Zombies

To outward seeming, the woman seems normal enough. She works as a salesperson in the little import shop across the hall from our gallery. Amy has had a few exchanges with her and knows she is a big supporter of the current president. At one point she told Amy if she wasn’t a supporter that they could not be “friends”.

Our gallery has been closed mostly, because the pandemic and state and local regulations have almost completely curtailed foot traffic. Non-the-less, we have had some sales and been opening at greatly reduced hours.

The other day, I had just opened and the lady saw me. We smiled and she stopped at my door for a moment of small talk. But when the topic turned to covid-19 she became very dark and animated. She began coaching me fervently that the disease was politically planned by people involved in pedophilia. That the numbers were fake and really, very few people die from it—that it is the same as the flu. I explained I had just read an article in the New York Times about how the virus has gone into the heart of the Amazon, and is killing tens of thousands there, especially indigenous people. “Well hydroxychloroquine is readily available and cures it.” Before I could talk she went on to say that certain people don’t want the cure to be known. Then with a glare she said, “They also eat babies.” When I looked aghast she said,  “You can only understand all this if your higher chakra is open!” With that she turned and left me speechless.

For the next hour I felt slightly sick.

Is this the new “normal?”

I have been through many upheavals in society and travelled around the world, but it seems these days, dark forces are coming forward like never before and claiming people —making them into zombies.

People Of Color

Whenever I hear the term “people of color” I cringe. EVERYONE IS COLORED. Do we say, "birds of color", or "roses of color"?

The phrase “people of color” is a meaningless label of human beings. 

I am an artist and see everyone colored, and also multi-colored. When I do a portrait of an African, I will use some of the same colors when painting a fair skinned person. Reds, blues, browns will be mixed in different proportions but are common to both.

On television, streaming online or on radio, when I hear the phrase “people of color” I recoil. To me, a gaffe has occurred. I don’t particularly blame anyone because society has a long history of racial prejudice; which is ignorant. 

I made a sample in the image above. Nobody is white or black. EVERYONE IS COLORED.

O CHILDREN OF MEN!

O CHILDREN OF MEN! Know ye not why We created you all from the same dust? That no one should exalt himself over the other. Ponder at all times in your hearts how ye were created. Since We have created you all from one same substance it is incumbent on you to be even as one soul, to walk with the same feet, eat with the same mouth and dwell in the same land, that from your inmost being, by your deeds and actions, the signs of oneness and the essence of detachment may be made manifest. Such is My counsel to you, O concourse of light! Heed ye this counsel that ye may obtain the fruit of holiness from the tree of wondrous glory.
- Baha'u'llah

The Passage Of Time

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When the days grow cold in Santa Fe, at least once a year, Heidi Of The Mountains decides that we will go visit her parents in their second home in Sun City, Arizona. They spend time there when the temperatures are perfect, which is usually between late October and end of April. At other times, it can be blistering hot and nobody goes outdoors. 

On our way from New Mexico, we take highways that go near the Grand Canyon, and this time we stopped there on our wedding anniversary. It is only three hours from Phoenix, but the elevation is higher and the temperatures are much lower—below freezing at night now. It is such an inspiring place—an open book on the passage of earthly time. We rented bikes and rode along trails that border the rim, stopping often at lookouts that offered breathtaking views.

Sun City is a retirement community that is within the Phoenix metropolitan area. It is very clean and quiet, with trim houses of five different designs lining the mostly empty streets. The minimum age to own a home is 55. Children are rarely seen, and for that matter the place seems rather empty, with life limited to the golf courses and shopping areas. Furthermore, it is entirely homogenous, since it is essentially white retirees, and mostly second homes—poor people are not around. 

 A wealthy community of old people with no diversity feels odd to me. On the other hand, it is entirely safe and folks passing by in their golf carts always wave hello. Yet the safety is bought, and comes from being insulated from outside society.

Spontaneity

I love spontaneity because in essence, it is honest expression—proceeding from natural feeling or native tendency without external constraint. A person being spontaneous is not being devious at the same time, because they are not manipulating or contriving a result. Other animals always act with spontaneity, but we humans, because of our conscience cannot. In the human realm, civil society has rules of engagement, and therefore, moral consciousness over-rules spontaneous action. For instance, we might feel trapped in our car in traffic and have a spontaneous desire to leave our rightful lane and jump ahead of the jam, or maybe we see someone trip and fall in an unusual way and feel like laughing out loud, and of course bathrooms exist so that we have a private place to be relieved, although a spontaneous reaction might be to go anywhere.

In art, spontaneity can produce the finest results. It is because the artist is “letting go” to the creative muse inside. Jazz is a great example. There may be a loose theme to follow, but spontaneous improvisation can take the drama to new heights and uncharted territories. Actors must follow scripts, but occasionally we get glimpses of spontaneous moments that transcend theatrics and bring us in touch with the soul of the performer. Japanese Butoh theater is famous for spontaneous acting. For artists like Pablo Picasso, Jackson Pollack and many others, spontaneity is at the essence of their work, for they are immersed in it so fully that external constraints do not figure into the result. As Picasso’s contemporary, Georges Braque said, “It is the act of painting, not the finished painting.”