The Return of the Prodigal Son

Years ago, there was a young man who suffered a loss so great, it changed the course of his life. Vibrant, daring, dream-filled, and willing to push hard to achieve what he wanted, he worked with steely determination to earn his right to be successful at two very difficult careers: law enforcement and professional acting. As each were budding and about to take off, his mother passed away from cancer. In the 3 years she spent battling the disease, he would often spend time in his room screaming at God to give him the disease and spare his mother's life. For the life of him, he could not fathom why God would want to take someone so precious and beloved, and so he sank into an abyss of self-hatred and worthlessness.

When the young man's mother finally passed away and upon hearing the news, he did not cry. He was more relieved than anything else having seen the incredible pain she had suffered. It wasn't until her funeral when the young man approached the podium to speak. As he attempted to read a passage from Romans in the Holy Bible, he was only able to get halfway through the first verse before the deluge of tears began to flow from his eyes. Knees buckling from the gripping sorrow, he was unable to continue and was eventually helped down from the stage by his brother.

In the years that followed, the young man struggled to be who his mother raised him to be: a caring, sincere, honest, and loving man toward others. Because that was who she was. Instead, he let the angst and anger of his mother's untimely death lead him down a long, dark path toward being prideful, stuck-up, and stand-offish with others. Eventually, he found himself in his late-40s, unmarried, alone, and looking back upon what he could have done differently in order to achieve the "American dream" of having a spouse and a family. The notion was sparked by seeing a couple of college friends celebrate their 19th wedding anniversary on social media, and he sat there enveloped by regret as he contemplated how his behavior after his mother's death must have alienated so many who could have been more important or significant in his life.

The regrets of his past caught up to him in that moment. He never really was one to ponder regret or curry favor with it when it wanted to rear its ugly head, but in that instance of seeing people he knew for over 2 decades announce their years of wedded bliss together, he couldn't help but give in for a moment. The words of Henry David Thoreau danced inside his head: "Make the most of your regrets; never smother your sorrow, but tend and cherish it till it comes to have a separate and integral interest. To regret deeply is to live afresh." And yet, something felt off about the notion. That's when the words of C.S. Lewis popped in: "Has this world been so kind to you that you should leave with regret? There are better things ahead than any we leave behind."

The Return of the Prodigal Son, by Pompeo Batoni (1708-1787) is an oil-on-canvas painting of the infamous parable that Jesus gave in Luke chapter 15. With incredible attention to detail portraying the youngest son kneeling with regret and seeking forgiveness from his loving father, the moment is captured with gentleness and warmth. For those who know the story, it comes as no surprise that the father obviously appears wealthy, garnished with some of his finest clothes and jewelry. In stark contrast, the son is shirtless, wearing ragged pants, has disheveled hair, and is garnished with a rope as a belt from which a bowl hangs seemingly being the only item he owned which he likely used to peddle for money on the streets where he had partied too hard and squandered away his inheritance. It's a gripping piece and a gripping moment about a parable that means to tell a tale of great regret, and the indescribable forgiveness that follows without question or stipulation.

That's how life can be, right? In one moment, we embrace our successes and good fortune, and in the very next moment, we're looking back on some of the things we did not manage very well feeling regret and wondering what could have happened had we behaved or acted differently. Just as C.S. Lewis said, though, there are better things ahead than any we leave behind. Why? Because time is linear for humans and it cannot be changed or traversed in order to right past wrongs. To sit and embrace regret is to waste one's time and energy on the impossible. Therefore, as Thoreau suggested, taking inventory such that you don't move forward and make the same mistakes again is good, but to dwell and let regret have an influence on who you are today would certainly not be living life afresh.

As the man who is the subject of the opening of this piece is now sitting here typing these words, know that I am not without flaw. In the solitude that my past behavior likely caused, my worst enemy is my own mind. Writing, like I am now, is a lovely distraction, but most days I am forced to fend off the darkest parts of my mind in order to look forward with any semblance of optimism. I feel regret some days, and I hate feeling regret but I am also not opposed to it in order to make sure that who I am today is a lot better than who I used to be. Especially toward others. I ache with brokenness, and yet, I am glad I am broken. For how else would I know what mistakes I made and how best to hold myself accountable for them? In the end, indescribable forgiveness awaits at which time I too will kneel with nothing but myself and a heart that longs to never feel regret again.

Sistine Madonna

As my father has gotten older, he has slowly embraced understanding life's value. It wasn't as if he had avoided the idea through much of his life, but that in his retirement years, he knew he needed to get outside of his boxed-up world and see what else is out there before it's too late. So, with his passport in one hand and a map in the other, he began to gallivant around the planet. From Ireland to the UK, from the mid-west of the US to Canada, from the Everglades to Cuba, my father set his sights on his bucket list and began checking things off.

Not long ago, my father decided that he wanted to include his children in his worldly adventures, so he graciously offered to take each of us wherever we wanted to go. When it came time for us to decide, we wavered between returning to Ireland, seeing Iceland, or going all out by traveling to New Zealand. We just couldn't decide. Even Germany, the Czech Republic, and Switzerland were on our radar. But it wasn't until I had an epiphany one day as I sifted through a sea of travel brochures that I knew where we were going to go. As my father sat there open and willing to go anywhere I wanted, I shamefully never once thought about what he wanted. Fortunately, it wasn't too late so no cardinal sin of selfishness was committed. I then asked him, "What's at the top of your bucket list, Pop?"

"Venice," he replied. Now, at the time, my brother and his family were thinking Italy, but they balked at the trip because they felt their teenaged kids might not enjoy it as much as traveling somewhere else. Once I had my brother's assurance that he and his family weren't interested, my dad and I started to plan our trip. About a year later, we landed in Rome to begin our northern tour of Italy. From Rome, we visited the Isle of Capri, Florence, Pisa, and then finally Venice. It was the most amazing trip I have ever taken and I will never forget the experience. Italy is a magical country literally filled with ancient history that no human alive should ever miss. At no point were my eyes bored of what they were seeing.

Venice was the final city we visited. I wanted it to go that way because I wanted my dad's final moments in Italy to be in the most important bucket-listed destination. One day, we were informed that one of our scheduled tours of a local site was postponed so we had a whole evening to kill. When you're in such an awe-inspiring place, it can feel overwhelming. There are just so many things to do and to see that your mind goes haywire trying to pick something. That's when I suggested that we take advantage of our multiple-day water taxi pass, find a boat with seats up along the bow, and just enjoy the cruise in and around Venice and its neighboring islands. And so we did. It was relaxing, breathtaking, and the most poignant moment of our trip. Not just because of what we were seeing and enjoying, but because the idea of my dad's bucket list and us being in the one city he wanted to see the most all culminated in that one experience.

Sistine Madonna, by Raffaello Sanzio da Urbino (a.k.a. Raphael—1483-1520), is an oil on canvas painting of Mary, the mother of Jesus, holding the baby Jesus in her arms, flanked by Saint Sixtus and Saint Barbara, and being observed by two cherubim. It was a piece that was commissioned by Pope Julius II in 1512 in honor of his father, Pope Sixtus IV, to be set as an altarpiece in San Sisto, Piacenza. It is also one of the last Madonnas painted by Raphael who is one of the most talented artists of all time.

The haunting yet soothing image is remarkable in detail, and has long been adored for its implied hope. So much so, that in 1754, Augustus III of Poland purchased it and had it relocated to Dresden. There, it sparked many positive cultural and religious debates, and was hailed as being "divine" and "supreme among the world's paintings". What often goes unnoticed, though, is the sea of cherubim that surround Mary and Jesus. Overall, it's composition, detail, and inviting colors give most viewers a sense of calm and order; a sense of eternal significance and of wonderment.

Whether you believe in an after-life or not, knowing that the life you have now is the only one you get isn't too difficult a thing to conceive. And as my father likes to say, everyone has to face their own mortality at some point, and death is 100% for all. His sage words got me thinking about my own bucket list. Currently in a rather scrambled state, I definitely do spend time contemplating about the places I'd like to see before I have to face death. Most of the time, I'm adding things to my rudimentary list as they arise in conversation or have been inspired by something I've seen. Ireland (I'm Irish by blood), Iceland, Germany, Switzerland, France, Italy (again, please!), New Zealand, Vietnam, Malaysia, French Polynesia, Fiji, Costa Rica, Madagascar . . . my list goes on and on. Like I said, it's a scrambled mess, but after my experiences in Italy with my dad and thinking about his beloved bucket list which is growing shorter and shorter as time passes on, the value of all of this world's beauty has exponentially grown. I cannot wait to see things I never thought I'd ever see.

My dad won't live forever, I know this. As much as my heart aches at the thought of life without him around, I'm also reminded that the life he's led has helped influence me to be who I am today. If I were to boil down all of my dad's fathering qualities into one singular outcome in me, I'd have to say curiosity. Through his leadership, discipline, sense of adventure, and willingness to appreciate this gigantic world around us, I'm now someone who has to sate his curious nature through mediums such as this. You wouldn't be reading my blog if it weren't for my dad's influence upon my life. And now I get to further my curiosity by growing my own bucket list which I too hope to significantly shrink over time.

Pop, I hope you know that every adventure I go on, I dedicate to you. As my curiosity finds satisfaction, it will be in your honor. Thank you for this wonderful gift that never stops giving.

The Punishment of the Arrogant Niobe by Diana and Apollo

In Greek Mythology, Niobe was the daughter of Tantalus. She was married to Amphion and together they had seven sons, and seven daughters. One day, Niobe was attending an annual celebration in the city of Thebes to honor of Leto (Latona) and her two children, Apollo and Artemis. Many people assembled to pay tribute offering up frankincense to the alters while paying their vows. Niobe is said to have arrived wearing extravagant clothing and jewelry, and upon entering the area, she began to protest. She went on and on about her and her husband's power, the fact that they had fourteen children, and the fortune for which they had amassed. She was, in a word, arrogant.

Leto was not pleased and in her rage, she ordered her children to kill Niobe's sons and daughters. Apollo is said to have found the sons practicing athletics where he then began to snipe each one, one-by-one, from the eldest to the youngest. When word reached Niobe and her husband, Amphion immediately became overcome by grief and plunged a dagger into his chest. Niobe, meanwhile, rushed to where her sons lay, embraced their corpses, and taunted Leto again. But as her daughters began to attend to their brothers' bodies, Artemis arrived and began killing them as well. It is said that Niobe, with one daughter left, pleaded for her life but it was to no avail.

I'd be remiss to not mention that there is some back-and-forth disagreement as to how many children were actually annihilated. But one thing does stand: Niobe's pride and arrogance were destroyed. In the wake of this massacre and according to mythology, Niobe is said to have fled to Mount Sipylus in her homeland of Phrygia where as she grieved, she turned into stone. Since she was weeping so unceasingly as she transformed, it is said that her tears continue to pour from the rock to this day.

The Punishment of the Arrogant Niobe by Diana and Apollo, by Pierre-Charles Jombert (1748-1825), is the oil on canvas painting depicting the chaos that had befallen Niobe and her children. It was originally titled this and created as a oil on canvas sketch which won Jombert First Prize at the Prix de Rome in 1772. Jombert would later go one to complete the piece featured here which was much more exquisite and detailed.

In it, we see Apollo and Artemis in the clouds above loosing arrows into Niobe's seven sons and seven daughters. Meanwhile, a despondent and desperate Niobe clings to her last remaining daughter as she seemingly pleads for her life while futilely attempting to shield her. Given the time and era, this piece was quite graphic but certainly represented the lore. Notably, Apollo and Artemis exhibit determination in their expressions, while below, the faces that remain alive exhibit horror and disbelief. Among the motion, shadow, and incredible use of light is a very vivid painting that is beautiful to behold and frightening to conceive.

An old idiom that's often expressed is, "How the mighty have fallen." It's actually derived from Scripture in 2 Samuel 1:27, but over the years, it has evolved to become a phrase used to remark about how someone who exhibited a lot of arrogance now faces the consequences of his or her actions. Niobe--for lack of a better way of saying it--had a big mouth. She had power, she had beauty, she had it all. Yet, seeing others celebrate a goddess and her two children was more than she could apparently handle. Rife with pride, she bellowed about how she deserved the attention and adoration more than Leto, and that led to her downfall. Not every arrogant jerk will face such immediate peril for their actions, but over time, most do lose their grip on power and prestige. What baffles me is how examples like this and so many others don't cause more people to make better choices. Even if they are graced with great wealth and a large family, it is pretty safe to say that an arrogant, entitled attitude toward everything and everyone else will only lead to destruction. Logically speaking, therefore, humility seems to be the safest, smartest way to live. Don't you think?

The Tempest

I heard a story recently, one which you may have already heard yourself. It goes like this: a farmer one day strolled out onto his land to survey the day's chores when he suddenly heard his donkey bellowing out in pain. He looked and looked but couldn't find his faithful companion anywhere. As he circled his acres, the cries started to get louder and the farmer could hear rustling. It was an odd sort of rustling too. Not like hooves against dirt and leaves, but hooves scratching against a wall. That's when it dawned on him. He rushed over to his well and sure enough, his poor donkey was stuck inside. He tried his best to let his donkey know he would be right back to help, and then tore back to the barn to retrieve some rope.

After many hours and attempts to loft the beast from the cylindrical trap, the farmer's heart sank. His sad donkey was getting more and more exhausted, and he just wasn't able to muster the strength to get him out of the well. It seemed as if all hope was lost. In defeat, the farmer decided the best thing to do would be to put the donkey out of his misery. The well was already dry and unnecessarily uncovered, so he figured, in haste, the wisest decision would be to fill it with dirt burying his faithful donkey inside. Each scoop broke his heart a bit more, but the tired, frustrated farmer just didn't know what else to do.

Oddly enough--as you can imagine--his plan backfired but in a good way. As the dirt cascaded downward toward the donkey, he mustered what little energy he had left to shake it off his face and shoulders. The farmer, none the wiser, kept shoveling dirt into the well, and with each pour, the donkey shook it off. As more and more dirt piled up underneath the donkey, he was able to slowly work his way up to the edge. After a dozen or so shovels later, the donkey was finally able to hoist himself out. Neither the farmer nor the donkey knew this day would end up the way that it did. The poor creature was likely just minding his own business when the world disappeared above him. Likewise, the farmer probably anticipated a normal day of duties around the farm only to find himself faced with a failed rescue and the tough decision to do away with one of his pets.

The Tempest, by Giorgione (c. 1477-1510), is an oil-on-canvas, Renaissance painting that has baffled art experts for centuries. It depicts the lush and beautiful setting of the region in and around Venice, Italy, specifically and potentially Padua based on the barely visible symbol of the city on the building slightly obscured by the bush adjacent to the right side of the bridge. According to experts, the male on the left was identified as a Venetian soldier and shepherd, but historians later argued that he was likely just a shepherd given his tradition and contemporary Venetian garb. The woman on the right has been determined to be a gypsy. Regardless of historical facts, this painting, in its time, was a leap forward in how other artists created works. Prior to its creation, religious depictions and half-prints were the popular styles of the day, so when Giorgione revealed this piece, it left many scratching their heads.

Over the years, several individuals have argued back and forth as to its meaning. Some have said there is no explanation for it, while others have suggested it may be a depiction of Adam and Eve after being removed from Eden. All you and I can do is just look at it, marvel at the structure, paint strokes, dark shadows, and detailed beauty. Which is what I did until I stopped letting me eyes do the decision making, and I let my heart speak. What I saw was life. I saw robust life on display both in the two humans--the male and female clearly being well-fed, healthy, and in particular, the female nursing new life--as well as the lush foliage and trees surrounding them. The city also exudes life with it's classic Italian structure, ornate decorations, and obvious lack of poverty. Finally, the distant sky reveals vivid life with the churning storm and crack of lightning shooting down from the clouds. Then, it hit me. Giorgione may not have had this intention when he created it, but I felt it was a metaphor for how life is precious and can quickly come crashing down upon us all in the blink of an eye.

The first clue for me was in the title. The Tempest implies--at least to me--that the storm that's brewing in the background is going to be pretty strong and dangerous. Also, the two people in the foreground are clearly in an area where flash flooding could easily overwhelm them both. They are casually living out life, but know not of the impending doom that may be heading their way momentarily. Given these thoughts, I then began to ponder about how life is fragile and about how trouble comes for most of us when we least expect it. It gave me a sense of appreciating the life I have because I could lose it all tomorrow.

When I heard the story of the farmer, I immediately thought of this piece. While the tall tale is likely not true at all, it did provide an example of two creatures who felt like the end was near. Two creatures who had lives to live, suddenly found themselves faced with peril they never expected. And just when both thought it was all over, that doom would overtake them both, they each survived their troubling ordeals and lived on to see another day. How quickly many of us can throw in the towel when it seems life is at its worst. But if we all stop to think about past experiences where we were sure doom would be our fate, how refreshing it is to realize now that we're still here and capable of recalling the terrifying circumstances which have long passed. It's not always over when we think it's over. I'd like to think Giorgione was expressing the same thing when he painted this masterpiece.

Escaping Criticism

It's nice to be able to be who you are. To think freely, to feel freely; to form ideas and pursue goals how and when you choose. It's nice to not be fenced in; to be able to roam about life and this world as you so choose. And while this all may sound nice and fluffy but unrealistic, on some level it's both. All of us are born out of the union of a sperm and an egg. All of us develop inside a womb. What happens after is completely out of our control. Some find themselves in a whole family; others in a "progressive" family. Still others in a broken family or in no family at all. As childhood sets in, rules, discipline, guidance, or the lack there of along with circumstance and environment begin to shape who we become.

If you're one of the fortunate to live in a region where you have true freedom, and you were able to navigate your way out of childhood in one piece, you're now hopefully being exactly who you are. You're now going after exactly what you want in life. You're hopefully being you, and not what others might want you to be or going after the things they've forced upon you. Your steely-eyed determination leads you down paths in life you've either found or forged on your own. Your morally grounded heart is your compass, and your true passions in life are your fuel. Yes, you had some uncontrollable things happen when you were growing up that might have scarred or influenced you in some way, but those things aren't stopping your curiosity from being sated and your dreams becoming fulfilled.

Or are they? Too often, culture, society, what's "in", and many other influential messages and customs shape us. In a way, they put a frame around our lives. They limit our desires, dictate our reactions, and manipulate our emotions. Deception is all around us taking on many different forms. And what's worse, in recent years, that deception has become a force of its own. In past times, deception was an unspoken thing that sat off to the side in life like a forced boundary. People knew it was there sometimes referring to it as "the norm". Deep down, they were uneasy about how that norm limited them in some way, but since everyone else went along with it, they did too. Now, however, if you don't tow the same line as what others feel is "the norm", you get ridiculed, shamed, and even broken. You can no longer be different in the eyes of those who are different without paying some price. That's not freedom.

Escaping Criticism, by Pere Borrell del Caso (1835-1910), is an oil-on-canvas painting that was completed in 1874 in true trompe-l’oeil fashion. Trompe-l’oeil (literally meaning "deceive the eye") is an art technique that has been around for centuries where an artist attempts to create an optical illusion. In this case, a young boy in disheveled clothing braces to escape the very painting in which he was created. As he braces his foot and clutches the frame, his eyes are peeled wide and he gasps as he sees the "outside" world for the first time. Some historians believe that given del Caso's distaste for following what other experts in his field wanted to see in that day, this piece was his attempt to show them that their perspectives were robbing the world of its vitality.

The irony of Escaping Criticism is that the painting itself is deception. The story being told is that this painted boy no longer wants to remain inside the frame and is attempting to get out. The world, meanwhile, is being told by this painting to stop limiting and robbing others of their vitality. Round and round we may go, but it's still fascinating and does exactly what art is supposed to do: evoke a response. Thus, my initial pontification.

Back when we were all zygotes, our conditions for existence were exactly the same. Every single human being alive today came from the exact same beginnings as everyone else. We only ended up changing and becoming different as a result of where we existed outside the womb. If you undo all the layers of life and get to the root of life itself, you'll see we all share something very much in common. So why all the fuss now in bending ears in directions those ears may not want to go? Is it pride? Selfishness? Greed? I suppose that depends on the person. Either way, this painting is a wonderful example of living freely, breaking away from "the norm", and being who you really, truly are. You. Beautiful, unique, one-of-a-kind you. Just like everybody else.

The Starry Night

"These last three months do seem so strange to me. Sometimes moods of indescribable mental anguish, sometimes moments when the veil of time and the fatality of circumstances seemed to be torn apart for an instant." —Vincent van Gogh - an excerpt from a letter he penned to his brother, Theo, on March 29, 1889.

In late 1888, Vincent van Gogh began to experience moments of mania and violent aggression. His friend, Paul Gauguin--another brilliant artist--was staying with Van Gogh and said that even he noticed his strange and scary behavior. The exact details of what really happened aren't known for sure, but what is clear is Van Gogh was struggling with some inner-demons that manifested themselves in gruesome fashion. Yes, I'm referring to when he cut his ear off with a razor and had it delivered to a woman at a brothel he and Gauguin liked to frequent.

After being found unconscious by police the next morning, he was taken to a local hospital in Arles where he was treated. It was then that Van Gogh was diagnosed as experiencing "acute mania with generalised delirium". From there, the downward spiral began and eventually, Van Gogh checked himself into an asylum in Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, the birthplace of Nostradamus. His room faced the east and it is said that he was so inspired by the view, he churned out numerous paintings and drawings of it. This is one of those paintings.

The Starry Night, by Vincent Willem van Gogh (1853-1890), is an oil on canvas, post-impressionist painting which was completed in 1889. It depicts the French town of Saint-Rémy-de-Provence where he resided as a patient at a local asylum. There he had a studio on the ground floor, and a bedroom on the second floor. Of the more than twenty-one paintings Van Gogh did from the asylum, this is one of the most famous and obviously one of the most well-known pieces in history. Since the scene with the cypress tree in the foreground and hill-line in the background has been verified to be of the view from his bedroom window, and he was not allowed to use paint in his bedroom, it is believed that he first sketched this piece using charcoal or ink on paper, and then later painted it in his studio. The brightest star just to the right of the tree is actually Venus which astronomers have verified was visible at that time in that region. What's not completely accurate, however, is view of the town (which was not visible from the asylum), and the waning crescent moon which was actually waning gibbous at that time. Experts feel he used previous drawings or paintings to add in the town, and gave an artistic interpretation of the moon.

Imperfections and speculation aside, what is powerful about this piece is the dancing, swirling colors and seeming serenity the painting gives off. There's a certain tranquility about it, and at first glance, one feels at peace and in awe of this giant universe. Looking deeper at the details, though, I get a clear sense of his madness. When I inspected an extremely high-resolution version of this piece, there was something about the dark lines and angles of the buildings that spoke to me. They seemed to portray Van Gogh's mania in the way he appears to have obsessed over the detail. What's even more frightening are two of the lit windows just below and to the right of the church. Though there are a handful of windows glowing from candlelight, those two in particular appear to have ghostly figures in them looking his direction - figures similar to Skrik. I don't take them to be a fluke, either, because in great detail, you can see how much he labored to get the brush strokes and coloring just right. I also contrast this detail with the fact that the window to the church is stark black indicating that no one is there.

Any form of mental disorder is no joke so I don't share these impressions lightly. Van Gogh is easily one of my most favorite artists of all time, and though I am not a fan of all of his pieces, this particular one was one of the first I learned about when I was a kid and my passion for art began to grow. To me, it's awe-inspiring, and it's also a metaphor for human life. On the surface and at quick glance, many seem okay and to be moving along in life in rhythmic harmony. Like the waves of color swirling in the night sky, we dance and sway through each day never letting on about what's really going on in the dark recesses of our minds. But when you examine things more closely, you begin to see the brokenness and fear. In a way, I think this is what makes this painting all the more beautiful because it isn't just about oil paints on a canvas, but an example of how all of us can be at one time or another. Am I stretching a bit here? Sure, you can say that. Am I accurate in my interpretation? Who knows? But that's how The Starry Night speaks to me and that's why art exists. It stirs our minds and imaginations. It speaks to us . . . and when it speaks to me, I really want to listen.

The Philosopher in Meditation

I can't remember why or where I was exactly, but at some point during my youth, I found myself exploring the Sierras during a camping trip. There was a moment during my teens where I crossed into a realm of understanding about basic navigation and survival, and with that confidence, I set out into the woods. What I encountered from the camp area to where I ended up, I'll never remember. But what I will always remember was what I found. Through the dense woods, up and over a couple of hills, the ground abruptly ended at a line of large boulders which protruded from the edge of a very deep cliff overlooking an incredibly awe-inspiring valley. Words do the view and experience very little justice so I will allow your own imaginations to paint the picture in your mind. Just know that the dawning sunlight highlighted every single crest line in the distance, every single tree in view, and ran a river of warm, yellow and orange glow up that valley and onto my face. Perched on the boulders and beholding the peaceful view, I sat for hours contemplating life.

The Philosopher in Meditation, by Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn (1606-1669), was painted in 1632 and during a time when most feel he was in his prime for portraits. Already getting accustomed to fame, Rembrandt would take moments from his otherwise busy life of commissioned work to paint something meaningful and emotional. Here in this painting, he ventures away from his typical Biblically-inspired scenes to portray an elderly wise-man bathing in the sunlight through his basement window, his comfort being tended to by a maiden or wife, and pondering the meanings of existence, reason, and value.

What really impresses me about Rembrandt's work is his use of light and shadow. Taking that element away, the eye is immediately drawn to the spiral staircase and Dutch-style interior design. The portrayed home gives off the sense that this is a very cozy cottage aesthetically, but probably rather chilly. But why chilly? Even as I study the piece, my mind wanders a bit to the subliminal sense that the subtle temperament of the two lives illustrated are depressed, perhaps sorrowful. As a whole, the painting has a very deep, earthy glow about it and that makes me feel it's purpose is to encourage hope. But I cannot escape the down-trodden faces of the elderly man and woman even if one is supposed to be deep in thought.

I was able to locate a very large version of this painting online and took the time to examine the details. For example, just above and slightly to the right of the woman is a glass object which, when looked at in great detail, I was able to see the delicate time and attention Rembrandt gave to it. But why? Going further, my eyes followed the wood trimmed brick walls up and to the left where I can see each little crack and sign of aging the artist included in the home. As a matter of fact, it appears as if more time was spent detailing the living area rather than the intended "stars" of this painting. But to me, this is what embodies Rembrandt's incredible sense of emotion he is able to imply in every single painting he ever created.

If you look at the painting as a whole, you can see quite a large area of darkness which swallows up the leftmost portion of the piece. Reading the painting from left to right, I get the sense that despite all of what may bring us down, hurt us, or even destroy our lives, there is always a ray of light which leads to hope. I can't help but think these two lives are riddled with troubles, yet right in front of them, bringing warmth to and illuminating their home is an out of focus window due to the volume of light pouring in. And as the light fades going to the right, in the back of the room is a supporter, a woman tending to a fire which to me symbolizes each person's responsibility and plight to learn from their past; that learning doesn't always have to be done in solitude and without support.

Whew! Honestly, I am deeply moved by this painting and even feel emotionally exhausted having explored it. I would be remiss if I did not admit most of what I've shared here came to me during my process of studying this piece. I don't think everything I will ever write will be done in this fashion, but for this deeply emotional and hopeful piece, I'm glad I did. In my heart of hearts, there is a part of me that truly wishes these two found the hope and answers they were seeking.