Romanticism

Neo Classicism spawned in Europe and in the United States sometime during the late 18 and 19th centuries, and continues to be practiced in present time. During this period, the artist began to emulate those artists of 'Realism', harkening back to the Renaissance and the ancient Greeks.

While Expressionism and Impressionism began to predominate the art world at the end of the 18th century and well into the next, neo-classicism remains and, in most 'artistic circles' has been ridiculed for returning to an old form rather than moving forward.

Needless to say, however, the neo-classicist artist is well educated and quite familiar with the Canon; well versed... these artists have produced stunning work, and at the same time, can splash water colours across a white canvas and call it "art", i.e, Sidney Pollack, Andy Warhol's screens, etc. Original, perhaps, an advancement in Art?...but to my mind, haphazardly splashing paint on a canvas or screening photo's like Warhol's famous Marlyn Monroe with the swiftness of an assembly line, (Earning absurd amounts of money) makes me wonder if it really is 'Art'?

One of my favourite 'modern' artists is the Austrian, Gustave Klimt. Klimt began as a portrait painter, painting the rich, royalty, famous and infamous, to then branch off and start a new movement which eventually led to German Expressionism.

When one views his work, we can see he is informed of arts foundations, educated in Classicism. In fact he has created some of the most stunning paintings during and after the First World War.

The stunning painting above is the work of an American, Frederic Edwin Church (1826-1900) who was predominantly a Landscape artist. Church is regarded as a neo-classicist because of his aversion to all things 'modern'. But when viewing his many works can see that his innovation, during this time, was his use of colour, that seems and does draw you into the painting..bright, visceral, at times breath-taking.

Let's face it, I'm a 'tiny bit' biased, because I love most of the artist's of the Romantic period: Fredric Chopin, Beethoven, Wordsworth, Lord Byron. Keats, Blake, and The Pre - Raphaelite's.

In no uncertain terms, Church has joined the fray of my list of the GREAT Romantics...as is the foundational tenet of the Romantic View: the never-ending search for the Ideal in art.

If so inclined, google Fredric Edwin Church - and you'll be astonished...

Great Pop Songs for Our Time...PINK -a Beauty.

This album was introduced to me by a student through a lesson on poetry and lyrics.

The young, shy girl, Year 9, handed me the CD and said, "You should listen to # 6:

"Im Not Dead".

An exceptionally produced Rock piece, the lyrics, strangly related to my life at the time. (Lines out of order.)

"Im not dead just floating."

"Im not scared just changing."

"You will crack at the sun light."

"Right under the ink of your tatto you'll find me."

"Even if this journey's over, I'd go back if you'd want me too.'

"In the middle of the belly of the beast we turned into."

"Right behind the cigarettes the devil found our smiles ... in the crack of sun light, I'll will find you."

"Even if this journey's over, I'd come back to you."

"And I'll know you'll come back again."

A beautiful song and overall a great Pop album.

Pink's songs are mostly about lost Love and wanting that Love to come back.

Great songs and CD.

Thanks young lady,

Mr. Middleton

Creativity & Those who Envy

Humanity can be quite cold to those whose eyes see the world differently. Eric A. Burns, Gossamer Commons, 08-24-05

This entry is not intended to puff out my chest, brag or revel in conceit. It is to discuss a common attribute of the human being, that is to say, Envy.

What is envy?

Dictionary def: "feeling of discontent aroused by someone else's possessions, achievements, or qualities."

There is no doubt in my mind that most if not all humans have felt this emotion; wanting what someone else has ... For example, I've observed over many years the envy of women over the beauty of other women. One can be at a function, a black tie occassion, (the men have it easy, simply a tuxedo) and when a beautiful, well attired woman enters the room, one can almost "feel" the envy, at times an intense resentment. In Australia we call "it" the "Tall Poppy Syndrome": when a poppy rises higher than the rest, its time to cut it down to size.

Is it human nature to covet; to then feel resentment because someone else has what we so desire?

From my short time on the planet, the answer would have to be, yes.

I remember a few years ago self-publishing a collection of short stories to give to friends and family. Out of the fifty or so that were given away, only two people came back with a response: my old literature professor and, of course, my mother. The rest did not say a word . Let me just say that the stories were not badly written, a little macbre, but worth reading. Why no response?

Envy. Covet = Envy.

One of the Ten: "Do not covet thy neighbours wife." (Emphasis my own.)

We seem to always want what we do not have, to then see other's have it and feel envy, covet and flame with resentment. However dramatic, this does indeed occur everyday.

There is another saying in Australia that "seems" to concur with our values: "The Quiet Achiever."

The woman or man who moves along through life, calm, observant and creative, who creates, somehow avoiding covetness...rare but true. No bragards, no "Tall Poppies" but quietly moving onwards and upwards without anyone really noticing.

Let's face it, Mozart died a pauper, his body flung into a pit, the graves of the unknown...Potters Field? One of the greatest musical geniuses ever known...

Self inflicted? Maybe, but I do not believe so...it was envy that killed him, ultimately destroyed this young man of only 33.

My point is that Envy and all that goes with it is terribly destructive...and almost sent me around the bend. (On the recieving end.)

Again my point is to not look outward for needs and wants but look into your heart and work towards that goal. Because it is yours and no one elses. Creative and successful people will never escape envy because it appears to be human nature.

Ignore the backstabbing, the gossip, sabotage and simply get on with it...quietly.

Justice & Forgiveness

The act of forgiving, in its true sense, is more that likely, one of our most difficult "tests" in life.

A family has lost their child to a rampaging psychopath, the man a raging lunatic, a serial killer and sadist, though over time is finally apprehended, moves through our Judicial system and is found guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. This man tortured and killed this families little girl in the worst way possible. The killers sentence: 25 years without parole.

As a parent, my first reaction is to commit murder, make him "pay" for what he did to my little girl.

Is twenty-five years in a prison with Foxtell television in his cell, off time with his "girlfriend", and good meals everyday, true justice for such a horrible crime?

Well, not in the slightest.

We can all assume to be liberal minded and "justify" this behaviour as "insane", "bad childhood" or simply the pathological condition of psychopathy - not really his fault, but a product of nature and nurture combined to create a monster. He has No resposibility because he is merely a "product" of his environment.

Rubbish.

Justice is Blind.

The Laws an Ass.

The balance of right and wrong too often sways towards the weak - the liberal-minded Fence Sitter; "It's not his fault but our socioty and his disfunctional family who is in fact created this monster are really to blame."

This may be absolutely true, but the Monster is still a sadistic child killer, and should be delt with appopriately.

What is appropriate?

Certainly not Foxtell cable, internet access, monthly conjugal visits from his girl friend and a nice structured life where he is NOT permitted to take responsibility because the system is not geared that way.

THE LAW IS AN ASS?

More to the point, however, if subjected to such an appalling situation, after the dust settles, would you have the capacity within your heart to Forgive this Monster?

A father who has lost his child to a Freak; for a Just man, a Good father, this would be the hardest "test" in his entire life.

Part of the Lord's prayer: ..."and forgive our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us."

In this case, for the father of this poor little girl, this is a Big ask...but a necessary one.

Why?

Because without forgiveness, he will have no peace. It will haunt him to his last day.

Forgiving one's enemies has most often been seen as a sign of weakness.

True strength of character is the ability to forgive and not be a victim, at the same time.

I'll never forget this beautiful woman whose child had been murdered by this 'man'.

In court, rather than ranting and raving, she said that she forgave him and truly hoped, God would forgive him in the next life. This woman was sad yet spoke from her heart.

This reminds me of a quote from Jean-Paul Sartre:

"It is not what people do to you that matters but what you do to them that matters."

Our responses to life's hardships truly define our character.

Because Forgiveness is powerful and Right.

Technology of the Future (The Creation of the Computer Moron)

(Above you see the old though famous poet, Lord Byron, a true Luddite, meaning one of the orignal protesters of technology in our so-called modern age.)

The futurists and journalist hacks, large companies, (corporations) are telling us that technology is developing at an alarming rate. This is an absolute truth. The lecture I reluctantly attended today was essentially: “How will teachers’ deal with this change and, more importantly keep up, in order to teach effectively?

The obvious responses were, training, alot of training, etc, etc.

Sorry, what a load of rubbish!

As a teacher only a few years ago, we did not have to deal with cell phones and i-pods as distractions to learning in the class room. Neverthless, it has become a major obstacle to teaching and learning. Text messaging, headphones while teaching; to be fair, a teenagers “life” revolves around friends and their “groups”, it has always been that way and, well, always will. They simply have better ways of communicating.

Developing technology is not the problem. As educated professionals, as teachers, it is an absurdity to believe that we will be left behind because of technology advancing at lightning speed.

Technology is a TOOL to learning. It enables students to find the information much faster and easier.

It is possible that books, hard covers and paper, will become something from the past. Libraries in certain countries no longer have books but only row after row of computers; students “googling” for the answer to their research questions.

Sad thought but a possible future reality for us all.

This subject is not about teachers falling behind with advancing technology, but our students missing out on the fundemental tools that take time to learn, but once learned, will carry them through for the rest of their lives.

Example: John is an absolute wizard on the computer, but cannot write a full sentence; his spelling is flawed (Year 11 but Year 5, spelling wise) and he becomes very impatient when asked to find an answer in an actual book...too hard.

“Just tell me the answer Mr. Middleton, this is way too hard.”

However with tools like spell checks and Google, he can skate through, APPEARING as if he has learned something, though has not learned anything.

Technology has its good points, but has created, in some cases, technology dependent morons.

Basics are so important: spelling, punctuation, the knowledge of verbs, nouns, pro nouns, and even, conjuctions.

I am fascinated with the advancement of technology in all areas, particularly, medicine.

Although wonderful, all things on this planet has its negatives, and focusing the teacher on “advancing technology” when she is working with a class of 25, teaching verbs and nouns, when most eight year olds prefer to “google it” has lost someting.

Because machines will never replace a true, dedicated, caring teacher...the connection of a thoughtful human being, real learning will never occur.

Troubled...but Never Give Up.

Human emotion is a mystery.

Why?

Because our so-called scientific idicators and their "triggers", in human beings, continue to baffle the real scientists; those who have remained in a fixed idea, (a fashionable paradigm) like "brain synapsis" or biological determinism. Psychologists since William James and even Freud, have attempted to raise psychology from a speculative "science" to one of measurment, empirical data beginning with an hypothesis, testing, testing, testing, to then "prove" their particicular hypothesis."

This discussion is not about whether psychology is a true science, but to reveal that emotions and certain behaviours continue to be baffling, strange manifestations resulting in unusual and sometimes "evil" behaviour.

The great psychologists and psychatrists of the last century have studied certain behaviours, and have deemed certain behaviours as"anti-social" or "abnormal" with a variaty of names: psychopath, sociopath, Narcissistic personality disorder, Histrionic personality disorder. Antisocial personality disorder (APD), ADHD, and really, the list goes on and on.

In my work as a Secondary school teacher working in a middle to low class area, there was a time when more children were on psyche drugs that, at the time, was humanly impossible; (was there something in the water?) unless of course, suddenly we were faced with some unknown plague. (Some of the classroom horror stories from those children that "forgot to take their meds, to then raise pure havoc in the classroom would curl the hairs on your neck.)

But was or is the condition valid (ADHD etc.,) or a pharmacutical marketing plan to make serious money to keep naturally hyperactive children, well asleep?

I don't want to go all conspiratorial about the trillion dollar pharmacutical industry, pushing drugs like anyone's business, however, it could well be a research project to consider.

My point is human behaviour, despite truly intelligent men and women investigating the subject, in the end, continue to be baffled by certain responses by individuals in certain situations that simply do not make sense.

How do you make sense of insanity?

As a working teacher, there are two actions that work, for me, more often than not, despite a child's prescribed "condition", and that is treating children with respect like human beings and showing a genuine care for their welfare. I know, it sounds cliched, but it works with the hardest most cynical child.

I truly believe that some teenagers are beyond help: attempting to appeal to the better angels of their natures, never works.

But we never give up.

Beauty...

A student asked or subtly hinted at the question:

What is real Beauty Mr. Middleton?

In a classroom filled with curious though seemingly uninterested children, the tone of her voice stopped everything and the mass of young adults, listened.

‘Beauty is Love. And this brings up another question, what is Love?’

All the boys winced and the young women blushed.

“When you see, hear, or feel Beauty there is no denying its reality because it has now become a part of you."

“Let me give you an example, as a child my mother would provide piano lessons for all her children, including the neighbourhood children. As a boy of nine it was pure torture. I hated it; too much like math, too mechanical, however, once picking up the guitar everything changed. I felt the notes, the vibrations, and tones, the Beauty of the music. Though to hear one of her students play Chopin or Bach sent my mind to other places, true places of Beauty, and it was then I truly knew Beauty.

The class appeared confused, their faces frowning and sad.

One very shy student, who had been shy all semester, raised his hand.

He stood up. “Mr. Middleton, is not Beauty in the heart rather than the head?”

“Yes, of course,...and your name?”

“Thomas, Sir.”

“My purpose here today in this short time is to show you the similarities and differences of Beauty and Love...and if there is a real difference.”

Then a little man in the corner shouted out:, ...one can only really love and know Beauty through suffering and pain.”

“Now I knew I was in big trouble.”

Teacher mode: “Example, please. Mr...?

He was a handsome boy, sure of himself, waiting for an opportunity.

“Pain and Pleasure, sir, are interlinked. You know it when you see it.”

‘Mr. (...) pain and pleasure in the physical sense has nothing to do with Beauty...it is not about pain or pleasure, it is simply Beauty as an Ideal...something we can see , hear, taste and know their is Beauty in our space of possibilities."

“So we can’t Feel Beauty but only through some abstract bullshit!”

It was close to the end of the session, the fu..ing bell was about to sound...

It was time, I had less than than sixty seconds to make my point.

“Let us go back to the image that I showed at the start...”

Love, adoration, awe and worship... these things are a part of love, but the Beautiful are the one’s who, and you are right, experience great pain and Love.. anyway...

This image my be a bad example of Beauty...or Love, though it strikes at the heart and will not let go. Your task is to find an object of Beauty and tell us why a person, object or ideal is beautiful to you.

Please give good reasons and your mark will be better.

Due at the end of term.

The bell rang and they sat there like deers looking into head lights...

The Lament for Icarus

This painting hangs in my study as a constant reminder... One will fly too high, beyond their intelligence and ego, one's false sense of inflated self is bound to fall, as one’s nemesis follows one’s pride.

Beyond the legend and story, this is one of the most beautiful neo-classic paintings ever created.

Almost forgotten, Herbert Draper (1863-1920) is considered a Pre-Raphaeilte along with J.W. Waterhouse, as one of the most gifted artists of the period.

Draper, as most of the pre-Raphaelites’, focused their attention on mythology, legend and scenes from the bible.

An English painter, he was educated at the Royal Academy in London, and becoming a disciple of the so called “founders of the movement”, that is to say, Danta Gabriel Rosstti, surpassed their form and produced works’ of stunning magic and realism.

Although “Icarus” is a stunning work, if interested, research this artist and you will come upon a few dazzling scenes: “Sea Melodies” or the “Gates of Dawn”: alluring, sensuous and highly charged with history, myth and basic beauty...absolutely startling.

If not Beauty, at the very least, “The lament of Icarus” is striking.

The Invisible Appears

In a former entry, I described a strange woman on my street, as if she wished to be invisible. I was worried because I hadn’t seen her walking past my window for at least a week.

All too often, the aged and lonely pass away or get very sick and are unable to call for help or are not discovered for weeks, months and in some cases, years.

Some of us would rather put these “types” in the Denial Department, thus their invisibility.

Well, lo and behold, on my way home from work today, their she was: green and plastic shopping bag in hands, that thick, ratty old blue coat and long woolen dress (it was very hot today!); her greasy hair wrapped around her face looking at the ground as she walked along the road.

I felt relief but saddend at the same time.

Why?

I was too concerned about getting home to check my mail and feed my cats rather than find out where she lives (if in fact she has a home) so as to ensure that in a time of crises, she will not be forgotten.

All too often, our own lives of day to day monotony or self created drama, fail to see what or who is directly in front of us.

I do believe the dictum that if you think your life is bad; check out your fellow human’s, and suddenly your own problems pail in comparison.

I am happy to know she is at least out and about, but it is taking that little step further that makes all the difference.

Modern Expressionism

This haunting piece by Joseph Milton is entitled, “Inside”.

Although painted in 1998, the work does not have the attributes of typical “Modern Expressionism” inspired by the German Expressionists.

Why?

Although Milton’s use of extreme colour, merging images from other works, with an emphasis on obscure subject matter, depth and exaggerated distortion, feels to be too derivative of German Expressionism or expressionism in general.

The only difference with this “modern” work and the paintings of the 1920’s, is its content...there is no political agenda...but of course a statement is being made and that statement could well be anyone’s guess.

As is the 70’s post modern sensibility, Modern Expressionism relates itself to the notion of “collage”, a merging of many artforms in the attempt at the creation of a “free style work or movement,” that is to say, the notion of pastiche, ala The Simpson’s or the work of Brian De Palma in film. The artist has carte blanche to steal any work from anywhere, past or present, merge different media forms and present it as a piece of Art; however, God forbid, never call it “original.” As this goes against the post modern ethos, however, ironically, post modernism claims total freedom from artistic “dogma”, yet has one, and a strong ethos at that...(not time or space to elaborate.)

One would have to admit that Milton’s “Inside” is striking in its use of colour and the feelings of dread it emanates. Unfortunately, it is reminicent of another modern artist’s style that at the moment escapes me... damn.

Modern Expressionism spawned from Expressionism, German Expressionism and Abstract Expressionism of the Americans, the most famous artist from this movement being Sidney Pollack.

Then, of course, one cannot fail to mention one of the godfather’s of modern expressionism, of all the so-called post modern artists, Andy Warhol, who ‘painted’ the screens of Marilyn Monroe that continue to sell at outrageous prices.

Milton’s painting is certainly derivative from the German Expressionists in terms of their insanity, delusion and depictions of sufferring.

Something I would never buy or hang on my wall, but interesting just the same.

Visitors

Sitting alone feeling the lonliness of one who lives alone.

The comforts of the television or the stereo have been absconded...

There’s nothing but the silence and the wind.

Only with the company of one’s thoughts, the candles begin to flicker in an unusual manner.

“This is not really happening.” I think.

The flames grow and dance as if alive with consciousness, drawing me in.

If they begin to talk to me, the dancing flames, I’m in terrible trouble, and I could lose my soul.

As I draw closer to the dancing flames, engulfed in their heat and dialouge, telling me of wealth and powers to come, through the window of the night come the lost spirits or the angels of light...but I do not know which...

These lights are tiny orbs of luminosity.

I count twelve of them in all, surrounding the flames of the candles, and slowly, the flames of each candle burns out, leaving only the tiny orbs of light.

The room fills with their light and all twelve attach themselves to my body.

I can feel their beingness, their love and all at once the room fills with a gentle light of ...so much LOVE.

This must be Heaven or God, I believe, when, one by one the tiny orbs of light dis-attach themselves from my body and fly at lightning speed through my kitchen window.

Their mission completed.

I feel a calmness, a peace never felt before, and stumble to my bed, falling instantly to sleep, dreaming of those special beings lost and loved...knowing we will meet again.

But truly it is the pure love emanating from the Light that comforts most of all...a complete forgiveness.

My soul falls into restfullness.

The Invisible

There is a woman who lives on my street that walks by my window three to four times a week. She wears the same heavy old green coat no matter the temperture. Her hair is straight and noticably greesy covering her face, as her head is always pointed to the ground. She walks at an even pace and intuitively, I perceive she desires to be invisible...and to most, she is...

Was it the American Transcendetalist, Henry David Thoreau, who said that most people live lives of quiet desperation?

The woman appears to be around forty years of age, living alone, talking to no one; is it her choice to be alone?

Is she mentally ill? Would she run away if approached? No one seems to pay attention to her though she walks every day to the shops with her green bags, looking very sad.

The problem is that I have not seen her for a few days.

If we do not have loved one’s or family, to die alone, she would not be discovered for a long time.

My thought is to discover her abode and pay attention. Watch her to ensure this does not occur.

Because, all said and done, she is not invisible to me.

"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.