The painting caught me by surprise. I was meandering the dusty grounds of an antique mall in Granbury, Texas when I saw it. Jesus’s face, wracked with dismay, looking at me from behind old clutter. The painting was dirty and tucked among rusty tools and buckets in an open-faced shed, exposed to the weather.
Why is this painting here? I thought to myself. It struck me as both sacrilegiously misplaced and yet wholly appropriate in its humble setting.
Adding to the mystery, other work by the same artist was found inside one of the stores, clean and carefully wrapped in cellophane. Did the artist reject his own painting? Did a previous owner find it distasteful? Why was Jesus left to the elements? Apparently, even in art, “The Son of Man has no place to lay his head” (Luke 9:58).
A signature revealed the artist’s name—Krivoshia—and was dated 1991. I turned the portrait over, confirming it was an original piece by Dan Krivoshia entitled “Crown of Thorns II” (implying there is a Crown of Thorns I). It was labeled a “prainting,” which sounds like a cross between praying and painting. Perhaps Krivoshia prayed while working on the portrait or hoped it would inspire other people’s prayers. Unwilling to leave orphaned Jesus behind, I bought it for $10.
Then, my search for the artist began. Who was he, and why did he paint “Crown of Thorns II”?
Daniel Krivoshia was born in Midland, Pennsylvania in 1938, one of six children born to Adam and Danica “Daisy” (Vuynovich) Krivoshia, an American couple of Serbian ancestry.[1] His godfather was Rade “Pie” Sadler, a hotel coffee shop owner turned vaudeville performer.[2] Dan’s dad worked in a steel mill owned by Crucible Steel.[3] On snowy days, the mill’s soot led to gray and rust colored snowballs that Dan and his friends threw at each other on the walk to and from school. In the 1950s, his parents also ran a small store on 4th street called “Adam’s Confectionary,” until the grocery chain A & P came to the area, putting “mom and pop” shops out of business.[4]
A left-hander, Dan showed interest in art from a young age.[5] He began taking the Greyhound bus into Pittsburgh on Saturdays for art school when he was 13 or 14 years old.[6] During lulls tending the candy counter at his parent’s store, he practiced drawing. Dan sold his first piece, a milk advertisement, made for a class project, after his dad showed the drawing to the dairy man during a delivery. The ad was printed in The Midland News. Dan recalled, “In spite of the horrendous printing and backward ‘Y’ on the bottle, I was paid the enormous sum of $10 for my creation.”[7]
Dan was not only an artist, he loved sports. As a youth, he gave up side hustles selling the early edition of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette and two after school paper routes to play sports.[8] In 1955, he headed to Indiana University, where he donned the #13 jersey for the football team. Yet Dan kept drawing. His sophomore year, he created a unique design of the Crimson Bull, the school’s mascot, for a contest sponsored by the Student Senate.[9] On February 23, 1956, the Senate committee announced adoption of Dan’s rendition of the bull: “After receiving the approval of Vice President Franklin, Dan Krivoshia’s sketch submitted to the Senate for the Crimson Bull contest, was selected. The Daily Student has been contacted and will run a picture and article on same.”
Dan graduated from Indiana University with both a BS in Art Education and a MS in A/V Communications with an Art Minor. He went on to spend a career making art, including “Functional Art,” such as his signature wood cabinets, creatively sculptured to include a head and feet. Dan married Julia Butler, who also earned a BS in Art Education from Indiana University, along with a MS in Communications. Together they raised their daughter and loved to travel to art shows. Dan recalled:
“My late wife Julie and I used to enjoy traveling to Albuquerque/Santa Fe area at least every couple years, not only enjoying the art, atmosphere, and unique dining but attending both of the wonderful flea markets (swap meets): the massive Expo in the State Fairgrounds in Albuquerque and the now closed Tesuque near the Santa Fe Opera House (which was my favorite anywhere). That’s saying something since I’ve been extremely lucky to visit not only most of the famous art museums in the U.S. and Europe but flea markets as well. For example, the famous ones in Paris, Madrid, Barcelona, the weekend mile long art market along the North Side of Hyde Park and Portabello Road Antique Market in London, and ‘On this side of the Pond,’ Vancouver, The Rose Bowl in LA (massive), Shipshwanna in Northern Indiana, The 3rd Weekend event in the Tennessee Fairgrounds in Nashville, Trader’s Village in Texas, etc.”[10]
Dan and Julie collected art, antiques, and books over forty-seven years together, amassing nearly a hundred pieces from “travels throughout the U.S., Europe, Mexico, and Canada.” Sadly, Julie passed away in 2007. Dan would live another couple decades without her. A few years before he died, he decided to liquidate their collection by converting his residence and studio into a gallery and gift shop, perhaps sensing his own days coming to a close and the need to let go.[11]
But even to the end, Dan led an active life. He continued to travel to art shows. He volunteered to help rehab a historic house in Granbury, Texas where he now lived. And he participated in the annual Granbury Wine Walk, hosting a booth to display his artwork.
Significantly, Dan was an integral member of the Monday Morning Portrait Group in Granbury, where participants practiced drawing from live models. During his final years, his portraits had “gotten better and better and he added color to the usual black and white drawings.”[12] The progression to color in portraits could explain “Crown of Thorns II” vs. “Crown of Thorns I.” A site auctioning Dan’s work after he died listed a portrait similar to the one I purchased but with less color. I suspect it could be “Crown of Thorns I.”
Aside from the two portraits of Jesus, most of Dan’s artwork does not appear to be religious in nature. So, what led him to paint Christ? I admit, part of me hoped to find a deeply spiritual man behind my newly purchased icon. Was there some profound meaning in the painting? Did it flow from the brush of a monastic spirit?
Dan fondly recalled St. George Serbian Orthodox Church in his hometown of Midland, PA, and Father Dobrota who helped found it. He referred to it as a “fine church.”[13] His sister Rosemarie was a lifelong and active member of Holy Resurrection Serbian Eastern Orthodox Church in West Virginia. In other words, Adam and Daisy appear to have raised their children in the Christian faith. Yet reading through Dan’s public Facebook posts, he did not seem overtly religious. In fact, his sense of humor and politics could be rough around the edges. He made raunchy jokes from time to time and was bluntly opinionated. At the same time, he was well loved. He was known for his kindness, “very incisive wit,” and for being “one of a kind.”[14]
Every January 7th, Dan wished his family and friends a merry Christmas with the Serbian Orthodox greeting “Hristos Se Rodi” (Christ is Born). And Dan fondly recalled large family Christmas gatherings from childhood:
“Our table(s) included a whole pit roasted sibling pig with crackling skin, loads and loads of sarma (stuffed cabbage), several pots of fine sliced home made chicken noodle soup and too many other items, sides and home made cookies to list. My wonderful mother not only baked pogacha (Balkan countries bread), but also a decorative Serbian Christmas bread either called Cesnica or Kalach . . . hers had walnuts inserted in the four top segments . . . It is also often called, ‘The Money Bread,’ since whoever bakes a loaf inserts a coin while preparing the dough and whoever was served the slice with the coin was to have good luck . . . Outside there were several large galvanized tubs, with 50 lb. blocks of ice, filled with beer and soda pop. . . We welcomed at least 50 relatives and friends throughout the day and evening. Before leaving, the men were expected to down a shot of either Slivovitz(a) or Seagram’s 7.”[15]
By most accounts, Dan was an ordinary man. Little record of his artistic life exists on the internet beyond his own Facebook page. Nor was he particularly pious—at least how we normally understand the term. But I’m struck by how much he lived life according to the gifting God gave him. He passionately pursued art. Not only its creation, but admiring the creativity of others at shows and exhibits around the world. There’s piety in that—in fully appreciating and enacting who God created you to be.
As I’ve reflected on the portrait of Jesus—the shed where I found it, the dust clinging to its paint, and the ordinary man who created it—I’m humbled by it. Christianity is not the perview of holier than thou saints; it’s the faith of the everyday working man, the quirky artist, the widower, the one whose memory history soon forgets. But Dan is not—nor ever will be—forgotten by God. The Creator delighted in knitting him together in his mother womb, and God holds him now.
Dan Krivoshia died in November 2024, the weekend before Thanksgiving, at the age of 87. His art work was sold off for small sums or given away. Somehow “Crown of Thorns II” made its way to an outdoor shed in an antique mall with a $10 price tag. Why did Dan paint this anguished face of Christ? His Serbian Eastern Orthodox upbringing no doubt gave him a Christian reference point. We may never know for sure, but the emotion evoked by the “prainting” inspires solidarity with suffering.
When I first saw the portrait, I wasn’t looking to buy crucifixion art. In fact, I walked away. But as I continued to wander the antique mall, I felt an empathetic pull back. I kept thinking of Jesus’s eyes, carrying so much sorrow. They exude compassionate lament for the world—it’s global evils, as well as everyday trials. Like his mother Mary and dear friend John, who sat at the foot of the cross, I wanted to comfort Jesus, to sit in solidarity with him.
“Crown of Thorns II” is an invitation to empathy, to stay tender and resist cynicism. It beckons us to sit with the broken hearted. It invites us to share in Christ’s suffering (Phil 3:7-14). “Whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me . . .“ (Matt 25:34-45). Gazing at this prayer icon, it’s as though Jesus and I are looking deeply into each other’s eyes, a silent empathetic embrace. We are not alone in our suffering because God has come near and feels our pain. Solidarity means sorrow is not the last word. God’s tears (and ours) water the soil of new life. Redemption is the fruit of longing for a better world.
[1] Very little information about Dan Krivoshia can be found online. Much of the information for this article is taken from his public Facebook posts.
[2] Krivoshia references his godfather Rade Sadler in a Jan 10, 2021 post, acknowledging that Sadler’s participation in “The Two Black Crows” would not be acceptable movie material today. The vaudeville performances regrettably and offensively used blackface. For more on Rade Sadler see: https://vitaphone.blogspot.com/2007/04/why-bring-that-up.html and also https://cchsm.com/resources/newspapers/1940/pf_sf_v5_1945.pdf
[3] Krivoshia, Facebook post, Jan 13, 2024. See also comment section.
[4] Krivoshia, Facebook post, Feb 9, 2024. See comment section. See also Jan 26, 2024 post.
[5] Krivoshia, Facebook post, Jan 31, 2024.
[6] See comment section for post on Dec 2, 2021.
[7] Krivoshia, Facebook post, Dec 2, 2021. See also comment section.
[8] Krivoshia, Facebook post, Dec 27, 2023. See comment section.
[9] Krivoshia, Facebook post, Feb 9, 2024.
[10] Krivoshia, Facebook post, Sep 26, 2021.
[11] Krivoshia, Facebook post, Nov 13, 2021.
[12] From a public Facebook post of the LGAA Monday Morning Portrait Group, Nov 29, 2024.
[13] See Krivoshia’s comment left on a St. George Facebook post on Sept 20, 2024.
[14] From comments left after his death on the Portrait Group Facebook page and his daughter’s Facebook page.
[15] Krivoshia, Facebook post, Jan 7, 2021