Advent, Day 15: Promise

LOOK: the rain bows and the rainbows by Katy Mixon

Mixon, Katy_The rain bows and the rainbows
Katy Mixon (American, 1984–), The rain bows and the rainbows (one day we will switch sides), 2018. Oil paint and used hand rags on muslin, 100 × 138 in.

I saw this quilt by Katy Mixon in December 2021 at the exhibition Break the Mold: New Takes on Traditional Art Making at the North Carolina Museum of Art. I was struck first by its prismatic color, and then by its title—which, the artist told me, comes from a dream she had after her close friend died. To bow, long o, is to bend into a curve; as a noun, a bow is a weapon used to propel an arrow, or a knotted ribbon typically worn by young girls. To bow, short o (as in “ow”), is to incline in respect or submission. The multiple meanings of this homograph open the title to different readings.

But the overall meaning points to the multihued arc that appears in the sky after a rainfall, as sunlight refracts through water vapor.

In the Judeo-Christian tradition, the rainbow is a sign of God’s covenant with Noah and has come to symbolize divine promise more generally, or hope—after the bleakness, beauty.

Mixon’s making process involves upcycling rags, which is itself a kind of redemptive act, saving used scraps and piecing them together into a new whole.

“Katy Mixon’s ‘quilts’ began as an outgrowth of her painting process,” the NCMA exhibition text read. “She routinely wipes her hands, palette knives, and other tools with baby wipes, which she then tosses into her studio’s garbage can. ‘One day [I] looked at the trash and realized it was full of all this hastily discarded color,’ she notes. She began saving the vibrant detritus with no specific purpose in mind, but after remembering her grandmother’s homemade quilts and discovering the famed African American quiltmakers of Gee’s Bend, Alabama, Mixon had a plan for her colorful scraps. ‘For me, the quilted works are alternate endings in the painting’s life cycle,’ Mixon says. ‘Painting as a practice, with the used rags as kaleidoscopic evidence.’”

Describing her technique, Mixon told me: “I compose the pieced tops and work with local longarm quilters to add the batting and backing. I finish each piece with hand stitching, often using crewel embroidery to define brush marks and tonal variations.”

LISTEN: “Joyful” | Words by Kate Bluett | Music by Paul Zach | Performed by Paul Zach with Taylor Leonhardt and Nick Dahlquist, on Christmas Hymns (2022)

The MP3 file of the song is embedded here with Paul Zach’s permission.

Come, O Lord, and make us joyful
as you came to Mary’s womb;
buried deep beneath our sorrows,
where our hopes take root and bloom.
Be the promise that sustains us
through the seasons of the years,
’til at last we see your radiance
when you shine beyond our tears.

Come, O Lord, and show your mercy
as you came in Bethlehem;
let us see the sunlight bursting
through the shadows once again.
Let us hear the song of glory
where the silence held us fast.
We will come to you rejoicing
from the shackles of the past.

Come, O Lord, as living water;
make our deserts green again,
where the wellspring of our laughter
will refresh us like the rain.
After all the years of waiting
for the promise long foretold,
come at last, and let the day break
in the morning of your joy!

“What the Body Knows” by Jean Janzen

Maybe it’s the ocean’s rhythmic tug
that helps me sleep, my body’s own
surge remembering its deepest pulse.

Think of those Celtic monks who
scaled the slippery rocks carrying
vellum and inks while the sea broke

and battered beneath them. High
in a crevice, a hidden stone hut
with cot and candle. The scribe

dips and swirls his quill to preserve
the story—Luke’s genealogy,
name after name, letters shaped

like birds in every color, a flight
of messengers released into history.
Each word unfurls the promise,

like Gabriel kneeling. The body
knows that wings, like waves,
can break through walls and enter,

that the secret of the story
is love, that even as we sleep,
its tides carry us in a wild safety.

The poem “What the Body Knows” by Jean Janzen is from her collection What the Body Knows (DreamSeeker Books / Cascadia Publishing House, 2015) and is used here by permission of the publisher.

The pages from the early ninth-century Book of Kells (IE TCD MS 58, fols. 200r, 200v, 201r, 201v, 202r) are sourced from the Digital Collections of the Library of Trinity College Dublin. They illuminate Luke 3:23–38 in the Latin Vulgate: Et ipse Iesus erat incipiens quasi annorum triginta ut putabatur filius Ioseph qui fuit Heli qui fuit Matthat qui fuit Levi . . . (“And Jesus himself began to be about thirty years of age, being, as was supposed, the son of Joseph, which was the son of Heli, which was the son of Matthat, which was the son of Levi . . .”) Click on the library link to zoom in and explore more, or on the individual images to view at full resolution.

Luke's genealogy (Book of Kells)