St. John's Lutheran Church, Greenwich Village

The latest, finished a couple of weeks ago. It was too large for a regular scanner, so had it scanned at a photo shop. I've painted the St. John's cupola before, but not from this angle. The sky proved especially difficult because I wanted a lot of realistic variation in color and texture (and I generally refuse to paint a plain "blue" sky). 12" x 18", watercolor, pen & ink, Fabriano paper.

Saint Martin de Porres

This falls into the "You Never Know What You're Going to See Next" category. This was a procession honoring St. Martin de Porres (1579-1639) of Peru. Known for his work with the poor, as well as his founding of an orphanage and children's hospital, he was canonized in 1962. (I'm not really sure why these people - identified by one participant as Peruvian immigrants - were parading St. Martin up 9th Avenue, since his official feast day is in November.) The little band that marched behind played dirge-like music at a very slow tempo while the men carrying the platform matched that tempo with a shuffling step. Every few minutes the procession would stop and the men would lower the platform to waist level. Then a priest would say some prayers and strike a bell on the front of the platform. Luckily my boys were with me and really enjoyed the spectacle.

From the Archives at my office . . .

One would think that a New York City organization founded in 1848, one with a rich history of involvement in this neighborhood of Manhattan, might have a respectable archives cataloging its history. Unfortunately, that's not the case here. Indeed, there are official records, diaries, meeting minutes, photographs, blueprints - and god only knows what else - scattered higgledy-piggledy in drawers, closets and cabinets throughout this 1906 building.

(And I should note that this isn't unusual. As a historian I encountered soooo many institutions/associations, some with histories stretching back 200 years, that had taken little or no care in preserving their records. If you're in a business that generates a great deal of paper, you understand the dilemma. What gets saved? Sure, it's easier in a digital age. But New York City still has mobile paper-shredding trucks that shred tons of documents every day. Thus my indignation over poorly preserved and/or badly organized records is always tempered with an understanding of the difficulties inherent in the archival process.)

I found this photo tucked away in a storage cabinet, sharing space with bound copies of Harper's magazine from the 1880s and 90s. It's ca. 1910 and documents the "Free Vacation School" offered to neighborhood children. Close inspection reveals a pretty diverse group, including an African-American boy on the front row and an African-American girl at the rear. Right away one knows that this is not a southern institution! Beyond this photograph, I've seen no other records about the "Free Vacation School" program. (And I have no idea what that netting is for. Any ideas? I don't think it's a product of the "raffia" listed on the sign. In fact, the raffia makes sense in the context of the "basketry" offered as an activity for the children.) By the way, the front of the building looks exactly the same today. My office is behind the leaded-glass windows to the left. (Click on the image to view a larger version.)

Church of the Transfiguration - Snowy Day

It's a snowy day in the city, with flurries promising a dusting of just a couple of inches. It's just a prelude to the bitter cold weather that's just now sweeping across the Midwest with record low temperatures. This kind of Arctic cold becomes problematic because the accompanying winds always funnel through the street canyons, creating nasty wind chills and hazardous walking conditions. Still, we trudge along, accustomed to walking most of the time, while taking the subway and busses for longer journeys. Hopefully I'll get to Central Park for a few moments this afternoon, camera at the ready.

These photos were taken at the Church of the Transfiguration - better known as "the Little Church Around the Corner" - on 29th Street between 5th and Madison Avenues. I got this antique look by running the photos through a conversion program found on a Japanese website. It's an interesting look, an experiment, and I'm interested in feedback.

St. Vincent Ferrer Church

I've featured images from this church before . . . St. Vincent Ferrer on the upper East Side, Third Ave. at 65th St. Although I'm not Catholic and don't subscribe to their unique form of Marian veneration, I do like this statue of Mary. There are always flowers tucked into her hands and this little garden offers a quiet little respite from the noise of Third Avenue. As for the autumn wreath adorning one of the side doors of the church, one can't help but notice the incongruity between the wreath and the fallout shelter sign.

There's a similar sign outside my office, directing people to the basement for - ostensibly - protection. Did civil defense "experts" honestly think such spaces would offer any real protection in the event of nuclear holocaust. I suspect that they were meant more as visible symbols of reassurance to calm a nervous public, rather than as actual safe havens. (And I have no idea about the canine symbolism in that last image. It's not ringing any bells in terms of Catholic iconography. Perhaps Franciscan?)

Vermont, Part III: Church of Our Savior

The beautiful little Episcopal church is just off Route 4, east of Killington. We had seen it from the main road for years, tucked behind the trees on the north side of a mountain stream. Although we had always pointed it out when passing, we never stopped. I decided to change that on Monday, detouring onto the gravel road for a closer look. What a reward! And it was open! Consecrated in 1895, the Church of Our Savior reminds me of stone village churches scattered throughout England. All it lacks is the clocks that usually adorns the English churches. The stained glass was simple, but beautiful, and the woodwork of the church's interior was stunning (especially the tongue-and-groove arched ceiling). It represented a sharp contrast to the white clapboard congregational churches that dot the New England landscape. In the end, my wife was sorry we hadn't stopped in for services on Sunday.

Chelsea Synagogue

This is Congregation Emunath Israel ("Faith of Israel"), located on 23rd St. near the famed Chelsea Hotel. The building was constructed in 1863 for the Third Reformed Presbyterian Church. Congregation Emunath Israel was founded in 1865 on 18th St., moved to West 29th St., and relocated to this 23rd St. site in 1920. The synagogue runs Project ORE (Project Outreach to the Elderly), a program that founded to help homeless Jews in the community. Offering free kosher lunches, Torah classes, and counseling, Project ORE now also reaches out to non-Jews in the neighborhood.

St. John's Church Cemetery

After over a week away from home and this blog, I'm back with camera full of photos that includes cemeteries, views from an Amtrak train speeding south to Virginia and back to New York City, as well as views of Brooklyn shot from an elevated subway line. Although the trip was nice, it's always a relief to get back to New York City. For those of you who don't appreciate urban living, it might be hard to understand the appeal of Manhattan as a permanent resident. But having grown to enjoy the city after a decade in Greenwich Village, I can take pleasure in its vibrancy and diversity - as well as the convenience of walking to whatever I need.

These photos are from one of my favorite destinations near my parents' home - St. John's Episcopal Church, which I've previously featured on the blog. Although the parish was founded in 1643, this building, the second on the site, was constructed in 1755 and is now on the National Register.

I had glanced at the headstones before but hadn't really taken note of their inscriptions, having usually been in a hurry to photograph the building itself while anxious kids waited in the car. Look closely at the second photo below and you'll see the reference to a Confederate "patriot" who died in the Civil War "to save his country's honour." The third and fourth photos tell a different story. With three members of the same family, including a five-month-old son, dying over an eight-day span in 1836, one suspects they were victims of some sort of illness, in a scenario so typical of the period. (The top left photo I selected because of its Masonic symbol, not something often seen on local stones from this period. If you click on this image and view the larger version, notice the detail in the carving, as well as the small spots of lichen starting to grow on the stone. The second photo (above right) stands out because it's the marker for a three-year-old, a detail my younger son noticed while marching through the rows of stones. He's now accustomed to seeing the graves of small children in our cemetery travels and I've tried to explain that childhood mortality was a common thing in previous centuries. One has to wonder if this child's death was caused by illness - or was a result of the war.)

All Saints

This is All Saints Ukrainian Orthodox Church, located in the East Village. I've always wondered about the significance of the extra bars in the eastern orthodox cross. The top line is said to represent the headboard, and the bottom, slanted line represents the footrest. It is raised to the left side, because that was the side of the righteous criminal who said to Jesus: "remember me when you come into your kingdom." Notice the sign to the right of the church door. It's for an undertaker's business, which runs out of the basement!

The church is in an area around 3rd Avenue and 10th St. that's known for its Russian and Ukrainian businesses. In many places it's not uncommon to find signs with Cyrillic characters. We often end up over here at several favorite restaurants. I love the stuffed cabbage, pierogis, and kielbasa - but loathe the borscht, which happens to be one of my wife's favorites. Blech!

Our Lady of Vilnius

In recent years New Yorkers have become significantly more conscious of historic preservation issues. No doubt the tragic demolition of the old Penn Station in 1964, forever a black mark against city planners, proved a catalyst to that heightened awareness. Still, our city faces an architectural barrage of post-modern monstrosities of reflective glass and asymmetrical forms. Thus I'm always excited to see old structures renovated for new uses. Chelsea and Soho, for example, are full of former warehouses and manufacturing spaces converted to housing and galleries. An article in this week's New York Times ("From Pickles to Paintings") observes that even the Lower East Side is experiencing the same kind of transformation as Chelsea. Although detractors often bemoan the "gentrification" process in areas like the East Village, Soho, and especially Harlem, one has to agree that renovation is preferable to demolition in many cases. The last thing New York City wants is block after block of vacant lots or derelict buildings similar to blighted Detroit.

Of all of this city's architectural gems, the diverse houses of worship seem to catch my eyes - and camera lenses - first. From synagogues and small parish churches to the city's grand cathedrals, New York has a religious diversity - reflected in the architecture of its churches - that seems staggering to catalog. One of my favorites in the category of "small parish churches" is Our Lady of Vilnius, founded in 1905 to minister to the city's Lithuanian population. Like so many small churches throughout the five boroughs, this parish serves as a focal point for the neighborhood, even long after much of the local Lithuanian population has moved elsewhere. Located on Dominick Street in Soho, it sits just opposite the entrance to the Holland Tunnel, and for years I've noticed it with curiosity as we've left the city for destinations far afield.

Earlier this week I had to run downtown to City Hall and decided to walk home, taking Hudson St. from Chambers all the way up to the West Village. And there it sat, Our Lady of Vilnius, just half a block away from my path as I trudged uptown. Mind you, it wasn't easy to reach, tucked between the various lanes that feed traffic into the tunnel. I had heard a couple of years ago that the parish might be closed by the Archdiocese of New York as part of Cardinal Egan's controversial effort to shutter and consolidate smaller congregations. Naturally I wanted to get over there before something happened to the building, but unfortunately I was too late. The exterior is in a sad state and I've learned that the roof of the sanctuary, constructed in 1905, is structurally unsafe, upheld by scaffolding. The whole place was padlocked, neglected, and dark.

With a little digging I found out that the church was closed in February 2007. Indeed, the manner of its closure underscores charges that Cardinal Egan has behaved in a heavy-handed and decidedly non-pastoral fashion. At the very hour he had scheduled a meeting with Father Eugene Sawicki of Our Lady of Vilnius, Cardinal Egan's goons were changing the locks on the doors and turning tearful parishioners away. Needless to say, the priest and his congregation were shocked and dismayed. Since then the archdiocese has stripped out the historic stained glass, altars, and other art works, while painting over a fresco on the ceiling behind the altar (shown at left).

It's just amazing how badly this congregation has been treated by Cardinal Egan. Efforts to compromise have fallen on deaf ears. Even the Lithuanian government has joined the effort, appealing to both the archdiocese and the pope. Reports suggest that the church will be demolished and the property sold to developers. If that is the case, once again, profit will have trumped propriety in New York's cutthroat real estate market. To be sure, New York City has a much improved track record in the field of historic preservation. But each year more structures of significance are leveled in the name of progress. The situation is especially troubling when an institution like the Archdiocese of New York engages in the kind of behavior we usually associate with the robber barons of the city's real estate market.