It is my great honor to have New York Times bestselling author Judith Dupre’ as Peace Garden Writer’s November guest. Since my association with Judith is relatively new, I cannot share stories of past crossings, but I will say that in the short time I’ve had the privilege of exchanging emails with her, I’ve found Judith to be a lovely person who possesses both high intellect and the sort of other-centered heart that seems more and more difficult to come by in our current age.
Judith Dupre’
(Photo credit: Jennifer P. Sheridan/Yale Divinity School)
A: For as long as I can remember I’ve carried a compelling image of Mary in my heart and mind. I grew up looking at a life-size reproduction of Raphael’s Madonna of the Chair (1514) that hung in the stairwell of my childhood home. In the painting, Mary’s gaze is very ambiguous and haunting – a mixture of pride and shyness. She holds the chubby baby Jesus tightly, as any new mother would, yet there’s a feeling that she is offering him to us too. In 2000, my mother and I visited the Pitti Palace in Florence and stood together before the original painting. It was a moment I’ll never forget.
About twenty years ago, a Jesuit friend gave me a rose and a holy card depicting Our Lady of Guadalupe. He assured me that she would help me worry less. And so I began praying regularly to Guadalupe, at first with small concerns, which she invariably answered in witty, unexpected ways. Often her answers would be accompanied by an image of a rose or an actual rose—a reminder that Guadalupe manifested her presence to Juan Diego with roses, impossible roses in winter. Things turned serious when my youngest son was born and sustained brain damage. I begged Guadalupe to heal him, and she did. Today, he’s a star athlete (remind me never to complain about his preference for wearing clothes with sports insignias!). The doctors still don’t know what happened or how to explain his recovery, but I have no doubts. My friend, the painter J. Michael Walker, has created a series of wonderful intimate portraits of Guadalupe. One of them hangs in my writing studio in my direct line of sight. She’s a constant companion, and a reminder of the power of faith—her own, Juan Diego’s, and our own.
Q: I’ve read that you were born into a family of “architectural preservationists.” I also see that you’ve dedicated this work to your mother. To what extent did your background influence this book?
Q: I’m moved by the beauty of the visuals within this book (see below), and intrigued by how you melded all the different components into one work. How did you approach gathering up all these different pieces with the hope of turning them into something cohesive? Was it an arduous process?
Q: Because this piece is a slight diversion from your earlier books, did you find it difficult to sell the idea to your publisher?
Q: I’m thinking of the decline of the book with the advance of modern technology and the worry many authors have over whether we’ll even have books a decade or two from now. Your book, in all its visual beauty, seems a strong piece of evidence against the trend to go fully electronic. What are your thoughts on that?
A: People have been trumpeting the death of the book for a while now, yet the printed form is resilient. Just as opera didn’t die with the advent of movies, and movies weren’t killed off by television, books aren’t dead, they just have to share shelf space with other forms of entertainment. Books invite reflection, analysis, and a more meditative encounter than Web content can provide. We need to walk more and surf less! But that said, my heart leapt when I first saw the electronic version of Full of Grace on an iPad. Mary is always at the forefront, whether of faith or technology!
Q: If you could leave prospective readers with just one thing you’d like them to know about Mary in light of this work, what would it be?
Q: Judith, what is your greatest hope for this work, the thing that would help you know all your efforts have been worthwhile?
A: My hope is that Full of Grace comforts those who are suffering. I wanted to give those who are struggling with physical or emotional pain, those who are seeking and not finding a simple but liberating message: You are not alone. I’ve come to realize that the darkness, not knowing of how one will survive or get through an ordeal, is not a bad thing. For starters, it wakes you up to all the very real goodness in the world. But sometimes God’s voice cannot be heard over our loud cries for solace, understanding, a break. Fear is deafening, as well as blinding. But the stories I recount in Full of Grace are intended as assurance that God’s love is also relentless. It is steadfast. It is there. It is there for you
Q: What is one thing would you like us to know about you, the author of Full of Grace, that we might not find in a Google search?
Dreyfus and his master!
Q: Finally, Judith, please point us to the place where we can encounter your work and life?
If this is your first introduction to Judith and her work, you are in for a delicious treat. Judith is an architectural historian and author of several works of narrative nonfiction that explore the intersection of art, photography and architecture. The New Criterion described her as “a scholar with a novelist’s eye for detail and a journalist’s easy style.”
Judith’s new book, Full of Grace: Encountering Mary in Faith, Art and Life, published by Random House, is a richly illustrated depiction of one of the most captivating people of all time, faiths and backgrounds. In this fresh appraisal of Mary’s life, Judith takes us inside Mary’s world in ancient Palestine and shows us how she inhabits our own modern-day experiences as well.
Welcome to Peace Garden Writer, Judith!
Judith Dupre’(Photo credit: Jennifer P. Sheridan/Yale Divinity School)
Q: Judith, you’ve tackled some inspiring subjects in your work as an author. Your books have focused on monuments, skyscrapers, bridges and churches. Tell us how it was that you came to zero in on Mary in this most recent work.
A: Originally, I had planned to write about those profound yet intangible qualities that good buildings possess: light, memory, beauty, a sense of place. I’ve come to think of them as architecture’s “feminine face.” It’s surprising, actually, that men dominant the field of architecture, because women know so much about creating community, about gathering others around the table—the focal point of the room, which is the essential building block of architecture. As I got deeper into my research, I found that nearly every topic I was considering hinged in some way on the Virgin Mary. She has a powerful, pervasive and persuasive presence. And so I decided to take my own leap of faith.
Q: For those readers who are not Catholic, why would a book about Mary be in any way relevant?
A: In telling these stories, I tried to cast a wide net, mirroring Mary’s ability to cross boundaries — whether religious, political, geographic or cultural. There are chapters on Mary’s Jewish foremothers as well as on Muslim devotion to Mary, for instance. Those who want to cultivate their moral, ethical and social awareness will also find much to consider here. Though Mary’s life and story speak directly to issues that many women face, this isn’t a book just for women, either. After all, even President Obama carries a picture of Mary in his wallet!
Q: How did coming into close view of Mary through writing this book change you as a person, a woman of faith, if at all?
A: For as long as I can remember I’ve carried a compelling image of Mary in my heart and mind. I grew up looking at a life-size reproduction of Raphael’s Madonna of the Chair (1514) that hung in the stairwell of my childhood home. In the painting, Mary’s gaze is very ambiguous and haunting – a mixture of pride and shyness. She holds the chubby baby Jesus tightly, as any new mother would, yet there’s a feeling that she is offering him to us too. In 2000, my mother and I visited the Pitti Palace in Florence and stood together before the original painting. It was a moment I’ll never forget.
About twenty years ago, a Jesuit friend gave me a rose and a holy card depicting Our Lady of Guadalupe. He assured me that she would help me worry less. And so I began praying regularly to Guadalupe, at first with small concerns, which she invariably answered in witty, unexpected ways. Often her answers would be accompanied by an image of a rose or an actual rose—a reminder that Guadalupe manifested her presence to Juan Diego with roses, impossible roses in winter. Things turned serious when my youngest son was born and sustained brain damage. I begged Guadalupe to heal him, and she did. Today, he’s a star athlete (remind me never to complain about his preference for wearing clothes with sports insignias!). The doctors still don’t know what happened or how to explain his recovery, but I have no doubts. My friend, the painter J. Michael Walker, has created a series of wonderful intimate portraits of Guadalupe. One of them hangs in my writing studio in my direct line of sight. She’s a constant companion, and a reminder of the power of faith—her own, Juan Diego’s, and our own.
Even though I thought I “knew” Mary, writing Full of Grace leavened my heart, made me more compassionate and accepting. I don’t think you can ask for more than that from a book!
Q: I’ve read that you were born into a family of “architectural preservationists.” I also see that you’ve dedicated this work to your mother. To what extent did your background influence this book?
A: I grew up in Rhode Island, still a stronghold of Roman Catholicism. On my mother’s side, my large, extended family was headed by Italian-American matriarchs who wielded their power through unshakable faith and eggplant parmigiana to die for! One story, about the power of prayer, tells of my great aunt Mary D’Agostino, the prayer warrior in our family. Aunt Mary carried a ledger wherever she went. The book held an accounting of those she was praying for, and what they had paid her. Yes, she charged for prayers: a dollar for a general intention, five dollars for a good husband, and twenty-five dollars for the impossible. In her mind, this was a simple exchange: if God gave you something, then, in thanksgiving, you should give something back. People would seek her out, wallets open, hopes high, and ask her to start praying for their children, spouses, health, future. Every month, she’d tote up the donations and send a check to the Missionary Oblates of Mary Immaculate. They bought cribs, books, pigs, and cars with the money she had collected. To this day, almost twenty years after her death, people still send money in her name to the Oblates. The book also includes a recipe for Aunt Mary’s famous pepper biscuits… make a donation where you will.
My family shares a passion for renovating old Victorian houses. Though I joke that I grew up with spackle dust in my nose, this hands-on involvement gave me a profound sense of the life of a building, and the ever-present possibility of transformation—whether of a building or a human heart. Although Mary is the focus of this book, themes of “home” are threaded throughout the book. In fact, it was titled: Mary: At Home with the Mother of God, from nearly the start of my writing it back in 2002; we changed it to Full of Grace, which I now prefer, about a year ago.
The book includes stories about the Church of Saint Savior in Istanbul, a little gem; Steinhausen, the great Bavarian Rococo church dedicated to Mary and inspired by the Song of Songs; the Basilica of the Holy Nativity in Bethlehem; and the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels in Los Angeles. Oh, yes, and the Holy House of Loreto that angels lifted from Nazareth and plunked down in Italy. I’m looking at buildings as metaphors in this one.
Q: I’m moved by the beauty of the visuals within this book (see below), and intrigued by how you melded all the different components into one work. How did you approach gathering up all these different pieces with the hope of turning them into something cohesive? Was it an arduous process?
A: Art energizes me, gives me joy, so while putting together a cohesive yet lively group of images took time, it was never tedious. The visuals include familiar masterpieces and contemporary works, but also images from the news and movie stills—the goal was to mix high and low aspects of religion and art. I wanted to help people see Mary in today’s world. That’s reflected in the illustrations, which include a temporary shelter in Grenada in lieu of a Nativity scene, as well as a portrait of Mary asleep on a patio in Southern California!
Q: Because this piece is a slight diversion from your earlier books, did you find it difficult to sell the idea to your publisher?
A: Luckily, Random House was hugely supportive. My previous books explore ways of expressing our contemporary, multidimensional understanding of time and history within the limits of the printed page. In this book, I tie events in Mary’s historical life with 21st-century concerns in hopes that the reader can imaginatively inhabit two time periods at once.
Q: I’m thinking of the decline of the book with the advance of modern technology and the worry many authors have over whether we’ll even have books a decade or two from now. Your book, in all its visual beauty, seems a strong piece of evidence against the trend to go fully electronic. What are your thoughts on that?
A: People have been trumpeting the death of the book for a while now, yet the printed form is resilient. Just as opera didn’t die with the advent of movies, and movies weren’t killed off by television, books aren’t dead, they just have to share shelf space with other forms of entertainment. Books invite reflection, analysis, and a more meditative encounter than Web content can provide. We need to walk more and surf less! But that said, my heart leapt when I first saw the electronic version of Full of Grace on an iPad. Mary is always at the forefront, whether of faith or technology!
Q: If you could leave prospective readers with just one thing you’d like them to know about Mary in light of this work, what would it be?
A: In the past years, struggling as a single mother, I’ve received great solace from contemplating Mary’s life as it was actually lived—her poverty, her sorrow, her many losses. She had faith, God leapt in her womb, but still her life was hard. She enjoyed none of the pleasures that we have come to conflate, mistakenly, with God’s presence in our lives. Despite her near silence in the Gospels—she speaks only four times—Mary’s is a loud and difficult message: Faith is not always rewarded in ways that can be measured or understood. Often, we are left with more questions than answers. We can only pray for the endurance to keep on keeping on, even when nothing seems to change.
Mary models an ideal way to live—faithfully, with grace and radical acceptance of what is and what cannot be changed. She was an ordinary person—ordinary in the same ways that we are ordinary—who was called, as we are, to live an extraordinary life. She is both paradox and proof that nothing is impossible for God. Nothing.
Q: Judith, what is your greatest hope for this work, the thing that would help you know all your efforts have been worthwhile?
A: My hope is that Full of Grace comforts those who are suffering. I wanted to give those who are struggling with physical or emotional pain, those who are seeking and not finding a simple but liberating message: You are not alone. I’ve come to realize that the darkness, not knowing of how one will survive or get through an ordeal, is not a bad thing. For starters, it wakes you up to all the very real goodness in the world. But sometimes God’s voice cannot be heard over our loud cries for solace, understanding, a break. Fear is deafening, as well as blinding. But the stories I recount in Full of Grace are intended as assurance that God’s love is also relentless. It is steadfast. It is there. It is there for you
Q: What is one thing would you like us to know about you, the author of Full of Grace, that we might not find in a Google search?
A: I am an inveterate lover of animals, especially dogs, especially my beagle, Dreyfus. He’s old and fat—who isn’t!—but he’s got that unconditional love thing down pat.
Dreyfus and his master!
Q: Finally, Judith, please point us to the place where we can encounter your work and life?
A: My website is a good place to learn more. It includes a blog, reviews and photos. I’d be delighted to hear from Peace Garden Writer readers, and welcome correspondence about their experiences with Mary, their faith journey, and anything else they’d like to share.
Thanks, Judith, for your time. On behalf of all the regular readers of Peace Garden Writer, I wish you all the best as you bring this work more fully into the world and, in doing so, introduce more people to this incredible woman who has truly been a transforming force in the world.
Q4U: It’s your turn to ask Judith a question!
Several visuals included in Judith’s book:
John Nava has depicted Mary with a sublime serenity that belies her youth. Photo: © John Nava, 2001
John Nava has depicted Mary with a sublime serenity that belies her youth. Photo: © John Nava, 2001
Patty Wickman’s dreamlike, contemporary portrayal shows Mary asleep on a patio in a Californian suburb, surrounded by symbols of Christ’s Passion. Photo: © Patty Wickman, 1997
Painter Melissa Weinman uses darkness as a visual metaphor for grief. The landscape’s blanket of dark clouds echoes Mary’s sorrow over Christ’s death. Mary is portrayed twice, literally split in two by the ferocity of her sorrow. Photo: © Melissa Weinman, 1999
I just returned from a women’s retreat where one of the speakers did a presentation on The Art of Mary. This book seems like an extension of that theme, for me. I saw Mary in ways I hadn’t before. Through art, I saw the girl. I saw the young woman leaning back, holding up her hands in a gesture that says, Not me. This book sounds like a visual feast.
Mary, I thought of this book too when I read your post from the other day, and saw that there had been a focus on Mary. How wonderful! Mary is for everyone, regardless of religion or denomination. She is the mother of our Lord! I will share it with you next time we’re together. Blessings in your Thanksgiving!
Very interesting topic! I don’t know if you’ve read The Education of Henry Adams, but he draws an analogy between the Virgin as a symbol of the pre-industrial world and the Dynamo as a symbol of the post-industrial world. Your point about Mary crossing cultures reminded me of it.