Commenced January 27, 2011:

 My home-county was decidedly saint-ridden. Nevertheless some some of  my closest relatives reinforced the notion that "The Mackays were the most recalcitrant pagans in all of Scotland." My grandfather insisted that "Church-going is good for business!"  My grandmother was a regular worshipper and a founding member of the Sons and Daughters of Temperance (although she regularly sipped medicinal bandy) My father said that he was too busy to consider being agnostic and my mother was torn between the urge to break-away and nervousness about the state of her soul. She did declare "The only heaven and hell is that we make for ourselves here on earth!"   She was a working mum during World War II which is how I came to spend a lot of time with Grandma K and was introduced to Hurlbut's Illustrated Bible and The Dore illustrated version of Milton's Paradise Lost. An older neighbourhood lad I admired went on to become Bishop of Saint John. All of these left me with a deep interest in fable, myth, legend and noir illustrative drawings and paintings.

My parents were not church-going "regulars." God knows, my grandmother tried to set me on the right path, but I was a early Sunday riser and a devious little snot,  who escaped to the woods before breakfast and returned to late to attend religious instruction. Later run-ins with science courses at university did nothing to convince me that miracles occur. As a youngster I observed the discharge of a huge sphere of ball-lightning and saw a column of static light descend out of the clouds. I was frightened, but unlike Saint Paul did not see it as a supernatural revelation! When  Miller Brittain, an artist I came to admire, returned from the war he had a religious turn and commenced painting some angst-ridden stuff which I thought reflected shell-shock.

So what am I doing with a religious subject? Read on!