Inspired By Dante

The Bright World

2009-03-25T07:39:00.006-04:00

Today I think of Dante's description of "The Bright World" and my thoughts begin to dwell on those of Beauty, of light and of the earth and I sink into my true self - my artist self - then I think of of the dark world where many so blindly live... the destructive places, the holes and the dirty trenches - where like cockroaches - some humans dwell.

Do they not recognize the bright world - why do they persist to live in the destructive hell holes? Thieves, addicts, abusers, cheats, traitors...

Our youngest arrivals - bright and full of promise - reflect the bright world in their sparkling eyes. Yet for so many the sparkles will fade. When does their world turn? Why do some slip in the cracks - fall into the hell hole? Why do some follow - others even jump? And my heart fills with such deep sadness knowing that the only way out is thru pain and suffering - like Dante's Journey. Some will make it back to the bright world. Some won't. Some will forget that it is even there. We all slip. We all need a Virgil.

Is Virgil like the silver thread of faith and experience? The hand that has passed thru the flames before us... the guide. It is said that when we are ready, that a guide will come to us. Will we know it? Will we follow? Will we once again see "the bright world"?

Bringing the Inner Journey OUT

2007-12-02T11:22:00.000-05:00

Why Dante? Why the Divine Comedy? What is the Commedia really? Why do we follow Dante into the dark wood and on into the inferno of hell? Curiousity? Required Reading? I urge you to look beyond the mounds of historical data, the details, and the long tedious dialogue. Try to see it in its simplicity. Think of it as a guidebook for the living. By observing Dante’s journey, it becomes one’s own lesson for life.

I turned to the book in a great search for truths regarding faith, life and meaning. I naively bumped into Dante in the same woods. I found a parallel in my own life’s journey and in the end, afterward, was able to look back and see the amazing journey for what it was…a tour thru one’s darkest times, ones lowest emotional state, into the depths of despair, eventually to emerge to a place in the light world, the joy, the Paradiso.

One recognizes the light again, only this time, the quality is enhanced. The light in the valley is different from the light now seen from the Summit. And while the light emanates from the same source, it has changed. The light is purer. The air is cleaner. The seer has acquired wisdom and insight.

Reading the Divine Comedy in its entirety takes one to a heightened vantage point both spiritually and intellectually. It leaves one humbled and in awe.

Pensive

2007-09-13T09:28:00.000-04:00

The last glimmer of brilliant green,...transluscent green,...sunlight through morning lit leaves. I see this from my window. Open window, crisp cool air to relieve the stagnant collection of dust and artificially cooled air from preceeding days of exhausting heat. The jump from hot to cold is so quick. Too quick. Each moment of this day, with its lovely sunlight, it's fresh air filling my spirit must be appreciated. I just have to remember to notice. To withdraw from the "other" stuff filling my agenda, my list, my life and just take a deep breath and notice.

To be an artist is really a simple thing. It merely is the art of observation, meditation and introspection. And with this dedication and practice, creativity is a natural outcome. The challenge is withdrawing from rapid chaos of everything and permitting oneself a moment to LOOK and to SEE. In our ambitious American world of productivity and constant motion, this becomes a difficult thing to do at times. Or maybe its just me and my wonder woman generation of the do it all, be it all types. Because when asked what "I do" I first say I'm an artist and then pause and truthfully say that right now I'm devoting most of my time to my family, my three sons and husband. And this really may be the most important and creative endeavor anyone of us can attempt to accomplish!

A tear for humanity; a tear for VT

2007-04-17T09:51:00.000-04:00

I am blank. No words. It leaves a hole too big and a penetrating sadness and reminds me terribly of my post about my grandfather.

It's as though a vile hand has reached up through the darkness and has grabbed my ankle and is determined to pull me in.

But I won't go.

A letter to my Grandfather and All Those Who Have Lost Someone in Violence

2007-03-14T08:52:00.000-04:00

I remember that on this date, in 1991, it was your last day on earth. I remember your smile and the twinkle in your eyes. I remember your laugh. I remember hearing the distant sirens not realizing at the time that they were headed toward you. I remember that when they found you, you still had a pen in your hand.

I remember the shock and of lack of understanding. The inability to comprehend the phone call that you'd been killed? What? Who? ...What??? Like one wasn't hearing correctly.

I remember the nearly physical feeling of suddenly being cast between the known layers of time. Where regular time, present, past and future all cease and you find yourself in a space where instinct takes over.

I remember retrieving my grandmother, so fragile and innocent, and bringing her to you. She never recovered from that day, this day, and began to die herself from that day forward.

A piece of me died that day too. The shock waves of Violence and evil travel deep. They knock us down into the black from which it rose and the known path becomes lost. And all of life as we knew it remains in that space of time now defined as "before." It is packaged and sealed and is placed in a box seemingly separate and lost. The world becomes, for a time, a dark wood. Where one begs for light, but doesn't know how to find it, for all of the paths are overgrown and seem to lead one only deeper into darkness.

And I remember the feeling of joy "before" but can't seem to find it now even though it's been quite some time since someone murdered you, grandfather.

And one feels oddly connected to an invisible community of victims...those other people you read about in the newpaper, but you never signed up. You don't want to be a member.

And you live your life still feeling like you're slightly apart from the flow, separate and changed. And the optimistic joy that defined your life is inaccessible. And you go that way, day after day after day.

You smile and laugh, but you don't really. You chat about things that don't matter. You don't pity your plight. Worse, you just frankly don't care about much anymore and THAT is probably the saddest place to be...empty and without capacity for reciprocal joy.

But Grandfather, feel glad for me if you can. Know that I am OK. Know that this terrible thing has given me the greatest gift, even though I could not imagine it so many years ago, on this day. For eventually, in a most quiet yet powerful way, God presents himself to me in the form of a simple white flower; a fragile flower that appeared out of no where, that grew up in a crack in the exact middle of my expansive driveway, in the heat of July, in the middle of a draught. And when I saw that flower, I realized that despite the harshness of life and the odds of survival, even a seedling, in the midst of barely any soil, little water and intense heat, can find it's way. ..to be what it was meant to be. Even the fragile flower finds it's expression in life.

In such a moment, your heart starts, you gasp in recognition of what this flower represents and just as suddenly as it stopped, the WELL of hope and joy and all that you knew yourself to be is tapped. The path is illuminated and recognized.

And God has said, in an unexpected way...I'm still here.

And you weep and weep and weep...and the tears of sadness mingle with the longed for tears of pure joy. And finally you know that you will be OK even though there is still healing to be done, the healing can begin.

I love you, Papa. The journey is never easy, but when the way is found, it is rich beyond words.
Is there any wonder why I find the Commedia to be so profound?

Privatize the War!

2007-01-16T09:39:00.000-05:00

My solution...send in DISNEY!

If only it were that easy. I cannot help but think that if the Iraqi people had just a little happiness, some joy, and a simple experience with the possibilities that life may offer, then maybe, middle eastern grandmothers would be less likely to strap on explosive vests. Can any American even fathom how empty and bleak a life must be, inorder to even contemplate the senseless self-destruction of a bit of flesh with the intent to destroy a few other bits? Many will say yes...but I truly doubt that they even have one clue.

In a medieval mindset, the philosophical and cultural divides are so great, that our western sensibilities and cultural expectations just do not meld. Remember, oh my idealistic readers, we are talking about a people that saw off heads before the camera.

Sadly, the nature of mankind does retain this barbaric level of hatred and disregard. And yet, one need only read the newspaper in our own country to witness it everyday in America. We have simply upgraded from machetes and saws to raunchy TV programs, violent electronic games, and "labeling" for the sake of diversity. (see post below) Our children live from processed "food" boxes and supersized junk food. They are, too often, mentally fed by fast-cam, puke-cam, advertisements for sexually disfunctional men or PC cartoons that attempt to make them feel guilty for being human beings. I guess we all have differing ideas of what is good, what is normal, what is ideal.

WAKE up AMERICA...wake up.

Fighting the Malaise of Regularity

2006-11-09T11:11:00.000-05:00

Whirling around in my mind and my heart are things that go so far beyond the malaise of regularity.

I have begun to understand, in a profound way, why many (some of them great) artists were incapable of leading “normal” lives. They fell apart or ran away from it. Because of this constant “mental distance” many artists become inept in normal life and frustrated in their creative life. Yes, the carrying out of daily obligations, domestic duties are simple enough. At times there is great pleasure and joy in these tasks. Eventually, however, I fear life may become one great “Plan” or “List” of tiny “To Dos.” And in the End, what is the contribution or positive result of having faithfully provided clean underwear and routinely dusted baseboards?

And all around, there are those pushing for conformity.

Some of us simply do not belong here in this pool of regular folk but we do the best we can to keep our heads above water. This may sound strange to most, but I think it is a sentiment shared by many creative souls.

Vespas & Smart Cars

2006-09-27T08:29:00.000-04:00

It is surreal, when in the blink of an eye, one has been transported so far. The journey made. The journey over. But it never really is over is it.

The set up and opening in Rome was perfect. Everything went smoothly! And when confronting the unknowns of such a distant journey, I am most grateful for the beauty of all things.

I return to Italia in just a few days. Departing the sounds of lawn mowers and leaf blowers and returning to the sounds of Vespas and Smart cars. Upon one shoulder rests the guilt of leaving my family for three weeks. And upon the other, the excitement and anticipation of fulfilling my quest. I do know that I will return a much better wife, and a much better mother. Sometimes the desire to "do" something for oneself grows so large, that a slight depression and apathy sets in. It seeps in to the way we do things...or don't do things. I know it sounds difficult to imagine, but I find joy in doing laundry, cleaning house and grocery shopping, whatever the task. I find joy, because I do it for "them," my family.

But for now, for the next three weeks, I am asking them to share me with others. And for that I am deeply grateful.

The Proud, Purgatorio

2006-08-29T08:15:00.000-04:00

Canto X .139

"piangendo parea dicer: 'Più non posso'."

"weeping he seemed to say: 'I can no more.'"

When the samskaras rise and the troubles of the world build, like the Proud of Dantes' Purgatory, the weight becomes unbearable.

Suffocation, buried... clawing to get free. I now fully understand why many creative spirits cannot live "normal" lives...for the drive & passion over this thing that dwells within - this motivation of expression - this sense of purpose beyond mere existence - is all consuming.

We are the ones who do not flow evenly in the river of daily life. In fact most people are oblivious to the fact that they are even in the river. Born in the calm pools, we flow from the stream to the brook, which seemlessly becomes the lazy river. But water is not always calm in the river and there are many tributaries to take. Along the way, some are pulled under & drown, or crash upon the rocks. Many survive but are scarred or ruined. Too few, paddle to the side to watch along the way...to attempt to gain a vantage point to see where the river leads...gain a perspective. Which tributary to navigate? Which way to the sea? ...to the end of ones' life, where we melt away into the unknown.

One must ask, what does he hope to see along this one way journey in the River of Life? Which tributaries has he chosen? Which way will he choose today? Did he find his way to the bank to watch for a while or did he simply float blindfolded and dumb?

Sometimes I Still Think He's Coming Home

2006-08-27T21:39:00.000-04:00

The leaves are changing once more
and billowed clouds drift by endlessly.

I watch the seasons pass
I too am swept in their progress
For I am late in the autumn of my life.

For 54 years I have shared the seasons with another.

We shared sunsets of crimson and golden hues
where the clouds were so pink against the turquoise sky
it would remind one of a painting by Van Gogh.

We spent stormy nights close together
Stronger, the two of us, against nature's wrath.
And with winter's chill, we shared the warmth of our bodies,
he and I.

And every spring, as the buds unfold their fragile petals,
We too would open ourselves fresh and new to the world.
Our hearts so young despite the wrinkles in our skin.

But now I am alone.
And the greatest difficulty is overcoming habit,
for upon occassion, in a fleeting moment I am caught unaware...
And Sometimes I still think he's coming home.

In memory of my grandmother, Marguerite and grandfather, Bill.

Humanity

2006-08-21T13:07:00.000-04:00

To hell with diversity. Bring back Humanity!

Anymore, I can't listen to the "News." I believe that our world is shaped by how we choose to see it. And the regular barrage of negative information, points of views, and constant blathering of dribble is boring. Will it ever go away? No, but I can change my point of view. Why should I continue to stare at the gutter when there is a rainbow overhead. All I need to do it to turn my head. Refocus. Refill. Refresh.

Am I denying the gutter? No. Am I abandoning my responsibility as a citizen? No. But I feel that I can best help by maintaining a positive point of view, rather than struggling in the choking pit. By bringing light into the darkness, creativity and positive effects are most often the results.

Preparing for Italy

2006-08-20T23:45:00.000-04:00

A beautiful day was spent at the lake. Ah, decompression. My exhibition is just weeks away and I can't believe it's almost here!

Reading Dante; Purgatorio

2006-08-11T08:38:00.000-04:00

Canto XX .146

"Nulla ignoranza mai con tanta guerrami fé desideroso di sapere."

-Never before had my ignorance caused within me such a desperate desire to know the truth.

A million Miles Away from Evil

2006-08-10T09:40:00.000-04:00

At this moment the cicada sing and the honey bees gather pollen in my lush patio garden. The nuthatch seeks a sunflower seed and the humming birds race around the feeder. I have exactly four butterflies deeply interested in the Joe Pye Weed. The cappucino is warm and frothy in my cup...and yet today more evil has been exposed as murderous intentions are being uncovered. Thousands of good people are displaced from their homes, delayed from their journeys, wait in lines, attempting to lead their peaceful lives as a few men attempt to claim theirs. I feel like a million miles away from it all, but I know I am not.

It's like Lord of the Flies times ten...only they have built themselves an island in the middle of humanity and are shipwrecked within the confines of their self-imposed shores. How can they be so lost? They are like lonely children in the middle of a nightmare, but how can we wake them up? Why have they become so blinded by the corruption of those they follow?

And I naively wish I could invite just one to my garden for some cappucino, to show them a different reality..., to share the beauty of what is life and assure them that this is how it, not only should be, but CAN BE. And then I understand that this beauty is present within every and any moment for those who choose to seek it. But that is something that they must do for themselves.

Namaste, J