POPE JOHN PAUL II

IN THE POPEMOBILE OVIEDO SPAIN  38" x 26" 1989-95

His Holiness John Paul II looks out from his Popemobile over the Asturian town- beyond the town from an ethereal perspective. His close longtime friend, Stanislaw Dziwisz, makes direct eye contact with the viewer. Monsignor Dziwisz was at the Pope's side in the assassination attempt of 1981. The Bishop of Oviedo, Monsignor Gabino Díaz Merchán, points out the sights to his history-making guests. The moment is framed on the sides by two security men hanging onto the Popemobile running board. Figures view the scene from windows along the way.

August 1989

The five-hour bus ride from Santander to Oviedo is a twisting, narrow drop through rural mountain scenery. Cousin Scott and I were met by his second cousins on his father's side who took us all about the nearby mountain introducing Scott to his relatives. As rural as I had seen. A sheep farm (sheep, different from cows that don't look back, are very curious about foreign visitors) high up surrounded by tall black pines and ocean. A young man milking a cow wore the traditional carved wood tripod clogs. Crossing the field a young woman, his wife, with a small boy by the hand, held up a bag announcing a fish for their dinner.

We drank sidra, apple cider of the region poured in a long stream from overhead by an extended arm into a wide-mouthed glass. The custom is to drink as much as you want and then toss the last drop to the ground. An old woman in black got into the car. We visited a cemetery, and then an edge with a long drop to a roaring ocean. The old woman got out at another farm. I hadn't slept the night before- my birthday in the chic scenes I'd painted; my head was falling off, and I had some concern that full impact was escaping me.

Rosita pointed out where the priest lived, had spotted his car, and asked if I wanted to meet him. I woke right up with a serious second wind.

The priest lives there with his parents and drives between five churches on the mountain where he is the only priest. He would receive the Holy Father at the airport. We walked behind the house to find a group of people having beautiful cakes and coffees in blue and white ceramic cups. An elegant woman, the mother of the priest, said he was next door celebrating mass, asked us to wait for her son and have coffees. I was hesitant at first about crashing their party, but a woman began to speak English in a heavy accent. She lived in Carteret, New Jersey for 25 years. Knew the Cathedral of the Sacred Heart and the doctor son of the bread people by my grandmother's old house in Santander!

The priest arrived and graciously invited us upstairs to a parlor, gesturing to follow him. The house was a rustic palace. I told him about my work. We exchanged addresses in his office. On the desk he had a handwritten manuscript from the 1700's open on a stand from which he'd been studying. While we spoke his mother came up to inform her son that a woman was wanting to see him. He inhaled, excused himself, and ran down to her. Returning quickly, he gave us his time and attention as if he had nothing to do, then dashed off to another church. On his way he made preparations with the children for the welcome on the morrow.

Went back to the house with the cousins. Visitors came to chat until it was time, again without sleep, to take (cold) showers and go. Arcadio heard that the roads into the city would be closed by 6 AM, so, to be sure, they took us at 3:30. We were the first in a dark sleeping city. Banners were already hung over balconies waiting. We walked the empty streets, window-shopping in the teal light, until a cafe opened. Nuns and children arranged fresh flowers and foliage in the form of a cross on the street to be seen from the air. Many long hours passed sitting on the wall in front of the cathedral. Police changed shifts. More and more police and security appeared. Bishop Arias arrived.

As we spoke we were surrounded by security and I was thrown out (asked very politely, apologetically, by a very handsome guard to leave) the Casa Sacerdotal. By this time the office had closed for lunch and all my contacts and letters of reference would be of no use. Why hadn't I gone in earlier to request an access pass?

To the excitement in the pulsing street. Green military helicopters and two white ones.