'I know what you are thinking,' said ceramicist, Pip McManus, 'you look at my work and you think.not another recovering ex-catholic.' The artist anticipated responses to her work during a floor talk at Helen Maxwell's Canberra Gallery, but argued, 'I'm actually just a committed kitschaholic.' McManus' introduction to art, she explained, was through the Catholic statuary, illustrations and objects that were part of her childhood. She drew heavily on these impressions to produce a series of votive objects for her exhibition Hotline to Heaven. She revisits a time when belief in miracles and the intercession is seamlessly assimilated into the child's world of magical thinking.
As a child, McManus says she was attracted to the statues, the dripping candles, special saints, the seclusion of intimate alcoves, the promise of intercession and the catholic rituals that strengthened the belief and made it tangible. 'I firmly believe that humans are ritual beings (that). love ritual and performance,' she says. According to Malinowski, rituals 'reduce anxiety by providing confidence and a feeling of control,' and he further describes them as 'social events in which individuals unite to deal with situations of stress, thus strengthening the unity of the group and maintaining the stability of society.' McManus deals directly with the private performance of intercession rituals, but the broader social context is invoked by a format inspired by exvoto retablos. The tradition of offering votive objects in thanks or in petition is an ancient one, which predates Christian practice.
From the Latin for 'from (or out of) a vow,' exvoto indicates that the offerings are made as part of a promise for, or in anticipation of, a prayer answered. Votive painting developed in Europe as a practice for the wealthy who commissioned religious pictures in which they were themselves depicted. Mexican folk painters adopted the tradition and with the availability of cheap British tin plate in the 18th century, the production of pictures of saints, also known as laminas or retablos santos and votive retablos or exvotos, became very common. Exvotos combine a testimonial text with narrative illustrations of the petitioners' problems and an image of the intercessory saint. The influence of Retablos can be seen in the work of Mexican social realists like Siqueiros, Orozco and Rivera as well as in the personal imagery of Frida Kahlo.
As a witness account, the testimonial is a personal expression of gratitude, which also contributes to a public affirmation of belief. Retablos are displayed in churches where they testify to the veracity and efficacy of the ritual. McManus includes narrative texts, on her cast ceramic panels. Written in collaboration with Russell Goldflam, they recount successful appeals for intercession. She uses reversed photocopies, adhered with acrylic binder to the ceramic surface to produce an oxide transfer print during firing. The colour varies between dark brown and red with a golden patina of ash, depending on the temperature. It must be within strict tolerances to also successfully fire the lustre glazes McManus uses to add metallic highlights. Her collection of enamelled souvenir teaspoons and research into patron saints inspire the fictions.
There seems to be a saint for all contingencies and while the stories are very personal, they also have a familiar ring and draw from both reality and imagination. For instance:
It was 1954 and the nation was agog as beautiful young Queen Elizabeth embarked on her first Royal Visit down under. Little Johnny was proud as punch. He'd been selected for the boy scout visit to the War Memorial in the National Capital. Having elbowed his way to the front rank, Johnny now stood stiffly to attention, his thick lenses misting up and his nobbly knees knocking together. 'By George', he murmured, 'Patron Saint of boy scouts, please please, let Her Majesty stop and talk to me . And sure enough, her eye caught by his polished gumnut woggle, the Royal Personage halted right in front of little Johnny. 'And what', she inquired, 'do you want to be when you grow up? '
The spoons' enamelled medallions, recall the use of cloisonné in decorative medieval metalwork, which adorned reliquaries and objects of wealth. Enamelled souvenir spoon medallions, which have not been made since the seventies, are nostalgic and convey a cloyingly familiar sense of place.
They appear to be embedded in the ostentatiously decorated borders of McManus's panels, but are actually added last. It attests to her skill with porcelain, which shrinks, she tells me, about 6% during the multistage firing process. Rich decorations are cast as part of the pieces or specially added. McManus alludes to enlightenment or illumination by using candles, glow strips and LEDs (light emitting diodes). The tiny blinking lights looked fantastic in the evening light of the exhibition opening and definitely add to the delicious uncertainty of the viewer's negotiated path between devotional adornment and tackiness. This aspect of the work could be cynically interpreted as a commentary on the wealth of the church in relation to the value of the commodities offered to the masses; the historically carnivalesque approach to catering to the pilgrim market and indeed to attracting souls; or the authentication of dubious relics.
But to quote, McManus, 'there's nothing like a bit of light hearted ritual to lift the spirits.' She described the work as 'light relief' after the last 5 -6 years in which she worked on pieces including: The Poisoned Well , which documented a century of genocide; green line, a tracing of the "invisible line" which divides the Jewish and Arab cities of Jerusalem; and Unpromised Land , a reflection on the links between two tragic zionist narratives, Israel and Port Davies, Tasmania. In parable mode, using a style reminiscent of Enid Blyton and the children's literature popular in the 1950's, McManus explores the terrain between sentiment and sentimentality. The viewer may be moved to tears, laughter, cynicism, irritation and sentimental reverie by different works for a variety of subjective reasons.
McManus asks, 'Who among us has not at sometime engaged in private plea bargaining with someone up above?' This assumes that everyone appeals to the same quarter. For those unfamiliar with Catholic ritual, McManus' work will not have the same resonance. The reformation ended the practice of intercession and the display of religious imagery by protestant denominations. The secularisation of Australian society has privileged the valorisation of civic rituals, such as ANZAC Day ceremonies. Secular displays and performance are also intrinsic to social affilliations consolidated at events like the Melbourne Cup and grand finals or in the everyday rituals of shopping and consumption. But McManus' works are essentially about hope, the individual human need for faith and the things people do to satisfy that need.
Now that religion doesn't mean anything to most people, we are making it up again. It's a form of secular metaphysics; it's a human need to have something transcending the everyday.
Susan Hillier
