Held

Inspiration:

I have been enthralled with imagery from a young age; I love and deeply connect with symbols. To me, symbols speak as scripture-useful if regularly pondered upon and personalized by the layers of meaning we draw from them, yet useless and empty if we neglect to engage with their significance.
As a lifelong member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I have wondered at the taboo surrounding the cross as a symbol of worship. The response I was given (and have repeated myself) is that we celebrate the Resurrected Christ, not the Crucified Christ.
Over the years, I have turned again and again to this ancient symbol. My reengagement with the cross and the Christ of the Crucifixion has opened my eyes to a God who willingly suffered on my behalf and then rose in glory-a God who understands the injustice and inexplicability of suffering in this world. This is a Christ who can quietly sit with me in my current pain and offer hope for a better day-a Christ who, like me, questioned whether suffering was necessary to achieve a glorious and salvific end (Matt. 26:39). In my rush to resurrection, I wonder, with shame, why I can’t rush my own suffering, or the suffering of my neighbors and the world alike.
Visual representations of Christ’s atonement highlight the pain Christ suffered on my behalf and the commonality of suffering required for growth in the human experience. They remind me that all these experiences bring wisdom, maturity, connection, and empathy-the actual building blocks of atonement (Mosiah 18:9; D&C 122:7-8).
In my piece “Held,” I aimed to emphasize the essential and nurturing embrace of Christ in His human condition by His mother, Mary, from the Nativity to the Pietà. The powerful arms of His mother become symbolic of the life-giving and healing embrace of women throughout the human story-highlighting the essential feminine nature of atonement (3 Nephi 10:4). Christ does not exist in isolation, and His mother represents the two-way street that is Divine Love.
In the upper frame of my image, a stylized star is tied to the top of the cross-a symbol of hope linked to a symbol of death that recedes, foreshadowing into the background. The Mary of the Nativity is placed over the cross, protecting Him from and preparing Him for what was to come. Robed in blue, the new mother is covered in royal purpose.
In contrast, the Mary of the Grave and the Dead Christ are depicted in the Pietà. Mary, dressed in the red of bloodshed, is a heartbreaking witness to the suffering and death of her son; His pain was her pain. This marks the beginning of a three-day wait that would transform crushing loss into life-giving redemption-a wait that, for Mary, had no known end.
It may seem unusual to see Mary in red. Mary encompassed-as do we all-the entire spectrum of emotions. Red reminds us of what it is to be a parent, particularly one who brings life into the world with blood, and then must observe their child’s suffering at the hands of injustice and cruelty. Red is also the color of eventual triumph, the overthrow of all tyranny and inequality.
To some, this piece might represent the beginning and the end. For latter-day disciples who believe in a premortal existence and eternal life, this piece represents the crux-the middle-of each of our stories; a way for Jesus and Mary both to sit with us, nurture us, and give us hope for the bright and glorious day to come.

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