Our Lady of Mercy

Richard Sevigny, working at Our Lady of Mercy Roman Catholic Cemetery, where he spent more than 10 years making and repairing monuments.

Pregnant woman

This wood sculpture, made at our home on 69th Street in South Miami, was purchased by, or simply given to a neighbor.

Richard Sevigny, photographer

This picture shows Richard, probably at Matheson Hammock in the late 70s or early 80s, carrying one of his many Pentax K-1000 cameras, or a clone of one.

Richard had a full darkroom and made tons of prints. He taught me the basics of photography -- the Sunny 16 Rule, and the rest.

Baptism of Christ - oil on canvas

Scheistmeister von Treblinka

This painting dated August 14, 1985 is an example of Richard Sevigny departing – to a degree - from religious themes to depict deep, historical cruelty.

It was inspired by Jean-Francois Steiner’s controversial 1966 book Treblinka, an “inspiring story of 600 Jews who revolted against their murderers and burned a Nazi death camp to the ground,” according to the jacket notes of Richard’s copy.

Treblinka reads like a thriller. It begins with Jews being shipped to death camps in rural villages in occupied territories. One was Treblinka, where nearly a million were killed. It ends with a violent prisoner uprising in which only 40 men survive.

As the story progresses, with escape attempts, the constant arrival of trains full of prisoners bound for a thousand different kinds of deaths, and the revelation that the liquidation of the camp is drawing near, Steiner offers us a picture of a cruelty that became almost normal to the prisoners.

The episode that inspired this piece reportedly took place after a camp commander, fearing prisoners were conspiring in the cramped bathrooms or perhaps out of pure cruelty, decided to post a watchman in the latrines. Of course, the Nazi guards didn’t merely assign a prisoner to work as a guard. They turned it into a perverse game in which the guard would be called the Shit Master and wear an absurd costume.

Richard filled the background with passages taken directly from the book, starting with a mess-hall conversation between camp guards:

“He will be dressed like a rabbi,” said one.
“He will wear a Russian cap,” said another.
“No, a top hat,” outbid a third.
“Yes, yes, a hat,” shouted the listeners.
“And we’ll give him a whip.”
“And we’ll make him grow a goatee.”
“And we’ll tie an alarm clock around his neck.”

“Cantor or rabbi,” either way it is the same shit.”

The “shit master” had instructions to only let five prisoners enter at once and to make them leave after three minutes.

“Rabbi, how goes the shit?”
“Very well, sir, it stinks.”

Even the Jews could not help laughing at him. “I beg of you,” he would say. “Do it for me, come out!” The prisoners could not help laughing, but it was themselves they were laughing at, it was their religion they were mocking. For the shit master was one of them and his costume was part of their religion.

Christ removed from the cross

In this oil painting, Richard Sevigny used an almost EC comic-book style to portray Mary taking possession of the body of her son after his gruesome execution.

This is another example of Richard looking to inject time-worn Biblical episodes with graphic power. But here, Richard appears to depart sharply from Scripture on a number of points, as we shall see.

Blood flows down from the cross in widening rivulets and Jesus Christ’s hand, raised to his lower chest or throat in agony, suggests he is still clinging to life, or has died in Mary’s arms. The gospel has Christ “giving up the ghost” while still on the cross.

When I was a child, I asked my father, “Who is the man that’s holding Jesus?” Indeed, Richard portrayed Mary’s face so contorted with grief that she almost looks masculine. Mary, “full of grace,” bears no resemblance to the woman we know from Sunday school pictures or church sculptures.

She holds her son’s body, almost displaying it or offering it up to the world, or to heaven. The palette is interesting, too, and classic Sevigny. Apart from the red blood, the cloth of the same color across Christ’s midsection, and Mary’s blue shawl, the entire scene is rendered in warm, earth tones.

There are two figures in the background but Richard offers no hints as to who they might be. Are they executioners cleaning up after the job is done? Are they curious onlookers? Or are they apostles, gearing up to make a run for it?

In any case, the figures and the general sense of movement in the background suggest that Richard imagined this moment as one taking place amidst a more generalized chaos. It’s the absolute opposite of the isolation we see in Abraham and Isaac.

Skull

Richard Sevigny had a long fascination with skulls, which came from his interest in anatomy, but also from his interest in ghost stories and all things macabre. He also thought they were just plain funny.

He didn't just sketch, paint and carve skulls and skeletons. He decorated every house he ever lived in with them and his Halloween parties were legendary. I was told he once topped a Christmas tree with a skull but that may just be a rumor.

I don't when his interest in skulls began.

His closest cousin told me that he began drawing them after visiting a concentration camp during a trip to Germany when he was a young man.

I also have a letter he sent to his parents from New Orleans, where he spent at least a short amount of time painting portraits in St. Marks Square. In the letter, he informs his parents that he's just finished a painting of a grim reaper. He admits that it's a "strange" thing to paint but reassures them that "at least I've done it and it's out of my system now."

But this sculpture shows what Richard's friends all know. His fascination with skulls wasn't out of his system and never would be.

Completed Baptism of Christ

This is a photo Richard shot of the completed sculpture of the Baptism of Christ, which is shown as a work in progress in the first post on this site.

Here are some relevant Biblical passages.

From Matthew:

13 Then Jesus came from Galilee to the Jordan to be baptized by John. 14 But John tried to deter him, saying, "I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?"
15 Jesus replied, "Let it be so now; it is proper for us to do this to fulfill all righteousness." Then John consented.
16 As soon as Jesus was baptized, he went up out of the water. At that moment heaven was opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and lighting on him. 17 And a voice from heaven said, "This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased."

From Mark:
9 At that time Jesus came from Nazareth in Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. 10 As Jesus was coming up out of the water, he saw heaven being torn open and the Spirit descending on him like a dove. 11 And a voice came from heaven: "You are my Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased."

Abraham and Isaac

Richard Sevigny often addressed Biblical themes, as he did in this oil painting. He said he hoped to reinterpret religious stories to renew the force they’d lost over time.

To say he was an armchair Biblical scholar would be an understatement. His familiarity with the Bible and his knowledge of the canonical and Gnostic gospels were as profound as his artistic ability. He was closely involved with the Congregational Church for much of his life, and later, worked for the Archdiocese of Miami, where a number of bishops befriended him.

This painting was inspired by the well-known story from Genesis, Chapter 22, in which God tests Abraham’s faith by commanding him to kill his own son.

In the painting, the “light of God” shines down on the pair from the upper left. Abraham is portrayed as old, perhaps unexpectedly so to have fathered a boy as young as the Isaac we see. The father looks up, waiting for instructions, and his face reveals a stern will to obey. Isaac is naked and vulnerable, not only to the blade, but also to viewers of the painting.

In a dose of almost surrealist minimalism, Richard left the background free of all visual clues that might have been visible at the scene. We know the episode happened outside, in the desert, but there is nothing in the painting that tells us this. Leaving the “setting” out of the work, Richard put the emphasis on the three-way relationship between God, Abraham and his son at a critical moment in Judeo-Christian history. The result is an iconic painting and one of my father’s best.

Richard frequently criticized artists who portrayed Biblical figures as White Europeans. That he gave both Abraham and Isaac Semitic facial features can be seen as an attempt at historical accuracy, but also, as a jab at the centuries-old tradition of portraying Middle Easterners as Anglos.

John Sevigny

Introduction

My father Richard Allen Sevigny was a magnificently talented painter and sculptor who died in 2004 at the age of 57. My brother James Sevigny and I agreed last year that it would be fitting to put his work online. We hope those who love him as well as those who never met him, will now have access to his creations.

Richard left behind an enormous body of paintings, sculptures, drawings, photographs and digital images. We decided to present his work in blog form, adding things when we are able to do so.

In most cases, my father did not date his work and it’s impossible to indicate when each piece was made. We welcome any information that may help us fill in these information gaps.

The photograph above shows Richard carving a statue of the baptism of Christ. The photograph was taken in Coconut Grove where we lived between April 1969 and April 1970. The finished piece was exhibited at the Bacardi Gallery in Miami, Florida in 1969.

John Sevigny

sevignyj@yahoo.com