Pine Forest in Snow

There is a distinct simplicity in the joy I felt as a child during the Christmas season.  I was fortunate enough to have parents who happily engaged my siblings and me in the lore of St. Nicolas and the spirit of the holidays.  As Thanksgiving would come to an end, the following weekend would mark the beginning of the ritual of pulling down boxes from the garage rafters and sifting through the piles of Christmas lights and decorations.  During the week before Christmas, mom would begin a whirlwind of baking and dad would take us on forays to the local super store where we'd hastily move through crowds in search of the perfect presents.  On that fateful morn, my brother and sister and I would barely need to awaken as we'd head to the family room as the sun came up.  Our eyes would bulge with glee seeing Santa's footprints along the edge of the fireplace, the cookie plate littered with crumbs, and our stockings overflowing with treats and goodies.  It was extraordinarily special.

For the unique thing about Christmas was the flood of excitement and wintery feelings we would have.  No other time of the year or occasion would come close.  We'd pick out a real pine tree, the lights would be up and twinkling, garland would be hung about the house, tinsel, snowflake cut-outs on the windows above the sprayed on snow, Frosty classroom assignments dangling from the refrigerator door; it was the greatest time of my life and the source of emotions other holidays could not replicate.  And though I don't have a family of my own, I cherish the thoughts of perpetuating the same feelings in my future children.  In fact, the very idea of nostalgia I would argue stems directly from experiences young minds have during this particular holiday season.  And even though we lived in mild, sunny California, we weren't without the dreamy imaginations of snow and the crisp chill in the air that ushered in December 25.

Yet at times I feel these emotions have become muddied and it tears at my heart.  Since growing up and becoming an independent man, I've had my fair share of Christmas days spent alone, nary a phone call, card, or even a gift.  Frankly, I don't even care much to dwell on those moments as they are horrific memories I sometimes fear I've not finished experiencing.  Furthermore, they are the antithesis of what this time of year means for my family and me.  But I'd be remiss if I did not mention that there have been times Christmas was not ideal.  And on those days, I felt as if a small part of who I am died.

Fortunately, I have an incredible family riddled with little tykes who warm my very soul with their innocent faces, loving hearts, and similar passions for Christmas.  Though I'm no longer a child and can't yet share my own experiences with my own offspring, spending the holidays with my niece and nephews fulfills my inner-Christmas spirit just enough.

Pine Forest in Snow by Ansel Adams (1902-1984) is a black and white photograph of a forest in Yosemite National Park, California.  Depicted are needle-less Sugar Pines densely packed together after a fresh dusting of snow, showing us their twisted and intertwined branches as they give pause to the season.  It's almost as if their wrestling for sunlight has been frozen and we're given a chance to see the intimate interaction between each tree we normally would miss.

Masterfully framed, Adams captures a moment of Winter that evokes the sentimental values many of us place on the season.  The child-like parts of our hearts and minds can immediately picture the potential for adventurous frolicking should we find ourselves facing this same forest.  The idea of being in the woods playing in snow that appears so soft and untouched, it almost feels cozy to imagine.

And yet, among the branches is an implied pattern quality and an illusion of movement that radiates a subtle sense of havoc--maybe even horror.  If you remove the element of personal experience and just gaze at how the photograph flows, you begin to feel uneasy--almost claustrophobic at the stealthy implications of chaos.  Thus, it is easily one of the most gorgeous photographs of trees in Winter explicitly blending still-life with expressionism.

The qualities of Christmas as a holiday and as a season have been captured.  It is in the eyes of the beholder, though for each of us, some form of connection to how this time of year felt to us as children can be found in this photo.  Perhaps my own insight has given way to what perspectives I can immediately identify with but I'm merely sharing my own thoughts on this work of art.  I do admit to feeling saddened at the thought of having to spend another Christmas alone but I'm not forgetting to keep myself in check.  It would be morally irresponsible of me lest I forget the hundreds of thousands who never get to enjoy the same things I have and will.

While the idea of viewing Adams' photo could yield an even greater sense of fear and spurn adamant feelings of "Bah, humbug," perhaps it isn't such a bad thing.  For some, it could reinvigorate the spirit of the season.  For others, it could encourage change and provoke a desire to find new meaning.  For a few, it's just a picture.

As Shakespeare once said, "This above all: To your own self, be true."

Merry Christmas, everyone!  Merry Christmas, indeed.

Niccolò Paganini

About 100 years ago, George was born the lone child of a father and mother who are long gone. As a youngster, George lived out his life in a pretty desolate place known as Pinta. Each day, he'd wake and slowly make his way around the rocky terrain in search of sustenance. Each night, he would bed down alone inside his small abode and dream of what could be.

Several years had gone by when George was awakened one day by the unfamiliar sounds of new neighbors. Boorish and abrasive, the new family to take up residency was clearly not what George was accustomed to. For him, each day was filled with friendly, sparse encounters with the few others that lived in the same area each living their lives in harmony, in unison, and without interruption. But the new family to take up a home in George's otherwise quiet world were less-than welcome. Sadly, over time the small brood had increased in kinship making George's small but spread out place of living far too uncomfortable and overcrowded. In fact, things got so bad and due to George's elderly age, he had to be assisted in finding a new home where he could continue to live peacefully with all the necessities.

George took on quite a bit of fame in the 1970s thanks to his unique life and story and after being discovered by a foreign scientist doing local research. His solitary upbringing, ability to survive on his own for nearly his entire life, and learning that he was the last of his family's lineage, George was greeted by many well-doers. Each person seemed genuine and sought ways to make what was left of his existence as enjoyable as possible all the while exploiting the ramifications of who he was so others could feel compelled to get involved. George and others like him should never be forgotten in such a large world filled with those who had or have a similar background. And while efforts to introduce George to a mate so his family name could live on have failed, there is still a glimmer of hope it is not too late.

Niccolò Paganini by Jean-Pierre Dantan is the plaster sculpture of an Italian violin virtuoso by the same name. Using his incredibly unique and expressive style, Dantan has created one of the hallmarks of his very bright and idyllic career. Not far from the reality of who Paganini was and how he played, the piece displays a man paying extremely close attention to his craft.

Externally, we're presented with a piece that shows a man with his hips askew and arms awkwardly pulled in as he seemingly reaches the crescendo of his music. Internally, we're able to notice not just a man playing an instrument but a man wholly focused on something that is truly a passion. Dantan's use of simple materials void of color show that the work itself is not meant to be expressive but the motion, the moment, and the emotions evoked. Purposefully, the piece was masterfully created in order to ensure who Paganini was as an violinist and how Paganini sacrificed his entire life for his work are intricately represented.

In real life, Paganini was not much unlike our friend, George. He lived a life of pure focus upon the one thing he felt gave him purpose while garnering his fair share of fame. Ultimately, though, Paganini passed away leaving very little to speak of behind. And like George, Paganini forged through his existence as someone who should have been much more well known and successful but apparently destined for nothing more than having controversy surround his legacy.

Who is George, you might be wondering? He's the last known species of tortoise that are indigenous to Pinta Island in the Galápagos. At approximately 100 years old, no other living species of George's kind have been found and hopes to avert extinction have been fruitless. In kind, how does George relate to Paganini? As one of the most beloved and vivid violinists of his time and at the height of his fame, Paganini reached the end of his life with no money, alone, and his idiomatic talent all but forgotten. On a symbolic road of destiny that could not be manipulated or influenced, both George and Paganini trudged through their lives focused not on what made them each special, but on what each most desired.

When the day comes that George passes away, the lack of similarities between a tortoise and a man will eventually fade. Though I suppose it has already begun considering the predicated comparison I've just shared. All boasting aside, however, the one thing that cannot be argued is the reality of some individuals who seem destined for a life of solitude. Completely engrossed in their dreams and passions, these folks endure years of loneliness despite having direct and sometimes infamous connections with others. Rightfully expressed in a song entitled, Misread Lyrics by Kings of Convenience, "All throughout history the loneliest people were the ones who always spoke the truth; the ones who made a difference by withstanding the indifference." The unfortunately truth is that indifference will be everlasting.

Freedom from Want

There is an idealistic belief that all mankind should not have to experience a life riddled with incentives that perpetuate an innate desire to be better than others.  At face value, this ideal could be argued and it could very easily be pointed out that most of mankind is in the pursuit of something greater.  But think about it for a moment and from the perspective of motivation.  Think about what you have for a moment.  Are things really that bad?

Recent press has been littering the proverbial front pages of the news with stories of protests and large masses of people gathering together to voice their amalgamated opinions of disagreement which often make little to no sense.  As if to say a mob-mentality is infectious, civil disobedience appears to be all the "rage" (pun intended) and as of today, has shown little to no effect upon the economy and society.  From what I have gathered, it would seem these adamant throngs of individuals want what the inaptly titled "1%" have which essentially is more money.  Some impassioned folks may wish to argue this with me but if you boil it down, it appears to me those folks are crying out, "I want what those guys have!"

In the United States, our holiday of Thanksgiving is quickly approaching and signifies a time in which we celebrate all the things we're fortunate to have.  This concept has evolved from its 17th Century origins of giving thanks for a bountiful harvest but the intent is much stronger and just as noble.  In it of itself, Thanksgiving is typically a pleasant family affair where a large feast is prepared and those gathered at the table, in some way, acknowledge all the things they are fortunate and thankful to have.

Sadly, this holiday has become a near laughing stock and most certainly in some cases, a day that is mocked either directly or indirectly.  It has become a holiday where some are merely going through the motions of being thankful or more so enjoying the food rather than the meaning.  It has become a holiday vastly overshadowed by the proceeding month's celebration of Christmas and the onslaught of retail companies pushing for sales earlier and earlier each year.  It has become a holiday that feels more like a nice, long weekend break from work or school rather than a time where we should be humbling ourselves.  It has become a holiday of gluttony and football.

Freedom from Want, by Norman Rockwell (1894-1978) is an oil on canvas painting of a typical Thanksgiving feast which was featured in the March 6, 1943 issue of The Saturday Evening Post.  Wonderfully patriotic, nostalgic, and cheerful, Rockwell illustrates a typical family of that era sitting down together to smile, laugh, share moments of their lives, and partake in a meal that is plentiful.  Ideology and stereotypes aside, this type of illustration was quite popular for a very long time and considered an American classic both by implied meaning and artistic standards.

With the satisfactory smiles of the grandparents at the head of the table to the delightful grins of the family seated around, the true meaning of Thanksgiving and the ideals of freedom from want are wonderfully displayed in this deservedly timeless piece.  With a very Puritan flare, Rockwell's words, "I paint life as I would like it to be," resonated in this painting through the pro-family homeliness and prosperity that is being shared with simplicity.  You will notice that the food appears fresh, there is no alcohol, the TV isn't on nearby, and the table is properly set with careful consideration.  Though the family illustrated may not be as realistic today as it may have been in the 1940s, the implied notions of how life should be given homage and thanks are extraordinarily strong.

It is said that this painting is often viewed in the eyes of some foreigners as an example of American overabundance.  This is an unfair and--dare I say--uneducated way to label a culture and completely miss the point of what Rockwell was attempting to portray.  In Roosevelt's State of the Union address in 1941, he discussed four essential human rights as way of inspiring the nation to hold strong during a weary time of war one being the Freedom from Want.  In his speech, Roosevelt said, "In the future days, which we seek to make secure, we look forward to a world founded upon ... freedom from want—which, translated into world terms, means economic understandings which will secure to every nation a healthy peacetime life for its inhabitants-everywhere in the world."

Rockwell's sentiments exactly!  A healthy peacetime life!  Not a time where the efforts and money of others benefit your life but a time where your life can be lived with healthy opportunities to succeed, to learn, to prosper, and to enjoy liberty.  A healthy peacetime life that can and should be filled with thanks because you are free to enjoy abundance purely based upon your own resolve and not on the backs or supported by the wallets of others.  I proclaim that Rockwell's meaningful illustration and the very essence of our fights for freedom for all mankind are to be celebrated and acknowledged not just on Thanksgiving but each and every day you are alive.

I am thankful for my family, my friends, my job, my home, my ability and freedom to think, to believe, to yearn, to hope, to work, to strive to better myself for my own sake, and to have the opportunity to share my thoughts.  I am thankful that I am free to be thankful!  Each and every day.

L'Ange du Foyer (The Fireside Angel)

In a metaphysical fashion, he prances about in personality and zealousness. Seeking ways to be seen by those around him, he vividly expresses himself. Deeply desirous of trust, rooted in a need to be relied upon, and hoping to receive the appropriate amount of attention, each of his actions are calculated and determined.

The innocence and genuine quality of his habitual efforts are almost always overlooked. Witty, friendly, a willing giver of hugs at any given frequency, often laying his own safety and future aside for others, he pours his heart and soul into energetically and silently screaming at the world that he's everything he claims to be and more. In some ways, there is a meticulous process to his actions, yet intermingled are moments of spontaneity that derive from the very same passions that motivate him.

Sadly, for most, he is scary. He's loud, abrasive, jagged, and uncouth. Almost overly animated and abstract, he approaches nearly every situation causing others to flinch or recoil. He's at fault for trying too hard, yet his persistence is obvious. So why is he so misunderstood? The old adage says, "It's the thought that counts," but how that is perceived is absolutely relative. If he's truly pure in his intention, that will mean nothing when deemed impure by those around him. Judgment is a cruel beast and carried out by every single living human in one way or another. For him, it's a minute-by-minute experience on levels some won't experience in a lifetime.

L'Ange du Foyer (The Fireside Angel) by Max Ernst (1891-1976) is the painting of such a man. Known as one of the great Dada and Surrealism artists of his time, Ernst portrays a vivid creature in a moment of joyous expression. Seemingly alive and grinning, the individual bursts with color, leading with a determined gape of his mouth and a pleasant squint of his eyes, and showing no regard for how he may appear. By human standards, he is, in some ways, horrifying yet ultimately fascinating. He embodies movement and attention-getting displays, yet cannot avoid aesthetic imperfections that may be perfect for him, but uncomfortable for others.

L'Ange du Foyer is roughly translated to mean, "The Angel of the Home (or Hearth)", and is a poignant way of defining the aforementioned man. In some ways—and if taken literally—this angel could easily watch over someone's home with success. Yet, for the home owner, this angel could be a bit too much to take. It calls into question why we as humans, at times, feel unduly exhausted by someone's persona. Shouldn't it always be about who that person is from the heart?

A comment was made to the man that it seemed highly unlikely others could not find him as appealing as the person speaking to him. He chuckled and brushed off the compliment; not to be thankless, but because he knew all too well how others have already treated him. He's been hurt countless times by the comments and actions of those around him, and at varying moments in his life. Yet, each day, he continues to display his true personality, never giving up or forsaking who he is at his very core. He refuses to give in to the pressure to be a certain way that others dictate. Why should he?

Indeed, over time, his antics in the eyes of others—efforts in his eyes—have been shunned and even reprimanded, but as time has gone by, he's learned. He's aged. He's gained wisdom. He's found acceptance and success. Perhaps some may feel it's a little too late, but for him, it's magnificent and humbling. Oh yes, his celebratory reactions are just as bright as his every-day actions, and even those have garnered some dissension. But he hasn't changed. He won't change! In time, he'll slow down with each passing year, but that's purely physical. His heart, however, will remain the fantasy he's harbored and passionately shared with anyone who wished to see it. For that is something no one can or will ever take away from him. And until that heart is recognized for what it really is, he will remain the surreal, uncouth, and misunderstood man he has for far too long.

Sept. 29, 1959, Esther St., New York, NY

Halloween is here!  Goblins, ghouls, ghosts!  It's that time of year where the temperature begins to cool, the nights become longer, and the creepy-crawly things of the dark emerge.  These days, it's a holiday of fun and frolic where kids and adults alike dress up, masquerade, consume far too much candy, and spend the next couple months trying to eat their way through the mounds of sweets they have procured.  The entire event is shrouded in mystery where the average joe is able to put aside who he or she may be, and become something completely different and hopefully exhilarating. Yet for some, the mask they wore was already in place and won't be removed after.  And as with most holidays, the ideals of the specific event resonate and can easily be used as a catalyst for analyzing life, attitudes, and prosperity.

All too often, folks waltz into Halloween ready to take on a fake persona in relief of the previous one they have been secretly living as for a much longer while.  Fear, doubt, lack of hope, lack of foresight, or an inability to find the good in things places pressure on an individual's psyche forcing a fight-or-flight reaction to which most choose "flight".

I know, this wasn't much of a segway but I hope you get the idea here.


So what do folks really have to hide?  And why do folks even feel the need to hide?

Years ago, I read a book about advancing my self-esteem by boiling all my personal concerns down to the nitty-gritty and working my way back up.  The process took some time for according to the book's instructions, I was to initially spend every night for several nights standing stark-naked in front of a mirror and without angst or disappointment, point out to myself what my physical flaws were.  The assertion was, if I could get to a place where I could begin to accept the things I was unhappy about even if it meant repeatedly pointing them out to myself, then I could begin to let those foibles go when I was around others.  Indeed, most of my life until my late 20s and early 30s was riddled with insecurity and the masks I wore--depending on the situation--were innumerable.

© 2011 Maloof Collection, Ltd. — All Rights Reserved

Sept. 29, 1959, Esther St., New York, NY by Vivian Maier (1926-2009) is one of hundreds of thousands of black and white photographs she took while living the life of a nanny for 40 years (her story is actually quite fascinating and I've included a link to it if you click her name above).  Portrayed is an elderly man in New York seated in a chair along Esther St. while he enjoys a cigarette.  Vivid, dirty, horrendously ugly, the male blows out his latest inhale and stares back at the lens without qualm, without remorse, and without hesitation.  His clothing filthy, his hands riddled with callouses and age, yet his hair is swept neatly and most likely for the moment which Maier captured.

For what does he have to hide?

Immediately, some of you in the recesses of your mind are reflecting upon the implied notions of who this man was and how he lived his life, deducing how you would behave if his attributes were yours.  It's the innate nature of being a human:  Judging others based upon your own precognitive understandings and often times, the reaction is unfair or unnecessary.  Because if you ask me, this man is beautiful!  He is the very embodiment of what it is to be a free citizen, a man open to making his own choices, living his life in as much peace as he can muster and without doubt.  Deep in the craggily folds of his leathery skin and encrusted in the dirt covering his shirt and overalls are the virtues of responsibility.  Yes, responsibility!  Oh, he may be smoking, but he's probably in his 70s and clearly taking a break from earning his keep which he has every right to enjoy.  And to toss insult to injury, it is all capture in a moment where his confident smirk warps his mouth upward and as if to say, "You're darn right I'm alive and well and there is nothing you can do to take this moment away from me!"

He's out there.  He's alive, he's not shy, he's on display for countless pairs of eyes because for him, what is on the minds of others cannot be controlled or become a concern.  He's aged and while that has been beneficial for his maturity and understanding of life, he's a fresh reminder that to try and hide who you truly are is an utter waste of time and energy.  This man is living proof.

Acceptance is an important part of removing your mask.  From something as silly as accepting Halloween is over to something as serious as confronting a need to abuse oneself.  Accepting that you are who you are regardless of circumstance and no matter what.  Do you see a flaw in yourself?  Great!  Confront it, accept that it exists, then get your butt out there and do something about it!  Don't like where you are in life?  Don't cry about it in public or make a scene, the world doesn't give a damn for it is too busy improving its own life!

Find joy!  Find the things you know you're fortunate to have but never, ever lose sight of the fact that what others may presume about you won't change a damned thing about who you really are.  You have to change you on your own terms and time and as long as you're willing to look at your own true face in the mirror, will you begin to be able to sit on that bench yourself and proudly display your uniqueness for all the world to admire without needing a mask.  Exhale your demons and negativity and remember, dressing up as someone else is but for one day a year, the rest is on you to make the best of.

You only get one chance.

Requiescat

 "Excellence is an art won by training and habituation.  We do not act rightly because we have virtue or excellence, but we rather have those because we have acted rightly.  We are what we repeatedly do.  Excellence, then, is not an act but a habit."

- Aristotle

There is a strange passion in loyalty to something we desire to accomplish.  A passion that burns inside our very souls, pounding from the depths of our chests wanting to reach out and grasp a goal that seems inevitably and perpetually out of reach.  We strain to find the motivation to keep going but the strain is never an option.  Inside, we can feel our emotions stretching over our limbs like muscles that cling to every joint and refuse to allow us to get that much more forward.  Creases in our face begin to form and fold as the pressure builds, each one like a strip of tight heat across our foreheads and next to our eyes.

I want what I want!  I know I can reach it!  I burn with desire, from head to toe!  Can't you see this means more to me than breathing itself?!  Can't you see, I am worthy of this!  I can have this!  I need this!

This passion is something all of us have whether stretched out over a long period of time in hopes of reaching a professional goal or nearly instantaneous in a moment where life is about to end.  A passion so strong, rooted in sacrifice, it manifests itself with ferocious velocity throughout our bodies.  Physically, we ache inside sometimes literally, almost always emotionally.  And just when you think you've reached a moment of reprieve, you look over at something off in the distance that immediately reminds you of this deep, deep desire and you cannot prevent your emotions from overwhelming you once again.

At this very moment, I can think of two things that drive me the most each nearly as important as the next.  Yet at the same time, I can also sense what it must feel like to have this same passion not for something to come or something inevitable but for something in the here and right now.  I picture the men I trained with during my short time in the Army Infantry and though I could not serve by their sides in war, my mind automatically skips over what could have become of them and I am left ... just missing them.  A whisper of my heart tells me they are gone, having laid the ultimate sacrifice for their nation but my mind does not want to accept this or spend more than a moment thinking about it.  I cannot!  For their passion to serve, their passion to sacrifice, and God-forbid, their need to passionately want to survive--oddly enough--gives me hope and renewed strength.

Requiescat by Briton Rivière (1840-1920) is a painting of a soldier, in full dress armor, lying in repose while his faithful bloodhound waits by the side of his master.  The somber tenderness of this piece is humbling to behold which is centralized and signified the eyes of the hound and the position of his nose next to his master's deceased hand.  Yet detail is just as significant to the entire piece as the canine who idly awaits:  We can see the intricate armor indicating the man's military significance.  He is lying in repose so he was someone important.  The embroidered and tasseled blanket over his bed showing expense was no object in honoring his sacrifice and existence.  And most interestingly, his faithful pet is seated on his haunches yet his upper body is up and ready.  I also appreciate that the dog's head is poised upward yet resting endearingly as if to say, "I'm ready when you are, master, but I sense something is wrong and I will not leave your side."

A heartbreaking painting when you grasp the full magnitude of what is being shared in the incredible detail and implied by the look, the feel, the color, and the emotions of his faithful dog.  Dare I say that there is no direct symbolism here to which we can all relate in terms of relationships.  No, what I see is a man enriched by giving up his own life while being honored more so than any human could have.  It's that honor.  The honor symbolized by his pet that looms patiently by his side as if he were going to get up and continue on.  I honestly cannot relate the symbolism here to humans as it just doesn't seem right nor what any honorable man or woman would want after paying the ultimate sacrifice of death.

What comes with an honorable life and the instinctual desire to sacrifice oneself no matter the end result is true legacy.  Though each of us has a "legacy" to leave behind, the most significant legacies are those left behind by the ones who have given up the most for others.  A deep passion and willingness to fight on, to push forward, to ignore temptation, to follow-through regardless of the oft endured ridicule, ostracizing, and ignorance.  Do any of us know who this man is?  Probably not and there really isn't much written about this piece.  Yet what is portrayed in this work doesn't make me think of any one person who is lofty in what he or she has sacrificed but of all the ones who have received no attention, no honor but have left a wake of influence and a void of quality that once was there.

Requiescat in Pace means "Rest in Peace" in Latin and is far too often misused.  It isn't a statement of hope, but a message of what is--a phrase used to indicate that this beloved person may now enjoy the painless spoils of all he has done.  His life may be over but his legacy will live on.

David

The story goes, in 1949, lightning hit the forest in Mann Gulch about a half an hour North of Helena, Montana.  A fire roared into life and was spotted by a local Ranger.  Calls went out for assistance and after several hours, smokejumpers were dispatched and dropped into the heart of the forest.  Leading them was a foreman named Wagner Dodge who was a seasoned veteran of fires and with the help of a local terrain expert, he assessed the situation.  Gathering up his crew as they finished eating their lunches, he instructed his 14 men to head to the ridge of the gulch and move along its edge so they could flank the presumed fire line from behind.

Dodge took a moment to sit and eat while he discussed his plan of attack with the terrain expert when he noticed smoke filling the sky had gotten much more dense and had shifted.  Sensing imminent trouble, Dodge scrambled up the sloping gulch to meet up with his crew just as they crested the peak.  What stood before them was a wall of flames filling the valley and up and over the ridge line merely a few hundred yards away and roaring towards them with tremendous ferocity.  A not-so-uncommon combination of wind, ecological circumstances, and dry heat set the table for a loud and destructive force and the only option the men had was to turn and run for their lives.

Hitting the bottom slope of the gulch and into a field, Dodge knew their efforts to get to safety were in vain but instructed the men to drop their gear and begin heading up the rocky incline of the gulch.  Looking back and seeing the flames fill the funnel-shaped valley like the barrel of a cannon, Dodge saw they were out of time.  Quickly, he lit a patch of grass to create an "escape fire" (an area of grass that is pre-burned) and as it spread outward, he yelled to the men to get face down.  But the noise, panic, and confusion of the moment prevented many of the crew from hearing their leader's instructions.

David, by Gian Lorenzo Bernini (1598-1680), is the life-sized sculpture of David from the Bible as he was about to slay the giant, Goliath.  Breaking from the typical works of the 17th century which displayed many subjects in romantic or poetic poses, Bernini opted to do this particular commissioned piece as if David were frozen in time the very moment he was about to sling the rock.  Moreover, Bernini shows his artistic superiority through the implied psychology that is captured in David's face, body, and movement.

Examining the features of this piece, I am astounded by the realism.  The infamous story of the young man facing off against a giant is timeless and one many Christians and non-Christians are familiar with.  Worth noting is how the story is structured in I Samuel, Chapter 17 removing any doubt of David's fearless acceptance of the giant's challenge to fight.  Looking at the facial expression and body language, I can easily see that the only thought on David's mind is his determination to live up to his proclamation that the LORD would deliver Goliath into his hand.  Ultimately, Bernini has created a masterpiece that is timeless, awe-inspiring, and magnanimous--worthy of being considered one of the greatest sculptures ever created.

Of the 16 men in Mann Gulch that day in 1949, only 3 survived including Dodge.  Two men had luckily found their way through a crevasse in the steep, rocky hillside while Dodge was able to avoid certain death by lying in the escape fire's burned area.  It was later discovered that the men who perished were not overwhelmed by flames, but by the fire's incredible force of sucking the oxygen from the very air around them.  As the valley filled with flames--winds pushing the fire from behind, winds being created by the fire's massive inhale--each man who died suffocated to death before being burned.  Not long after the fire was extinguished, investigators easily located where each smokejumper had died finding body-shaped areas in the charred field where the grass was still alive.

Much like David, Dodge faced an incredible giant and was able to stay alive through confidence, determination, and quick thinking.  While fear and panic led to a terrible travesty, courage and will led to life and a story that has gone on to save countless firefighters from death.  From struggle often comes triumph.  Israel was finally able to fight back the Philistine army based upon the actions of one young man.  Countless firefighters and smokejumpers today are alive and able to confidently fight wildfires based upon the actions of Dodge.