Are you a religious person?
I was brought up as a Roman Catholic in a traditionally devout but relatively sophisticated family. I cannot say that I have any religious beliefs at all now but would prefer to describe myself as agnostic. While no creationist, and able to recognise that human beings have been hard-wired over the ages to believe, I still find the notion of a purely material world frightening. For me, science does not have all the answers; as one door shuts, another one opens. Like so many others, I am stuck on the question of what caused the ‘singularity’ in the first place! I rather like the Einstein quote: “It is better to believe than to disbelieve; in so doing you bring everything to the realm of possibility.”
I certainly miss the rituals of the religion of my youth, the times of abstinence, the rigorous examination of the conscience, the sense of something beyond my own self. Serious rituals are very sustaining; the lack of them in a Protestant country is dismaying to me.
How long have you had your shrine?
For about 13 years.
Does it change over time?
The basic arrangement doesn’t alter because it needs more space and I would prefer the shrine to have a larger, more ornate framework made of wood. I could happily rearrange it, though: I enjoy the fresh energy that each new icon brings and can spend quite some time thinking about where to place it. I don’t want to impose any kind of real order on the shrine; I like its random quality. I am planning an outline of tiny white lights and artificial marigolds as decoration.
Why did you start it?
All Roman Catholics of my generation acquired objects over time: icons, holy cards, medals, rosaries. I had a little cluster from my childhood that I had not consciously kept but couldn’t bring myself to throw out. My religious background has left me with an obsession with Roman Catholicism in all its aspects that I continue to share with like-minded friends. In the knowledge that it has formed me as a person, my attitudes towards it vary. At one and the same time I can find it preposterous, hilarious, awe-inspiring, comforting, intellectually challenging, cruel, immoral and much more. My obsession was recharged by a birthday gift of The Oxford Dictionary of Saints; at the same time my brother had taken a year-long sabbatical to live in Mumbai and I asked him if he’d bring back a Hindu icon. This brother, Mark, a year older than me, is a great traveller and shares my feelings about Roman Catholicism except that he would claim convinced atheism. His own expertise in ancient churches and particularly mediaeval frescoes perhaps plays the same role for him as the shrine does for me. Although my family home unlike other households I knew had not been full of religious objects, the Hindu icon made me realise how much I generally missed objects around me that carried meaning beyond the one that I’d imposed on them myself. In Catholic countries I had always liked and felt comforted by wall and wayside shrines; I wanted to gather round me the sort of talismanic objects that people across the world have always gathered in their homes: basic and inexpensive, frequently quite tacky.
Why are the parts significant to you?
Tolerance of ‘otherness’ is essential to me; I cannot see how human beings are to progress if there is no respect for different values and beliefs. Religion has caused horrifying division and hostility for centuries, all on the basis of what many would construe as pure meaninglessness. The shrine countenances the urge to find meaning shared by all cultures and represents without endorsement a willingness to try and understand why people think as they do.
I am reminded that the shrine is also a repository of friendship. I certainly cannot look at it without thinking of the people who gave me the icons. I am always touched to know that they have thought of me and love the stories they bring of how they acquired the objects. I regret not having travelled extensively myself, so the shrine is really only sustained by friends who venture to faraway places. I value immensely in an object the ‘vibe’ of its place of origination and would never acquire anything myself from the internet, tempting as it often is. I am happy to accept something that has been accessed in this way but only if it is authentic and has been sent by someone who can properly judge that quality. Mark and my special friend Julie have both contributed substantially to the shrine. The shiny Mexican day of The Dead objects sent by Julie quite unprompted showed how closely she understood the concept and brought me huge pleasure. Another friend brings me items that are well chosen but I have a suspicion that she might be humouring just another manifestation in me of what she’d probably interpret as mad RC superstitiousness.
Sometimes the objects have been acquired in difficult circumstances, often under pressure of language restrictions and can be sometimes only vaguely identified. As each icon is a repository of history and legends, I find the research into their provenance fascinating and keep a file to remind me of names and often quite complex detail. My research is ongoing as quite a few are still not completely classified. I have three images of an Indian male character sitting with one foot loosely propped up on his knee which was described to me as a generic figure of the wandering Holy man to be seen across India. Something about the pose struck me as little too informal for a religious representation; this sent me onto the internet to investigate. Fascinatingly, the image turned out to be of a very specific Holy man, Sai Baba of Shirdi who died in 1918 and is now regarded by devotees as a saint; for some, he is the patron saint of Mumbai. Sai Baba condemned distinction based on religion or caste and is associated with both Hinduism and Islam. He believed in openness and readiness to converse on all subjects; hence the non-conformity and ease of the pose depicted in the three images I have.
Some images carry a strange power that makes me keep my distance. One of the photos shows three fetishes brought from Nicaragua with the instruction that they have to be kept together always. The little jar of water contains repulsive-looking vegetable and animalistic items; I haven’t a clue what the white item is. The holy card is of a woman, the Lonely Spirit (Anima Sola) in Purgatory. The words on the back are addressed ‘Oh Señor!’ and she is invoking his help to escape and get to heaven. The Señor could be either God or, in the Latin American Santeria version, the god Eshu Alleguana (or Elegua) who represents despair but as a sorcerer lives in darkness, holds keys and can break chains.
The golden disc with the Islamic inscription ‘Allah is great’ is important to me because it comes from Libya just before the fall of Gaddafi and was bought from a trader who was very reluctant to sell it to an English non-Muslim female. The huge plastic hands cupping the disc represent to me not only the all-encompassing power of Allah but the artificial control of the state: there’s a hint of Soviet-style artwork about them. It is all the more precious to me to have this in a shrine of too many Christian objects. As no depiction of Allah or The Prophet is permitted in the Muslim faith, I cherish the disc as a powerful representation of Islam.
Similarly, the green and gold Islamic prayer mat from southern Turkey, which lies on the table supporting the shrine, was sold unwillingly to my brother who was sternly interrogated as to whether he knew what it was and what he intended to use it for.
Where is it in the house and why?
I prefer not it have it in my bedroom: the intensity of it would be too great. It is placed therefore in the second bedroom which used to be my mother’s and stands just next to where her dressing table used to be. This had an astonishingly cluttered surface with little statues of Our Lady, saints’ medals and rosaries all mixed up with kirby grips, hair spray, nail varnish, coins, lipstick, photos, safety pins etc. I sometimes wonder if I haven’t simply replaced my mother’s clutter with my own. The shrine is a private and meaningful object in itself; as such it is not placed in a more ‘public’ part of the premises, though I might prefer it to be, because I find it so interesting and so pretty to look at. I am aware that it’s open to scorn and derision, if not blank incomprehension. I have experienced those reactions enough to only show it now to close friends and family. It occurred to me recently that people may feel that it is like an adult Doll’s House and that I am regressing by passing my time moving about curious little characters from one space to another. Because it could be construed in such a derogatory way, it is important to maintain its specialness by keeping it away from prying eyes.
How does it make you feel?
Calm, restful, sometimes excited. It’s pleasing to the eye and feels creative to engage with. As someone lacking in artistic abilities, it makes me feel happy to have created and ‘edited’ some kind of object, even if the art is purely one of arrangement rather of originality.
Do you interact with the shrine every day?
No. Sometimes I forget all about it. Months can go by before I am suddenly struck by it all over again. It has great force for me but I am conscious of having to discipline my fascination. It is purely representational; I don’t want to let it draw me in, to somehow ‘activate’ it. Many Catholics remember their fears in prayer of having a vocation: of seeing flowers move on the altar at Mass by way of confirmation!
If so at what points in the day – is it ritualistic?
I have no rituals, bar lighting candles in memoriam or at times of great difficulty for people special to me.
What would it be like if it wasn’t there?
It would leave a huge hole. I would feel bereft of an element of transcendence that is completely missing from my life.
The Shrine Project 