Jean D'Arc: Open and Closed- and opened again

Maybe today the world needs reminding of otherwise average people who make history- too often in a negative way, causing unnecessary tragedy- all because of extraordinary skepticism, intolerance, demonization, and hatred... and the only reliable redemption possible from these things. 

 

“It's a small, small world...” We all used to enjoy that happy little song made famous at Disneyland. But the past few years it has become my theme song. This story inadvertently began with my research for a major painting, which ended up instead as a small book in one of my blogs, called Who In The Blazes Was Joan Of Arc? The painting was postponed indefinitely.

After reading 20 or so books about her, I came to the disappointing and painful conclusion that I did not want to make the same mistake that Mark Twain and others had made, that of lionizing an enigmatic and confused young farm girl who had gotten involved in political tectonics that were way out of her league. And then because of superstition and treachery, she was burned at the stake, satisfying British revenge and Roman Catholic intolerance. After that in-depth, 8-month rabbit trail, I was done with Joan, and a bit psychologically charred from all those various graphic accounts of her immolation. Joan and I gladly parted ways.

Or so I hoped. Not too long afterwards I suffered my second heart attack, which really put me down. Afterwards I was weak and depressed and needed something fairly effortless to occupy my mind, so I began to spend many hours surfing for images on Ebay. 

 (Left -Rt) Charlie Langdon, his sister Olivia, and his new friend Sam Clemens.

 I love old photographs... especially the really old ones called Daguerreotypes, and their offspring known as Ambrotypes and tintypes, which are fairly cheap. The first forms of photography, all of these were made as direct mirror images on a prepared surface; copper, glass, tin, whatever, with no negatives for reproduction. Sometimes they were made in multiples, but they were usually very limited in number, often one of a kind. And backwards.

It's a long story, which unfolds here, but the gist of it is that after purchasing a couple of hundred tintypes, a handful at a time, from a guy in Florida, thinking that they may have been a collection of famous people, I eventually became convinced that the images, at least a large portion of them, had once belonged to Mark Twain. The reason being that around a dozen or more of these tintypes were of Samuel Clemens and his family and their associates. Also famous writers, actresses, artists, spies, the most famous and creative people in America at the time. But that was not all.

This collection then led across the sea, as many of the images were of the French artists and their families and associates, where Mark Twain had spent 13 years researching, among other things, his book on Joan of Arc. Europe had become such a refuge for the Clemens that he took his wife Olivia back there when she became terminally ill. And that was where she died. The images of the French artists are very rare and if I am right about their identities, they belong in the Louvre.

As I researched this growing image collection, it became clear it must be an amalgamation of several photograph collections, compiled for almost 40 years. Amazingly, I was able to construct a story which would explain it all.

 

Another famous American writer had become the trustee of all things Twain, and he was also a career photographer. Early in his life, Albert Bigelow Paine was an itinerant photographer, and later a very successful writer of high-profile biographies and children's books. He not only wrote Mark Twain's biography, he also wrote his own version of Joan of Arc!

All through the exciting acquisition of this collection, Joan kept reappearing, as I assembled an All-Star Victorian photo album and researched the possible former owners, two of the most important Joan biographers. Suddenly I had to read everything written by or about them... to uncover clues about possible connections of these photos to them.

Somehow I felt that this saga was going in circles, but not wanting to ignore the road signs, I finally picked up Paine's book about Joan, which I had wrongly assumed was just a paraphrase of Twain's affectionate ode to her. This morning I finished my 21^st book on Joan, A. B. Paine's The Girl In White Armor. And I have to say, it was the best. And this admission does not come easy, as I have become somewhat of an expert about Joan.

Having already made numerous negative deductions about Paine, I did not want to like his book. You see, time and scholarship have not been kind to Albert Bigelow Paine, who successfully hid his darker side from an adoring public, all while leaving almost indiscernible traces of his deceptions, lies, Bigamy, and probable literary fraud. Scholars today have suggested that after the death of Samuel Clemens, Paine released unpublished Twain materials which were severely doctored by himself, calling much of his management of the Twain legacy into question. It was a case of one scamp scamming off of his mentor scamp.

But the two were peas in a pod, Twain the master of Americana who questioned Divine Intelligence, and Paine the master of intrigue who doubted men's intelligence. They were the voice of America and its eternal echo. They may have masterminded one of the greatest snow jobs ever perpetrated on the world.  Their friendship was based on passion for the story, cynicism and billiards. Upon meeting they immediately and completely understood and appreciated one another. And strangely, counter-intuitively, they both loved Joan.

It seems both Twain and Paine found some wonderful authenticity in the “Maid of Orleans,” that they could not perceive in Matthew, Mark, Luke or John. Both men struggled with issues of Faith and integrity, and plain old American idealism. But they fell wistfully into line as Joan of Arc fans, solidifying her legend and gathering many friends in France in the process.

Yes, I love Joan too, but my affection is tempered with pity and some firm caveats. With my Fundamentalist Christian background, I am less forgiving of Joan's doctrinal and supernatural confusions. Joan messed up, and even her “Voices” would have said so. True, she went when God sent her, but she also went when God did not. The latter proved disastrous for her. Joan violated too many taboos for a prophetess and had no New Testament prototype as a warrior liberator. She was “out there.” But I suppose my two senior Joan experts had no problem with her mistakes as they had made so many.

 Captured and desperate to continue the

 liberation of France, Joan leaped from

 a tower, which almost killed her.

So here is my point. God, the designer of all things, led me, I believe, to a difficult conclusion about Joan which caused me to intellectually recoil from immortalizing her, or do anything to point to her as any kind of role model. In fact I was led to reject Twain's sappy book on her, a subjective whitewash, just as his fans and the critics had done when it was released. Believe me, I WANTED to paint that epic scene, especially after spending so much time preparing to do it. The digital sketch at the top was my first confident step in creating the ultimate Joan of Arc. But I would not give in to sentimental tradition or heartwarming myth. Or to Joan's desperate cries, SIX times she cried out the Lord's name, as she was burned alive.

That sounds hard-hearted even to me. And now, through these wonderful tintypes, and the absolutely scandalous men they probably belonged to, and their affectionate accounts about Joan, I have been strangely dragged back to consider her cause.

This blog is a kind of technological prayer. A stream of conscious revelation of my more interesting struggles. I have shared in other blogs about my art- that recently, after considerable hesitation, I completed a commissioned portrait of Stonewall Jackson. Here was another legendary military personality I did not want to unduly edify. Yet as I looked into Jackson's life, I found a dear Human Being. An amazing talent, a devoted patriot, (to his understanding), and yet hated and demonized in many circles during his life and ever since. 

 Stonewall Jackson: His Legacy and His Destiny

In finding the painting that I could do of him, in good conscience, I learned that maybe it is as much my job to recognize that which is redeemable, as it is to avoid that which is abhorrent.

What was done to Joan was abhorrent. She was after all, only nineteen years old. A naive, idealistic child. I have to believe that God easily forgave her missteps and delusions. So I must too. Whether I paint her or not.

Obviously, I am hard headed. Thank you Lord for not giving up. It has been epic fun getting here. A magic carpet ride. In this small, small world where legendary infidels can hassle my convictions and stir my soul from beyond the grave. Where books and photography and the Internet can all gang up on me and we can all have a teachable moment.

I had almost allowed my art to become judgment with a capital J, a bastion of Godly perfection, in a world that has not known perfection since Eden. Perhaps like many Americans, I have grown unrealistic and expect too much.

We live in a critical and perfectionist age with 24 hour cameras and instant exposure, giant eyes and black hearts, where no person can stand the light of inspection. We expect so much and suffer so little. Christianity teaches that we all fall short of the Glory of God. On that this generation is quick to agree. But Christ also teaches Grace, something in short supply in our culture.

Grace means unmerited favor... undeserved blessings. And top of the list, FORGIVENESS is and has always been the key to Grace. God Loves and forgives us, and we receive His Grace. We cannot continuously enjoy or receive His Grace if we will not readily give it ourselves. So peace in our country requires a culture of habitual forgiveness.

Of course, what condemned Joan was her unforgiveness of the English, her skepticism of their spiritual paradigm, her preference to death over submission in any way to them. They did not take her loathing and threats very well, and well, reacted even worse. It was an earthly battle of wills, and theirs was bigger and stronger.

Many if not most of the folks pictured on this site were caught up in like tragedies in some way or another. Artists and writers are passionate and often get carried away with emotions and causes. Sometimes even farm girls get caught up in social hysteria. Sweet Joan got involved in her country's emergency and actually led armies to embarrass and vanquish the British, just waving a banner. She confessed at her trial that she had never killed even one man. But pure as she was, she was completely devoted to a corrupt king... a spineless, jealous king who refused to negotiate her ransom... she was a national treasure wounded twice in battle to save a country which would turn its back on her.

What a terrible calling if in fact God did send her!

Protestants have believed for at least 500 years that God sent His Son as the one and only, and the last sacrifice for our redemption. Absolutely nothing additional is required from us. And God has rarely if ever required of us to sacrifice our children. His calling to His service has rarely required submission of teenagers to death in a hopeless cause. A veritable casting of pearls before swine. There have never been battles required to be fought where many thousands would perish, to embolden a corrupt government, and place a veil upon the whole country for half a millennium. Protestants perceive a progressive God, where in most cases His plan makes sense, if not in the conception, as time unveils His Will and the genius of it. Sure God calls all of his children to some form of personal sacrifice. But it is always for the enlargement and glory of His Kingdom. And when He has... He has never sent them with swords or guns.

 

And such is the real tragedy that Joan or her king or the French people never realized. In Joan's zeal and military success, she fortified the French Catholic Church, the only authority besides God whom she ever yielded to, which mostly doubted and second-guessed her. After her martyrdom in English hands, they did not bother to reverse her sentence and restore her reputation until 20 years later. Joan was a mere pawn in a game among ruthless royalty and elites. If God sent her into that, knowing her fate... knowing that a French victory over Britain was sealing her and France's spiritual potential... to effectively place a lid on His Kingdom, that would have been unlike the God I know.

MOREOVER, Eventually France became an apostate nation, and partly because Joan's victories which prevented the spread of the English and German Enlightenment. She could never have suspected as much, but Joan had repelled the one hope of future spiritual reformation for her people. It was a religious movement soon to sweep eastern Europe and the British Isles. A movement which would forever brand the progressive, prosperous countries of Europe which were able to spread the Gospel, establish democracy and defend both. And feed the world. Till this day.

Whatever Joan's patriotic assumptions, France missed the boat, missed the mercies of Grace, and her legacy did not serve the long term progress of the Kingdom Of God well. Later the French Revolution annihilated whatever was left of her influence with class warfare that nearly exterminated men of means, or education, or spirituality. It was what revolution looks like when executed by godless anarchists. It was passionate and bloody and lawless. It was as unjust and tragic as any wrongs which inspired it.

Still, our popular writers found in Joan a charming narrative which inspired them. Dozens of books and movies have made Joan a household icon. She became a Saint early in the Twentieth Century... but she was already the patron saint of women's suffrage. As her legend morphed, generations added their own useful interpretation of her courage and sacrifice. But under it all, Joan was... a dear young woman...

... A precious soul who had to face God like all of us will, and answer for her life, and her motives, and she will do it someday under the protective Grace of God.

Joan may also be the patron saint of flawed visionaries, unqualified leaders who step into the fray of public struggles, because no one else would. They sometimes, often times make mistakes. And they are often as surprised as the rest of us at the unintended consequences of their actions. But where would we be without them?

Yes, someday Joan will face God. Someday when they separate the good from the bad, the doers from the naysayers. The soldiers from the whiners. The courageous and willing from the ambivalent and useless. And whatever her Eternal fate, Joan will stand tall among all men and women. She will have no regrets. Very little shame. And most of her enemies will not be there... because few of them would have made the cut.

Joan will be standing almost alone in her class, whatever it may be called. She might be one of the few mortals worthy to kneel at the front of the line, in spite of her blemishes, and greet the King of Kings, who will judge all mankind. I can see her with her white banner, bowing in her armor on her black steed, as he kneels, his mane touching the ground... of celestial clouds, the glory of the King of Kings blinding everyone as it reflects off of her steel breastplate.

Now THAT would be a painting!

Now, back to the tintypes.