St. Joseph's Home for Artisans: A Journey of Patronage and Personal Revelation

Michelangelo’s Pieta. Bernini’s St. Theresa in Ecstasy. The colonnade of St. Peter’s Square. These are a few of the most iconic examples of the Catholic Church’s rich history of patronage of the arts in service of the divine. Seen as not only beneficial but necessary for worship, artwork continues to be a cornerstone of Catholic ritual. It is the ultimate expression of the idea that to create as humans is to co-create with God in an echo of His mighty works which brought our whole universe, and every material in it, into Being out of Nothing. Devotion through the act of creation can be seen in soaring cathedrals, blocks of carefully hewn marble, and the glittering gold of priestly vestments in bastions of Catholic faith like Rome, Barcelona, Cologne, and Calais.  

It can also be found, perhaps in its most charming, warm, and sincere iteration, on the fifth floor of a weather-beaten brick brownstone in Boston’s historic North End. 

Boston's historic North End. Photo by author.

I had come to Boston in the autumn of 2024 fresh with the sense of hopeful adventure for my next chapter. I'd left my corporate job behind me and it seemed that now, if ever, was the time to pack up my bags, move to my dream city, and immerse myself in work that was truly in service of what is true, noble, right, pure, and lovely [1]. For me, this has always meant working for the creation, promotion, and accessibility of the arts. As funny as it sounds from someone raised in the Midwestern Protestant tradition, I see artwork as a crucial form of worship. Where other sects might see a thin line between image and idolatry, I rather take Charles H. Carman’s view on the subject. In his article “Meanings of Perspective in the Renaissance: Tensions and Resolution,” he argues that artwork, specifically that which seeks to re-create naturalistic scenes as found in linear point perspective painting, can be used not as an illusion to “trick” and deceive, but as an allusion to something beyond itself, something mightier than its mere physical form [2]. It is this allusion we bear in mind when creating, the knowledge that our work is more than the simple sum of its parts, that it is given meaning only because we have not created all of it. Its final purpose and form is to give shape to That Which Is beyond us. 

Armed with such a philosophy and such hope, I moved a few thousand miles across the country and began my search for my new job in service of the Creative, all the while trying to finish the novel I’d begun several years earlier. And for many weeks, my hope burned bright. The first wave of rejections was to be expected. There were more opportunities out there, and something would surely turn up. But as the weeks turned into months, the bright glimmer of fall leaves giving way to cold, naked branches, I found that flame flickering in the winter wind. Closed door after closed door shut in my face, and it became harder to see where this new path was winding. I continued to invest my time in my book, a story whose thread is the reforging of identity and the gilded sound of faith when all seems silent. But I began to doubt. All my life I’d heard variations on the same theme: You can’t make money by going into the arts. You must choose: stability and a real career, or starving artist syndrome. Pick either your passion or your daily needs, because you certainly can’t have both. I wondered, not for the first time, what on earth I was supposed to do with all this creativity inside me, and if I could ever support myself with it. I missed my friends back home, I missed the security of a structured life of commercial value, and above all, I was missing a faith community. 

I haven’t attended regular church services for well over a decade, choosing instead to read my Bible and meditate on Sufi poetry on my own schedule. While I have the deepest respect for traditional religions, the path I began to forge as a Mystic led me away from some of the limitations that one single church can impose on a limitless God. But the path of the Mystic can be a lonely one, especially because we all have variations on the practicalities of our practice and our methods of drawing from the world’s rich traditions to forge our own in spiritual alchemy. I was deeply missing that bond, that sense of community, that true Body of Christ which could bolster me in times of sorrow and celebrate with me in times of joy. And anyone will tell you that trying to form a new social circle in the middle of winter in the Northeast is…challenging. No one wants to abandon a cozy indoor fire for skin-stinging winds and sleet in the name of socialization, and rightly so. 

Photo by author.

But on one not-so-cold morning, I went down to Boston’s historic North End to see the Old North Church. I’d been before, but several years ago, and I wanted to see my old friend. It just so happened that I had elected to visit on a Monday, the only day of the week when the church is closed. Slightly disappointed, I turned my steps down one of the dozens of red-bricked alleyways and wandered the district for a while until I passed another church, St. Leonard of Port Maurice Parish [3]. I had been looking forward to seeing some church architecture, and it struck me that St. Leonard’s might do just as well as Old North for this purpose. I had specialized in Catholic religious architecture in my Masters studies of art history and whatever city I find myself in, I must visit at least one soaring example of modern Gothic vaulting complete with stained-glass rose window to feel that the trip has been a satisfying one. Still, I may not have ventured into the church at all for the completely irrational fear of not being welcome since I am not a Catholic, until I saw some kind-looking folks coming out of the doors and going into the bookshop next door. If they were welcome, then most likely I was too. 

The altar of St. Leonard's. Photo by author.

I ventured into the sanctuary, making a small donation in appreciation of the church’s taking time out of its busy day to see me, and took in the beautiful glass, sculptures, and pillars of the nave. The hallowed space of a church seems even holier to me in soft silence rather than service—an irony which is a story for another time. I feel that every time I step into a church space, my spirit can reset. I am at once invigorated and calmed by this three-dimensional map of the cosmos in stone. I love to think of all the men and women who have worshipped in this space, and love that I have a quiet, private moment all to myself to take in the beauty around me. If my body hungers for food, then my soul hungers for the satiated feeling I can hardly put into words when I leave the contemplative sanctuary of a church. And I found it here, as I was called to kneel and offer my prayer to God for this space, this time. 

As the visitors before me, I decided to visit the church’s bookshop on my way out. It takes very little to persuade me into a bookshop of any kind and even less to convince me that I must leave with at least one volume. And walking into the shop, what should look directly out at me from the center shelf but a small purple volume called “Courage to Create: Unleashing Your Artistic Gifts for Truth, Beauty, and Goodness.” I was in some desperate need of creative courage, and here was this little book staring back out at me, declaring that I could find it. 

So it was that I began to learn about the extraordinary group known as St. Joseph’s Home for Artisans. 

Founded in 2020 (the year of St. Joseph) by Clare McCallan, Fernando Limbo, and Ena Dancy Urbalejo, St. Joseph’s Home for Artisans got its start in the depths of the first winter of the pandemic. Formerly a convent building home to the nuns of St. Leonard’s Parish, the fifth floor of this wobbly brick brownstone was bequeathed by Father Michael Della Penna to this trio of faith-filled artist dreamers who wished to create—spiritually and physically—a community where people of all ages and backgrounds could grow in their creativity and calling together. As Clare herself says, our world seems “increasingly disinterested in truth, beauty, and goodness,” and the Artisans Home was to be an antidote to this disenchanted disillusionment, a bright glimmer on a lampstand that could give light to all in the Lord’s house [4]. And so she and her friends set to work tearing down moldy wallpaper, bargain-hunting for unbroken furniture, and spreading the word to creatives about this new hub they could call their own. I rejoiced with them as I read about Clare’s immense excitement at such a gift: “Jumping up and down, five floors above the bustling streets and five million miles out of our minds, we started shouting out all the ideas we had…here atop our new, beautiful, broken home.” [5] 

I’m incredibly happy to say that the Home has achieved, and continues to fulfill, its life-affirming mission. 

A spoken-word poetry event at St. Joseph's Home for Artisans. Photo by author.

Having recently completed its fourth cohort, St. Joseph’s welcomed six new members this past fall who lived at the house for three months and devoted their energy in pursuit of their crafts: singing, painting, songwriting, poetry, textile-weaving, dancing—any and every version of creative expression is welcome and encouraged by Clare, a spoken-word poet whose performance pieces on art-making as spiritual birthing and motherhood inflame a fierce parental pride in her listeners, and the Home’s new director Molly Broekman, a multi-media artist whose incredible work spans everything from illuminated manuscripts to vestment textiles. Other creatives who have called the space home include muralists, producers, TED Talk hosts, and a member of the Connecticut House of Representatives [6]. 

Although St. Joseph’s Home is not financed by St. Leonard’s, Father Michael’s spiritual support for the young artists of his parish and his tangible offering of the fifth-floor space are invaluable examples of how an individual, an organization, a friend, can concretely give support to artists in their community. How many of us have heard the phrase, “starving artist” and imbibed the social script that says if you love what you do, then getting paid for it surely doesn’t matter? Certainly art has always fed the spirit, but even Jesus recognized the need of His followers for earthly food. In one famous instance, He even gave them more than they needed—after feeding 5,000 listeners of His sermon, His followers noted that there were a dozen extra baskets full of fish and bread. 

A painting of St. Joseph in the style of stained glass that greets visitors to the Artisans Home. Painted by an artist resident. Photo by author.

As the cast and crew of the historical drama The Chosen (another artistic work of immense spiritual richness that I highly recommend to anyone with an ounce of curiosity in their soul), often say, “It is not your job to feed the five thousand, but rather to bring your loaves and fish.” Or in other words, it is not our job, nor that of St. Joseph’s, to solve every problem faced in today’s world by those seeking opportunities to grow as faithful artisans of their God-given crafts. Rather, Clare McCallan, Molly Broekman, and all those whose hard work has built and sustained this spiritual flame have offered their loaves and fish to be multiplied through the incredible community they make up and expand, the Body of Christ which recognizes that truth, beauty, and goodness are the aspirations of all noble human endeavor. 

I felt that in reading Clare’s words on this incredible project, I had a friend to hold my hand through the dark months of winter in a new city without connections or a faith community. She knew the doubts I was experiencing about my gifts because she had lived them too. That is the beauty of all art, including writing—that one person can reach out to another through space and time to say, “I understand you. I know your fears, because I have felt them too. And you will be okay.”

I was later gifted the real-world corollary to this ink-and-paper friendship when, in reaching out to Clare to tell her how her words helped me, she invited me to a St. Joseph’s event where I was welcomed with open arms by all. Since then, I’ve gotten to see St. Joseph’s Home for myself, been wrapped in its warm embrace as I bore witness to and experienced the camaraderie, the curiosity, the open-heartedness of each of its members and supporters as we met in dialogue and mutual love of Creation and its Architect, spending hours talking of painting and music and God until my soul felt as full and refreshed as ever I could hope for. It is a feeling I am privileged to measure my friendships by, which I will never forget, and which I will continue to seek throughout my lifetime. It is a privilege to be a small part of something much greater than myself, to experience that connection with the divine through creativity that is vital to our lifeblood as human beings. 

I am also happy to say that, more than a year after my life-changing move, I am working, I am growing my faith community, and I have finally finished my novel, the first of a planned series already underway. My creativity is leaping off the pages of short stories I will soon be self-publishing (look for the release date of The Bookman of Perkins Streer this March!), and I have started a YouTube channel dedicated to fun and accessible art historical commentary. I feel like I am shaping and stepping up into the life that is truly reflective of my soul. My dearest hope is to inspire in you the same passion for life that my teachers, my friends, and my God have ingited within me.

And to those who are reading my words now, I would leave you with a parting request: whatever your calling, your abilities, your artistic craft, your contribution in this world, treasure it and use it in service. You never know who your actions and arts will inspire, comfort, and call to greater life. 

Footnotes:

[1] Philippians 4:8 - "Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things".

[2] "The trick was to see the world in order to see God and one's similarity to Him. Illusion becomes allusion, perspective serving as a metaphorical device to elevate sense experience to a higher perception." Charles H. Carman, "Meanings of Perspective in the Renaissance: Tensions and Resolution," in Renaissance Theories of Vision, Edited by John Hendrix and Charles H. Carman, pub. Dec. 2010, page 41.

[3] Visit St. Leonard's website here for their latest information.

[4] Matthew 5:14 -15: "You are the light of the world. A city set on a hilltop cannot be hidden. Nor do [people] light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house."

[5] Clare McCallan, "Courage to Create: Unleashing Your Artistic Gifts for Truth, Beauty, and Goodness." Ave Maria Press, 2024, page 3.

[6] Read their fascinating stories in Clare's book, info linked above.