In Palisades Park along the top of the cliffs overlooking the vast expanse of Santa Monica's beach, at the intersection of Wilshire Boulevard and Ocean Avenue sits a WPA-era sculpture of Monica of Hippo, patron saint and namesake of this city I live in. It is concrete, formed and painted an unbroken white, streamlined and austere. Driving or walking down Wilshire towards the sea, it is visible for blocks over the traffic and stepping up to it, the integrated pedestal rises above eye level, while Monica gazes back at the city above.
It was made in 1934 by Eugene Morahan, a Santa Monican originally from Brooklyn. Its base steps back and back like the Empire State Building and Santa Monica's face and stance and robe are shaped in the austere, simplified art deco lines of the time. Whitewashed, calm, and massive, it speaks of a pre-war sensibility of art, and of Santa Monica, perhaps influenced by this town's industrial history combined with its carefully cultivated placidity by the sea.
Monica of Hippo, later Santa Monica, mother of Augustine, best known for converting him to Christianity, as recounted in his Confessions. She lived in the 4th century and travelled a bit, from North Africa to Rome and back. She is the patron saint of mothers, alcoholics, and married women. Santa Monica the city is named after Santa Monica the saint supposedly for two overlapping reasons: it was named as part of its settlement after the feast date of Santa Monica in 1770 and for a trickling stream that reminded the presiding padre of the tears Santa Monica shed as her son caroused in his youthful libertine ways.
Yesterday's run destination: Santa Monica sculpture
Yesterday's menu:
breakfast: popovers, again, we're almost done, really
lunch: leftover lentils and rice
dinner: tofu broccoli stir fry
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