Tag Archives: heart

The Journal of Dreams 02/14/2010

Today is Valentine’s Day.  I woke up wondering where that all came from and it seems it comes from ancient Roman rituals, the customs of Victorian England and Saint Valentine.  It comes from Christian and Roman traditions and the Catholic Church recognizes three different martyred saints named Valentine or Valentinus.

One legend states that Valentine was a priest during the third century in Rome who secretly defied the orders of Emperor Claudius II when he ruled that single men made better soldiers than married men and Valentine performed “secret” marriages for which later he would be put to death.  

Another legend is that Valentine was placed in prison and fell in love with a young woman.  It is said before he died that he wrote a note to the love of his life and signed it:  “From your Valentine”.  That is where the phrase came from and is still used in modern times.

There are many stories and their ties are deep in Christianity, Catholicism, and the ancient Roman times.  Funny, I had never thought about it before and doubt I learned it in school but the stories are indeed inspiring and well worth the time to read.  http://www.history.com/topics/valentines-day

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The Journal of Dreams 01/29/2010

No wonder Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s heart was older than its time…

I understand.

Revelation \Rev`e*la”tion\, n. [F. r[‘e]v[‘e]lation, L. revelatio. See Reveal.]

1. The act of revealing, disclosing, or discovering to others what was before unknown to them. [1913 Webster]

2. That which is revealed. [1913 Webster]

3. (Theol.)
   (a) The act of revealing divine truth.
   (b) That which is revealed by God to man; esp., the Bible. [1913 Webster]

By revelation he made known unto me the mystery, as I wrote afore in few words. –Eph. iii. 3. [1913 Webster]

4. Specifically, the last book of the sacred canon, containing the prophecies of St. John; the Apocalypse or Book of Revelation or The Revelation of Saint John. [1913 Webster]

revelation

noun

1: the speech act of making something evident [syn: disclosure, revealing]
2: an enlightening or astonishing disclosure
3: communication of knowledge to man by a divine or supernatural agency
4: the last book of the New Testament; contains visionary descriptions of heaven and of conflicts between good and evil and of the end of the world; attributed to Saint John the apostle [syn: Revelation of Saint John the Divine, Apocalypse, Book of Revelation]

THE REVELATION PAINTING

~made known unto me the mystery~

Little was know what this all meant until today.  The core of this entire project shines into and around me.  The Revelation Painting has evolved from an originally religious painting to a painting which reveals truth in so many levels.  The truth of corruption and religion itself, the truth about power and its manipulation of humanity, the truth of how life is meaningless where the opportunity exist to make money and the true crimes against humanity occurring every single day!

Although it has “always been this way”, does it have to remain this way?  If a person was not born into wealth, does it make them any less of a human being?  This is the true core of the matter.  I tried to explain to a doctor once that the world is losing its humility, modesty and compassion for one another and he abruptly stated:  “We are human, we make mistakes.”  I thought:  “That is the biggest mistake of all; making excuses for ignorance as though that makes it unavoidable.”

Who, not what gives the wealthy of this earth the absolute right to make decisions which destroys human life?  It should be the other way around in a world where human existence has value.  Instead of having ten mansions that a person cannot possibly live in at the same time, it should be mandatory to forfeit minimally 10% of net income to a measurable cause.  Measurable, meaning the world see’s the effect and people truly benefit.

When you have some much money you can’t spend it, ten houses, 5 yachts, eighteen cars, and on and on, why not feed a child a piece of bread to give her strength to walk away from a vulture standing over her waiting patiently for her demise?  Why should any fellow human being have to endure that type of torture-EVER?  There are children in South Africa who don’t even know we have been to the moon…imagine.  In a way, that may be better, then they will never know how the world left them behind…our brothers and sisters.

They will never know how our greediness destroyed the earth and killed the dreams they never even knew they had…

In A World Not So Far From Your Own

In a world not so far from your own there is a distant rumble of horses’ hooves on cobblestone streets.
The spine chilling shrill of medieval swords mating in the moonlight conceiving justice and honor.
Beautiful souls seek desperately for the answers but haven’t yet asked the questions.

Murals depicting beauty and faith; angelic women fade from the walls of his castle.
Each season brings more unbearable heat and frustration…

The big fish, our brothers no longer sparkle in the twilight of the sea

as they did in their final rage.
Trees we planted, which in fact were faithful to the end are all gone now,
they house this realm we call technology.

In a world not so far from your own
ugly, hollow faces stare down on our children laughing at what we’ve left them:

No horses or swords to fight their battles, no forest to seek shelter,

no imagination from which to rebuild their dreams…
In a world not so far from your own.

The Journal of Dreams 01/23/2010

I was just thinking about calling my mother…she’s dead.  She died in 2006 unexpectantly.  I don’t know how many times I thought about calling her since then.  The day she died, I was living in Philadelphia and had been sick for 2 days, the flu or something and really bad laryngitis.  Feeling as though I couldn’t sleep anymore, and got up to start painting a picture for my daughter; the one I promised her for the past several years.  There was a specific photo of her I had in mind where she was wearing a velvet, olive-green, 1940’s short hat-the kind that just sits on the top of the head without sides and has mesh over the eyes to the lips.

I had started with the lips because I knew the detail of the mesh would be hard to do without messing it up.  Her painted red lips where a stark contrast to the olive-green of her eyes and the hat.  About 3/4 of the way through the lips I realized it was not that photo I had painted, it was someone else’s lips.  I continued to paint thinking I will paint my daughter’s painting after finishing this stranger I had found myself mysteriously painting.  I started thinking about the lips my mother used to put on napkins and give to us as children by pressing her painted lips against the soft paper.  They were kisses that were captured forever on the napkin that we could keep in our drawers, or books, or any place we wanted-forever.

The lips had evolved into almost the entire canvas, not leaving room for any other parts of the face.  I remember sitting there, smoking a cigarette, looking at the lips when the phone rang.  It was my father and he said:  “I don’t want you to crack up or anything but your mother is dead.”  I just kept saying:  “I know, I know, I know.”  I didn’t cry or feel shock.  I don’t remember what we said next, I just remember staring at the lips I had just painted.  Sometime after we hung up I realized I had starred at the lips for a while, wondering if my mother suffered at all and what exactly happened.  Then I realized I had been painting her lips at the moment she died…the kiss on the napkin that got bigger and bigger.

She was telling me goodbye through the skill that she had taught me, to paint.  She knew my great passion for painting and how more appropriate could it have been?  I named the painting:  MARY ANN’S LAST KISS and it rest comfortably in my private collection along with the other very special paintings which were given to me as gifts although painted by my hand.  Holy Mary is one-read about her on the home page and how she came to be at:  www.therevelationpainting.com.  The world is odd, things that happen are odd and I love these mysteries.  I miss my mother but know that she had a promise to fulfill for the time she was given.  If there is a God, he would not have let her leave if he thought she would not return.  She had an angel’s work to do.

The Journal of Dreams 01/07/2010

The black swirls are dry enough to highlight with Interference Blue but I can not find it.  Interference Blue is a white powder that when disturbed turns metallic blue.  For me it seems a color associated with heaven.  Tonight my daughter and I are heading to the craft store, I will look for it there.  In the interim, I will apply the human or synthetic hair to the black horse.  I can’t find that either…frustrating.  Out into the great wide open to find what I need…

We are back after roaming the entire city!  I found a synthetic black hair with silver in it, 18″ in length.  The human hair at that place was outrageous!  When applying synthetic hair you always have to be aware of heat applied.  I usually blow-dry the hair after applying sealer.  The distance is critical or the hair will try to turn into an afro as it shrinks.  I bought human red and blond hair for the red and pale horses.  They are in the distance and the hair can be much shorter.

This hair is different from what I am used to working with.  Usually I work with hair on a track,  This hair is one continuous 36″ piece that requires cutting in the middle.  It is crazy because I absolutely cannot stand for the hair to get stuck to my hands.  It sets off a panic within me as my fingers become intertwined with the binding hair.  After I work on this, I will write more this evening.  It is snowing out, so it is a perfect time to work on inside things.

The hair is in its place but I used far more than I wanted.  It covers the riders chest that I worked so hard on to make it look muscular and in correct anatomy…it was indeed a “pretty” chest.  The swirls within the horse’s body were created by mixing Yes paste (a thick, professional grade glue) and black acrylic paint.  I sealed them with hard wood floor polymer.  I suppose the evaporation of moisture from the glue made them shrink.  I would have liked the swirls to maintain their deep texture.

John, the carpenter said something very inspiring.  I was talking about the small army of black horses under the current horse and he said: “when they x-ray the painting, they will see all of those.  They always x-ray famous paintings”.  He must have been impressed.  I felt my cheeks flush up reminding me of the shyness I used to have before I grew distant and cold in my heart after becoming a nurse.  I should have done art all along, it is my true love.

I worked on the official website some more.  Updating the event board and coloring it is more appealing.  I placed clues to mysteries on some pages.  People keep calling me Sir, I suppose most people think I am a man and leaving it that way might just get me further faster.  The website allows 5 pages, so I purchased 5 extra for 10 total to make a store for prints and associated items.  I saw mugs, hats, t-shirts and all kinds of stuff which can be made.

Well, I work the next two days.  What it feels like is when you start to get the flu or a cold, when you feel achy and a little dizzy.  I’ve felt this way hundreds of times and know I am not getting sick, I am just tired.  This job ends on the 28th.  Twenty days and 12 shifts.  Imagine working a job where you count down the days until you leave several times a year, for years and years.  The gypsy in me misses the freeway I’ve traveled so many times.

I stand outside at work in the middle of the night smoking and listening to the freeway sounds and see the headlights calling me.  Sometimes I feel like just walking away and never looking back, then I stomp out my cigarette, take a deep breath and turn toward the door.  I pulled my shoulders back and say:  “One more year, just one more year.”  When I step through the doors and smell the “hospital smell”, I forget about my dreams…I am a dedicated little soldier.