Divine Stone

from competition to commiseration…

When D’Ellis “Jeep” Kincannon and his younger brother Joseph worked together as banker masons at The Cathedral of St. John the Divine, there was a quiet but definite fraternal competition. Joseph, five years younger, explains, “Jeep and I were more competitive. I suppose that’s because the end product was clearly defined through shop drawings and job tickets, no guess work. Although extremely complex, masonry work was straight up geometry, allowing the stone cutter to have a more clear-eyed focus on speed and production, leading to a more competitive drive.”

When both brothers were invited to work in the carving shed, however, Joseph says it was like “jumping into the abyss.” And the nature of the brothers’ competition changed.

He recalls,“even with drawings and/or models, there were surprises around every corner — a lot more uncertainty. And to add more pressure, the carvings had to be woven into finely finished stones that a banker mason had already labored over. Neither Jeep nor I felt confident enough to gloat. We were more likely compelled to commiserate. Nick (Fairplay) was very democratic, and articulate in his damning critiques.”

In temperament, the brothers were opposite sides of the coin. Jeep was more quiet and reserved, while Joseph was more outgoing.

Master Carver Nicholas Fairplay said they were like “chalk and cheese.” Nicholas was referring to their approach to carving and differing styles, but their individual personalities were probably factored into his assessment.

According to Nicholas, Jeep was “detail oriented but he found it very difficult to be bold and get out of the box.” By contrast, “Joseph was bold immediately and very fluid, very creative on his pieces.”  

When the brothers began designing and carving label stops for the lower levels of the south tower, they chose topics of interest to them. For instance, Jeep may have been inspired by mythology and forest creatures.

His delicately carved piece of a grotesque with swept back horns, long drooping ears, flowing beard and mustache looks like a young Pan or satyr. In ancient Greek religion Pan is the god of the wild, shepherds and flocks, and companion of the nymphs. Pan is usually represented as having the hindquarters, legs, and horns of a goat, in the same manner as a faun or satyr. Jeep’s work resides on the West façade of St. Paul’s tower, facing Amsterdam Avenue.

For his next label stop carving Jeep worked on a whimsical little forest creature. This happy looking elf featured tight ringlets of hair, long pointed ears and flexing muscular arms. Jeep achieved depth with his exacting carving technique.

Jeep then dove into a common theme adopted by many Gothic stone carvers – a Green Man. In Celtic mythology, the Green Man represents the lord of the forest and the patron of animals and fertility. He is mainly a symbol of untamed nature. Branches or vines may sprout from the mouth, nostrils, or other parts of the face, and these shoots may bear flowers or fruit. Green Man, also known as a foliate head, first appeared in England during the early 12th century deriving from those of France. 

Jeep’s interpretation featured an exquisitely carved face emerging from thick and sinuously veined foliage on both sides of a creature’s head, with more foliage sprouting from his mouth.

Joseph’s carving style differed from his older brother’s as seen in the variety of his carvings, ranging from humorous creations to odd looking creatures. Two conveyed hidden messages.

If Jeep could make a Green Man, then Joseph chose a carving that could be called a Green Cat. A round-faced feline with tongue sticking out seems to emerge from a border of foliage and acorns. Joseph recalls “it was one of my earliest carvings. Damned thing put me through hell.”

While Joseph’s Green Cat can be seen on the tower’s west façade, his remaining three label stops are all set on the South elevation. 

The first carving with a hidden message can be seen in Joseph’s imp with his fingers in his ears.  He said “the stoneyard was struggling at the time. If memory serves there were a lot of layoffs, a management shakeup, accompanied by many painful meetings.”  Joseph kept his head down and kept on working – he didn’t want to hear it. But there was also another reason for the gesture, he explains, “The carving is pointed in the direction of my mother’s apartment building (on Broadway and W. 111 Street) and she can be a little long-winded. The gift-of-the-gab runs in the family, so this was an inside joke. Hence, the inspiration for this ugly little head is two-fold.”

A funny carving with deep set round eyes, wearing a brimless hat and using both hands to pull his mouth wide apart, elicited a comment from James Parks Morton, then Dean of the Cathedral. In a 2015 video interview the Dean remarked on the stone carving, “One of the things they recaptured was carving with a sense of humor,” he said, as he did his imitation of the funny looking carving. “It’s a scream,” he added.

Joseph had another secret hidden in a carving of a ragged-toothed grotesque with flaring nostrils and pointed ears. Joseph clearly had in mind that this secret could only be seen by someone on the ground looking up at this label stop on the east elevation. Recently, viewed through a camera with a super telephoto lens, a wonderfully carved detail of a face peacefully peering out from deep inside the creature’s wide open rounded mouth was visible. This carving is a masterpiece of skill and execution.

Together, Jeep and Joseph carved seven of the 14 label stops for the buttress gablets, among the earliest individually designed works to come out of the carving shed.

Both brothers worked for the Cathedral Institute and later the Cathedral Stoneworks for over 10 years. When construction stopped in the early 1990s Joseph and his wife Holly started Kincannon Studios in Austin, TX. Jeep joined them later and stayed with the stoneworking studio until he passed away in 2001.

Commenting on the Kincannon brothers, Master Mason Stephen Boyle also observed that, while their personalities may have been far different from each other,

both shared the same serious commitment to producing the highest standard of work no matter what area they were working in…both intensely focused and perfectionists.

– Master Mason Stephen Boyle

When is a grotesque a gargoyle?

Many people mistakenly believe that every carving on a Gothic church is a gargoyle.

The word is derived from the Old French gargouille, meaning “throat.” According to Wikipedia, in Gothic architecture, a gargoyle is a carved or formed grotesque with a spout designed to convey water from a roof and away from the side of a building, thereby preventing it from running down masonry walls and eroding the mortar between. Gargoyles are usually elongated fantastical animals because their length determines how far water is directed from the wall. When Gothic flying buttresses were used, aqueducts were sometimes cut into the buttress to divert water over the aisle walls. 

A grotesque is a fantastic or mythical figure carved from stone and fixed to the walls or roof of a building and does not project far from the wall.

Grotesques often depict whimsical, mythical creatures in dramatic or humorous ways. Although grotesques typically depict a wide range of subjects, they are often hybrids of different mythical, human, and animalistic features.

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• This is the third in a series of articles about the carvings on the Southwest Tower by Robert F. Rodriguez, an artist/photographer-in-residence at the Cathedral as these artworks were being created. All the images in this article were taken by the author. He spent more than 10 years documenting all facets of the construction work. His working life includes photo editor at Gannett Newspapers for 38 years and The Daily Mail for ten.

One step closer to realizing a sister’s wish.

It took four of us to haul a 30-lb. marble tablet up the narrow, circular, stone staircase to St. Paul’s tower at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine.

Stephen Boyle, former master mason, and I handled the first leg, carefully lifting the marble memorial plaque dedicated to James R. Bambridge, the Stoneyard Institute’s Master Builder, up the seemingly endless staircase. 

On hand to lend some muscle were Jim Patterson, Facilities Director at the Cathedral, and David Goughnour, Assistant Facilities Director. Besides the narrow and sometimes dimly lit staircase, we had to maneuver along a narrow catwalk bordering the undulating vaulted ceiling and then up one final, very narrow, corkscrew staircase to the base of the tower.

The idea of delivering the tablet to the tower, which took about a half hour, started almost 10 years ago with a handwritten Air Mail letter from Bambridge’s sister, Doreen Clark, who lives in Yorkshire, England. She was asking for a memorial in honor of her brother, who passed away in 2012. That request came to Timothy Smith, one of the original five stone cutters hired by Bambridge and Dean James Parks Morton in 1979.

JAMES BAMBRIDGE

Bambridge had an extensive resume as a Cathedral builder, one of the few people in the world qualified to take on the job of constructing the towers at St. John the Divine

He worked on many buildings damaged by bombs during World War II, including the Houses of Parliament. Bambridge also worked in Canada as Master Mason for restoration work at the Anglican Cathedral in St. Johns, Newfoundland. In 1967 he moved to Liverpool’s Anglican Cathedral. Later, Bambridge was appointed Master Mason at Wells Cathedral and, in 1979, was asked to help complete St. John the Divine.

Bambridge had to build the stoneyard operation entirely from scratch – there were no architectural blueprints, no stones, no stonecutting equipment and no stone cutters.

Within a few years Bambridge created a dynamic workplace with a crew as large as 30 people employed in various capacities, including cutting stones, creating the schematics, carving the elaborate figures and finally building the tower. His legacy, according to a magazine interview, was “that I can teach another generation of stone cutters.” 

After seven years at the Cathedral, in late 1985 or early 1986, Bambridge returned to England and consulted on the restoration of the historic Grand Buildings in Trafalgar Square, London. With that project finished, Bambridge retired to his small holding in Dorset, England and passed away in 2012.

The Tablet’s Request

Sometime in 2015 or 2016, Timothy Smith received Doreen Clark’s special request.

Timothy said it took only several months to complete the memorial tablet. He consulted with Doreen on his final design.

Then the tablet languished on his porch for several years until he and I had a chance conversation. He told me that the Bambridge tablet and a second tablet in honor of his stoneyard colleagues were ready to be installed at the Cathedral if he had a way to get them there – a two-plus hour drive from Manhattan.

My wife Stephanie and I had upcoming plans to be in the Berkshires, not far from where Timothy lived. I told him I would pick up the tablets and hold them until we could make arrangements to install them at an appropriate place in the Cathedral. The only hitch was that Timothy and his wife Laurie would be away when we were in the area. He explained that the tablets were on his porch and I could come anytime. 

I requested that he alert the Sheriff’s office so I would not be arrested for theft and trespassing.

In 2023, I carefully packed up the tablets without incident and without having to be bailed out of the local jail.

The Final Location

It took a while to make arrangements for their installation, with Dean Patrick Malloy lending assistance. After our morning’s exertions hauling the Bambridge memorial tablet up to the tower in June 2024, there was still work to be done.

The interior of the tower that started to rise in 1982 is a dark chamber lined primarily with brick and with several louvre doors for ventilation and to allow in some light. It rises over 30 feet to where heavy steel beams, which were to support a 13-bell carillon, form the base of the ceiling. 

In the dim light Stephen Boyle and Jim Patterson checked a few areas on the walls for a suitable location to permanently place the plaque. They will devise a mounting system to keep the marble tablet secure and I will look into having a photo of Bambridge displayed in a weatherproof frame to accompany the tablet.

Once the tablet is secured, Stephen and I hope to have a formal dedication and blessing of the tablet by Cathedral clergy sometime in the fall.

A sister’s request will then be fully honored.

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• All images in this article were taken by the author, photojournalist and Cathedral Artist-in-Residence, Robert F. Rodriguez.

(Ruben’s Controversial Carving is the second article in the series “Capitals, Gablets, Pinnacles and Label Stops” by photojournalist Robert F. Rodriguez. Unless otherwise noted, all photos are by him.)

Ruben Gibson was already an integral part of the fabric of the Stoneyard Institute by the time he left the cutting shed for the carving shed in 1985.

In the carving shed he added other new skills to his portfolio.

“Ruben was in some ways the best carver to have,” said Master Carver Nicholas Fairplay, who oversaw the training of the newly appointed carvers, Ruben, Cynthia “Cynie” Linton, Joseph Kincannon and D’Ellis “Jeep” Kincannon. “Once you gave him the idea, he was good. (His approach) was always bold,” continued Nicholas.

Ruben arrived at the Stoneyard in late 1980 or early 1981. In his 20’s, he developed keen interest in sculpture, painting and theology. At the Cathedral, Ruben found the perfect marriage of his artistic talent and his spiritual quest – the building of a cathedral.

One of Ruben’s early jobs was running the machine shop, recalls Stephen Boyle, the tower foreman. “It entailed estimating which stones could be cut from the rough block and slabs,” Stephen said. Ruben would then oversee the sawing process, ensuring that the overall dimensions of the stones were accurately cut to size. Ruben’s job as estimator required a good understanding of the fabrication process.

Ruben was well up to the task and was meticulous, painstaking and competent in his approach to everything in the machine shop and cutting shed.

At the carving shed Ruben tackled carving projects including crockets, pinnacles, capitals, and finials, and he designed and carved three unique label stop carvings. 

His first label stop was of a demon, its gaping mouth ready to devour anything in front of it. The limestone block was mounted on top of two layers of railroad ties on his banker. Above was Ruben’s clay model, as this was his first carving from his own design, and Master Carver Nicholas Fairplay required an approved drawing and clay model before carving could begin.

Ruben stood on top of a milk crate at certain points so he could carve the huge pointed ears, fierce nose and furrowed brow.

That carving was finally set on the South façade in the Southwest corner.

Ruben’s second carving toward the end of 1985 depicted a wide-mouthed lion with flowing mane and piercing eyes. A New York Times article commented, “The supple stone faces of Mr. Gibson’s demons, lions and imps seem alive, some as if about to grin or grimace. The lustrous curls in lions’ manes look as if they should flutter in the wind off the Hudson River.” 

The finished lion carving proved to be a hit and was later cast and plaster copies were sold in the Cathedral gift shop.

Perhaps the chance position of Ruben’s third label stop shaped the inspiration behind its design.

He and Nicholas Fairplay determined, by the stone’s specific ID number on the tower blueprint, that this block would sit on the East elevation on the South side – directly in line with Dean Morton’s office.

As an unofficial leader among the workers, Ruben was often the first to champion any workers’ issues with management. He always pushed for the advancement of his co-workers, for whom he was a courageous and eloquent spokesman.

John Walsh, the master of the Stoneyard who appointed Ruben lead carver, said he was sometimes difficult to work with because of his strong opinions.

For instance, when Walsh occasionally hired a talented sculptor from out of town, Ruben objected that more stone carvers should be recruited from Harlem and other inner-city neighborhoods.

So Ruben used the stone’s placement to send a message. But what message?

“I told Ruben that in Germany it is common to carve a gargoyle with its bottom facing the Dean’s house,” said Nicholas Fairplay, who said “mooning gargoyles” in Europe were common.

Ruben liked this idea but as the stone was not elongated enough for a “mooning” gargoyle, he carved a grotesque with its tongue sticking out.

The same New York Times article relates some additional background: “A longtime friend, Thomas Moore, said Mr. Gibson’s skepticism of the church hierarchy can be seen in a grotesque he carved that depicts an impish face with a large nose and a tongue sticking out. The face looks directly at Dean Morton’s office, the source of some of the policies Mr. Gibson disagreed with.”

We can be grateful that Ruben opted to have a tongue sticking out of his carving directed at the Dean and not some other body part.

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Sources:

• New York Times 1/29/1989
• Divine Stone 5/28/2020″Remembering Ruben”

Capitals, Gablets, Pinnacles and Label Stops – The Carving Program Begins is the story of the process that brought the many carved elements of the Southwest Tower to the Cathedral. (This is the first in a series of articles by photojournalist Robert F. Rodriguez about the carvings on the Southwest Tower.) The newly arrived Master Carver Nicholas Fairplay needed a spot in the Stoneyard to begin work on a series of label stop carvings. While his main job was instructing a select group of stone cutters in design, drawing, modeling, carving, technical drawing and theory, he also had to find a space to work.

Banker mason Joseph Kincannon recalls, “There wasn’t a carving shed yet. In fact, Nick had to busy himself moving stone around the yard at first. He did his (first) carving right near the planer. The cutting shed was too crowded.”

Nick, who apprenticed at Westminster Abbey, was recruited by Master Builder James Bambridge. One day when Bambridge was back in Dorset working on Cathedral drawings, he was driving in nearby Somerset. He saw some interesting stone carving activity and pulled off the road to see what was taking place. There he met a young Nick Fairplay. Nick was helping his friend, Master Carver Mel Morris Jones. Jones’ commission involved dolphins for the Naval College in Greenwich. This chance meeting lead to Nick Fairplay directing the carving at the Cathedral beginning in the fall of 1984.

Selecting the Carvers

Nick’s first order of business was assembling the team. Many of the Cathedral hierarchy had their “favorite” candidates to become carvers. “They all wanted different people,” Nick said.  So he devised a simple plan, “I carved a crocket (as a model) and anyone interested in carving, carved one.” Not everyone in the cutting shed was interested in carving but the invitation was sent to all.

Nick assembled all those who carved a crocket. Dean Morton, Master Builder James Bambridge and others gathered to determine the best carvings.  Neither the carvings nor the carvers were identified. Nick had them do a blind judging.  “It was all fair,” he said.

By the spring of 1985 a carving shed was built along the Cathedral’s north wall. Nick moved in along with Ruben Gibson, Cynie Linton, Joseph Kincannon and D’Ellis “Jeep” Kincannon. Nick also had Angel Escobar do some carvings. Angel did not want to do carving full time but “I pulled him (in) a couple of times; he had a very natural ability,” Nick said.

The new carvers had their work cut out for them. St. Paul’s tower was rising and the decorative carved stones soon would need to be set in place.  Stones requiring decorative or ornamental carving included capitals, gablets, crockets, label stops, pinnacles and finials.

The First Label Stops

Nick’s first label stop was a three-faced grotesque representing the Trinity. He said he drew inspiration from seeing various Trinity carvings on European churches. In all, 14 label stop carvings would be needed for the buttress gablets of the south tower. 

A buttress gablet is a decorative triangular-shaped element on the tower corners. It is filled with crockets — small, projecting ornaments, usually set in rows, and decorated with foliage. It ends at the bottom with a label stop, which often shows a carved head.

According to Nick, “The main design problem with the label stops was that (James) Bambridge never thought they would be carved, so he designed the carving blocks small and to not project much.” As a result, “a lot of the label stops were very difficult — very difficult to have a design to cover the moulding – you had to fit on this very small block. (You have to be) Careful not to undercut.”

Another of Nick’s label stop carvings is probably one of the most bizarre and yet humorous carvings on the tower. It shows a grotesque seemingly devouring an infant. Nick recalls that it was supposed to represent the Cathedral eating the congregation.

The Training Process

Training was essential for the new carvers and Nick used a multi-stepped process. “I wanted everyone in the shop to have a workshop style,” Nick said.

“The way I trained people, everybody had to do a sketch and I’d have to approve,” he said. “I would have them make a model in clay and then I would have them carve it. Then the next one they did, I would have them do a sketch, make a model in clay, then smash the model up and then do the carving. Then, for the next one, I would have them do the sketch but not the (clay) model. So they would need to know what information they want from the sketch to do the carving. By the end, they could do a drawing and carve from the drawing.”

Cynie’s Label Stop – Start to Finish

A good example of the process is Cynthia “Cynie” Linton’s label stop carving of a pilgrim bound for Santiago de Campostela.

After graduating from Pratt Institute, Cynie received a grant to study in France and Spain where she drew inspiration from Romanesque church and cloister carvings.

One of her stops was Santiago de Campostela, a Christian pilgrimage site in northwestern Spain. Following her sketches, Cynie made a clay model of a pilgrim on his journey. Working with the clay model helps the carver visualize the depth and dimensions of the stone before carving. Working with clay is an additive process while carving the stone is a subtractive one. 

She then consulted with Nick on any adjustments needed. Her carving showed a bearded pilgrim grasping a walking stick and wearing a hat with a scallop shell on it. The symbol of the scallop shell guided pilgrims along the Camino de Santiago, with the shell representing the way to the Cathedral. The scallop shell became a symbol of pilgrimage and a reminder of the power of faith.

Capitals

Teaching composition was essential, especially for carving the capitals, which rested below the quatrefoils and above the approximately 15-foot marble columns.

Ruben’s Unique Capital

When Ruben Gibson was stuck for an idea for carving a capital, Nick showed him a photo of a Medieval man and woman carved on a European cathedral. Nick only showed Ruben the photo one time so he would not copy it exactly. 

Ruben took Nick’s suggestion and transformed it into a carving of two men of different races grasping each other’s arms. “Once you gave him the idea, he was good with it,” Nick said.

While the capitals and label stops were each uniquely designed creations, much of the carvers’ work was done on gablets, which were uniform carvings with a foliage design. For each pair of label stop carvings, 10 gablets would have to be carved.

After leaving the Cathedral Stoneyard Institute, Nick went on to numerous stone carving projects and established Fairplay Stonecarvers in Oberlin, Ohio. At 67, he has no intention of putting down the mallet and chisel. 

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• Robert F. Rodriguez was an artist/photographer-in-residence at the Cathedral as these artworks were being created. He spent more than 10 years documenting all facets of the construction work. His working life includes photo editor at Gannett Newspapers for 38 years and The Daily Mail for ten.

Voices of the Stones is a closeup look at the wondrous and often humorous carvings on the unfinished tower at The Cathedral of St. John the Divine, the stone carvers who created them and some “secret” messages they carved in their limestone creations.  Robert F. Rodriguez was artist/photographer-in-residence at the church as these artworks were being created, and responsible for recording them for posterity and will discuss his ten years documenting this work.  Presented in Partnership with the New York Landmarks Conservancy.

The link to the permanent video of “Voices of the Stone” is available HERE

The General Society of Mechanics & Tradesmen of the City of New York

The General Society of Mechanics & Tradesmen of the City of New York was founded in 1785 by the skilled craftsmen of the City. Today, this 238-year old organization continues to serve and improve the quality of life of the people of the City of New York through its educational, philanthropic and cultural programs including its nearly two-century-old Lecture Series.

The Society’s Labor, Literature and Landmarks Series continues a tradition of public lectures that started at the Society in 1837.  Since then, it has been an important source of education and cultural enlightenment for all New Yorkers. The Series brings people of diverse interests from the entire New York area into our Library space. Now in its 13th season, the Artisan Lecture Series pays tribute to the art of craftsmanship by featuring master artisans who lecture about the intricacies of their specialized crafts. The Artisan Lecture Series promotes the work and art of skilled craftsmen to assist in ensuring their unique knowledge is understood and carried forth for future generations.

Robert F. Rodriguez

Forty years ago, the Cathedral of St. John the Divine undertook a major project to build its long overdue towers. Despite that effort, they were never completed – thus the church nickname, St. John the Unfinished. What most people do not know is that the partially finished south tower is host to an extraordinary array of stone sculptures – not readily visible from street level or otherwise open to the public.

Photojournalist Robert F. Rodriguez spent more than 10 years documenting all facets of the construction work involved in building the towers at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine. He was also a photo editor at Gannett Newspapers for 38 years and The Daily Mail for ten, as well as photographer for Heaven on the Hudson: Mansions, Monuments, and Marvels of Riverside Park and the upcoming Fabulous Fountains of New York.

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