A friend of mine has written a wonderful blog with a beautiful metaphor. I’d love to share it with everyone!
http://simpleblessings.blogspot.com/2007/11/jane-and-beanstalk.html
Her blog is on my blogroll, and I enjoy checking in with her often to see what she has to say!
I started reading William Shakespeare’s The Tempest today. It’s one of my old favorites—first it was a brilliantly illustrated comic book version that captured my fancy, and from there I went on to read the actual text of the play. As a teen, however, I must admit I found the text pretty dry.
Flash forward to today. Armed with an acquired appreciation for archaic language and some experience in reading it, I took a look at The Tempest and saw it through new eyes.
Dang, it’s good.
Somehow I always find myself amazed when I discover irony, humor, and romance within the writing of stories from hundreds of years ago. I just naturally expect the writing to be complex, wordy, somewhat proper, and devoid of any forms of romantic emotion. I can’t imagine how I came up with this presupposition, but I have it. It’s a good, thing, though, because I’m usually pleasantly surprised.
On the very first page of The Tempest, as I watched the magician Prospero share sharp, witty remarks with his amazingly intelligent teenage daughter, I did my same old double take. My first inclination is to wonder if someone translated the story into modern terms—but no, it’s all classic.
The wit and irony of Shakespeare’s conversations would rival the banter in today’s summer blockbuster movies. And the romantic fervor in the few words of his passages compares to entire novels filled with warm fuzziness.
For right now, my favorite quote of the evening fell from the lips of young Miranda, as she gazed upon the third man she had ever seen in her life. The first she ever fell in love with.
“I might call him a thing divine…for nothing natural I ever saw so noble.”
In here there be many tales to tell, says I…
Tide of Tales ACEO
This be me celebration for “Talk Like a Pirate Day”…arrr
They say dead men tell no tales…but live ones be sure to go on about their adventures…
A while ago I created an ACEO to commemorate the home run ball that broke Hank Aaron’s record. Since I wanted to have the artwork ready to go live as soon as the ball sailed into the air, I painted it a day in advance. Knowing that the Giants would be playing a home game, I was hoping that if Barry Bonds did indeed hit the home run, it would clear the walls of the park and come to rest in McCovey Cove—a happening that they call a “Splash Ball.” Being a fairy tale artist, I thought it would be cute if a mermaid was the one who wound up claiming the ball, while humans buzzed around in their boats, searching for it in the background.
Well, Bonds did in fact hit his home run the following day—but it wasn’t a Splash Ball. So I did what I could and entitled my piece, “#756—What If??” It sold to a collector, and everything was hunky dory. Oddly enough, Bonds’ very next homer sailed into McCovey Cove. I thought to myself, perhaps what this mermaid actually has is home run #757.
Well, in the news today, I see that the real home run ball #756 has been purchased by someone who plans to let the public decide the fate of the item. He has an online poll open, with three choices: 1: Brand the ball with an asterisk; 2: Launch it into space; and 3: Donate it to the Hall of Fame.
Bonds’ home run before that, ball #755, also sold to a person who will let the public decide what he should do with it. His poll has two options: 1: Destroy it; or 2: Donate it to the Hall of Fame.
It seems to me that home runs #755 and #756 have a slightly precarious position. The possibility exists that they might disappear off the face of this earth—literally.
Looks like the mermaid just may have caught the most valuable ball.
Now for the question—what would I vote if I voted? I think I’d use the same mindset I have for politics: I believe that the office of the President of the United States deserves respect, regardless of what one’s feelings toward the person in the office may be.
So I’d say send them to Cooperstown, out of respect for the game itself.
The other alternatives, however, may drastically increase the value of my ACEO.
It’s done!
“Mufaro’s Beautiful Daughters”
Size: ACEO 2 1/2 in. x 3 1/2 in.
Medium: Ink and watercolor on watercolor paper
See the Work-in-Progress steps here.
I absolutely loved the way this one turned out–the warm tones are a departure from my usual kaleidoscope of colors. I’m eager to paint more like this!
Since the fairy tale comes from Zimbabwe, I was inspired by the art of that country. Stone sculpture has always been a main art form there, so for the background designs of my piece, I took my cues from ancient stone carvings. One type of stone used in Zimbabwe’s sculpture is “serpentine”! I thought that was an amazing metaphor for the king in the tale. With that thought in mind, I tried to mimic the colors of serpentine stone with my paints. It’s a bit easier to see the shades of colors in person, but it still translates decently.
Our auction to benefit the rangers and mountain gorillas of the Congo is going strong! We have 85 listings already! It’s very exciting…I welcome everyone to stop by and take a tour of inspiring artwork!
Here’s a bit of background on the artwork I have on the work-in-progress board:
This will be the next installment in a series of hidden picture fairy tale art I have been doing. For the Art Helping Mountain Gorillas auction, what better tale to tell than one from Africa?
“Mufaro’s Beautiful Daughters” is a lovely fairy tale from Zimbabwe. It’s been called a Cinderella story, but a more accurate comparison would be to “Beauty and the Beast.”
In the tale, Mufaro is the father of two beautiful daughters: Manyara, who is attractive in appearance, but self-centered and unkind; and Nyasha, whose gentle beauty matches her compassionate heart. Mufaro’s daughters receive a summons to appear before the King, who has decided to take one of them to be his wife.
Eager to be queen, Manyara sneaks out in the night so that she may reach the King ahead of her sister. Along the way, a hungry little boy asks her for food; but she ignores him, thinking only of herself.
The following morning, her sister Nyasha accompanies the wedding party in its procession to meet the King. The same hungry boy makes his plea to the group, and kind-hearted Nyasha stops the procession so that she may give him food. When Nyasha is brought to the King’s chambers, she is suddenly surprised to see her sister run from the room in a panic. “There is a horrible monster inside!” Manyara cries.
Courageously, Nyasha steps into the room to see what her sister was so afraid of. Yet what she discovers is not a terrible monster–only a small garden snake that she recognizes as her companion from back home. Before her very eyes, her little friend transforms into the figure of a man—the King himself.
The King knew of Nyasha’s gentleness from her friendship toward a wild creature; and he knew, also, of her kindness toward the hungry boy. She was the beautiful woman—in face and spirit—that he wanted to have for his bride.
I feel that this story illustrates the purpose of the upcoming charity auction so well. Like Nyasha, so many beautiful souls are showing kindness and compassion toward their fellow human beings and toward the creatures of the planet, both through their artwork and their efforts to help. As we work together, let’s hope for a “Happily Ever After”!
~Christine Taylor
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I’m continuing a series of hidden-picture, storytelling art pieces. Thus far, I’ve completed “Beauty and the Beast” and “Sleeping Beauty”–and yesterday, I added the third card, which is “Thumbelina.”
Completely familiar with the story–like most people who grew up reading fairy tales–I still wanted to look up the original version to make sure I had my facts straight. No telling what a retelling will do to a fairy tale. What I discovered was a surprise.
In Andersen’s original story, pretty, tiny Thumbelina was kidnapped from home by a toad, who thought the little human would be the perfect bride for her son. With the help of friendly wildlife, Thumbelina escaped this fate–only to be captured again, this time by an enamored “cockchafer,” which is a type of beetle. The beetle’s peers, however, managed to convince him that the tiny two-legged creature was much too ugly for him to take as his wife, so he set Thumbelina loose in the middle of the wilderness. Alone, lost, and frightened to begin with, Thumbelina now also carried the memory of the words that the beetles had slung at her–”How ugly she is!” She wept to herself over the thought that she was so ugly that even the beetles did not want to have anything to do with her. When, all the while, as Andersen quotes, “she was really the loveliest creature that one could imagine, and as tender and delicate as a beautiful rose-leaf.”
Desperate to escape the elements, Thumbelina found shelter with a kind-hearted field-mouse. Yet even this friendship worked against her, for the field-mouse arranged a marriage between the girl and a rich old mole. When Thumbelina demurred, the field-mouse scolded her for being foolish, telling her that she was lucky the wealthy old mole would even have her, as she was poor and completely without prospects. Believing this, Thumbelina sadly resigned herself to her fate. Yet once again, a rescue came, as a result of her own good heart. While dwelling with the field-mouse, Thumbelina had saved the life of an injured swallow; just before her wedding, he returned, and offered to take her away with him as he flew South for the winter. Happily, Thumbelina agreed.
Love–true love–awaited her in the South. The swallow placed her among the flowers, where she found herself face-to-face with a winged man who was only a bit taller than she. He was the King of the Flower Dwellers. The King thought she was the loveliest creature he had ever seen, and told her so, instantly asking her to be his bride.
With awe–for she was immediately taken with the handsome King–Thumbelina agreed. She could see that he would be a “very different sort of husband” from the ones she had been faced with marrying before. The Flower Dwellers rejoiced, and brought a pair of shimmering wings for her, that she may fly among them. And her Lover gave her a new name, to better reflect the beauty that he saw in her.
Andersen has captured a poignant metaphor within this tale. How many voices in this world–both inside and outside our own thoughts–tell us negative things about ourselves? You’re not good enough…you’re not strong enough…you’re not attractive enough. You can’t expect the better things in life, so you should take what you can get and be satisfied with that. “Happily Ever After” is for the people in fairy tales. When we hear these things often enough, we start believing them. But, all the while, the real truth is within us–the truth that we are beautiful, and able to choose our own path in life. The truth that we’re worthy of love…and our own Happily Ever After.
Only when someone else sees that in us can we recognize it in ourselves. So take a look around. Tell someone the truth about themselves today. And know that the same holds true for you, as well.
I love hidden pictures. As an art enthusiast, I enjoy searching for them. As an artist, I can’t help drawing them into my work. My inclination is to incorporate meaning into the work through the use of symbolism and stories—in other words, hidden pictures. Even when I don’t intend to put them in, my subconscious is on overdrive, and causes me to incorporate them anyway.
Love looking for hidden pictures? You can take a glance through the examples of my artwork. Many, like “Beauty and Beast” above, have several pictures or meanings woven throughout the work. All my art these days, though, includes one particular hidden picture: the mousewords mouse.
You can find him in this art piece—he has a tendency to hide right out in the open, as it were, sometimes. Other times, he’s a bit harder to see. But he’s always there.
Robbie Burns was the poet who quoted the famous line, “Of mice and men.” His poem, “To a Mouse, On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With The Plough,” has been a long-time favorite of mine. I can often relate to the tiny character in the story.
A modern-day reader might do a double-take over the 18th-century Scottish writing, but the meaning endures—the best-laid plans of Mice and Men often go awry, and bring nothing but grief and pain where joy had been promised. Mr. Burns felt this, as he couldn’t help but “cast his eye” on the dreary past, and “guess and fear” about the future. I’m guilty of both, I’m afraid! But I shall try to be a bit more like the little Mouse—the present only touches her. Her well-laid plans for promised joy may have been uprooted and laid to waste; but after her first shock and sorrow, she gathers herself together again, and moves along, starting over elsewhere. It’s the only thing she knows how to do, but it’s a blessing of an example to her fellow-mortals.
Truly.
