ACT ONE
(A screen, on one side a pulpit, on the other a chair. There is a slide image on the screen of a Fifteenth Century religious painting. Softly playing, the music for “Corn Fields, Poppy Starred.”)
(E. Charlton Fortune and Bishop Edwin O’Hara enter arm in arm. Though it will be a while before we see her clearly, she is in her mid-fifties to early sixties, tall and angular and strong with attractive, intelligent eyes. The light on both is just a shade softer than might usually be the case.)
(They separate. She stands by the pulpit, her back to us, facing the screen.)
(Bishop O’Hara looks at us. He radiates casual strength and assurance, and an easy humor and natural forbearance, which Fortune continually tests.)
(The music fades.)
BISHOP O’HARA: It's the early 1940s. The war rages in Europe and the Pacific. People are tense and anxious in the United States.
In the heartland, in Kansas City, Missouri, Miss E. Charlton Fortune has begun a lecture on art and, as it will turn out, her life as well.
Who am I? Oh, she'll tell you.
What am I doing here? She'll tell you that as well.
Though I'll give you hints to both questions — I am her loyal friend and frequent theological adversary.
(She turns her head slowly toward him, smiles.)
Quite frequent.
(He smiles at her, sits in the chair.)
So, the lecture begins. Rather, continues.
(Strong lighting change.)
FORTUNE (Looking at image): ... A section of a fresco by Piero Della Francesca... “Discovery and Proving of the True Cross”...
... Painted mid-Fifteenth Century...
(She moves behind the podium, her face somewhat in shadow.)
Note the powerful diagonal plane created by the cross and the figures... set against the vertical lines of the buildings to the right... the circular and rounded shapes, like the human figures, keep the eye moving through the painting, holding our interest.
(She studies it a moment.)
None of this an ‘accident' — Della Francesca brought his love of geometry to his art. You can see this — it feels geometric.
A powerful composition, important, because despite what some may tell you, ecclesiastical art’s exactly the same as any other art.
Except for subject matter.
Fine professional painting... of the most supreme importance.
The ability to paint superbly well... say, a lemon on a plate... as Manet can do so beautifully, the best preparation for any religious subject.
Mention this in a lecture I give in a seminary and...
(A beat; smiles.)
... shock one of the students... scandalized, I think, my discussing God in conjunction with a lemon.
(# 2 Slide: Her name: E. Charlton Fortune.)
Your lecturer.
I prefer to introduce myself a little into a lecture. Introductions by others are nice, but often a bit too effusive...
(Smiles.)
Some will tell you I use the initial to disguise my gender, but actually it’s to disguise my given name — Euphemia.
Still, many women artists do use initials to hide the fact they’re women. It's a matter of survival if you want to have any chance in the competitions.
And, if the judges know you’re a woman and still judge you to be any good, it's because — they say — you paint like a man.
One reviewer said of me: “Her work is unusually strong for a woman — having the vigorous brush stroke attributed to men only.”
Well, I ask you, what’s a woman to do — develop a weak brush stroke?
Still, there's a danger in using initials. For instance... long ago I won a medal at the Paris Salon. A nice moment in my rather mixed career. The award certificate read... “To Monsieur Fortune. ’’
Monsieur Fortune is preferable, by the way, to Miss Fortune.
Anyway, friends call me Effie. Much nicer, thank you.
(Looks at the screen; tilts her head.)
This lecture, as you know, is —
(# 3 Slide, with the words:)
— “Notes on Art for Catholics. ’’
(She glances at Bishop O’Hara, who smiles indulgently.)
It’s good to remind you as we go along, since I do get sidetracked.
Non-Catholics might also benefit from this lecture. But then, I feel the world might benefit from understanding and appreciating art.
Mind you, I’m not liberal about this subject. There's a fallacy anyone with a pair of eyes is capable of deciding what’s good or bad in art. That is, may I say...
(Looks again at Bishop O’Hara, changes her mind.)
... a way of letting you know that, at the tea afterward —
(A beat.)
Is there a tea afterward, Edwin?
BISHOP O’HARA: Yes, Effie — in the lobby.
FORTUNE: In the lobby, after the lecture. Should be lovely... Not the rectory?
BISHOP O’HARA: No, sorry — support guild's replastering the living room. Wouldn't want plaster drifting into the tea, would we?
FORTUNE: Oh no, I much prefer cream... This, as you well know, is Edwin O’Hara, the distinguished bishop of Kansas City, Missouri. I needn’t tell you, he’s not your ordinary bishop.
BISHOP O’HARA (Warning): Effie...
FORTUNE: Well, you’re not, Edwin. (To audience) As you know, he fights for minimum wages for field and factory workers. Did it in the state of Oregon in the 1920s, does it now here in Kansas City. How many bishops or priests do that?
BISHOP O’HARA (Embarrassed, to audience, clearing his throat): Well, Catholics among the workers, of course. Many Catholic workers.
FORTUNE: Did that make it easier — fighting for them, I mean?
BISHOP O’HARA (Indicating audience, trying to be subtle): Effie...
FORTUNE: Does the Holy Father know about the work you do?
BISHOP O’HARA (Impulsively crosses himself while looking up): May now —
FORTUNE: And pushed for racial justice, the bishop did... and the need to integrate hospitals... imagine.
BISHOP O’HARA (To audience, embarrassed): More good Catholics... and Baptists, too... and all... those others... those needing hospitals, I mean. (Struggling.) We all need them, after all, don’t we?
FORTUNE: And builds little churches for the poor in the Ozarks... Gives sermons, too.
BISHOP O’HARA: Effie, please!
FORTUNE: Oh. Very well, Edwin. (A beat) I was saying?
BISHOP O’HARA (Relieved): “A way of letting you know.” (Gesturing toward audience.) Please, do let them know.
FORTUNE: Oh, yes. Thank you... No “I know what I like, ’’ unless it comes from an informed basis. And if you come from an informed basis, you won’t say “I know what I like. ’’
You may wonder why the bishop sits nearby... He's here in case you’ve questions about religion I’m unable to answer.
BISHOP O’HARA: Trust me, she'll try anyway.
FORTUNE: But the most important reason — the projector jamming. It does sometimes and I'm terrible with machines.
BISHOP O’HARA: That's so — if you saw her drive...
FORTUNE: It jammed a dozen times in Portsmouth...
BISHOP O’HARA: In Boston it jammed and then the light burnt out, so we adjourned early for tea.
FORTUNE: And if I get off track, Edwin steers me back. Isn’t that so?
BISHOP O’HARA (A touch helplessly): I try.
FORTUNE: If I faint — I did once, it was Cleveland in August — Bishop O’Hara to the rescue.
BISHOP O’HARA: It was St. Louis, Effie.
FORTUNE: Excuse me?
BISHOP O’HARA: You fainted in St. Louis.
FORTUNE: In August?
BISHOP O’HARA (Nodding): You'll recall they installed a tub in the cathedral vestibule so you could bathe when the heat became unbearable.
FORTUNE: Oh, yes! plunged in every two hours.
BISHOP O’HARA: That you did, flooding the vestibule. Except the day you got caught up in your painting and didn't plunge in and suffered heat prostration. You scared us that time.
FORTUNE (A beat): Did I?
BISHOP O’HARA: Very much. You were so ill, even Rome heard of it.
FORTUNE: Rome?
BISHOP O’HARA: The pope himself — didn’t know?
FORTUNE (Touched): I didn’t...
BISHOP O’HARA: Oh, right — we thought it'd go to your head hearing the Holy Father was concerned, so didn’t tell you.
FORTUNE: If I'd known...
BISHOP O’HARA: My very point. (Gesturing to the audience) The lecture, Effie.
FORTUNE (Looking off): The Holy Father...
(A moment as she collects herself, giving him a second look, then # 4 Slide.)
FORTUNE: Entrance to Kansas City's William Rockhill Nelson Gallery of Art. Many of the works of art you will see this evening are housed in this fine museum.
A surprise for the bishop: I’m adding some extra slides to today’s lecture... freshening it up.
(She smiles in his direction; he arches a brow, concerned.)
BISHOP O’HARA: Are you?
FORTUNE: Not so many.
(Turning front.)
Add images because... well, the war grows worse in Europe... so maybe we need to talk about things other than just art. I know the war’s on your minds — how could it not be? We can't just ignore it, pretend it isn't. (Pause) The Bishop knows about war — a chaplain in the First World War...1918... the battlefields of France.
BISHOP O’HARA (Softly, looking down, remembering): Battle of Argonne... death everywhere...(Looking off)... too many last rites...
(She looks at him, then —)
(#5 Slide — Greek lion.)
FORTUNE: My brother’s not on a battlefield, thank God... over in... well, we don't know... North Africa or Burma or... anyway, kept secret by the government... engineers searching for oil... for the war effort. Jim's second war... no longer young... not had word for some time... takes chances, so I worry...
(Bishop O’Hara gives her a look of concern, shifts in his chair.)
So... as we go along... would like to discuss some things that bear on art, mine and others, I don't usually talk about...
(Pause, briskly, glancing back at image.)
This, though, falls within our usual parameters — stone sculpture of a lion, found in the museum’s classical gallery. Greek, four centuries before Christ.
(Pause)
A few wars since then...
(#6 Slide — Chinese lion.)
Chinese lion of the seventh century after Christ. In the Chinese Gallery, of course.
(#7 Slide back to the Greek lion.)
... as far apart in conception —
(#8 Slide back to the Chinese lion.)
— as China from Greece.
Both distinctly different from the image of —
(#9 Slide — photograph of a lion.)
— a real lion... snapped this the other day in your zoo.
(Smiles, sensually:)
Handsome galoot, isn’t he? Lazy, too.
(Reversing slides, #10, 11 and 12)
These statues resemble our lion only remotely as subject matter, but absolutely as to its attributes.
Kingliness and ferocity depicted to the point of exaggeration through, ironically, economy of design... the deliberate discarding of nonessential details.
Details may be seen in the ‘absolutely truthful’ product of the camera —
(#13 Slide of photograph of lion.)
— which reduces our large cat to the importance of a contented house cat sprawled on a hearth rug.
(Looks at the lion for a few moments — then glances at O’Hara.)
You'll note this isn’t a “Catholic’’ photograph, anymore than the previous image was a Catholic sculpture. In fact, this is the sort of fellow made a habit of eating Catholics.
BISHOP O’HARA (Pained, but good naturedly): Something we'd like to keep in the past, Effie — lions eating Catholics.
FORTUNE (Smiles): You might as well know — we had a tussle over the title of this lecture. Over the word “Catholic. ’’ I thought it should be simply “Notes on Art. ’’
I’m quite proud of being Catholic... I like being Catholic, but I truly feel art’s for everyone, as God’s for everyone.
A pagan may be taken by a “Catholic” art work, as we may be charmed by a pagan work of art... if you take my meaning.
BISHOP O’HARA (Intentionally Irish, with some humor but clearly irritated): Aye, that we do, Effie my dear.
FORTUNE: Aye, I won’t budge from that.
(#14 Slide: a painting of night, a city on fire.)
(She stares, pause, with some difficulty:)
When people lecture, we need to know where they come from... what gives them their point of view... makes them the way they are, if we’re to credit them at all.
(Pause.)
So... my memory of April 18, 1906 — the San Francisco earthquake and fire... with mother... we ran through the night... painted a year after...
... because time’s needed to distill ideas and emotions.
Why artists often paint from memory. The reporter... the news photographer... says, “I must get it now!” The artist can take her time, the images filtering through the unconscious or subconscious...
(Looks at it a moment.)
Lacks certain “detail’’... buildings falling, people running, odor of burning flesh. Not altogether happy with it... yet, hope one can sense the terror... the “Where to run.”
(Tense.)
One can paint the stench of burning flesh. Never doubt it. Not me, but the great ones... Goya, for instance... He understood flesh and pain... Artists such as Goya, one envies them, yet one doesn’t.
It’s enough for me I can’t forget... forget that night... forget them pursuing us... like living things... hounds... wolves... leaping... dancing... the flames...
(Pause. Lighting changes, will go dark on O’Hara, the light, only on her, becomes a golden, fire-like glow She steps forward and begins singing.)
“The Flames”
The flames Dancing with us through the night, A city on fire, under the crimson light. Chaos of that fateful day.
A rag with our names, in case we were lost, Refugees adrift in canvas tents.
In times of despair, where do we run? Somewhere straight away from the sun. Underneath the rain.
Time dissolves the pain Silence fills the air, Memories of the bygone days.
(Chorus.)
(Then lighting changes as to before as she steps back to lectern, tense.)
(#15 Slide: detail of the image, larger, brush strokes vivid, color more intense.)
FORTUNE (Continuing, softly): Same painting — agony doing it. Closer. Can you feel the heat...? May remind us of what’s going on in Europe. London’s burning. Man caused, not nature.
(Pause, wonderingly.)
In London I saw Sarah Bernhardt as Camille. Five times I saw Isadora Duncan dance... in London, then again in Paris. Her mastery of self-expression! — found it... stunning! ... so moving.
Never seen anything like it. That was before the first war.
Bernhardt’s dead... as is Duncan.
One can hardly forget Duncan’s dead, the way she died — the scarf tangled in the car wheel. Cried when I heard.
(#16 Slide: names scribbled on white rag labels.)
(Pause.)
What’s this, you may well ask. It's still that night.
We tore off pieces of rag, Mother and I, wrote our names and address and pinned them to our coats... should we have died that night, our identity might be known.
The next day we discovered many people did this. For them, us... death was not as great a fear as... of bodies being disposed of... anonymously.
I've never forgotten that.
They dynamited our house... to halt the progress of the fire. Ours one of many to be destroyed that way... it almost worked.
We became refugees, lived in tents. Many homes destroyed that night, many lives... much art, Catholic and otherwise...
(She takes a deep breath, glances furtively at O’Hara.)
(#17 Slide: black and white photo of a murdered body on a sidewalk.)
(Brief silence.)
BISHOP O’HARA (Reacting to the image; measured): Effie, what are you thinking?
(She doesn't respond.)
BISHOP O’HARA: It’s in bad taste.
FORTUNE (Simply): Happens.
BISHOP O’HARA: Don't care.
FORTUNE: Has a point. Like the fire.
(A beat.)
And when you compare it with what's going on in Europe... the death here...
BISHOP O’HARA (Not pleased): What’s one more...? Well, if you feel you must.
FORTUNE (A beat): Thank you.
Victim of a shooting, not San Francisco — New York, on the sidewalk in front of a restaurant, some years ago. A gangster. The moment the shooting takes place, I’m having dinner inside with another distinguished clergyman — an archbishop! Almost as distinguished and brave as Edwin.
Did I tell you Edwin wants to integrate hospitals?
BISHOP O’HARA (Impatiently): Yes, Effie, you told them.
FORTUNE: ... Edwin so brave, such powerful sermons calling for justice, for education for all.
BISHOP O’HARA (Ceding some ground): Effie, I’m not brave at all. (To her and audience, standing.) Not like you and those people who survived the earthquake. I prayed and prayed before giving those sermons, asking for strength. I shook... dizzy each time... feverish... climbing the pulpit... thought I would fall... knowing what I was about to say... if I could...
FORTUNE: But you did.
BISHOP O’HARA: Only after prayer... after praying... all the nights before, into the early hours... the same — asking God’s saints to pray for me, give me strength to tell the truth... not strong enough to pray for myself... needed them to put a word in for me... still do.
(Lighting changes. He begins singing. When referencing “art,” he looks at Fortune and she responds expressively.)
“Pray for Me”
Pray for me, I am here to praise our Lord, In every hue, In abandoned wisps of the paints. Pray for me, There is art in all that we see, In cathedrals, and clouds, in shapes, and in smiles, In everything that I'll be.
In Saint Peter's there is an altar, Retablo del Santo Pedro. Where Peter Apostle is called, Where rooster thrice will crow. And four angels, Dressed in silvery blue. Oh, blessed, blessed be the Lord. Oh, blessed, blessed be the Lord.
Pray for me, I am here to praise our Lord, In every hue, In abandoned wisps of the paints. Pray for me, There is art in all that we see
(Chorus.)
(He sits, mops his brow with a handkerchief, waits.)
FORTUNE (Moved): Edwin...
(Fortune looks at him. Weary, he gestures she should continue. She hesitates, then #18 Slide, a man, clerical, older.)
FORTUNE: The archbishop I mentioned, the night of the shooting. A sketch of him — by another artist.
(Glance at O’Hara.)
Another Irishman to boot.
(Irish accent touched with sadness, sing-song.)
“A luv-ly man. ’’
“ With us still? ’’
“No, alas. ’’
“Where then? ’’
“With the angels, I think. ’’
(Pause.)
(#19 Slide back to shooting victim.)
Just before the shooting, we're talking, the —
(#20 Slide to Archbishop.)
— archbishop and I. I say, “Where, archbishop, are the great Catholic artists of the past? The Leonardos, Michelangelos, Raphaels? ’’
He replies over a glass of wine...
(Looks at O’Hara. She is worried about him, uses this to bring him back to the moment.)
Edwin?
BISHOP O’HARA (Surprised): Effie?
FORTUNE: Could you help me? You’ve heard me tell it enough. Be the archbishop. The archbishop says — (She looks at O’Hara.) You know — come on, Edwin, be a sport!
BISHOP O’HARA (Still overwrought): Really, Effie, after what I just... And now, if Rome knew I was impersonating an archbishop...
FORTUNE: You've done it before.
BISHOP O’HARA (Slight blush, a glance toward us): But not before...(Looking at audience.)... people! Really, I didn't expect...
FORTUNE: Please.
BISHOP O’HARA: Must I?
(She nods. Put on the spot, he sighs, prepares himself, initially without enthusiasm.)
Well, blackmail, must say, but here goes.
(Strong, taking a deep breath, Irish accent.)
“If you feel that way about it, Effie my dear, about Catholic art and all... “
(Unsure.)
He spoke like that, did he?
FORTUNE: Bring it down a little, Edwin — he wasn't all that Irish.
BISHOP O’HARA (Trying again): ‘If you feel that way about it, Effie my dear...”?
FORTUNE: Perfect.
BISHOP O’HARA (Drily): Thank you.
(Clears his throat, hesitates.)
FORTUNE (Coaching him): Then why don’t you...
BISHOP O’HARA: “... Then why... why don’t you do something about it? Why don’t you be our Leonardo?”
FORTUNE: Well, that brings me up short! ... Give up my art, my Impressionism —
(#21 Slide to Fortune Impressionistic painting, “The Cannery.”)
My love of color and Impressionism — and turn to liturgical art? Could I make myself do that?
(Pause, then playing to Bishop O’Hara:)
“That’s what you’re suggesting, Archbishop? ’’
BISHOP O’HARA (Getting more comfortable with it, becoming natural, sort of the way he feels, he stands): “Well, look, Effie, you posed the question, didn’t you?”
(Now conversational, himself speaking in a way, showing his admiration for her:)
“And what’s your great talent got you, other than venom of critics who look down on anything painted by a woman? Why, women artists, they say, haven't the genius of men, and they ignore you, don't they?
“Well, let them ignore your work for the Church. We'll put you there with Leonardo, Michelangelo, Raphael! You'll decorate the great churches and cathedrals across this country.
“And let’s face it, Effie, we need you: Catholic art in this country’s become almost as poor as Protestant art!”
FORTUNE (Slightly taken aback by his passion): Well! ... well, it's a fair argument by the archbishop. Still, I’ve my doubts, but then...
(Slide #22 murdered body again.)
... then the shooting happens... Someone who probably deserves shooting —
(O’HARA clears his throat, sits.)
FORTUNE (Glancing at him): That’s what the newspapers will imply... but I somehow think... if that gangster's not murdered outside that restaurant... on that night... perhaps I would’ve taken a different path with what... what remains of my life. Moved me in some odd way.
Looks martyred... the blood, arms that way. Maybe that was it — what do you think?
(Pause.)
Sirens... an ambulance... the archbishop bravely goes out... administers last rites... yes, the gangster was a known Catholic... then returns and we... we continue dinner... stab at our food.
(Pause.)
I remember being fascinated by... he doesn't know it's there... a blood stain on the right cuff of the archbishop's shirt... can't take my eyes off it... he’d touched the man... the gangster...
He says... the archbishop thinks my eyes downcast from trauma... he says, “Effie, it happens.” Then... then he reaches across with his right hand and takes mine...
And all I can see is, well, the blood on his sleeve.
(Pause.)
But as Edwin would say — the lecture.
(#23 Slide, a headless stone sculpture. Briskly again:)
This, as you can see, is without a head and therefore without facial expression, which is so important to some...
(Smiles.)
Well, I’m sorry, but without a head we can’t have a face, can we? But, I say, doesn’t it leave a lot to the imagination? Doesn’t it excite the imagination?
Maitreya, Chinese, Seventh Century! Created in the T’ien Lung Shan caves. This little statue is the worthy ancestor of the Romanesque figures of Christ found in French Medieval churches.
(#24 Slide.)
A tympanum, Cathedral of Chartres... Notice the draped clothing, sensuous line of the legs, in both pieces. This, of course, Christ; the other, some deity.
(#25 Slide — the Tribute Bearer.)
Sculpture in relief is stone cut away from a background. Splendid example of low or bas-relief — the Tribute-Bearer from Persepolis, done in the fifth century before Christ.
“Is it not passing brave...?’’ A figure to have inspired playwright Christopher Marlowe!
(#26 Slide — Virgin and Child.)
Another bas-relief — Virgin and Child. Carved many centuries after our Persepolis figure. Greater variation of planes or levels, so more fluid, but less compact in design.
Variety and “color” are obtained by undercutting for shadows. Of actual color...
(#27 Slide, painting “Summer Morning, St. Ives.”)
(Pause, a touch of reflective sadness.)
... what I was once known for.
“Summer Morning, St. Ives.” Paris Salon — Medaille D’Argent.
(Stares at image, touch of nostalgia.)
Sort of work I used to do.
Saint Ives and Fife so dear to me. Fife so rugged and raw.
But St. Ives — the fishermen!
(Sounds of voices — talking, calling — screams of gulls.)
The color and life: reds, blues and yellows... Gull wings beating the air... blood on the fish cleaners' leather aprons... peasant girls and their print scarves... coarse language, pendulous breasts...
Little ponies pulling carts of fish up the beach... leaning into their traces until their hearts crack... give out... cut from their traces...
(Pause. Stares at image a moment.)
Fishermen, waiting to go out —
(Suddenly quite animated.)
Note the oddest thing! — the fishermen pacing on the beach before launching their boats, walking four paces then turning, walking four paces then turning. Back and forth, on and on... Do you see? ! Do you?
(Proud of her deduction.)
Do you see, Edwin?
(Front again.)
They’re walking the length of their boats! They didn’t know it, but they were.
(Pause.)
The left part of the picture — the woman in the straw hat and rose blouse carrying a basket up the beach — Think I imagined her to be me.
(Sighs.)
Alone as usual.
(Sounds die out, just waves gently brushing the shore.)
Without the cleft palate, of course.
(Long pause, almost shyly.)
You noticed that, did you? My mouth? Childhood birth defect. Reason I prefer shadow.
Couldn’t fix when I was a child — didn’t know how. Can now, but why...? Too late for me.
(Smiles.)
Perhaps why I rail against facial expression? Do you think?
Oh, well, I had Saint Ives. I had Fife! Both dear to my heart! Poppies and gulls, Grail and golden skies.
Wrote a poem about it.
(She comes forward, music, begins to sing.)
“Fife Is Home to Me”
Cornfields, poppy-starred, I know Golden in the after-glow Where the drifting sea-gulls blow Inland and away
Amber light of evening skies Through the jeweled twilight dies On the boats, dim butterflies Floating on the bay
Seagulls flying inland cry Of the storms that rise and die As the gulls cry, so cry I Longing for the sea
Could I for the Firth set sail For the cliff-built town of Crail Fairydom itself would pale Fife is home to me
(Pause, looks down then looks up, slowly, at slide image again.)
Had a nerve, didn’t I, making her attractive? Always kept my figure, that part’s true.
In my school there was an award each month for the best artist. Given in front of the class. My name not called, not once. To give an award for beauty to someone who looked like me was more than the teachers could make themselves do.
Well, won’t lie — it hurt. Nearly gave up art. Think sometimes, “Where would I be today if I’d done that?”
(Pause.)
Later had a pal — Ethel.
(Bishop O’Hara looks at her.)
Were best friends. But she was back in San Francisco. She...
(Starts to say something else, decides not to.)
(Abruptly: #28 Slide.)
Is it not breathtaking? ... Spanish altar piece, church in Valencia... Spain and Mexico rich in liturgical art, we’re clumsy by comparison.
Redoing the altar here at St. Peter’s... will be borrowing from this... being so beautiful.
(#29 Slide — Ethel young.)
My friend Ethel, whom I told you about...
(Pause.)
Black and white image, so... difficult to guess hair color... Red then, she had freckles. First time I saw her —
(#30 Slide, a photograph.)
— was here, Point Lobos — Point of the Sea Wolves or sea lions — near Carmel... California... place to this day favored by artists...
(Again, sound of waves brushing the shore.)
... Ethel wore a pale blue dress, kind of smock, with paint spots, looked as much boy as girl — late for the first day of my painting class.
(Mock shock.)
And had forgotten her paint box!
I’d just sent the class down to the beach to paint the waves.
Ethel nervous... out of breath, very young, several years younger than me. Sure, to her I seemed ancient.
“I’m sorry, I’m —
“You’re the last to arrive — so...
(‘Looking’ at a ‘paper’, reading her name off it.)
... so... you must be Ethel McAllister.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Forgetting your paint box — makes one question your seriousness.”
“I’m very serious! I’m passionate to paint! So passionate I forgot my paint box! ’’
Well, that was quick I thought. So, I said, “Did you just make that up, Ethel McAllister?”
“It came to me suddenly — but it’s true.”
“A charming reason.”
“Then you won’t send me away? They say you send people away. You mustn't send me away. I want to learn from you. ’’
(Pause.)
I said... Well, nothing, because... on the beach — the roar of a rogue wave — and at that moment —
(We hear the sound of a wave approaching, a low, growing rumble.)
— a glimpse of the white dress of one of my students at the water’s edge —
(The crash of the wave.)
I hold my breath! I don’t remember closing my eyes — but I remember opening them. The white dress still there, the girl has been doused — and is laughing!
Laughing!
The others, too. Sometimes they can be so stupid!
But, oh, the relief I felt! (Holds her hand out.) I was trembling.
Rushed to the edge of the bluff, yelled my loudest down at my students, startling them, and Ethel, too, I’m sure —
“Ladies, ladies! Do not — do not — turn your back to the sea. Ever! Ever! For it will come up behind you and kill you.
Then I turned on Ethel
“Do you hear me? Do you understand, Ethel McAllister? ’’
(Pause.)
Quite frightened her, I’m sure.
I'll tell you this: she didn't mention her paint box again.
(Pause.)
I was angry at myself, of course. I’d been so taken by Ethel's passion to paint, I’d neglected the safety of my students. The young girls entrusted to my care.
Well... sometimes we're lucky. And we forget that, don't we?
(Looks at image, then #31 slide, pause, tenderly:)
Head of the Virgin. Fourteenth century fresco. Northern Italy. Dark hair... almond eyes.
(Pause.)
What soft, gentle eyes. How very, very beautiful.
(Pause, stares at it.)
Modigliani might have seen this fresco. Perhaps as a boy, the image staying with him. Influenced him perhaps? What do you think?
(Pause.)
Fresco... a method of applying paint directly to wet plaster. Most successful in countries where climatic conditions ensure its permanence... such as Italy or Spain... or Mexico or...
Art not cared for ages as we do. The Virgin would become an old lady, crack and peel, and, like us, eventually turn to dust...
(#32 Slide.)
Saint John. Stone sculpture. Late sixteenth century or perhaps early seventeenth century. To the point, no doubt work of art. Pain clearly etched in... excruciatingly...
(Pause.)
Pieces such as this... sometimes wonder if I should have turned to liturgical art.
(A glance toward Bishop O’Hara.)
The profound sorrow in St. John’s face... or in the Virgin's, makes me sometimes doubt my decision to —
BISHOP O’HARA: Effie, we’re not here for this.
FORTUNE: Nothing wrong with doubt, Edwin, forces us to think.
BISHOP O’HARA: A time and a place.
FORTUNE (A slight jab.): The lecture’s Catholic art, after all. What the Church wanted.
(Waits — O’Hara reluctantly nods to proceed — then #33 slide.)
My brother, Jim... on his motorcycle... me holding on.
A bonus: can’t quite make out my cleft at that distance. Inherited it from my father. Still, I was told, such afflictions were more likely to be passed down through women than men.
That’s what they believed... then.
Resented most being denied the idea of being a mother. To imagine being a mother would be to imagine a deformed child.
Thought that was very cruel of them — to not let one imagine...
(Pause.)
What do they believe now? No idea... lost interest.
I’d have been a terrible mother — much too spoiled... artists as parents... to be honest not always the best... seen that. Anyway, had close friends... my chum, Ethel... later in the Church, nuns and priests I could count on...
(Smiling at Bishop O’Hara.)
... how privileged to know and be... accepted by these people... such as Edwin.
(Pause.)
And had, in a way, a child, a boy, Peter...
(Smiles at audience.)
No, not a fantasy — real. Ethel's son, my godson.
A Protestant, Ethel chose me to be godmother to her son. Imagine.
(Pause; looks away, then, after a moment, turning to image, a bit of the little girl in her:)
We’re having fun, aren’t we, Jim and I? He drove his motorcycle very fast, faster than I drive my car.
BISHOP O’HARA: That would take some doing.
FORTUNE: I’m not so bad as that.
BISHOP O’HARA: No...? (To audience.) Let me tell you — she calls her car “Blasphemia.”
FORTUNE (Nods, then studying projected image): Don't know why we were in such a hurry... so restless... both of us. Always had to be on the move.
(#34 Slide.)
Stained glass window... depicting the life of Saint Catherine. Catherine a mystic and a martyr. Her father more practical — an artist!
(Laughs.)
Takes a martyr to make an artist seem practical, doesn't it?
Catherine’s father a dyer of textiles... Siena. Outlived his daughter. Not surprising — many martyrs are young, often mere children.
But our window. The glass glows... amber, emerald, vermillion... broken into a thousand hues of red and blue, producing a glittering, jewel-like whole.
Here again order and variety, the foundation of all the arts.
(#35 Slide.)
A flute. On a side table with a vase of geraniums. Painted by...(Pauses, smiles)... my friend Ethel.
(Pause.)
You can see her talent... promise of... takes work.
Her instinctive understanding of afternoon’s light... its effect on us. Pleasant, warm, suggesting solitude... Sitting by a window, light pouring in... dozing off into eternity.
(#36 Slide, a still-life painting.)
Another still-life.
Something eternal about a still-life... Still life. As if time’s stopped, life’s on hold, something we all wish for now and then.
Dutch. Pieter Claesz: 1600-1661.
(Pause.)
Drowned himself after the accidental death of his son.
People... the Church... says that's wrong, suicide — well, he was a passionate man and to lose a child’s a terrible thing...
The focal point of the composition? Perhaps the peeled lemon on the pewter plate. Remember what I said about Manet?
But about the Claesz’s pewter plate —
(#37 Slide, the Ethel still-life.)
— compare to the flute in Ethel's painting. In both, light coming in from an angle —
(#38 Slide, the Claesz still life.)
— creating a diagonal plane and tension on the canvas. As opposed to —
(#39 Slide, a landscape.)
— landscapes, with a distant horizon and generally horizontal plane, dissipating tension... Landscapes inspire a sense of quiet, perhaps well-being... you breathe easier...
(Studies the image.)
... why, why I think so many of us like landscapes, especially in these times... we escape into them... like a Sunday drive in the country...
By Ethel, did I tell you? ... you can see her becoming good.
(A beat, then #40 Slide.)
“The Procession to Calvary. ’’ Flemish tapestry. Early Sixteenth Century!
(Deep, excited breath.)
Imagine! —
Executed by skilled Flemish craftsmen... from drawings by masters! The craft descending from father to son to son to son! Pieces taking years to complete, for only a very few inches can be woven in a day!
Raphael himself designed tapestries! The great Raphael!
(Pause; pulling back.)
Sometimes I get overly... Go off this way and that. No telling. Don't know myself. Maybe that’s why... my life needed structure. That’s one thing the Church offers. And if it was good enough for Raphael...
(She glances at Bishop O’Hara.)
BISHOP O’HARA: Well, you tell me, Effie? Was it? Was it good enough for the great Raphael?
FORTUNE: To judge by his art...
BISHOP O’HARA: Then you say “Yes”?
FORTUNE: Then “Yes.”
BISHOP O’HARA (Having won a point): Thank you.
FORTUNE: Well — let's be honest: the Church was offering a place — a home — for my art.
The real world offers no such assurance.
None at all.
(#41 Slide.)
The Annunciation. Florentine. Agnolo Gaddi, born in 1346, died in 1396.
Reached fifty; not bad for then.
(Studies image, brightly, looking at O’Hara:)
A natural death! ...
BISHOP O’HARA (Crossing himself): Thank you, Lord.
FORTUNE (Conspiratorially, to us, smiling slyly): Far as we know...
(Studies image.)
Naturalistic qualities alone are of no great importance in ecclesiastical painting, because the function of religious art’s to raise the heart and mind above nature.
(Looks at Bishop O’Hara, teasing him.)
See, Edwin, another piece of liturgical art.
BISHOP O’HARA: We progress.
FORTUNE: As noted earlier, the bishop and I had a bit of a tussle over the title of this lecture. Over the word “Catholic. ’’
BISHOP O’HARA: Now, Effie.
FORTUNE: The bishop felt if we didn’t say “Notes on Art for Catholics”, then some Catholics wouldn’t come! What kind of faith’s that in Catholics? And what are we saying here — Protestants wouldn’t be welcome?
BISHOP O’HARA (Quickly): Our Protestant friends are always welcome, Effie — we both know that.
(Worried, looking out, smiles charmingly, a little nod.)
I'm sure we’ve a few with us this evening.
FORTUNE: Glad to hear it, because...
Because in Ireland, the country of Bishop O’Hara's origin... with mother, decades ago, we arrive...
(Sudden Irish accent.)
... at the Isle of Saints... ‘t’was watery dawn... and what greets our eyes? ... the wrecked Custom House, monument to Easter Week and its attendant bloodshed... I buy a Belfast paper and peruse the advertisements offering employment...
Not that I’m wanting work, but to feel the national pulse... I see, I read...
“Wanted — Catholic for brick laying”...
“Needed: boot boy, must be Protestant”...
“Wanted: Catholic kitchen maid.”
“Ladies' corset salesman — Protestant preferred”
I say, can't a Catholic demonstrate a corset? A Protestant lay a brick?
So! ...
(Pause, a bit triumphantly.)
Too much separation already... and look what it's got us — hate and war.
(#42 Slide.)
(A beat.)
The Nut House! My house. Monterey, in California.
(Glances at Bishop O’Hara.)
That’s what we called it, scene of many lively parties, some transgressions... Nothing terrible, mind you...
(Considers image.)
Poets, writers, photographers. Successes and failures. All seemed promising then... death far away...
Among them... poet turned stone mason... railroad man turned painter... poetess, mother now of a war hero — this war... home now tending her son’s wounds... I hope none of you... worried, I know...
I think of my brother Jim, God knows where. I know you're thinking of someone as we huddle here... center of the country... safe for a time.
(Pause.)
Well... you can do this with any group photo... look back this way...
(#43 Slide, an Impressionist townscape, several women gathered together.)
We were a scandal.
Did this painting — “The Gossips”! Monterey. They're talking, talking... gossiping... about... us!
What I thought then.
I'd look out from the Nut House — there they'd be... a Greek chorus... their husbands and sons... all at sea fishing... no matter what the weather... the winds... like St. Ives. But I understood — gossip, a way to distract themselves...
... from watching the sky... black clouds... churning white caps
... so, they turn, look inward, land, not the sea where...
(A beat.)
Both dangerous, St. Ives and the Atlantic, Monterey and the Pacific. Both kill and those killed often so young... they who venture out too far...
(A kind of Irish accent.)
“In the big world the old people do be leaving things after them for their sons and children, but in this place, it is the young men do be leaving things behind for them that do be old.”
(To audience, as O’Hara leans in.)
Do you recognize the writer?
Edwin?
BISHOP O’HARA (Sitting straighter): Could it be...
FORTUNE: Yes?
BISHOP O’HARA (Brightening): J. M. Synge’s “Riders to the Sea”?
FORTUNE (Also): John Millington Synge — the grieved Maurya speaking her heart... A favorite of the bishop — Synge... Here’s a song he sings, the bishop does.
BISHOP O’HARA (On guard): Effie.
FORTUNE: Do sing it, Edwin.
BISHOP O’HARA: No.
FORTUNE: Edwin, I know you want to.
BISHOP O’HARA (Pauses, smiles, to her and audience): Aye, I do.
FORTUNE: Takes him to his roots.
BISHOP O’HARA: Proudly stolen from Mr. Synge.
(O’Hara comes forward, clears his throat then sings with strength.)
“Riders to the Sea”
C'mon, gather to hear my song, about the riders to the sea, On Aran’s shores ‘long Galway Bay, they cast their nets alone. Waves craft the shores, with a sculptor’s skilled hand. The splendor of the day, the distance of the night. Here are men who’ve lived, bound by the solitude of art. On Aran’s shores ‘long Galway Bay, they cast their nets alone.
Amidst the storm we all are, the riders to the sea. We find the strength in God, In the beauty of his grace.
(He collapses into his chair, sighing, emotionally content.)
BISHOP O’HARA: Thank you, Effie.
FORTUNE (Pause, moved): ... I just thought, Edwin... Those Irish women, so like the Monterey women I painted... mocking them before thinking...
(Pause, looking at the painting.)
We must have seemed stupid and shallow to them, rowdy and spoiled, those days in Monterey... yet life so hard for them... and us, given everything... that’s why...
(Pause. Lost a moment. Looks at image. Distant.)
I was...
BISHOP O’HARA (Some concern): You were? ... Effie?
FORTUNE (Smiles, easily): Oh, simply thinking of people, lost people... at sea and at sea... forgive me, please...
(A beat, then #44 Slide. Briskly:)
Madonna and Child. Damaged, so... part Madonna... part Child. Fourteenth Century... French. Limestone. Has the remote quality and dignity desirable in religious art...
Compare to... well, put it this way... does she need a halo?
Interesting... a work of art, even if severely damaged, holds our attention. We imagine the rest, don't we? Want to complete the image in our heads because the artist has started us on a strong path — the Madonna's hand, the Child's face.
Or... or the injury to the art work, becomes real, feeds our religious fervor...
(Glances in O’Hara's direction, knowing he approves. Small smile.)
BISHOP O’HARA: Always a good thing.
FORTUNE: Not always, Edwin. Remember Ireland and Easter Week — there was no good in that fervor.
BISHOP O’HARA (To audience, only half amused): Well, I walked into that one.
FORTUNE: That you did.
BISHOP O’HARA: Not the first time. But, please —
(Gestures for her to continue.)
(#45 Slide.)
FORTUNE: Saint Peter, by Velasquez. Now here’s artistic religious fervor, a different and totally acceptable thing. Of course, I'm biased. Note the boat in the background — Velasquez reminding us: Peter's a fisherman.
Important.
(Looks at image.)
Velasquez more concerned with Peter's emotional state than portraiture, so any preconceived notion we have of his likeness becomes secondary to his grief...
(#46 Slide.)
‘Christ Awakening His Disciples in Gethsemane. '
(Hesitates, then a touch nervously:)
What do you think?
By me, in California, Mission San Carlos Borromeo de Carmelo.
The crucifix... waiting. He knows. But also, waiting for Christ, the comfort of angels.
(Pause, looking at the image.)
Agonized over this painting. Put all I had into it.
Everything.
Not altogether happy with it, but has a kind of presence...
(#47 Slide. Two figures.)
A study, by me again. Here composition is all. Design. Simplicity. You can see I've kept a love of color.
The angel — Michael. The man, Peter again.
Of Peter... a name dear to me...
(#48 Slide.)
Showed this earlier... painting by Ethel... I didn't say, flute was Peter's... my godson's... Ethel's boy... remember?
(#49 Slide.)
Here as a child — Peter. Such a fine boy. So much promise. I wrote to his mother, near this time:
“Ethel, my dear, I’m sending my godson, your Peter, a charming wool sweater. Knit by the wife of a St. Ives fisherman... knit to fill the waiting hours... yearning and love in each stitch...
“I so hope he likes it. Tell him his godmother loves him and thinks of him as she watches the children of the fisher folk run and play on the beaches here.
(Pause.)
“They think me funny... the children. Laugh at me. At my mouth... So odd, to have people look at your mouth, not into your eyes, as you did... why I love you...
“But the worst, they make fun of my painting. Peek over my shoulder and yell — ‘Look, she can’t get it right, the picture’s all crooked and fuzzy. '
“I hope Peter’s keeping you on your toes. Will be good exercise for you if, as I suspect, you’re no longer painting. Tell Peter not to forget his extra parent, here in St. Ives...”
(Pause.)
Then, at age seventeen, Peter was made the first secretary of the Sierra Club. Imagine that!
(#50 Slide.)
“St. Ives After Sunset.”
Mine. Fewer unmannerly children at that time of day. Safer.
I did some of my best painting in St. Ives. It was my first trip there I learned Ethel had married. A military man. Handsome. Stood quite straight. A good man.
(Suddenly distant.)
In France...
(Pause.)
BISHOP O’HARA (Concerned): In France? When you were in St. Tropez, painting?
FORTUNE (Coming back): Yes — St. Tropez, painting. In St. Tropez, in France, I heard Ethel was pregnant with Peter.
(Smiles.)
Well, anyone who forgets her paint box, there's no telling. I knew our friendship would never be the same. She had another life now.
(Pause. Bishop O’Hara shifts uncomfortably in his chair. A slight inclination of her head toward him.)
Selfish of me, of course.
(Suddenly animated.)
Do you know, if you get lost in the Sierra, there is a hut... named in Peter's honor... by the Sierra Club... where you can find food and blankets. It's called “Peter’s Hut.” It’s saved lives.
(#51 Slide.)
A mountain in the Sierra. Note the notch. A climber wrote... the rock’s “metaphoric”... One must “hold the rock together with one hand while climbing it with the other...”
(Smiles, proud.)
Wonderful imagery — written by Peter! Holding together, climbing — trying to ascend — man's plight. The mountain’s named for Peter... Perhaps someday I’ll visit and paint it... I do miss doing landscapes.
(#52 Slide — Ethel as a mature woman.)
Ethel.
Note her eyes looking down...
The light coming from the right... softening her profile... The person who took this was a good photographer, understands light and composition.
(Sighs.)
... I must admit, I've railed against photography. Threatened, perhaps. But this is a moving picture, taken some time after Ethel learned...
(Pause.)
of Peter's death...
... the sadness in her eyes, like the Virgin’s in the fresco I showed you earlier.
(Pause, gathers herself, then #53 Slide of a young man.)
This taken of Peter, shortly before he died...
... so long ago, somewhere in Europe, after I’d returned home... All those years in France and St. Ives and Fife, when I might have been of use... could have rushed to his side... but he was alone at the end, his extra parent of no help...
... an educational trip... before college... We still don't know how he died... just eighteen... a mystery...
(Pause.)
I think of Pieter Claesz losing his son...
... Saint Catherine's father...
... the mothers and wives of the Irish and Monterey fishermen...
... they “do be leaving things behind for them that do be old”...”
Synge, remember? Edwin's favorite Irish writer.
(Looks at him.)
BISHOP O’HARA (Smiles, softly): O'Casey, too.
FORTUNE: Of course — O’Casey, too... I never did box Peter's ears.
(Pause. Smiles.)
Wish I had...
Think I frightened him a bit, though; he was always on his best behavior around me...
Though he never shied from me, as other children did, those children in St. Ives. I was so afraid he would.
Why I loved him so much, I suppose — and because he was Ethel’s child.
(Pause. #54 Slide, Ethel again,)
So, we lost Ethel too.
... she abandoned her faith... a Protestant... a proud Episcopalian...
(A glance toward Bishop O’Hara.)
Can a Catholic be godmother to a Protestant?
Awkward, but... if a Catholic can model a corset... a Protestant lay a brick... why then... such miracles... it can be done...
So, Ethel consulted mystics... some dark spirits in search of Peter... she became... well... removed from her family... others... from me... we had no meeting point...
... she could no longer enter my world, nor I hers...
(Pause.)
... when you have such grief...
(Pause.)
(#55 Slide, her “Artists at Work.”)
I couldn't bear thinking of her that way, so this painting...
Ethel and me, in the early days.
Finished it just days ago, paint still wet, haven't even shown it to Edwin.
Hadn’t done a painting like this — an ‘Impressionistic’ painting — in years. Almost forgotten how. Bit clumsy, but the artist’s heart’s in the right place.
And that should count.
(Looks at it.)
We're painting together.
Laughing.
Was so proud in the painting of it — that I could recapture something of that time so long ago...
We were happy then, and that’s enough.
I remember that.
(Studies it. Lighting changes. She sings.)
“Song to Ethel”
It was many years ago, And I still remember Ethel, Friends in arts when we were young, Now it's almost lost in time, Tell me why I still remember?
I remember we were painting Crimson flowers on the meadow, We were sitting holding hands, Lonely tree, forgotten clouds, Overlooking quiet village.
All of it, it is all lost in time, Every tiny flower, every cloud in the sky, But we are forever friends, And I know, I do love dearly you, I promise that I do.
(Pause.)
Painted so many years after, because time’s needed...
... remember... to distill ideas and emotions...
(Pause, looks at Bishop O’Hara, smiles.)
So, not sure, but didn't I just admit a photograph can be a work of art? ... that photograph of Ethel? ...
(Pleasantly surprised, looking front.)
Think I did! That's something, isn't it? That I work at it...?
Moving into the Twentieth Century...?
Little late, but can be open-minded about what is and isn't art...
(Again, smiles at Bishop O’Hara.)
We'll end with a liturgical piece... seen before...
(#56 Slide: her “Christ and His Disciples...” again.)
... in honor of Edwin O’Hara, bishop of Kansas City.
By a little-known artist who tries hard... God knows...
(Pause, measured.)
Art’s our understanding of beauty...
... as necessary today in the Church and in our daily lives... as it’s always been.
(Pause.)
We'll meet in the lobby for tea... What do you say? ...
Shall we? ...
(A final glance at the screen image, then she turns off the machine; the image of this painting fades slowly as Bishop O’Hara stands, offering his arm.)
BISHOP O’HARA: Effie, did you notice...? A miracle — the projector didn't jam!
(She smiles, takes his arm.)
(To the music of ‘Corn Fields, Poppy Starred’ they walk down the stage stairs, then up the aisle to the tea in the lobby as the lights and music slowly fade.)
END.