Fred said it took his breath away when he stumbled upon lovely, little Saint-Hubert, nestled deep in the frozen woods. It was a sobering contrast: the poetic charm and tranquility of the church, almost untouched by the war, and the haunting battlefield nearby where a million men fought and nearly 200,000 died.
To suggest that cold December day in 1944, I made a thick, ice-like slab of glass as a base for the clear shards. The stag with the silver crucifix honors St. Hubert—the protector of the church and the patron saint of war and hunting.
