Language and Imagination

A couple of weeks ago we took a friend, Rachel, to Moab to see the petroglyphs before she headed back to China. She and I were looking at this huge rock panel when a woman standing next to me said, "I believe all of those rake looking petroglyphs are about irrigation. These indians must have seen the Mormons doing it on their way here."

First of all I was floored that she thought that these petroglyphs were created at the same time that the Mormons moved into Utah. I wanted to correct her on her flawed history, but I stopped myself. I realized that she was showing me an important component of language.

First of all, I do believe that the petroglyphs were/are a language, and I do believe that the Pueblo tribes understand this language. However, besides a specific meaning behind all of these amazing images, I believe there is a universal language being spoken as well, and my gut feeling tells me that when they created these images, they knew that they would be speaking to us one day.

I love reading all of the archaeology about these areas, but sometimes I think science gets in the way. I think it shuts down our connection to these symbols and language that obviously speaks to so many. I think a major component of rediscovering this type of language within ourselves is letting ourselves imagine again....let ourselves feel the images. An elder that adopted me years ago told me that our imagination is the bridge Creator gave us to connect with Him/Her.

For instance, I was on a hike this past weekend, and we came across a family from Japan. They could not speak a word of English, and I can't speak a word of Japanese. However, we came to an amazing spot on the hike, and we were able to communicate. I have no idea what he was actually saying, but I could feel his awe, his gratitude for me pointing out the site, and his excitement over what we were standing next to. Not a physical word was understand, but what was behind those words, completely came through. When I am standing in these amazing places that the Old Ones decided to mark with their petro or pictographs, I may not understand the specific meaning, but the universal meaning comes through so clearly most times.

I believe the context of the moment is what truly communicates with us. We can look at pictures of petroglyphs in books, but when you actually hike out to be with them, what they were expressing comes through most times. It is important to be in the place, and another component of Sacred Language for me is how it connects you the environment in that innate way we have all lost touch with. I think their language is a connection back to that aspect of who we are. I think this might be why I come to an understanding of what some of these panels mean. Maybe they aren't about knowing what they were physically saying, but what they are trying to remind us about....that connection with All That Is that is not bound by  written words.

When I find myself before these sacred images, I take a look around to see what actually surrounds me. I sit and take it all in focusing upon my breath, slowing my mind and focusing upon walking within their shoes....within their eyes. What do we both see together? I then sit with the images upon the rocks and simply soak it all in without trying to even figure it all out....just enjoy it....I say a prayer, give thanks to them for what they created, and how they inspire me. At times the meanings begin to sink in....and I just let my imagination flow with it.

So as I look at the rake image, which Hopi elders have stated that it represents their migrations, I can see how she felt that it had something to do with irrigation. The interesting thing is irrigation was as important to the Old Ones as it was to this woman who began talking about irrigating her ranch. A common issue they both shared....a bridge with the past. Without knowing it, she made a connection to the Old Ones through their language that will stay with her forever.

Picasso and Rock Art

Picasso once said about all of the amazing cave art in Europe, "None of us could paint like that." When I read this, it felt so true to me that it triggered me. I got irritated about it. Why is it that we "modern" people can't paint or create like they did more than 35,000 years ago? What did they have that we don't?

I am reading a fascinating book called, "The Mind and the Cave: Consciousness and the Origins of Art," by David Lewis-Williams. So far a lot of the book has been about the history of science, evolution, the battles that ensued over it, Paleolithic history, theories that were embraced only to be abandoned, and finally he is going to get to the reason why he believes we create art. In the book there are several beautiful plates and pictures of the cave art, which they call parietal art in Europe. It is amazing! It is inspiring! And it is so free of any type of inhibition, limitation, or care for judgment! That is when I realized what Picasso was getting at; that is what they had that we don't have today.

Our world is filled with judgement. Things are cast into two categories: good or bad. Artwork that goes into the good category is saved, protected, bought and maybe one day put into a museum. Art that some think is bad is labeled with all sorts of colorful words, destroyed, or simply ignored. Artists of today paint with the hope of being liked and appreciated. If their ego is in full swing, they are hoping to find a lot of appreciation by the name of fame. In so doing, we imprison ourselves. We don't realize how much we limit our creativity, our version of storytelling the moment we seek praise.

That is what we are and have been for thousands of years; artists are storytellers. Those ancient Paleolithians as well as the Ancestral Puebloans weren't painting "art for art's sake", they were sharing their stories. First of all, I can't stand that term about art...."art for art's sake." Art is never created for so flimsy of a reason. You can go up to any artist and ask them about why they painted what they did, and a story will be revealed to you.

What always flabbergasts me is how long it has taken scientists to realize that so much of this "art" on cave walls, rock faces, rocks, etc. is about their rich, spiritual lives. Yes, it is shamanic art at its very beginning.

What did these artists have that I don't have? Well, I can tell you as a person with family on a reservation and having lived there, when we have a vision, it is never judged. The thought of judging a vision someone tells is beyond our comprehension. It is recognized, supported, and assisted in bringing it forward into the life of the vision recipient. The recipient is not trying to seek approval. On the contrary, the recipient is quite humble about it all. It is a gift from Spirit. How could one not be?

My guess is that the people that created this amazing art through the centuries either showed talent early or received a vision that they were to be the storytellers for their people; an amazing honor and responsibility. Their people supported this without any kind of judgment, so the artist/storyteller could create with absolute freedom. Every stroke or peck was done with a prayer as my Unci taught me to do not too long ago. He or she was not seeking anyone's approval....simply sharing their experiences for the future generations, and this is why Picasso said what he said.

Within our current society, I do not believe anyone can create or paint the way they did. Maybe this is why I began this journey to discover the way back to this sacred and old way of expression....maybe it isn't about the art at all....Maybe it is about finding that freedom within myself, and no longer worrying about what anyone thinks. So many times people have walked into my booth stating that I must suffer from schizophrenia or do copious amounts of LSD to work with the color the way I do. At times, yes, it has hurt. Most of the time I ignore it or laugh, but I do believe that something deep within me listens a little more than I want myself to. I would love to express Spirit in the way that they once did with the freedom that they did. I think this is a journey about tearing down my own personal prison that I really wasn't aware of until recently.

Surfaces

I have been sick with the flu, and today, the Spring Equinox, is the first day in a bit that I feel human. I am sorry that I am late with this post, but sometimes circumstances force me to slow down. I am trying to get back into the swing of things, and I thought I would start with this blog, which seems perfect on Spring Equinox.

One thing an artist is always considering is what type of surface to do their work upon. Will it be on canvas, paper or board? Or will the artist work with metal , wood, or clay are a few of the many, many possibilities we all consider.

For me the surface is as important as the oil pastels or acrylic paints I use to create the image. It is the base, the foundation for what I wish to share with others. If the surface can't support what I wish to share, it will crumble and be of no use to anyone. I personally like to work on white surfaces, because of how it keeps my colors true to their nature. I like to work on a smooth surface and build my own texture. The surface excites me, because it invites me, challenges me, and provides an opportunity to create. It also can become my psychiatrist, because that surface makes me face my fears, problems and all of those hidden items that we all try to avoid. It also becomes a place for me to share my spiritual experiences....

A week ago we headed to Moab, but this time we were on the other side of the river from where I shot the video showing all of the petroglyphs. Why that surface? Why those rocks? Well, they are amazingly beautiful as they dramatically erupt straight for the sky while skating along the river's edge. But what else caused them to work there?

Well, they are smooth....they are warm. Most of the petroglyphs are south facing. The Old Ones wanted to share their stories with the sun. Even when the sun leaves us during the winter, we can still feel its warmth when we face south. The rock is very smooth. I doubt they had to do much of any work to smooth it out enough to create their mysterious masterpieces. There is also quite a bit of desert varnish/patina on the rock, which creates a black surface over the red rock. It creates a dramatic look without ever having to bring out any type of mineral to paint with. They simply peck through the black and find the red. They perfectly illuminate each other.

I think these petroglyphs tell many stories. There are stories about migrations, offerings, ceremonies, hunts, dancing, animals, and clan affiliations that once lived there. The interesting thing is that when they are in the sun, it isn't so easy to see them. The best time to look at them is in the morning, before the sun climbs too high into the sky. This is what makes me think they are sharing their stories with the sun.

However, just as that thought passes through my mind, the reflection of the sun dancing upon the river water is mirrored upon the rocks. These rocks are also where they whispered their gratitude for the gift of life that the river and all of the natural springs provided them. The sun and water dance upon these rocks. Moab is an amazing place; hot desert filled with water, springs and waterfalls.

Where would I paint if I wanted to share my stories with the sun and river? It would be right over there....in the warmth, along the beautiful, flowing, Colorado River. How can one be here and not want to speak with the Two at the same time? They are sacred, and the rocks are the perfect surface to reflect this.

I spend a lot of time hiking in the forest not far from my home. I wonder what would be a natural surface for me to work on to reflect my feelings and experiences for this forest? I don't know right now. I will get back to you on that maybe in my next post.

Sacred Art/ Sacred Language

This has been a very difficult weekend, but it seems to be the best time to go public with a new body of artwork that I want to embark on.

I live in Western Colorado on the edge of the Ancients. If I head west or South, it is hard to not stumble upon some sign of an Ancient world. It has captivated me, spoken to me for years. Many years ago an elder adopted me, and when I asked him about the meaning of some petroglyphs I recently discovered, and he told me I already knew. What? I didn't have a clue what they meant, but he insisted I did. This planted a small seed within me that has been slowly germinating for years.

Walking through canyons and deserts I've come to realize that as much as I enjoy and appreciate the artistic value of all the petroglyphs and pictographs, they really are not art in the modern sense of the word. They are a language. They are the first written language upon this continent and all over the world.

I want to embark on a journey of new artwork where I try to rediscover within myself my own sacred language. My relatives come from France, and who knows, maybe they were one of the people that wrote upon the Lascaux caves. Maybe my Ancestors are whispering to my heart.

For whatever reason, I feel that this is important. I keep seeing images of unplugging a television from a wall with the words written above, "In order to reconnect, you must first disconnect."

Art has always been about communication I believe, but back then it was an actual language; just ask the Hopi. In the book Canyon Spirits, Florence Lister writes, "Some scholars argue that the rock are left on craggy canyon faces, the polychromatic murals painted on kiva walls, and the geometric and naturalistic patterns laid on ceramic vessels were a form of written language in being messages to the spirit world." Scientists aren't allowed to make creative leaps to understanding what is upon all the rocks in our region, but artists are not limited by those rules.

Art is about emotional expression or sharing a scene that we love. It is storytelling to some degree, but when you stand underneath a huge panel covered in images along the Colorado River, you know that something much deeper is going on. Archaeologists believes that only the shamans did the actual writing upon the rocks, at least among the Fremont People,

because they discovered pigments buried with the shamans. I believe writing was a sacred act. The power of an image can create or it can destroy.

Fritz Scholder was one of my favorite artists. He said that in this time we need more Shamanic artists. I believe he said this because he saw how disconnected we are becoming from Nature. Maybe this body of work will help some find their way back.

Lighthouse on a Foggy Night

"Ouch!" I yelled after cutting myself on a nail. My hand was bleeding, and the area of the cut immediately began to throb. I didn't need eyes to know immediately where I was hurt. The pain told me, my body told me, and I listened intently. I knew that I needed to do something, so I immediately went to wash and bandage it. Pain told me exactly where I was wounded and helped me identify exactly what I needed to do. to keep it from becoming infected and how to take care of it. I simply had to listen to it.

Why is it that we only do this for those moments when we experience physical pain and not for those emotional/mental moments when we scream out in pain? Why don't we listen? I remember once falling backwards on my skates knocking all of the air out of me. The fall didn't scare me as much as the fact that I couldn't breath. I started to cry, and immediately I was told that big girls don't cry. That hurt me even more than the fall. I felt uncared for. We are taught to swallow our pain and then do what we have to do to not admit that we are even feeling it. We run from it. We try to bury it. We smother it with food, drugs and alcohol, and no matter what we do, it remains right there screaming, "Ouch!"

The more we run and say "No" to it, the louder the scream gets. It seems to haunt us, and if we choose to use drugs or alcohol to drown it out, it works temporarily, but soon the scream comes back even louder.

For others our pain is a shield or a badge of honor to carry around to show everyone. They relieve their stories over and over as they show their shields to all they meet. You might think they are listening to their pain, but they really aren't to what their pain is trying to tell them. They simply are addicted to their stories and love sharing them over and over again, so they can gather all the attention they need to feel validated.

We are a world that is addicted to the fear of our pain, and those fears are making horrible choices. We see it every single night on the news. We see it in our own families and relationships; the wreckage and destruction caused by the fears of our pain.

So what is our pain trying to tell us? "Ouch!" It is saying, "I am hurt, and I need you to help me heal it." When we ignore it, it festers and becomes an infection like any physical wound. It spreads into many areas of our lives. You might think that it is absolutely impossible to heal now and it is best to keep running. However, there is an antibiotic for these emotional and mental wounds, and it is the word, "yes."

Yes means that you are not running away, and you are choosing to believe in yourself. It means that you are standing in place looking directly into the eyes of your pain. Yes means that you are asking it what it needs to be healed. Yes means that you are beginning to listen to your needs and take your power back from your fears.

I ran for many years, and it got me no where. I thought the next curve in the road would reveal a much better life. However, that was a pipe dream. The moment that I stopped saying no to myself and found the strength to say yes, I knew that I could survive it. I listened, and I began to heal just in that simple act. I took the necessary steps to support my healing process that my pain told me it needed. Like physical pain I found the correct emotional and mental bandages that allowed my wounds to once and for all heal. Pain is a like the lighthouse on a foggy night. It is the light that will guide us to the exact place we need to be in order to heal.

What it all comes down to is the choice between two words: No and Yes. Which one will you say to yourself when you hurt? I challenge you to sit down with yourself with as much compassion as you would for a dear friend. Allow yourself to find forgiveness, love and a gentle place within your heart to find your way through this. Give yourself permission to be there for yourself.

Sleeping With The Earth

Last night I had a dream, and it's a dream that opened my eyes in a new way. In my dream I slowly sunk deep into the soil of the Earth. Instead of feeling scared, I felt safe. The Earth smelled of that Spring soil that I love to dig into after the winter thaw melts away. I saw seeds being planted and the roots emerge from the seedling as the sprout shoots through the Earth towards the sky. I saw how the roots took in nutrients to feed the sprout as it grew stronger and stronger, but I also saw how the roots gave back to the Earth; nourishing Her as well. Suddenly, I saw this seed planted deep into the Earth, but it grew differently. It seemed angry, painful...fear was in it. Instead of green, it was covered in a sludge. It spread rapidly. It grew at a pace that did not seem natural whatsoever. More and more of these seeds were planted, and it seemed like the healthier seeds were losing ground. They were malignant seeds planted by angry words, violent actions, greed, depression, and fear. Suddenly, the more healthy seeds descended into the soil, as if a collective healing thought was being planted, and I watched it take over all of the malignant seeds. The stronger and healthier the seed, the stronger it was against the malignancies. I saw it go back and forth several times, and if the malignant seeds seemed to be gaining strength, the Earth Mother would call in the rains, droughts, or shake; She would do whatever She needed to do to find balance. This was the end of the dream.

I believe this dream is showing the horrible emotional storms we are creating through vehement, personal attacks upon others simply because of our own fears. For me this dream is challenging me to become even more aware of my thoughts; that if I want to see the change, I need to live it by example.

I hope this all finds you well and in a good place....

Seeds of Life

While roaming around Ancestral Pueblo (Anasazi) sites, I saw this image....a hand extending out from a building offering corn seeds to me. I realized how each one contained knowledge and lessons for life. An entire story came in with this painting, which I am working on recording for the book...but this I can say...as a gardener, the mysteries of life are all revealed within the growth of a seed. I really have no idea what causes one seed to sprout and another to remain dormant. There are a few basic ingredients that I give it such as soil, sun, and water, but it is up to the seed as to whether or not it will grow. I always offer prayers that I was taught to say upon planting a seed. I was once asked, "What are you going to plant with that seed? What exactly do you wish to see grow?"

When it does sprout, I see how strongly it fights for life, how it reaches for Pappa Sky and how deeply its young roots grow into the Earth. I see how it accepts whatever help I may try to share with it. It doesn't say "no" or push me away. I also learn how I need to give it the space to do what it needs to do. If I crowd it, I could break its delicate stem. As it continues to grow, I become a witness to determination and flexibility. The spring winds here are so strong, yet the new plant doesn't lose its balance as it flows with the winds. I learn about creation as it reaches its goal and it blooms sharing its beauty with all of life. The bees, hummingbirds and butterflies all share in its bounty as do we. How can one not take joy in the beauty of a sunflower or the sweetness of corn?

These are a few of the things to think about....Will you take a seed of corn? If so, what kind of prayers or thoughts will you plant with that seed? What will you grow?