Taking pictures has always meant more to me than capturing a moment. Sometimes, it's therapeutic.
So when we returned to Buffalo for my grandmother's funeral last week, I did a lot of hiding behind my camera. I took pictures of people at the luncheon afterwards (actually, my mother and her sister asked me to do that, but I wanted to and secretly hoped they'd ask). I took pictures of my own kids with their cousins and other long-lost happily rediscovered relatives. It was fun, and it has been gratifying to look over those pictures now and share them with my family.
My most therapeutic photo session came on the day after the funeral, when all the relatives had gone. I went to the house where my grandmother had lived -- all of her 93 years -- and I took pictures. I have wonderful memories of spending time in that house as a child, and I was able to spend many days there with my own children more recently. Unfortunately, my grandmother was our last family link to Buffalo, and so the house will be sold. It's hard to fathom a century-old home that's essentially had just one owner. And hard for me to imagine not setting foot in it again. But taking pictures of it somehow makes the process of letting go easier for me.
Right around the block from that house is the amazing church of St. Casimir. It's where my grandparents went to church each Sunday (or in the case of my grandmother, each day). Heck, it's where my great-grandparents went to church, too. And it's where I would go to church when we visited on weekends. I took plenty of photos there, too -- and for the first time ever, I saw the church with different eyes. How had I missed the architecture before? As a child, I would look around and take in the religious art and statues indoors when the mass continued beyond my short attention span. But I never really saw the beauty there.
Last week, I noticed. This Roman Catholic church serves a small Polish neighborhood. It is one of several neighborhood churches that will almost certainly close as part of a diocesan restructuring program. And it is unique among all the Roman Catholic churches I've seen. In fact, St. Casimir looks more like a Byzantine church with its domes and tiles.
When I began digging through web sites, I found the reason for the church's Byzantine style: Apparently, the parish priest who spearheaded the drive to build a permanent structure was taken by the Hagia Sophia during a visit to Istanbul. And so his vision for St. Casimir Parish included domes, half-domes, arched windows and blind arcades. The new church, built just before the Great Depression, was constructed in Byzantine Revival style.
But wait, there's more. Many of the decorative details on the exterior feature architectural terra cotta -- now there's something you don't see every day! As it turns out, one of the few suppliers of architectural terra cotta is located near the church's South Buffalo neighborhood, in Orchard Park. Boston Valley Terra Cotta provides modern tiles and architectual accents as well as terra cotta for restoration of historic buildings. You can see in the photos that the church is in need of restoration -- and perhaps that is one of the reasons for its impending closure. But those terra cotta tiles, friezes, columns and statues make St. Casimir truly stunning on the outside.
I'm not sure how I was able to walk into St. Casimir many dozens of times without ever really noticing the architecture. But I am thankful I had this chance to see it through different eyes, appreciate it, and take a few photos to remember it by.
So.
