Pilgrimage of the heart

Sometimes there is an artwork which stays  in your heart and mind.  The Isenheim Altar piece is for me one one such work.

My first degree was in Religious Studies and Art.  For my dissertation I studied the Isenheim Altarpiece attributed to Mathias Gruenwald and painted in 1506 - 1515. Originally painted for the Monastery of Saint Anthony in Isenheim it is now on display in the Unterlinden Museum in Colmar, France.  The monks at the monastery were known for their work with people with skin diseases and from the Altarpiece's tortured figure of Christ on the Cross you can see the artist had this in mind.

I don't have a copy of my dissertation but I certainly remember writing it.  It was during Lent 1996. I was staying in the house of a Franciscan Nun (third order) who was away.  In Dove Cottage there was no television and few disruptions so I could focus on the task at hand. For hours I meditated on the crucifixion and explored its symbolism, form and theological meaning and of course the house was full of other religious imagery. Deep stuff but also quite poignant as I was myself going through a period of grief and suffering.  I can remember stuffing the stove with wood to keep warm and huddling beside it giving thanks that I wasn't called to be a monk!  My suffering though was not caused by the cold but rather was an ailment of the heart.

I wrote of the arms of the crucified figure of Christ being stretched out to the cosmos distorted by the hatred of man.  Hands that had once been the hands of a carpenter, hands that created. I reflected on the feet of Jesus so disfigured and grotesque a large nail tearing them apart.  It was all very disturbing.  I wrote a letter to Sister Wendy Beckett a famous art critic to ask her thoughts about images of the crucifixion.  She very kindly wrote back saying she found it to painful to spend time meditating on such images.  I cherish this letter. Fifteen years later I travelled to Colmar to see for the first time in real life the Isenheim Altarpiece.  Travelling through beautiful countryside on the train from Paris I shared with a friend memories of my time in the cold little house of the Franciscan nun, my need for warmth and of my inner turmoil at the time.  Memories flooded back. I remembered a retreat to a Franciscan Monastery in Dorset not long after my stay at Dove Cottage. Sitting in the chapel I gazed at the Franciscan Cross. Unlike the Isenheim Triptych the Jesus on this cross is sleek and beautiful. For a moment I visualised him leaning over and surrounding me with his arms in a warm embrace followed by the cross which enveloped us both.  I felt a mixture of love and empathy mixed with a little fear. I wondered about the significance of this vision (if I can be allowed to call it that). Is love never experienced without suffering?

Standing in front of the Isenheim triptych I gave thanks for past lessons. Lessons learnt? Well thats another blog entry but I certainly stood as someone without regrets.  I was also pleased to see the altarpiece had been displayed so that all the panels could be seen. The beauty and vibrancy of Gruenwald's resurrection stood in stark contrast to his crucifixion.  Here Christ dances in the air in a flamboyant display of joy and victory swathed in beautiful colours and divine light.  Fifteen years is a long time to wait to see the resurrection but I was happy.

For the remainder of my time in France I stayed with my friend's uncle and aunt who showed wonderful hospitality.  I sat in their garden feeling the warmth of the sun, ate great food  and listened to my friend play the piano while we sang songs of love and memories. www.musee-unterlinden.com/isenheim-altarpiece.html

Horomatangi

I grew up by Lake Taupo.  It has always been a beautiful place but just under the surface of what can be at times a perfectly still and mirrored lake is a bubbling cauldron of thermal activity.  Lake Taupo is a huge crater lake.   I myself have nearly drowned in it three times but Horomatangi hasn't managed to get me yet!

A taniwha in Lake Taupo.

This fierce taniwha lives by Motutaiko, an island in Lake Taupo, in an underwater cave on the western side.  People used to avoid the island because Horo-matangi, if he saw them, would lash the water into high waves, overturn their waka and carry them down to his cave.  This happened in good weather as well as bad.

At times Horo-matangi assumes the form of a reptile, or the form of a black rock.  Some say he is an old man red as fire.  His attendant Atiamuri, a taniwha in the shape of a man, was not dangerous in himself but would act as a decoy, attempting to lure unsuspecting travellers in Horo-matangi's direction.  At twilight he would paddle a waka towards a settlement by the lake, going just near enough to be dimly seen.  When the villagers called a welcome, he would disappear into the darkness and they would realise that Atiamuri had been trying to lure them to their death.

Many people have considered Horo-matango to be the custodian of the mana of Lake Taupo.  Certain tohunga were his mediums, such as Te Ihu at Tapuaeharuru, who was said sometimes to live with him in his cave.  As well, Horo-matangi is associated with two stone dogs high up on the Karangahape cliffs, on the lake's western shore.  These dogs are never seen but may be heard howling on misty mornings.  If paddlers on the lake were ever foolish enough to insult them by pointing their paddle or calling to them, Horomatangi would at once send a storm.

The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Maori Myth and Legend.  Margaret Orbell  Canterbury University press 1995. pg. 67

Regan O'Callaghan 'Horomatangi' acrylic painting, taniwha, Lake Taupo, Mount Ruapehu, Mount Tongariro,

Prayer Ritual

This short clip was filmed by Susan Patterson.  Susan approached me and asked if she could film me at work in my studio.  I thought it might be interesting to film the prayer ritual which I do at the beginning and end of my day.

I start by taking off my shoes I then light candles and incense sometimes white sage.  The studio smells lovely and the incense also helps to hide the smell of rabbit skin glue when it is at its most pungent.  The wafting smoke is also symbolic of my prayer rising to the heavens.  My prayer table faces south and the only window that gets any sunshine.  I give thanks for the suns warmth especially in winter but I am very fortunate that I also have great central heating!

I continue my ritual by facing south and praying to the Divine, then to the west, the north, the east and then back facing south.  Sometimes as I move around I visualize different things.  While attending a shamanic ceremony in the Amazon in Peru I watched the shaman pray towards the four directions at the beginning of the ceremony.  Afterwards he said it was to open up sacred space and pray for protection.  When he prayed facing south he visualised a snake a symbol of the connectedness of all life. West he visualised a panther, the great protector which consumes any negativity.  North the hummingbird, a gatekeeper to the heavens and a messenger between worlds.  East the eagle or condor who grants great vision and wisdom.  When I finish praying to the four corners of the earth I also given thanks for the earth and the heavens.  I see myself as a tall strong tree with deep roots and long branches reaching for the stars.

I have to confess though that what you see in the video is a tame version of what I usually do!  Perhaps when I feel more confident I will film this.  Normally I have music playing, something with a little rhythm.  My movement is more exaggerated sometimes more dance like and occasionally I sing.  I even incorporate some yoga poses.  I don't feel I can start my work in the studio until I have prayed and practiced my ritual.  I believe it grants me a focus for what my time in the studio is for which is to allow the creative spirit to flow.  It is a discipline that needs structures  and rituals of support.  At the end of my day I again go to my prayer table this time to close down my sacred space praying in reverse direction and giving thanks for a creative day while also asking that I continue the same work out in the world.

Blood Tree

Sitting on the bus traveling to the studio I read in the paper the sad story of the murder of Vittorio Arrigoni an Italian pacifist and peace activist he had been based in Gaza for three years working to promote the rights of Gazan fishermen.  You can read the article here.

There is video footage of Vittorio where he speaks of his love for the Palestinian people and his desire that they have freedom.  While some of what he says seems a little naive I couldn't  help but be moved by his sincerity, his passion and his openness.

I arrived at the studio with a painting in my mind and in my heart.  Initially I had pictured a peace tree in honor of all the peacemakers who work for the betterment of all humanity. What emerged instead was a tree that seemed to pulse with blood drawn up by its roots from the blood soaked earth, blood that coursed through the trees limbs and then dripped out from its branches back into the soil where the blood would be drawn up again continuing an ongoing cycle.

In the article Vittorio's mother Beretta is quoted as saying: "Vittorio always said: "Let us remain human, even in the most difficult moments". I would ask him "How can you stay human at certain times?" And he would answer: "Because, despite everything, there must always be humanity within us. We have to bring it to others". (The Guardian ¬†Pg. 17, Saturday 16th April 2011).

The Blood Tree is about sacrifice and suffering but it is also an expression of my belief that these things are not necessarily in vain. Such examples of meaningless violence including the murder last week of Israeli actor Juliano Mer-Khamis, who ran a theatre in the West Bank city of Jenin grant us obvious choices, to ignore or to remember.  To ignore is at the cost of our own humanity.  To remember is also costly and at times painful but to remember honors what Vittorio said we must do which is to bring our humanity to others.  By sharing our humanity we share ourselves at the deepest level, a state of being that not only reveals our interconnectedness, our blood ties, but also our rootedness to the earth to which we all belong and ultimately to the heavens which we yearn for and reach out to.

Today I heard a Blackbird sing

Today I heard a Blackbird sing.

I often sit in my studio painting in silence.  I can be down here for hours and not see or speak with anyone.  But it is never truly silent. The inner conversations that go on in my head remind me of many things, jobs that need to be done and memories of friends I miss.  In the very still moments emerges the subtle feelings of aloneness which speak from deep within my being, a part of my being I call the sacred space. This voice I need to listen to.

There is a Blackbird that regularly sings outside my studio it also digs up the moss in the roof gutters of the Church Hall looking for worms and leaving the moss flung onto the pavement below.   I think it is probably doing the church a favour as it is unblocking the gutters ready for the next downpour!   I love it when the Blackbird sings as its song pierces the silence of the studio drowning out the tick of the clock and this mad priests ravings.

The Blackbird is naturally a forest dweller but with the forests being cut down it has learnt to adapt to suburban and city living.  This ability to adapt has meant that it has thrived while other birds have disappeared. In New Zealand where it was introduced it has prospered so well that many New Zealanders think it is a native!  Its darting through gardens and prancing on lawns while shrilly declaring its territory is now truly etched into the psyche of the nation.

This ability to adapt doesn't come naturally to all species and certainly not to all humans!  A general observation of western society might suggest it is the voices with the loudest shrill demands that gain ownership and domination of territories while the quieter types flitter about in the background!   However this is not to taint the Blackbird with our own quirks of nature.

For me the Blackbird is a symbol of strength and adaptability in an ever changing world. Its vibrant black plumage, yellow beak and ringed eye speaks of a bold character who perseveres come what may.  Walking home I often see it darting under and between parked cars on tarmac roads.  A harsh and unforgiving environment surely so foreign to it that I feel sad and yet I am thankful that this remarkable little bird is there.

Photo a detail taken from a work in progress.The Almighty and the Blackbird2011.