Tuesday. Low 50’s. Overcast. The cactus plants will stay
out on the stoop tonight.
Dearest Readers,
My hands are firmly pressed against my ears, arms straight
out from my head, teeth clenched. I’m making a delicate neck adjustment to the right, to the softer side of thinking, and slightly away from the hard-edged
analyses of the left brain. I’m speaking about god here, (God as I learned in grammar school catechism classes).
My recent expose of latent atheism left a bleakness in my brain. I can’t deny
it, but as an artist and writer of this spirituality blog, I felt sideswiped
off the path. I’ve been in a ditch for a couple days, battling a cold and
confusion. I do not feel liberated like the aetheist blogger, Greta Christina.
Something is missing and I don’t mean heavenly reassurance.
Here’s what I do know:
My whole art oeuvre is, and has been a search for self within
the context of something bigger. All the portraits, photos and Catholic school hankie prints
of my feelings, the hole digging, the recent abstract wing and heart drawings, all
yearn for a greater clarity within the language of beauty. I did not just dig a
hole last summer...it was an aesthetically pleasing circle of emptiness going deep within.
I am not just cheerily creating a rogues gallery of random feeling portraits, but
a catalog of separate selves. I am not toying with Hallmarkian symbols of cute
wings and sweet hearts. I’m trying to "wear" these transcendent and biologically drawn
body parts to plow through the cosmos of being.
Buddhists talk about the Now, accepting the way things are, letting go and
awakening to one’s own ambient awarenesses. It’s a good starting point to settle
down and get a lay of the land, but I also need to get off the cushion and grab a
footstool, step up and flap my self-made rickety wings. Who really knows what wormhole may be out there? I'm still looking.
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| Cecelia Kane at The Hambidge Center Artist Retreat-December, 2009 |
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