Lucy, the lamp-post, and the Lewis-Tolkien connection
It's an image I've carried in some wardrobe of the mind since childhood: little, fair-haired Lucy Pevensie standing in the light of the lamp-post. I am not nearly as well-versed in C.S. Lewis' Narnia as I am in J.R.R. Tolkien's Middle-earth. I believe my first encounter with this tale was via the 1970s cartoon which had somewhat odd, distorted animation, but a good score and what felt like a rumor of Narnia in it. Then, I believe it was when all my siblings and I came down with the chicken pox that my big sister began reading me her boxed set of the books. I was about Lucy's age, and by then, already a confirmed hobbit thanks to my father's chosen bedtime stories, but I was instantly intrigued by the feeling of Narnia. There was something glimmering within its atmosphere.
As an adult reader of the works of both authors, I've come to feel that Tolkien's legendarium is valuable because it is so real and that Lewis' Chronicles are special because they are so fantastical. I understand the criticism that mythology is all mixed up in Narnia, but then again, isn't that the point? In Tolkien's phraseology, we find ourselves stirring through the contents of a "cauldron of story" simmering with the one "true myth" in The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe and it gives me a unique sensation of nostalgia for childhood, with its open possibilities. No other books feel quite like Lewis' Chronicles.
The story, itself, is unforgettable. How can one fail to have sympathy for the little Pevensies, hurried away from home to escape the bombs falling on London, inhabiting a fearful world in which food is rationed (including all the little treats that children dearly love), and finding themselves in a strange country house in the care of an abstracted old gentleman whose servants seem to feel little pity for the plight of the young folk?
The "escape" which Tolkien codified as one of the three great gifts of fairy-stories is so welcome when it comes, even if it is into a parallel "perilous realm" and soon the Pevensies are immersed in a land in which they have some say over their own destinies and there are plenty of nice little things to eat. My heart goes out to them, and all the real children who endured the shocking evacuations of the Second World War. And, of course, there are layers and layers of real life beneath the tale, from the fact that Lewis harbored London evacuees at his home, The Kilns, to the tribute he paid his own tutor, "The Great Knock," in the character of Professor Kirke.
For me, the scene of Lucy and the lamp-post is iconic. It not only symbolizes the entry into the realm of Faërian potential, but the glow of it in the place where it is always winter and never Christmas seems to me to shine with the author's spirit and heart. It is a light he lit for the world and this is something I have tried to invest into my depiction of the lamp. If you can, look at it for a bit and think about the author. Lewis' light bestirs many emotions for me, as well as hopes and dreams, and I have heard so many adults say the same.
There is near-endless speculation about the lamp-post and other aspects of Narnia. The internet is full of claims that Lewis was inspired by this or that lamp-post in this or that city, and I don't think the answer is actually knowable.
For me, there is a direct spiritual connection between this Faërian landmark and the lamp-post I painted on Magdalen Bridge by Addison's Walk, foretelling the wonderful writings that awaited Lewis in his future, in part, because of his theological discussions with Tolkien. Lewis became a man who championed possibilities, just as children do, before they are so bogged down with assumptions.
The debate about whether the inspirational lamp-post is in Oxford, or London, or somewhere else reveals the passion people bring to the Chronicles, and as I continue with my visual documentation of Tolkien's life, times, and connections, I hoped to use my paintbrush to let that lamp-post shine for any who wish to see it.
It is a literary painting, and also, a humbly religious one. It contains the gratitude I feel not just for Narnia, but for Lewis' apologetics, which are cherished in my family.
I hope you will watch the video short to see close-ups of Lucy's wondering expression. And I hope my Lucy passes muster for readers for whom Lewis is their absolute favorite author. I care about her greatly. She is a dignified small person, full of merit, but in her little Fair Isle cardigan and skirt, she is hardly prepared for the full blast of the seemingly-endless Narnian winter (remember, this is before she and her siblings go through the wardrobe together in their borrowed coats). It's an image that makes me think of the coldness and harshness adults create in our own world into which innocent children are born, but the painting is one of hope. Look at that lamp-light burning with a steady warmth, making the sharp frost glitter, making belief in warmer things possible.
