I have a grandson that loves to tie ropes in and around trees and other objects on our property. They are works of art. The colors, the variety of ropes, straps, discarded hoses and yarn, as well as the objects selected, are surprising yet natural. I have never watched the process. He prefers to accomplish the work without spectators. I asked him why he does this and his answer was, “I was helping the tree let me to climb it. It needed to be that way. Sometimes I needed to hold things in place.”
Here is my take on his work and my translation of his then 8-year old statement. If the earth turned a little faster, we would fall off. Do we ever feel like we need to slow things down? Or tie things down? Or increase our mass by connection so we overcome the centrifugal force of the modern compartmentalized world? We all need something or someone to tie ourselves to or we are doomed to the perpetual insecurity of being flung off into the void. What we tie ourselves to informs our identity, purpose, efficacy, and self-value. As we daily face the whims and currents of the Zietgiest, we need to tie carefully.
Is my grandson's art a product of the social circumstances of the time? Is his art a reaction to the negative aspects of the zietgiest, a metaphor of his generation's quest for security, or just rope in trees?
Meaning Marketplace Scale: M--Significant meaning 66
(I will provide the scale in the next mid-month newsletter. It's not back from my graphic designer in time for this newsletter)
I have received quite a few requests for a hard copy of version of Conversations Among Butterflies. It is now available! Click here to purchase a hard copy. Available in digital form on Kindle, Nook, Kobo, and Smashwords.
“As she said the last words, she looked up and stared directly at Diego. The room was silent, but full of blushed smiles. Even Harold was overcome with the simple beauty of the event. He hadn't understood the conversation which led up to it, but what touched him was that he was here, present, during this intimate occasion. "This would never happen in the United States," he said quietly.
Consuelo whispered, "This hardly ever happens anywhere. I am so glad it happened in my home. I will be able to warm my hands with the fire of its memory for a long time to come."
Conversations Among Butterflies, chapter 19