The original of this depiction of the Passion was hand painted on a 52”xx62” buffalo hide by a Franciscan missionary in the 17th century in what is now New Mexico. Silkscreen artist Martha Ann Wallker created a print based on the original. My mother, Stella Marie Schmitt Ely (1912-1946) wrote a poem describing the print. The print is in a book Sacred Paintings on Skin published in 1944 by the Museum of New Mexico Press. Paintings were done with native vegetable dyes on animal hides were prepared as graphic teaching aids. The Friars could easily roll them and carry them on to the next stop on their missionary journeys.
The book contains 12 silkscreen prints each 12 1/8” by 15 7/8.”
Paintings were done with native vegetable dyes on animal hides were prepared as graphic teaching aids. The Friaars could easily roll them and carry them on to the next stop on their missionary journeys.
The book contains 12 silksreen prints each 12 1/8” by 15 7/8.” See my next post for more about the book. Here is the poem:
The Passion
Betrayed and tortured, there upon the cross
Christ hung: His tired head with a crown of thorns
Bowed to one side; his desperate, aching arms,
His pain emblazoned hands, outstretched.
His body, lashed and scourged, sagged ever down,
And all about Him, their torture tools;
The cock that signaled Peter seemed to leer;
The vinegar reeked acrid at his feet;
The dice lay, grinning wickedly at him;
The spear to pierce His heart gleamed bright and keen;
The whips and axes, ropes and ladder too - -
The all bore witness to Our Savior’s pain.
The cloth Veronica held up to Him,
Which bore the imprint of that weary face - -
That, too, attested to His woes.
About Him, all was still and blood-besmeared;
But as His pain-racked body first grew cold
A host of angels seemed to hover ‘round;
And God the Father blessed His mighty son
And all those sacrificial implements
Became, by Jesus’ death upon the crucifix,
The shining means to save men’s souls.
At first a few alone believed Him God,
But more and more became His followers
Until that lonely figure of Christ crucified
Is now in all the world the most beloved.
Stella Marie Ely
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