Excerpt from the text behind the image:
Every Sunday morning at 5:30 am, my mother gets out of bed, gets dressed, and drives to St. Mary’s Catholic Church. Sometimes, I had to go with my mother if no one was else was home. For an hour every Sunday she would sit and pray, in an empty room with nothing but an altar, some stained glass windows, and a golden box.
The reason for this is the golden box contains the bread and wine, which according to Catholic tradition, becomes Jesus’s body and blood. Church practice states it must be watched over and adored at all times. This is sort of a second job for my mother. If she cannot make her scheduled time, she has to find someone to fill in for her. And she often filled in for others. So there was always a chance I would be plucked from the excitement of my 5year old life and placed in an empty room where I wasn’t allowed to make a mess or a ruckus.
Most of the time I would spend the time sitting on the floor with my toys, reenacting the battle of Sarlacc with my dress shoes doubling as battleships for my Star Wars figures to ride in. Every now and then I would poke at my mom in some impish attempt to gain attention, but she would be on her hands and knees locked in prayer. I asked what is in the golden box on the table and she would eventually say, “Jesus is in the box.” The altarpiece did have some kind of shiny reflective window in the center, which I stared at for hours hoping to see Jesus’s face inside peering at me from some other dimension.
As I grew older I stopped believing in such things, but as an artist I struggle to make anything as perplexing or as fascinating as that which my mom believed held the greatest miracle of all time.
Here I used an image that was originally made by Thomas Kinkade. I read somewhere his mother was a big influence on him to “capture the light” for everyone to see. He is dead now, I hope wherever he is he isn’t upset I used his image. This landscape looks like somewhere I’d like to be. This is the image I imagined with the pacific coast would look like. My home is nothing like this, there are no majestic trees or rocky outcroppings along the coast of Oklahoma. My mom has a print of the image above the other mysterious box of my childhood, the television.
I still want to believe something is inside the golden box, whether it is Jesus, the Wizard of Oz, or even Thomas Kinkade. I suppose that is what my mom would want me to believe anyway. That is all she ever asked of me. I am content to keep looking sometimes just in case she is right.