When the Saints Go Arting In: Brendan the Navigator
Saint Brendan was an extremely early saint — born about five hundred years after Jesus — who is famous for sailing around the place establishing monasteries and, as far as I can tell, flagrantly disregarding nautical safety guidelines. Apparently our boy Brendan’s best-known journey was when he set out with sixteen monks in search of the Garden of Eden, which at last count was definitely on land, and landed on an island that was — oops — actually a sea monster. I would suggest that the ‘the Navigator’ part of his name is a bit of a stretch.
Anyway, because of all (gestures to the watery horizon and the monsters thereunder) that, the art depicting Brendan is, of course, bonkers.
For starters, this is lots of little fish being eaten by a big fish. On the back of the fish is a cauldron on a fire being bellowed by a guy wrapped in a towel, and Brendan’s boat. On Brendan’s boat is one guy with the longest arms in the entire world and a nude bloke about to get some very inconvenient rope burn. Respectfully, Catholics: WHO is your drug guy.
Here he is on a hill in the middle of the ocean. The two guys at the back (the aft) are trying to tell the guy at the other end (the front) that there are no hills in the middle of the ocean, but sadly for them the guy at the front has seen a pelican. Pelicans are great and you should definitely sail to the top of a hill to get a look at one.
Where do we even START with this one? Maybe with basic workplace health and safety, the rules of which clearly state that you should check to see if the island you’re on is actually a sea monster with two spurt-chimneys on its head before you set up an altar for mass on it.
Brendan, if you turn around you’ll see that your crew is mocking you. They have formed into the shape of a delicious jelly and they are mocking you.
This mermaid is absolutely sick to death of boats full of monks asking her for directions, but at least she’s put a jacket on. She knows siren boobs are wasted on men of the cloth, even those silly enough to believe in mermaids.
In this quaint idyll from Edward Frampton, Brendan notices a shirtless man cooling his nipples on an iceberg. He’s probably the guy with the rope burn from earlier! Either way, Brendan’s really struggling with whether or not he should offer him a lift, and honestly who could blame him.
I can’t love the facial expression on this sea monster enough — it’s the face of a sea monster who cannot believe that he’s not only being surfed on, but that the dumb monks have dropped anchor right in his ribs. ISLANDS DO NOT SAY OUCH, SIRS, PLEASE REMOVE.
Finally, this is a monument to St Brendan by Eammon O’Docherty, excellent artist and owner of the most Irish name of all time. I’ve nicknamed it Monk Boat On Stilts, and will forever laugh at the idea that the monks are going to sit there for the rest of time, grumpily wondering why they’re not moving but too stubborn to ask.
It’s also fun to imagine that every couple of hundred years, one of them lets out a high-pitched, metallic fart.
Sorry.
