Testimony

Inspiration for painting art is as broad as the universe. Subjects are endless. Some artists choose to have no subject at all, but let colors and line speak and be interpreted entirely subjectively.

For several years I have made paintings that evoke the most difficult symbol: death. It is the subject behind life that nobody wants to look at. The shadow that lingers in the corners of our consciousness, and for most, the unwelcome guest at the banquet of life.

My most recent painting took great effort emotionally, psychically and on canvas. It came in response to the deluge of horrific information that comes on the newscasts every day, especially with various wars raging in the world. In the painting, death is the ultimate victor, while all the combatants and other actors are decimated.

I usually don’t try and describe symbolism in my paintings . . . but in this instance I will:

Two spectral central figures are toasting with goblets of red wine, oblivious to the chaos and destruction raging around them. They are dressed in black, symbolizing the void, absence of light, mystery, mourning and perhaps comfort. Enigmatically they hold goblets of wine. Red wine represents celebration, opulence, strength, passion, love: it is the blood of life. The glass goblets represent the fragility of the vessel which holds life. 

In art, a skeleton is often used as a symbol of death and mortality. The Latin phrase "Memento Mori" translates to "Remember that you will die," and it's a reminder of the inevitability of death.  One skeleton wears a crown of roses representing the fleeting nature of beauty and life. Here, death is happily taking life that disappears forever. 

In the background are burning cities. Mankind is at war and masses of people are caught in the conflagrations of violence and destruction. They flail helplessly against fate. On the left, a terrorist holding an automatic weapon stands beside death. Bewildered people crowd together, not knowing if they live or die. Fists with swords sweep through the air, while other arms and hands reach toward the sky in anguish. A stunned man gazes next to a death figure on the right. There is no place of safety.

In the midst of death, between the two skeletal figures is a child, looking up in bewilderment. Even children are being swept into the void of death.

The painting came as a response to current events. Our current world is in travail with countless threats to the fabric of existence. 

As an artist, I pictured it. For now, and forever as testimony.

The Gates of Awe

 

Every so often in life we have a profound experience that awakens our sleeping soul and opens the gates of awe. On November 4th, at the end of the annual Dia de Muerto, or Day of the Dead celebration in Mexico, while Amy, her visiting sister Cari, and I were on our way home from Oaxaca we decided to stop at the cemetery in our village San Pedro Ixtlahuaca. The big gate was strewn with huge garlands of flowers as we walked into a sight that took my breath away. The entire graveyard had been cleaned and bouquets of flowers were everywhere⏤covering every grave. In all my life in the United States, I never saw anything like it. 

As I walked I was almost brought to tears noticing that all the graves had been commemorated with flowers. In death, all had been forgiven and redeemed and nobody forgotten; including those from the distant past. I intuitively knew that it goes beyond remembering only the illustrious or the well-known; here, every soul is embraced by the warmth of recollection. Even the graves of those who led troubled lives or are unknown to many, are not forgotten. 

By far, the most common flower is the marigold, known as “cempasúchil." In Mexico, they are not merely flowers; they are vibrant messengers bridging the gap between the living and departed. With golden hues seeming to echo the warmth of cherished memories, cempasúchil invite us to reflect on the interconnectedness of life and death. The air fills with their sweet aroma, supposedly to summon the spirits back to the world of the living. 

For someone from a culture where death is often treated with solemnity and separation, Dia de Muertos in San Pedro Ixtlahuaca, serves as a gentle reminder that death, too, can be a celebration of life. A moment to acknowledge and honor those who came before us, recognizing the impact they had on our existence. 

In a world often quick to overlook the marginalized, I felt touched walking over the extensive grounds with graves spanning the centuries, witnessing universal remembrance.

A touching and humbling experience.

In the presence of the marigold-strewn graves, I realize that the Day of the Dead is not just about remembering the departed; it's about embracing the cycle of life with gratitude. San Pedro Ixtlahuaca has taught me that in remembrance, there is a timeless beauty that transcends borders—a beauty that invites us to celebrate the vast intricacies of the human experience, both in life and in death.

For an American like me, it's a privilege to witness the beauty of this tradition and be a part of it—a communal embrace of the past, a recognition of shared humanity, and a poignant reminder that, in the tapestry of life and death, every thread contributes to the richness of the whole.

Tapestry of Humanity

 

A week like no other . . . and to think⏤Amy’s sister arrived from Minnesota and experienced it with us. Cari arrived along with Dia de Muertos, an extraordinary week of color, tradition, and creativity. 

In the heart of Mexico amidst the vibrant streets of Oaxaca, Dia de Muertos, or Day of the Dead, is a time-honored tradition in Mexican culture, celebrating the lives of departed loved ones with colorful festivities and heartfelt remembrance.

The two sisters stayed in a nice hotel in the city for two nights as events ramped up. There is so much to entice the eye during the course of the holiday.  I always drive to town from our village every day to photograph.

We feel honored and bonded in our adopted community. Especially with the family of Mayolo Galindo, our neighbor who makes our tin frames. His wife Marta gave a cooking lesson in our home on making molé and traditional tamales. That evening we had a wonderful traditional tamale dinner to mark Cari´s birthday.

Every day and night are parades and celebrations. I threw myself in as much as possible to get photographs. A book of Dia de Muertos portraits will be forthcoming with one more year of picture taking.

This year we were honored that a premiere gallery rushed to take our work and highlight it as part of their offering for Dia De Muertos. They installed a grand ofrenda in the midst of our paintings. It was a surreal experience to see our art displayed alongside other talented artists, each piece telling a unique story of life, death, and the mystical in-between. We had hoped for such an outcome but had not expected. Then it suddenly occurred.

Memento Mori, by Steven Boone,  oil on linen, with tin frame by M. Galindo

The art gallery reception was warmly received. Many people stop to photograph our pieces and pose next to them.

Entre Culebras y Colibríes, by Amy Córdova Boone,  acrylic on canvas, with tin frame by M. Galindo

In the aftermath of Dia de Muertos, on November 4th as we drove home from the city, we stopped to walk in our village cemetery. I was moved that every grave in the large plot had flowers on it.

Because of a glitch in Cari´s flight home, she stayed an extra two days. We visited the largest tree on earth (in circumference) and drove 40 minutes to Tule to see the Tule tree. Another breathtaking experience in our panorama of experiences since she arrived. 

Cari discovered the true essence of Dia de Muertos – a celebration that transcends boundaries and connects us all in a beautiful tapestry of humanity. Today she arrived at the airport without delay and boarded for home, full of stories to tell.

More art by Steven and Amy Boone