There is a story of Mother Theresa being interviewed. When she was asked what she said to God in her prayers she answered that she didn’t say anything. When asked then what God said to her, she said that he didn’t say anything either.
I love that story. It sounds very much like my own engagement with God, the experience of quiet presence expressed in my Square Mandalas and Remnants, this quiet, focused attentiveness of deep silence. These are listening prayers, a contemplative engagement with God’s own silence. I had the pleasure last night of attending the opening of an exhibit at the Minneapolis Library, of the Interfaith Artist Circle. Never mind the unfortunate name of the gallery, it was a good space on the second floor with some great contemplative art. It was a pleasure to spend time with the work and meet a few of the artists. If you can get there, I especially want to recommend a careful look at the painting of my one time professor and mentor from the University of Minnesota, Joyce Lyon. I've always appreciated the light in her work, and this is no exception. Blessings.
St. Bonaventure, in the 13th century, talked about the "coincidence of opposites," apparent in the mandala. It is the cosmic balance, the cornerstone of breath.
Crop circles have not had the media attention in recent years that they did a decade or two ago, however geometry continues to show up mysteriously in the middle of the night, particularly in southern England. Whoever is making them -- and I think it's clear that these are not pranksters with boards and string -- are wonderful artists. Each design seems to be more beautiful than the last. I found another carved gourd, this one by an artist whose name is signed underneath, but I can't find any information about them. If anyone knows, please message me. Thanks. It's a little smaller than the one I posted yesterday, and not quite so rich in color, but no less exquisitely decorated, I think.
From the Folk Art Market website: The artist is Bertha Medina, from Cochas Chico Huancayo, a small village high in the Andes of Peru. Bertha learned the art of gourd carving at the age of five from her father, Evaristo Medina, who is also world-famous for his work. Gourd carving goes back generations in the Medina family. Each gourd is unique and tells a story of daily life in the Peruvian Andes. The gourds she carves are grown only on the coast of Peru, and she travels there to find the right gourd for each creation. Once collected, the gourds are painstakingly hand-carved using a variety of knives, awls, and other tools. Details are then hand-painted onto the gourd, or other shading effects are created using burning cords or small twigs to mark the gourd’s surface. I found this gourd at a thrift shop in Minneapolis and felt lucky to discover it. It was signed by Bertha Medina, so I looked her up when I got home. Beautiful. Thank you Ms. Medina, and thank you whoever donated such a treasure to the thrift store.
A friend of mine a few days ago, a friend who I have known for 40 years, told me my artwork is meaningless. She suggested I do something meaningful when I retire, such as volunteer somewhere, in service to other people. Ouch. I didn't know how to respond. I consider the square mandalas I've made, many of which she's seen, to be blessings I offer to the world, to all who might see them. A gift. A service. I hope that comes through to everyone. I hope. But even if no one sees, I press on. What else can I do?
Each work of art is a prayer. As such, I would rather share my work in a church than in a gallery. But what church would have such expressions of grief for our beleaguered world, and broken hope for the prophesied celestial city? Indeed what church would recognize such expressions or offer such space as would accommodate it? Please tell me if you know.
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AuthorI am an artist. I live in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Categories |