The Altarpiece

By Barbara Waterman-Peters, Topeka Branch

I opened my email that day in 2019 unaware of the life-changing request nestled innocently in one of the messages. Scrolling through and deleting the usual unwanted ones, I recognized a name from my past. Mystified, I clicked on the email. Father Frank Coady, whom I had known years before from serving on an arts board together, was inquiring whether I remembered him. He asked if I would be interested in working on a project that was part of the upcoming renovation of St. Thomas More Catholic Church in Manhattan.

We set a date to meet at the church. As my husband drove us into the church’s parking lot, I was surprised to see a beautiful, new, postmodern structure. Why would it already need renovation?

Father Frank greeted us at the door with a wonderful smile and ushered us into the nave, all while explaining the huge project envisioned by the parish. My question was answered as I saw the worn carpet and the plain, almost austere interior. The upper part of the space was beautiful with its postmodern elements and contemporary, stained glass clerestory windows. But the walls, sanctuary, and floor needed some tweaking. And that was where I would come in: Would I be interested in creating paintings for the large, planned altarpiece?

Without hesitation and thought, I committed. My heart was pumping with excitement and with disbelief. I am an artist based in a Great Plains state in the 21st century. What chance would I or any other living artist have to work on an altarpiece? This was the stuff of art history, not real life.

Inevitably, reality set in. What was I thinking? Was I equal to the challenge? And the logistics were slowly presenting themselves as almost insurmountable. Doubt reared its ugly head.

But I set to work, pulling out my art history books and memories of my Catholic upbringing. The internet proved a valuable resource. I did many sketches of the crucifixion and other parts of the liturgy. Father Frank and I emailed ideas and images back and forth.

And then COVID. Like everything else, the project came to a halt. For quite a while, I heard nothing.

By July, we were back in business, although not blessed with smooth sailing. As with any major undertaking, this one was fraught with setbacks, including switching the architectural firm, which meant design alterations. Fortunately, I had not yet ordered any materials.

Time passed. I continued working on the imagery, accommodating the changes, creating small studies.

Logistics were a constant worry. I had been researching the availability of unusual sizes because not one dimension in the final design was standard. Only one company on the East Coast carried such stretcher bars. Canvas comes in different weights and widths — which is suitable? How much paint, which brand, which colors? What quantity of medium? Which brand of gesso? How many brushes? I had a large studio, so space was not an issue, thank goodness.

Sleepless nights. One of my dilemmas centered on the choice of doing the underpainting using black or burnt sienna.

In a fit of pique, I settled on initially drawing with black paint and then glazing over that with a glaze of burnt sienna.

It was now early 2023. Large, heavy boxes began to arrive.

I hired models and photographed them in numerous poses, draped in tablecloths. We borrowed a baby doll from a friend’s daughter. It was so realistic, it was almost creepy. Father Frank and I had discussed depicting the figures in contemporary clothing, but that presented several problems; the idea was discarded.

More sketches, then small oil studies to scale provided some satisfaction as to my ability, but sooner or later, I needed to begin the actual paintings. My wonderful husband, Larry Peters, without whom I could not have done this, is also an artist. He did a beautiful job of assembling the stretchers and stretching The Altarpiece By Barbara Waterman-Peters, Topeka Branch Continued on page 13 “St. Matthew” by Barbara Waterman-Peters. The Pen Woman 13 the canvases. Several times, I watched him carefully measuring, pulling, and stapling.

Then came three coats of gesso on each of the many canvases, one of which measured 7 feet by 5 feet; the gesso, or ground, must be carefully applied to avoid unwanted texture under the oil paint.

By now, the interior colors for the church had been selected and they were to be matched. A lovely blue that could only be achieved by mixing six colors must be consistent.

I mixed my medium, assembled my colors, and began the smallest paintings, the four evangelists in their symbolic forms. Working on them allowed me an opportunity to experiment with the minimal embellishments I thought appropriate for a postmodern setting.

More changes poured in as I completed additional canvases. Miscommunication on sizes required that I duplicate some.

Just before I began the large pieces, some serious adjustments were needed. Four of the canvases were too tall in an upright position for me to reach. Distortion could happen if I tried to work “flat.” A crude easel, constructed of a few long boards and drilled to permit bolts to move up and down, was placed against a wall. An artist friend borrowed some risers from an arts organization. Problem solved. I could stand on the risers with the canvas resting against the easel and on the floor to access the top. However, I had to be conscious of where the edge of the riser was.

Another request came to add more female figures. It seemed the women in the parish were seeking a bigger representation in the paintings. This feminist was happy to oblige.

Father Frank visited my studio numerous times during the project. On one visit, he was accompanied by a videographer. While we discussed the current stage and interesting facets of the project, the video camera was recording so the parishioners could see the progress. We had fun that day talking about the decision to set the events in the Flint Hills of Kansas rather than in traditional places and the creativity that required.

I had a specific deadline though, so all my time and energy focused on completion. Everything had to be finished and in place before October 8. That meant painting, drying, photographing, cataloging, labeling, and wrapping for pickup by the end of September.

A large pickup with an enclosed trailer pulled up in front of my studio one morning. The canvases were quickly loaded and heading to their new home, and I breathed easily for the first time in months.

My husband and I were invited for the big day. It was the dedication of the newly renovated St. Thomas More Catholic Church by Bishop Vincke. The occasion was marked by both joy and solemnity, and we were happy to be present. In the middle of the proceedings, the bishop had me stand up to a wonderful round of applause. The parishioners love their new altarpiece.

What an enormous honor, privilege, and opportunity in this modern day when catalogs overflow with great ready-to-buy ornamentation for churches. The experience has been life-changing and validating. I am forever grateful to all the people who made it possible and who had faith in me. I could not have done it alone. Working with Father Frank, who is artistic himself, has been a marvelous experience.

One further note: I was asked later if I signed the canvases. My reply was “only on the back, but with approval, I included one crow in the crucifixion scene.” The crow is a powerful symbol for me and appears often in my work.