. Again, thanks.
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I loved reading this piece. What a storyteller you are and the images are so beautiful! I remember buying a “pocket” retalbo for my single friend the last time I was in Taos. Just this May I danced at her wedding.
What a powerful story of birth and belief you shared.
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ybonesy, this is a beautiful post. The ending is hopeful for me:
Perhaps that is why I surround myself with these images. So that every day when I wake up, I am reminded of the miracles and protections they provide in this world. And that I know, always, that everything will be OK.
Always, everything will be okay. I appreciate you holding down the fort the last few days while my brother has been in the hospital. It feels good to have red Ravine to check in on, to know people are reading and sending good energy. All the way over here in Pennsylvania, red Ravine looks the same as it did in Minnesota. The wonders of the web of electronic connection. Thank you.
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QM,
Be gentle with yourself over there in Pennsylvania. Your red Ravine community is with you!
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Teri, thank you. I can sure feel that. I have taken a little time to read tonight and may make space for a little writing. My mind and heart and body are saturated and full of prayer. But I have heard stories of miracles in the waiting room of the ICU. Prayers and healing energy make a difference. I am convinced of that. We are all connected.
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Remember where the inspiration of religious art comes
from. The Catholic Church. Sure it has its faults
but only a good thing can get corruption.
Come home to Rome. It gave us a little something
called Western Civilization. Every great artist worth their salt in human history
has drank from her fountains. Mary is her mother.
” saints and sinners belong to the Catholic Church,
respectable people can be Episcopalian (protestant)
Oscar Wild
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Thanks for the comment, Kevin. The Catholic Church is always in my heart, such that it has come home to me.
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