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The Journal of Dreams 03/16/2010

The Revelation Painting

www.therevelationpainting.com

INTRODUCTION:

THE REVELATION PAINTING

La Pittura di Rivelazione

Overview: 12 feet tall x 40 feet long utilizing thirty 48″ X 48″ canvases. Twenty canvases are gallery wrapped, highest quality to withstand the test of time, six are custom birch wood, with holes drilled of various sizes and fully functioning doors on the backs. Four canvases are custom birch wood in order to carry the weight of over $140,000.00 of crushed precious and semi precious gemstones. The pearl gates are made from crushed Akoya, Japanese saltwater pearls! The painting incorporates thousands and thousands of dollars worth of highest quality Golden and Liquitex acrylic paints, 24K gold flake and leaf, and complete fiber optics set ups which illuminate God in a way never seen before in fine art. Customized sections of the painting give it the ability to move and bleed (Truth-The Hemorrhage of Pigs!), then returning to its natural state.

The painting initially appears as a religious painting alone, the final book of the bible, Revelation with seven magnificent scenes and sub-scenes labeled in various languages, yet underlying there is another painting of politics and corruption. Within the painting is the ancient and ongoing battle of good v.s evil, mysteries and messages embedded within the artwork which are not readily visible. The making of this painting has spanned nearly 16 years and is estimated to be released 2014-2015. Upon the painting’s release, a stunning revelation will be revealed which ties this painting to current world events which was not discovered until 09/2009. Two other unknown mysteries of Revelation were also uncovered while creating this painting and have been missed throughout history! Please see the blogs for more detailed information about the making of this historical work of art created by one artist, and the photos as they are updated.

Upon the release of The Revelation Painting seven journals will also be released within 2015-2016 which give an unusual first hand look inside the mind of an artist while visualizing and detailing each scene revealing the trials and tribulations of aspects required to make the painting. The Journal of Measures (and Numbers) details not only the transition of moving an idea to giant size, it also covers odd events regarding numbers associated with the painting. The Journal of Sketches reveals artwork from the conceptual stages and beyond. The stones used in the painting are discussed in a journal named: The Stones, and Truth-The Hemorrhage of Pigs! talks about the section of the painting which bleeds.

Within The Journal of Acknowledgement participants are given an opportunity to express information to the world! World-wide exposure to the arts in many regions dealing personally to obtain supplies for this historical painting. My endeavor is to help bring knowledge around the globe of not only the beauty of arts all over the world but to help people understand that profound inspiration exist in a world not so far from their own! My first stop…Africa!  With global participation in The Revelation Painting for the past twelve years there has been silent participation from all over the globe to complete this work of fine art; what I consider to be a “global effort”. The ultimate endeavor is to bring a sense of unity through visual peace by bringing to light the beauty of natural resources, therefore the people of that region or area. Mysteries of Revelation which have pulled at the threads of many genius human beings are revealed within the painting as well.

Seven journals will accompany this massive work of art. Nothing like this has ever been done in art or the history of mankind! My Creative Influences & Favorite Artists, The Philosophy of the Revelation Painting: Philosophy is the study of general and fundamental problems concerning matters such as existence, knowledge, values, reason, mind, and language distinguished from other ways of addressing fundamental questions (such as mysticism, myth, or the arts) by its critical, generally systematic approach and its reliance on rational argument. The word “Philosophy” comes from the Greek φιλοσοφία [philosophia], which literally means “love of wisdom”.http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/PhilosophyAs noted in the definition of philosophy: A simple and profound question to ask yourself is simply, why am I here? The Revelation Painting helps to bring to light an answer to that question by subjecting the viewer to a combination of factors that overlap in the world we live in. In order to see why we are here, we have to see the world around us. There is a significant difference in “seeing” and understanding, it is a global effect. We can look at every single detail but miss the entire forest because of the trees. To understand, for example how the forest survives, you must understand the delicate balance of life but you cannot think that you understand if you do not see the “big” picture, otherwise it is no less than walking around blind with 20/20 vision!

How the problems in the philosophy are addressed throughout The Revelation Painting is approached through certainly what would be termed an unconventional route. Artist throughout history have used their talent to help their audience see life through a perspective very different from what they are accustom. People are attracted to the different view of the world gazing through the artist’s eyes mainly because it is an escape from the world they are used to or literally trapped within. The world of imagination can take anyone as far as they would like to go whether it is by their own hand, or that of an artist. Often times an artist’ endeavor is to connect with the viewer.

Difficulty arises through expression whether it be an idea, placing a shadow correctly within a work of art, or most often bringing an idea to reality. Historically the renowned artists are those who were able to achieve a connection with people through their art and master the difficulties associated, hence the “Masters”. The Revelation Painting’s effort to master difficulties of projecting ideas to vision and within the painting is a core network projecting the delicate balance of life in an unconventional manner. The blogs, journals and information associated with the painting was designed to help the viewer understand the complexity of the unseen network within the forest of this massive painting.

 

The Journal of Dreams 02/08/2010

Tired but happy I have a job and able to pay the bills.  The last 6 months of 2009 was bad for nursing work believe it or not which put me behind.  It is a wake up call for me to realize that even the people who know how to save a life are not really guaranteed work.  Too many times in the past year I have been close to homeless.  I figure I am earning the last part of this struggle through life in a hard way.  There are two reasons for it.  My education was most certainly through the School of Hard Knocks.  I have always been that way for me; resistant and rebellious.

The second reason was brought to light by my old father when he told me one time:  “Never forget your raisens,”  Which translated means “never forget where you came from no matter where you go in life or what you do.”  I have forgotten that before but not for a long time and often I have said truthfully that I lived better, had more control of my life and finances, and felt happier working at McDonald’s.  I knew when I worked, what would happen, what I would do, when I got off and when I got paid.  Often times I thought about going back to a job where I had time for the people. 

It seems hard to believe for the average bear but when you make more money, your life changes and you need more money and when you get paid daily, you really get screwed up because there is always some money in your pocket unless there is no work.  So the money you spend the day before frivolously, just might be the money you need to pay the light bill.  And for the back to the people part of it, being a nurse is like herding cattle.  You do not feed the sick and weary souls or your own soul, you feed the machine.

So why don’t I take a full-time job after 17 years?  Well it all started 17 years ago when I went on a quest to find a home, a job where I would feel happy and make friends…a life.  Seventeen years later and so many cities I lost count (maybe 200 or more), I still haven’t found a home.  I work hard, I do what is right, I am a team player and will break my back to do what need to be done but I cannot tolerate the bullshit of it all, blatant disrespect or one thriving off the others, like the machine.

When I went to nursing school, just as it is now, you are taught that it is a professional and respectful career.  If only one nurse or instructor had told me the truth of the matter, I may have been a doctor (although it is not much better than nursing), but most likely a lawyer.  My life would have been totally different.  Two years after I became a nurse I looked into medical school.  I had a plan to work in the mountains of West Virginia and provide healthcare to the poor by house calls and be paid by whatever they could afford. 

Before I became a nurse, I was shy, smiled all the time and my face turned red when I talked to people.  Now my face turns red in anger, I never smile, everything tears me up that deals with abuse of the system, the country, the people of the world.  It is my fault but I was a first generation college student, excited to find out I wasn’t as “stupid” as I thought I was and realized I had a chance.  It was one of the times I jumped from the frying pan into the fire without making an informed decision or evaluating my options.  It was all on me to figure it out.

Maybe the anger comes with growing up, but somehow I don’t believe that.  Maybe it is post traumatic stress disorder…I have seen a lot of real life things that belonged on Hellraiser or some other horror flick.  I work 13-15 hours (including to/from work), take an hour or so to go to sleep and chronically am deprived of sleep.  I know I don’t eat right, sometimes not at all in a 12.5 hour shift, just drinking Mountain Dew (a lot of nurses drink Mountain Dew, it is funny how they made “Code Red”…similar name to Code Blue)…Well, seven days until the new job starts.

The Journal of Dreams 02/02/2010

It is Groundhog Day today and the sun isn’t up yet.  I love winter but not when my life is unstable.  The cold and dreariness makes it difficult to step out of the house.  I haven’t worked in several days and fear of the future is wearing thin.  Often times I wonder if my life is so difficult because I seem to live it against the grain.  My motivation is sinking…not depression just tired-tired of thinking and thinking.  My mind is on an endless rollercoaster ride that never stops.  Sometimes when it is bad like this, I seek religion.  Today I will buy a medallion of St. Michael, the Archangel to protect me from negativity, to protect The Revelation Painting, and to help me shake these bad feelings of being conquered.  Believe it or not, sometimes I think about tearing up the canvases of the painting and leaving it all behind.  It must be the gypsy in me that has forever kept me moving.  It is true that a rolling stone gathers no moss.  At least if I were working, taking care of people, I would feel better.  I miss the people.

The Journal of Dreams 01/22/2010

Da Vinci was a brilliant man and a trickster apparently.  I think he spent a lot of time amusing himself.  Definitely he was ahead of his time.  That is what I am wondering about today.  Why are some people “ahead” of their times?  There is a simple philosophy I discovered some time ago when I tried to understand the who, what, when, where and how of us as human beings.  What I came up with was that we are products of all of our interactions and experiences.  How could we be more than that if we never experienced it or learned it?  In DaVinci’s case it was imagination which allowed him to cross the boundaries of technology, to create flying machines in his mind and apply them to paper.  Of course he had to have some understanding of flight and gravity as well as other understanding of the things he built.

What about poets who write about things they have not experienced and the use of words that they never have used and do not know what they mean?  Where did that come from?  I wonder about the transition between life and death.  Just because we do not physically see a body anymore when someone dies, does that mean that they are not here with us?  What I have learned as a trauma nurse is that a body is a heavy burden to carry.  It only houses our spirit and our soul.  Even from the day we are born, this physical body is heavy for us regardless of its weight.  Imagine if your spirit was a fleeting light which darted from place to place too fast for the human eye to catch it?  It seems right when talking about the bright light of God and that we were created in his image doesn’t it?  Haven’t you ever seen something from the corner of your eye only to turn and it is gone?

What if that is a spirit that our physical bodies aren’t fast enough to keep up with and that our physical brains chalk up to impossible because it does not have the capability to understand it, something like a self-preservation mode.  If it seems illogical, then the brain rejects it.  What is that we see from the corner of our eye?  Also, if you have ever noticed that when you are extremely tired, it is then that those things become more clear.  Sometimes when I am exhausted, when I wake up for the first few minutes when I move my arms, it is like a trail of arms because the mind cannot keep up with the movement.  It is like drawing a picture which changes ever so slightly on the page corners of a book.  When you fold the pages back and let it flip, it creates a movie.

Our brain may be fast enough when it is rested, but what when it is tired?  Do we see the individual pieces which make the whole picture?  How do I not know at this very moment, that there aren’t spirits surrounding me watching me work?  Just because I cannot see it, it does not mean that it isn’t so.  How do we know that DaVinci didn’t sketch those flying machines through a guided hand of a spirit?  We do not.  Often times people say I think too much.  They are only seeing the waking part of my thinking.  If they saw the sleeping part of my thinking (my dreams), they would wonder how I survive at all!  How do we know that we are not someone reincarnated?  How do we know that we do not come back over and over just to experience all the things we didn’t understand the first time around?  Where does Deja vu come from?

Circle of Seven

 Would it be marvelous to save this old and weary soul?

 Shadows dance aimlessly toward its demise. Visionless of what we have and limitless in belief it will never end, we seem to anticipate a brighter explosion of tomorrow through darkness of yesterday’s eyes.

 Mumbling voices echo, hit their knees for the first time. Prayer trickles through empty corridors as a soul begs to be set free. Physical limitations crushing, override the spirit. So it creeps in, this thing called destiny.

 No sadness lingers at lifetime’s edge, no mystery unraveled, or story to tell. Only the tempting call of affirmation and worth when ones standing are left behind, as the soul rises from its heavy shell.

 Shadows move closer to graciously accept, the soul dances weightless within the heaven-bound circle of seven. Rejoicing tears splash on earth mimicking soft rain as the old, weary soul travels gently toward heaven.

The Journal of Dreams 01/16/2010

The Pale Horse according to my theory is the representative of the Mongoloid race which according to the origins of races began in Asia and crossed to the Americas by a giant ice bridge a long time ago.  When I researched the four primary races I was shocked to learn that we in America, who I thought we Caucasoid were actually Mongoloid.  

It makes sense that a hair dresser once told me that I had a double crown on the nap of my neck like people of Asian decent.  I carried that mystery with me for a long, long time wondering about it and my ancestors.  The most I really know about myself only dates back to my great, great grandparents and before their existence in America is unknown.  

I used the website www.ancestry.com and it took my name back to the Scottish people but it was a different name than now.  There is a photo of a Native American woman my father has that he stated was his grandmother.  She was a strong, big woman with long black hair.  My father remembered little about her in the way of facts but remembered she was “an Indian”.  

My father said she had breathing problems and washed her hair with salt because the water would make her sick (whether it was the water or not is unknown).  He said she would rub salt into her hair and make it shiny black.  He also remembered that she smoked cigars.  I wondered how common it was for women to smoke cigars back in the day.  

I had an aunt that had the same big-boned, powerful presence with long, black hair who died relatively young with Lupus.  Often time we inherit the diseases of our ancestors and it may have been Lupus that the great grandmother had which can affect the lungs since it is an autoimmune disorder where the body attacks it’s own connective tissues.  

Long ago, when I was in my early twenties, I remember walking past a mirror and for a split second I saw my grandfather’s face in my face, just for a split second.  I realized that we shed pieces of ourselves through our seeds until we have nothing left to shed; we give ourselves away and never really die, we are within our children, their children, and so on.  

When I was young, I imagined God created people on something like an assembly line and had to draw people very fast.  Sometimes he would forget an arm or leg, or other things that made people “whole” and that was why some people were deformed or died at birth.  It is funny how our minds work when we are young as we seek answers.  

As long as I can remember, I always sought answers to the things I did not understand.  I like to think I have an analytical mind.  We I stepped out of the protection of the small neighborhood I was raised in and into the big city I saw homeless people, the big money skyscrapers of corporate America and there seemed such a mismatch of power.  I began to write poetry:  

Answer Me! 

  

Secrets of a million minds pulling together; a force of one Answers to riddles begin to fall in place
Answers are not allowed here!  

Fear sets in amongst the strong
Confidence corrupts the timid
The world is turned upside down, yet only for a moment
Then sweet, sweet silence… 
Interrupted 
Laughter bellows from the city walls
Dark alleyways summon you by name
The secrets of a million minds whisper softly down cobblestone streets
Answers are not allowed here!  

Sunlight cannot reach the homeless
Towering masses of brick and mortar shadow their existence
Their “mere existence”
Such angry hatred dances on wicked fingertips down cobblestone streets 
And the tear stretches down
Like fire, it burns from the soul
Eyes upturned, begging for answers
Secrets of a million minds, although as loud as thunder
Whisper too silently to hear the answer
For, answers are not allowed here!  

The Journal of Dreams 01/13/2010

I started finishing up the black horse rider, Martin Luther King Jr., today.  Initially The Revelation Painting was a religious painting but in September 2009 I discovered information on the internet which would change all that.  Upon searching for investment gemstones and gemstone for the painting, I stumbled across information about The New World Order.  What I found devastated me!  Digging deeper into the plan for world dominance, I saw information about concentration camps being built here in the U.S., train cars with human shackles, coffin liners which hold entire families and I felt panic, and sick to my stomach.

I didn’t work for a week, up day and night reading this stuff.  I dug deeper and deeper into truth or lies…I had to know if it was real or not.  Somewhere along the line, I came upon John F. Kennedy’s assassination and the U.S. Treasury.  It seemed JFK had taken the American people’s money away from the U.S. Treasury and created Silver Certificates.  The money was backed by our silver, not the private bankers money of the U.S.Treasury (which is by the way NOT a government agency).  Kennedy signed executive order 11110 and five months later was killed and the money control was given back to the bankers!

It made sense to me.  Money is power all over the world.  I watched video after video of Kennedy’s assassination and how he was shot in the neck, a definite “death shot” and the head.  As a nurse, I knew that a shot to the head or neck would most likely end in death.  On one of the sites I was looking at, it discussed leaders who had been assassinated and Martin Luther King Jr., was there.  I started to read about his assassination and how he was also shot in the neck, and I thought WOW, what a similar coincidence!  Several days and nights passed while I read and researched, feeling all along that the more I dug, the more I uncovered.

After about a week of constant internet, taking naps, barely eating and only getting up to pee, I realized that Martin Luther King represented the black horse in carrying the scales of balance; the balance of equality and justice and that he had paid the last sacrifice for it…his life.  It was a time closer to me than today.  When I was in school, we were the students who were sent into the Africa-American neighborhoods to go to school, housed in trailers and separate buildings.  Our once “white” classes had become black and white.  Anger filled the air from both sides and even within the classes groups segregated.

Teachers spoke arrogantly and drilled equality into our heads while all the time fear permeated in their eyes waiting for a riot or rebellion but it never came.  After time, we blended into one but many straight A students began to fail, some dropped out and it was a high price to pay for the good of the world.  Lives were changed forever and destinies were altered.  It is funny when I look at America today and the subtle separations in the work place and even video stores where “black” music and movies are separated from others, where especially when Obama was elected how it black this and white that was and still is the core of subjects.

Race should never be brought into subjects which include the nation as one, as a whole.  I do not think about those times in a negative way, although I was one of the straight A students who dropped out of school in 12th grade.  As an adult, I look back on that time and feel proud that I had an opportunity to be a part of a changing history, even if a high price was paid for it.  Those students were never mentioned and the effects it had on us as productive members of society were never mentioned either.  We were the ghost of change that no one saw, that no one remembered, yet we never forget.  Subtle segregation destroys our sacrifice and the many years it took to become regrouped into life and pick up where we were left behind.

I wondered about the end of the world, how this New World Order “take over” played a role in the painting.  I saw so many similarities and began to see the Four Horsemen as segments of time, that their colors represented races of people, then from my medical training, I saw that the four primary races were the same colors as the Four Horsemen and that time was passing in the same way as they were ordered:  White (Caucasoid), Red (Australoid), Black (Negroid) and Pale (Mongoloid).  As you can imagine, I thought I was going insane!  Had I uncovered the ultimate mystery?  Was this the meaning of the Four Horsemen?  There is another mystery I uncovered about the world and I realized destiny.

From childhood, this dream and nearly everything I’ve experienced has tied into the painting.  My rebellion, disappreciation for life and learning valuable lessons, to have the humble and sacred opportunity to look into someone’s eyes when they are dying and seeing beyond the physical or material and into the core of a soul.  The two most things that have affected me as a nurse were with old, African-American women.  I worked in a cath lab where they run a scope through the groin and into the heart to see of you have any blockages.  There was an old, woman who had chest pain and needed the scope.  She was afraid, like intuition.  She didn’t want to have the procedure done.  I respect that in people because often times something happens.

I had spent extra time with her trying to ease her fear.  The doctors called for her and I walked over to her bed.  I said:  “The doctors are ready, everything will be alright.”  Her pupils were dialated in flight or fight, the ultimate sign of fear…she didn’t say a word.  I leaned over to kiss her cheek and she grabbed a little gold cross I wore on my neck and held me there, close to her.  She was staring at the cross, still not saying a word.  A tear rolled from the corner of her eye, she looked into my eyes and I knew she trusted me and even more so, she trusted that cross.  I took it off and placed it in her hand and she was wheeled away.  Was that moment for her or me?  Did she teach me about faith that day?

The other woman was in the emergency room, she was old and I mean old!  She was over 100 years old.  I remember thinking of all the things she’d seen in her life, all the changes and what she had to have been through.  It became very busy and she was left waiting for a room upstairs.  After about 2 hours, I was going to look in on her,  I walked toward the curtain pulled around her bed and saw through a crack in the curtain her curled up body, hunched over holding a huge magnifying glass in one hand and something else in the other.  I thought:  “What is she looking at?”  As I got closer, I saw it was one of those little New Testaments.  She was reading the bible and it was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen!

A smile slowly crept across my face in the middle of a war zone emergency room.  Everything stopped for those few seconds and I stood in awe staring at her.  I imagined how absolutely huge those words were to her eyes with that gigantic magnifying glass.  I walked up to her bedside and read through the looking-glass with her.  She was reading Psalms.  I wished I had paid better attention to exactly where she was reading.  There was probably a message there for me but in my haste I missed it.  But I remembered that day, I remembered her and I will never forget that it was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.