When Does Religion Start Being Art? - by JJ Pryor

Years ago, in the shadowy corner of our basement stood a majestic armoire, a relic from last century. It was hand-crafted by a great-uncle, a man who turned simple wood into complex stories. This dusty wardrobe, with its rich mahogany scent was more than just furniture — it was an untold family chronicle in timber.

I’m not sure if that great-uncle planned on it being the perfect spot for hide-and-go-seek, but then again, he probably hadn’t read the wonderfully clever religious propaganda series, The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, like I had.

I don’t know where that varnished mahogany cabinet ended up, but I know I wasn’t allowed to let anything bad happen to it as a kid.

After all, even though the story behind the armoire was short and simple, somehow this object maintained an aura of respect akin to that for our ancestors.

Maybe it’s a delicate Christmas ornament passed down through generations, a crystal figurine that catches the light just so, or perhaps an old watch from WWII that no one’s allowed to ask Grandpa about until very recently in certain parts of the Southern United States.

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