Waiting

Thank you, everyone.  Thank you for all your visits to my blog despite my recent absence.  I've recently moved and now that I'm settled into my new home, I'm ready to get back to releasing my inner need to write.  Thank you for Waiting.

_______________________________________________

Class warfare and dividing lines being drawn in the proverbial sand are a daily occurrence.  Shamefully, one side or the other tries to create a swath between their like and others who may be dramatically different.  Rich and poor, gay and straight, single and married, one race and another; if you try hard enough, you can find any particular sect working to alienate their immediate rival.  Yet all of it is ultimately frivolous and petty considering the basics facts of life and needs we all share which seem to be sorely forgotten all too much.

It doesn't take one too long to name someone who is extraordinarily wealthy.  Ask that same person if he or she knows of someone poor and homeless, and you will often get a blank stare or empty pondering.  Taking a look at any inner city climate, and you'll easily find one race pitted against another in something as logically silly as unofficial territory and ownership.  Often riddled in controversy and spiteful anger, one group of people will be taking legal or illegal actions to defame, ridicule, and separate from another when the energy and passion (misguided or not) could be more simply applied elsewhere and for much greater ambitions.

There are no rhetorical ways around it, sometimes being blunt is the only means in which to express truth and I won't dance around for the sake of this point.  The homeless Vet on the corner near Costco bleeds the same color blood, has to evacuate his bowels, and feels the same emotions as does Bill Gates or Oprah Winfrey.  Perhaps the Vet doesn't have the same means to arrive at his ends but nonetheless, the ends for Gates and Winfrey are the same for the Vet.  Boiled down, color, creed, religion, political belief, and everything else mean nothing because the life that lives inside one person is the same that lives inside his or her "polar opposite".  Why can't more people accept this?

Waiting, by Edgar Degas (1834-1917) is the portrait of a young, athletic ballerina seated on a bench which she shares with an older, more drably dressed woman.  Each has her purpose for being seated which this particular painting does not seem to indicate but we can each surmise for ourselves.  There is nothing glamorous or elegant about either woman as they are depicted though Degas took the time to indicate that one woman comes from a glamorous and elegant lifestyle while the other does not.  Dressed properly for the period and for each woman's stature, each is addressing a real life need by being seated on the same bench.

As the ballerina rest wearily on her right arm and rubs her left foot, she appears to be exhausted from efforts just moments ago.  Meanwhile, to her left, the older woman seems lost in thought and awaiting an outcome to something for which she exhibits forced patience due to circumstance.  Each woman is a contrast of the other--one virile and youthful, the other aged and mournful--easily seen in how she dresses, what is implied, and where she may be going.

Degas, with incredible sensitivity and purpose, smoothly displays the surroundings to ensure our eyes are focused tightly on each subject and the bench they share.  The palette and shadows are all subdued in order to ensure we each take more time to evaluate the women and who they are, rather than why. Poignantly, these two contrasting figures utilize the same tool for varying reasons but with the same ends.  One may be waiting for her audition results while the other awaits a taxi yet they are both there for the same outcome.

This piece is an exercise in tolerance.  It stands for something that has existed since the dawn of man and is gracefully displayed with beauty and simplicity.  Each is equally aware of the other yet their needs are being met in mutual fashion and that makes all things right.

So take a seat on the bench.  Relax and await the outcome you seek.  And when someone sits next to you, know that he or she is exercising his or her ability to be a complete and total equal to you.  Strip away the preconceived notions and dividing lines to see that in the end, it is the same ending for you as it is for anyone else.

Road, Near Guymon, Oklahoma, 2009

Desperation is never a comfortable feeling, I've had my fair share of experience.  Many years ago as a kid in elementary school, I was known by most of my classmates and teachers for being restless and a class-clown.  Bear in mind, I still got my school work done and was actually pretty smart, but I was certainly known for being a disruptive child.  That stuck with me for a long time and to no surprise, came back to bite me more than once.

I was in the 5th grade and my teacher--still today one of my all time favorites, Mrs. Corin--was busy at the chalk board.  A wonderfully sweet and charming woman in her mid-50s, her dress tussled back and forth as she scribbled away with her back turned to the classroom.  Like perfect comedic timing, FAHLOO ... SPLAT!  A large spit-wad hit the blackboard not one foot to the right of her head.  I immediately started to snicker and looked around behind me to see it was my classmate, Ed Mitchell, who had turned his Bic pen into a spit-wad shooter.  He grinned at me just before going stoic as Mrs. Corin spun around and demanded to know who did it.

Blushing has always been a weakness for me and can easily overtake my face.  And wouldn't you know it, I could barely hold back the giggling and as my face grew bright red, I was immediately accused of the crime!  After class, I was told I had to take home a parent-teacher meeting form to be signed by both my parents and to confirm a date and time one was to meet with Mrs. Corin and me.  Ugh, my cries of innocence fell on deaf ears both at school and when I got home to show my mom the note.  She was understandably angry and could only mutter that I had to go to my room and wait for my dad to get home.

Well, my pop arrived and after hearing my mother's tale of how badly my day had gone and of the impending parent-teacher conference, he, too, was understandably angry with me.  He scolded, "I've raised you to be better than this!"  Again, I passionately pleaded my innocence and become overwhelmed with emotion.  Yes, I was a class-clown but even I knew my limitations and would never had gone as far as Ed did.  But my parents would not relent in holding me accountable for my actions and my dad, with great calm and a stern eye, looked at me and said, "What did you do to make them think you did it?"

© 2011 Mitch Dobrowner. All Rights Reserved.

Road, Near Guymon, Oklahoma, 2009, by Mitch Dobrowner (19??-) is an awe-inspiring, humbling black and white photograph of a lonely, dirt road in Oklahoma with a menacing storm off in the distance.  Sunlight is masterfully captured leaking through a break in the super-cell illuminating a lone tree as a singular bolt of lightning strikes the ground.  A self proclaimed lover of Ansel Adams, Dobrowner has spent his life refining his craft in an effort to rightfully, gracefully, and humbly capture and evoke what our wonderful planet means to him.

Immediately, my mind is flooded with metaphors about life and how my personal journey from birth to death will travel down symbolic roads such as this one.  Oh yes, there will be moments where my road will be straight and my immediate destination pretty clear.  But there will also be moments where I can sense trouble ahead and the skies become dark and frightening.  Fortunately, I don't have to go it alone and in the midst of any troubling period, a light will shine through.

Echoing in my head for years, "What did I do to make them think I did it?"  These words plagued me for a very long time both in my mind and in the voices of my parents when I would attempt to defend myself out of trouble.  It wasn't until a couple of years after my mother had passed away from cancer that it hit me like a ton of bricks.  As I was headed home traveling Eastbound on the Pasadena Freeway, I began to sob uncontrollably.  Being responsible for my actions!  How could I have gotten through that much life without figuring it out?

My family and I have all had our ups and downs over the years.  Fortunately, our devoted love for each other has fueled our abilities to weather the rough spots and glide right into the good ones.  Life is a long series of bumps, turns, declines and inclines and though things may seem bleak up ahead, the light always breaks through the darkness as I turn to my father.  No matter how disruptive or unorganized I have been in living my life, my dad has stood by me through it all always concerned about my well being and my future.

Though clouds of difficulty and obstacle may continue to line my path, the one person I know I can lean on to help illuminate my outlook on what's to come is always there.  It turns out, this Road I've been on more than I can count has never been a road I had to travel alone.  My mother was there as much as she could be even during her fight with cancer, and equally important, my father has been, too.  I am older and much wiser now thanks to both but I will admit, it pains me deeply to even think of a time when my father won't be around.  But while he's healthy and about 30 miles away, I know I will cherish each moment I get to see him, talk to him, or know he's thinking of me as I continue to travel through life.

Thank you for being my light, Dad.  I love you.

The Virgin of the Rocks

There is something to be said for the one person most of us probably know who is quiet, polite, patient, and never complains.  Sadly, I'm pretty sure I'm not that one person anyone would think of but lately I have begun to examine my own behavior.  A couple years ago after a terrifying episode of anxiety and stress, I realized my life needed to be approached much more passively so I could avoid becoming too emotionally involved and concerned from various experiences.  That's worked out pretty well and lately, I've been trying to examine other areas of my personality that have been lacking.

Frankly, I don't feel I exhibit enough character.  If I'm feeling passionate about something that doesn't seem right, I express that and tend to make it sound as if I'm complaining.  If I'm in traffic and someone mindlessly cuts me off or goes too slow, I assert to myself that he or she is incapable of not being selfish.  And the list of things I do that provide evidence of this self-doubt goes on.  Yet, there are also moments where I refuse to give up my habitual need to express thanks; my need to acknowledge those who do the dirtiest of work; my need to encompass others who are in any similar situation as me when I'm expressing concern or disagreement.  Am I a model citizen for character?  No way!  Will it take much to change for the better?  I don't believe so and it is something I'm working on now.  Some inspiration I've found in exhibiting character is in the following story:

In the days when an ice cream sundae cost much less, a 10-year-old boy entered a hotel coffee shop and sat at a table.  A waitress put a glass of water in front of him.  "How much is an ice cream sundae?" he asked.  "Fifty cents," replied the waitress.  The little boy pulled his hand out of his pocket and studied the coins in it.  "Well, how much is a plain dish of ice cream?" he inquired.  By now more people were waiting for a table and the waitress was growing impatient.  "Thirty-five cents," she brusquely replied.  The little boy again counted his coins.  "I'll have the plain ice cream," he said.  The waitress brought the ice cream, put the bill on the table and walked away.  The boy finished the ice cream, paid the cashier and left.  When the waitress came back, she began to cry as she wiped down the table.  There, placed neatly beside the empty dish were two nickels and five pennies.  For you see, he couldn't have the sundae because he had to have enough money left over to leave her a tip.

The Virgin of the Rocks by Leonardo da Vinci (1452-1519) is the tale of John the Baptist being introduced to his cousin, Jesus Christ by Mary all accompanied by the Archangel, Gabriel.  The children depicted are clearly in infant stage yet both exhibit their divine nature and character by gesturing to one another.  John, on the left, holds his hands as if praying to show his devotion to his Savior while Christ has His right hand out preparing to bless John.

There are two versions of this painting.  The one displayed here (at the Louvre in Paris) is believed to be the first that da Vinci actually painted himself, while the second (on display at the National Gallery in London) is slightly different and felt to be mostly painted by students and assistants to da Vinci.  Fortunately, the articulation of the implied story isn't under too much controversy since both paintings have received the utmost in respect for what da Vinci was attempting to express.

All expression aside, da Vinci's ability to paint so majestically resounds in the great works of Michelangelo, van Cleave, Massys, Verrocchio, and many other artists of his time. But where the greatest challenge to myself can be found is in the simple, innocent character these two children inherently embody.  Christ, of course, goes on to bless countless lives with His all-knowing wisdom and purity of love.  John, as well, foretold of the coming Messiah and was also known for his teachings and profound devotion to humankind.  These two utterances cannot hold how much each man lived and how much character they had, but through this painting and their lives, I can find encouragement to hold myself to a higher standard.  Why?  Because both men lived their lives without complaining and knowing full well their dedication would mean their demise.  In other words, each had every excuse to give up and to gripe and neither gave in.

Perhaps it is a stretch to compare this masterpiece to the idea of having character.  However, isn't that what each person in this painting exemplifies?  Mary and her devotion to God.  John and his willingness to immediately yield his praise and thanks that Christ has come.  Gabriel and his leadership and guidance for Jesus.  And Christ, with only 32 years left in his life before He would offer up the ultimate sacrifice for every other human.  There is so much more displayed in da Vinci's work but for this one, I wanted to dig deeper and find a more important meaning.  Semantics and emblematic symbolism aside, and the fact that many religious themed paintings can also have a foundational theme of character in them, there was just something about this one piece that got to me.  It could be the gentle nurturing that is evident, it could be the display of two men who would die for their cause.  No matter what, though, the bar has been set and I imagine it will take me the rest of my life to pursue it.

No. 5, 1948

I have grown increasingly wary of those who are all fluff and no substance. You know the type, he or she is riddled with all kinds of empty accusations, likes to point fingers, and avoids admittance of fault at any cost. All of this is a mask, hiding the true, featureless void that this person is at his or her very core. While mincing words and expressing unreachable promises with charisma, seduced viewers and fans are duped into thinking this person can and will do "great" things.

Immediately, I'm sure each one of you reading this has someone in mind, maybe even someone famous. Regardless of seeming implication — and yes, I, too, have a few people in mind — the intent here is to express an emotion that comes with this frustration based upon an individual. Setting aside the person or persons, the root of this emotion in principle remains almost the same when it comes to works of "art" that really aren't work or art. And as I segue into how all of this relates to this week's piece, I make no apologies for those who may be offended. In fact, I expect a few to feel differently than I but certainly hope what is expressed isn't discarded as rubbish or for lack of knowledge.

After all, art is created to be a visual source of entertainment and meaning for anyone who wishes to gaze upon it. The job of the artist is to ensure his or her works evoke an emotion or message that is relative and understandable. And when it is not, then that artist has failed no matter what anyone else may say.

No. 5, 1948 by, Jackson Pollock (1912-1956), is an 8'x4' painted fiberboard drizzled with brown, gray, and yellow paints to create a nest-like appearance. This particular painting is considered the most expensive and valuable art piece in history (at the time of this article being posted) and sold for $140 million US in 2006.

Hmmm . . . what to say? Okay, on one hand, I think about how marvelous this piece would look in a darker, modern-styled interior office or home especially if bordered by harsh grays and metal trim. On the other hand, I'm void of any impression of what is being expressed other than to assume it must mean chaos and thus this relates to a vast array of stimuli that would vary wildly depending on the person viewing it; therefore devoid of any serious message. Yes, as I've stated many times, there are moments in life where things can get extremely hectic and taxing upon one's emotions but I don't sense that with this painting at all.

My efforts to try and find something in this squiggly mess was like bouncing around a rubber room in a straight-jacket. Here is how my thought process developed: A monkey on 4 cups of double espresso and some paint could do this! → Wait, do I see a figure or shape in there? → Man, if I ever buy a fancy home and go modern with the interior design, this would look sweet over the fireplace! → But it's just a bunch of spilled and sloshed strings of paint with seemingly no meaning in motion. Where can I find the evidence that a stiff breeze or a family member bumped into Pollock while he was flinging paint? Would it have looked all that different?

Yet, have I done what art is meant to do? By studying it and expressing what I may or may not feel and sense, aren't I reacting to art as it is meant to be?

Honestly, I'd rather pay off all my bills, buy a fantastic house along the beach, get that dream car, go on a very long vacation to exotic and historical locations, buy my family some spectacular and needed gifts, and then put the rest into investments and savings than fork over $140,000,000.00 for this, but to each their own. Right?

The bottom line is Pollock has created something that is concretely timeless and awe-semi-inspiring.  While I may find it a bit silly on some levels, I am intrigued on other levels, and I suppose — and admitting — perhaps this is an extremely amazing painting that deep down, I wish I could have.

Or should I head to the local store for a fiberboard, some brown and gray and yellow paint, and a monkey?

Don't give me that look! Someone had to say it.

The Pietà

The Road Not Taken

 Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
 --Robert Frost, 1916

Choices are a God-given right to all mankind and inevitably, each of us will make some that are not ideal and others that will be glorious.  What is left are these moments in the present to evaluate and learn from the past.  Perhaps some of us will enjoy the opportunity to revisit that diverge of roads and choose to take the one we did not the first time.  For others, though, the road chosen has become one-way with no chance of returning.

The Pietà by Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564) is a sculpture of Jesus Christ in the lap of his mother, Mary. Christ is portrayed as deceased, feeble in size and from circumstance while Mary is shown as a younger woman than she was at the time of His death. The piece is a combination of classic beauty and naturalism and is considered one of the most finished and detailed works by Michelangelo.

Much focus has been given to the two subjects and to the implied interpretation of Christ's size and Mary's age. For one, Christ was sculpted to be smaller than was believed and is in a crumpled heap in Mary's arms. Secondly, Mary was sculpted to appear to be about the age she was when she bore her Son for whom she now passionately embraces. The detail of both, however, is incredible and there is much to be gained from spending a significant amount of time admiring the piece.

For me, I see a mother whose body expresses her love and anguish for the loss of her Son. Her face, though, appears to be at absolute peace signifying her acceptance and understanding of the sacrifice her Son just made. From a Christian point of view, there is some irony in this moment considering Mary was the one who bore Jesus, while Jesus was the One who bore the sins of man. Thus, a circle of life extending beyond conventional means is on display and pointedly so. Mary, for the sake of this piece and with respect to history, was a wonderful woman hand picked by God to bare His Child.

Christ in this display also creates an irony of circumstance. He is shown in His state upon being taken off the cross yet He is not actually Him. What I mean is that this is merely His body, not Him as a Man. Yet laying across Mary's lap, scars from His torture vividly displayed, He symbolizes His own existence and what could have happened to man had He not laid down His life for everyone else.

Though the subject of Christ's death and sacrifice are a controversial one, it is well documented that He had a choice and even struggled with it. His entire life was meant to come to this point and although He knew it, He was also a man embodied with the ability to make choices through free will given by God. Frost's poem, for me, is something I can envision Jesus saying to Himself as he ascended to Heaven. He had an opportunity to choose which road to take: One that would lead Him away from His purpose in life and mankind, or one that would lead Him to a moment where the sins of every man, woman, and child for all eternity would be paid for in full, by Him. Rightfully so, He-

He chose the road far less traveled,
And it has made all the difference.

The Cheat with the Ace of Diamonds

In nature, there is a peculiar parasite known as a roundworm. Now, there are several thousand different types of roundworms, one of which is referred to as a nematode. What makes this microscopic creature so unique is its deceptive means of perpetuating the species. Basically, the nematode perches itself on a branch or leaf where ants are known to frequent. As the ants come by and discover the roundworm, they are quick to consume it. This might all sound rather anticlimactic but it gets better . . . a lot better.

The nematode doesn't die. Filled with its own eggs and now inside the ant, it is very much alive and situates itself into the abdomen. As it settles inside, the ant's backside begins to turn bright red. Over the years, scientists have suggested that this isn't so much a sign of infection but rather an after-effect of the parasite, and done in an attempt to make the ant more appealing to passing birds. If the ant is brighter and ends up spotted by a bird and is consumed, the parasitic species will continue on. For you see, once the ant is digested, the eggs are harmlessly released into the bowels of the bird which then dispenses the growing larvae through defecation.

Why the gross analogy about this parasite? Because what good can come from deception? Aside from compromising integrity in humans, deception leaves a wake of destructive circumstances to which others will eventually fall victim. The argument can be made that momentary success could be experienced if deception is utilized, but for the most part, it won't last and chances are others have had to endure sudden and unfair consequences.

The Cheat with the Ace of Diamonds, by Georges de La Tour (1593-1652), depicts a scene in which two women are playing cards with a gentleman. Not much a gentleman, though, as the viewer can clearly see he is producing two Aces from behind his belt during a moment of distraction. Furthermore, and ever so intriguing, is the intense setting in which all of this is taking place. Clearly, the maidservant, the courtesan in the middle, and the female on the right are all showing some sign of nervousness and suspicion.

It can be said that the fair lady on the right is a bit oblivious to the deception that is unfolding when you consider her emotionless, somewhat dimwitted expression. Yet, I would argue that de La Tour was suggesting she was about to catch on based upon her gaze. For the rest of the scene, a lot can be offered up for questioning and interpretation. Does the maidservant know what's going on? Is she in on the con? Appearing to offer the courtesan a fresh glass of wine, I would suggest she is either nervously involved or doing her best to conceal the deceiver on the left. Knowing this era, the courtesan is obviously someone of great wealth and/or influence given her intricate hairstyle and provocative clothing. But is she really being duped? Or is she strong enough and smart enough to smell a con? Is she about to fully realize what is going on and take action? Lastly, and admittedly a bit of a stretch on my part, is the male deceiver actually a male or a female in disguise?

What a few fans of 14th and 15th Century French art may not know is that this is a later version of the original painting, The Cheat with the Ace of Clubs. When comparing the two paintings, one can clearly see a less ambiguous scene in the Clubs version as opposed to the Diamonds version.  In the Clubs, the male has facial hair and a much more dastardly stare in his eyes; the maidservant's eyes are less obvious implying she may only be sheepish about interrupting the game by serving the wine. As well, the female on the right sits with a somewhat dumbfounded grin on her face and appears to be looking off the table as if none the wiser. These distinct differences suggest that the intended theme of the painting was to be much more straight forward. When the Diamonds version was revealed, however, further mystery into what was being presented became obvious, and gave you and I--the audience--a chance to really run amok with our interpretations.

Should you get the chance to compare the two paintings side-by-side, relish the opportunity! It is not often such subtle changes in art can be clearly seen and felt. What also makes this an extremely entertaining piece is the chance to speculate and wonder; the chance to dig into our ability to interpret art, and the evocation of theme and emotion. Much like every other piece of art I've attempted to write about, this one too reveals a chance to learn a little bit more about life. Because, in essence, we've all been deceived merely by the first iteration of this masterpiece. In this case, though, I'm willing to accept de La Tour's con with open arm or arms.

Pierrot, formerly known as Gilles

Do you ever look in the mirror at yourself and ponder about your life?  Standing there naked, completely vulnerable to everyone but no one, you face you without any other element of life to skew who you are, what you look like, where you are going, or where you have been.

It is difficult to not be philosophical in this moment.

Life is wrought with ups and downs.  Each of us moves along our own path through life and along the way, we will inevitably encounter others.  And in that course, we'll inevitably encounter others who have their own perspectives and "words of wisdom" based upon their experiences on their path.  I think one thing in common we all have are those moments where we stop to gaze upon ourselves to contemplate who we have become.  Questions about success, attractiveness, and appeal begin to swirl inside our heads and for some, it's enough to reach out to someone we trust to see if we can gain a new perspective.

For each of us, there will almost always be someone else who expresses true satisfaction with who he or she is.  But I find myself wondering, isn't he or she human just like me?  Doesn't he or she also doubt past choices?  Questions motives?  Wonders, what if?

What if?

Pierrot, formerly known as Gilles by Jean-Antoine Watteau (1684-1721) is thought to be the painting of an Italian actor named Belloni though some scholars and critics have felt it was a self portrait of the artist himself.  The painting was originally titled Gilles but was later changed to Pierrot to better portray the subject matter.  It was bequeathed to the Louvre in 1869 where the indicated title was applied.

Standing awkwardly on a mound in the middle and just above the perspective of the viewer is a comic actor who is surrounded by his stage compatriots.  Each seems preoccupied either by the donkey, something off in the distance, or with the silliness of the circumstance.  This particular piece is yet another example of what you initially see isn't exactly what may truly be going on.  Upon first glance, one could surmise that the Pierrot in the middle is standing at stage attention as if about to enact a scene.  Of course, I'm one who has to take a deeper, more meaningful look at the man's face and eyes and I see something different.

I see a troubled man.  Someone who is not completely content with his life or being the center of attention.  His face seems to be puffed up as if to imply he's on the verge of tears.  And his eyes tell me he's desperate for relief.

This is an incredibly powerful, enigmatic, and provocative piece.  Though our subject seems to sport a slight grin, is wearing what could be determined as fine garments not meant for those with lesser success, and is surrounded by others who share in his accolades, I can't help but feel sorry for him based upon my own perspectives.  I am sure most who would encounter this man would cheer his accomplishments and praise his work but for me, I see the face of a man staring at himself naked in the mirror and wondering how he got to where he is.

And that's just it.  Levels of success will always be relative.  I cannot specifically recall ever meeting someone who has become what he or she truly wanted to be.  There might be some out there who claim to but honestly, we're all humans, we all make mistakes, and along the way, our paths could very well diverge in a new direction and away from what was originally desired.  In moments like the one captured in this painting, there is no sense of failure or depression, just a moment of utter disappointment and pondering of what could have become.  What would his life be had he done this or that?

What if?