Balance

 This week marked the Autumnal Equinox- when day and night are in perfect balance. I've been thinking about balance a lot this week. In a year of physical and emotional challenges, much of the time I've felt somewhat off balance. But now I am at last regaining my footing.

 The world seems very off balance at the moment. The news is full of war, suffering and unspeakable terror. We ingest this news obsessively, feeling that to turn away from it is to dismiss it. But remember that our minds and bodies are sensitive things and we become what we think about. To become discerning of what we allow into our psyche, I believe, is the key to remaining in balance. This is certainly not to say that we should turn a blind eye to the horrors of the world, but that we make a concerted effort to balance our protests, our righteous anger and our pain with something beautiful.

Today, take a walk in the glorious autumn sunshine- read something beautiful- listen to gentle music- make art- make love. The world needs more Loveliness now than ever. Because as Phil Ochs wrote at the height of the Vietnam War: "In such an ugly time, the true protest is Beauty".

Today Is The Tomorrow....

"Today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday" reads the embroidery sampler my mother started over thirty years ago. It was to be a present for my brother Ray. When she died in 1986 and we were cleaning out the old family home, I came across this and intended to finish it for her and present it to Ray one day. However, the lack of time along with my lack of skill (and patience) in the needle arts have prevented my progress.

 My mother was a master craftswoman and the back side of her needlepoint, embroidery or crewelwork canvasses were as flawless as the front. She could knit, crochet, sew, and even make lace. The dresses she made for me in grade school were legendary- teachers and moms would stop me and turn the hems of my dress to admire her finishing work. No loose threads or dropped stitches ever.

 Clearly, I am not the heir to her perfectionism, nor is my frankly hyperactive personality conducive to sitting for long stretches of time in order to create the kind of art my mother created. I like to stand when drawing or painting and never spend all that much time on any piece of work, I'm certainly not a master of anything-which is probably why only 3 people will ever read this blog...

 Anyway- I'm on the eve of surgery to correct the progress of arthritis in my foot. The recovery is supposedly pretty long and for sure I'll be off my feet for a few weeks, and yes, I'm worried about tomorrow. My foot doesn't work like it used to- at first I couldn't run- now I can't walk and it's always painful. I am anxious for a full recovery so I can get back to my hyperactive lifestyle.

Or am I?

The embroidery hoop is still in place where Mother last worked on it and I am wondering if, in that space of stillness, I can magically absorb some of her patience. The pace will be maddeningly slow but as each tiny stitch comes together to form the whole I might learn that something beautiful can be made out of time and effort.

Frühlingsglaube (Faith In Spring)

This is an English translation of my favorite Springtime poem, by Ludwig Uhland:

 

SWEET BREEZES have awoken

Day and night they stir and whisper

Everywhere they are at work

Oh fresh perfume, oh new music!

Now, poor heart, fear no longer

Now, all things must change.

 

The world grows more beautiful each day

and what may yet happen, no one can tell.

The flowering will not end, and

even the deepest, most distant valley is blooming

Now, my poor heart, forget your pain.

Now, all things must change.

Homage to Hector, Breaker of Horses

The Illiad is not an easy read, but I was encouraged by my son Joshua to tackle it a few years ago. Once you become accustomed to the unfamiliar turns of phrase and steel yourself against the brutality (This is after all a tale of war) you realize why we are still reading a story that was first told over 3,000 years ago. It's about Love, Pride, The Gods, Country, War, Fate and Death.
 This piece is painted on wood with images reminiscent of Greek vase painting, I have attached a rusted horse-bit to my composition.

Hope in the Wintertime

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,
Emily Dickenson

In winters past, my Hope was for a speedy return to gardening and Hope that the furnace would last just a few more months. This year instead of just thinking of winter as something to endure ( or escape) until Spring begins, I am embracing the season. I am taking 10 degree walks in the forest preserve in my giant down coat, making soup and stoking the fireplace. I no longer want to waste my present moments in regret for the past or fear of the future. I feel full of hope and gratitude for so many things. Howard Zinn expresses these thoughts beautifully:

“TO BE HOPEFUL in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness.
What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places—and there are so many—where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction.
And if we do act, in however small a way, we don’t have to wait for some grand utopian future. The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory.” 

St. George and the Dragon

 

 

Here is my interpretation of a classic icon subject, St. George and the Dragon.  I've been intrigued by this story all my life. I understood the story first as a thrilling fairy tale, then as a metaphor for conquering personal fears. Lately though, I've been thinking about the dragon as representing what Jung called "The Shadow"-- that part of our personal psyche that we disown, the dark side of the personality which is not available to our consciousness. Jung said that when the Shadow becomes available to us, we begin the process of individuation-- of becoming a wholly integrated personality. The confrontation of our own darkness is frightening, humbling and ultimately cathartic.

 

I visited Kiev last year and was dazzled by the glory of the cathedrals of the Eastern Orthodoxy. In each sanctuary there is a wall-- an Iconostasis-- covered with incredibly beautiful icons. These are painted with regard to their purpose as devotional objects in a strictly symbolic manner. Every aspect of the compositon-- color, facial expression, subject-- is regulated by tradition. The artist takes no license in asserting his own style to the work and in doing so becomes one with his God. Art becomes a form of meditation, devotion and praise which is shared by the observer of the piece.

 

I approach the making of this piece with trepidation. Not being an iconographer, not belonging to the Eastern rite, I feel humble in my attempt to share this experience. I can only offer my respect and wonder for these beautiful traditions.

Turn and Face the Strange

 As the leaves display a final blaze of glory before their return to the Earth- many societies celebrate the beginning of a New Year. How appropriate to celebrate that in every ending there is a new beginning.
Why then- when we know this are we all so afraid of endings and more specifically of change? Here once again, I return to the myth of Daphne and the Laurel Tree- which always reminds me to encounter rather than resist the challenges that life presents.