OF EROS AND DEMONS

THE ULTIMATE SUPPER

 

“What hangs on your wall says so much more

 about you than you know.”

 

To own “The Ultimate Supper” requires massive wall space of any penthouse living room whether in New York, a chateau in Paris or a castle in Windsor.  Such refined sophistication with purchasing power and a risqué mindset describes a potential custodian.

The Ultimate Supper, divulges the passion of its creator.  Depicting Eros, the Greek mythology God of love and sex, the painting conjures the spirituality that makes up her soul.  Upon the first glimpse of this painting, it exposes the fine art collector’s secret sexual desire projecting from within, meant hidden to others, but visible through the wonton  longing and promiscuous gaze.  

Knowledge of Greek Mythology nor Roman theology are required to absorb such storytelling on a canvas.  But it does take a special old soul to produce such depiction of human salacious behavior and connects to the soul of the admirer and collector, as we are all species made up of the many flavors from sweet, spicy, sour to regurgitating acidity.  

It's creator, a mixture of Armenian-Danish Persian background thrusting her ancient artistic mastery into the millennial world of 2023; is a rare commodity where the world’s bombardment of Artificial Intelligence, convincing Generation X, that less effort by humans produces excellent results.  Artistic excellence only derives from no other than invasion and exploration of her own soul matched with a disciplined mindset.   

Unless Elizabeth Romhild is capturing an audience on a social level or equally an extension of her corporate husbands’ business involvement, her seductress side is well hidden portrayed only on canvas. As a storyteller this is what Eros and Demons are about.  It is the story of fourteen character’s indulgence in good and evil, portraying lust and gluttony. 

Imagine yourself as a voyeur; midday sunbeam picking out dust settling on other canvases around the studio waiting to dry, the unmistakable smell of linseed oil mixed with turpentine solvent permeates the room. A sip of Chardonnay gives an ability to hover above her and follow the brush as the frontal cortex adjusts the electrical impulses that explode in tune with Mozart’s Requiem, injecting the room with someone else’s creation, guiding the soul to heaven. It is this heritage composition bestowed to the world, many centuries earlier, that seduces Elizabeth’s creativity like no one else can.  

The story unfolds.

 

The sketching’s are transferred onto a half moon-shape canvas, the width of  160 x 300cm  dominates the eye-line and each character brings their own story of playful  salacious lust.

There’s Satyr, in Greek mythology, a male creature with ears and tails resembling a horse with a permanent exaggerated erection.   He centers the canvas seduced with two cherries.  Above is the Khon holding his hands with ‘Fatima Eye’ keeping evil spirits away. The interpretation of the Hansa, a palm-shaped amulet popular throughout the Middle East, depicting an eye of conscience.  Many faces of Mary Magdalena epitomized from prostitute to sibyl, from mystic to nun; and even viewed as a feminist icon. 

It leaves the thought that the life journey of this painting, hung on different walls, of various owners, centuries from now, will undoubtedly still carry Elizabeth’s spirit.  Emotions  trapped through droplets of controversial energy coating the first layer, gastronomic indulgence splatters several layers  and sexual urgings deposited, cover the entire canvas; making Eros and Demons, Elizabeth’s creation engaging and alive wherever it dwells.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

2021 APPROACHING 2022

                                           Ominous era or Halcyon days ahead?

 

Around the world, it seems a force has taken the earth in hand, power-shook it, leaving all the humans scrambling for cover, some make it, some get swallowed into such horrific unfathomable end. Cities flood, high-rise topples, earthquake cracks, volcanoes erupt. Scientists explain the possibility that sun flares interfere with earth’s atmosphere creating energetic force affecting radio and navigational tools.The energy then converts the force to transform and manifests itself in disproportionate human failings.

 

A reminder of what transpired in the last two years, in case you were held-up on Mars or Jupiter with no access to inter-galactical communication:

 

This is only a small slice of what happened between 2020-2021.   Myanmar dictatorship flourishes killing its own people who disagrees; US republicans attempted a coup; Oldest health-declining US President elected; France backstabbed on submarine deal; Thai democracy crumbling; British Royalty evading lawsuit of underage sexual activity; British King-to-be, accused of taking cash-for-knighthood/citizenship, masking payment for honoring the Prince’s Trust charity; Taliban terrorism re-emerge, Economic meltdowns across continents, Islamic Sunnis vs Shiite vying for dominance.  US cowardly turning away from 20 yrs of terrorist protection from Taliban’s terror.  This is just a snippet from a two-year world diary. 

 

Between August 2020 to October 2021 sun flares erupted. Some blame the tiny crown-shape virus mistakenly spilled, or intentionally produced, creating a domino effect creating mistrust, control, while money making opportunities for those in authority multiply.  Powerfully rich entrepreneurs saw a way of racing in a rocket three times the speed of sound or 2,300 miles per hour enabling the possibility of finding a new world.

 

Controlling a pandemic requires authoritarian governments to close boarders, restrict movements and instill questionable rules in preventing death, punishable in some countries, of jail sentences.  In certain destination, their economy relies on tourism. The meaning of tourism combines rest, discovery, exoticism plus opportunities of new businesses  came to a grinding halt after the shutdown, causing fractures along societies. 

 

 

Does this mean a long apocalyptic time to refix and recover what is, irretrievable?   

 

 

For sure, it will never be the same ever again.  

 

 

 

Just the basic change alters many aspects of how we conduct our lives.

 

 

Mask wearing:     

 

People recognition more challenging when only eyes are visible.

Audio deciphering muffled words require repetition.

Oxygen depletion increases ongoing conversation.

 

Physical contact: 

 

Hand-shakes, western physical greetings, social spacing – all prohibited

Sharing food or utensils changes behavioral patterns

Constant hand cleaning becomes an obsession bordering on disorder 

 

Mental issues checked :

 

Intermittent social isolation causes anxiety and depression

Long term social isolation extrapolates onto suicides

Inability to recommence close friendships

 

These are highly sensitive issues that must be considered and weighed up.  However angry the sun shoots these flares, or whatever happened in clinical trials of accidental droppings or invention of the virus with intent to kill, we must conduct our lives with care and start to live. 

 

Whether its floods, earthquakes, building collapse, governments fail, royalty oversteps boundaries, unkept promises; is it not true that with every apocalyptic era brings about fine art and beauty?  

 

 

                 Or something in between.

 

 

THE GUEST HOUSE. ---- RUMI

 

The Guest House. 

by Rumi

 

This being human is a Guest House

Every morning a new arrival

 

A joy, a depression, a meanness

Some momentary awareness comes

As an unexpected visitor

 

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they are a crowd of sorrows

Who violently sweep your house

Empty of its furniture

Still, treat each guest honorably

He maybe clearing you out

For some new delight

 

The dark thought, the shame, the malice

Meet them at the door laughing and invite them in

 

Be grateful for whatever comes

Because each has been sent

As a guide from beyond

 

 

Covid and its destructive impact on society has everyone questioning everything.   Nothing fits; explanations unsatisfactory; sorrowful irreversible actions taken. impacting loved ones and the validity of continuation.    Until I read this powerful poem by a thirteen century Persian poet Rumi,  its force was strong enough to stop my nightly habit of  flipflopping on social media, live news broadcast, awaiting the next Sussex’s stumble, and researching vaccination efficacy,  to just close my eyes and dig deep into this very wisdom of life and my own conscience. 

 

We are balanced not necessary equally, by good and bad.  The scales do shift on life’s trajectory.  How it is welcomed is dependent upon upbringing, religious faith and the soul that captures that little body that took its first breath.   My journey has welcomed all of those stated by Rumi; at times I could not utter nor laugh, but it certainly gave way to cleaning out to new delights.

 

Many a times the anger, dark thoughts, surrounded my being, and in a split of a second, I could kill.  Grateful that it had guided me to understand, not the perpetrator, but my limitations and beyond.   

 

For I am only human, and Rumi of centuries old has shown, never close the door but welcome what comes and entertain them all.  Who knows when our limited time on earth will come, just as unaware of its impact as when we arrived.   But upon leaving, those that carry our blood, however small, knows the extent of love that was left and the imperfection of self. 

 

 

 

 

 

The Painful TRUTH

 

The Painful TRUTH

 

The Lie said to the Truth, "Let's take a bath together, the well water is very nice.  So they got naked and started bathing. Suddenly, the Lie leapt out of the water and fled, wearing the clothes of the Truth.

The Truth, furious, climbed out of the well to get her clothes back. But the World, upon seeing the naked Truth, looked away, with anger and contempt. Poor Truth returned to the well and disappeared forever, hiding her shame. Since then, the Lie runs around the World, dressed as the Truth, and society is very happy...

Because the World has no desire to know the naked Truth.

(Jean-Léon Gérome, 1896.)

 

 

Somehow I don’t wish to blame Covid nor pinpointing countries; but the results of broken weak governments, economy teetering on crashing, finger pointing law breakers, broken vaccinations promises, societal divides, fake news enhancing lies, family disloyalty, and the end result of painful oxygen-deprived deaths is the UGLY truth of humanity Covid has unleashed our global community.   This retched virus is showing up the naked truth.   

 

 

Leadership  is in question. Democracy a myth.  Monarchies under debate.  Major religions are failing.   These are world issues not country picked.  A very heavy burden for Generation Z to evolve.   I shed a tiny tear for them

 

Our values have been pinpointed to societal success.  Highly rated through money, ill gotten or hard earned.   Penultimate is  praise, power and privilege.

 

I have no answer only wishing for a re-set button that is not there.  I admire truth, slightly afraid but comforted that it is ultimately the journey to take.

 

Generation Z, take the torch, make it work in IT and AI  and build the truth so nothing is hidden.

 

 

 

 

CAPSULITIS

 

 

It sounds medically related. 

For the medically untrained – it sounds ominous

For the diagnosed – daily life is incredibly curbed.  

 

Is this pandemic related?  Is it another Covid-19 metastatizing?  

For simpletons like myself, it is thumb and wrist inflammation from over text usage. 

 

“Stop texting.  Rest the wrist. Use dictation application instead and take anti-inflammatory pills” shouted at me from friends and medics.

 

But what do they know.  it is a by-product of my lifestyle for I communicate via texting and typing on my laptop 8 to 12 hours a day..   I’m just a writer.

 

If there was a time machine, given the task to explain this to my grandfather who is in heaven, that we humans don’t speak on phones anymore, as he used to via an operator in his day, but through typing out the words and we can literally take this phone everywhere from toilet to airplane. 

 

Proudly explaining our achievements in technology, ”We can watch movies, porn, buy stocks, delivery of every household needs and even date women”.  I think he would try to understand for two minutes then he would cut the thread by saying,

 

“but your silly device can’t smell the scent of a woman. -  go bandage your wrist and find a stenographer” and he was gone!  Time machine turned off.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

LOYALTY. - TIME LIMIT?

 

Family Loyalty. A Lifetime sentence?

 

 

It has been on my mind all day today.   Is there a time limit on family loyalty, or is it a moral eternity because of shared DNA?

 

This train of thought hung on the predicament of Harry Windsor.   Before I sentence him, It also hung on my moral compass too.  

 

Just because grandmother is an ageing Queen, and the possibility of 99 yr old grandpa conking out very soon; is it justified in a “tell-all incrimination of family secrets” because your papa did not father you adequately, or perhaps is not your biological father after all?   Whatever the gripe; toxic or not, swallow and show dignity for the sake of obligations we all have in life.

 

Then I shine the torch onto myself.  Sitting on a tightrope, I justify these balanced views as a way to guide others, and a way to correct my own moral judgement.   

 

Loyalty to my fellow DNA sharers have been questionable, but never acted upon.  Would I fight for their actions, no.   Would I applaud them for their successes, real or unreal, yes.  The reason is simple enough, I value my dignity and sullying those that share my DNA, stains my persona.

 

 I am lucky to have loyalty from my three children unreservedly.  The love given to them was unreserved and equal to their needs.   I propped them up with their weakness and shooed them off with their strength; never once demanding reward.  I have given when I had nothing to give.   I have stood back when they needed independence, even though the road they took was questionable.  I need not to applaud for myself, my children say it all by their actions.

 

Through the media, we were shown Harry’s every movement from birth until his unfortunate decision to liberate himself from obligations yet using his birthright to accommodate his needs.

That dignity is now stained through public tell-all and through his actions, it has taught me loyalty to DNA sharers however uncomfortable, must be upheld.

 

 

 

 

 

ZOOM STRESS

 

ZOOM STRESS

 

If you haven’t heard of Zoom, it is a videotelephony software program.  Zoom Stress is not mentioned but I will attempt to reconstruct your feelings before, during and after a zoom meeting.  

 

Zoom stress is the product of the pandemic.   From the beginning of 2020, our lives changed drastically.   WFH became an acronym indicating the lucky ones who held their jobs were Working From Home; the norm for being in the office but clad in pajamas. 

 

Those that spend countless hours on it daily, grow along with the app’s constant revamping in order to accommodate increasing global usage.  Those like myself, twice weekly user, tend to stay stagnated in this progressively challenging expansion. But like them and me, the stress level of zooming is now credited to increasing our cognitive load.

 

Cognitive load explained in layman’s terms :  multi-tasking brain using memory; (much like driving a manual-gear vehicle, straining to hear a GPS voice, not of native tongue, directing  “300, 200, 100 yards turn left at junction”, in a foreign country driving on the wrong side of the road, with your favorite music blasting max audio within 4sq meter space).

 

ZOOM meetings takes away the most important aspect of inter-action, non-verbal communication. Before it takes place, preparation is key.  The backdrop of your wall, showing a huge library is coveted. Bathroom or Bedroom backdrop is not ideal. It could complicate matters if your butt naked secret affair navigates to the toilet bursting to unload his bladder. With lagging connections going on and off; sound disconnects missing important sentences, having to be repeated, and background intermittent unmistakable audio relief of urine splashing against the toilet bowl is too embarrassing to contemplate.

 

Awaiting all members of divisions to join the meeting leaves a void of awkward silence. Seeing your own face looking back with extreme anxiety; hair not combed, forgot the lipstick bringing on an expression of discontent, suppressing anxiety, and annoyance, when best foot forward was not achieved.  And the conference meeting has yet to start.  Anxiety level one achieved.

 

All eight divisions join, and the meeting is underway.  You want to interject a point, each time you start to speak, nobody stops, they continue.   You politely wait your turn, still nobody stops so you decide to cut in …….  realizing the problem, unguarded you say ‘f..k’ now audible to all, just as you press the button to unmute.  The agenda has passed.  Anxiety level two achieved.

 

Energy consuming as we work harder to process non-verbal clues.  Attitudes and feelings among colleagues in influencing management decision-making gets lost.  Constant focusing hour upon hour mounting tension, increased stress level is exhausting. Anxiety level three achieved.

 

Third hour into the meeting, a headache starts, you need to go to the toilet, prepared Tylenol in front of you, but everyone will see the act of pill taking, the boss has yet to have a 15 minute break and the company loser talks non-stop.   Anxiety level four achieved.

 

Conference call ended after 4 hours of stress. WFH (echoeing WTF) means less travel time, no need for fancy clothes, still in your pajamas but the exhaustion that takes over is immense and slumped back in bed, you spend the rest of the day retrieving loss strength and desperately recalling what decisions took place and your action required.

 

A far cry from Pigeon Post.  

Slower paced but stress free.