Texidor Blog

Dream Havana: A Documentary by Gary Marks

2009-07-18T22:13:00.006-05:00

Last January, while recovering from surgery on my Achilles tendon, I was watching the Chicago public TV station, WTTW. I was not even aware of it beforehand, but they were airing a single-time viewing of a documentary about a couple of Cuban writers. It caught me by surprise. I did not even record it. I was transformed by the film, so much so, that I started to search for other air times, without luck. I did manage to get on the web site www.dreamhavanamovie.com set up by Gary Marks, the creator of the film. I got on his mailing list, and then went on with my life.

Recently, I received an email from Mr. Marks informing me that a novel written by one of the men in the film was available for purchase here in the US. I promptly ordered the book and began to think about the film and how I wished to see it again. I decided to write Mr. Marks an email to ask if he could sell a copy. He responded that he would and thus began a chain of events that hopefully will continue beyond today.

The film is about two young men growing up in Havana with an intense desire to write. It traces their friendship through several years of struggle to find ways to express their thoughts and feelings in a repressive environment. Writing freely is something we take for granted here in the US. But in Cuba, freedom is a rare and expensive commodity. For one of the young men, living under such conditions eventually becomes unbearable, and there comes a point of separation. He decides to risk an escape by sea, and leaves his family and friends behind. He makes it safely to the US and starts a new life. But never forgets his friend he left behind.

I met the creator of the film, Gary Marks, today. Over lunch, we discussed his film, his life in Cuba, and the concerns we share of making a living as a creative person. He is a talented and creative man with a real heart for the Cuban people and their daily challenges. He made this film at great personal expense and sacrifice, and for the purest of motives: to tell one facet of the greater story of the human condition. This film is not only about Cuba and its people, but about all men and women and what touches us all and makes us truly human. I highly recommend it.

In Progress

2009-06-17T23:53:00.003-05:00

This is not the best photo of this painting, but it will do for now. It is an acrylic underpainting done very loosely. I wanted to capture the fluidity of the water and its blue-green tints. This was done the last two days. Today I started with water-soluble oils and will continue with oil to the finishing stages. I'm not sure I will finish it before we leave on a trip to Colorado. I will try to get as much done tomorrow as I can. Will post results then.

New Painting Started

2009-06-16T23:32:00.002-05:00

I started a new painting yesterday...I was fascinated by the high-keyed contrasts and almost tropical colors of the water at Cave Point in Door County, Wisconsin last weekend. I foresee my approach in this ongoing series of works to gradually become more and more abstract as I begin to focus on water reflections, and bright colors. I initially thought that the noontime light would not serve me well...I was totally wrong! The light was stunning in its crispness and in the way it heightened the intensity of the colors. I am attracted to these high contrast situations for some reason. Perhaps it has to do with my upbringing in Cuba. Although the light is considerably different up north where I've lived most of my life, at times,as we approach the summer solstice, it resembles the light of my early childhood. I savor this light when it comes. I hope I can do it justice in my work.

Painting #7...Done with a Week of Painting a Day!

2009-06-14T15:13:00.002-05:00

This is the last painting of my Painting a Day experiment. I painted it on the porch of my brother-in-law's condo in Ephraim, WI. This is the view overlooking Eagle Harbor on the Green Bay side of the Door County peninsula. This area is more well-known for its spectacular sunsets. I suppose I will do a sunset version of this painting some day. I am relieved in a sense to be finished with my commitment to do a painting a day. I wouldn't be honest if I did not admit it was difficult at times. But I learned that painting with discipline is not only strenuous physically and mentally, but it also intrudes seriously with everyday life and family activities. I have always neglected my painting for the sake of family. I have to learn to strike a better balance in order to produce more. I will try to benefit from this experience to pursue larger, more serious work during the remainder of the summer.

Painting #6

2009-06-13T20:08:00.002-05:00

I was in Door County visiting with family today. I decided to take the suggestion of a friend and drive to Cave Point. I was very glad I did...the place is beautiful! I took many photos for later work in the studio. I was not totally prepared to do plein air painting, but I did have some supplies and went ahead anyway. It was fun, but next time I will use water-soluble oils. I used the acrylics I had available today and was not pleased with the results. I never worked so hard to get such a lousy painting. It is done, and so I move on to the last one tomorrow!

Painting #5

2009-06-12T16:30:00.003-05:00

I did not have the luxury of time today, so I had to do a simple, small painting. This one is really small: 5" x 7". What can I say? It's not as good as Duane Keiser. I think I have to learn to premix more oil into my paints to make them a creamier consistency. I also have to get a new sable brush. The idea of still life remains for the most part unexplored for me. The small format might help me venture further in this direction without much investment of time or effort. I think I'll have to redo my signature! Moving on!

Painting #4

2009-06-11T23:35:00.003-05:00

This was a real challenge for me...portraits always are. But this one I was motivated to do for a good reason. The man pictured in this painting is my godfather, Patricio Ponce de Leon. That's right...Ponce de Leon! As Cubans go, he is not typical. He is extremely intelligent (a Phd in Botany) and a very interesting person because of his varied interests. Although he is a scientist, he has an artistic streak in him. He also paints. In fact, he and my godmother were always encouraging me to pursue my artistic interests. He has been a great role model for me over the years. We've had numerous conversations about his atheism, always cordial. He will be 94 this year and is in ailing health. I'm not sure how much longer he'll be with us. But he will always remain in my thoughts.

Painting #3

2009-06-10T22:39:00.002-05:00

This often-used motif was made famous by Monet. I have been reluctant to use it in the past for obvious reasons, but this time it seemed to fit my purposes. These paintings done in one day are liberating in the sense that they do not have to be all that serious. Perhaps there is a lesson there for me. The only thing that kind of crept up on me in this frenzied process was the "appearance" of a focal point almost smack in the middle of the painting. While this is something I teach my students never to do, it might be fitting in this case. I am referring to the symbolic meaning of a white lily at the center of it all. So much for not getting too serious...

Painting #2

2009-06-09T16:54:00.002-05:00

This is another oil that only took one hour. Again, it's only 8" x 10". I am glad that I used up these small canvasses (the smallest I've ever worked) because the size is somewhat restrictive for me. But I suppose it's only a matter of getting used to it. I actually started painting on canvass about this size way back when I was 13 years old. I made a copy of a Van Gogh and then one of a Monet.

I got started on #3 since I got ahead a little with this one. I will use both acrylic and oils, and it will be a little larger.

First Painting of the Week

2009-06-09T09:35:00.003-05:00

Here is my first painting. Contrast is its main theme. The reeds are rectilinear and angular with high-keyed values and warm tones. The water is dark, cool and reflects undulating forms. It is a simple, straightforward composition with a dominant, heavier lower part and a smaller, yet more frenzied upper portion. It is almost monochromatic. It is a small painting: 8" x 10". I used oil paints for the first time in decades. I had been so used to acrylics, it was disorienting at first to experience the difference in drying time and blending properties. Layering washes of paint is more difficult with oils. Blending is more difficult with acrylics. I will try to combine both media in my next few paintings to take advantage of the different characteristics of each type of paint. I will try to stick with a series of lake-related paintings based on scenes in the Twin Lakes area. But I might venture into works exploring lanscapes from other parts of Wisconsin such as Viroqua and Door County.

One Week: Seven Paintings

2009-06-07T11:57:00.002-05:00

Several artists on the web have taken up the challenge of creating a painting a day. This is an admirable task, and it can seem daunting at first. But I am willing to try this for one week, if for no other reason than to exert the much-needed pressure I feel I need at this juncture. It is the beginning of the summer, and I am free to pursue things other than teaching for a time. I will try this paradigm shift and see what happens. I have in mind a series of landscapes of the local lake and surrounding area near where I live. I have some photos that I can use, but I am more excited about the possibility of "plein air" (a French term for painting out in the open) painting. I also want to extend this effort to include other areas farther away. I am thinking of outfitting my Goldwing with a portable easel and materials to go on one-day painting trips throughout southeast Wisconsin. The next few posts will attempt to document the results of my activities this week and the weeks to come.

The Stallion

2009-02-01T13:43:00.016-06:00

It was brilliant midday, but his midnight-black form appeared suddenly like a frightful nightmare. His sweaty coat shimmered with white highlights like a chiaroscuro drawing against the cool, dark green background of the tall pines. He thundered back and forth along the fence like a freight train. Loud snorts bellowed from his nostrils. His mane and tail danced in the humid air as if they were the wings of a dark, rebellious angel. I didn't know it then, but this animal was an image symbolic of a hidden longing that I would eventually discover.

We prepared ourselves well for the journey, my twin and I. We became our own “Corps of Discovery” setting out to explore the vast wilderness of our suburban domain. We had our canteens full of water: Christmas gifts we received in astonishment the previous December. Our anticipation for their usage had lasted long enough. We determined to conquer the unknown wherever it led us. One day, when summer vacation’s boredom had lasted far too long, we simply declared to our mother that we would be going on this excursion. Before we left, we implored her not to worry for our safety. After all, we were together as brothers, and like always, we would remain together through it all.

It was a dry, hot summer in Cuba. The dirt under my feet was peach-color sand scarred by deep furrows, reminders of the rainy season months before. Each step was an adventure, not only for us, but for the small creatures avoiding the crushing doom of our relentless advance. The sun was equal to the task as its radiance blasted our crew-cut little heads and baked our tender feet through our Keds. It was our first physical challenge. We wanted to test our manhood out there in the raw elements. We wanted so much to cut at least some apron strings. But there was my mother, languishing in the distance, far enough, so she thought, that we would not notice. Somewhat disappointed, but at the same time relieved, we plodded on toward the outer limits of our known world.

Those limits brought us before the presence of something so startling to my young mind, that it's never been erased from my memory. It was an encounter that, over the years, has become for me an omen. This "thing" was actually a created being, full of life and energy the likes of which I had not seen up to that point or since. It was wildness incarnate. It was a mirror. I saw myself in this being. It was a black stallion.

He has come to represent a choice to be taken or rejected. He was the real life to be lived which stood defiantly against life-long falsehood. He was the antithesis of the banal, quotidian existence. I was only seven years old, and the vision of this horse became one of many beacons I disregarded throughout my life. It's only now, after many years of locking up the significance of this memory that I have come to terms with it. This old vision is confronting me now in all its powerful, radiant beauty. I stand before it today as I did when I was a boy in front of that majestic horse. But it is not a feeling of awe that I feel now as I did then. It is a feeling of trepidation and a sense of urgency about the pursuit of a life I have never allowed myself to live.

That black stallion is at once a haunting ghost of an innocent past and an alarming prophesy foretelling my future. I have suppressed him, but I can't forget him. He is galloping at top speed toward me. I either get out of his way, or jump on his back as he comes near. He is getting closer.

Trip to Florida - 4

2008-09-08T19:10:00.002-05:00

How could I "travel through" Savannah? Any sane person would wonder why I didn't stop and take in the quintessential southern city and sip a Mint Julep (the American version of a Mojito)or two. The fact is I did just that the year before, and today I was on a mission to get past the Georgia-Florida border at the very least. Yes, I passed Savannah right on by. I passed by its beautiful neighborhoods with park-like settings. I passed by its majestic live oaks decorated with Spanish moss. I passed by its famous centuries-old cemeteries made all the more popular by novels and then movies. I had to get to Florida. And so I did. I came upon Jacksonville in the cool of the evening as the sun was setting. I came upon this long, tall bridge over the water. Not much traffic at the time. As I approached, my imagination ran away with me. I found myself leaning back and stretching my legs onto the highways pegs as I climbed higher up the bridge's incline. I pictured myself leaning so far back that I took off like a rocket into the delicately-painted dusk. Then I came over the other side of the bridge and back to reality. I stayed at St. Augustine that night.

Trip to Florida - 3

2008-09-03T19:42:00.003-05:00

My only disappointment on leaving the Asheville area was my choice of a motel for the previous night. It turned out to be the most expensive but worst room I would stay in throughout the whole trip. But the Ridge made up for it. Being on a motorcycle is not the most comfortable thing in the world, even if it is a Goldwing. But it was sheer joy just becoming part of the landscape that day. I didn't want it to end. But I gradually came down from my "high" as I made my way closer to the east coast. The perfect weather that I had taken for granted soon changed as I began to notice more and more puffy, cumulus clouds, the kind on which I exercised my imagination as a child. These were "ocean clouds" that eventually collapse with their load of moisture displaced from the sea. I thought I would be able to avoid one such vaporous behemoth, but I was wrong in estimating its distance from me (or perhaps the speed of the motorcycle). Suddenly the downpour was on me. I could hardly see and I stretched my neck above the windshield as I struggled to keep going for there was no convenient place to stop. I eventually passed a fellow biker hunkered down under an overpass, but by that time I thought I might as well make it to the next exit so I kept going. Then I began to feel pinpricks on my face and I realized it was hailing. I was committed now, but fortunately I came upon that welcome exit in a couple of minutes. The hail subsided and I sought shelter in a gas station while heavy rain, thunder and lightning continued in that unnamed hamlet just north of Savannah.

Trip to Florida - 2

2008-07-09T09:07:00.005-05:00

Louisville is my immediate goal as I take off through the uneventful southern Indiana landscape. My memory is refreshed as I approach the modest skyline of the downtown area. What I did not recall was the impressive bridge over the Ohio made all the more memorable this time by being on a motorcycle. I imagined how more than a century-and-a-half ago, people risked their lives swimming across that huge expanse of water to escape slavery. I could not help but think of the similarity (on a higher level of hazard) to the Florida Straits in more recent times.

As I got closer to the foothills of the Smoky Mountains, I decided to take an alternate route further east. I headed towards Lexington and eventually Knoxville where the Blue Ridge begins. I had never been through this area before, and I'm glad I made the effort to travel that way. Outside of Knoxville there was a traffic jam due to construction. I stopped and asked for alternate directions. One of the women working at the gas station immediately asked me if I was in town for the "Honda Hoot." I had read about this gathering of Honda motorcyclists before, but had forgotten that it was being celebrated that weekend. I told her that I regretted not being able to remain, but I had a commitment to be in Florida for family reasons. She was very attentive and gave me intricate directions on a route that turned out to be one the most fun little side trips I've even taken. It was the windiest road I'd been on in that wing of mine. That machine was a delight to drive as I leaned on every turn and marveled at how it hugged the road. I got back on the interstate and headed towards Asheville, North Carolina.

I am hesitant to admit it, but the beauty of the landscape I was about to witness brought tears to my eyes. There is something about the nature of beauty, no matter in what form, that fills one's soul with such joy that it is difficult (and perhaps undesirable) to contain it. Such was my experience as I felt dwarfed by the densely packed mountain landscape through which I biked. I felt enveloped by steep, cavernous
passages reigning over the strip of asphalt I was riding. I rested well that night just outside Asheville in the midst of the Blue Ridge.

Trip to Florida - 1

2008-07-07T10:55:00.003-05:00

So what does one do with a Goldwing and a lot of extra time? ROAD TRIP!!

The truth is that I had promised my aging godfather and aunt that I would visit them this summer. I had a crazy thought of going out there on my Vulcan 750 (on hindsight, that was a crazier thought than I could have ever imagined). It would have been cheaper and more practical to fly out there, but now I had this Goldwing...definitely several steps up from the little Vulcan. But could I actually make it to Florida? I decided to go for it.

At one time in my life, I would have tossed a few things in a bag and taken off without much of a thought. Now a days, I've settled into a middle/old age conservatism that compels me to do some planning (stubbornly, I still feel it is cumbersome although necessary). Without going into all the details, (which would force me to admit that I brought my laptop, GPS unit, PDA and a collection of other things that I hardly used and would curl the hair of any minimalist) I was able to stuff all that I "needed" into the sizable built-in luggage compartments on the wing. I had written out a long check list, and by the time I had check and doubled-checked that I had everything, it was lunch time of the first day that I had planned on leaving. I decided to have a farewell lunch with Bunny, but that I would still try to get away in spite of the lateness of the hour. And so, off I went.

I thought it would be best to stay on the back roads at the beginning, and perhaps for the whole trip. I was still not very familiar with my bike, and thought this might be prudent (old-age conservatism). It was almost three hours later in Mason City, Illinois when I finally took the bold step of venturing onto an interstate. I had had enough of slow-poke riding. When I arrived at Champaign, I eagerly took I-74 out towards Indianapolis. Wow, what a revelation! This Goldwing was made for the big road!! I started out slowly as I got used to the speed. But after I discovered the cruise control, I found freedom! I loved it how the miles went by so quickly. I was finally making good time. I actually traveled farther the second half of my half day than the first. I got past Indianapolis as far as Brownsville, Indiana and stopped for the night feeling good that I had made it that far.

New Motorcycle

2008-07-07T10:38:00.002-05:00

As a teacher, the last day of school before summer vacation is always a special day...maybe even more so than for students. On that day, I found myself traveling past the motorcycle dealer and decided to stop and check things out. I had no intention of buying anything. I was simply browsing and dreaming. I've always wanted to own a Goldwing, ever since I started riding a few years ago. That day, I found a used one and thought about it a bit, but looked at other new bikes with more interest. As I compared what I could get for about the same money, the 2002 Goldwing seemed more and more attractive. I left the shop and called my wife thinking she might want to see it. We went out for a bite to eat and then headed out to see the bike. To my surprise, she really liked it. We put some money down and thought about it over the weekend. I did more research on the web and decided it would be a good deal. We lined up our financing with the credit union and went to pick it up. In a matter of just a few days, I realized a long-time dream of owning a Goldwing. I didn't realize, however, what future adventures lay in store for me and my "couch rocket."

It's Not Just the Superbowl

2007-02-04T21:51:00.000-06:00

I'm not a rabid football fan, but I do enjoy watching the game. I'm certainly not an expert at predicting outcomes of games, but this year's Superbowl was of special interest. It was not only because the Chicago Bears earned a trip there, but also because of the two coaches who were involved this year.

Furthermore, my youngest son, Luke, was home from Steamboat Springs, Colorado for a visit. It was great watching the game and spending time with him and the rest of the kids.

Two African-American coaches, Tony Dungy and Lovey Smith, led their respective teams, the Indianapolis Colts and the Chicago Bears to the pinnacle of their sport. I did not not know much about these two men until reports came out about their similar coaching styles. They are both soft-spoken men in a sport that is dominated by strong personalities and harsh manners.

The fact that they were able to accomplish so much in a seemingly unforced manner was a lesson to me as a teacher. Coaches are very much like teachers, and teachers are very much like coaches. The lesson for me is that a "gentle persuasion" goes farther than confrontation, especially with young people.

My son Luke and I have had our differences in the past. But as of late, things have mellowed out between us. It seems, paradoxically, that distance has brought us closer together. Today we were lying around discussing everything from music to politics, and it was surprising to see on how much we did agree. Some people say jokingly that "parents get smarter as kids grow older." While that may be mostly said in sarcasm, it may actually be true. As for Luke and I, we were actually enjoying each other's company and trusting and communicating better.

The Bears' loss was a dissappointment, but I was looking beyond the score. It was an honorable loss to a worthy opponent. The event was also a reminder to a teacher and father of how these coaches bridged a generation gap. Our beloved Bears may have suffered a defeat, but I'll always remember the 41st as more than just a Superbowl.

Why do I want to remember?

2007-01-09T22:27:00.000-06:00

Brice Marden

Cold Mountain, 1989-91

"Put a fish on land and he will remember the ocean until he dies. Put a bird in a cage, yet he will not forget the sky. Each remains homesick for his true home, the place where his nature has decreed that he should be."

--Zen Master Han Shan

I was looking at Brice Marden's work recently. I didn't know much about him before...minimalist painter. It stands to reason that he should admire or follow Zen Buddhism. His recent work is inspired by Zen poems.

I am not a Buddhist. I have a friend (at least I think he is still my friend), with whom I have almost no contact now, who has been a Buddhist. I understood at the time what attracted him to it. It has a certain appeal to me as well. Christ had somewhat of a Zen approach at times (He drew on the sand, didn't He?) Or maybe the Zen masters got their thing from Christ (chrono-logical, no?).

Brice Marden, Zen poetry, my memories of Cuba...see the connection? The maxim above reminded me of why I want to remember. That's all.

I'm Back!

2007-01-03T18:11:00.000-06:00

As you can tell, blogging for me is not a consistent activity. Nevertheless, once having started it, I feel a tug to continue doing it. I'm not sure that I will ever be consistent, as I have many new responsibilities this year. But I will make an attempt to write at least a few lines a little more often.

The content of my blog has slowly evolved from a simple recording of a few personal activities to a more elaborate posting of Cuba-related news and comments. I'm not sure how this really happened, but I'm glad it did. However, the content of the blog has narrowed more than I would like. Although my interest in Cuba will never wane, I want to focus and direct that interest toward my own concerns as an artist. I want to delve deeper into my own memories of life in Cuba, not for the sake of mere nostalgia, but for the inherent value I see in them as a way to share the meaning of culture, and the human experience.

I probably will not blog every day. I probably will not blog about each and every news item on Cuba. I will probably continue to publish some very personal reflections and imagery, if for no other reason than for my own sanity.

Cuban government attempts murder of dissident's child

2006-09-01T22:15:00.000-05:00

I am appalled, but not surprised, that repression in Cuba continues at a barbaric level. The government of Cuba has gone to a subhuman extreme to preserve its authority and intimidate any opposition. The latest proof is an eye-witness report by the wife of Cuban dissident Darsi Ferrer. She describes how castro's thugs attempted to murder her five-year-old son and her husband. Babalu Blog has all the details here. Here is the post from Babalu by A.M. Mora y Leon:

Dr. Darsi Ferrer grabbed by castro's goons
Updated with good translation

The worst has happened. castro's brutal thugs have grabbed Dr. Ferrer, one of the most courageous of dissidents in Cuba, and known to many of us because he sends daily reports of what's happening in Cuba at his own peril. I consider him a sterling source of information.

The disturbing note is here, and thanks to Reina Picarda and Carolina Bolado, the translation follows:
***
Ayer en horas de la madrugada sobre las 2:30 am, el Doctor Darsi Ferrer Ramírez, fué detenido arbitrariamente, por alrededor de 50 Miembros de la Policia Política vestidos de Policias sin chapas puestas, en 12 patrulleros. Con pistola en mano le tocaron la puerta fuertemente y lo esposaron al momento, llevándoselo en pantalón , descalzo y sin camisa , sin decir a que lugar, dejando solo a la vez a nuestro pequeno hijo de 5 años, porque yo me encontraba en casa de mi madre que estaba enferma. Darsi les dijo que el niño estaba hay, que dejaran llevarlo con él hasta que yo lo recogiera y no le hicieron caso,por lo que se lo llevaron, pero antes de hacerlo abrieron la llave del gas de la casa y cerraron la puerta. Gracias a la coolaboración de algunos vecinos que me fueron a buscar rápido a la casa logramos romper una ventana y entrar donde por suerte mi niño aún se encontraba con vida.

El paradero de Darsi era desconocido hasta que a las 6:11 am, se personó un oficial del Ministerio del Interior en la casa para decirme en que Unidad estaba , y alrededor de las 8:00 apróximadamente lo soltaron.En estos momentos a la 1:00 pm, fué detenido arbitrariamente nuevamente en una esquina de la oficina de Intereses cuando se disponia a entrar, sin dar ninguna explicación se lo volvieron a llevar. Por lo que ahora voy en busca de su paradero que espero que sea una Unidad y no otro lugar donde esté. Lés envio este mensaje para que sepan que yo Yusnaimy Jorge Soca, responsabilizó y acuso al gobierno, a la Seguridad del Estado, y a todo aquél que tenga que ver en el intento de asesinato de mi hijo Dariel Ferrer Jorge, de solo 5 años, y de mi esposo Darsi Ferrer Ramirez.
***
Translation, courtesy of Carolina Bolado and Reina Picarda:
Yesterday in the early hours, 2.30 am, Dr. Darsi Ferrer Ramirez, was arrested arbitrarily by about 50 members of the Political Police, dressed as policemen, without shields, in 12 police cars.

With guns drawn, they loudly knocked on the door. He was immediately handcuffed and taken, without pants, shoes or shirt, who knows where, leaving our 5 year old son alone, as I was at my sick mother's home.

Darsi told them that our son was alone and asked that he be allowed to take him (son) with them. They paid no attention to him. But, before leaving, they turned on the gas and closed the door. Thanks to the help of some neighbors, who quickly went to find me, we were able to break a window, enter, and rescue the child still alive.

The whereabouts of Darsi were unknown until 6:11am, when an official from the Ministry of Interior arrived to tell me where (in which unit) he was detained. At approximately 8 am he was released.

At this moment, around 1 pm, Darsi was arbitrarily arrested again on the corner of the Interests Office, which he was about to enter. Giving no explanation, he was taken away again. I am now going to look for him and hope to find him in a unit and not in another place. I'm sending this message to inform you that I, Yusnaimy Jorge Sosa, hold responsible and accuse the government, the National Security and everyone who was involved in this attempt to murder my son, Dariel Ferrer Jorge, who is only 5 years old, and my husband, Darsi Ferrer Ramirez.

Freedom for Cuban Journalists

2006-08-18T06:28:00.000-05:00

As much as many of us complain about biased coverage in the media, we should be thankful that our founding fathers thought it important enough to have free speech guaranteed in our constitution. But this freedom we often take for granted is not part of life in castro's Cuba. A basic principle of castro's brutal governance is the repression of dissenting views and the outlawing of a free press. This is one of the ways an insecure regime can remain in control.

The castro regime has systematically jailed journalists who have tried to express views that are contrary to the revolution. Not many people hear about these forgotten heroes...until now. The Inter American Press Association is shouting loud and clear to have 27 journalists freed and pardoned. Here is a press release from the IAPA:

IAPA calls for unrestricted news access in Cuba, release of 25 jailed journalists

MIAMI, Florida (August 7, 2006) The Inter American Press Association (IAPA) today called on the Cuban government to give unrestricted access to the country to foreign reporters and repeated its request for the release of 25 independent journalists imprisoned there since 2003.
The announcement last week of President Fidel Castro's health crisis led international news organizations to seek urgent entry for their reporters to Cuba, where an entry visa is required and normally takes several weeks to obtain.

It was learned that Cuban officials have denied entry to at least four journalists for failing to obtain such a visa and that permission to enter the country was cancelled for four others from Europe despite their having complied with the visa requirements.

"Regrettably, we are not surprised at the news blackout imposed by authorities who are incapable of making an exception and allowing reporters to cover the breaking news as occurs in other places, even at a time when their country is under scrutiny by the rest of the world, wanting to know first-hand what is going on there," said Gonzalo Marroquín, chairman of the IAPA's Committee on Freedom of the Press and Information.

Marroquín, editor of the Guatemala City, Guatemala, newspaper Prensa Libre, once again repeated an IAPA request for the release of 25 independent journalists, most of them in poor health, serving lengthy terms in Cuban prisons. "We hold the Cuban government responsible for the personal well-being of the imprisoned journalists and of those who continue working outside government control," Marroquín said.

Editor and Publisher has more on this story:

IAPA Calls For Mass Editorials Urging Cuba To Free Journos

By Mark Fitzgerald

Published: August 16, 2006 3:35 PM ET

CHICAGO With Cuban President Fidel Castro apparently on the mend but still ceding power to his brother Raul, the Inter American Press Association (IAPA) says now is the time for newspapers around the hemisphere to urge the immediate release of some two dozen imprisoned journalists, and an end to government harassment of the tiny independent press on the island.

IAPA is suggesting newspapers publish the commentary simultaneously on Friday Aug. 18.

"Given recent developments in Cuba ... the situation has worsened for the independent press in that country," IAPA President Diana M. Daniels, general counsel and corporate secretary of The Washington Post Co., wrote in the "Dear Colleagues" letter to IAPA members.

"We believe this is the time to heighten our pressure for the immediate release of the jailed journalists, most of whom are suffering from chronic health problems and abuse in the prisons," wrote Daniels and Gonzalo Marroquín, director of the Guatemala City daily Prensa Libre.

On Aug. 8, a week after the government announced that Castro had temporarily ceded power to his brother while he underwent unspecified intestinal surgery, Cuban authorities released one imprisoned independent journalist, Santiago Albert DuBouchet Hernández, director of the news agency Habana Press. He had completed a sentence of one year for allegedly resisting arrest.

Most of the remaining imprisoned journalists were rounded up in mass raids in March of 2003 that also swept up independent librarians, economists and other dissidents. Most journalists were charged with violating the notorious Law 88, a 1999 act providing long sentences for a variety of journalistic "crimes.

"IAPA listed the imprisoned journalists, who are serving terms ranging from one to 27 years, as the following: Ricardo Alfonso, Pedro Argüelles, Victor Arroyo, *Armando Bentancourt, Mijail Bárzaga, José Caraballo, José Castillo, Adolfo Fernández, *José Ferrer, Alfredo Fuentes, Miguel Galván, José García, Alejandro González, Lester González, Oscar González, Roberto Guerra, Julio Gálvez, Iván Hernández, Normándo Hernández, Juan Herrera, José Izquierdo, Hector Maseda, Pablo Pacheco, Fabio Prieto, Alfredo Pulido, Omar Rodríguez, Omar Ruíz."

There is a petition sponsored by Reporters Without Borders here that you can sign urging the Cuban government to free and pardon these men.

Other blogs to which I owe most of this information:
Michelle Malkin (Val Prieto writing)
American Thinker
Uncommon Sense
Wall Street Cafe
Instapundit

The Cuban Collective Unconscious

2006-08-02T13:44:00.000-05:00

There seems to be a lot of talk lately about Cuban-Americans going back to Cuba en masse by boat. Perhaps it is part of our "Cuban Collective Unconscious."

Here is one Cuban-American blogger's comment:

"Have any of you heard of the Father Claret prophecy? Can't say if it is apocryphal or not, but the version I've found talks about the Cuban people taking to the sea, to and from Cuba, after the death of the evil ruler who is the subject of the prophecy."

A recent update on a popular Cuban-American blog states:

"Update: Congresswoman Ileana Ros-Lehtinen is urging all Cubans in Miami with boats to NOT attempt to go to Cuba to bring family members over or for any other purpose. All vessels will be intercepted at sea."

Another Cuban-American blogger quotes several Cuban-American community leaders:

'''We want to get there and help with whatever we can . . . ,'' said Ramon Saul Sanchez, leader of the Democracy Movement. "We are talking with our attorneys to see what we can do legally.'' At the same time, U.S. Sen. Mel Martinez, who is Cuban American, warned about the dangers of any action that could encourage mass migration, which could endanger lives. ''I think people need to keep their emotions in check, difficult as it is,'' Martinez said. State and federal authorities said they would block any efforts to reach Cuba by boat from Florida. ''Don't attempt to leave,'' said Amos Rojas, regional director for the Florida Department of Law Enforcement. "If there is a problem on the island, the Coast Guard will blockade it, and we're not going to let people go from here.'''

We expect a show of bravery from the oppressed opposition in Cuba, but some of our leaders here are telling us that we should not go over there to support them...it's too dangerous (maybe it's reverse psychology!). We want Cubans in Cuba to risk all. But are we ready to reciprocate?

What would really happen if a flotilla of a hundred thousand unarmed civilian boats full of Cuban-Americans lined up along the Florida Keys and started moving south at the same time? Would they all be stopped? Could they all be stopped? How? By the US Coastguard? There is a federal law in the US that bars ships from getting within 12 miles of Cuba's coastline without a Coast Guard permit. How will the Coastguard enforce that law if there are hundreds of thousand of boats out there?

The Cuban military will certainly react. Would there be bloodshed then? Probably. Would the US get involved? We ARE Cuban-AMERICANS, not chopped liver I hope! Yes, the Bay of Pigs was a hard lesson. But isn't the situation different today? Can Bush be compared to Kennedy? How long are promises made under an international crisis to a now defunct adversary (USSR) be kept?

Both the US and Cuba are signatories of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Article 13, section 2 of said declaration states:

(2) Everyone has the right to leave any country, including his own, and to return to his country.

For the US, it's time to affirm a legal document that makes sense and to discard outdated laws inconsistent with it. For Cuba, it's time to change everything!

Cuba needs all its people, both exiles and those that have remained oppressed on the island. For the last 47 years the country has been, to say the least, out of balance. She has been sucked dry by her oppressors and needs to be flushed and showered with the cleansing and nurturing waters of freedom. I believe this has to come from the outside, at least in part. Yes, there are two Cubas right now: the one in our minds (exiles) and the one in their minds (Cubans now in Cuba). The future of Cuba needs both versions.

Is it precipitous to mount a non-violent "mass-migration" by boat to Cuba now? Isn't it the best time? Allow your mind to wander a bit. Consider the impossible and it may become possible...even real. Our Cuban Collective Unconscious is urging us.

Where is raul castro?

2006-08-02T11:05:00.000-05:00

You would think that after taking over the reins of government, a man would feel the need to appear before his people and make some sort of statement of reassurance if nothing else. But no word has been heard from raul castro. Why? Is he that shy? Is he scared and in hiding for fear of an assassination? Or is he dead, as dead as his older brother!

The 1996 Helms-Burton Act prohibits the normalizing of relations with any Cuban government that includes fidel or raul. If there is any desire on the part of the senior leaders of the Cuban government to normalize relations with the US and take advantage of any aid or future trade deals (to enrich themselves, of course), then they need to get rid of raulito. I believe this may have happened already, or will happen in the very near future as soon as they catch up with him.

The fact that raul castro is nowhere to be seen is to me a good sign that changes may occur faster than expected in Cuba. Whether these changes will be a sweeping embrace of true democracy, or just a baby step towards it remains to be seen. But I believe the status quo in Communist Cuba will be a thing of the past very soon.

Is castro dead?

2006-08-01T14:29:00.000-05:00

Over the decades that span castro's reign of terror over Cuba, many rumors have arisen about his death. Some, it is said, have even been instigated by the brute himself. Yesterday, a news story, not a rumor, broke about castro giving up power due to surgery. You can believe what the mainstream media is reporting, or you can surmise from the clues surrounding the situation whether castro has died or not. For me, there are enough clues out there to conclude with a fair amount of certainty, that castro has died. Here are a few:

1. No acknowledgement or statement from raul castro either about the operation and condition of his brother, or his assumption to power.
2. Some are saying that the document that officially hands power over to raul castro (supposedly signed by castro before the surgery) was "fabricated" afterward: "Redstate is hearing from congressional sources that it has become apparent that the statement yesterday came after the surgery. This may indicate that Castro is in grave condition or is already dead."
3. The amount of time stipulated by the Cuban government for castro's recuperation (two months) seems inordinately long. Perhaps they are buying time to "sort" things out.

I suspect there will be more clues in the next few days or weeks...like a body.

Padrino, you did outlive him!!

Padrino's Birthday

2006-07-26T10:44:00.000-05:00

For most of us who are Cuban exiles, the 26th of July is a day that invokes anger, mourning, and bad memories. I, however, am one of the lucky ones who can choose to celebrate a more meaningful and grateful event: my Padrino's birthday. Patricio Ponce de Leon is 91 years old today. He and the family celebrated this day long before castro hijacked it for his own. For the Texidors and Ponces, the significance of this day has nothing to do with castro. Padrino has had to endure sharing his day with castro for decades now. But perhaps he will have the last laugh, as I predict he will outlive castro and have his birthday to himself again someday soon.

I was named after Patricio. All my life, he has been my second father. He was married to my father's sister, Catalina, whom we affectionately called Villi. They both delighted in spoiling me. They nurtured my love of drawing and painting by buying me art supplies and books. I owe them both the appreciation for art which ultimately became my career. Villi passed away a few years ago. It was a heart-breaking loss for all of us, but especially for Padrino.

I have always admired Padrino for several reasons. First of all, he is an extremely intelligent and well-educated man. He has a PhD in Botany and taught and conducted research in Cuba for many years. After coming to the US in 1960, he was offered a curatorship by the Field Museum of Natural History in Chicago where he remained until his retirement. My second reason for really liking Padrino, especially when I was a kid, was his youthful attitude. When all the other adults were sitting around talking and doing boring adult things, Padrino was out there with us kids playing dodgeball and spud. Also, Padrino has always been a "cool guy". By that I mean he is a sociable, cultivated individual who can carry on an engaging conversation on any subject; he dresses well and appreciates the finer things in life. Lastly, Padrino has sacrificed much for the sake of his family. He has been a great example to me and I love him greatly.

Today, I am fortunate to have Padrino to celebrate instead of the revolution. Today, I celebrate the example of manhood he has given me rather than the degradation of humanity represented by the revolution. Today is my Padrino's birthday. Felicidades, Padrino!

Life Becomes Art

2006-07-26T09:55:00.000-05:00

This gripping visual comes by way of The Real Cuba, Blog for Cuba, and Babalu Blog. It is, in my view, a great example of how life becomes art. It is a Cuban flag on which are written several statements: The fatherland is for all; For Cuba it is now time; Let's open the door; Long live the APPSC (The Assembly to Promote a Civil Society in Cuba); Long live a free and democratic Cuba. The statements were written by Cuban dissident Santiago Valdeolla Perez. This would not be so unusual were it not for the fact that the man used his own blood for ink. A facsimile of a letter in his own writing appears (in Spanish) here.

My Apologies

2006-07-26T09:50:00.000-05:00

The previous post applauded the activities of smugglers who are paid to bring in their human contraband from Cuba. In my eagerness to celebrate the liberation of some refugees, I made the mistake of assuming that those who helped them had altruistic motives. It has been pointed out that these smugglers are not motivated by a love of freedom, but are rather in it simply for the money. They have made deals with Castro, with whom they share the profits, to allow them to bring these refugees out of Cuba. The money comes from the relatives of the refugees who are living in the US and wish to be reunited with their loved ones. I offer my apologies for being so naive.

Super Smugglers...Anonymous Heroes

2006-06-27T11:50:00.000-05:00

Faster than a speeding go-fast boat...Super Smugglers to the rescue!

Perhaps it is a bit disconcerting to discover how easy it might be to smuggle anything into this country. But in this case, I am applauding the gutsy behavior of unknown heroes who risk prosecution to help Cubans that are struggling to get out of their island prison. I probably should not be calling too much attention to these people who take matters into their own hands to help those in need. I want them to remain anonymous for their own protection. But at the same time, I want to praise them loudly for their courage and reckless abandon...an admirable characteristic that is typically Cuban.

The Miami Herald online has the story:

http://www.miami.com/mld/miamiherald/news/local/14904609.htm?source=yahoodist&content=mia_news

More details and video links at Ya No Mas!

I am Cuban...I am Cuban

2006-05-21T12:59:00.000-05:00

For a guy who is isolated from most things Cuban, Cuba Nostalgia has been the experience of the year. As my friend Julio said to me, "Pat, you live in a cultural desert!" I have to agree with him, especially concerning Cuban Culture. Whenever I come down to Miami, my heart soars merely with the sound of my native language spoken in the uniquely Cuban manner that for many who live here is taken for granted. I, on the other hand, am enlivened by it. Sounds extend to the music, of course. As I am writing I am listening to a beautiful danzon, whose soft, repetitive rhythm soothes my soul unlike anything else I can think of. And not only the sound of my culture, but the sights dazzle me. And I am a visual person to begin with, so this aspect of my experience is what I most appreciate. People's faces, their body language, their attire ...it's all eye candy for me. I do not want this to end. I do not want to leave and go back to my desert. I feel the warmth of new friendships here. I feel the caressing effect of my people's way of life. I feel like this is where I belong. But I have to return to the reality of life in another place, another way of life. Someday I will satisfy this yearning in my heart...this pull of roots that cannot be torn out of their rightful place of being. I am Cuban . I am Cuban.

Blogging from Cuba Nostalgia

2006-05-19T17:20:00.000-05:00

Here we are at Cuba Nostalgia with all the bloggers who form part of the Babalu blog community. Ziva and Julio are busy contributing "live". I find it rewarding to meet all my fellow bloggers in person and connect a physical reality with my mind's image of them.

Val Prieto, originator of the Babalu Blog, is seen here with Miguel "O-matic" (I like that handle!). Miguel is a regular contributor to the Babalu Blog.

Yuca baby's (Chantel Acevedo) baby, Penelope, is here. I am looking forward to reading Chantel's new book "Love and Ghost Letters". I mentioned the Cintas Fellowship to her. I believe she would be an excellent candidate for next year. I wish her the best.

If the layout on this post looks a little goofy, we will have to attribute that to the beers we've been having. The spirit of "Man Camp" is here!

My Mother Lives in a Tree

2006-05-13T08:42:00.000-05:00

My mother died a few years ago. She suffered from congestive heart failure caused by a heart attack that she barely survived back when I was in high school. Practically half her heart tissue was dead. In spite of her disability, she went on with her life as a devoted wife and mother, always thinking of her family first. She was the closest to a truly selfless individual that I’ve ever come across. Almost to a fault she would sacrifice her well-being just to continue to fulfill her duties around her house.

Silvia had a somewhat privileged life in Cuba. Her father was a good provider and spoiled her with many things. The most memorable for her was a Boston Terrier, about which she was always fond of telling stories. But she was also given a good education. She was shipped off to the United States to attend a Catholic girls' boarding school in Mobile, Alabama. There she learned English, which proved to be a valuable skill later in life. We all depended on her a lot to help us with the new language and customs when we first arrived in the US. Thanks to her, we learned English quickly and could get help with our homework. I don’t think I could have made it through fifth grade without her help.

My mother was always full of zest. She was indefatigable. During the final stages of her illness, the most difficult part was the realization that she had a lot of life left in her. It was not for lack of spirit that she left us. Her body simply gave out.

One time she was visiting us up here in our house near a lake in Wisconsin. I took her out in my ski boat and was just touring the lake looking at beautiful lakefront houses. It started to cloud up and I said that we should probably get to shore. In her childlike way, she insisted on staying out a little longer. “Just another loop around the lake, Patricio.” She said. Suddenly it started to drizzle a bit. Now I began to worry about lightning. “OK, Mom. Let’s go in now.” I said. “But I like it like this, it’s refreshing,” she said. I though she was nuts. Finally she relented. I rushed to land the boat and trailer it so I could take us home a few blocks away. By now the rain was pouring and the wind had picked up. I never moved so fast in all my life. I managed to tie everything up and scoot inside the van very distressed only to find my mother (dripping wet herself) sitting in the passenger seat smiling and declaring, “Now that was fun! Thanks Patricito” My only thought at this point was that we were still not safe at home. The wind was so fierce by this time that I was only able to drive one block before I decided to park in my brother’s driveway. His house was closer to the lake, but there were massive oak trees in the yard that were making awful creaking noises as the wind stressed their branches. We didn’t dare step out of the van. I pictured us under one of those heavy branches and decided to brave it the two more blocks to my house. As I drove slowly, I could feel the trailer swaying violently. During the short drive, we saw several smaller trees bent almost horizontally. I don’t know how we made it, but we did. We caused quite a stir as we entered the house. Lots of scolding awaited us along with the relief that we were OK. Later we found out that a tornado had ripped through Twin Lakes and caused considerable damage. My mother was delighted with the attention and adventure of it all. That was one of her distinctive characteristics, her spirit of adventure. I think that helped us all when we moved to the US.

I didn’t realize how much I missed my mother until well after she died. My reaction to her death and separation was subtle and unforeseen. It began to affect all my relationships. A darkness fell upon my life. Only the passing of time would heal me.

I remember my mother often. When I see and talk to my sisters. When I hold my daughter’s small hands. When I recall my brother and sister-in-law’s sacrifice of moving to Florida to help take care of her that last year of her life. Every time, but especially in spring, when I see that flowering ornamental pear tree I planted in my backyard in her memory.

My mother lives in a tree.

Cubs win World Series against White Sox and castro dies during deciding seventh game

2006-04-05T22:04:00.000-05:00

This might just be the year for some seismic events. My son, Paul, is the most ardent baseball fan in our family, and it was during a conversation with him that I worked out my predictions. This year Chicago will have a "cross-town series" pitting the northsiders against the southsiders. Come next October, the windy city will light up with excitement as the two home teams win their respective pennants and vie with each other for the championship of professional baseball. Each team will win three games taking the series to a deciding seventh as the weather turns cool and leaves begin to fall. In this seventh game, the score will remain tied into the bottom of the ninth inning as the Cubs take their at bat. Unfortunately for the admirable White Sox (they've had their turn...now it's ours!), the Cubs manage a two-out homerun by Aramis Ramirez to win the series. Series celebration coverage is interrupted by breaking news that castro has died and people have poured into the streets in mass protest for a change in government. Over the next few days, castro's elite take flight and a fledgling new government asks the US for assistance. Relations between Cuba and the US are normalized. US troops are sent in for peacekeeping and humanitarian missions. The Cubs, in sympathy, change their name to the "Cubas" and go on to win the world series perpetually with the help of Cuban players. I think this might just be THE year!

Why Fariñas halted his hunger strike

2006-04-02T21:29:00.000-05:00

I believe Dr, Fariñas halted his hunger strike because he was persuaded by other dissidents that his death would come at an inopportune time since the demise of castro is imminent. Friends and family were always in fear of losing him, so it was understandable that they would encourage him to stop. But fellow dissidents are realistic compatriots willing to sacrifice in the same way as Fariñas. They understood well what he was trying to do, and respected him for doing it. They would be the last people to try to talk him into ending the hunger strike...unless there was a good reason to do so. It was their opinion to which he was most attuned. And their knowledge of the situation in Cuba prompted them to counsel him in earnest to "live to fight another day." Fariñas finally listened. I'm glad he did. I'm glad because a relatively young man who has a lot yet to contribute to make Cuba a free country remains with us for longer than I expected. I'm glad because the end of his hunger strike, I believe, points to some encouraging developments of which not many of us are aware. I know I'm speculating here, and it may be irresponsible of me to do so. But I have never claimed this blog to be an objective news source. And if I can't offer my opinions here freely, then where can I do so? Take it for what it's worth; consider the source. I don't really care if you think I'm crazy or not. This is what I believe.

Fog People: Stammering for Meaning

2006-03-31T18:27:00.000-06:00

We were driving back from Madison late Tuesday night after a fun time at the Overture Center. We saw Cirque Dreams, a production similar to Cirque du Soleil in which acrobats and dancers with elaborate costumes perform beautiful, sometimes exotic and highly imaginative routines. It was well worth the long drive there and back.

Earlier that afternoon, on the drive to Madison, my daughter, wife and I somehow got into a discussion that started with classical and popular music mixes, then French Impressionist composers, then existentialism, then the post modern revelation that there is no meaning in the search for meaning. I guess without knowing it, the stage was set for the quiet trip back in which they both slept and I pondered fog.

Yes, there was thick fog almost all the way back home, both literally and figuratively. I was enthralled by the way the low-lying clouds lit up with my car's headlamps. It formed a surreal tunnel effect that was mesmerizing. It was as if we were traveling through an endless black space, within a translucent white tube. The effect came and went randomly as we cruised through the fog banks. It became almost soothing to be enveloped by the fog, as a young child must feel when he hides under his blanket at night. I recalled the documentary on Eugene O'Neill that I had watched on PBS the previous evening.

A Long Day's Journey into Night was O'Neill's greatest play. He had stipulated in his will that it should not be published until 25 years after his death, and that it should never be performed on stage. Needless to say, his widow, whom he trusted to execute the will, did not respect his wishes. In fact, she decided rather quickly (three years) to have the play produced in 1956. Some, I should say the majority of American drama critics and enthusiasts, have praised her for this. They justify it by saying that O'Neill must have anticipated that she would disregard the will knowing her as well as he did. Although I understand their thankfulness that such a brilliant work was not cast into oblivion, I do not share their sentiments. Nor do I believe for one moment that O'Neill would be pleased if he were able to know what happened. It is not in the spirit of brutal honesty that O'Neill championed in his work. But, I have his eloquent fog about which to write.

O'Neill used the image of fog to communicate the human condition. I can imagine in his native New England, fog must be commonplace. He used a natural element common to his early life experiences as a metaphor for those very experiences. He had a tortured family life, much of which is expressed in his plays, especially Long Day's Journey. There are four characters in the play which covers a single day. The father, mother and two sons are the quintessential dysfunctional family. The mother is a morphine addict who expresses her desire to escape in the following lines: "I really love the fog. It hides you from the world and the world from you. No one can find or touch you any more." The fog is the blanket against the harsh light of life. The father is a frustrated old actor who is full of regrets that he did not pursue more meaningful roles as opposed to more lucrative productions. His early life of poverty pushes him into a miserliness that is resented by his wife and eldest son. Jamie is an alcoholic, who like his mother blames the father for his weakness. The younger son, Edmund is a writer/poet who is about to die from tuberculosis. This is the character with whom O'Neill identifies. He names him after his deceased brother.

Following is the dialogue between Edmund and his father as they are playing cards:

"EDMUND: ... (He grins wryly.) It was a great mistake my being born a man, I would have been much more successful as a seagull or a fish. As it is, I will always be a stranger who never feels at home, who does not really want and is not really wanted, who can never belong, who must always be a little in love with death!
TYRONE -- (Stares at him - impressed) Yes there's the makings of a poet in you alright. (Then protesting uneasily) But that's morbid craziness about not being wanted and loving death.
EDMUND -- (sardonically) The makings of a poet. No, I'm afraid I'm like the guy who is always panhandling for a smoke. He hasn't even got the makings. He's got only the habit. I couldn't touch what I tried to tell you just now. I just stammered. That's the best I'll ever do. I mean, if I live. Well, it will be faithful realism, at least. Stammering is the native eloquence of us fog people."

I often wonder how certain things I experience seem to connect somehow: the TV special on O'Neill; the conversation on the way to Madison; the late-night trip back through the fog. What is the meaning of this? What is...What is the meaning...of this? I can only stammer.

Guillermo Fariñas Blogburst

2006-03-27T23:47:00.000-06:00

A blogburst on behalf of Guillermo Fariñas is going on right now at Babalu Blog and Fausta's Blog. Please join in or at least link to the blogburst using the links above.

The power of words

2006-03-27T13:11:00.000-06:00

I received the following poem today from my cousin, Ada. I am vaguely acquainted with Cástulo Gregorisch's work. Another of his poems was posted by conductor here. There are others here.

This particular poem I am posting has a special allure for me. It contains a brave and transparent honesty (Soy el que acobardado huyó.) as well as a softer, edge (Soy quien no guarda rencor....Soy el que a odiar no aprendió.) that appeals to those of us who are interested in expressions of the spirit of Christ. The last stanza:

Soy el que no se acostumbra,
Soy quien raíces dejó,
¡Soy el que nunca se olvida
que en Cuba, un día nació!

offers another honest response to the culture that has us conflicted by the generosity of their succor and their contrasting and frustrating pragmatism.

SOY
Soy la ola con su espuma,
Soy muro, soy malecón,
Soy la farola del morro,
Soy guaracha, soy danzón.

Soy el cubano exilado,
Soy comparsa y guaguancó,
Soy aroma de tabaco,
Soy tumbadora y bongó.

Soy el pobre desterrado,
Soy el triste corazón,
Soy el que vive alejado,
Soy quien llora su dolor.

Soy quien anhela volver,
Soy quien nunca se alejó,
Soy quien se fuera obligado,
Soy el que acobardado huyó.

Soy el que sueña despierto,
Soy quien la patria perdió,
Soy el que allá aún se encuentra,
Soy el que nunca partió.

Soy San Rafael y Galiano,
Soy esperanza y amor,
Soy el que añora la patria,
Soy la nostalgia y el ron.

Soy el histórico exilio,
Soy uno más del montón,
Soy el que muere de pena,
Soy el que a odiar no aprendió.

Soy el que ya desespera,
Soy quien paciencia agotó,
Soy el de la larga espera,
Soy poema, soy candor.

Soy la palma, soy la caña,
Soy la conga y su sabor,
Soy el café matutino,
Soy quien no guarda rencor.

Soy el que no se acostumbra,
Soy quien raíces dejó,
¡Soy el que nunca se olvida
que en Cuba, un día nació!

-Cástulo Gregorisch
1/28/06

Guillermo Fariñas: Victorious Unknown

2006-03-24T20:37:00.000-06:00

There is not much time left in the life of Guillermo Fariñas. He will have accomplished all he can for the cause of freedom in Cuba with his last breath. From that point on, it's up to others to make his contribution a lasting one. The efficacy of his sacrifice will depend on the ability of others to make the world aware of the cause for which he is willing to give his life.

With that in mind, I am writing this post in solidarity with many others who are also participating in a "blogburst" to make the world more aware of the struggle for freedom in the Cuba of castro's making.

What I know of Guillermo Fariñas is that he is a trained psychologist who turned his attention to journalism. He did so with the hope that as the outside world learned more of what was really going on in Cuba, something could be done about the human rights abuses that were rampant there. Mr. Fariñas was jailed, beat up by thugs on the street, and most recently had his access to the internet taken away. He decided to take a final stand with a hunger strike.

If you read this, please inform others about Mr. Fariñas and the human rights abuses going on in Cuba. If you have a blog, please write a post about him.

He Is Dying

2006-03-21T23:35:00.000-06:00

Guillermo Fariñas is dying. He is dying slowly. He is dying with pain. He is dying not by natural causes or disease. He is dying by an uncanny, forceful, courageous sense of will set against evil, oppressive injustice. He is matching his own will to die against the will of the castro government to control. It is a fitting match not many are willing to pursue.

What is your life worth to you? Are you willing to stake it against a seemingly overwhelming opponent? Are you willing to give up your life for any cause?

For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it.

Matthew 16:24-26 KJV

Perhaps Guillermo Fariñas has an advantage not many of us are WILLing to take: abandon. We normally associate the word with the phrase, "reckless abandon," such as when we describe a teenager flying down hill in a snowboard and doing flips off a home-made jump (something my youngest son is wont to do). In Mr. Fariñas' case, it is different. Mr. Fariñas is not reckless, he is courageous to the point of not caring what is done to his body. He has "lost" his concern for the material and shifted it to the intangible or spiritual. In my mind, this is an apt description of a martyr.

Mr. Fariñas is the most dangerous man there is to those who attempt to control him and others. He has simply declared to his oppressors through his actions: "You cannot control me. There is nothing you can do to me that will make me do what you want." His willingness to die is the ultimate act of defiance, and the ultimate victory over oppression as well.

What Can I Do About Cuba? Part 3

2006-03-21T22:24:00.000-06:00

Concluding my thought from yesterday.

In the distance was heard the faint sound of jet engines. Harriers had been dispatched from a nearby US Navy aircraft carrier. They quickly targeted the castro attack vessels and sank several before the rest scurried back to Cuban waters. Two MIGs made a feeble attempt at engaging the Harriers, but changed course quickly before being shot down. US Coast Guard vessels arrived not too long afterwards and began the rescue effort. The aircraft carrier and other smaller US Navy war ships ambled toward the flotilla. As the chaos slowly turned to calm, it became apparent that most of the flotilla remained intact. And so was their spirit. They continued their journey southward, this time with the accompanyment of the US Navy. They all entered Cuban waters without incident. There was a loud cheer when land was sighted. The castro government made full use of their propaganda machine and spun the incident as a provocation by the imperialist, war-mongering US president. All regular media programming in the US gave way to special reports and breaking news leading with footage of castro denouncing this "war action" by the US. The flotilla simply kept going until they reached the bay in Havana. As soon as they arrived, the long-oppressed Cuban people came to greet the flotilla. The police and armed forces made no attempt at stopping them. Many of the soldiers and policemen joined in, and castro was not seen anywhere in public. There were crowds everywhere. It was a joyful atmosphere. If there was any animosity on either side, it was not shown. A healing had begun.

I know this was a hastily written scenario, and I don't know much about naval tactics or geopolitical prognostication. I know some may be critical of what they may perceive to be an overly conciliatory, even naive attitude on my part. That's OK. I want you to know my family suffered as much as the next exiled Cuban's. We have all suffered here in the US, and they are still suffering there in Cuba. By they I mean the people, folks just like you and me who deserve better than castro. What are we doing to help them? Can this crazy thought of mine become reality, maybe just in part? What other crazy thoughts are out there in the Cuban exile community that can help break the grip castro has on our people? How can a large group of us here, acting as a unified large group, enCOURAGE a large, unifed oppressed group over there to stand up against castro and his thugs? Can we expect them to stand on their own? I repeat, CAN WE EXPECT THEM TO STAND ON THEIR OWN? If not, what are we over here prepared to do? Give me some other ideas!!

What Can I Do About Cuba? Part 2

2006-03-19T20:59:00.000-06:00

I want to continue my thought from yesterday.

The flotilla kept advancing toward Cuban waters. There was tension in the air, but no violence up to that point. More of castro's gunships came closer to the flotilla. Suddenly, a loud explosion and splash was heard and seen at the front of the large group of boats. A small fishing boat had been hit by one of the trigger-happy castro gunboats. Black smoke billowed into the sky. The little vessel began sinking almost immediately. There was loud screaming from other boats. Now machine gun fire was heard. Many of the boats and yachts in the front got hit. People could be seen jumping into the water. Other boats scurried to rescue them. They took machine gun fire. The boats further back in the flotilla kept heading south, not fully aware of the massacre that was happening just a short distance away. Some radio contact came in from the boats being attacked. Now everyone knew what had happened. There was confusion. For many, fear took control, and they started to turn around. For others, it did not matter. They knew what happened was to be expected. They maintained their steady course southward. They just kept coming.

The castro firepower got more brutal. Missiles disabled some of the larger craft. More people jumped in the water. Many dead bodies were now floating on the surface. The rescue efforts were futile and only resulted in more carnage of the rescuers themselves. The castro forces were relentless. In their minds, they were performing a duty in defense of the revolution. In their minds, they were rightfully protecting the sovereignty of their nation. In their minds, these "gusanos" were not their Cuban brothers, but rather their enemy and deserved to be destroyed.

I will continue my thought tomorrow.

What Can I Do About Cuba?

2006-03-18T23:01:00.000-06:00

I read an update today about Guillermo Fariñas. The news is not good from the point of view that the man will probably lose his life. From another perspective, it is a poignant, victorious story about a man willing to sacrifice himself for his fellow countrymen and their right to freedom.

"Greater love hath no man than this,
that a man lay down his life for his friends."

--Jesus Christ (John 15:13, KJV)

I have been thinking about what Mr. Fariñas is doing lately. At the same time, I can't help thinking about what I am NOT doing. What can I do about Cuba? Can I follow Mr. Fariñas' example? Do I dare take a similar path?

Do you ever have crazy thoughts? I do. I had one the other day.

I pictured in my mind the image of many boats...boats of all kinds, large and small. The boats were filled with people. The boats were all lined up along the Florida Keys. They were headed south. There were thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands of these boats...lined up, silently waiting. I heard a loud murmur as if a prayer. Then, the boats began their journey. All at once the massive flotilla swarmed the turquoise sea slowly making their way back home. Hundreds of thousands of Cubans from all over the world had gathered to make a trip home to Cuba. Yes, this was illegal, but they did not care. The Coastguard tried to stop them, but there were too many. They just kept on heading south to Cuba. The US Air Force was on high alert. The president was appraised of the developing situation. He did nothing...for now. Some time passed, and the castro government's gun boats were heard in the distance. A couple of rusty MIGS flew overhead. A confrontation was inevitable.

I will continue my thought tomorrow.

La Ventanita reports good news about Mr. Fariñas

2006-03-08T21:04:00.000-06:00

I don't know why I have not posted something about her blog before, but "La Ventanita," as she is known to Cuban bloggers, has a fantastic blog: Wall Street Cafe. She named it in honor of her dad who ran a small business in Cuba. She is a great writer and has timely news about the Cuban-American community and the situation in Cuba. She has been contributing some great articles about Guillermo Fariñas in her blog and the Babalu Blog. Thanks to her and others like her who have been keeping the story alive, the cause for which Mr. Fariñas is fighting is finally getting some wider attention.

Here is her post from Babalu and links to her blog:

Guillermo Fariñas finally getting the attention he deserves

It's been 36 days since I initially reported this story at La Ventanita, and through that time, aside from the usual suspects - CubaNet, Net for Cuba, Reporters without Borders, and us the Cuban bloggers - only the New York Sun, El Nuevo Herald, and Pajamas Media carried the story.

Today, 36 days later, Reuters and EFE News have both picked up the story of Guillermo Fariñas' hunger strike for Internet Access.
Guillermo Fariñas, a 41-year-old psychologist and director of Cubanacan Press in Cuba, was blocked from having internet access because of a phone interview he granted to The Miami Herald in which he denounced the wave of repressions against dissidents and independent reporters in Cuba.

You'd think that a reporter going on a hunger strike so he can get Internet access - which we all take for granted - would've received more attention. At least, as much attention as China and their internet censorship has gotten lately with the entry of Google into their market.
Though the strike is far from over, and Fariñas remains as decided as ever to continue his effort to the last consequences, at least today we have reason to rejoice as perhaps, with this new attention, the MSM can see the Bearded Stooge and his government for who they are - a totalitarian regime which controls its citizen's access to information and which by law prohibits freedom of the press and ensures its enforcement.

And maybe, with some added attention on Fariñas, the pressure might be enough to help him get his wish of Internet access so he can continue his work as an independent journalist, and director of Cubanacan Press.

Read the update here

Tribute to Guillermo Fariñas

2006-02-26T23:11:00.000-06:00

Not much publicity has been given here in the US to the many brave men in Cuba who are willing to sacrifice themselves for the sake of freedom. All of them are deserving of honor and praise. The most recent of these is Guillermo Fariñas, a Cuban journalist who went on a hunger strike to protest the Cuban government's prohibition to internet access by the public.

I admire Mr. Fariñas for his bravery and conviction and patriotism. I am drawn to him by this sense of awe and reverence. I suppose I see more clearly in him that fragment of the divine present in all of us. I don't know anything about Mr. Fariñas, except what he now looks like and what he is doing. I am a visual artist, and I suppose this makes me, by nature and training, keen to visual details and characteristics. What I see in the available photos of Guillermo Fariñas is a large-framed man with the vestiges of athleticism. His body now shows the devastating effects of the hunger strike. He is obviously of African descent. But the external aspect of a man is merely a faint glimpse of what lies beneath the physical surface of his being. Mr. Fariñas' photos give me a clue to who he is. But outside of meeting him in person, I felt I could gain a better "look" at the intangible aspects of such a man only by attempting to draw his image.

The experience of such a task was at times overwhelming. I struggled to keep the pencil under control. I dared not press too hard on the surface of the paper. I allowed lines to flow more freely than usual. The stark shape of his head captured my intial attention. I noticed his pronounced brow ridge sheltering quietly determined eyes, his sharply-defined ears, the space under his broad nose, the lips relaxed but seemingly formed as if about to speak. I found it comforting, almost safe, to focus on the mechanics of the rendering.

I don't know what business I have writing about a drawing. All I know is that I felt compelled to draw and share it.

Some One woke me in the middle of the night

2006-02-06T02:40:00.000-06:00

Many times I ignore unknown impulses that I later regret. This time, I decided to respond.

I was sound asleep. My wife and I had made love, and we were holding each other. Normally, the next thing I would notice under those circumstances is the alarm going off in the early morning to start a new work day. Tonight things were different. It began with what seemed like dreams, but really they're just memories of what I had seen on the Real Cuba web site. How many jails castro needs...how much repression to just stay in power. I could not go back to sleep.

My heart started beating hard, as if I had just run a sprint. I thought about all those who have lived in Cuba over the past 47 years and fearlessly opposed the castro regime...how fearlessly they faced the consequences. How often do I think about them? What if I had not left Cuba? Would I have had the balls to be one of them?

How easily do I dismiss such sacrifice? Here, in the comfort of my American life, I have no time to think about these martyrs. Unless some One wakes me in the middle of the night.

A Long Lost Document

2006-02-03T21:49:00.000-06:00

I found this thing the other day. It's in very good shape considering it's 45 years old! I wish I could say that about myself. I think I still look like me...similar, I mean...in a different sort of way. Yes the second law of thermodynamics is still at work.

I am not 4' 6" any more, and my "rubio" hair is no longer, but now slowly turning gray. Yes, I have changed. So has Cuba. Both for the worse through a process of deterioration. The face on this Cuban passport is the face of a child with a full life ahead. Cuba was like that, too. A young nation full of potential.

After a full generation, there must come a reckoning. What has become of the child and the nation? What will the future hold for both?

The child wanted to become an artist. The nation wanted a revolution. The child went to school. The nation "re-educated" its citizens. The child sought to make art. The nation sought to make war. The child started a family. The nation split into factions. The child supported his family. The nation let people starve. The child allowed his passion for art to fade away. The nation allowed its passion for freedom to disappear. The child rediscovered his passion. The nation...

There's a lot to be said for fatalism, but that's not one of the things I've learned from the culture into which I was thrust. Perhaps that was the purpose of the long-lost document: to give a little boy (and many other little boys and girls like him) a chance to gain a different perspective. It has taken me a long time, but I've come to accept that letting life "happen" to you does not yield good results. A child is subject to another's choices. A man makes his own choices.

I believe the Cuban people are about to make a transition from a prolonged childhood to full nationhood. They are beginning to discover that letting life "happen" to them has not yielded good results. They have subjected themselves to one man's choices. They are hungering to make their own way.

I am also hungering, but for a different kind of fulfillment. In the past, I have been preoccupied with survival. I never lost my "first love," but I was distracted by the affairs of daily life in a foreign land. I became, to put it bluntly, selfish.

My long-lost document seems to be speaking to me about what I need to do now. I am listening.

Ojos Verdes

2006-02-02T00:15:00.000-06:00

Last time I was in Florida, I borrowed my "padrino's" car to run an important errand. On the way, I turned on the CD player which happened to have a disk with a beautiful collection of Latin American songs, among them Aquellos Ojos Verdes. It's a song that has remained a part of the secluded past of my Cuban childhood. It's not a popular song in the US. But when I heard it anew, memories came flooding back, not only of my childhood, but of the person of whom it now reminded me. This is a person I've lived with for almost 34 years. This person is my wife...my own "Ojos Verdes".

Maralee (Bunny) Camphouse and I met in high school. She was too shy to come up to me and start a conversation, so she sent the boyfriend of a friend of hers to come and give me a hint that she was interested. I was taken back because she was (and still is) beautiful and popular. Why would she want anything to do with me? That was the beginning of the end for me. Even though I later tried, as a foolish young man, to rid myself of this relationship, I was doomed for life. We were married at 21. I guess I just couldn't wait! It must have been "Aquellos Ojos Verdes...serenos como un lago en cuyas quietas aguas un día me miré."

I was reading the lyrics of the song carefully tonight. I've included them at the end of the post. I noticed that it tells of unrequited love which has not been my experience, fortunately. In fact, I have been a most undeserving recipient of boundless love by my "Ojos Verdes." So why does this song remind me of my wife? Besides the beautiful Bible-like metaphor of "green eyes like a quiet lake in which reflection I begin to know myself," the song speaks of the "...tristezas que en mi alma han dejado..." I would not be totally honest if I didn't admit that my wife and I have had our rough times. We've loved each other, but also hurt each other over the years. Fulfilling a relationship is kind of a gamble that one takes. You enter into it thinking the odds are in your favor. Then reality sets in. After that, all you can do is hang on for the ride, and bear the "grief stamped in each others' souls."

No one, not even wives and husbands, can fully know those deeply-felt wounds humans inflict on each other. Time is our ally in the process of more fully knowing, trusting and healing. And time has allowed my precious "Ojos Verdes" and I to do just that.

Aquellos ojos verdes
de mirada serena,
dejaron en mi alma
eterna sed de amar.
Anhelos y caricias,
de besos y ternuras.
De todas las dulzuras
que sabían brindar.
Aquellos ojos verdes,
serenos como un lago,
en cuyas quietas aguas
un día miraré.
No saben las tristezas
que en mi alma han dejado
Aquellos ojos verdes,
que yo nunca besaré.

No saben las tristezas
que en mi alma han dejado
Aquellos ojos verdes,
que yo nunca olvidaré.
Aquellos ojos verdes,
que yo nunca olvidaré.

Aquellos ojos verdes
serenos como un lago
en cuyas quietas aguas
un día me miré,
no saben las tristezas
que a mi alma le dejaron
aquellos ojos verdes
que ya nunca besaré

My Twin and I

2006-01-23T21:20:00.000-06:00

The guy on my right is my twin brother, Bob. I've always had the feeling we're "mirror twins." He's a scientist, I'm an artist. He's patient, I blow up easily. He's smart, I'm dumb. He's the good twin, I'm the evil twin.

I usually take him for granted because, well, he's just my brother. But about a year-and-a-half ago, Bob was diagnosed with kidney cancer. It was a miracle that they caught it in time. The surgeons acted quickly and took out a good chunk of his affected kidney. He's fine today. But for a while, I was faced with the prospect of losing him...that was difficult.

Now I can return to my evil ways about taking him for granted, but I won't, because, well, he's my brother.

Miami-Dade Blogger's Cuban Slant Draws Fans

2006-01-23T21:07:00.000-06:00

Miami-Dade Blogger's Cuban Slant Draws Fans

Hat tip to La Ventanita, El Confeti, Uncommon Sense, and to who knows how many more bloggers who have already or will be posting this, too. This Miami Herald article by Jennifer Piedra is a great belated birthday present for Val Prieto, with whom I have a short acquaintance but already feel like I've known a lifetime. This well-written profile helps us all learn a little more about the dedicated man behind the blog. Congratulations, Val!

I have become one of them

2006-01-19T13:36:00.000-06:00

Soon after I posted the previous post, I had a revelation (but it was too late last night to go back and write something, so here I am). When I made the original drawings of those viejitos playing dominos in Gomez Park, I was in my late twenties. That was some time ago! Then I got to thinking about things that have happened lately. I've had a detached retina in my right eye in the past, and some symptoms I've been experiencing recently led me to believe I was about to have another one in the left eye (I have just returned from the eye specialist and thankfully this has turned out not to be the case). All of this has made me feel my age, to say the least. So it dawned on me that I am not the young guy I once was (although I don't often think of myself as getting older, do you? I keep thinking of myself as the same person I was back in my prime). Anyway, just before I fell asleep last night, I realized that the old men in my drawings had not gotten any older, and that I was actually catching up to them. I was becoming one of them. The connection I always felt with them all of a sudden grew exponentially. I am becoming a "viejito". Like the movie title states, this is "As Good As It Gets". I admitted that to my wife today, and her bright green eyes lit up in defiance and she said, "That's not really true, Pat! I had some backaches last year and they've gone away, so there." It was small comfort. The tension grows within me between the reality of aging and my lingering notions of youth. Now my wife is adding more as she stands reading this over my shoulder. She says, "The best years are ahead of us...we've left many responsibilties behind and now we can enjoy ourselves!" She's cute, isn't she?

Que dicen los viejos?

2006-01-18T22:24:00.000-06:00

Que dicen los viejos? What are the old men saying? They are quiet, but they tell us much if we know how to listen.

They play dominos at the park. They try not to think about the past. There is a lot of pain. But when they do, they choose instead to smile inside, not showing their emotion.

Each one is anxious to make their play. En la sombrita juegan con sus manos arrugadas. Their hands speak of their desespero ... murmurando con las fichas.

I watch them. They ignore me. But we are connected. They will never die.

Babalu Blog

2006-01-14T21:05:00.000-06:00

Babalu Blog

Yesterday, I came across what can only be classified as a true gem on the web. It is the blog of Valentin Prieto, a Cuban from Miami who not only has a prodigious knack for writing, but uses his talent in a constructive manner. The Babalu Blog is filled with a diversity of information from news to politics to art to religion. On that last note, "Val", recently connected with Carlos Eire who is now contributing essays to the blog. If you want a taste of what it is to be Cuban in America, you've got to read this stuff. I love it!

TV interview with Cuban scholar and author Carlos Eire

2006-01-08T14:30:00.000-06:00

Online NewsHour: Waiting for Snow in Havana -- November 25, 2003

I thought I would point you to an interview that re-ignited childhood memories for me of my life in Cuba. Carlos Eire, a fellow Cuban and my contemporary, is a preeminent Yale scholar specializing in the history of religion. In a departure from his typical erudite treatises, he wrote a memoir of his experiences as an 11-year-old Cuban refugee titled, Waiting for Snow in Havana. His book is an intensely personal account detailing the trauma of exile from a child's point of view. But along with the desperation, he is able to capture the buoyant innocence, playfulness and humor typical of Cubans. Upon reading it this past summer, I found myself at times rolling on the floor laughing, while at other times struggling to hold back tears and wondering why my heart had not burst already. The most compelling aspect of the book was Eire's ability to recall mundane details that a few of us from a similar background have already elevated to a level of glory by sheer distance and time. For example, he writes of the shafts of sunlight filtering into a room through Persian blinds. Within these slivers of brightness float a myriad of minute, snow-like dust particles that only a child notices. As a visual artist, this is the kind of experience that just enthralls you. I was taken back by Eire's account because I remember precisely this very same detail as a child in the house on calle "J" in el Vedado neighborhood of Havana where I was born. I felt that Eire had magically read my memory when he wrote it. It is this kind of connection for which I find myself in desperate need. In this culture of hollow, materialistic satiation, I feel a deep, hunger for that something it cannot provide. Eire's book was able to satisfy that hunger. Even if you're not Cuban, I highly recommend that you read it.

Mars Hill Audio, Ken Myers, C.S. Lewis and Ultimate Truth

2006-01-04T23:32:00.000-06:00

I ran across some interesting thoughts by Ken Myers recently. He is the host and producer of Mars Hill Audio Journal, an audio magazine that "...exists to assist Christians who desire to move from thoughtless consumption of modern culture to a vantage point of thoughtful engagement. "

He was writing in response to a letter he received from a high school senior who was looking for guidance in developing her senior thesis on federal funding for the arts. It just so happens that for the past two years, Myers has served on a National Endowment for the Arts panel helping to decide how some of the NEA's money is allocated.

He develops some interesting concepts about the value of the arts in general and the human imagination in particular. He mentions C.S. Lewis' The Abolition of Man and the "classical" view of the function of art and the imagination as one way of discovering the inherent order of the universe. In other words, artistic pursuit is a non-materialistic, non-scientific way of discovering truth. Myers goes on to contrast this with the modern view:

In the modern view, as Lewis observes in The Abolition of Man, the chief task is not to conform the soul to reality, but to remake reality to fit human desires. In the modern view, the universe is just matter, known by mathematics, but there is no moral order inherent in things. There is nothing there to which we should conform. There is no "higher truth" that can be perceived by reflecting on Nature (notice that the term "Nature" replaces "Creation" in this view). Human will, expressed in human reason, is the highest force in the universe, and we fulfill our humanity not by discerning the pattern of the grain of the universe and living accordingly, but by expanding the power of the human will to do whatever it wants. On this view, imagination is not an organ of meaning that assists us in recognizing boundaries, but imagination is a way of expressing unbounded human creativity, freedom, and power. This is why art has, for many modern people, displaced religion, and why many currents of modern art are so deliberately opposed to traditional religious belief.

The last statement in this quote strikes a chord within me. I have always (and I imagine I may not be the only one) been conflicted by the "apparent" spiritual nature of art and the accompanying disregard if not outright hostility by most contemporary artists for historic Christianity. I think of Kandinsky, Rouault , Jawlensky, Rothko, and Newman who were all painters of the modern era and unabashedly spoke of their work in spiritual terms. Were these men exceptions? I've arrived at the conclusion that much of what passes for spirituality comes in different brands, each with their adherents and proponents. But the thing that gets consistently rejected is truth. If you really want to discover truth, be a contrarian. If most of the world is rejecting it, you can bet it's something worthwhile. Is it possible to be an artist working today toward the discovery of truth? Perhaps.

Many have given up the project. The modern era was a period of rejection and revolution. The post-modern era is a spiritual deadzone. No one really cares enough anymore to oppose anything. Can it be possible that this actually makes it easier to be a truth-discovering contrarian? Perhaps.

One final quote from Mr. Myers and I'll be done here:

We are saved in order to restore the fullness of our humanity in Christ. We are not saved in order to escape our humanity.

Myers condemns the indifference of many toward the arts. Faith is not escape. Faith is an embrace. He is actually saying there is no duality, no compartmentalization of life. It is all a whole: physicality, spirituality, the body, the soul, science, and art. Real truth is in ALL of it. Is its discovery and presentation to those who would accept it the task of the contrarian artist? Perhaps.

Shameless self promotion

2005-12-10T00:56:00.000-06:00

Yes, I have a new web site. The link is:
www.texidorfineart.com
I have been thinking of creating another blog to go with it. But I'm so tired right now, it will all have to wait for another time. Please visit and let me know what you think.

In Synch?

2005-11-07T23:52:00.000-06:00

Photo and video link from www.americanwhitewater.org

This video of Big Smokey Falls should bring back some memories for my twin brother, Bob. It's probably been decades now since we were on this part of the Wolf River. As I recall, we were on a rented canoe arguing about who should be paddling and how as we were approaching the falls. Like the idiot novices we were (at least I still am) there was, should we say, a lack of focus. Before long, we found ourselves turned around trying desperately to prevent going over the falls backwards. After a couple of uncoordinated and pathetic attempts, we knew it was futile. We took a long glance at each other and resigned ourselves to the inevitable. The last thing I saw was my brother flying over me (I was at the stern). I did a backward somersault into the foam. As I swam toward the surface, my first thought was for Bob. I looked all over for him. I didn't see him. Filled with dread, I went back down. Bob came up at that same instant. When he did not see me, he went back down. We did this for some time. The fact that we were conceived in the same womb does little to explain our behavior. Anyway, Bob, if you read this sometime before next spring, let's have another go at it...each of us in our own kayak this time!

Dells on a Whim

2005-10-30T00:00:00.000-05:00

IMG_0489
Originally uploaded by Patex.

It ocurred to me this week that we should kayak the Dells some time. I didn't think it would be this soon. But a gorgegous day presented itself, and we could not resist. It was one of the most scenic paddling trips we've done. The only problem we encountered was the boat traffic. A fishing tournament was going on (some guys were taking six-foot sturgeons ealier that morning...we saw the videos...honest! I wonder if I could hook one of those while on my kayak?), and the infamous "Duck" tourist boats were doing their thing. We took great photos and even saw a bald eagle. We put in at a little bridge near the River's Edge Resort. We paddled upriver first to the dam. We were surprised at how easy it was to advance against the flow. The river is deep right up to the edge and many eddys helped as we hugged the shore. We also had the wind at our back. On the return, we faced a wind that had picked up speed later in the afternoon, but the current helped tremendously. At our usual leirurely pace, we completed our paddling in about 2 1/2 hours.

Paul and Kristin's first house

2005-10-20T21:27:00.000-05:00

Congratulations guys! This is a big step. But it's worth doing 'cause you'll be way ahead as opposed to renting. Can't wait to see it this weekend. Verona sound like an up and coming community. And this condo you've chosen has tons of room. I'm jealous of your garage, Paul. I know you both will make happy memories in your new place.

That's the point

2005-10-20T21:08:00.000-05:00

That's the point
Originally uploaded by Patex.

This is where I was desperately trying to end up as I struggled across the lake from the south. I actually aimed for a spot much further west. I was lucky I made it. The photo depicts little of the actual conditons out in the middle of the lake. The wind was about 35 mph sustained with waves that came up over my kayak above my shoulder. I got soaked. I got more adventure than I expected.

Kayaking Lake Elizabeth

2005-10-13T22:21:00.000-05:00

I went out before dinner on my Jolt. The lake was as smooth as glass. It was a misty, gray evening. The sun was setting "like a red rubber ball" so the old song goes. It was quiet and relaxing. The cloud cover was curiously comforting as if it was a giant security blanket. It made me think of what it must have been like before the Great Flood of Genesis.

I took great delight in watching the water go by me. The bow split the surface and made a soothing, gurgling sound. The boat rocked gently side to side with every stroke as I pressed my feet against the pegs under the hull.

I decided to go to the north shore and back. I estimated I could do it leisurely within the time frame I had designated for my outing. I found only one pontoon boat and a couple of fishermen on the way. At the far shore I noticed a green slime floating on the top of the water. I surmised it was algae promoted by the change in water temperature that typically happens at this time of year. As darkness set in, I took the opportunity to try out my "head lamp". I strapped it on my head and paddled in to the beach at Sunset Drive.

The whole thing took about an hour from the time I put the kayak on the truck to when I got back to the house. I carried the craft (which I had recently dubbed "Hognose") into the garage, and stored it vertically against the wall with the bow resting on top of the Styrofoam base I had crudely fashioned. I felt a sense of accomplishment as I went inside.

rescuing little sis

2005-10-10T12:13:00.000-05:00

rescuing little sis
Originally uploaded by Patex.

Bob has always been the helpful one.

My first post

2005-10-10T11:32:00.000-05:00

We just got back from Door County, WI where we went kayaking on the Lake Michigan side. I was pleasantly surprised by the performance of our small crafts. They we stable and responsive. Nobody felt threatened by the big water. Bob was the expert of our group and led the way most of the time. Bunny has earned a reputation as a fast learner devising special techniques for traversing the shallows. Elaine was the caboose of the group to the exasperation of the her mate, Art. Chris was a real trooper persevering through headache and all - we're proud of you. It was all great fun. Perhaps next summer we can get Jim and Rene to join us in our next kayaking adventure.