Neon Jungle

NEON JUNGLE

Far from the highways that scar her body she wears his Halo runs into the never 

These lands are young where waters kiss sacred creatures eternal masses Fires cool the tempted flames dance divine our thoughts arise serpents from the abyss In the setting distance sacred ones circle feathered hearts of life's vibration Release your life force impale me with time take my thoughts leave me only dreams. 

'The Icaro of the Black Robin' by Regan O'Callaghan'Neon Jungle' by Cal AthanThis poem and artwork and more can be found in the book "The Sway"

Cosmic Snakes and Ladders

The jungle speaks in so many ways!

So what were my intentions for travelling to the Amazon, Peru?  I left the leafy suburbs of West Hampstead early December flying first to the U.S where I spent a wonderful month in California which included leading an art workshop for the festival of Our Lady of Guadalupe at St. James Episcopalian Church, Oakland, California.  The art scene in Oakland is fantastic! On the first friday of every month Art Murmer  stages an evening of open studios, galleries and workshops, music, food and entertainment in closed off streets in the city.   The creative buzz is contagious and I was especially inspired by Creative Growth Art centre  which serves adults with developmental, mental and physical disabilities. Absolutely amazing work!   I visited lots of galleries and museums in L.A and San Francisco and spent quality time with dear friends.  The month went by rather quickly and before I knew it I was on a plane to Peru where the Amazon beckoned.

I didnt stay at my first port of call Lima but headed straigth up to Iquitos and a trip down the Amazon River to the Refugio Altiplano. I had stayed at the lodge before and so was looking forward to my time.  Not surprisingly I got sick while there!  The city in this gringo was strong!  Bad spirits said the shaman after a night walk in the jungle.  Two days in bed and regular visits and good care by the shaman and I was better!

Ten days later  I caught a flight to Tarapoto and then a 45 minutes journey in a crammed taxi down a dirt road to the small village of San Roque de Cumbaza, home to 8oo people, 3 churches, friendly people and Sachaqa Art Centre my home for the next 2 and a half months. Here I was warmly welcomed by Trina, Daniel, Jacob, Grace Jones the cat and Arcoeides the Golden Labrador.

Sachaqa which is Quechuan for "spirit of the forest" is an artist residency.  I had come hoping to learn about natural pigments found in the region and other natural materials and be inspired by the Amazon.  One of my first experiences was a visit to Chazuta a small town a few hours away.  Famous for its handmade crafts, I was also planning to collect small stones from the river to make into pigments but the rain had other ideas.  However I did see some of the work of the locals including a visit to a small museum of ancient ceramic burial pots.  It is here I learned about the "The Stepped symbol and the Wave".

This symbol which I drew a copy of is one of the most recuring symbols in the iconography of the region including the Northern Andes.  Studies about the steps and spiral especially from the iconographic point of view seem to indicate that the symbol represents a close relationship between life and death (1).  Which made sense of why it is found on the ceramic burial urns. It also intrigued me due to my love of the Koru a Maori symbol of eternal life.   Chazuta is also a community in which traditional medicines is deeply rooted including use of the plant medicine Ayahausca  or "vine of death".

Even within my short time in the jungle it was easy to see why a symbol of life and death would be so relevant.  The constant rhythm of the jungle reveals an ongoing life and death drama!  From the quick lives and easy deaths of million of insects, the constant falling and rotting leaves,  to the local river which had washed away villagers during flooding after heavy downpours, death was ever present.  But so was life.  The crops of coffee and banana on steep hillsides were a reminder of the people etching out a living in what could be a harsh environment.   The creativity of the people and their crafts a powerful symbol of strength and perseverance.  The women ceramists of Chazuta's deep rooted belief in ancient traditions and crafts are seen as a resilient force even when the town was plagued by drug trafficking and violence. The leaf cutting ants even made me think of how amazing life is! And the huge variety of life in the jungle from the beautiful Azul butterfly that wafts past everday to the birds, and plants and animals and stars at night.

I had begun to understand that my time in the amazon was going to be so much more than just learning about natural pigments. I also sensed the jungles whisper was going to challeenge me to a some wild experiences and that my boundaried inner cityscape would be quickly overgrown and made moist by an ever expanding jungle.  I dont for a moment believe life is a board game but lifes ups and downs its joys and sorrows its passions and disappointments seem intensified in the jungle. So what next for this priest/artist?

1. "Chazuta Arte Ancestoral" J. Barta Del Castillo & A. Narvaez Vargas. Reg. Gov. of San Martin. 2000 pg. 61.www.stjamesoakland.comwww.oaklandartmurmer.orgwww.creativegrowth.orgwww.sachaqacentrodearte.com  

I Heard the Trees Sing and the Stars Laugh

Dear Friends,"I Heard the Trees Sing and the Stars Laugh"A collection of writings and art work in full colour by Regan O'Callaghan.£9.95 (not including postage or packaging)Please click on the image below to purchase a copy.Many thanksRegan 

In Love with an Old Woman

Regan O'Callaghan Mojacar la Vieja Andalucia, Spain, art residency

The old woman wasn’t subtle in her approach.   Her method of seduction quick, her spell intoxicating.    I saw her on the first day of my arrival at the Fundacion Valparaiso Mojacar, she seemed to exude an energy that at times felt overwhelming.  The old woman of Mojacar was not to be ignored.    She reminded me of someone else, perhaps it was Tuahara the pregnant woman who I had grown up with in Taupo, New Zealand.  The old woman had a similar presence majestic and mysterious at the same time.   Like Tauhara I began one of a number of journeys to her peak.  At the top an old reservoir constructed by the Moors  sank deep, empty of water but now full of plants and vines.  La Vieja had once been the hill upon which rested the village of Mojacar but that was a long time ago and now the town with its whitewashed buildings and empty hotels looked down on her from the opposite larger and higher hill.   But unlike that hill the old woman still had presence, a magnetic force which drew me to her everyday.

Regan O'Callaghan Mojacar la Vieja , Mountain, mono prints, Art residency, snake

From my studio I had a clear view of her pyramid like shape inspiring me to draw and paint her.   The studio contained an old printing press and so for the first time in many years I experimented with mono-prints rolling out vibrantly coloured pictures which spoke of her life, the animals which lived on her, the fires which had swept over her, the sun that beat down and the stars that shone above.

But more than anything I wished to speak about what she meant to me.  About the time I climbed and sat praying for a friend who had died while a fellow resident played his beautiful music inspired by the peaks of the Andes.    Of how I had been moved to carry up water and fruit to offer thanks for her, pouring the water into the dry reservoir and leaving the fruit for her kin.  How her moonlit shape had etched itself into my mind encouraging me to create so that others could see and give thanks for her, for her beauty and for her spirit.    Indeed Mojacar la Vieja had me under her spell and when the day approached to depart I felt sad and mournful.  One last climb in the middle of the day the sun was hotter than it had been all month.  I gave thanks for the sun bleached snail shells, the scattered paths that led nowhere,  the  insects that buzzed and the birds above.

Regan O'Callaghan Mojacar la Vieja, evening, sun setting, Andalucia, Spain, art residency

Regan O'Callaghan Mojacar la Vieja , Andalucia, Spain, art residency,

Farewell to an old Faithful friend!

“Sitting in a park in Paris, France

Reading the news and it sure looks bad

They won't give peace a chance

That was just a dream some of us had

Still a lot of lands to see

But I wouldn't want to stay here

It's too old and cold and settled in its ways here”

Twenty years ago I arrived in London with £20 to my name.  In the space of a day I had found a live-in job in a pub In Hounslow a place where you didn’t serve bottles incase you got one in the face and you took your tie off at the end of the night so you didn’t tempt a disgruntled patron to drag you across the bar for not serving that last pint.    The Landlady a small but fierce woman didn’t put up with any trouble though so one was generally safe.

Winter was approaching and  this Kiwi didn’t feel prepared.   The landlady’s son knew where I could get a good coat to keep me warm from the cold grey English winter.  Early one sunday morning we made our way across London to Whitechapel Market in the East End.  Within 15 minutes amongst the plethora of things for sale I found my coat.  Thick, heavy and a great fit it cost me £5 and it was British made to boot!   Bargain!

Nearly twenty years later I sit in my friends flat in Paris after having spent 5 weeks traveling through Andalucia.  It is cold and grey outside.  I am here for a few days before travelling back to Mojacar, Spain where I have an artist residency for a month.  When leaving London friends said take a coat as it will be cold in Spain.   I duly took my beloved coat which I had christened my “old man coat” named as I believed it made me look like I had just emerged from down the mines especially when I wore my flat cap.  Wearing it on the plane so it wouldn’t be counted as hand luggage  I felt ready for my next adventure.

Southern Spain wasn’t cold for this seasoned Brit,  the sun shone and it was warm so my coat stayed bundled in a plastic bag carted from Almeria to Malaga, Cadiz to Cordoba.   In Granada where there was snow on the peaks of the Sierra Nevada the sky was bright blue, the sun warm and though at night it got chilly it was not enough for me to put on my old man coat.

My beloved old man coat.  Five years previously I had spent £80 having it repaired. It had become worn in places, the lining was frayed and the button holes torn.   But I wasn’t ready to say good bye to it then, my coat that had seen me through numerous winters including last winter heavy with snow which dragged on and on or the winter of ’94’ when I worked nights returning home in the dark and then getting up to a cold dark sky and leaving to start my next shift.   The coat which I had sometimes used as an extra blanket when staying in freezing rooms with summer duvets.    The coat which I wore to many a dawn service at church, to funerals where grieving relatives hurt and loss stayed with me until the next funeral.  The coat which I wore to my citizenship ceremony, friends weddings and parties.  The coat that kept me warm as  I wandered the streets of London.  The coat which I looked forward to wearing as it hung in my closet during sunnier months.

Traveling through Spain though made me realise I needed to say goodbye to my old man coat  Goodbye not only to the feeling of security my coat granted me, but goodbye to the need to have a protective layer, insulated not only from the cold wind that sweeps by but also the warm whisper that beckons me forward to new places, new people and new life.

Arriving in Mojacar at the beginning of my trip I had my coat repaired for one last time.  The seamstress told me of growing up in the surrounding hills, of caves, of found ancient objects and mysterious lights at night.  A generous and wise woman I listened as she restitched the button holes and sewed together the lining.

“Oh it gets so lonely

When you're walking

And the streets are full of strangers

All the news of home you read

Just gives you the blues

Just gives you the blues

So I bought me a ticket

I caught a plane to Spain

Went to a party down a red dirt road

There were lots of pretty people there

Reading Rolling Stone, reading Vogue

They said, "How long can you hang around?"

I said "a week, maybe two,

Just until my skin turns brown

Then I'm going home to California"

California I'm coming home

Oh will you take me as I am

Strung out on another man

California I'm coming home”

“California”

 Joni Mitchell.