Irish Stained Glass

Patrick and the Paschal Fire

Every year on the seventeenth of March we celebrate Saint Patrick, and every year the same stories are told. It’s the shamrock-and-snakes version of our founding saint – always with images of the saintly bishop, in green, holding his crozier. These images are so familiar that Patrick himself has almost disappeared behind them.

This year I want to go back to an older Patrick — fierce, muscular, and considerably more dangerous. My source is the Lebar Brecc Homily on Saint Patrick, a medieval Irish text drawing on traditions going back to at least the ninth century (you can find it here). It was translated by the great nineteenth-century scholar Whitley Stokes, who invented his own register to convey something of the flavour of the medieval Irish. His is a language that occupies territory somewhere between modern and archaic, and for more of Stoke’s wonderful formulations you read my post The White Hound of Brigown. Stokes’ edition of 1887 (below) remains the standard text.

A homily is a text written to be preached, and you can feel that in the Lebar Brecc account: it moves fast and it assumes an audience who will understand a psalm citation or a liturgical reference.The Lebar Brecc is also long and dense so I have decided to focus on the incident where Patrick lights the paschal fire on the hill of Slane, and the aftermath of that deed. At that, I’ve even had to cut out some of the action.

The story opens with a small, touching detail (above). A little boy attaches himself to Patrick as he is about to leave, and his family simply hand him over. He is called Benén in the text but we know him better as St Benignus, who becomes Patrick’s close companion and eventually his successor as bishop (read a more academic account of him here). He is a minor figure at the beginning, but watch for him: he will reappear before the story is over.

Patrick travels to Ferta Fer Féicc (the place now known as the Hill of Slane, in County Meath) and there, on the eve of Easter, he kindles a fire. It seems a simple act, but there was a sacred law in Ireland that no fire might be lit anywhere in the country on that night until the ritual fire had been kindled first at Tara by the High King. Patrick’s fire, visible from Tara, is an act of direct political and spiritual provocation. The druids of Loegaire’s court (Stokes’ ‘wizards’) immediately grasp what it means: Unless yon fire be quenched before this night, he whose fire yon is shall have the kingdom of Ireland for ever.

What follows is an intense confrontation, and I will let Stokes’ translation carry it:

Then said the King, “ It shall not be so, but we will go to him and kill him. The king arises with his host to seek Patrick and kill him ; but they did not arrive before the end of night. When the king drew nigh his wizards said to him, “ Go not thou to him” say they, “ that it may not be a token of honour to him. But let him come to thee and let none rise up before him.” Thus was it done. When Patrick saw the horses and the chariots, he then sang this verse : ‘Hi in curribus et hi in equis, nos autem in nomine Domini Dei nostri magni [ ficabimur ].’ But, when Patrick came in to the assembly, only the son of Deg rose up before him, that is, Bishop Erc, who is (venerated) at Slane.

Wait, what! Bishop Erc? Haven’t we met him before, in tales of St Brendan? What is he doing in King Loegaire’s assembly? This is one of the strange time-shifts that features in this story. Despite all of us learning at school that Patrick brought Christianity to Ireland, it seems it was already here. In fact the Lebar Brecc talks about Palladius coming before Patrick, who arrived into a country where the faith already had a foothold, however marginal. Erc of Slane is almost certainly the same Erc who later baptised Saint Brendan and blessed his famous voyage westward. He is a hinge figure: witness to Patrick’s arrival and sponsor of Brendan’s departure. Erc’s rising is a public act of recognition which came at some personal risk.

Then came one of the wizards, to wit, Lochru, fiercely and angrily against Patrick, and reviled the Christian faith. Then holy Patrick said : “ 0 my Lord, it is Thou that canst do all things. In Thy power they are. It is Thou that sentest us hither. Let this ungodly one, who is reviling Thy name, be destroyed in the presence of all.”

Swifter than speech, at Patrick’s word, demons uplifted the wizard in the air, and they let him go (down) against the ground, and his head struck against a stone and dust and ashes were made of him in the presence of all, and trembling and terror intolerable seized the hosts that were biding there.

Now, Loegaire was enraged with Patrick, and went to kill him. When Patrick perceived the onfall of the heathen upon him, he then exclaimed, with a mighty voice, “ Exsurgat Deus et dissipentur inimici ejus”* Came a great earthquake and thunder there, and a wind, and scattered the chariots and the horses afar on every side, so that they came even to Brig Graide and Sliab Moenuimn, and they were all slaughtering each other through Patrick’s curse, and there were left along with the king but four persons only in that place, to wit, himself and his wife and two of his priests.

My goodness, this is definitely not the Patrick of Hail, glorious St. Patrick, dear Saint of our Isle; On us thy poor children bestow a sweet smile. Sorry – I have always had a soft spot for Frank Patterson – quick diversion into the shamrock-soaked images here.

In fact, Patrick’s behaviour here reminds me of St Fanahan, the White Hound of Brigown, with his head-battler and sparks flying from his teeth – which in turn reminds me of Cuchullain and his warp spasms. But I digress – let’s carry on now with the story.

When terror seized the queen she went to Patrick and said to him, ” 0 righteous one and 0 mighty one, kill not the king, for he shall submit to thee, and give thee thine own will.” The king came and gave his will to Patrick by word of mouth, but gave it not from his heart ; and he told Patrick to go after him to Tara that he might give him his will before the men of Ireland. That, however, was not what was biding in his mind, but to kill Patrick, for he left ambushes before him on every road from that to Tara.

Thereafter went Patrick (and his train of) eight, together with a gillie Benén, past all the ambushes, in the shape of eight deer and behind them one fawn with a white bird on its shoulder, that is, Benén with Patrick’s writing-tablets on his back ; and thereafter he went into Tara, the doors being shut, to the middle of the palace. The king was then feasting with the kingfolk of Ireland around him at this hightide, for that was the Feast of Tara.

No one rose up before Patrick at Tara except the kings poet, Dubthach Macculugair, and he believed and was baptized, and Patrick gave him a blessing.

Patrick is then called to the king’s couch that he might eat food. Howbeit Patrick refused not that. The wizard Lucatmoel put a drop of poison into Patrick’s cruse**, and gave it into Patrick’s hand. But Patrick blessed the cruse and inverted the vessel, and the poison fell thereout, and not even a little of the ale fell. And Patrick afterwards drank the ale.

And where have we met a white deer before – ah yes, that would be the story of St Gobnait, who will find ‘the place of her resurrection’ when she sees nine white deer. The image of Benignus as the fawn with the white bird is a lovely one.

Thereafter the hosts fared forth out of Tara. Then said the wizard, “ Let us work miracles together that we may know which of us is the stronger.” “ So be it done,” said Patrick. Then the wizard brought snow over the plain till it reached men’s shoulders. Dixit Patricius to him : “ Put it away now if thou canst.” Dixit magus : “ I cannot till the same time to-morrow.”

“ By my debroth ” (that is, ‘ by my God of judgment,’) saith Patrick, “ it is in evil thy power lieth, and nowise in good.” Patrick blessed the plain, and the snow melted at once.

The wizard invoked demons, and over the plain he brought darkness that could be felt, and trembling and terror seized every one. Dixit Patricius , “Take away the darkness if thou canst.” The wizard replied,

“ I cannot till the same time to-morrow.” Patrick blessed the plain, and the darknesses at once depart, and the sun shone forth …. All who were there gave thanks to God and to Patrick.

The miracle contest between Patrick and the unnamed wizard outside Tara has the quality of a folk tale with its snow conjured and melted, darkness brought and dispersed, but the theological point is precise. The wizard can bring affliction but cannot remove it whereas Patrick can do both.

Then another counsel was taken, that is, to build a house in that hour, the half thereof fresh and the other withered, and to put the wizard into the fresh half with Patrick’s raiment about him, (and) to place Patrick’s gillie, Benén, into the withered half, with the wizard’s tunic about him.

. . .and fire was put into the house, and the fresh half is burnt with the wizard therein, and Patrick’s raiment which was about him was not burnt. But the withered half was not burnt, nor the gillie, but the wizard’s tunic which was about him was burnt.

The king grows terrible at the killing of the wizard, and he proceeds to kill Patrick. But God’s anger came against the ungodly folk, so that a multitude of them, twelve thousand, perished.

Terror then seized Loegaire, and he knelt to Patrick, and believed in God with (his) lips only, and not with a pure heart. All the rest, moreover, believe and were baptized.

The burning house episode is the climax. The wizard, wearing Patrick’s cloak, enters the half built of fresh green wood. Benignus, wearing the wizard’s tunic, enters the withered half. The green wood burns with the wizard inside it; Patrick’s cloak is unharmed. The withered wood does not burn; only the wizard’s tunic is destroyed. It is a reversal of every natural expectation, and the text presents it without comment, trusting the audience to get the significance of the miracle.

Patrick’s final words to Lóegaire, who has knelt and believed with his lips but not his heart, are worth a second look:

Patrick said to Loegaire, “ Since thou hast believed in God, length of life shall be given to thee in the kingdom. But in guerdon of thy disobedience aforetime, and because thou hast not received the baptism with desire, though thou believedst with thy lips, Hell shalt thou have, and from thy race till Doom there shall be neither sovranty nor chieftainship.”

This is not the Patrick of the greeting cards, but a figure of formidable authority, distinguishing between outward compliance and genuine conversion, and prepared to curse a king’s entire lineage on the basis of that distinction. The medieval Irish church that preserved and transmitted this story clearly wanted a Patrick of the kind of power to rival and surpass the druids’ (or wizards, in Stokes’ parlance) power to bend kings – power over fire and snow and darkness. 

Maybe it’s time to reclaim that Patrick from the ‘dear saint of our isle’ with his shamrocks and raised hand in blessing. If this was the real Patrick, I suspect that when he raised his hand we would all be running for cover.

* “Let God arise and let his enemies be scattered” (psalm 68:1)

**A cruse is a small jar

Dalle de Verre in Ireland

Last week I introduced you to the modernist stained glass practice known as dalle de verre, and its beautiful realisation in St Augustine’s in Cork. It was the work of the world famous Gabriel Loire. To see what made him so renowned, just take a look at this project, or google the Symphonic Sculpture installation in Japan.

We have three more examples of Loire’s dalle de verre work in Ireland. In a now largely-unused church attached to the Dominican Convent in Belfast (above), we have his earliest Irish windows (1962) – 5 lights titled Resurrection, Redemption, Prediction, Nativity and Annunciation. They are hard to photograph and even harder to interpret – the titles were supplied to me by the Ateliers Loire. 

For those used to traditional stained glass, dalle de verre represented a radical departure from their expectations and we must not underestimate the courage and vision of architects and congregations in embracing this avant-garde medium. Rather than a familiar depiction of a Resurrection, Annunciation, or St Patrick, what faced parishioners were swathes of deeply coloured glass sometimes with recognisable iconography, but often with difficult-to-interpret motifs, as in the Belfast windows. 

And sometimes with nothing but colour variation to encourage a prayerful or contemplative mood. Gabriel Loire adopted the maxim, Arrange it so that in what you do, there is nothing, but in that nothing, there is everything each person seeks. His philosophy can be seen in action in the Holy Redeemer Church in Dundalk (above) (1965-68), an extraordinary modernist building with work by the best artists of the day. The success of the design can be credited to the architects, Frank Corr and Oonagh Madden, and the breadth of the art to Michael Wynne, who acted as advisor on the project. Works by Oisin Kelly (rooftop crucifixion), Imogen Stuart (exterior stations), Ray Carroll, and Michael Biggs adorn the exterior and interior, while floor to ceiling expanses of dalle de verre by Gabriel Loire provide, in Michael Wynne’s words, one great abstract symphony of colour.

Wynne goes on to say that the windows lend a rich mystical light to the whole interior and to comment on the splendid harmony that exists between the building and all the necessary adornments. Such a unity lends a dignity, a calm and prayerful mood to the building. *

In the Andrew Devane-designed church in St Patrick’s Campus of DCU in Drumcondra, also built in the mid 60s, the curved walls are punctuated by tall panels and a clerestory of dalle de verre. See the lead photo on this post (the one under the title) and the one below. While mostly abstract, some iconography has been incorporated by Loire into the windows.

Because thick lines of concrete are used to outline the images, they are semi-abstract rather than refined. The hand and the dove are clearly discernible in the tall central window, but it cannot be said that the dove is entirely successful – it looks to my eyes like a cartoonish dicky-bird – showing the difficulties of smaller-scale iconography with this medium. 

But the Irish dalle de verre story goes beyond Gabriel Loire: other mid-century artists mastered it and were employed by Irish architects. I will show you two examples first by non-Irish artists. The Church of the Sacred Heart in Waterford – it also is my featured image (above the title) for this post – contains glass by the distinguished British artist Patrick Reyntiens. Here’s a detail, below of that window.

The second church is St Bernadette’s in Belfast, with glass by Dom Norris of Buckfast Abbey. This church is well worth a visit for its many artistic treasures.

Irish artists got in on the act too – George Walsh brought the techniques of dalle de verre back with him from America in the 60s and, working with Abbey studios, introduced it as an ecclesiastical art form into Irish architecture. Here is his Crown of Thorns for St Mary’s Westport, designed by George Campbell and executed by George.

Other studios, such as Murphy Devitt, also used it, and quite close to me I have this charming example in Lowertown church. It’s the Dove of Peace/Holy Spirit, of course, but it became known in the studio as the Holy Gannet.

Although for the most part the churches I have shown you have retained their dalle de verre windows, in at least two cases (the Sacred Heart in Waterford and St Bernadette’s in Belfast) this has come at the cost of enormously expensive conservation projects. In other cases, dalle de verre windows have failed and churches have even had to be demolished. 

For example, the original Edmund Rice chapel in Waterford (above) had to be replaced but George Walsh’s dalle de verre windows were partially saved and displayed in the new church (below). George had combined dalle de verre in these windows with the innovative use of painted glass panels, and even some painting on the dalles.

Dalle de verre windows failed because glass, concrete and steel (used to reinforce the concrete frames of the panels) expand at different rates, and external glazed walls are subject to all the effects of weather. Over time resin was substituted for concrete but this brought its own problems – the epoxy mix had to be just right (and this was all still experimental) or it could, and did, twist and crack as the building settled. The Irish climate – high humidity, temperature fluctuation, driving rain – exacerbated all of these mechanisms, both for cement and resin mixes.

I recently visited a church in Keenaught Co Derry (or Londonderry for my NI readers). It has a soaring wall of dalle de verre windows designed by George Walsh and executed in the Abbey Studios in 1973. The likeness to the work of Gabriel Loire is obvious and indeed George credits Loire as a significant influence on him. The church is enormous and the tall narrow windows lend a beautiful ambience to the interior. However, the windows are buckling at the top and will need conservation work at some point. 

On the same trip I visited a much smaller dalle de verre installation in Swanlinbar, also by George, still looking colourful and rock steady in a side chapel. 

I’d love to hear from readers who have come across other examples of dalle de verre work. As an architectural material it held such promise and it is a tragedy that much of it is no longer standing. The Gabriel Loire window below is from Vancouver, part of a series in St Andrew’s Wesley on Burrard St, viewed on a visit there. I had been in that church for events on numerous occasions when I lived in Vancouver, but knew nothing about these fabulous windows at that point.

By the way, Ateliers Loire is still going strong in Chartres, now run by Gabriel’s grandsons, Bruno and Hervé. Take a look at their recent work. And for anyone looking to learn more about Gabriel Loire I recommend this book which is in French and English. [Update – see comment below re the cost of this book!]

Finally, some of the text (now lightly edited) in this and the previous post on dalle de verre was originally written for a 2021 article on Dalle de Verre in Ireland in Glass Ireland, a publication of the Glass Society of Ireland. The full article is available here.


* Wynne, M, The Church of the Redeemer, Dundalk, THE FURROW, vol. 20, no. 8, August 1969, pp.411- 414

St Augustine’s Church in Cork and Gabriel Loire

This week the Augustinians in Ireland announced that they were permanently closing their Cork Church, St Augustine’s at the corner of Grand Parade and Washington Street. The decision, as far as I can see, is based on the inability of the order to attract more vocations – they no longer have the priests they need to keep the church going. 

Why am I writing about the closing of a church in Cork? It’s because this is one of four buildings in Ireland (all churches) that contain the work of the internationally recognised dalle de verre master, Gabriel Loire, of Chartres in France (below). Let’s start with  – what is dalle de verre? 

Dalle de verre, sometimes simply called slab glass, is a stained glass technique that uses thick slabs (dalles) of coloured glass, arranged to form patterns and embedded in concrete or resin. Each slab is faceted by knocking spalls off it with a hammer. This is the same technique, by the way, used by flint knappers to make prehistoric tools. Due to the nature of conchoidal fracture, the spalls come off in concentric ripples, enlivening the colour through the layering and refracting of the light coming through from the outside. You can see how dalle de verre is made in this video or alternately in this one (which made me smile with that Pathé voice).

Figures and icons in dalle de verre windows are not normally painted as they would be in classic stained glass, but formed through the arrangement of the dalles and the cement lines. They are, by necessity, minimally detailed and windows are often non-figurative, relying on arrangements of colour and flow to suggest subject matter and create interest and atmosphere: thus, they also suited the mid-century artistic movements of abstraction and cubism.

The great advantage of dalle de verre is that it can be used as part of the integrated fabric of a building: that is, as a building material rather than a decorative detail. It lends itself to enormous expanses of glazing and to soaring verticality and this made it very attractive to twentieth century modernist architects. In Ireland several architects championed this new material and incorporated walls of dalle de verre in their churches from the 1960s on. 

St Augustine’s church was designed by the Cork architect Dominic O’Connor and opened in 1942, on the site of a former church about which I can find no information. That’s what it looked like (above) when it opened (courtesy of the Echo). Thirty years later it was extended and refurbished (spot the difference!) and it was at this point, in 1971, under the supervision of the architect Patrick Whelan, that the Gabriel Loire windows were installed. Whelan turned to Gabriel Loire as the natural choice – not only was this his fourth (and final) Irish window, but by then he was acknowledged as the leading practitioner in the world of this art form.

The windows are enormous, floor to ceiling. From the outside (thanks to Piotr Slotwinski for the image above) the form of the artwork can be clearly seen as a complex swirl of patterns, delineated by the concrete lines.

Inside, the two windows are across from each other on either side of the altar. To see them properly you have to go right up to the front. At first, they look pretty much as they do from outside – a complex swirl of patterns. You immediately notice the dominance of a rich blue – stained glass artists know this as Chartres Blue. It was a favourite of Harry Clarke, and of course of Gabriel Loire, whose atelier was in Chartres, in the shadow of the Cathedral. The actual iconography is hard to pick out at first, but obvious once you see it. The street (or south) side is the Eucharist window (above). An enormous chalice in shades of gold against a ruby red background occupies the bottom third of the window above the doors.

Various sunburst motifs fill out the window (see the feature image, the one above the heading). The sunburst — or solar radiance motif — has layered meanings in Christian iconography. At its most fundamental it represents Christ as The Light of the World but it also becomes a metaphor for divine presence, grace, and the Transfiguration. The only other recognisable icon is an anchor. The anchor also functions as a cross around which a rope winds – a traditional image meant to convey that Christ is our anchor, but which could also be an homage to Cork’s great maritime heritage. 

The north side window is the Alpha and Omega window. The Alpha and Omega symbols are clear, and above them is an enormous mandorla, which takes up most of the window. There is also a star (my lead image at the top of the post under the heading) – indicating a contrasting nighttime theme across from the sunburst of the south window. The mandorla in Christian iconography is highly significant. It is the form used to frame Christ in Majesty and also the Virgin in Glory. Taken together with the Alpha and Omega, this window can be interpreted as concerned with Christ as beginning and end, first and last, the eternal sovereign. 

That’s actually a very deliberate and sophisticated arrangement – the altar sits between the two windows, with the congregation facing west. Thus, one could see it as the celebrant and congregation being held between the Eucharistic presence (south) and the cosmic Christ in Majesty (north).  In this reading, the windows are doing active liturgical and theological work in relation to the altar and the gathered community.

The architect, Patrick Whelan, (that’s him below with Des O’Malley) was working in the post-Vatican II era which set off a renaissance in how art and architecture was to come together to modernise the liturgy and glorify God. It is obvious he thought carefully about the integration of art and architecture, resulting in a unified modernist sacred space, not just an extension with some windows added. In this, he had the perfect collaborator in Gabriel Loire.

If St Augustine’s is lost (and I have no idea what is to happen to it) we are losing a coherent ensemble where architecture, liturgical arrangement, and art were conceived together, very much the spirit of the post-Vatican II liturgical reform movement. The altar brought forward, the community gathered around it, art serving the liturgy rather than decorating the walls: Loire and Whelan were clearly working in that spirit. The closure of the church therefore represents not just the loss of two windows but the loss of a complete and largely intact example of that mid-century liturgical vision.

I said at the beginning that this was one of four Gabriel Loire Churches in Ireland. Next week I will show you the others, and say a little more about dalle de verre – its advantages for architecture and what led to its ultimate decline.

Dublin’s Stained Glass: A Review

Friends, take note – this is an ideal Christmas present! If it has never occurred to you to take a drive, a walk or a cycle through any part of Dublin, dropping into churches along the way, this book will convince you that it’s the ideal way to spend a day, surrounded by history and beauty.

As my regular readers know, I write frequently about stained glass, and I was a contributor to The Gazetteer of Irish Stained Glass. The editor and main writer of that volume was David Caron, and I previously reviewed his marvellous book (I called it a ‘miracle’) on the life and work of Michael Healy. Now comes his latest work, Dublin’s Stained Glass, a book about the best 20th century glass in Dublin Churches, stunningly produced by Four Courts Press. This book needs to be in your library!

The John’s Lane church features in David’s Book, with a detail from the St Rita window. Here’s all of the narrative part of the window.

Here’s a statement you might not hear every day – the Catholic Church was the greatest patron of Irish artists in the 20th century. This is particularly true after Vatican II, 1962-65, the decrees of which included encouragement to use modern forms of architecture and art. But it is also true that the Church had the means to commandeer resources that were available to few private individuals in 20th century Ireland. The result of this is that the work of some of our best artists is public and easily accessible. While this book focusses on stained glass, David also points out where appropriate other example of fine art in churches (e.g. stations, altar furniture) as well as identifying the architects working to modernise or re-order our churches.

I have used my own photographs throughout this post, but they cannot compare with the magnificent photography by Jozef Vrtiel, David’s long-term collaborator and the single most talented photographer of stained glass in Ireland. This is truly a combined effort – David’s text and Jozef’s images complement each other superbly.

The book is laid out in sections: City, Dublin North and Dublin South (suburbs and county), encompassing thirty-nine locations. They are not all churches – Bewley’s on Grafton Street is included for its Harry Clarke windows (above, and above that), as well as the National Gallery with its excellent stained glass room, the Hugh Lane Gallery, home of Clarke’s Eve of St Agnes, and St Patrick’s Campus of Dublin City University, with its floor to ceiling expanse of dalle de verre by Gabriel Loire. This is a good example of a non-Irish artist included in the book. Gabriel Loire was French, and the internationally acknowledged master of the dalle de verre technique, in which slabs of glass, chipped round the edges to increase refraction, was embedded in concrete or resin, allowing for soaring walls of colour to be incorporated into the architectural scheme.

This little predella panel is at the base of The Blessed Julie window in Staunton’s Hotel on Stephen’s Green

But of course, mostly the stained glass is in churches. Catholic churches tend to be open much of the time, making them the easier option to visit. A little careful planning may be needed to visit non-Catholic churches. David gives the postal code for each location – very helpful as it works well with Google maps. Of necessity, schools, hospitals and other institutions had to be excluded since they are not publicly accessible most of the time.

In the Dublinia exhibition this is George Walsh’s Trades window

In his introduction, David tells us:

During the 20th century Dublin’s reputation as a centre for stained glass excellence, both in terms of artistry and craftsmanship, was internationally lauded and is evidenced by the many orders placed by overseas patrons. Stained glass was the one area of the visual arts in 20th century Ireland that had an established school of the highest calibre, as distinct from singular talents such as Jack B Yeats and Eileen Gray. The highpoint for Irish 20th century stained-glass was the period from 1915 to 1980 and the leading figures were Harry Clarke, Wilhelmina Geddes, Michael Healy, Evie Hone and Richard King all of whom trained in Dublin, worked out of Dublin studios and so it is not surprising that the city has a concentration of first rate stained glass by them and many others.

Evie Hone’s Head of St John at the National Gallery

I would add that stained glass was an area where both Irish men and Irish women could excel. Many of our finest stained glass artists were women and there has never been any tendency, as with other areas of artistic endeavour, to privilege the reputation of men over women. 

Ballyroan Church of the Holy Spirit, with Murphy-Devitt’s stations laid out in narrative progression. This church also has paintings by Sean Keating

David starts with the architecture of each church, identifying the architect or firm, and describing its main features and influences as well as dates of construction and/or modification. As he says, if one were to visit all or many of the locations in the book, one would get a comprehensive overview of the story of twentieth-century Irish stained glass. 

Let’s take one example – the church in Ballymun, Our Lady of Victories, one of the first batch of six churches in the Dublin Diocese that were built in the five years immediately after Vatican II, and which take into account the Guidelines of the council. Stepping into this church, as I did for the first time in May this year, is an immersive experience. First of all, it’s enormous – a reminder that in the 60s we were building Catholic churches which could accommodate thousands of congregants over the course of several masses every Sunday. 

Secondly, you are immediately aware of being bathed in light and colour. There is a ‘lantern’ surrounding the central altar and this is the work of Helen Moloney. Here is David’s description:

Although it comprises eight sides or ‘windows’ (each composed of five panels), Helen Moloney created just two different designs for the windows; from these she made four different colour versions and these were duplicated to create the eight different windows. Despite the fact that there are essentially just two designs and she chose a deliberately restricted colour palette, this repetition is hardly apparent and instead one experiences an almost overwhelming sense of intensely zinging complimentary colours enlivened by punchy graphic symbols. Moloney used only the best of mouth blown glass in a selection of rich colours including red, blue, yellow, purple, violet, orange, green, and aquamarine, and although she has included different shades of these, mostly they are full strength from maximum visual impact.

The second artist with work in Our Lady of Victories is my own favourite, George Walsh, at this time still working at Abbey Studios. The stations are by him, in an innovative technique using copper sheets, with details cut into them in the manner of a stencil (above). David comments, The effect is graphic and reduces the Stations to their essence. David points out that a rare feature of these Stations is the inclusion of a fifteenth station, the Resurrection. Walsh also has a St Joseph, a St Patrick and a Madonna and Child in the church.

Finally, Sheila Corcoran created a series of symbolic windows at ground level (above), representing the Evangelists and other sacred subjects. Neither Moloney nor Corcoran included any painting, relying solely on glass of different colours and shapes to create their images – an unusual choice for the time and very effective in this context.

Moving to South Dublin, I cannot resist a visit to Greenhills, to the Holy Spirit Church on Limekiln Lane (above). I visited this church two years ago in the company of Robert, David Caron, Paul Donnelly (the Harry Clarke Studios expert) and Ruth Sheehy. We were thrilled that Ruth – whose work on Richard King has pride of place in my library and whose expertise I documented once before in my post Stained Glass Detectives – and a Find! – was able to talk us through the window, illuminating each part of it, and expanding on Kings’ style and colour choices. My topmost photograph in this post was taken as she led us through an erudite tour of each element.

King was aided and abetted by the Murphy Devitt Studios. Johnny Murphy worked with King to provide all the surrounding glass, in harmonious shades and using the same mouth-blown glass. He also designed the dalle de verre windows at ground level, while Peter Dowd, Roisín Dowd Murphy’s brother, was responsible for the wonderful bronze doors. The day we were there a choir was practising for an upcoming concert. The sensory effect stays with me still.

A Harry Clarke panel of St Paul on the road to Damascus, from the Sandford Road Church. This is not one of the churches included in the book, which just shows what difficult choices had to be made to stay within the page-count.

I have only highlighted two churches, both dating to the 60s – and neither of them contains a Harry Clarke! Rest assured that this book contains lots of Clarkes – at least 6 of the locations contain Clarke windows, as well as those and others containing the work of his Studios artists after his death. You will also be happy to see Evie Hone, Michael Healy, Wilhelmina Geddes, Hubert McGoldrick, Catherine O’Brien, Patrick Pollen and several others.

Patrick Pollen’s Baptism of Christ from Lusk

What is does not contain (with a few key exceptions) are productions by unnamed artists working in the large studios (Earley, Watsons, etc), nor windows from the mass-production houses such as Mayer of Munich. 

Harry Clarke’s St MacCullin, also from Lusk

There are, as I have said, 39 locations in the book, but David would be the first to admit that if he were not constrained by page- and word-count he would have included several more. So let me add a couple that are so well worth visiting, even though they had to be left out of this volume. While at Lusk, for example, David suggests a visit to nearby St Maur’s in Rush and I concur – George Walsh’s series for this church typical of his mature style (below). Another place to see Walsh’s work is the Church of the Guardian Angels on Newtownpark Avenue in Blackrock.

St Mary’s Church in Sandyford has early Netherlandish glass – and yes, that is NOT 20th century, but it’s one of the few places to see it up close in Ireland. St Laurence O’Toole Church in Kilmacud has a huge and very stylised panel by Phyllis Burke (below). Sandford Road Church of Ireland has a Harry Clarke St Peter and Paul (see the illustration fourth up). 

I’ve written about a few of the churches in this book, so you know I have other favourites too. St Michael’s in Dunlaoghaire, for example, and one of the several Harry Clarke windows in St Joseph’s in Terenure. I am sure you have your own favourite Dublin Churches – any additions you’d like to make to my short list, dear Readers? 

This is one of a set of stations made from antique glass and polished granite, done by George Walsh and Willy Earley for the Clarendon St church

Grand so, you have all you need now for some ecstatic wanderings around Dublin Churches. I leave you with our own ecstatic wanderings – as a bookend to this post, here we are in Greenhills, quite in awe of Richard King’s and Johnny Murphy’s enormous window. Left to right is Paul Donnelly, David Caron, Ruth Sheehy and Robert.

Light is the Canvass

This wasn’t the post I planned to write for today, but it’s the one, in the end , I felt I wanted to do more than any other. It would have been Robert’s birthday on Wednesday (March 5) and somehow a contemplative post filled with beautiful images (many of which he helped me to process), and set to sublime music, was calling out to me. Watch it on YouTube for the best experience. I hope you enjoy it.

One way to think about a piece of stained glass is that, for the artist, light serves as the canvas, while glass is the medium. Additional materials may include glass paint, acid, and other treatments used to enhance the design or respond to the context of the window or panel. Throughout the ages, stained glass has surrounded us—adorning churches and public spaces—yet we don’t often pause to look beyond its surface. We admire the light it casts without considering the artist’s hand, the vision, and the craftsmanship that bring it to life. I have tried to do that in this quirky set of photos. I wandered though my (embarrassingly) huge archive and chose the ones that spoke to me. As I look at what I have chosen I see I am drawn to abstractions and faces – a duality that Robert the sociable architect would approve of. 

This photo of us was taken ten years ago. The music is Ave Maria Stella by the late great Mícheál Ó Súilleabháin. It’s available here, and is used with permission. 

Harry Clarke’s Brigid

Harry did several wonderful St Brigid windows, and included Brigid as a saint in larger scenes. There are also Brigid windows attributed to him that he actually didn’t do, but that’s a blog for another time. Today I want to give you a flavour of his take on Brigid, because this was a saint that must have been especially meaningful to him – his mother was a Brigid!

Brigid (sometimes given as Bridget) MacGonigal was born in Sligo and married Joshua Clarke, then an up-and-coming church decorator in Dublin and they had four children. Harry, their third child arrived in 1889. Brigid was never strong and died in Bray in August 1903, leaving her family bereft. Harry was 14 and that year marked the end of his schooling at Belvedere as he and his older brother Walter joined the family business to help run it. Harry was a sensitive child and it is likely that he missed and mourned his mother for many years. He also inherited her weak lungs and struggled, as she did, with his health.

I will start with the place that launched Harry’s career, the Honan Chapel at University College Cork (I’ll finish with the one that is on my lead photo). And in fact it is his first windows for that Chapel – a three light, depicting Brigid, Patrick and Columcille, our three Patron Saints. This window is over the entrance, facing west, which, with Harry’s preference for dark colours and some internal lighting issues in the chapel, makes it hard to photograph.

Harry had completed a detailed sketch design for this window in 1914 (Nicole Gordon Bowe has an image of that design in her magnificent The Life and Work of Harry Clarke) and the window was made in 1915. There are a few differences between the sketch design and the finished window, but on the whole, the window is true to Harry’s original vision for it. His notes for the window refer to 

Top: The Angel with the cloth of heaven forming background

The Figure: With emblems – the church, the inextinguishable spiritual lamp – the calf and the oak.

The Base: Are four angels carrying the prayers, prophesies, miracles and charities of St Brigid, also are shown the five lilies – she has been called the Mary of Ireland and these lilies symbolise the five provinces of Ireland over which she held spiritual control.

The cloth of heaven has been imagined as fronds in deeps reds, while St Brigid is shown as mature, wise and compassionate. She is holding a church which looks a lot like St Kevin’s Kitchen in Glendalough. In her other hand is a brown oak leaf, threaded through her fingers. The calf peers out from her right side. As befits a Mary of the Gael, she wears a deep blue robe. 

The predella (lowest section, above) shows four angels, but what they are carrying are torches – a reference to the spiritual lamp and the fire associated with Brigid. The symbols of the five provinces, recognisably lilies in the sketch design, have changed to another flower I can’t name. Note the tiny details, though – the crucifixion scene in the borders on the left and the right. The other detail to note here is that the fingers, of Brigid and the angels are ‘normal’ – Harry has not yet developed his signature long tapering fingers and pointed sleeves (among the idiosyncratic elements he called his “gadgets’).

His next Brigid (above) was for the Nativity window in Castletownsend – I have written about that window extensively here so pop over and have a browse if you fancy. The Castletownsend Brigid, done in 1918, looks quite similar to the Honan Brigid and has the same oak leaf entwined in her fingers. The difference is that she is carrying the sacred lamp, has the Harry Clarke fingers, and is spelled S Bridget – the English version rather than the Irish Naomh Brighid of the Honan. [For non-Irish speaking readers – the small dot on top of consonants in Irish is now normally rendered as H – as in Briġid is now Brighid.]

The next two windows, Terenure (above and below, details) from 1920 and Cloughjordan from 1924, show Brigid among a host of other saints. In Terenure the subject of the large window is The Crucifixion and the Adoration of the Cross by Irish Saints, and this is a large, three-light window behind the main altar. The saints are not all easy to identify, despite having their names in their haloes, but first and foremost among them are Patrick on the left and Brigid on the right.

Brigid is dressed in a blue robe which drapes on the ground around her, and has a golden trim to her sleeves.

In St Michael and St John’s Church in Cloughjordan, Co Tipperary, the theme of the large, five-light, window is The Ascension with Irish Saints and St Michael and St James. Gordon Bowe designates this one a Harry Clarke (B). That means that this window was initially conceived and designed by him but executed by his studio under his close supervision. This is the first window we have come across, in this series, that is not wholly Harry’s own work, and this is a measure of how busy the Studios had become with Harry at the helm. 

As in Terenure, Brigid is here as one of the Irish saints. She is depicted as very young, wide-eyed, and carrying a church which now looks more medieval than Romanesque (neither would have been appropriate to her era) and is probably a nod to the Cathedral in Kildare.

And so we come to the last Brigid that Harry ever did*. It is from the famous and controversial Geneva window, now in the Wolfsonian Museum in Miami. If you have not yet seen the marvellous documentary that Ardall O’Hanlon has made about this, I highly recommend you do. It’s available on the RTE Player as of this time of writing. The Brigid panel is among the less controversial images in the whole window. It’s based on a play by Lady Gregory called The Story Brought by Brigit. According to Marie T Mullan in her lovely book, Exiled from Ireland: Harry Clarke’s Geneva Window, 

The play is a passion play, but it is based on the legend, popular in Ireland and Scotland, that St Brigit was present at the birth and crucifixion of Jesus. Brigit mingles with the crowds from the time of Jesus’s triumphant entry into Jerusalem until after his death. She is a foreigner, observing and commenting. She tells people she is Jesus’s foster mother and brought Mary and Jesus to Ireland to escape Herod. . . The icon of Christ Crucified is a the vesica, a shape used often in art for a picture within a picture, and has the traditional beaded frame. Brigit is absorbed in the icon.

Note Brigid’s golden scapular and elaborate headdress. Also the stylised butterfly and the little woodland creatures in the scene.

I think that’s a good place to stop. Harry did another Brigid, for the Oblate Fathers in north Dublin’s Belcamp Hall. This is a sorry tale in which the buildings, once left by the priests were subject to appalling vandalism and the windows are in storage, and haven’t been seen for years. This is tragic. 

* Thanks to my friend Jack Zagar for the Photos of the Geneva Window.