A series of essays....
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| "THE SCREAM" BY EDVARD MUNCH |
Courtesy of www.EdvardMunch.org
....as seen through my eyes!
By: Jacqueline E. Hughes
AMERICA’S ELEGY?
For: The Administration of Donald John Trump
This is where the underlying sound builds into
a familiar cadence, grows slowly, gently pulsing,
and millions sway in union, in dignity and truth,
to celebrate a death, a new life, or both along their path.
This is where we hear the subtle sound vibrating in our ears
as the sunset bursts with shades of orange and red
and the air has turned to blood pulsing, pulsing,
indicative of a roiling wave of light that changes colors.
This is where the haunting beat picks up the pace
and the people begin to march to a different drummer.
This is where the skies return to a distinct shade of blue,
hearts shift their heavy loads and become softer, lighter.
This is where the people decide to honor life once again,
bring in hope and sunlight instead of fear and hate
and say ‘rest in peace’ to a situation meant to harm us—
living the way our forefathers called on us to understand life.
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| CAPTAIN AMERICA WANTS YOU TO VOTE! |
Courtesy of brodiehbrockie
The rain has dissipated. Listening to the occasional ‘ping’ of the droplets that fall on the roof from the variety of golden leaves hovering over our ‘Little Cottage’ is all that remains of the recent deluge. Waking-up to the heavy sounds of rainfall an hour ago, in the dark, chilly, early morning shadows, required me to snuggle into my makeshift robe (an oversized, gray, cotton shirt), collect my i-Pad, and move to my favorite writing spot. The clock above the fireplace has recently ‘bonged’ its five-thirty alarm.
Many of us have been giving some serious thought about the current world we live in and reflecting on what has been, is, and what could be in store for our future, depending upon which shade of wave might be hitting us next Tuesday.
Need I wonder at all why shivers run down my arms as I sit here in my repurposed space, stacked stone fireplace a gaping black hole across the room, screaming at me in the early morning hours? Entering the mind of Edvard Munch, the Norwegian Expressionist artist, born in 1863 and died in 1944, this early in the day can be very frightening. It might set a less desired tone for the coming weekend. I don’t want that to happen. Sunday marks my day of birth...so many years ago now that time seems to be overlapping itself, like the curtains at the center when closed; like the grandchild’s eyes that resemble my own and hold the secrets of the universe in their bottomless depths.
I recall researching Munch and the multiple versions of his popular work, The Scream, for a story I wrote several years ago. The death of his Mother when he was five, the death of his sister when Munch was thirteen, and the emotional loss and support by his Father who fell into a deep depression following his own great losses, Munch defined in his most iconic work how we see ourselves today, wracked with anxiety and uncertainty, often plagued by our own internal fear and doubt.
"My fear of life is necessary to me, as is my illness," he once wrote. "Without anxiety and illness, I am a ship without a rudder....My sufferings are part of my self and my art. They are indistinguishable from me, and their destruction would destroy my art."
Why is it impossible for me to relinquish the hold that this sad yet extremely brilliant man has on me? So often tragic circumstances that happen at the most vulnerable moments of our lives can set the precedent that shapes our future and makes us who we are as adults. Munch seemed to think so. If fear of life is necessary for some people to feel alive and productive, so be it. Do not drag me down into the blackish depths of despair along with you. I have much better things to accomplish during my few, short years here on earth and there is, quite simply, no time for nonsense! Celebrating yet another year of life makes one more aware of the truth.
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| WHAT IS A 'SPECIAL DAY' WITHOUT IRISH FLOWERS? |
I recall a time as a young writer when I believed that my best work was written under the dark cloud of sorrow and pain. Happiness was a stumbling block when it came to being a creative person. Really? Was a wayward college professor of mine going through a bad divorce or something? Soon after college I discovered that, in a sense, this philosophy would become truth as I happily married at twenty-two and we began our family soon afterward. My writing became fifth or sixth in line of importance. Fortunately, I wrote in my daily journals and kept-up with my travel notes, all of which have become so important to me today!
Within the past two years many people have discovered or, at least, become much more aware of the hatred, intolerance, and racist attitudes thrust upon us by others; even among the people we work with or live nearby and thought we knew so well. That’s quite disturbing when you think about it. All of the anger, hate, fear, and raw emotions have surfaced because there is no longer a governor on these human machines, holding them back or keeping them reined-in within this current political climate.
Then again, just maybe...we need to know where we stand, where others stand, especially when it comes down to how we treat and respect other human beings!
I do hear the sounds of the people today! I hear a low, underlying sound that continues to build into a familiar cadence, growing slowly, gently pulsating, yet rising, rising to the surface with each breath that is taken and every speech that is spoken and every march that is stepped in order to unify us and retain our basic rights. It was brought to life as a small-scale dirge, a mournful song honoring the death of ‘stupidity and greediness’ and has grown into a movement carried along by the flow of peace and the rhythms of a giant wave crashing headlong into a crimson wall of hatred and separation.
My hope and belief is that Munch’s painting of a sexless, twisted, fetal-faced creature, with mouth and eyes opened wide in a shriek of horror will not haunt me any longer. My dreams will become softer, lighter, and less wracked with anxiety and uncertainty. Such Joy! Such Peace!
And, if I am good, if I am very, very fortunate, and if all Americans eighteen and older take advantage of their precious obligation to vote on Tuesday, November 6....then, I will receive two of the most precious gifts possible this year, for my Special Day....the gift of Common Sense and the gift of Love. Who could ask for anything more?
Vote on Tuesday if you haven’t already via early voting or absentee ballot. Vote as if your life depended upon it.....and, it does! VOTE...!
I want to wake-up on Wednesday morning smiling, observe older couples holding hands in the park, watch people laugh with one another in the local market, and...see all of us giving someone else a helping hand when needed. Together we can make all of this happen again!
Copyright © 2018 by Jacqueline E. Hughes
All rights reserved
