One of the most fascinating buildings that we saw in Saint Petersburg was the Church of the Savior on Spilled Blood. Just the name is extreme. It was finished in 1907, and the name comes from actual spilled blood. In 1881 tsar Alexander II was severely wounded on this spot and died, and the church was built in his memory. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a more pompous commemoration monument for anyone. It didn’t get to stay a church for long, though. The revolution came, and since it’s been a little bit of everything. Now, it’s a museum of mosaics.
And the mosaics. Honestly. They were insane. The gold and Mediterranean blue and earth red. Seriously breathtaking.
The mosaics told the story of Jesus. Just right of the altar was this pillar of Mary being blessed (impregnated) by God. And it just got me thinking. Being chosen like that. Of course, the Christian literature and other art forms don’t lack explorations into Mary’s chosenness, especially the Catholic tradition is full of appreciation of Mary. But it’s all based on her purity. She was chosen, because she was pure. To carry a child, that wasn’t hers, and who would have to die way before his time. When that golden light from heaven touched her, it turned her from a person into a vessel. She must have felt so abandoned, so lonely. Stripped of value in and of herself.
Among all that extravagant gold in the Church of the Spilled Blood, I felt a sudden pang of melancholia.
Katja Malmborg 