ALL EVENTS LEAVE THEIR TRACES: Australian creation god is burned into my psyche

WANDJINA. He came out of the galaxy. (Art by Hallelujah Truth)

Hallelujah for the IMAGINATION! Hallelujah for images and stories that cross cultural boundaries and time! And Hallelujah for symbols and signs that speak TRUTH to us even though we don't "read" the language.

I am a traveler, and some of the symbols I have imbibed during my travels have become a part of me--even all of me.  

All events, 
in their passing leave traces, 
burned into images, imprinted on surfaces, 
ingrained in memory. (see source  of these words below)

 

DREAM TIME. Wandjina's mouth is shrouded in clouds and mist. (Art by Hallelujah Truth)

Wandjina continues to be present in my life as a repetitive image. He joined my psyche the third time I visited Australia and has brought me comfort through his ongoing appearance in my meditative drawings. What began as an urge to quench my desire to "study" this spiritual image from cave drawings in northwest Australia by drawing it repeatedly until sated, has continued until finally becoming a part of my pscyhe, seared into my memory.

Here is just one aspect of what he represents to those in Australia who continue to draw his figure on cave walls and now on canvases to sell to tourists. (see the source of my poetry below).
 
HE, WANDJINA, 
came out of the galaxy, 
the ONE beyond our understanding, 
and created all life from the body of MOTHER SNAKE. 
Traveling across HER BACK, 
he made the mountains and rocks, 
the trees and shrubs, 
animals and humans. 
WANDJINA is beyond our understanding, 
his mouth is shrouded in clouds and mist…
 

CREATION. He made the mountains, trees, shrubs, animals and us. (Art by Hallelujah Truth)

Who am I? Who are you? Do you agree that all the events in our lives leave their traces? What have your life experiences made you? What do you think about me? How can a 55-year-old Army Brat, form ESL teacher, wife of a scientist, and artist, have an Aboriginal spiritual symbol burned into my psyche? 

In addition, I have drawn Wandjina on the surface of my Chinese homework from my 20's. By merging these two periods in my life, I am continuing to redefine myself. I am learning to speak RUTH (aka Halleujah Truth).
 
That's Coffee With Hallelujah! SOUL BLOG with me. Tell me something about symbols or signs that speak TRUTH to you! What events have left their traces on you?

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: (SOURCES) This quote was a part of the 1993 Chris Handran’s essay for Susan Faraday’s “Remember Me,” an installation at the Institute for Modern Art in Brisbane, Australia, 2001-2002) Information about Wandjina was found in the book, Yorro Yorro: Everything Standing Up Alive, by Mowaljarlai and Jutta Malnic.
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REMEMBERING MY FATHER ON THE NINTH ANNIVERSARY OF HIS DEATH

WALKING INTO ETERNITY. It is difficult to let one's parent go, even when that parent has left you in death. When my father died, I didn't know how to "hold" onto him. Then I got an opportunity the summer after he died, to attend an "ex-voto" painting workshop at the Ghost Ranch in Abiquiu, New Mexico, USA. I decided to commemorate my father by painting him leaving the material world of his accomplishments and going into the vastness of the landscape there in New Mexico. (art by Hallelujah Truth)

Hallelujah to my father, Edward R. Schowalter, who died on November 21, 2003. I was at his side when he breathed his last breath. That experience is so FINITE. 

However, now it is nine years later, and TIME has progressed. I married my Chiboogamoo a year after my father died and have celebrated LIFE and been joyful in my father's absence because that is the responsibility of the LIVING.

I often feel amazed that I didn't get married until I was in my mid-forties. Then I remember the attachment I had to my father, and realized he had filled my life until his death. Dad was a man whose personality was expansive, and he thought in unique ways which were intriguing and not always easy to get along with. I LOVED him greatly.

DAUGHTER ANGEL.  I painted me in the ex-voto, flying over my father, directing his journey into the afterlife. Expressing one's grief through creative acts is consoling. I was comforted by this image of me being with my father after death, ensuring that he wasn't alone. (art by Hallelujah Truth)

Creative acts console. I recommend that everyone acknowledge his/her own creativity, make use of it, and develop it. The fruits of your creative labors will fill your table of need and loss. The fruits of your creative labors will bring you joy, celebration, and friends.

The ex-voto painting is a traditional Mexican style of painting, done to acknowledge or express gratitude to God or a Saint. I am not Catholic, nor can I say I am Christian; however, I can say that I have a strong and sincere reverence for the SPIRIT in each and every one of us. I BELIEVE in expressing gratitude and asking for assistance from the UNIVERSE. So I gained solace in painting this ex-voto of my father and thanking the great mother of the Mexican Catholic church, Our Lady of Guadalupe, for guiding and directing my father's afterlife.

OUR LADY OF GUADALUPE. She radiates light and love.(art by Hallelujah Truth)

That's Coffee with Hallelujah. SOUL BLOG with me and tell me what you think of my ex-voto painting. Ask me questions about my father so I can remember him. Share memories with me about your parents! And know that we the LIVING are charged with the responsibility to LIVE our lives. 

EX-VOTO FOR MY FATHER.  I have a story to tell you about my ideas that I expressed in this image. But I will have to tell you another TIME. Perhaps next year. I am now charged with the responsibility of the LIVING and must go out in the day after posting this blog entry. LOVE TO YOU ALL, and know that CREATIVITY consoles! (art by Hallelujah Truth)

2012 VETERANS DAY: THANKS DAD AND EVERYONE ELSE WHO HAS SERVED OUR COUNTRY!

HALLELUJAH FOR VETERANS, thank you for serving our country! Not a Veteran's Day can go by without my revering my father and the courage he exhibited while he served in the United States Army.

MEDAL OF HONOR HOLDER. I took this photo of my father at a parade some time in the 1980s. He was retired and living in Auburn, Alabama, with my mother. I was in graduate school at Auburn University working on a master's in literature and dating a soldier at Ft. Benning, Georgia. When he had finished the Ranger training course, there was a parade in acknowledgment of his accomplishment. My father accompanied me for the celebration. I loved it that he could put on that beautiful Congressional Medal of Honor. We were always so proud of him! This is not an easy medal to earn and few soldiers have been awarded it. Read here the description of my father's brave actions that resulted in his being honored with this prestigious and rare award.

ANOTHER PARADE FIELD BEFORE DAD LEFT FOR VIETNAM. Here we are in 1967 with my father some time before he departed for Vietnam. This photo was taken at Ft. Bragg, North Carolina, where we lived for two years. I am dressed up in my sailor dress. My older sister took this picture of us post parade. Dad often had a hoarse voice after these occasions from shouting commands at his soldiers. 

WITH MY VETERAN. Taken with Daddy in 1963 at Ft. Benning, Georiga. I grew up on military bases. But my childhood was like most kids. We spent many afternoons outside fixing boats, washing the dog, taking care of the lawn, and playing various games. I was definitely a Daddy's girl as you can see in this photo, and my Dad was a soldier who participated in 3 wars: World War II  when he was 17; Korean Conflict when he was in his early 20's; and the Vietnam War when he was well into his 30's.

WOUNDED IN VIETNAM. This is a photo of my dad in 1968 after he had been wounded (He is sitting on the stairs behind the children on the right). Recently my siblings and I recounted what the moment was like when we had a jeep appear in front of our house in Fayetteville, North Carolina, where we had moved from Fort Bragg, while Dad served a tour of duty in Vietnam. No one wanted a jeep with a soldier and a pastor to come knockin' at their door! Some of us remember it as raining or night time. Was it really afternoon? I can't tell you for sure. But it was awful to get the news that he had been wounded although we certainly rejoiced that he had not been killed. I was in fourth grade! After he came home and recovered, we moved to Virginia, so he could serve at the Pentagon! 

Life is such an incredible journey! As I remember my father along with other veterans in the month of November, I also bump into the anniversary of his death. It is hard to believe that he has been gone nine years now. He passed away on November 21, 2003. I will always treasure him and the life that he gave me as an ARMY BRAT. Thank you Dad! With much love, your daughter, Ruth (aka Hallelujah Truth).

MECHANIC VETERAN FATHER.  My father never quit, never gave up, never stopped until the object of his attention was fixed. The fixing may not have attained perfection or expectation (of the daughter), but he found solutions to whatever he was working on even if it took days, numerous ruminations, and many failed attempts. My father was a passionate man. The photo you see here was taken by me, the daughter. He managed to keep my cars running whether it was the 1969 Volkswagen Bug or this 1979 Toyota Celica. Look at him peering at me the daughter! Yes, he would make this car run for me! When my father died, I lost my fiercest advocate. We bucked heads on many issues, but this brave and passionate man was always going to take care of me, no matter what!

If you would like to learn more about my father, his memory was honored recently in the town he retired to after his military career. Auburn, Alabama, presented this short video on its 14th Annual Mayor's Memorial Day Breakfast in 2012.

The SOUL is not in the BODY; The BODY is in the SOUL--Cleaning Out Sally’s Studio Closet

 

When a FRIEND dies right in the middle of things, right in the middle of LIFE—where does it leave those of us who remain? When Sally died on August 22, 2010, it left vast and various communities here in the Atlanta area openly wondering this question. What do we MAKE of our LOVE for Sally and what do make of our LIVES?  Last February at a SPIRITUAL ART PILGRIMS’ meeting Sally quoted to us from Hildegard von Bingen: “The soul is not in the body; the body is in the soul.”

(All of the artwork you see here in this particular blog is Sally's. I am especially fond of the image of the woman's head with the leaf coming out of her mouth. Speaking of nature? Aspiration? The black torso with the head coming out of its side is an image of Sally's that she repeated frequently. For her, it was about the emergence of Eve from Adam's ribs. The little boy figure cut out of pond rubber is one of many pieces Sally left behind. Each fragment tells part of her story.)

Does that mean that once the BODY is gone, that the SOUL is still here, present among us? Certainly for those of us who are artists, we can find evidence of Sally in the art that she left us. Could we change Von Bingen’s words like this: “The soul is not in the art. The art is in the soul.”?

 

 

On Labor Day, Britt, Sally’s husband, invites me into the splendor of the holy objects belonging to his wife, my friend, my collaborator in the refugee community art workshops, and fellow art maker and PILGRIM. Britt asks me into her studio to put away her art supplies. Thank you Britt for giving me this opportunity to be with Sally, as everything about her feels so fleeting, as if she is leaving all of us, escaping into an eco-zone beyond this EARTH. In her studio, I hold her Art—the art-if-facts of Sally Wylde.

(In order to gather Sally's art supplies, I had to gather her "artifacts" that inhabited the shelves amongst all of her paints, tools and papers. I stacked larger pieces of artwork. I put smaller ones in plastic baggies to await her daughters' arrivals and perusal. Some I took out and pinned on the bulletin board you see here to join other work Sally had hanging there. )

Artifacts—half human figures with holes in their torsos, galloping horses, women dancing, half forms of trees and houses, paper after paper hand-sized like a bird nestled in shelves with pieces of brightly colored fabric, remnants of performances—the Lump Journey’s eggs (rattle shakers), tree limbs, branches, pieces of bamboo, honeycomb, grape vines twirled into haloes, words, calendars, numbers, lots and lots of pencils, staplers, pliers, gallons of glue, rubber, boards, larger pieces of paper, important Mark Nepo poems, layers and layers of LIFE, blue, green, red—multicolor expressions, memories incremented on line of fabric, sewn into garments, glued onto paper, holding whispers of yearning….Sally yearned for ever more knowledge, leaning into the feminine, cultivating and anticipating increasing wisdom. Sally was beyond being a nature lover—she was a NATURE BELIEVER and worshiper….

 How many paintbrushes are there? More than it is timely to count. How many paint tubes? Old ones dying or dead, newer ones bigger and fresh. Scissors and jars of paint, carving tools and printmaking inks, needles and pins, and embroidery floss, burlap and canvas, and mesmerizing fabric from exotic places. 

(Jesse, Cecelia, and Lesly met me at Sycamore Place Gallery, where Chiboogamoo and I have just gotten a studio space, to make prints for the parade following Sally's memorial service.  An important member was missing from our printmaking--Robey Tapp.)

The SOUL is not in the ART; the ART is in the SOUL. Sally, your SOUL left us these remnants. A group of us artists decide to open our SOULs and MAKE ART using the block prints you have left behind. It is there that we find you as we print these words on paper: WONDER, FEAR NOT, THANK YOU, ALL WILL BE WELL. We burnish your images in red, orange, green, and blue onto brown and white paper: a girl riding a galloping horse, a sailboat, women dancing, stars, and an angel…. 

(On September 11, minutes away from a sunset, we paraded down the streets of Oakhurst, passing Sally and Britt's house, to get to the community garden. On our way, we saw a rainbow in the sky!)

 

Other friends cut bamboo and cardboard, creating signs to hold these images of OUR UNIFIED SOULs. YOUR ART IS IN OUR SOULS. At your memorial service, the Oakhurst Baptist Church is filled with OUR COLLABORATIVE SOUL SIGNs.  Afterwards, in a joyous parade the community carries these banners to the community garden you started. Drums beat, and we dance holding you amongst us in YOUR images, OUR images now.

 Hallelujah for all of us SOULs—PILGRIMs. Hallelujah for ART being there inside us ALL. ALL WILL BE WELL. FEAR NOT. WONDER. THANKYOU. Hallelujah loves art and community! Hallelujah!