Aldo Safe & Sound

As we come to learn: nature takes no prisoners.

I’m walking back up the road from my mailbox check. It’s hot. This is the third week since my abscessed tooth exploded. The excruciating pain that had lasted nearly two weeks cannot be described. No narcotic painkiller. My brain is still mush.

As I approach my cabin under the fruit orchard trees, I see a small patch of bright aqua near the door. A young parakeet. We look at one another. He (blue nostril area indicates a male) flies up onto my finger. The high desert is a dangerous place for this little fellow. It looks as if he’s been through some hard days, but otherwise seems healthy.

I bring him into the cabin, which now fortunately has air conditioning. Sweetie Boy, my cockatiel, immediately perks up with a few sounds of—what’s this?

Fortunately, I have a small birdcage in the attic. I fill the water cup and then add smaller seeds from Sweetie Boy’s food in the other. My little visitor, with a bit encouragement, enters the cage where he falls asleep. I make a call to a neighbor to see if she knows of a bird rescue adoption outfit.

Meanwhile, I call my sister and tell her the story. She listens intently and then says: “Do you know what day this is?”

I’m puzzled.

“It’s two years today,” she says, “since Mommie died.”

I’m floored. How could I forget this date? And my compassionate mother Adele certainly loved birds.

I tell my sister that I trust I can find the bird a good home. I say, “He’s a boy. Can we still call him Adele?”

My sister says: “How about Aldo?”

“Perfect,” I say, knowing deeply that Aldo and Adele have made me feel much better. We are all God’s eyes and ears on earth.

Earth Memories

Whatever challenge you are facing, remember the words of the master: It is better to live in fulfillment than in hope.

You might recoil at this admonition. What could be wrong with hope? But, if you look at hope in the pool of awareness, you immediately see the gift of the master’s perspective.

After all, hope is not a strategy, nor is it a plan—and no amount of it ever produced a work of art.

Conscience of the Prince

While the ‘what is art’ debate continues ad infinitum, its time for individuals (artists and the public) to take back their power and appreciation of art from the incestuous sterile directives of institutionalism, dogma, and the commodities market.

Why? Art isn’t an elective in school; art directly mirrors our evolution; and art contains the answers we need to make life on earth a tribute and prayer to the Creator.

Don’t doubt me.

For the Band

Although we categorize modern art as beginning after World War II, our view of the modern artist began in 16th century Italy—where the role of the artist changed dramatically—from a nameless artisan for hire to an artist whose signature and individual expression became a source of collectibility.

From An Artist Empowered:

Historically, art hasn’t been perceived as an act of independence or self-expression, either. The archetype for the ‘modern’ artist who is appreciated for his unique vision started to take shape about 500 years ago during the Renaissance (rebirth) in Italy, and most conspicuously under the patronage of the Medici: the ruling family of Florence.

Prior to this unique flowering of art and connoisseurship, artists didn’t create a ‘personal’ art that was for sale in galleries or auctioned off for large sums to avid collectors. Artists were cataloged as workers; and their art, rather than an artifact devoted solely to pure contemplation, served some utilitarian purpose.

Sensei

While there is continuing controversy over beauty and truth in art, it’s heartening to know that some artists have figured it out for themselves.

In his 1973 documentary Painters Painting, filmmaker Emile de Antonio interviewed many of the figures, including Barnett Newman, who, after the Second World War, had fueled the abstract expressionism movement in New York City.

Barnett: “Yes, because many years ago at a conference in Woodstock that was held with a panel consisting of philosophers—esthetes, really, professors of philosophy, professors of esthetics—and artists, I declared that even if they were right, and even if they could build a system, an esthetic system that they could claim explained the activity, the creative activity, it would be of no value, because esthetics for the artist was as meaningful as ornithology must be for the birds.”