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Yahoo
18 hours ago
- General
- Yahoo
Inside a historic church painted with murals that reflect searing social commentary
MILLVALE, Pa. (AP) — When the scaffolding came down inside the unassuming hilltop church near Pittsburgh, it revealed a raging storm of biblical proportions. A wide-eyed Moses holds the Ten Commandments aloft in righteous fury, ready to shatter the tablets when his followers abandon God for a golden calf. Lightning sizzles and a tornado surges in the background. The late artist Maxo Vanka created the mural in 1941, based on a scene from the Book of Exodus. It's one of 25 murals that cover the walls and ceilings of St. Nicholas Croatian Catholic Church. Vanka, a Croatian American immigrant like most of the original parishioners, painted the scenes in bursts of creative energy that led to marathon-long sessions where he captured stark social inequities alongside traditional religious themes. The murals depict scenes with dualities. An angelic justice figure contrasts with a haunting figure of injustice in a World War I gas mask. Mothers — posed like the grief-stricken Madonnas of traditional pietas — weep over their sons who died in war or were worked to death by American industry. A callous tycoon ignores a beggar. A Madonna snaps a rifle on a battlefield. At the same time, the murals honor the achievements of the immigrant parishioners and the consolations of faith, home and maternal care. The work has drawn international visitors and become a beloved local landmark. One former priest for the church called it 'The Sistine Chapel of Pittsburgh'— a sanctuary dominated by the single artist's tour-de-force. But decades of smoke, atmospheric salts and water leaks had dulled and damaged the paintings. Since 2009, the Society to Preserve the Millvale Murals of Maxo Vanka has been leading a painstaking conservation effort — one section at a time. Results of the latest work completed in late May are evident. The paint in Moses' florid cheeks and deeply grooved facial lines now stand out starkly. Behind him, the large hand of God now gleams brighter. So too do the hair and flamelike feathers of onlooking angels, painted in Vanka's unique palette of bright pink and sea-foam green. 'It's like seeing it how he really wanted it for the first time,' Vanka's granddaughter, Marya Halderman, said of the conservation work earlier this year. 'He always called it his gift to America.' Over four months, a team of more than a dozen workers climbed a 32-foot (9.8-meter) scaffold to clean off grime, extract corrosive salts from the walls, stabilize plaster and delicately fill in areas of lost paint with new pastels and watercolors, which can easily be reversed by current or future conservators. They worked to reveal the artist's original work, including the vigorous brushstrokes he applied amid long hours that stretched into the night, when Vanka reported eating little food, consuming much coffee and often seeing a ghost. The murals 'speak to a unique time in history, World War II and immigration and social justice,' says the Rev. Nicholas Vaskov, director of the Shrines of Pittsburgh, a cluster of historic Catholic parishes that includes St. Nicholas. 'To allow them to continue to speak to people and to see that they are preserved is a great gift.' In January, the crew worked a section that includes the tempestuous Moses and two Gospel scribes in placid poses, St. Matthew and St. Mark. 'One of my favorite things about being a conservator is that I get to touch things that no one has been able to touch for over, what, 70 years?' says Naomi Ruiz, a wall paintings expert. 'You really get to see the artist's brushstrokes, his original hand, his struggle when he's trying to reach off of his scaffold to reach that last little part. It makes you even want to work harder and longer.' Challenges loomed. They were working on the side of the church that takes the most sunlight, which has caused more damage, from fluctuations in temperature and humidity. An artist who crossed social classes Maksimilijan Vanka was born in 1889 in what is now independent Croatia. An out-of-wedlock son of nobility, Vanka was raised by a peasant woman, Dora Jugova. She became the prototype for Vanka's recurring artistic motif of strong, maternal and pious women — such as the sturdy Madonna he depicted with work-worn hands in one of the church's most prominent murals. Vanka's noble family eventually provided him an education. His familiarity with both privilege and poverty gave him insight and sensitivity to people across social classes. Vanka studied in Belgium and served with the Red Cross during World War I. He immigrated to the United States in the 1930s after marrying an American, Margaret Stetten. A Pittsburgh exhibit of Vanka's art caught the attention of the late Rev. Albert Zagar, pastor of St. Nicholas. The church had been rebuilt after a fire, its walls now blank and waiting for the right artist. 'They'd found their person,' said Anna Doering, executive director of the Society to Preserve the Millvale Murals of Maxo Vanka. Vanka transformed the sanctuary in two intense seasons of creativity, in 1937 and 1941. He fused traditional Catholic iconography with searing commentary on war, capitalism, and immigrant labor and contrasting depictions of communal piety and economic greed. 'It's religion, expressed in our social life,' Zagar said in 1941. 'At the same time, it's completely Catholic.' Vanka continued his artistic career until his tragic death in 1963, when he drowned off the coast of Mexico while on vacation. Preserving a local treasure In the decades since, parishioners have cherished the murals, caring for them as best they knew how. More formal conservation efforts began in 1991, when the artist's admirers formed the Society to Preserve the Millvale Murals of Maxo Vanka. By 2009, the society was ready to launch professional work in earnest — preserving one mural at a time. Doering recalls when she first set foot in the church as a consultant. 'My jaw just dropped,' she said. 'I had never seen anything like this. And I wanted to be part of it.' Locals and foundations alike donated. The society also worked with the parish to repair the roof and upgrade climate control systems. In 2022, the society was awarded a $471,670 grant through the Save America's Treasures program, administered by the National Park Service, enabling recent work on the upper part of the church. A process of art and science The conservation workers began by brushing and vacuuming off loose dirt and soot. They did further cleaning with sponges and cotton swabs by the thousands. Much of the grime, Ruiz said, likely resulted from years of atmospheric pollution, ranging from Pittsburgh's former steel mills to everyday highway traffic. The crew also worked to reverse damage to the plaster caused by atmospheric salts. For Ruiz, the murals have universal themes. 'This story that Vanka was telling was specifically for the Croatian people, but it could also speak towards many immigrant families here in the U.S. and how they felt and how they brought a lot of their culture with them,' she said. An unusual field trip Along with conservation work, the society does educational outreach, bringing in student field trips in tandem with the LIGHT Education Initiative, a Pittsburgh-area program with a mission to equip 'the next generation of humanitarians.' Becky Gaugler, director of education and interpretation for the preservation society, welcomed visiting sixth graders from a nearby school earlier this spring. She told them the murals show 'how we can talk about our own stories in relation to those stories in the past.' One student group gathered beneath two contrasting dinner scenes. In one, a modest family prays over a simple meal of bread and soup. In another, a top-hatted millionaire dines alone, indifferent to the beggar at his feet as an angel weeps. The students debated which table they'd rather join. The rich man has better food, they noted, but the family appears more hospitable. 'They are very grateful obviously for what they have,' observed sixth-grader Corinne Coppler. Seeing the big picture Vaskov said the murals remain central to the parish's identity. Though most services are now in English, the parish still holds a monthly Croatian-language Mass and celebrates other ethnic traditions. The scaffolding supporting the conservation work posed 'a temporary inconvenience to reveal something marvelous,' Vaskov said. It finally came down in late May, in time for the parish's 125th anniversary Mass on June 1. Most of the murals have now undergone conservation. More work lies ahead, but it made an opportunity to savor the latest results. 'When you're up there, you really get caught up in every little spot,' Ruiz said. 'Then I look at the big picture. It's so much better than how it was four months ago. It looks so solid. All the colors just pop.' ___ AP photographer Gene Puskar and AP videographer Jessie Wardarski contributed. ___ Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP's collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content.
Hamilton Spectator
18 hours ago
- General
- Hamilton Spectator
Inside a historic church painted with murals that reflect searing social commentary
MILLVALE, Pa. (AP) — When the scaffolding came down inside the unassuming hilltop church near Pittsburgh, it revealed a raging storm of biblical proportions. A wide-eyed Moses holds the Ten Commandments aloft in righteous fury, ready to shatter the tablets when his followers abandon God for a golden calf. Lightning sizzles and a tornado surges in the background. The late artist Maxo Vanka created the mural in 1941, based on a scene from the Book of Exodus. It's one of 25 murals that cover the walls and ceilings of St. Nicholas Croatian Catholic Church. Vanka, a Croatian American immigrant like most of the original parishioners, painted the scenes in bursts of creative energy that led to marathon-long sessions where he captured stark social inequities alongside traditional religious themes. The murals depict scenes with dualities. An angelic justice figure contrasts with a haunting figure of injustice in a World War I gas mask. Mothers — posed like the grief-stricken Madonnas of traditional pietas — weep over their sons who died in war or were worked to death by American industry. A callous tycoon ignores a beggar. A Madonna snaps a rifle on a battlefield. At the same time, the murals honor the achievements of the immigrant parishioners and the consolations of faith, home and maternal care. The work has drawn international visitors and become a beloved local landmark. One former priest for the church called it 'The Sistine Chapel of Pittsburgh'— a sanctuary dominated by the single artist's tour-de-force. But decades of smoke, atmospheric salts and water leaks had dulled and damaged the paintings. Since 2009, the Society to Preserve the Millvale Murals of Maxo Vanka has been leading a painstaking conservation effort — one section at a time. Results of the latest work completed in late May are evident. The paint in Moses' florid cheeks and deeply grooved facial lines now stand out starkly. Behind him, the large hand of God now gleams brighter. So too do the hair and flamelike feathers of onlooking angels, painted in Vanka's unique palette of bright pink and sea-foam green. 'It's like seeing it how he really wanted it for the first time,' Vanka's granddaughter, Marya Halderman, said of the conservation work earlier this year. 'He always called it his gift to America.' Over four months, a team of more than a dozen workers climbed a 32-foot (9.8-meter) scaffold to clean off grime, extract corrosive salts from the walls, stabilize plaster and delicately fill in areas of lost paint with new pastels and watercolors, which can easily be reversed by current or future conservators. They worked to reveal the artist's original work, including the vigorous brushstrokes he applied amid long hours that stretched into the night, when Vanka reported eating little food, consuming much coffee and often seeing a ghost. The murals 'speak to a unique time in history, World War II and immigration and social justice,' says the Rev. Nicholas Vaskov, director of the Shrines of Pittsburgh, a cluster of historic Catholic parishes that includes St. Nicholas. 'To allow them to continue to speak to people and to see that they are preserved is a great gift.' In January, the crew worked a section that includes the tempestuous Moses and two Gospel scribes in placid poses, St. Matthew and St. Mark. 'One of my favorite things about being a conservator is that I get to touch things that no one has been able to touch for over, what, 70 years?' says Naomi Ruiz, a wall paintings expert. 'You really get to see the artist's brushstrokes, his original hand, his struggle when he's trying to reach off of his scaffold to reach that last little part. It makes you even want to work harder and longer.' Challenges loomed. They were working on the side of the church that takes the most sunlight, which has caused more damage, from fluctuations in temperature and humidity. An artist who crossed social classes Maksimilijan Vanka was born in 1889 in what is now independent Croatia. An out-of-wedlock son of nobility, Vanka was raised by a peasant woman, Dora Jugova. She became the prototype for Vanka's recurring artistic motif of strong, maternal and pious women — such as the sturdy Madonna he depicted with work-worn hands in one of the church's most prominent murals. Vanka's noble family eventually provided him an education. His familiarity with both privilege and poverty gave him insight and sensitivity to people across social classes. Vanka studied in Belgium and served with the Red Cross during World War I. He immigrated to the United States in the 1930s after marrying an American, Margaret Stetten. A Pittsburgh exhibit of Vanka's art caught the attention of the late Rev. Albert Zagar, pastor of St. Nicholas. The church had been rebuilt after a fire, its walls now blank and waiting for the right artist. 'They'd found their person,' said Anna Doering, executive director of the Society to Preserve the Millvale Murals of Maxo Vanka. Vanka transformed the sanctuary in two intense seasons of creativity, in 1937 and 1941. He fused traditional Catholic iconography with searing commentary on war, capitalism, and immigrant labor and contrasting depictions of communal piety and economic greed. 'It's religion, expressed in our social life,' Zagar said in 1941. 'At the same time, it's completely Catholic.' Vanka continued his artistic career until his tragic death in 1963, when he drowned off the coast of Mexico while on vacation. Preserving a local treasure In the decades since, parishioners have cherished the murals, caring for them as best they knew how. More formal conservation efforts began in 1991, when the artist's admirers formed the Society to Preserve the Millvale Murals of Maxo Vanka. By 2009, the society was ready to launch professional work in earnest — preserving one mural at a time. Doering recalls when she first set foot in the church as a consultant. 'My jaw just dropped,' she said. 'I had never seen anything like this. And I wanted to be part of it.' Locals and foundations alike donated. The society also worked with the parish to repair the roof and upgrade climate control systems. In 2022, the society was awarded a $471,670 grant through the Save America's Treasures program, administered by the National Park Service, enabling recent work on the upper part of the church. A process of art and science The conservation workers began by brushing and vacuuming off loose dirt and soot. They did further cleaning with sponges and cotton swabs by the thousands. Much of the grime, Ruiz said, likely resulted from years of atmospheric pollution, ranging from Pittsburgh's former steel mills to everyday highway traffic. The crew also worked to reverse damage to the plaster caused by atmospheric salts. For Ruiz, the murals have universal themes. 'This story that Vanka was telling was specifically for the Croatian people, but it could also speak towards many immigrant families here in the U.S. and how they felt and how they brought a lot of their culture with them,' she said. An unusual field trip Along with conservation work, the society does educational outreach, bringing in student field trips in tandem with the LIGHT Education Initiative, a Pittsburgh-area program with a mission to equip 'the next generation of humanitarians.' Becky Gaugler, director of education and interpretation for the preservation society, welcomed visiting sixth graders from a nearby school earlier this spring. She told them the murals show 'how we can talk about our own stories in relation to those stories in the past.' One student group gathered beneath two contrasting dinner scenes. In one, a modest family prays over a simple meal of bread and soup. In another, a top-hatted millionaire dines alone, indifferent to the beggar at his feet as an angel weeps. The students debated which table they'd rather join. The rich man has better food, they noted, but the family appears more hospitable. 'They are very grateful obviously for what they have,' observed sixth-grader Corinne Coppler. Seeing the big picture Vaskov said the murals remain central to the parish's identity. Though most services are now in English, the parish still holds a monthly Croatian-language Mass and celebrates other ethnic traditions. The scaffolding supporting the conservation work posed 'a temporary inconvenience to reveal something marvelous,' Vaskov said. It finally came down in late May, in time for the parish's 125th anniversary Mass on June 1. Most of the murals have now undergone conservation. More work lies ahead, but it made an opportunity to savor the latest results. 'When you're up there, you really get caught up in every little spot,' Ruiz said. 'Then I look at the big picture. It's so much better than how it was four months ago. It looks so solid. All the colors just pop.' ___ AP photographer Gene Puskar and AP videographer Jessie Wardarski contributed. ___ Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP's collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content. Error! Sorry, there was an error processing your request. There was a problem with the recaptcha. Please try again. You may unsubscribe at any time. By signing up, you agree to our terms of use and privacy policy . 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Winnipeg Free Press
18 hours ago
- General
- Winnipeg Free Press
Inside a historic church painted with murals that reflect searing social commentary
MILLVALE, Pa. (AP) — When the scaffolding came down inside the unassuming hilltop church near Pittsburgh, it revealed a raging storm of biblical proportions. A wide-eyed Moses holds the Ten Commandments aloft in righteous fury, ready to shatter the tablets when his followers abandon God for a golden calf. Lightning sizzles and a tornado surges in the background. The late artist Maxo Vanka created the mural in 1941, based on a scene from the Book of Exodus. It's one of 25 murals that cover the walls and ceilings of St. Nicholas Croatian Catholic Church. Vanka, a Croatian American immigrant like most of the original parishioners, painted the scenes in bursts of creative energy that led to marathon-long sessions where he captured stark social inequities alongside traditional religious themes. The murals depict scenes with dualities. An angelic justice figure contrasts with a haunting figure of injustice in a World War I gas mask. Mothers — posed like the grief-stricken Madonnas of traditional pietas — weep over their sons who died in war or were worked to death by American industry. A callous tycoon ignores a beggar. A Madonna snaps a rifle on a battlefield. At the same time, the murals honor the achievements of the immigrant parishioners and the consolations of faith, home and maternal care. The work has drawn international visitors and become a beloved local landmark. One former priest for the church called it 'The Sistine Chapel of Pittsburgh'— a sanctuary dominated by the single artist's tour-de-force. But decades of smoke, atmospheric salts and water leaks had dulled and damaged the paintings. Since 2009, the Society to Preserve the Millvale Murals of Maxo Vanka has been leading a painstaking conservation effort — one section at a time. Results of the latest work completed in late May are evident. The paint in Moses' florid cheeks and deeply grooved facial lines now stand out starkly. Behind him, the large hand of God now gleams brighter. So too do the hair and flamelike feathers of onlooking angels, painted in Vanka's unique palette of bright pink and sea-foam green. 'It's like seeing it how he really wanted it for the first time,' Vanka's granddaughter, Marya Halderman, said of the conservation work earlier this year. 'He always called it his gift to America.' Over four months, a team of more than a dozen workers climbed a 32-foot (9.8-meter) scaffold to clean off grime, extract corrosive salts from the walls, stabilize plaster and delicately fill in areas of lost paint with new pastels and watercolors, which can easily be reversed by current or future conservators. They worked to reveal the artist's original work, including the vigorous brushstrokes he applied amid long hours that stretched into the night, when Vanka reported eating little food, consuming much coffee and often seeing a ghost. The murals 'speak to a unique time in history, World War II and immigration and social justice,' says the Rev. Nicholas Vaskov, director of the Shrines of Pittsburgh, a cluster of historic Catholic parishes that includes St. Nicholas. 'To allow them to continue to speak to people and to see that they are preserved is a great gift.' In January, the crew worked a section that includes the tempestuous Moses and two Gospel scribes in placid poses, St. Matthew and St. Mark. 'One of my favorite things about being a conservator is that I get to touch things that no one has been able to touch for over, what, 70 years?' says Naomi Ruiz, a wall paintings expert. 'You really get to see the artist's brushstrokes, his original hand, his struggle when he's trying to reach off of his scaffold to reach that last little part. It makes you even want to work harder and longer.' Challenges loomed. They were working on the side of the church that takes the most sunlight, which has caused more damage, from fluctuations in temperature and humidity. An artist who crossed social classes Maksimilijan Vanka was born in 1889 in what is now independent Croatia. An out-of-wedlock son of nobility, Vanka was raised by a peasant woman, Dora Jugova. She became the prototype for Vanka's recurring artistic motif of strong, maternal and pious women — such as the sturdy Madonna he depicted with work-worn hands in one of the church's most prominent murals. Vanka's noble family eventually provided him an education. His familiarity with both privilege and poverty gave him insight and sensitivity to people across social classes. Vanka studied in Belgium and served with the Red Cross during World War I. He immigrated to the United States in the 1930s after marrying an American, Margaret Stetten. A Pittsburgh exhibit of Vanka's art caught the attention of the late Rev. Albert Zagar, pastor of St. Nicholas. The church had been rebuilt after a fire, its walls now blank and waiting for the right artist. 'They'd found their person,' said Anna Doering, executive director of the Society to Preserve the Millvale Murals of Maxo Vanka. Vanka transformed the sanctuary in two intense seasons of creativity, in 1937 and 1941. He fused traditional Catholic iconography with searing commentary on war, capitalism, and immigrant labor and contrasting depictions of communal piety and economic greed. 'It's religion, expressed in our social life,' Zagar said in 1941. 'At the same time, it's completely Catholic.' Vanka continued his artistic career until his tragic death in 1963, when he drowned off the coast of Mexico while on vacation. Preserving a local treasure In the decades since, parishioners have cherished the murals, caring for them as best they knew how. More formal conservation efforts began in 1991, when the artist's admirers formed the Society to Preserve the Millvale Murals of Maxo Vanka. By 2009, the society was ready to launch professional work in earnest — preserving one mural at a time. Doering recalls when she first set foot in the church as a consultant. 'My jaw just dropped,' she said. 'I had never seen anything like this. And I wanted to be part of it.' Locals and foundations alike donated. The society also worked with the parish to repair the roof and upgrade climate control systems. In 2022, the society was awarded a $471,670 grant through the Save America's Treasures program, administered by the National Park Service, enabling recent work on the upper part of the church. A process of art and science The conservation workers began by brushing and vacuuming off loose dirt and soot. They did further cleaning with sponges and cotton swabs by the thousands. Much of the grime, Ruiz said, likely resulted from years of atmospheric pollution, ranging from Pittsburgh's former steel mills to everyday highway traffic. The crew also worked to reverse damage to the plaster caused by atmospheric salts. For Ruiz, the murals have universal themes. 'This story that Vanka was telling was specifically for the Croatian people, but it could also speak towards many immigrant families here in the U.S. and how they felt and how they brought a lot of their culture with them,' she said. An unusual field trip Along with conservation work, the society does educational outreach, bringing in student field trips in tandem with the LIGHT Education Initiative, a Pittsburgh-area program with a mission to equip 'the next generation of humanitarians.' Becky Gaugler, director of education and interpretation for the preservation society, welcomed visiting sixth graders from a nearby school earlier this spring. She told them the murals show 'how we can talk about our own stories in relation to those stories in the past.' One student group gathered beneath two contrasting dinner scenes. In one, a modest family prays over a simple meal of bread and soup. In another, a top-hatted millionaire dines alone, indifferent to the beggar at his feet as an angel weeps. The students debated which table they'd rather join. The rich man has better food, they noted, but the family appears more hospitable. 'They are very grateful obviously for what they have,' observed sixth-grader Corinne Coppler. Seeing the big picture Vaskov said the murals remain central to the parish's identity. Though most services are now in English, the parish still holds a monthly Croatian-language Mass and celebrates other ethnic traditions. The scaffolding supporting the conservation work posed 'a temporary inconvenience to reveal something marvelous,' Vaskov said. It finally came down in late May, in time for the parish's 125th anniversary Mass on June 1. Most of the murals have now undergone conservation. More work lies ahead, but it made an opportunity to savor the latest results. Sundays Kevin Rollason's Sunday newsletter honouring and remembering lives well-lived in Manitoba. 'When you're up there, you really get caught up in every little spot,' Ruiz said. 'Then I look at the big picture. It's so much better than how it was four months ago. It looks so solid. All the colors just pop.' ___ AP photographer Gene Puskar and AP videographer Jessie Wardarski contributed. ___ Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP's collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content.
Associated Press
18 hours ago
- Associated Press
Inside a historic church painted with murals that reflect searing social commentary
MILLVALE, Pa. (AP) — When the scaffolding came down inside the unassuming hilltop church near Pittsburgh, it revealed a raging storm of biblical proportions. A wide-eyed Moses holds the Ten Commandments aloft in righteous fury, ready to shatter the tablets when his followers abandon God for a golden calf. Lightning sizzles and a tornado surges in the background. The late artist Maxo Vanka created the mural in 1941, based on a scene from the Book of Exodus. It's one of 25 murals that cover the walls and ceilings of St. Nicholas Croatian Catholic Church. Vanka, a Croatian American immigrant like most of the original parishioners, painted the scenes in bursts of creative energy that led to marathon-long sessions where he captured stark social inequities alongside traditional religious themes. The murals depict scenes with dualities. An angelic justice figure contrasts with a haunting figure of injustice in a World War I gas mask. Mothers — posed like the grief-stricken Madonnas of traditional pietas — weep over their sons who died in war or were worked to death by American industry. A callous tycoon ignores a beggar. A Madonna snaps a rifle on a battlefield. At the same time, the murals honor the achievements of the immigrant parishioners and the consolations of faith, home and maternal care. The work has drawn international visitors and become a beloved local landmark. One former priest for the church called it 'The Sistine Chapel of Pittsburgh'— a sanctuary dominated by the single artist's tour-de-force. But decades of smoke, atmospheric salts and water leaks had dulled and damaged the paintings. Since 2009, the Society to Preserve the Millvale Murals of Maxo Vanka has been leading a painstaking conservation effort — one section at a time. Results of the latest work completed in late May are evident. The paint in Moses' florid cheeks and deeply grooved facial lines now stand out starkly. Behind him, the large hand of God now gleams brighter. So too do the hair and flamelike feathers of onlooking angels, painted in Vanka's unique palette of bright pink and sea-foam green. 'It's like seeing it how he really wanted it for the first time,' Vanka's granddaughter, Marya Halderman, said of the conservation work earlier this year. 'He always called it his gift to America.' Over four months, a team of more than a dozen workers climbed a 32-foot (9.8-meter) scaffold to clean off grime, extract corrosive salts from the walls, stabilize plaster and delicately fill in areas of lost paint with new pastels and watercolors, which can easily be reversed by current or future conservators. They worked to reveal the artist's original work, including the vigorous brushstrokes he applied amid long hours that stretched into the night, when Vanka reported eating little food, consuming much coffee and often seeing a ghost. The murals 'speak to a unique time in history, World War II and immigration and social justice,' says the Rev. Nicholas Vaskov, director of the Shrines of Pittsburgh, a cluster of historic Catholic parishes that includes St. Nicholas. 'To allow them to continue to speak to people and to see that they are preserved is a great gift.' In January, the crew worked a section that includes the tempestuous Moses and two Gospel scribes in placid poses, St. Matthew and St. Mark. 'One of my favorite things about being a conservator is that I get to touch things that no one has been able to touch for over, what, 70 years?' says Naomi Ruiz, a wall paintings expert. 'You really get to see the artist's brushstrokes, his original hand, his struggle when he's trying to reach off of his scaffold to reach that last little part. It makes you even want to work harder and longer.' Challenges loomed. They were working on the side of the church that takes the most sunlight, which has caused more damage, from fluctuations in temperature and humidity. An artist who crossed social classes Maksimilijan Vanka was born in 1889 in what is now independent Croatia. An out-of-wedlock son of nobility, Vanka was raised by a peasant woman, Dora Jugova. She became the prototype for Vanka's recurring artistic motif of strong, maternal and pious women — such as the sturdy Madonna he depicted with work-worn hands in one of the church's most prominent murals. Vanka's noble family eventually provided him an education. His familiarity with both privilege and poverty gave him insight and sensitivity to people across social classes. Vanka studied in Belgium and served with the Red Cross during World War I. He immigrated to the United States in the 1930s after marrying an American, Margaret Stetten. A Pittsburgh exhibit of Vanka's art caught the attention of the late Rev. Albert Zagar, pastor of St. Nicholas. The church had been rebuilt after a fire, its walls now blank and waiting for the right artist. 'They'd found their person,' said Anna Doering, executive director of the Society to Preserve the Millvale Murals of Maxo Vanka. Vanka transformed the sanctuary in two intense seasons of creativity, in 1937 and 1941. He fused traditional Catholic iconography with searing commentary on war, capitalism, and immigrant labor and contrasting depictions of communal piety and economic greed. 'It's religion, expressed in our social life,' Zagar said in 1941. 'At the same time, it's completely Catholic.' Vanka continued his artistic career until his tragic death in 1963, when he drowned off the coast of Mexico while on vacation. Preserving a local treasure In the decades since, parishioners have cherished the murals, caring for them as best they knew how. More formal conservation efforts began in 1991, when the artist's admirers formed the Society to Preserve the Millvale Murals of Maxo Vanka. By 2009, the society was ready to launch professional work in earnest — preserving one mural at a time. Doering recalls when she first set foot in the church as a consultant. 'My jaw just dropped,' she said. 'I had never seen anything like this. And I wanted to be part of it.' Locals and foundations alike donated. The society also worked with the parish to repair the roof and upgrade climate control systems. In 2022, the society was awarded a $471,670 grant through the Save America's Treasures program, administered by the National Park Service, enabling recent work on the upper part of the church. A process of art and science The conservation workers began by brushing and vacuuming off loose dirt and soot. They did further cleaning with sponges and cotton swabs by the thousands. Much of the grime, Ruiz said, likely resulted from years of atmospheric pollution, ranging from Pittsburgh's former steel mills to everyday highway traffic. The crew also worked to reverse damage to the plaster caused by atmospheric salts. For Ruiz, the murals have universal themes. 'This story that Vanka was telling was specifically for the Croatian people, but it could also speak towards many immigrant families here in the U.S. and how they felt and how they brought a lot of their culture with them,' she said. An unusual field trip Along with conservation work, the society does educational outreach, bringing in student field trips in tandem with the LIGHT Education Initiative, a Pittsburgh-area program with a mission to equip 'the next generation of humanitarians.' Becky Gaugler, director of education and interpretation for the preservation society, welcomed visiting sixth graders from a nearby school earlier this spring. She told them the murals show 'how we can talk about our own stories in relation to those stories in the past.' One student group gathered beneath two contrasting dinner scenes. In one, a modest family prays over a simple meal of bread and soup. In another, a top-hatted millionaire dines alone, indifferent to the beggar at his feet as an angel weeps. The students debated which table they'd rather join. The rich man has better food, they noted, but the family appears more hospitable. 'They are very grateful obviously for what they have,' observed sixth-grader Corinne Coppler. Seeing the big picture Vaskov said the murals remain central to the parish's identity. Though most services are now in English, the parish still holds a monthly Croatian-language Mass and celebrates other ethnic traditions. The scaffolding supporting the conservation work posed 'a temporary inconvenience to reveal something marvelous,' Vaskov said. It finally came down in late May, in time for the parish's 125th anniversary Mass on June 1. Most of the murals have now undergone conservation. More work lies ahead, but it made an opportunity to savor the latest results. 'When you're up there, you really get caught up in every little spot,' Ruiz said. 'Then I look at the big picture. It's so much better than how it was four months ago. It looks so solid. All the colors just pop.' ___ AP photographer Gene Puskar and AP videographer Jessie Wardarski contributed. ___ Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP's collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content.
The Hill
5 days ago
- Politics
- The Hill
For universities, Trump's punishments far exceed the alleged crimes
The adage 'let the punishment fit the crime,' articulated by the Roman philosopher Cicero some 2,060 years ago, reflects a principle fundamental to every modern legal system. The notion of reciprocal justice — 'an eye for an eye' and not 'two eyes for an eye' — also appears in the Code of Hammurabi and the Book of Exodus. The Magna Carta in 1215 mandated that an offender should be fined 'only in proportion to the degree of his offence,' a concept later reflected in the English Bill of Rights, the Common Law tradition and the U.S. Constitution. The Supreme Court has recognized the importance of proportionality to the rule of law, often framing it in terms of balancing tests or 'levels of scrutiny.' Perhaps more important, proportionality is central to Americans' sense of fundamental fairness, from the playground to the courtroom. In the Trump administration, however, scorched earth warfare has replaced the idea that punishment should fit the crime. Accusing Harvard University of tolerating antisemitism, the administration has frozen or terminated billions in research funding, launched at least eight intrusive investigations, threatened to revoke the university's tax-exempt status and terminated its ability to enroll international students. While inflicting enormous damage, these sanctions are not tied to any discernible gain. Harvard has sued the government, and its legal case is strong. A judge recently issued a temporary restraining order securing its right to enroll international students. But even if Harvard prevails in the courts, the cost will be exorbitant. And Harvard is just one of many universities under attack. People of good will can differ about whether Harvard and its peer universities have met their legal obligations to Jewish students. But, by any standard, the Trump administration's response has been grotesquely disproportionate. Proportionality analysis in law takes different forms. Common elements intended to constrain excessive government actions include such phrases as 'legitimate goal' — as in, government sanctions should be designed to further a legitimate goal, with a rational connection between the sanction and that goal. Another is 'necessity,' meaning sanctions should be necessary to achieve the goal and the least restrictive means available. A third is 'undue burden,' meaning that penalties should be commensurate with the moral culpability of the person or institution sanctioned and should not cause society more harm than good. These principles are reflected in Title VI of the 1964 Civil Rights Act, the main anti-discrimination statute the government is relying on to justify its attacks on higher education. Title VI contains multiple procedural safeguards 'designed to spur agencies into seeking consensual resolutions with recipients.' The Department of Education's Office of Civil Rights, which oversees most Title VI cases, may only seek to terminate federal funding as 'a last resort, to be used only if all else fails,' because 'cutoffs of Federal funds would defeat important objectives of Federal legislation, without commensurate gains in eliminating' discrimination. As Supreme Court Justice Byron White once explained, 'to ensure that this intent would be respected, Congress included an explicit provision … that requires that any administrative enforcement action be 'consistent with achievement of the objectives of the statute authorizing the financial assistance in connection with which the action is taken.''' And as the Justice Department's guidelines for the enforcement of Title VI make clear, 'in each case, the objective should be to secure prompt and full compliance so that needed Federal assistance may commence or continue.' In the early years of Title VI, the Office of Civil Rights did ultimately terminate federal funding for Southern schools that refused to desegregate. But as Sen. Hubert Humphrey, the lead author of the 1964 Civil Rights Act, observed, 'it is not expected that funds would be cut off so long as reasonable steps were being taken in good faith to end unconstitutional segregation.' During the 30 years before the Trump administration's decision in March to cancel $400 million in grants and contracts to Columbia University — taken without a hearing or any semblance of due process — no college or university was stripped of federal funding under Title VI. The administration's slash-and-burn approach fails every conceivable proportionality test. Combating antisemitism is, of course, a legitimate goal. But even assuming that the administration is not using antisemitism as a pretext to pursue a broader political agenda of undermining critics, democratic institutions and the rule of law, there is no rational connection between terminating research on cancer, artificial intelligence or nanotechnology and ending antisemitism. Nor has the administration even tried to demonstrate how barring Harvard from enrolling all international students, as opposed to students proven to have engaged in antisemitic activity, advances its supposed objectives. If implemented, the Trump administration's sanctions would devastate Harvard's ability to remain one of the world's leading research universities. And the sanctions are hardly the least restrictive means available to address campus antisemitism. Harvard has acknowledged the challenges it faces in ensuring a safe and supportive environment for its Jewish community. And, unlike the Southern schools whose continued resistance to Title VI's antidiscrimination mandate in the 1960s was clear, Harvard had already taken significant steps to combat antisemitism and indicated a willingness to address the government's concerns before officials sent it an extravagant list of demands. (Many of those demands, such as plagiarism reviews for all faculty, bore little or no connection to antisemitism.) Whether Harvard has done enough, quickly enough, is a matter that can be debated. But the administration has certainly not proven that Harvard displayed the 'deliberate indifference' that warrants a finding of institutional responsibility for the harassment of Jewish students under Title VI, much less a degree of culpability to justify the penalties the government continues to pile on. Nor is it possible to conclude that slashing funding for scientific and medical research, banning all international students or revoking Harvard's tax-exempt status do more good than harm. The Trump administration is imposing crushing penalties wholly incommensurate with any fault of the targeted institutions simply because it can — or thinks it can — and because it believes that 'shock and awe' will compel all institutions of higher education and their faculty to fall in line. Abandoning the principle that the punishment must fit the crime would set our democratic standard of justice back to the 'might makes right,' Sticks and Stone Age. Glenn C. Altschuler is the Thomas and Dorothy Litwin Emeritus Professor of American Studies at Cornell University. David Wippman is emeritus president of Hamilton College.
