7ab2- Erotic art with religious caracter.

The message of love of the Virgin Mary.
Act II of an erotic tale with a religious theme.

"I salute You Mary full of grace"
"the Lord is with You"
"You are blessed among all women"
"and I Am, the fruit of Your sanctified flesh"

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Doing so, I furnished with imaginary incidents,

Gauguin

this too short moment of contact with the credulous believers who aligned themselves, in front of the food counter of the holy church.
Gauguin
And I returned with reverend vicar, in front of the altar and the tabernacle, facing back to the crowd, activating again the mechanical gestures that accompanies the mystery of the representation

Gauguin

of the death
Gauguin

of Christ

So, I renewed the same gestures, one or twice a day, every day, listening to the same litanies, the same Latin songs escaped from the throat of my father. I suppose he was forced to this ritual to avoid the tears of my holy mother. I thus had some kind of complicity with my father, my silent father, who undoubtedly preferred being silent like me, escaping into his dreams rather than contradicting the exaggerated dogmas of my mother.

In the sacristy after the service, I helped reverend vicar to remove his ridiculous ecclesiastical clothes, and I delicately arrange them in the wide drawers of the bulky chest of the sacristy. Sir vicar went to the confessional. Before undressing myself from my clothes of mass servants, I stuffed myself with the remains of the non sanctified hosts that I flourish with wine. These waggish gestures were part of the ritual and accompanied, I could feel it, the unavoidable modification of my personality, I did not feel any more like a child.

I suddenly heard my name:

- "Marco!"

A feminine voice, come from nowhere, had pronounced my name. I looked in vain around me; there was nobody; I heard the voice again:

- "Marco, its me, Your Holy Mother."

I looked vainly for my mother. I could never imagine she dares entering the sacristy. I had never seen any women there, and it was very good like so. Man needs places to escape from the groans of the crying mothers.

- "Marco it is me, your Holy Mother Mary!"

I had forgotten the statue of the Virgin-Mary which throne, very high on the left wall of the sacristy. I had a crunch for the Virgin-Mary, an inexplicable attraction, she was a woman. I already loved women. I loved her, I believe, in secrecy. She was like another mother, who never cried.

She had always been there, immovable. Her only eyes spied over the least of my gestures during all those years I served the mass. I accustomed myself to her sweet protective glance.

But She had moved. Her body had moved in my direction. The tchador which, since always, protected Her hair from those inquisitive looks, freed themselves, discovering them in an immense sheaf that collapsed graciously at the level of Her hips. The burnous that had stretched under this sudden tension, molded Her body into explicit shapes. I distinguished the whole sensuality of Her body of mature women, the crack at the birth of Her long and fine legs, the disproportionate exgrowth of Her hips and the sweet curvature of Her bosoms. She was to be beautiful, more beautiful than a mother, beautiful as a mistress.

- "Do you wish to be graceful to me and come close by Me? She says.

She stretched an arm in my direction and invited me to get close to Her. Then, with delicacy, she hailed me towards Her, letting me fall onto the narrow base that acts as a throne to Her for so many years. I could hardly hold my balance on this frail skiff, She wrapped around me with Her arms to prevent me from falling over.

I felt through my thin clothes, the shapes of Her body embedding into me while she tightened me with such vigour. I had difficulty to imagine she could only be a mother. I was afraid to see the reverend vicar, the sacristan, my mother, who could not be able to interpret the scene through their puritanical schemes.

- "You are worth much to Me, you are priceless to Me and I love you."

- "If you are here, it is not due to hasard, I waited for you to declare My love to you."

I could not understand fully, the meaning of Her speech. I stayed there speechless, astounded.

Marco Polo or the imaginary journey (Tales and legends, translated from french, february 1997) © 1997 Jean-Pierre Lapointe
homage to (Vinci, Botticelli, Gauguin, Murillo)
Important Notice: any photos or fragments of photos subject to copyright will be removed on notice.

ACT III