Il Diavolo nelle Immagini Devozionali di Piccolo Formato

on Jun 24, 2016

Premessa La Chiesa cattolica ha fatto sempre uso delle immagini per indottrinare e catechizzare i fedeli. Per molto tempo nelle immagini che raffiguravano il diavolo prevalse l’aspetto didattico ed ideologico piuttosto che quello estetico. Il diavolo e conseguentemente il suo carattere maligno e negativo furono rappresentati in modo da impressionare e spaventare i peccatori con la paura dei tormenti infernali; nel medioevo la sua figura associata al male divenne importante ed essenziale nella sua figura in contrapposizione con l’Angelo Custode egualmente presente affiancato all’uomo. Nell’iconografia cristiana il Diavolo acquisisce importanza solo a partire dal XI secolo in cui esplode la sua presenza nell’iconografia. Gli artisti che si apprestavano a riprodurlo si pongono sempre il problema su come rappresentarlo, dato che non si conosce compiutamente la sua natura e si sceglie di...

From Rosemary Cappello,
Italian American Poet and Artist

on Apr 22, 2016

THE ETCHING OF SAN PARIDE When my grandmother and my father came to America, they brought along an etching of San Paride. He was the patron saint of their town, Teano, Italy. Every August 5th, when Dad announced “Today is the feast of San Paride,” we prepared to celebrate. I can still see the sacrificial eggplant as Mother (Grandmother had retired from the kitchen) prepared the meal, slicing the eggplant into wafer-thin slivers which were fried crisp, drained and placed in tomato gravy flavored with grated parmesan and sweet basil. An August day in Llanerch was hot as an August day in Teano. After Dad set up the fan in the kitchen near Mother, he went to the State Store a couple miles away to buy wine, a white handkerchief tied around his neck to catch his sweat. He walked instead of driving his bedraggled car. Finally, we feasted, savoring that delicious food, Grandmother...

From Paul Kameen,
America Poet, Writer, Teacher

on Apr 19, 2016

Lapis Lazuli I grew up in a large family in a small town. Everyone knew everyone else and people we knew died regularly. My mother was Irish, so going to wakes and funerals was just a part of everyday life, and we were indoctrinated into that culture from a young age. One of the conventions of those occasions was the prayer card, which any attendee could pick up near the door. These had an image on the front—Jesus or a saint, say—a prayer on the back, along with the name of the deceased. I never wondered, until just now, how they got those cards printed so fast. But they were always there. I used to have a small stack of them, mostly relatives, but they disappeared somewhere along the way. These were not necessarily somber events, except for the immediate family of the deceased, of course, but produced a sense of elevation, where the quotidian affairs of “life” in this world seemed...

From Maria Famá,
Italian (Sicilian) American Poet

on Apr 16, 2016

THE BLACK MADONNA OF TINDARI The Black Madonna of Tindari in Sicily took gentle vengeance on a woman who came on a pilgrimage, her baby in her arms. On climbing the shrine’s wind swept cliff, the woman exclaimed “I traveled so far to see somebody blacker than me!” In an instant, her child disappeared transported to a spot of dry sand below in the midst of the Mediterranean Sea the woman screamed, a boat was sent to rescue her child she realized that The Black Madonna of Tindari taught that racism is a sin.   – Maria Famá

From Maria Terrone,
American Poet and Writer

on Apr 14, 2016

Faith In the church vestibule I passthe monitor that registers the bodiesof the faithful as grayflickers, a second of ashon a screen, and heave against the doors.At 3 p.m. no one else is here but saints,corporeal in their sandals and robes,carrying staffs, books, painted bouquets,their kind faces crackingas if they too knowhow it feels to come apart. Wedged into the fingers of St. Judeis a hand-printed prayer, a paper budcurled so tight, I feel its pleafor a miracle tug the back of my throat:cure the cancer, kick the habit–the ineffablelonging of a stranger’s words aliveon my own tongue. Days later, the hand holds insteada shriveling rose stem.Petals lie scattered aboutlike small, white-robed monks,backs arched to heaven,faces pressing stone. – Maria Terronewww.mariaterrone.com

La Iglesia de la Asunción in Navarette

on Mar 31, 2016

Hola,For your collection: We found this ex-voto (1713) in La Iglesia de la Asunción in Navarette (a pueblo in La Rioja, on the Camino de Santiago). It was a large (4’ x 3’) framed painting. It reminded us of the ones we had seen in Ecuador.This one was commissioned by Don Manuel Joseph de Bernabeitia y Coloma, a Caballero in the order of Santiago, to thank the virgin for the miracle that saved him during a storm at sea. Bernabeitia (who died in 1726) served in Mexico City (and most likely suffered the storm on his return), so he was certainly aware of the tradition of the Mexican ex-voto. His son stayed in Mexico and achieved fame as a poet. – Dave and Joyce Bartholomae



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