As long as I can recall, I've had a Scottish obsession. That's not so unusual; a lot of people do, Scottish by heritage or by interest. What has been unusual is my preoccupation with the city of Glasgow. It came to my attention as an undergraduate in art school twenty years ago, a very passing reference to Charles Rennie Mackintosh and the Glasgow school of Art caught my attention. The name Glasgow resonated with me in some inexplicable way.
The more I discovered about it, the more intrigued I became. I learned of its status as second city of the British Empire, of the mighty river Clyde, a peaceful salmon stream that eventually gave birth to the industrial revolution in Britain, spawning a unbelievable amount of shipping, commerce and industry.
People came from all over the impoverished highlands and islands into the city; some succeeded, many continued to live in poverty, but still they came. The post war decline of the 30's led to a legendary impoverishment and overcrowding of the slums and tenements; the notorious Gorbals region was immortalized during this period in the stark and chilling 1935 novel No Mean City.
Since then, they've cleaned things up, moved people around, moved them back, restored and destroyed old buildings, built fantastic new ones, cleaned up the river, and learned how to market themselves for world tourism. When I went there in 1999, the "conurbation" that is Glasgow had spent the past ten years adjusting to the massive restructuring and facelift of the previous thirty years. Now is a brilliant time for Glasgow.
Glasgow cathedral is the only pre-reformation cathedral on mainland Scotland left standing by Cromwell's army. The Glasgow Corporation told them that they would change religions if they insisted, but they weren't destroying the building without the bloodiest of battles.
So it stands to this day, on the very spot where young holy Kentigern established his first church, after following two untamed bulls hauling a cart which bore the body of good Saint Fergus, instructed by the Holy Spirit to make God's Church on the place where they stopped.
In the depths of the cathedral is the tomb of Saint Kentigern, simple yet elegant, with its exquisite and elemental tapestry. I stood at the tomb the Saint and was intrigued ….who was this very important and completely mysterious figure? What sort of incredible story lie buried here? I felt like Alice in Wonderland, peeking through the tiny keyhole into that beautiful garden, wishing for the key.
I didn't have the key at that time, but somehow, as I have undergone a spiritual transformation, the words and music have manifested for this project, as well as a vision of and plan for a holistic performance, a multifaceted installation that weaves together the artistic, spiritual and musical threads of my life into a new creative fabric. This inspired work is a culmination of all I've done, reflecting current explorations and leading to future creations.
Along the way I have developed a deeper understanding of his stories and symbols of the Saint, and the spiritual and moral lessons they hold. And I feel that somehow holy Saint Kentigern honours me by being my guide, my friend, and my inspiration. In my heart I still stand transfixed before his tomb, searching for a way to mirror the beauty and the mystery here, to reflect it back to his own people, and to others.
The ubiquitous Glasgow coat of arms pops up everywhere: the tree, fish , bell and bird of Saint Mungo, along with the motto Let Glasgow Flourish, shortened over the centuries from the more specific Lord, Let Glasgow Flourish Through the Preaching of Your Word & the Praising of Your Name. The visage of the Saint manifests in all sorts of forms throughout the town, regal, iconic, stylized, interpretive, handsome, stern, strange and otherworldly. Yet I don't think that the average Glaswegian knows much about the meanings of the symbols, or of the man behind their amazing city. Not that there are any truly concrete sources available that chronicle the life of Saint.Kentigern; his story crosses over from history to myth and back again. It is an extraordinary interface between the ancient archetypal initiatory tales of Celtic oral tradition and the miraculous and moral wonders of the early Christian Church. Saint Mungo is a hero and an example in both of these worlds. .
As I read the opening lines: " To his most reverend lord and dearest father Jocelinus, (from his servant of the same name) ..... I have wandered through the streets and lanes of the city, according to thy command, seeking the recorded life of Saint Kantigern, whom thy soul loveth... if ought shall be produced worthy of being read, be it ascribed to thy eminency....." I had a feeling of kinship with the writer, a sense of the possibility that we all might be part of the same plan…..