Saturday, November 6
BEAST JESUS [Ecce Homo, Martínez, c. 1930, and Giménez, 2021] Sometimes you try something out and it doesn't work. Sometimes you think you can help, but instead you make Jesus into a monster, mouth a sideways smudge and the eyes that once gazed heavenward staring back at you, panicked. Get me out of here, the eyes now say. Cecilia was ashamed, then famous. She softened the crown of thorns to a furry hat. His nose went flat. She robed him in a crimson mushroom-cap. Some said she turned the Son of God simian. Said she did it in secret, said they'd sue, neither of which was true. The amateur art restorer proclaimed her innocence, wept, stopped eating for a while. Then in the little town of Borja tourism increased tenfold. A miracle, some said, and began to celebrate her day of transfiguration. Sometimes you wait for a savior. Other times you DIY it and make a different kind of masterpiece. All hail Cecilia, whose name means blind. Earnest striver who made it new. Careful volunteer agent of chaos. Laughing, we look into her man's potato face with love. We too, have the best intentions. (Chloe Martinez)