Artists of the Abbey

Detail from “The Divine Creation”

Artistic inspiration comes from so many different sources and unexpected lightning-strikes that entire books have been written on the topic. In fact, one entire 3-hour class in my course for college students studying theatre, film and television design was based solely on the idea of where they might find inspiration for their own work. To name two random examples, ask me anytime about the pastel colors of 1950’s Tupperware, or how the 1890’s red & white uniforms of Cornell’s football team inspired the design of the Campbell’s soup label, which in turn inspired Andy Warhol decades later in the soup aisle of a Pittsburgh A&P grocery store, and which eventually launched his career and fame as the Father of Pop Art. 

In both secular and religious art, sometimes the artist is overwhelmed with inspired ideas of such magnitude that a single canvas, tapestry, sculpture or mosaic panel is not large enough to contain the complete idea, let alone the complete image, of the artwork envisioned.  The solution, then, is to produce a series of works which, in a progression or procession, tell the complete story which the artist wishes to convey to the viewer.  These thoughts occurred to me last week after reading the fine article, or “anecdote” as he called it, by Blake Billings about the twelve framed lithographs by Alfred Manessier hanging in our campus faculty room.  Although there was “no immediately visible theme emerging,” further investigation identified them as a depiction, or depictions, of “The Spiritual Canticle” of John of the Cross.  Although Blake’s story was art-based, it was posted under our heading of an archive story, despite his choosing a title declaring “This is not an Archive,” in homage to Magritte’s painting, “This is not a Pipe” (for anyone who missed the reference).  Well, this is a story about art and happens to be April’s installment in our ongoing monthly survey of Artists of the Abbey.   

 

 

Monastery hallway outside calefactory and refectory

Lining the wall of a long bright hallway in the monastery, rarely seen by folks from outside the walls, are nine mosaic panels by Katharina Breydert (1893-1979) dating to 1968-69 and titled The Divine Creation. They were a gift from her equally talented husband, Frederick (Fritz) Matthias Breydert (1909-1983), together with Claude Laprade-Breydert, M.D. On average I walk by them 25 times every day, going and coming. They are naturally illuminated by the window wall opposite them which looks out onto the campus, beyond the two enormous European beech trees to the bay and often to the western sunsets. One might think that seven panels would be sufficient to cover the week of creation but for whatever reason, perhaps to be discovered in the future, Katharina needed nine. They are beautiful in their simplicity and in her use of color. Each mosaic measures only 15” wide and 22¾” high but they are packed with meaning, some personal and hidden, some quite clear in their representation of nature. Following the narrative of the first chapter of Genesis, we are able to discern abstractly that “the earth was a formless void” and that “there was darkness over the deep. A mysterious triangle hovers at the top of some of the panels, most likely her manifestation of the Trinity, yet to be revealed. 

We published a photo of one of the panels, #5, in The Current in the 2^nd week of Easter 2021 to illustrate the blessing of the seeds which took place on March 21 in the Abbey Church. It shows two trees, probably apple, with three groupings of blossoming flowers surrounding them on the ground.  It is the first image in the series to depict identifiable yet still highly styled nature. They represent “the various kinds of seed-bearing plants and the fruit trees with seed inside.” From that point on we encounter water “alive with a swarm of living creatures” and we see “birds wing their way above the earth across the vault of heaven.”  My favorite panel, because it includes an elephant, attempts to suggest “every kind of living creature...and wild animals of all kinds.” All of this, mind you, within an area about the size of a large coffee table art book. As the first chapter of Genesis comes to a close, so too does the series when “God created man...male and female he created them.” 

Katharina was the designer of the images which she first rendered in cut-paper collages. Frederick then tried to match her colors to the tesserae, or small pieces of glass, tile or marble. Once they were cut and chipped to the proper size and shape, they were glued face-down to the “cartoon” drawn on linen. When each jigsaw puzzle was complete, it was surrounded by a plain iron frame to secure it and then filled with concrete to tie it all together. This process is clearly visible in the Abbey’s mosaics. Besides working in mosaics, the couple (either singly or in tandem) was proficient in silk-on-silk embroidery, collage, stained glass windows, cloisonne enamels on silver, a la Limoges. A writer for The Living Church magazine once wrote about the couple’s art, “All is truly religious, both in outward content and inner inspiration.” 

Both Katharina and Frederick were oblates of Portsmouth Abbey, and so perhaps this short biographical look at them does tend to veer over to the archival side, along with the artistic side. Their connection to the Abbey may stem from the fact that Katharina who had been a physician in Austria, was for several years Dorothy Day’s personal physician. The story is told that she finally ended that medical relationship “because Dorothy was such an obstinate patient.” Nevertheless, they remained steadfast friends. Another connection of note is with Fr. Daniel Berrigan, S.J., who was a frequent guest on Block Island. He celebrated the requiem Mass in the Chapel of St. Andrew there following Katharina’s death in 1979. One year prior, in October, a series of stained-glass windows by the couple were inaugurated at St. Andrew’s Church and Parish Center. Comprising seven windows closely matching the layout, iconography and ratio of the Abbey mosaics, the gift is titled, The Six Days of Creation. 

Like those non-native beechnut trees which arrived on New England shores from Europe and which now cast late afternoon shadows on Katharina’s nine mosaic panels in the monastery, the Breyderts, too, came from distant ports and were eventually transplanted on nearby Block Island.  Before retiring to Rhode Island, the couple lived on Waverly Place, near Washington Square in Greenwich Village.  A Block Island neighbor of theirs, William Stringfellow, has written in his book on mourning that they had come to America as refugees from the Nazis. She was born a Jew, later became a Lutheran, after which time both of them converted to Roman Catholicism. It must be noted here that Frederick was also blessed with the gift of music and composition, a career that was disrupted early on and was sadly curtailed by his concentration camp experience. 

We wrote last year of the installation of a mosaic interpretation of the Abbey’s shield completed by Br. Benedict in time for his solemn profession on November 1. It is fitting that the artwork completed by him, also a transplant to these shores from far away, is displayed just down the hallway from the mosaic work of Katharina and Frederick Breydert.