"If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life."

Now that the hustle and bustle of the Christmas season has slowly toned down, it gives one a little time to reflect on the year.

Sitting alone in my apartment with only the sound of my cat, Molly, snoring on the couch, and the pattering of the rain and wind outside; feeling content after a marvelous dinner made by my lovely friend; meaningful conversation and the occasional smooch, has made the day perfect: but one has to ask, why?

To be in love is a wondrous experience: full of pain, drama, joy and sometimes actual magic.

When in love, merely sitting next to that person is a major event.
As an artist and writer, as the cliché goes, I am in love with love.

But this time is wholly different because this love is true and not simply a passing illusion, though a true heartfelt movement, in awe of the fact that a man of my age can actually “deal” with it, really feel so awe-inspired, so in love. But I know with all my being, it is there just the same…

To be loved and love someone is a great responsibility. One’s only wish is that they are happy, thus you work at it to ensure that happiness continues.

Love is glorious but in the end tragic, because one or the other must depart leaving the other alone…and it hurts the pain indescribable.

One of my favorite “love” quotes from the poet and wit, Oscar Wilde:

"If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life.”

This quote, to be sure, describes the “condition of love” in its purist visceral terms.

To be in-love is a gift.

The Singing Thanks of a Bird.

It was a day one would like to forget. Sick with a temperature, my sinuses infected, in pain and feeling guilty because I needed to be at work, end of year school reports, last minute grading, the troubles of individuals – but I could not get out of bed. I took a pill and went back to bed. Then my mobile phone rang, disturbing a crazy dream.

“Sorry Craig, I hate doing this but it’s important.”

My boss, one of the Assistant Principals, a good person and a very hard and loyal person, someone who has never phoned me, no matter what the crisis, was on the end of the line.

Through my nasal infected head, my voice sounding like a hay fever advertisement,

“It’s ok Jude, what’s up?”

“There is a problem with your Year 10 reports…”

At that precise second a bird flew into my bedroom, frantically circulating the ceiling above my bed.

“You’re not going to believe this Judy, but there’s bird flying around my bedroom!”

“I know…I can hear it!”

“Listen, I’ll call you back.”

The little bird had been taken into the house by Molly my little cat, because I had forgotten to feed them, dazed in my sick physical state.

After hanging up, the little Black bird with huge yellow eyes landed on the top of my bookcase next to my medieval helmet.

The little bird sat there, motionless, except for a turn of his head, looking at me.

Molly had disappeared thus the little flying creature seemed to have calmed down, moving into shock mode.

Grabbing a towel, I approached the little one with silent caution.

Whispering, I said, “Let me see…well your feet look in good shape. There doesn’t seem to be any major wounds and your wings are in good shape as well, which is the most important thing.”

The little bird cocked his head to one side, relaxing and curiously settled.

“This is what I’m going to do. I’ll wrap you in this towel and set you free.”

The bird’s head tilted the other way, looked at me with his other eye, not really understanding what I was communicating, though my tone, to him, seemed reasonable under the circumstances.

“Ok, here we go…”

He let me wrap his body in the towel, only squirming a little. Walking to my front door, opening the screen with my foot, opening the towel, the bird shot straight and fast like a rocket – the fastest flying maneuver I had ever seen in my life!

Needless to say, I went back to bed and called my boss, hoping we could solve the problem over the phone.

Then only a few days later the miraculous happened.

After dinner, writing emails, at dusk, the most beautiful singing from a bird could be heard outside my front door.

Walking outside, there he was, the same bird, perched on the chimney next door, singing a beautiful song.

His singing was pleasant to the ear, an intention behind the song, something truly beautiful.

Thinking I was most likely being crazy, at the exact time the next evening, there he was again, singing the same mesmerizing song. I sat down on the porch with my wine and listened until he finished and flew away…like a rocket.

The little bird has not returned because I’ve been watching out for him.

I told this story to my special students at school and they now call me the “Bird Whisperer.”

The little guy thanked me for saving his life, and I believe this because it is true.

Believe it or not, it happend.

Another Love Letter...from Far Away.

My lovely May,

I felt compelled to write to you to express my pure happiness that we have a chance to be together, (if only in spirit) loving each other’s company.

Although I’ve died a mere three years ago, I realise it has been a long time for you; for me, though, it has been only seconds.

To hold you in my arms today, ( A present from...and an illusion) and kiss those soft, beautiful lips felt like finally coming home again.

I do Love you so.

It’s funny or a bit strange but I was reminded today how beautiful you are!

That joyful smile, the elegant way you sit in a chair and that refined sway in your walk. Even those small and beautiful feet peering through your slippers made me want to touch and kiss them. The graceful way you carry yourself reveals a woman of tasteful sensibilities. There is an air of chic in your overall demeanour - certain panache, something I’ve missed so much.

But probably the most heart-felt reminder right now (sitting now across from you, though you cannot see me) is to hear that exquisite and sincere soft tone in your voice recalling a time when you told me that you loved me – what a breathtaking moment.

I see you walking with a cane and in so much pain, now an old woman; how you've been strong!Continue to be strong as you can because I will be waiting for you. I will be waiting with your other loved one's on the shore when the boat arrives. (Strange, you appear more beautiful in that old, tired body than you did so many years ago.)


I hope you don’t find my words too sentimental, mawkish or overly amorous, however this is the way I feel – and as you well know – this is who I am.

Only thinking of our next meeting…when I can hold you in my arms, feel your heart soul against mine, kissing you with passion and tenderness.

Until we meet again…


Adoringly Yours,


Jack

The Beautiful Beggar in the Parking Lot.

Christmas is upon us once again, the decorations are unpacked and a few thrown away, as they have become too moldy living a whole year under the house. Then the flood might have had something to do with it, but Simone sorts them out, washing some, throwing away others, to then hang those decorations that survived on the clothes line…to dry.

What I love about Simone is her abounding energy at Christmas – for she is, as a human being, a naturally giving soul – this time of year is her opportunity to Give in abundance and she takes this time of year far too seriously.

“Will I forget someone, will someone get disappointed?”

My friend’s intentions are pure, but it is her day to day love and giving that ‘counts’, not a day chosen by the Roman Emperor, Constantine, to make the pagans and the Christians settle down in an effort at a compromise to avoid more blood shed between them, more than 1500 years ago.

Leaving Simone to her Christmas decorations and cooking, I decided to grab a few beers at the local grocery store.

Not just one but four musicians held a spot in front of the entrance of the store… all playing with all their might, four different Christmas songs at once, their music sounding like a cacophony of indiscernible…noise.

Checking my pockets, to make a donation, they were empty: ‘I’ll catch them on the way out’, I thought.

It was then that a woman of about thirty years of age, not bad looking, though one could see her appearance was not her top priority: when she began spinning a yarn at me at break neck speed, about not having enough money to buy Christmas presents. In the end she said,

“All I need is sticky tape to wrap my children’s Christmas presents.”

Her expression appeared pure and her story true.

I told her this would not be a problem and entered the store to make my purchases as she sat herself down on the bench just outside, waiting.

As life goes, I searched and searched for sticky tape but none was to be found. It was then I decided to give her the change necessary to buy her sticky tape to wrap her children’s gifts.

This woman was an unusual ‘street’ person because she did not ask for money but something very specific.

I decided to give her all my change which amounted to about 5 dollars.

Walking up to her, she gave me such a kind smile, as I gave her the 5 dollar’s in change.

“Sorry, couldn’t find the tape but this should cover it.”

She thanked me and as I walked away she said:

“You’re Craig, right?”

To be absolutely honest, I had never seen or met this young woman before. There was not a note of familiarity about her in the least. But she gazed at me as if we had been friends for many years.

I found this to be disconcerting and strange.

“Yes.”

“I thought so.”

She turned and walked away from the store never looking back once.

Driving back home with my six pack of beer, the image of her face and the circumstances, sticky tape and beauty whirled throughout my head. Then I thought:

‘Happy Christmas to you, beautiful stranger and your children and I hope the five dollars can help in this difficult time of your life.

And you will always be a Christmas mystery to me.'

Gustave Klimt & 'fin de siecle' Vienna.

The two paintings above, one a portrait of the famous philosopher, Ludwig Wittgenstein’s sister, Margarete Stonborough-Wittgenstein and a devilish and quite alluring painting of Salome, the young woman who danced the dance of the seven veils for King Herod in exchange for the head of John the Baptist, are two of my favorite paintings by the Austrian, Gustave Klimt, (1862-1918) then founder and president of the Wiener Sezession (Vienna Secession) in 1897.

The Vienna Secession is considered by most art historians as the first “Art Noveau” movement at the turn of the century. (Some would argue this point)

Klimt was academically trained in the “realist” or “neo-classical” style thus his later work in experimentation as part of the “Vienna Secession” revealed a sophisticated technique. (The traditionalists’ of the time labeled his work “pornographic”)

The so-called mandate of the Vienna Secession, (although they claimed to have no mandate) was to provide the opportunity for new artists with varying styles to get their work shown. Preceding German Expressionism, the artist moved from “artisan” to “artist”, no more dependent on rich patronage to merely paint “portraits” of the wealthy, but brings art forward away from neo-classicism, so prevalent in pre WW 1 Austria at the time.

Pre WW1 Vienna has had a revival of fascination for academics and historians over the last twenty years. It was a the centre of “culture” in Europe, or as the journalist and radical, Karl Kraus wrote during this period, fin de siecle Vienna was the “research laboratory for world destruction”. Vienna was a hot bed of innovation: the birth place of Zionism and Nazism; Sigmund Freud developed Psychoanalysis, (Margarete shown above was one of Freud’s patients) and architecture, planted so firmly in neo-classicism or the neo-gothic style brought the art form into what is now called modernism, led by a friend of Ludwig Wittgenstein, Adolf Loos.

The reason these particular paintings have a strange attraction for me is that they reveal, although subtly, Art’s radical change just prior and after WW1. The world changed drastically after WW1, and fin de siecle Vienna was at the centre of this change in artistic sensibilities and overall “culture” across the board.

Karl Kraus’ words, that Vienna was a “research laboratory for world destruction” in retrospect were certainly prophetic.

Artists, writers, philosophers, architects, poets and scientists moved forward during a time Europe experienced two world wars which could have led to the destruction of the entire planet with the introduction of the Atomic bomb.

For me, history irrevocably shifted in fin de siecle Vienna – and the artist, Gustave Klimt was a major contributor to this radical change.

Bullying, Intimidation & Power.

The title of this BLOG starts early in life...for many of us.

My first recall was of a teacher, in first grade, having me stand in front of the classroom and ridiculing me because of my accent, that I talked too much. In fact, at the age of five, I hardly talked at all. She was one of the reasons I became a teacher, to seek out these anti-social pathological individuals, and reveal them to the world…stop them.

My second remembrance is walking home from school in Surry Hills and suddenly attacked by several boys, beating and kicking me for being a “Mick”, a Catholic and luckily, the big “Micks” were around and saved my life.

Once moving to the U.S., again, on my way to school, punched in the stomach for having a weird accent – at the time, my short life had become something between a rock and a hard place.

In our little suburb of Northglenn, Colorado, power over territory and who was the best fighter was the central focus. Bravado, machismo, muscles and fast cars placed you in the social hierarchy – the bigger, fastest, loudest and meanest ruled the streets of this little suburb. One always had to be on one’s guard, vigilant and ready for anything.

Now in adulthood, nothing has changed.

Although seemingly more sophisticated the intimidation and will to power is the same: bigger, faster, smarter and mean without appearing so is the office politics of today.

We call it “politics” but just the same, it is no different than the fat loud mouthed bully down the street – the goal is similar: power over others.

We’ve come to recognize a percentage of these self-seeking individuals as psychopathic or sociopath.

In my own experience with these people, there are blatant similarities: no conscience, narcissistic, covert, hostile with always a supercilious smile on their face and relentless towards their goal… until found out.

Once discovered, more often they will run, resign and do it with as much destruction as possible, leaving broken businesses; broken relationships, broken people in general, because the bully is not interested in the welfare of all but only themselves.

Evil is one of the hardest things to confront because we want to believe that humankind is basically good.

Confront those head on letting them know that you know who and what they are: and nine times out of ten, they will run for the hills.

Be strong.

"MONSTER"

It was the 17th century poet, author of “Paradise Lost” and “Paradise Regained”, John Milton, who wrote,

“Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth
Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep”.

Is it possible that beings walk the earth that are never seen except for the select few of the chosen?

Do mythical creatures walk the earth without us noticing…until they want to be noticed or have a specific agenda with you?

It is an old American Indian proverb that the natural creature’s of this planet can only be “seen” by us if they choose to be seen.

Quantum theory proposes that we merely exist in one universe while billions of other universes exist in our very own space, (multi-universe theory) thus collisions or lapses, causing strange phenomenon to manifest. Worm-holes appear, strange entrances can exist merging two diverse universes which some have reported to have experienced the extraordinary: other civilizations, more advanced than our own…even “monsters”

Have you ever walked out into the dead of night, doing a mundane task like taking out the garbage, the wind rustling the trees, a full moon casting its light, and you absolutely feel that something or someone is watching you?

The fright or terror is real as you run back to the door and close it and lock it just in case. You did not see anything, but your intuition tells you that there was something or someone watching, waiting, and biding its time for the right moment. You want to believe it is simply your imagination, but know deep in your psyche, that someone or something was there…


A past colleague of mine related an experience to me that was astonishing, that later was corroborated by her brother, whom I met at an Orange County restaurant, a reputable lawyer and rational man; upon questioning him about this specific incident, he became suddenly reticent over a glass of expensive scotch but re-told the story in the exact way, word for word, as his sister. He waved down the waiter and ordered a double and once the drink arrived, began his story.


“Patricia and I were living in Hawaii, our parents off somewhere in Europe (as usual) on vacation. I was attending Law School and my sister was taking care of the family home and our two cats. She was home alone most of the time but this didn’t worry me because criminal activity (minor or major) never happened on the island at the time…we were too far away from the nearest town. It was the late sixties, we thought we were safe.

My last class was cancelled, jumping in my Jeep, decided to check up on my little sister.

Pulling up the driveway, I heard my sister screaming as she ran out of the jungle that essentially surrounds our entire house. She was headed towards the front door when she tripped and fell on her knees. Patricia’s expression was nothing less than pure horror. As she tried to lift herself up, out from the bush appeared this creature. Looking back at the incident, even now, throws me into a slight confused state because beings like the one that had been chasing my sister through the forest, just do not exist”.

What did it look like? I asked.

“Let me tell the story!”

John was now agitated, obviously re-living the moment, going to a place he’d rather not go. He took a huge swig of his expensive scotch and continued.

“To say the least I was petrified and so much so, couldn’t bring myself to jump out of my Jeep to help – not even my only sister.

Patricia managed to get back on her feet and run to the front door, slamming the screen door shut. This “thing” crashed through the screen door and was now inside the house.

From inside our house, Patricia’s almost deafening scream sounded now like a desperate, final call for help.

Of course my natural instincts rose above my petty fear and I ran into the house to see this creature on top of my sister digging its claws into her forehead.

I’ll never forget the look on Patricia’s face. It wasn’t the expression of pain but kind of an hypnotic empty gaze of pleasure.

Grabbing one of the dining room chairs, I slammed it hard against the creatures back and it winced from the pain, removing its claws from my sister head.

But now it turned its gaze on me.

How do you describe something that has no comparison to anything you’ve seen before? The only “human” quality about this being was its eyes: red, pulsating with intent: I could not look at those eyes, (a voice in my head resounded) thus turning away from its gaze, and I picked up another chair and started swinging. One of the chair’s legs slammed into its left eye. It let out a tone of voice that I, to this day, cannot really accurately describe…a whelp?

But this is the strange part of the experience. I could hear its voice inside my head!

“Tell your sibling not to cross over again, because there will be consequences.”

The “thing” bounced through the broken screen door like a mutant grasshopper and disappeared into the jungle.

Turning to my sister, she continued to have that gaze of blankness and pleasure like the insane.

After a week Patricia seemed to have recovered from the incident, but we never really talked about it until many years later”.

The table had that uncomfortable silence as it seemed all of us were reflecting on what had just been said. Then John asked:

“You appear to be an open minded individual, what do you think of the “story”?”

In my own mind and experience, I tried to come up with some totally rational explanation: a crazy ape, perhaps a homeless person with red eyes from too much cheap wine, however, sometimes “explanations” for the irrational are more far fetched than the unexplainable.

Interestingly, those vague dots on Patty’s forehead that most of the time she tried to cover with make-up, now were blatantly obvious.

So I ordered another scotch and said it was a peculiar experience, and thanked him for telling me.

Our conversations throughout the rest of the evening touched only the commonplace and superficial – politics, sports and the L.A. Freeway system.

Pulling up in my driveway to my little Hollywood bungalow, getting out of the car, the Santa Ana winds had begun, heralding the summer months. There was a full moon, but I distinctly felt someone’s eyes upon me. Turning quickly to my right as I slotted my key into the lock, two, bright red eyes glared through the bushes next door.

A foreign voice resounded in my head as I closed the front door and threw my keys on the table:

“Stop now or there will be consequences.”

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep that night.

“The Old Guitarist”

This has to be one of my favourite paintings by the world renowned modernist artist, Pablo Picasso. (1881-1973)

What are we actually viewing here? An old man seemingly enraptured in his music, while playing his instrument, the classical guitar.

What draws me to this painting is Picasso’s use of colour, different shades of blue, monochromatic in tone (Known as Picasso’s Blue Period, 1900-1904) and the content, the subject matter – an old man playing music appearing lost in the notes he plays.

The old man’s fingers are almost too thin and long yet perfect for playing this particular instrument.

One could perhaps interpret the content depicting a dieing man playing his last note of music before passing on. He is either in rapture or on the verge of death.

This is typical of Picasso’s overall distorted style as the oldman’s torso is too elongated and reclining, and as mentioned above, the fingers are abnormally long and slender.

What is most curious about this painting is the mysterious presence of a woman’s portrait underneath as we can almost see her face and legs. Some art critics have proposed that it was an unfinished portrait, abandoned by Picasso and “The Old Guitarist” painted over it to save money as he was quite poor during his Blue Period, and not selling many paintings.

This painting is more than likely the most well-known of the artist’s Blue period.

“THE Old Guitarist” is an engaging and inspirational work as it has inspired poets like Wallace Stevens to write a poem about the painting and composers to write their music.

One of my all time favourites of Picasso’s entire body of work.

GERMAN EXPRESSIONISM – Self Portrait: Lovis Corinth

Gustave Klimt is more famous for leading the ‘Secession’ movement of art during the end of the fin-de-siecle, corrupt Austro- Hungarian Empire, prior to WW1. Less known in popular culture is the ‘father’ of German Expressionism, Lovis Cornith.

When one has the chance and time to see his paintings, Cornith’s talent is assured but as this particular art movement is known for, his work has a disturbing quality – a style of rebellion, politically motivated and seemingly decadent.

Taken from a terrific web site, a good definition for the ‘Secession’ originating in Vienna:

“The 'Secession' marks the first appearance of a free art market ever in art history; the artist’s no longer work based on the instructions of their commissioners, but rather unleash their imagination.”

A rebellion against “Monarchy”, against convention, no longer concerned with economics, these German artists painted what their imaginations conjured.

And really, at times fascinating & daunting, German Expressionism creates feelings of danger, ugliness and torment, preceding (some say foretelling) the horrendous acts of WW1 & WW2: mass slaughter and genocide.

What is admirable about Cornith was his willingness to experiment with a variety of forms: religious and mythology, landscapes, interiors, still lives, portraits, (many self portraits) as above; experimenting with classical and impressionistic light and arrangement.

Cornith’s ‘nudes’ are extraordinary revealing the beauty and decadence of the artist’s view of the female body.

Intense, outstanding, attitude, and a personality, Cornith lead the movement against convention…and the world changed forever.


Source:

http://www.kettererkunst.com/bio/LovisCorinth-1858-1925.shtml

Marc Chagall & Plato’s The Symposium

It can be observed that most of Marc Chagall's work is an expression of his philosophy, his religious sensibility if you will, in the form of the "literalization of metaphors", deeply grounded in the mystical and symbolic Hasidic world and Yiddish folktales, which include in their writings the "repository of flying animals and miraculous events."(Wilson, 2007)


It is impossible to label Chagall's work as "Expressionism", but the representation of an acute imagination, coloured in fantasy, depicting highly charged religious symbols, including in several works, Christs Crucifixion in a variety of contexts. What I love about Chagall is the viewer is drawn into the work by its striking colour and busy subject matter and is compelled to study it, because the meaning of the painting must be discovered as it is not apparent on a superficial viewing.


My favourite paintings by the artist are his various representations of love that display an ethereal, mystical quality, a sublimeness that to me captures love in their most revealing forms, as the author, Jonathan Wilson, writer of the latest biography of the artist states:


"Chagall's vision of love, so appealing to the human soul, frequently involves a merging of two faces, or bodies, into one. In this regard he is Platonic, as his figures pursue their other halves in an apparent longing to become whole again. Over and again he paints the myth that Aristophanes recounts in The Symposium." (ibid)


This notion is apparent in the painting depicted above; the merging of “two into one”.


Chagall's life, Wilson suggests, was an attempt through his art at the reconciliation between two worlds, a genuine effort at universalizing or merging opposites, he writes,


"In his paintings, past and present, dream and reality, rabbi and clown, secular and observant, revolutionary and Jew, Jesus and Elijah...all commingle and merge in a world where history and geography but also the laws of physics and nature have been suspended." (ibid)


Chagall was a man with an extraordinary imagination, an astonishing amount of energy and ambition, and considered by art historians as one of the true icons of Modernism along with Picasso and Matisse.


Source: Wilson, J.
Marc Chagall
Random House 2007
United States

Caravaggio’s Saint Jerome

This painting by Caravaggio (1571 – 1610) of Saint Jerome deep in study surely is one the painter’s best examples of his use of deep, rich colours and his attention to detail.

Why most renditions of Saint Jerome by painters and illustrators find him in his study is that he was commissioned by Pope Damasus the 1st to revise the Latin text of the Bible, known as the ‘Vulgate’ that is still in use today.

Saint Jerome was born to a pagan family circa 365 C.E., to later study the law and become a lawyer. He soon later changed his subject of study to theology where his true conversion to Christianity occurred. He was also baptised around this time.

Saint Jerome is not so much remembered for his scholarly works but for the incident where he came upon a lion with a thorn in its paw. He removed the thorn without any protest from the king of beasts…and as legend has it, the lion remained at Saint Jerome’s side for many years.

He lived the last thirty years of his life in the Holy Land more or less a recluse, continuing to translate texts, write prayers, biographies and collected a vast library of scrolls.

Because he was a scholar of the Church, his patronage include: archaeologists, archivists, Bible scholars, librarians, translators and school children.

Saint Augustine said about Saint Jerome:

What Jerome is ignorant of, no man has ever known.

Caravaggio’s life was short though full. To my way of thinking he was a true genius with a hot temper, a love affair with alcohol, and was often described as “extremely crazy”.

This painting is not one of his best however reveals his genius for colour and “realism”; now considered the founder of the Baroque period where his emphasis on deep shadow contrasting blinding light is the art movement’s definitive trademark, so to speak, and made him famous at the time.

Some art scholars have written that it was only in the early twentieth century that Caravaggio’s work had come back into vogue. I find this astonishing considering the man’s genius.

This painting of Saint Jerome has to be one of my favourites of the artist’s entire body of work.

Brothers & Sisters

This painting is entitled “Orphans” (Thomas Benjamin
Kennington, 1856 – 1916) but expresses something much more than what is depicted on the surface, the children’s current circumstances.


The older sister holds her little brother, his lovely face on her lap with an expression of confusion or perhaps he is deep in thought about what to do next…


The pretty sister, her eyes closed, is resting but feels comfort with her younger brother lying on her lap: she appears content, because at least, her brother is with her, her only friend.


At least they’re together despite being alone without care.


This painting has always brought forth strong emotion for me.


There is a friend of mine who has been bitterly disappointed with his parents and their actions and responsibilities. It is not appropriate to go into detail but, however unfortunately, he is estranged from them.


In spite of this, the man has maintained a meaningful relationship with is older sisters. He can call either of them anytime, yet they like each other and have wonderful conversations – they are very close.


Although not estranged from my mother, to have a close relationship with one’s sibling is something very special. My sister and I talk about everything and have been known to over indulge on the phone sometimes, talking for hours.


To have a close relationship with one’s sibling makes one stronger, that you are not alone, can talk openly and, in the end, merely be yourself without judgements, criticisms or the fear that doing something wrong will estrange them, because when you are close they will always forgive you.


The two children depicted in the painting will have that kind of relationship because they know, after years of hardship, that they can always, in good times or bad, count on each other.


This is a sad painting but also reveals the power of love.

Musings on Sleeplessness, Climate & Evolution.

It is late and sleep is impossible as the heat and humidity hangs and permeates everything…there seems to be no escape, so I sit in front of the computer and write.

Weather affects one’s mood and our general view of the world.

When civilization began, depending on one’s certain geographical location, does indeed truly determine a particular cultures development, because heat and cold play a big part on how we deal with and view the world.

The Aboriginal of Australia, for example, lived in dry desert conditions. To merely survive was at the top of the priority list, thus their knowledge of the terrain, how to attain food and their views of existence. All their time was taken up with the search for food and shade from the heat. Because of the heat and barrenness of the landscape, there was no need to change…just survival, and the “Dream Time”.

Civilization truly reached its peak in the ancient world around the fertile land surrounding the Mediterranean Sea, and along the Nile River. However it can get very hot during the summer months around Cairo. In the spring and autumn, the Nile flows over ensuring crops survive and thrive.

I guess what I’m getting at is that I miss the four distinctive seasons living in Melbourne Australia. Please don’t get me wrong, I’ve loved Melbourne’s erratic weather – four seasons in one day is not just the words to a popular song but actually true.

It was the Explorer and adventurer Sir Francis Richard Burton who, in an article he had written, attempted to persuade his reader’s that climate determines a particular races development. At the time of the writing, Darwin had crept into “scientific” circles, thus the hierarchy of man – White Anglo-Saxon at the top, (women because of their smaller brains) somewhere around third and down it goes from there, depicting other cultures as “savages”, “Non-Human”, (see Darwin’s book, The Descent of Man) thus justifying the genocide of the Australian Aboriginals, the American Indian and other inferior races like Jews, using Darwin’s theory as fact and justification for mass murder.

Appalling.


Sir Richard was truly onto something but did not have the opportunity to delve deeper into his hypothesis, flesh out his ideas. (Too busy translating (The Perfumed Garden).


In the Northern Hemisphere there is a plethora of natural resources thus the particular “races” development, adapting to the climate, (four seasons) and therefore having the time to pursue better technology, better infrastructure, etc.

When the human has no worry of where their next meal is coming from, there is time for innovation, art and the development of civilization.

I am extremely surprised that so many “educated” people consider Darwin’s entire theory scientific fact. In a word it is not, and remains a theory because he and other scientists have yet to discover the so-called “missing link”: that is to say, the link between, Neanderthal man (Ape) and Cro-Magnon.

Personally, hot, humid weather does nothing for my creative sensibilities because it’s too damn uncomfortable.

As far as other cultures and races are concerned, the “survival of the fittest” theory does not add up because the human is a highly adaptable being and will use resources that are available in their specific geographical area for survival, (the climate of the area is a significant factor).

Darwin was an intellectual but a 19th century misogynist, which, by the way was, is and has been a common view of men for thousands of years.

On that note, I’ll return to bed contemplating where my next meal is coming from….

Journal Entry – July 1, 1996 (Love is no Stranger)

Context: My father had just died in April of 1996 under unusual circumstances. The man’s car was left parked on a suburban street in Las Vegas; he died alone in a hotel room in Lake Tao. My sister and I attempted to make the connection once reaching the U.S. However, even his “closest” friend was tight lipped, vague and suspicious. This diary entry was made after we attempted to drive his car back to New York…we never got there, but that is another story…

July 1, 1996.

The rocky edged skyline of the Utah desert hung ominous like ancient gods as we drove eighty miles an hour on the winding highway. My father’s car ran fine on flat surfaces but on ascents and long descents the Oldsmobile’s engine would die, and it was up to my driving sister to manoeuvre the beast to the side of the road to safety. Passing cars whooshed by a little too close for comfort. The car was stalled and would not start. After about an hour, no food, no water and the precariousness of the situation caused my nerves to fray and it was then that I began to panic.

Finally my sister, always good in disasters, waved a car down and I ran down the hill to meet them.

“My car is stalled. And I need a tow to the nearest city.”

“The nearest town is Green River, and that’s over fifty miles from here.”

He was a young man of about twenty: dark, long hair and a little beard. His girlfriend was dark too and pretty, her eyes showing glimpses of fear. Just then a policeman pulled up behind the Oldsmobile and I could see my sister up the hill talking to him, her arms waving, her blond hair blowing in the hot wind.

“He’ll take care of you, man” the young guy and his pretty girlfriend sped off and disappeared down the mountain.

As luck would have it, the cop was sympathetic and called a tow truck. He drove away too, and we remained in the canyon alone again. Intuitively, I knew the car would start. I asked my sister to try and start her again, and she kicked on first time. She put the sick beast into drive and we were mobile.

Big Mistake.

The tow truck would be looking for us and we would not be where we were supposed to be. If the car stalled again farther down the line it could mean trouble. Only ten miles later my father’s Oldsmobile died again and now in a much worse situation. If the Highway Patrol (We were in Mormon country) found us again it would mean at least a big fine, and depending on the people, jail.

The desert wind hummed at a low key through the cliffs as I sat contemplating dying of thirst and possibly spending the night in a Utah, predominately Mormon prison.

My sister got out of the car and looked around wide-eyed at our surroundings.

The red and white hills and craggy rock conveyed ancientness beyond our scope of comprehension. It was now understood, without any hint of doubt, that we were merely specks of insignificant energy within a vast universe: Alone.

Head in my hands without a clue, a single thought rang loudly like the church bells of the Vatican – that we were not wanted in this desert place. The Spirits of the land were telling us to get out and in the mean time, making us suffer for trespassing in the first place. I raised my head from my hands and looked in the rear view mirror to see a huge, blue semi-truck jam to a squeaky stop directly behind the Oldsmobile.

“Have’n car trouble you kids?”

The semi-truck had taken a big chance in stopping his monstrous vehicle on the steep decline we were currently located. The truck was still running, and as I stood on the side board holding onto the handle of the open door, the air conditioner blasted on my face.

‘I can take you two into town to call a tow truck. We’re about twenty-five miles outside of Green River.”

My sister was already gathering our baggage and dragging it to the side of the road next to the truck.

“If it’s not too much trouble. I would much appreciate it.”

Before long we were roaring along down the desert mountain in a brand new 96’ Ford semi truck: the largest transport vehicle of its kind in America.

“My names Floyd. What’s your names?”

After the necessary introductions and explaining the purpose of our trip to the U.S., our truck-driven-angel-of mercy began expounding on the important highlights of his life over the last 54 years. Floyd was born in Louisiana – pronounced, “Lozeyana”. He had been married twice, no kids, and worked for the most part on the shipping docks of New Jersey. Finally disabused from the ways of the infamous Teamsters Union, purchased his semi-truck with his life savings and chose a life on the road, transporting fresh fruit from California to New York. Like some Americans I’ve met over the years, Floyd admitted to having Indian blood running through his veins. He claimed his father was an Irish immigrant and his mother a pure Algonquin native. The Algonquin tribe hunted and fished long ago on Manhattan Island and parts of New York State before the infectious influence of white civilization. He had, though, the Irish- whiskey nose and the dark eyes of a Red man…I believed him.

My sister sat in the back of the cab on Floyd’s comfortable looking bunk sipping his Mountain Dew. The roar of the trucks engine was almost too loud to make conversation, but old Floyd persisted and continued telling us his life story in spite of the roar.

The sun was beginning to shed its last light as we thundered into Green River’s only truck stop. Floyd circled the parking lot and docked the monster in the only space left amongst a long line of similar machines. The truck stop was swarming with over weight transporters’ wearing dirty baseball caps, sipping their coffee and looking at home.

Floyd turned the engine off and slowly turned around at my sister.

“How bout you stay here with me. Your brother can go inside and see about getten a tow for that car of yours…”

For an instant, my sister turned pale, squirmed slightly and said, ‘You’ve given us no real reason to trust you, but I want to trust you – so I will.”

Floyd smiled and turned to me, “We can sit in the coffee shop and wait for you to get back with the car. I’m way ahead of schedule, so I’ve got a little time to kill.”

“Okay, Floyd. Sounds like a plan. I’ll be back as soon as I can to fix things up.”

I gave a reassuring glance to my sister as I jumped out of the truck. My mind raced through a thousand negative possibilities: kidnapping, rape, theft, and so on. We were in a bad way that left few alternatives. Before walking through the doors of the shop, I turned around and made eye contact with my sister, and nodded my head to communicate that all, in the end, would be well.

Luck, situation, time, place or the grace of God, a tow truck was available to drag the old Oldsmobile into town.

After a few too many hours, the sun had all but disappeared. I walked into the coffee shop to find Floyd and my sister and a few other truckers’ sitting around a table laughing, and joking – a jovial scene that to me, considering our circumstances, felt out of place.

Floyd stood up and put his hand on my shoulder in a fatherly fashion.

“Everything okay, son?”

“I think so. The car is parked down the road at the garage, Green River’s only Mechanic. The dude says it’s the fuel pump., this little “excursion” has made a dent in our little budget. There’s a hotel up the road for $30 a night. I guess we’re stuck in this town for at least tonight or until they can fix the piece of ….”

“Could be worse, son.”

“Yea, could be worse.” in the hot desert night, I detected a tone of sadness in Floyd’s eyes.


Floyd helped us unload our luggage from his rig. I observed a feeling of sadness in his eyes.

“Well good friend, I want to say thank you for all your help. You are a true Samaritan and a gentle man. To be sure , I don’t know where we would be right now…”

“That’s ok; just remember not to take it all too seriously, too hard. Once you’re in a fix like this, you got no other choice but to move through it. Might as well do it with a grin on your face, Right?!

My sister gave Floyd a kiss on the cheek and a little hug. I shook his hand in the traditional, manly fashion and we bade our farewells.

He started his engine and pulled his magnificent machine out of the parking lot. And we watched our angel of mercy throttle down the highway until his brake lights appeared to be tiny dots, red stars in the dark of night.

Needless to say, because our car trouble was slightly worse than we thought and my poor sister got sick, because, I suspected, of the stress of our unusual plight, we remained in Green River, Utah for another two days.

It was the morning of the third day that we loaded the Oldsmobile with our bags and drove out of Green River. Over the two days of our stay, I managed to meet some very interesting and nice people – but that’s another story.

As we crossed over the border into the state of Colorado, a David Coverdale song boomed through the car speakers. The tune was, “Love ain’t no Stranger”. Looking out through the windshield of my dead father’s Oldsmobile, I decided that this was to be the theme song for our quest. I then thought of Floyd, our interesting circumstances, and decided to take his advice – and smile.

Attitude

The greatest discovery of my generation is that a human being can alter his life by altering his attitudes of mind.

William James
US Pragmatist philosopher & psychologist (1842 - 1910)

Eccentricity is not, as dull people would have us believe, a form of madness. It is often a kind of innocent pride, and the man of genius and the aristocrat are frequently regarded as eccentrics because genius and aristocrat are entirely unafraid of and uninfluenced by the opinions and vagaries of the crowd.

Edith Sitwell, Taken Care Of ,1965English biographer, critic, novelist, & poet (1887 - 1964)

According to the American philosopher, William James, one of his greatest psychological discoveries was that, through a mental act of conscious Will and a lot of Discipline, one can change and become or achieve that which is desired.

The cliché most often heard in self-help circles is “Attitude is Everything” and, more often than not, this cliché is right on the mark.

How do you approach life?

What is your manner?

Do you have a point of view or a belief system?

Attitude is a way of behaving.

When you walk in a room are you hesitant or does the room “light up” by your mere presence?

As mentioned above, William James claimed this capacity to change one’s disposition through an act of Will and creating good habits his greatest legacy. We are the “captains of our own ships”, and what we do and how we respond to the world is who we are…and it comes down to attitude.

The famous French Existentialist, Jean Paul Sartre, once wrote:

“It is not what people do to you that matters, it’s what you do to people who do things to you that matters.”

Have a stance regardless of the crowd’s opinion and hold your position.

We can change if we really WANT to change. If you prefer to wallow in your negativity because it defines who you are, then don’t change. Freud believed that most of us need at least one neurosis just to get by.

I love to be around people who have attitude, positive and strong opinions, a manner that inspires great things merely by being in their presence.

In closing, one of my favourite quotes:

The overman...Who has organized the chaos of his passions, given style to his character, and become creative. Aware of life's terrors, he affirms life without resentment.

Friedrich Nietzsche

“Enigma” by Gustave Dore.

The word “enigma” is defined as a mystery, secret or closed book. It can also be defined as a puzzle, a problem, something that requires solving. An enigma is something that baffles understanding and can never be explained: a secret that will remain a secret no matter how hard we attempt to discover, define or explain…a true unsolvable event or thing.

This has to be one of my favourite drawings of all time. What kind of man could actually create something so enticing, odd and somehow “real” calling the work: Enigma?

This drawing by Gustave Dore is one of those work’s of art where one can sit and look at for hours, continuing to discover new aspects, new things never seen before.

For me, at least, the painting somehow makes “sense” but on a very abstract “imaginative” level.

So what is Dore’s “Enigma” showing us?

The scene is a battle field as dead soldiers lie everywhere. In the background, smoke fills the air giving the impression of enormous fires continuing to rage across the land…

This particular battle was fierce, a no holds bard situation of desperation, as if the victor’s will Rule… ALL.

This is not the beginning of the battle but its end.

The central focus of the drawing is of two strange beings: a winged character, perhaps and angel, and a sphinx, a “man” with the body of a lion, appear to be embracing or the winged one asking the sphinx for mercy, begging for a truce, because everything is destroyed…nothing is left to rule - a battle in heaven between Good and Evil; any interpretation is possible, however the drawing remains a magnificent example of the human beings capacity for imagination and representing that imagination in a concrete form, an image, sharing this vision with the rest of us.

Art in the truest sense of the word. ( Left click on image for better view)

Gustave Dore’s “Enigma” is currently housed at the Musee D'Orsay in Paris.

The Fall of Lucifer

Gustave Dore was a prolific artist if nothing else; though he had the gift to draw and make an adequate living at it, supporting himself and his family. Why this French sketch artist, illustrator and lithographer has continued to be of great interest was his choice of subject matter: myth, legend, poetry, and scripture. He managed to capture a moment in a myth or specific biblical story, for example, and make the viewer believe in the written tale.

In present time we label this profession, illustrator; and in the 19th century he was not considered an “artist” but a gifted person who had the skill to draw, (artisan) however, as his work spread in popularity, certain publishing houses clamoured for his work.

Despite certain opinion, Gustave Dore is an artist; his interpretation(s) of legend and poetry, particularly Scripture, reveals true imaginative insight.

This illustration of the fall of the Arch Angel Lucifer captures the angels ambivalence, who, as a favourite of God, had never “really” wanted to choose the side of Satan, (thus he is experiencing second thoughts) therefore the drawing, he holds on, about to fall into Hell.

Lucifer is the Angel of Light and Beauty, who was tempted by Satan to go against God and His creation of the Human and instigate a War in Heaven, ending in the Fall of the Celestial and the Fall of man.

This drawing is part of the "Paradise Lost" epic poem by John Milton.

Excellent…

“Is it you?”

“Somewhere in Time” has to be one of the greatest films, personally, to maintain its power, no matter how many times it’s been viewed…because it’s about True Love.

True Lover’s lost in the “Circle of Time” has always had a certain fascination, because we do search for the “other”, someone else that will make us somehow happy, perhaps, the strong feeling of finally returning home again and becoming one; our other half.

The film is based on the novel by Richard Matheson, (Bid time Return) who also wrote the screenplay for the film… and was permitted a cameo role.

The term, “soul mate”, has become a cliché, but most of us, (either are consciously aware of it or not), continue to search for our other half, the “one” that will make us ‘whole’ once again.

This is a Platonian idea from the Symposium, that is to say, at one time we were beings of two, thus the gods became jealous and separated us, and our true destiny is to find our other “selves”.

“Somewhere in Time” (Matheson) takes this notion further and creates a story of fantasy where it is possible to meet, the protagonists “true” soul mate yet, it is doomed.

This is a lovely film and novel. Christopher Reeve played the part with aplomb and realism. Jane Seymour as the beautiful 19th century actress (Miss McKenna) was at her prime…a picture of beauty.

When Richard impossibly returns to the 19th century and meets his one true love, we are never sure whether it is a mental illness or something real?

In the novel, Richard has a brain tumour, and writes his story and dies. Richard’s brother wants to believe the story is true but never follows it up to prove or disprove the story.

Why?

Because whether the story is “real” or not, the idea that we can travel through time to meet our true “other” self is something that is truly astonishing and Matheson’s book and the film somehow makes it possible.

One of my favourites.

Daniel - God's most Beloved...

Briton Riviere (1840-1920) painted this famous biblical tale at the young age of 37, (1872) of one of God’s favourites, Daniel who, in the entire Old Testament, Daniel is the only man God refers to as the “Greatly beloved”. (Daniel 10:11)

This painting was always and will continue to be my favourite depiction of a scene from the Old Testament.

I remember our huge, golden bible as a child, and the full scales print of this beautiful painting; laying on my bed staring at the picture wondering why the hungry lions would not eat the old man.

He looks upward from the Den in prayer as the morning sun shines upon him as the lions walk around the dungeon, uninterested in his presence. (Observe the lion looking up in the direction Daniel is looking and the lion's expression)

Daniel became the enemy of the Devil because of God’s great Love for him. Daniel also, one of the designated “princes” for the King of Persia, recently known as Babylon, and conquered by the Persians, rises through the political ranks and becomes one of King Darius’s most valued consultants.

"Then this Daniel was preferred above the presidents and princes, because an excellent spirit was found in him; and the king thought to set him over the whole realm" (Daniel 6:3).

Satan filled the hearts of the other “princes” with envy, thus they plotted against him, finally finding one act or transgression, he prayed to his own God and not the King – this was law in the new Babylon.

Daniel is thrown into the lion’s Den, and to the shock and dismay of his enemies, the lions ignore the “most beloved”, and over time grow to love him.

Riviere preferred to paint animals more than any other subject matter. In this painting it is evident he has payed special attention and time to the lions: perfect in form with natural expressions.

The original currently resides in the Manchester Museum in the U.K.

"Princess Tarakanova"

This beautiful painting (oil of canvas) created in 1864 by the Russian neo-classical artist, Konstantin Flavitsky; (1830-1866) truly and emotively depicts the princesses’ utter anguish as her room fills slowly with water.

This is a relatively unknown painting by many, however, more importantly, the tale behind the image is vague at best and only when the Soviet Union in 1980 created a postage stamp of the painting, commemorating the 150th anniversary of Flativsky's birth, that interest in the work’s history began in earnest.

What is known, however, is that the princess was imprisoned in the Peter and Paul Fortress in Saint Petersburg during the time of the city’s great flood – this story is only a legend: the painting, showing her standing on top of her bed to avoid death, her anguish is plainly evident.

The legend tells that she was the daughter of Aleksey Grigorievich Razumovsky and Elizabeth of Russia. Why this beautiful young woman is in a prison cellar during the great flood is a mystery.

Personally I find this painting spellbinding, putting my spirit wholly into the scene, and wanting to save this poor and beautiful damsel in distress.

Perhaps it is my all too Romantic sensibilities coming to the fore.

I believe the painting currently resides in the Russian museum of Saint Petersburg.

Absolutely captivating…

“Anguish”

In my early college period before attaining any “degrees”, I thought it necessary to enrol in classes like “Art Appreciation”.

As any university student will tell you, undergraduate work is like a smorgasbord of endless choices of study. It was at that long ago time that I came across “Anguish”, and realized, why art is in the world.

When seeing this painting in the original, a few weeks ago at the National Art Gallery of Victoria, turning in an innocent motion while gazing in a dazed state of mind: became awe struck, the painting literally created a pain in my gut, stunned me, the blood drained from my face and a tear rolled down my cheek – I couldn’t move…

The baby Lamb is dead. Mother sheep continues to do her duty and protect her young child despite her little one being obviously dead.

The crows gather and wait and will continue to wait until she gives up and permit the mob to devourer her baby.

This mono copy does not in any way do the work justice, but as its theme is strong, relates the message that the painter wanted, and that is, the world can be a terrible place: one on one for one’s survival. However this painting takes this notion further and that is, the instinctive Love of a Mother and Child.

We see the cold breath from her mouth, as the mother calls for Help. But she is alone and there is no hope because the lamb is already dead.

This is certainly "anguish" in its purist and most repulsive form.

ALBRECHT SCHENCK (1828-1901)

The Annunciation

Many artists for many years including the Master, Leonardo da Vinci, imagined this critical moment in the New Testament, as the Arch Angel Gabriel, (The messenger of God) announces to the young Mary (no more than a young teenager) that she is pregnant and His name is Jesus - He is the Son of God and God has chosen her to carry him, give birth and care for Him throughout His younger years.


In some interpretations, for example, the painting by the Pre-Raphaelite, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, depicts the virgin almost in fear and the angel Gabriel, overwhelming, perhaps intimidating. In da Vinci’s painting, who, by the way, only painted the wings of Gabriel as he was only an apprentice at the time, does not capture the power and grace of this critical and significant event.


In this interpretation, Waterhouse depicts the Messenger Gabriel offering flowers, subtle, sensitive and ensuring he does not frighten the young woman.


Mary is in the midst of painting, writing or weaving and, upon seeing the Angel Gabriel, puts her left hand to her heart and her right hand above her head, (Halos (rings above their heads) have been added. Did Waterhouse paint them? - surely not his style.) showing she is certainly experiencing a Visitation: still, there is that expression of shock. The angel Gabriel tells her how and what to do and to find the good man, Joseph, who on that very night, has a Big dream, and is told what he must do…


To be sure, there are two significant events that define Christianity: the above painting of the Immaculate Conception & Jesus Christ’s Rising from the dead after his terrible crucifixion. Faith in these events and the Love of God continue to resonate and can be found in words, sermons and in this case, a beautiful painting by a gifted artist.


This painting was completed in 1914, only two years before the artist’s death.


Of all the interpretations of this significant moment in the New Testament, Waterehouses’ rendition, at least for my point of view, feels to be the most real.

“The Head of John the Baptist”

This is one the last works that Caravaggio ever painted. Circa: 1607.

The Head of John the Baptist is set upon a large plate by the alleged executioner. The ugly man appears neither pleased nor displeased with his work, and is merely following orders; though is aware of the prophet’s status amongst the Jews and the ‘reason’ for his execution.

Holding the plate though looking away in apparent shame is Salome, the daughter of Herodias.

Herodias, however, appears curious, somewhat pleased, whose image seems to merge with her daughter, Salome.

The head of John the Baptist is appalling, an expression of a man not exactly dead but in the midst of prayer…

According to the Gospel of Mathew in the New Testament, King Herod was having an affair with Herodias. Herodias is the wife of Herod’s brother, Phillip.

John the Baptist, the cousin of Jesus Christ, publicly announces the transgression of Herod and Herodias as against Jewish law. This public announcement causes John to be imprisoned. He wastes in prison and is tortured for many weeks while the followers of the prophet grow increasingly angry, crying for his release.

Something must be done...

It is Herod’s birthday and his entire court is in attendance. Herodias’ daughter, (who is not named in the Gospel of Mathew) on her mother’s request, dances for Herod, (the dance of the seven vales) and, as he is quite drunk, he promises with an “oath” that he will give Salome anything she desires. As this is a conspiracy planned by Herodias, her daughter requests the head of John the Baptist to be given to her in a “charger” (basket).

Herod winces but to not lose face with his court, orders that the execution be done...and the beheading follows only hours later.

In this particular scene, after the terrible deed is done, Salome takes the head to her mother with the help of the executioner and this is what we see in the painting.

This painting by Caravaggio lacks in his usual spectacular use of colour, almost, as some biographer’s have claimed, reflects the painter’s troubles at the time of the painting…and Caravaggio had a knack for getting himself into trouble.

Despite it lacklustre appearance and dismal content, the painting has always shocked my literal senses, somehow making this particular scripture ‘real’ and not simply a legend.

All would agree that this painting is another example of bringing his subjects and contexts to life - Caravaggio’s genius.

This piece is not one of my favourite works by the troubled Italian master, but certainly, when set against scripture, always fascinating.

Caravaggio & Judas Iscariot.

Judas Iscariot is not mentioned at all in the New Testament until day’s before Christ’s torture and crucifixion.

We have allegedly found the actual Writings, “The Gospel of Judas” telling a story that is quite different from the Gospels of Mathew and John...

The Aramaic scroll tells of a conspiracy; that in order for the prophet’s foretelling to manifest, Jesus, had to be “turned in” betrayed, by one of His brethren. Thus Judas volunteered for the job, keeping it a secret from the other disciples. This makes sense because it is beyond my understanding how a man, an intelligent individual, who has seen and felt the signs, wonders and miracles of the Lord, could possibly betray Him for a mere 30 pieces of silver.

In the Caravaggio painting, both subjects, Jesus and Judas, look to know exactly the role they need to play…and both appear not happy about the situation.

Judas’ “burning” kiss of betrayal is portrayed in this beautiful painting.

I believe this particular work, like many of Caravaggio’s paintings, can be gazed at for hours, seeing and finding new aspects about the story it tells from the New Testament.

Most all of Caravaggio’s paintings are rife with meaning.

This one of Jesus and the infamous kiss is just one of them, the kiss of “planned betrayal?”

Beautiful.

The Magic Circle

This particular painting at least appeared in the public domain circa 1886. The painter, J.W. Waterhouse was only 35 years of age upon its release. (Though I believe this work was painted much earlier) This work caused protest from religious circles though naturally applauded by critics.

The Academy acknowledged the work for its unique subject matter and the artist's apparent knowledge of its content.

What exactly is occurring in the scene?

The Black Arts is a complex procedure of ritual and chants. In order for any true magic to manifest, a "magical Space" must be provided to ensure the Dark One's can enter without fear of reprisal from those who had not fallen from grace. In other words, the witch is creating a safe place for demons to appear, listen and perform the Black Arts on the sorceresses request.

This painting is subtly different, however.

As is well known, practising old pagan rituals was & is a very dangerous activity.

What is interesting in this scene is all the subjects of evil associated with the Black Arts, are outside the circle, Frogs, Ravens and other unidentifiable symbols.

On the inside of her circle, as she draws with her large wand, beautiful flowers and her, a beautiful women, remain within the magic circles confines. The woman is creating a space of protection from the one's who only wish her harm.

The neo-classic attention to detail as Waterhouse is well known, lacks in this painting, thus it is much older than 1886: later we see his art grow and his attention to detail more focused.

Certainly not one of his popular paintings, ironically, upon closer examination, reveals a pagan's desire for good, beauty and to rid herself of a situation, that she did not forsee.

Although somewhat stereotypical, a la Macbeth, the paintings irony, her wish for protection from harm using the Black Arts, makes this image unique.

Modern Technology amongst the Forest

Most Saturday mornings around 6 a.m., we do what we call our 50 minute jaunt, that is to say, as work is not pending, we can exercise and take a scenic path through the forest that lies behind suburbia. The lush trees and creek that runs along the path, including the wildlife flying overhead and across our feet, and a glorious lack of people makes the excursion pleasurable and a perfect activity to begin the weekend.

After about 45 minutes of brisk walking, nature began calling, loudly, thus I searched franticly for an unnoticeable tree off the path in order to handle the situation which, by the way, was about to hit “Breaking Point”.

Fortunately, we had made a full circle around the forest and up ahead stood a modern facility for such emergencies.

It was a small building made of polished steel with various buttons and symbols one associates with Star Wars movies.

“Now”, I thought, jumping up and down like a madman, “Which bloody button should I push?”

By sheer luck, I pushed the correct button that caused the heavy sliding door to open, and immediately closed once I was inside the small space. The walls were polished stainless steel and not a speck of dust could be found. Upon beginning to relieve myself, elevator music of the most lame variety blasted through the ceiling above me, a cheesy rendition of “What the World Needs now is Love Sweet Love.” Needless to say, this caused me to jump slightly forcing my aim to falter. Nothing too serious. (However, I thought: were the tolilet police about to crash in and arrest me for terroist urination.)

Once finished, an automatic voice boomed through the speaker with a computer voice like “Al” in the Kubrick film, 2001 A Space Odyssey: “The Toilet will flush automatically after you wash your hands in the sink to your right. Please follow the instructions carefully”

Pushing the button with the symbol “soap” a small portion squirted in my hands. The second symbol for “water”, once my hands were underneath it, rinsed them thoroughly, and lastly the drying mechanism (once my hands were in the correct position) shot forth hot air which, all said and done, had the capability of giving me second degree burns. Once the dryer stopped, the toilet flushed and the heavy steel door opened. The voice said,

“Thank you for using “Never-Waste, we hope your experience has been a pleasant one.”

The heavy steel door closed behind me, seeing the lush forest and my friend, I felt to have been returned to earth after an alien abduction, and relieved to have been returned to earth safely.

We then walked to the nearest coffee shop for a double-shot macchiato, as my nerves were slightly frayed and I had actually witnessed all our futures to come.

“On second thought, make that a triple-shot.”

'The Naiad'

If one attempts to immerse into a certain artist, writer or poet, will discover a theme or motif that casually travels throughout their particular body of work.

The Pre-Raphaelite, J.W. Waterhouse, had at least two obsessions, his model, Muriel Foster, and his focus on water spirits, nymphs, sirens and other mythical water beings.

Although most his female subjects were characters or representations of ancient myths and poems, his model, Muriel Foster, appeared as the main star, the leading lady in all his work. She was the "Marilyn Monroe" of the 19th century art movement...though her true identity was kept secret because of the social mores and hypocrisy’s of the time period.

Muriel was indeed a classical beauty.

This painting, The Naiad, has always intrigued me because the Naiad has the expression of pure wonder and curiosity, almost intently surprised as if the boy is hurt in some way. She has seen a human being for the first time: and luckily, while he sleeps by the river.

What is a Naiad?

Always connected to a body of water, it is their world and they depend on the water for their existence. The ancient Greeks believed after many encounters with these beautiful beings, that they had inspirational powers and the knowledge of healing. Some also believed they could predict the future…they were special divine beings connected with divinity and growth.

I love this painting for many reasons: the beauty of the Naiad and her cautious curious expression as she peers at the half naked human, covered in what appears to be an animal skin: perhaps a leopard or something more mundane.

The Naiad are divine spirits of a natural existence. They are shy, humble and fearful of the out side “real world”. Thus this painting is special as it is a first encounter between the human and the divine. (Of course in the pagan sense)

One of my all time favourites.

Hylas and the Nymphs & Muriel Foster

My favourite art movement aside from German Expressionism was the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, and my favourite artist from that time would have to be John William Waterhouse.

Waterhouse, like most of the Pre-Raphaelites, painted exotic scenes from poetry, myth and legends. It is a neo-classic style that more often tells a story, depicting a particular dramatic moment.

In a previous BLOG entry, I wrote about visiting the Victorian National Gallery and witnessing the original ‘Ulysses and the Sirens’ by Waterhouse, and how seeing the original painting against my print, that has hung on my walls for years, was a much more meaningful experience, as one can see aspects in the painting that one cannot see in a mere copy.

What is most interesting about most all of Waterhouse’s paintings is that he used the same model for most of his work. She was one of the best kept secrets in the art world for many years. Most of J.W.’s paintings, whether depicting Sirens, Nymphs, garden scenes or historical representations, this model’s face is in just about every painting. Who was she and what was Waterhouse’s relationship with her that captivated him so, inspiring so many beautiful paintings?

We have come to discover that her name was Muriel Foster. She is the quintessence of classical beauty with that lovely face and slender figure. It was only in 1981, where a sketch by Waterhouse was discovered, and written along the bottom of the drawing bears her name.

She first appears at the speculative age of fifteen in Waterhouse’s 'La Belle Dame Sans Merci', where, from that point on, she appears in most of his paintings until his last unfinished work because of his death, 'The Enchanted Garden', which is considered the artists’ best work despite being unfinished.

We see Muriel Foster grow older with utter grace in Waterhouse’s paintings, the most distinctive being 'My Sweet Rose', seeing her in a beautiful bohemian green gown, her elegant red hair, tied back, smelling a rose, and her lovely slender hands touching the flowers.

As it happen to be the Victorian era, where sexual hypocrisy reigned supreme, and most artists at the time always sketched their models in the nude at the start of their specific project, (A common practice of the time) rumour did and has run out of control about their ‘true’ relationship.

In present time, who really cares, but I have my own thoughts on the matter…that she was his lover, inspiration and ‘muse’. Waterhouse had all the middleclass façades: a good family man who preferred to live in Italy than London. He had six children and loved them dearly, supporting his family from his art.

In Hylas and the Nymphs, Ms. Foster’s face is on all of the dangerous water beings.

This story is from Greek mythology, where Hercules and his long time companion, Hylas, travelled with Jason and the Argonauts in search of the Golden Fleece. It was known throughout the ancient world of Hylas’s beauty…he was sought after by many queens and royalty because of his incredible beauty. Because of his unbending loyalty to Hercules, half human and half god, promised to never leave his side.

In the painting by Waterhouse, are Hylas’ last few moments before being pulled into the magical pond of the enticing nymphs, who could not resist taking him, because of his incredible beauty.

This happened on an unknown island where Jason and his crew stopped to retrieve water and food to continue their quest.

It was time to set sale but Hylas had not returned. Hercules searched the island for hours for his friend but he has already been taken to another world. Hercules refused to leave without his long time companion. Jason promised to return once his quest for the Golden Fleece had been accomplished.

Hercules wandered the island for many years in search of Hylas, his echoing screams unrelenting. It was there on that small island that Hercules died of a broken heart, never to see his beloved Hylas again.

This painting depicts the exact second where Hylas looses his life...taken by the nymphs, all of them with the face of Muriel Foster.

This is a wonderful painting focusing on a specific dramatic scene in the tale. The print, the second one I purchased of Waterhouse, has a significant meaning for me, that is to say, love lost, beauty and the steadfast loyalty of a friend.

Novel Finally Completed

There was an interview with a prominent writer that I watched on television years ago who said, “To be a writer is like being a student who always has homework to do.” I remember a prominent screenwriter saying too, that writing journals was a good exercise because he was always compelled to fill a blank page.

Writing is an interesting art form.

My journals go back twenty years, and it is astounding to go back and read where you were, how you were feeling and your responses to life’s vagaries, exaltations and tragedies.

I’ve always, in one form or another, put pen to paper, attempting to express my feelings, work out a problem or merely record the events of the day.

My first attempt at writing a novel was in my teens, but it was merely a “copy” of the novel I loved at the time, “A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich by Alexandr Solzhenitsyn. The story was about Stalin’s imprisoning of all the great scientists, writers, poets, engineers, and forcing them under Concentration Camp conditions to “Work for the State”: A beautiful though tragic true story.

I gave up after thirty pages.

As the years progressed, my short stories continued and will continue because the art of the short story is a wonderful exercise as it is compact, succinct and, of course, short. As a writer one feels that gratification of completing a tale in a relatively small amount of time. Writing a “novel” is an entirely different genre.

I remember making several attempts at a novel, the best being 12 years ago, ending at 50,000 words and the damn thing read like the confused babbling of a mad man, and, which was obvious at the time, the story would never go anywhere, as was the author too… at the time.

My new novel seemed to write itself.

As a teacher of High School, time is all important: lesson plans, meetings, troubled students, troubled parents, and troubled staff members and so on…therefore to have the energy to write something like a novel is difficult unless one has the discipline of a Christian monk…which, to my dismay, do not.

Over the last six years, I would write a chapter or three and, mysteriously, the tale would take off from where it left off as if time did not exist.

Though, similar to a conscientious student, that “homework” would be hanging above me like the sword of Damocles, descending and swinging slowly, my death inevitable.

This novel was always on my mind.

What I like about this novel is that I could never imagine writing a tale like this….so strange, so out there…

As a writer, my pleasure is that it is complete; if the book is published…cool, but that would be just icing on the cake. The joy of writing the piece over the years is the true gratification, though if others have the chance to read it and enjoy the tale, all the better.

Thank God it is Done.

Sirens

Of all the ancient poets, Homer has maintained modern civilizations imagination, because the stories epic proportions of his tales capture the human condition… even today.

There are many, many examples including the representation by the 19th century painter, J.W. Waterhouse, and his rendition of Ulysses’ long journey from the useless and proud war at Troy. Over his long journey home they have to sail through the Halls of Hercules, his loyal followers obeying his every order. The Halls of Hercules, known for its deadly songs of wisdom and destruction of the Sirens. As was commonly known, ships never ever passed through because of the Sirens words and songs, causing the ships to dash against the rocks, the ship mates dragged under, slaves of the Sirens, forever.

As the story goes, Ulysses created the famous Trojan Horse that led to the destruction of Troy and create the vengeance of Poseidon, the god of the sea, against Ulysses…thus Ulysses’ treacherous and suffering journey home.

The Sirens knew of this vengeance from Poseidon, however, did their best to dash their vessel and the men on it, including the impressive, Ulysses.

In this Waterhouse painting, commissioned by the 19th century curator of Melbourne’s Art Gallery, ( requested Waterhouse paint this particular scene; and paid a pittance... the painter’s only second painting) J.W. Waterhouse soon over time, working in Italy, painted wonderful, beautiful depictions of myth, art and life. And delivered the work, landing in our museum, where it has moved from time to time, but most often hangs in the Melbourne Gallery.

Australia owns this painting as it was specifically commissioned by the then curator of the National Gallery of Australia. (Interesting choice of subject matter) This was the young Waterhouse’s second painting he ever sold. Thus the start of his inspiration and productivity.

The print of this painting had hung on the wall above my desk for many years: wonderful memories. Ulysses an inspiration for so many essays and story’s, sadness, sorrow and pure joy.

The print continuous to hang above a conspicuous place in my flat.

The questioned must be asked?

Why did Ulysses order his men to tie his body to the mast of the ship? He then ordered the crew to cover their ears as best they could: wax, cloth, anything and ignore the song.

“Tie me tight to the mast and do not follow any of my orders until we’re through the halls of Hercules. Cover your ears and not listen to anyone until we are through…”

As the sailors row through the hall s of Hercules, the Sirens emerge from the water and descend from the sky.

Their song is sweet, alluring and seductive. They promise everything that a man would ever want…though the crew continue to push their paddles, pushing harder and harder through the halls yet can just make out the screams of their leader, Ulysses pleading to row ashore and join them…but they never do.

This is the scene of the painting: the curious and brave attempt to understand the “unknown”, and be free; the loyalty of a few men, despite the temptations, cover their ears, because they want and need to get home.

Once through the halls of Hercules, the crew untie their master as he falls into a heap of sleep. Two of the crew take their leader below to his bed to slumber, which he does for many days.

Thus the story continues.

To finally see the original of the painting was dazzling, the colours true, the painting stunning, the story more clear…

To actually experience, to see a painting close to one’s heart was a gift.

An aesthetic moment to remember.