Fighting Fire with Fire
© 1999 Ginger Henry Geyer
glazed porcelain with acrylic wash
24" x 11" x 11 ½"
Adaptations from an ancient Greek black figure ware vase, Hephaestus at His Smithy and from Grunewald's Resurrection, the Isenheim Altarpiece.
"If you saw a burning bush, would you call 911?"
A fire hydrant asked me this question one day as my dog paused to pay her tribute. While waiting, I noticed two things about the orange hydrant's design: it had a cruciform shape, and it was fluted like a classical Greek column. These two hints were enough to begin the construction of a three-part porcelain sculpture. It seemed to have something to do with that great call to inclusivism: "For in the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body--Jews or Greeks, slaves or free--and we were all made to drink of one Spirit."
(1 Cor. 12:13)
"Who is the Greek god of fire?" I asked my friend who teaches mythology. She said, "Try Hephaestus." I found a Greek vase image of Hephaestus the divine blacksmith. This skinny little character is pounding away at his smithy, probably humming "If I had a hammer". He fit the front valve of the fire hydrant just fine. Hephaestus was a kind god in the Greek pantheon, son of Zeus and Hera. Born lame, he was powerful yet repugnant. He created all sorts of things out of metal and represents the ideal artist. In the end he finds charis, or grace. He hung out in volcanoes, whose rumbling was said to be that of his hot smithy. Among other odd metalworking jobs, he forged the chains that bound Prometheus. But he was an unwilling oppressor, and most of his tasks utilized the benevolent aspects of fire, fire used toward the growth and well-being of civilization. Hephaestus is a god of contrasts, and it turns out that this fire hydrant also holds contrasts: god of fire... God is fire.
What image in art history might represent God as fire? The cruciform shape of the hydrant called for a Crucifixion. But somehow that didn't click. A Resurrection was needed. Most images of the Resurrection show Christ standing on the tomb, arms at his side or one raised to hold a banner. But there was this one, this wild and fiery Resurrection from Grunewald's Isenheim Altarpiece. A Christ with open arms, it perfectly fit the wide side of the fire hydrant.
I worked on the piece while at a retreat, and individuals asked skeptical questions, such as, "What the heck does a fire hydrant have to do with art?" and "Is this about water or fire?" Who knows about art, but both mythology and scripture are filled with the paradoxical symbols of water and fire. There's the burning bush and then there's this one: "For the Lord your God is a devouring fire, a jealous God." (Deut. 4:24). There's Noah's flood and then there's, "Let anyone who is thirsty come to me, and let the one who believes in me drink…out of the believer's heart shall flow rivers of living water.'" (John 7: 37-38). Lest our evangelism gets too "hell-fire and damnation" oriented, we must ask ourselves: What fires are we putting out? Dare we hose down the fire of passion? The Resurrection does not put out the fire, it fuels it; at the same time it provides us with living water.
Someone at the retreat pointed out that the very presence of a fire hydrant is evidence of a system underneath. There are these ever-ready cruciforms on every other street corner in America--just what is their underground connection? What connects the Body of Christ? How is the water accessed, turned on when needed? A volunteer fireman explained to me that there is a valve down below, and that ambient water pressure from the pipes shoots the water up when the valve is turned. The depth of the valve and pipes depends on the freeze line; a special wrench is required for the pentagonal bolts.
The designs of fire hydrants vary considerably. This bulky type was probably designed in the 1940's or 50's. Lots of these are hidden in the ivy or underbrush. Some do not have chains on their caps. Some are painted red or yellow, or silver, some bedecked in red, white and blue for the Bicentennial way back when. A style in California has strange, angular nozzles that jut out. I'm told the fire hydrants in England are recessed into the sidewalks, or into sides of buildings. They are, therefore, much more feminine than our obtrusive American ones. (An Englishman named Grunwald provided this helpful note...independent of my choosing that fiery resurrection!)
Fire hydrants are ubiquitous but odd. They are protected by law against parked cars. They command space, they are for serious business….except when their power is unleashed to cool off city kids on a blistering summer day. The New York Times recently ran a front page story about a Pentecostal church in Harlem that annually conducts a mass baptism in the streets. The Bishop asks the Lord to bless the water of the New York reservoir, then lets a hose connected to a hydrant spray the crowd for 15 minutes. That sounds fishy, but the photographs of individuals standing in that falling blessing, water and tears streaming down their faces, says otherwise. Who's to say that they were not filled with the Holy Spirit via fire hydrant?
A friend looked at my odd sculpture and mused, "I guess we are all vessels waiting to be filled."