The newly installed set of murals at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, here, in New York City, is not a typical installation for me to take on as a writer about art. Befittingly, I will start with a confession: I am a practicing Catholic. Further, I am an employee of the Archdiocese of New York. I also, for a few years, served on a committee to commission new art for parishes therein. Given all of this, my reaction to these murals is not simply formal. I don’t think that anyone’s reaction could be as this is not artwork made in a conventional context.

        It is difficult to presume that these murals are not part of a legacy-building effort by the current Cardinal of New York, His Eminence Timothy Cardinal Dolan, who commissioned the work. The murals occupy the cathedral’s narthex. (A catholic church traditionally would have its central axis run east/west with its main entrance at the western end. In modern cities, this east/west custom cannot always be followed and nowadays the narthex can face “liturgical west,” which is the name given to wherever the main entrance faces, so long as it is opposite the Altar, or “liturgical east.” In the case of St. Patrick’s, the narthex does face “Manhattan west” (about 29° north of true west). The narthex is a transitional space in a Church, a zone that exists between the outside world and the sacred space. Rules for art in this space are interesting in that those depicted need not be saints or holy people.

        In the case of What’s So Funny About Peace, Love, and Understanding, the 12 panels of the murals depict two groups of immigrants including some important historical Catholics. On the uptown wall, there are Europeans arriving by boat in a breezy and sunlit scene. Above these figures is a depiction of the Apparition at Knock —a nineteenth-century holy occurrence in which a group of Irish villagers witnessed a vision of The Virgin Mary, St. Joseph, John the Evangelist, as well as a lamb upon an altar, and a host of angels.

        The immigrants depicted on the downtown side are people of color in contemporary dress, seemingly gathered and waiting, carrying tote bags and shopping bags. Among these people, the artist inserted a portrait of St. Frances Xavier Cabrini, a turn of the century Sister known for her work with the poor, orphans, and immigrants. She was also the first sainted American citizen.

        On the western wall, there are two quintettes, one on either side of what was once the main doors and is now a large window. One is an image of first responders to 9/11 above whom floats an angel holding a police officer cap and a fire fighter helmet. The other is a group portrait of five important American Catholic figures including Archbishop John Hughes, Saint Kateri Tekakwitha— the first Native American Saint, Venerable Pierre Toussaint—philanthropist, Dorothy Day— activist, writer and Servant of God, and Al Smith. They stand below an angel holding St. Patrick’s cathedral itself.

        When viewing the part of the mural depicting these important Catholic figures, I felt for the first time, my heart reacting to this mammoth work not as a commission but as a work of art. I was suddenly very aware of the moccasins worn by St. Kateri Tekakwitha. They are leathery brown and dotted with beads that form white flowers with bright yellow centers. This small detail felt thoughtful and careful. I was then drawn to the large black boots worn by the first responders and then the bright sneakers work by the immigrant children. These figures’ feet are at viewer eye level in the murals. But the murals have a slight forced perspective that I associate with posters for soviet propaganda or superhero movies– the lowest parts of the figures are enlarged, and the upper parts reduced, giving the figures a towering quality. The subjects’ faces and postures convey a dignified humanity, but the composition elevates them to the heroic and compels the viewer to see the subjects’ strength.

        The painting in and of itself is adroit in the best way. The artist, Adam Cvijanovic, displays a great deal of skill and commitment to the subject, prioritizing the story and references above his own showmanship. His painting is somewhat loose and has an easy confidence. It is exciting without tiptoeing into daring; it is what a person without a lot of exposure to art might assume portraiture at the turn of the twenty-first century might be, and therefore, these images possess a quality of having always already been there. This is a smart tack to take when adding new work to a sacred place that is approaching its 150th year.

        The cathedral is a tough place in which to pray, let alone look at art. It is the Grand Central Station of Churches. When I visited during the first week of Advent, in mind to write about these murals, I arrived during Mass which provided an audial backdrop to the busyness of tourists walking their self-guided tour through the cathedral, surrounding those attending the Mass with an equally loud commotion. I watched people look at the murals, some taking a moment to ponder or read the signs about them, some not really noticing, some looking at their phone. I stood back and looked at the murals as a whole. I noticed how beautifully the artist’s addition of goldleaf rays shimmered —the holy spirit, I thought —but also an elegant architectural nod to the art deco Rockefeller Center across the street.

        After having seen them, I was speaking to an artist friend about the murals. He joked the classic joke that if he stepped into the cathedral he would burst into flames, then added, “plus, I remember the 80s. AIDS. Homophobia. Cardinal O’Connor.” I asked my friend, if he is talking about the sins of the church, why would he burst into flames. It was then the mural really came into focus for me. At a very tense moment for immigrants in our nation, and for the Catholic Church, St. Patrick’s wants to remind us of its good works. There are many. And to be fair, the Catholic Church suffers when its immigrant members do not feel safe to participate in the freedom of religion. I think among other goals, this commissioned artwork sought to make this point. Politely. Mission accomplished.

Paul Moreno is an artist and writer who lives and works in Brooklyn, NY. He organizies New York Queer Zine Fair and is the New York City Editor for the New Art Examiner.