Be Surprised

A Tale of Love, Mixed Media, 34 x 24 x 4 inches

I like to be surprised by my creations. That is, to be so involved while creating, I “disappear” in the work.  When I re-emerge to take a look, I might be amazed.

I can be astonished by other peoples reactions as well. This happened recently. I have a new art gallery in a mall off the main plaza in Santa Fe. It has big windows so pedestrians can see inside and view the art hanging directly in front of them. When I first opened, I hung my new work of mixed-media pieces in front of the windows. I hoped that they would make an impression. Later, friends came by and suggested I put my better known landscape paintings in the windows. I obliged. 

After I made the change, a fellow came in and introduced himself as a partner in a business down the hall. “I am glad you made the change,” he said. “There was a piece in the window that was creepy. Where is it?” Then he walked to the backside of the panels and said, “Here it is! Ugh This really creeps me out!” His skin crawled as he pointed to the dolls. I had to laugh, because it never was “creepy” to me.  (I am laughing to myself now, as I write, just recalling this.) 

The next day a woman came in and went right to the same piece and spent considerable time studying and admiring it. 

So why the different reactions?

I claim a piece a success in as much as it gets strong reactions. Weak or badly done art does not warrant reactions worth talking about.

Four Hangups, oil on linen, 28 x 30 inches,

Some years ago I made a series of paintings called HangUps. They always elicited responses—some highly positive and some negative, but always a reaction. One of those paintings is now in a museum in France. 

VanGogh All Hung Up, oil on linen, 22 x 24 inches,
In the collection of Foundation Van Gogh, Arles, France

And that is art.

Diana's Song, Oil on canvas, 24 x 20 inches

For more on the mixed-media pieces, see my previous post: Walk A New Path

A Gorgeous Summer Evening

Couple, admiring the sunset.

I am a sunset aficionado. I have painted them often and taken scores of photographs. They are fleeting and when the conditions are right, it is nature at its most dramatic. I can sense a good sunset before it happens. 

Tonight as I made dinner a thunderstorm struck and I thought if there was light on the horizon later, a good sunset would occur.

It was cloudy and stormy with scattered rain drops as I got in my car and drove to my friend's house. She had surgery on her foot recently and hobbles around the confines of her small home. After awhile, as we were relaxing, she pointed outside and said, “Oh, look at the sky!” The clouds blanketed the top but near the horizon a fiery golden glow emitted. We checked the time and realized we had about twenty minutes. She grabbed her crutches and put the protective boot on her foot and away we went. I drove to a little park at a location in town that looks out over the city. A small crowd had already gathered to mingle and watch. 

My excitement was palpable as I grabbed my camera. She said it was okay for me to run ahead to a good vantage point. The sun was sinking below the horizon as a brilliant glow stretched across the lower part of the sky. Dark clouds accented the space above.

Santa Fe sunset

As I regrouped with my friend, she spoke to a stranger nearby and said, “It is so good to live here and have this!” The other person grinned and said, “Yes, and you even came out on crutches to see.”

And that is what a gorgeous summer evening and the promise of a great show of light does.

"Heartfire", 48 x 36 inches, oil on linen by Steven Boone

The Pristine Moment

The Red Pancho, Oil on linen, 16 x 12 inches

Awakened experiences and new perceptions are occurring regularly and I am thankful for all. My inner child is thriving, along with active imagination, and I have been producing a new series of artwork. 

All I can say is that it must be equanimity. I had a perception the other day—a visualization of looking through a thick sheet of glass. The glass was flawless and absolutely clear, allowing me to see with perfect clarity the world of beautiful nature. I think this showed my inner life is in a calm and peaceful place that allows me to experience the outer world with clear perception. Like a child looking through eyes of wonder, and years of experience offer some wisdom too.

In fact, my energy has been good and I am doing things easily and without resistance. I drove to California for sixteen hours straight. This surprised me. Usually I get dreadfully tired after 500 miles or six or seven hours of driving, and have to drag to a stop. Same on the way back—sixteen hours no problem. My mental state is alert, calm, and reflective. 

If I feel a complaint, I can easily overcome it by absorbing into the “pristine moment.” What is this? It is where love exists in nature and can overcome troublesome mind with great curative effects. 

Daydream, Mixed Media, 16.5 x 12.5 x 3 inches

These days I am busy opening a new art gallery in Santa Fe. It is a temporary affair in the same location on the plaza that I had a gallery last summer for two months. This time I will go three months, taking advantage of the busiest part of the tourist season. I do not know what to expect and I am paying a higher rent than normal for the privilege of not signing a one year lease. Last year it worked nicely, but I am hearing from business people that retail is down from last year. They say it is probably because of the uncertainty of the upcoming election. The whole world is watching as our national spectacle unfolds.

Anyway, I am taking the jump—the same way I did while in New Zealand last January and jumped from a suspension bridge into a deep stream of glacial water far below me. I crossed my arms over my chest and as I hurled myself forward I cried, “Thank You God for everything!”

Blue Pools, Glacier stream, New Zealand

Our Hearts Were Light

Nambe, New Mexico. Photo by Jack Gordon

When we climbed over the barbed wire fence that separated the highway from wind carved rock crags that stood like ships on the tree dotted high desert plain, I joked of being arrested. My friend was curious. Actually, I had been arrested once in the same location. Or so I remembered . . . it was long ago and I had been standing off the highway on Indian Tribal property painting the beautiful landscape. An officer drove up and arrested me for trespassing. That is how my memory goes anyway. 

I had not been back until now. My friend Jack from Washington DC is visiting for a few weeks while his wife teaches a writing class. He had seen the spectacular rock formation and wanted to go back in the evening to shoot pictures of stars.

As I drove and he pointed out the way, I realized we were on the high road to Taos, New Mexico, the most scenic route between the northern New Mexico cities of Santa Fe and Taos. Great clouds were forming dramatic curtains as the sun steadily drifted to the horizon. We stopped at an old church and browsed among tombstones, then continued on until we came to the spot. As night came, coyotes started howling, a familiar sound to me, but not to Jack. He asked, “Are there rattlesnakes around here?”

Rock formation, photo by S. Boone

 His equipment was more elaborate than mine, and he was interested in taking long exposure photos to capture stars in the sky above the rock cliffs. He set up and I sauntered in a different direction because I was fascinated with the full moon shining close to the horizon. It hung in the dark sky among massive indigo clouds. Occasionally a car would come along the highway and its headlights would beam light in front. Because my exposure was long, the light would appear as a solid line of incandescence in the otherwise dark foreground. 

Lipstick sunset, photo by S. Boone

Jack and I lounged on the sandy earth, waiting for his picture and talking in the dark. His photo did not come out to his liking because of the clouds. When we climbed back over the fence to go home, it was almost midnight. We took turns holding the fence open while squeezing through. Jack arrived through but I got caught on a barb and fell. My pants ripped and hand cut in three places. When I opened the car door, I could see a lot of blood. Jack came to the rescue with bandages he had with him.

Headlights and full moon, photo by S. Boone

Our hearts were light and we talked all the way on the 30 minute drive home.

Smiling From Ear To Ear

Despite every effort, when a famine spread throughout the land, a man and his wife succumbed to starvation. First the man. His wife loved him so dearly that she hastened in his footsteps. Then they were together again happier than ever. They were skeletons—just bones with no meat, but looked as beautiful as ever to each other. 

One day they went to sit by their favorite piece of art . . . an immense painting of a young woman naked and gazing up into the heavens, in front of two young musicians playing flutes. They were in good spirits and laughed, joking about their former life and how hungry they had been. The woman put on a baking apron, a bakers cap, and took a guitar out and began to play and sing. The man had a bakers apron on and found an immense basket full of bread loaves that he put on his lap as he sat next to his wife. He had his bakers hat on too and sang along gleefully. 

An angel heard the singing and arrived to see what all the merry-making was about. She hovered above the couple, and when they looked up and saw her, they both stopped singing. The man spoke and said, “Do you know that you are naked?” The angel smiled and replied, “I am not naked. It is you two that are naked . . . you have not an ounce of flesh on your bones!” At that, the husband grinned at his wife and both of them broke out laughing. The woman began playing her guitar again and both sang together in such perfect melodies that the naked angel soared in circles around their heads, twinkling her toes and smiling from ear to ear.

All Things Will Pass

Backyard of my parents former home, Santa Barbara, California

There is so much that I want to give you. You know Steven, when you turn to God, you find riches beyond measure. All things will pass, even earth and heaven, but God is forever. This is a message I received when my mother's spirit visited me today at her former home in Santa Barbara, California. 

I arrived here to gather with siblings as we sell off the remnants of my parent's estate before selling the house. I see so many familiar objects; tableware, furniture, books, kitchenware, clothing, tools, and hundreds of healthy potted plants around the housed . . . I am reminded of my parents lives. 

People lined up early to burst through the gate at 9 AM and begin sifting through things, gathering armfuls. With glee they collect for a fraction of the original cost or value. The house is emptying. Tomorrow it will be over and what is left will be donated. The money collected will go toward fixing the house to sell.

My father died a couple years ago. He was not a materialist and took after his hero, Mahatma Gandhi of India, who cared not for riches but was passionate about social justice. He left little in the way of things, but bequeathed a grand legacy of a lifetime of activism on behalf of poor and oppressed people. (See a tribute).

My mother died some months ago. She was highly intellectual, wrote, made art, and loved to garden until she became too feeble. Her great pleasure was nature. So it made me happy to see the joy in people as they bought almost all of her beautiful plants, still bursting with life and happily thriving in decorated pots. 

I had the thought that eventually we all end up in graves and our things are passed on or discarded. What we take with us is what we have accomplished in our life and our soul. Nothing else.

Sign Language

I keep objects on my kitchen window. They all speak to me. They sit on the ledge above my sink, in front of the window that looks out to the neighbors fence past my driveway. It is an odd assortment; a potted plant, painted egg, flying nude angel, framed photos of dear ones, a bust of Thomas Jefferson, wood carving of water buffalo—about eighteen items. An odd assortment that matches my odd psychology. 

I notice that when an item is near another the two “talk” to each other. The conversations become performances and if one item were to step in or out of the picture, the drama changes.

I composed a scenario with objects from the window. Here is a story:

An old man has walked many lands, searching for a special gift to bring home to his beloved in a small mountain village in Chile. She had requested a piece of magic art to heal her of a malady that made her terribly tired and blue. 

One day, months into his journey, the fellow was out walking with his cape and hat, one hand behind his back, deep in thought about the pursuit of happiness. Around a bend in the road at the edge of a forest he looked up and met a hand that spoke in sign language, “Hello there friend!” Immediately the old man could understand as if he was hearing the words, and with eyes bulging wide open, he replied, “Hello good hand!” The hand's fingers were nimble and signed, “I know you have been walking great distances in search of a healing artwork to cheer up your beloved.” And in a second, the hand turned away, closed into a fist, then turned again to open and produced an egg, holding it between two fingers. The hollow egg's shell was painted with an exquisite design in black lacquer of three farmers working in a field of magic herbs in an enchanted world. “Put this in your sack and find your way back home. Place the egg on your windowsill in your kitchen. These farmers will come to your beloved in her sleep and revive her withered field of dreams. They are expert gardeners. Her deep consciousness will flourish. Healing waters will nourish her inner garden and she will be well again.”

The old man fell down to his knees, tearfully thanking the hand. The hand spoke one more time, “It is because you have a pure heart that this gift is given. You are old and infirm, yet because of love, you traveled endlessly for your beloved. Grace has come to you at last. Go now and know that you are protected.”

And with that the old man hugged the hand's thumb, took the egg, put it carefully in his sack and turned to walk home. The hand waved good-bye, then suddenly vanished.

Bound Together

Sometimes my artwork goes into dark places. Creativity lives there just as it does in the lofty realms. The domains are bound together; one informs the other.

I have prepared to submit photo images to a juried show called Dreams. A work re-emerged from my past that I have remade. It has dark elements, but also redemptive ones. It could be a symbol of madness, or claustrophobia, or heartache. Or it could be salvation, enlightenment or instinct. The viewer brings their own interpretation. Intrigue and mystery live here.

I have to be able to bring my brush to hell as well as heaven. Both are creation.

Masai Women

On vacation.
Here is writing from another June 19. Year 2010.
I would love to be with the Masai people of Tanzania again.

Cradle Of Civilization

 

 

Petaga

Petaga Yuha Mani, (American Indian, born March 17, 1912 - died December 3, 1993).

A holy man or woman who is powerful in spirit will have great influences wherever they are. Continually in communion with the Creator, they shed the musk of hidden meanings as they breath. Their presence changes lives. A simple brief meeting with such a soul might have more impact than a lifetime of encounters with others. 

During the course of my life, I have met people like this, but rarely, since they are unusual. 

Years ago, in my youth, I chanced to find myself with a holy man, and the episode deeply touched my life. A living experience dwells in my heart ever since. Here is the story:

PETAGA

With his back to the early morning sun, he stood beside his small wood slat home on the South Dakota Indian reservation. Despite being at a distance, he had a bigger-than-life presence, such as a grand, magnificent oak tree might have; full of character, deep roots and strong trunk, with branches reaching far off to the sky. He gazed imperturbably at us, a little gang of hippies that had arrived improbably at his house in the early summer. Our elder leader popped her head out of the old Dodge Dart we were packed inside and smiling, called out, “Pete, long time no see!” He smiled and replied, “Yeah, on the Big Island wasn't it?”

The others filed inside, and as I reached the threshold, I stood a moment, reaching out my hand. A slanting ray of light fell across his figure. The tall older man stood almost a head above me. Deep furrows creased his long face. Black braided hair fell behind immense ears and over his shoulders. He wore a faded western shirt, black trousers and boots and reached out to me with both hands open. I moved to stand face to face as he took my hands in his. Looking at me with utter kindness and humility, he stood for what seemed like a long time, not saying anything, simply gazing with great tenderness, warmth and curiosity. I was startled to suddenly feel truly recognized, like we had known each other forever, even as dear friends from a time before birth when we had gathered together on the shores of dawn. The moment burned indelibly into my being, and I was given a lasting gift of deep peace and comfort. Though not a word had been spoken, volumes were imparted in the briefest moments.

His English name was Pete Catches, Sr. the last part shortened from Catches The Enemy. He lived on the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota all his life. For decades he healed and instructed both Natives and non-Natives near his home and off the reservation. He revived the Sundance among the Lakota in the early 1960's and in 1964, he was named Sundance chief by the Oglala Sioux Tribal Council, the only such distinction in tribal history. His Oglala Sioux name was Petaga Yuha Mani, or Petaga for short, and during a gathering in his home, he told us how he got his name, meaning “Hands in Fire.”

Petaga sat on a wood chair, long legs outstretched and hand on his knee. “It was the early days of my being a medicine man, and I had been called to visit a sick man. When I went in his home, he was laying on a bed in the corner . He looked at me and I could see he did not believe I could help him. I needed his faith. I walked to the fireplace and reached into the fire, gathering hot coals in both of my hands, and then went to him. As I stood in front of him, he got faith and I was able to cure him. From then on, I had the name Petaga, meaning hands in fire.

We stayed three days. The last evening, we gathered at a sweat lodge near the house, and did a sweat with his two grown sons. It was surprising how hot it became inside the hut made of bowed branches covered with burlap and blankets. A pit dug in the middle contained hot stones taken from a nearby wood fire. Occasionally someone sprinkled water on them making them hiss and steam. Prayers and offerings were made to the four directions and Great Spirit. Sage was thrown on the stones and burned with a sweet pungent aroma. A peace pipe was passed around.

He told us he had two wives, and when he had taken the younger wife his first wife did not like it. Saying this, he grinned and explained the Sioux are allowed to take more than one wife. Always absolutely honest, he was deep as a river and as broad.

During a moment of silence, when he sat near to me, I found myself praying for him. I imagined the innumerable hardships he faced. His little house with makeshift furnishings would barely keep out the harsh winters. Closing my eyes, as my prayer went out, I had the unusual experience of feeling Petaga block my thoughts. I felt hurt at being strongly rebuffed—his door suddenly shut. His pride did not allow for sympathy from strangers. Inwardly, he spoke to me then, saying, little brother, why do you pray for me? Everything is contained here . . . and more! It is you that is poor. Be content with me in the Kingdom of our Father.

© by Steven Boone

All Rights Reserved

Angels Are Among Us

Angels are among us. Celestial beings with greater powers and insights than ours watch over us, pray for us and when given permission, assist us. Some people can see them. They can be felt, and even heard. Several times after my daughter died I heard her voice. I did not imagine but rather heard her voice and knew it was her.

These higher beings could easily show us much more, but generally, they do not interfere with our lives, since we are developing into higher beings ourselves and need to struggle. We cannot have answers and insights just gifted to us constantly. We must earn our way forward through our own resources.

Almost always angels arrive with peace, love and joy. When my daughter was dying, I was visited and witnessed smiles and felt gifts of deep love. Later I would be upset and wonder how the higher beings could be smiling at me while I cried in despair for help. 

Angels have a different perspective on suffering and tribulation. They see it as progress and when they witness a human suffer and go forward toward the light, they smile knowing the soul is growing like a young plant grows—drawing toward the sun and growing deep roots that will hold it from being blown away in storms. 

I wrote an article in 2002, after Naomi died:

The Smiling Angel

My twelve-year-old daughter Naomi startled me one day when she confided that she felt something scary following her. Seeking to bolster her confidence, I suggested turning around to face whatever it was. Five years later, we both came face to face with a monster that had been creeping up on her: we learned she was in the grip of a bone cancer that was spreading rapidly through her body. A track and field runner in high school, now Naomi teetered on the brink of death. This time she counseled me, saying, “Keep your chin up, Dad, and take deep breaths.”

While in public I tried my best to follow her advice, delivered like a true athlete, in private I fell on my knees and prayed for her protection and healing. During my prayers one day, I felt the presence of angels in the room; welcoming it as a sign my plea was heard, I gained faith that Naomi’s life would be spared. She also prayed, and wrote in her journal, “I know I am surrounded by spirits, and that is the feeling of the Lord.”

Initially it seemed that our prayers were being answered. Amidst the support of loved ones and a team of doctors, Naomi’s illness retreated. She spoke of her life-threatening illness as an opportunity and said, “Hardships can make us stronger. Every situation has some good in it.” Our family relaxed as she graduated from high school and made plans for college. But our faith was dealt a terrible blow when follow-up scans showed the cancer had come back and Naomi would have to face the prospect of dying painfully. With great valor she wrote a note to herself: “Show up and be lovingly present, no matter what it looks like out there or inside yourself. Always speak the truth of your heart.”

One night I fell on my knees tearfully begging God to spare my beloved daughter. As I finished praying, a smiling angel came to me with great compassion and love, as if to acknowledge that once again my prayers were heard. But my thankfulness quickly turned to anger. Furious at being helpless, I could not fathom how the angel could be smiling while I was so miserable.

Months later Naomi passed away, but my dismay at the helplessness I felt during the smiling angel’s visit stayed with me. Only recently, after an interlude of several years, have I made peace with it. Had I been able to listen, the angel would have told me: “We have been watching over you and are touched by your love for your daughter. Death cannot sever the bond you both have together. We see that your heart aches for the terrible events that have befallen her, but don’t dwell on the darkness. If it were possible to step back and notice how she meets her hardships, you too could not help but smile. Look at how she treasures life while battling the pain of her illness. Each day she puts her trust in God, sees beyond her grief, and holds her heart open. She is a ray of light in the darkness. God is pleased with your lovely Naomi and is protecting her. Rest assured that she will abide in eternal happiness.”

Now, as I continue to heal the pain of losing my daughter, a smile will cross my face. Feeling Naomi’s spirit, I know she is indeed at peace and happy. I can then hold my chin up, take deep breaths and pay close attention as she directs my heart to cherish all of life as a gift.

My book about Naomi: A Heart Traced in Sand