Warp and Weft            

Storytellers have power. They’re like mapmakers who help your mind go to places you’ve never been to before. Historical fiction has a magic of its own. Like a time machine, it can turn the past into the present. And I’ve just returned from the Middle Ages.

“The Lady and the Unicorn” by Tracy Chevalier is about the tapestries of the same name. In 1841, the tapestries, in terrible condition, were found in a decaying chateau in central France. Gnawed by rats, eaten by mould, and mutilated by destructive people, the once magnificent tapestries were on the road to a terminal experience. Luckily, they were saved and restored. The tapesteries, now hanging in the Parisian Cluny Museum, have a somewhat mysterious past. So Chevalier attempts to clarify that mystery by writing a biography for them.  

Commissioned in c. 1490 by the wannabe aristocrat from Lyon, Jean Le Viste, the tapestries exist only thanks to the existence of others—the man who commissioned them, his emissary in having them actualized, the artist who designed them, the weavers who wove them and so on and so on. They represent, above all, the warp and weft of everyday life. As many people are needed to make a tapestry, the stories of many lives must be told.

“The Lady and the Unicorn” is mix of fiction and fact.

Mon seul désir (La Dame à la licorne) – Musée de Cluny Paris…note the millefiore background

There are six huge tapestries five of which represent each one of the senses. The sixth and most enigmatic represents “À mon seul désir”, that is, My Only Desire. The meaning behind these tapestries has been debated since their discovery. But, no doubt, it is a mediation on earthly pleasures hence the reference to the senses. In each tapestry, there is a lady and a unicorn.  Although a unicorn is considered to exist only in legend, he appears in art even in 2000 B.C. The Greeks believed that they actually existed and gave them the name μονόκερος (monokeros) meaning “only one horn”. But it was a magical horn and had much power. For example, if you were to stick a unicorn’s horn into a glass of water laced with poison, the poison would disappear making the water potable once again.

At the time of the tapestries’ making, knights who professed courtly love were often metaphorically represented as unicorns. To catch a unicorn, you needed a virgin because only a fair maiden could distract the unicorn from its ferocious instinct. So all a damsel had to do was sit and wait until a unicorn showed up and, Voila! Once he appeared, he was compelled to put his head on her lap totally abandoning himself to her.

Domenichino’s Lady and Unicorn at Palazzo Farnese in Rome

But the French were not the only ones mesmerized by a virgin’s hold over a unicorn. The Italian painter, Domenichino, also painted the unicorn but in a completely different context as those of the French tapestries. Domenichino’s virgin is placed in a pastoral landscape. She is simply dressed and barefoot.

Not all virgins are the same. But all unicorns are—they all need a lap to lay on.

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Appropriations for AI will be jinxed.

Related: Lady and the Unicorn: Mona Lisa of the middle ages weaves a new spell + Lady and the Unicorn tapestry brought back to life + Re’em, the unicorn in the Bible + Courtly Love + The Lady and the Unicorn tapestries bring mystery to the Art Gallery of NSW + Images of tapestries from Wikipedia

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Chiara’s Tiara

Chiara was born wearing a tiara. The tiara made her feel special because no one else had one like hers. Chiara was convinced that the tiara gave her special powers. But then one day the wind blew so hard that it blew her tiara away. Without her tiara, Chiara no longer felt special. And not feeling special made her lose all her magic. That’s why one day she fell down and afterwards was forced to walk with crutches. The crutches made it difficult to play with her friends so she was often home alone. It made her terribly sad. So sad that sometimes she felt like she was fading away.

But then one day at a Chinese restaurant, she got a fortune cookie with this message: “Good luck is coming your way.” And, after having been gloomy for so long, it was such wonderful news that Chiara couldn’t help but smile. And her mom, seeing Chiara smile, started smiling, too. Her mom’s smile made the person sitting next to her smile whose smile made another person smile whose smile made another person smile—well, you know, one smile leads to another so soon everyone in the restaurant was smiling. The energy from the smiles began to resonate and you could feel the Good Vibrations in the air. The vibrations were so wild and wonderful that Chiara, for the first time in a long time, felt happy.

Feeling good, Chiara gleefully left the restaurant. But once out the door, her mood change. “Oh no,” she said, “the wind’s blowing and you know how wicked it can be.” But when the wind stopped blowing, she felt a slight weight on her head. So she touched her head to see what was there. It was her tiara! And with her tiara back on her head, Chiara began to feel special again. And soon all her luck started to change, just like her fortune cookie had said.

Chiara believed that things were getting better because she had her tiara with its magical powers again. Chiara became so busy doing the things that she liked to do that one morning she rushed out of the house and forgot to put on her tiara. When she realized it, she started to have a panic attack. But then a soft breeze came and whispered in her ear: “Chiara, it’s not the tiara that has magical powers, it’s your smile that does.”

Slightly taken back by a talking breeze, she hesitated to keep on walking. At that particular moment, Chiara was in front of a pastry shop. She couldn’t help but to look at the display window.  Seeing all those beautiful cakes made her smile. When she saw her smile reflected on the window, Chiara thought about what the breeze had said and tried smiling in different ways. It made her feel silly so she started to laugh. She enjoyed herself so much that, from that day on, to keep her own magic flowing, Chiara made sure to smile whenever she could.

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Heroes

When the beautiful Helen became of marital age, all the royal blooded bachelors raced to Sparta loaded with gifts and clever things to say. The line of suitors was long, the adrenaline of competition high. Odysseus, having a talent for oratory, liked to provoke situations that would give him a chance to talk. So he told Helen’s father, King Tyndareus, that having too many roosters and only one hen could only lead to conflict. Odysseus’ advice: First of all, let Helen choose her future husband so, if a wrong choice was made, she would be blamed. Secondly, before Helen decided, every suitor there must take an oath to sustain her choice and to defend the chosen husband against anyone who tried taking Helen away from him. Not wanting to appear as anti-conformist cowards, the men present had no choice but to agree.

Helen chose Menelaus but apparently the marriage lacked pazazz so she ran off with Paris of Troy forcing all of her ex-suitors, because of the oath, to go to war. Homer’s epic narrative, The Iliad, is a story based on this war.

The Iliad begins with Homer letting us know that Achilles is pissed off. Achilles, a mythical warrior who fights under the command of Agamemnon, is enraged because Agamemnon robbed him of Briseis, a Trojan princess given to Achilles as a war prize. So in retaliation, Achilles refuses to fight. And, without his presence, the Greek soldiers are discouraged and begin losing one battle after another.

But The Iliad is also a love story. In Madeline Miller’s The Song of Achilles, the focus is on Patroclus, a young prince who, exiled to the court of King Peleus, meets and falls in love with Achilles, the king’s son. Eventually Achilles notices Patroclus and the two become comrades. The Song of Achilles is their story told from the point of view of Patroclus.

There’s much scholarly debate as to whether or not Patroclus and Achilles were homosexual lovers. But really, who cares, love is love. Perhaps, in term of relationships, the focus should be on whether or not the relationship is complementary. In other words, can two people combined together enhance the qualities of the other? At first glance, it would seem as if Achilles and Patroclus didn’t have much in common. Achilles was a proud, handsome, and skilful warrior whereas Patroclus was scrawny and, because of his low self-esteem, easy to ignore. But they were like a pair of hands. One may dominate like the right over the left. Yet the right hand alone cannot use a bow and arrow, swing a baseball bat, knit, or hang laundry on a line. So, although Patroclus was not the dominate figure, his presence helped Achilles become a hero and fulfil his destiny.

Diversity is needed in a relationship because you cannot create a melody with just one musical note.

So back to Achilles’ rage and the Trojan War. When he stopped fighting, the Greeks lost their hype and began going downhill. To win the war, they thought, they needed Achilles. But Achilles’ had no intention of giving in to Agamemnon. Patroclus was dedicated to Achilles. But he also had his own code of honor. To encourage the Greek soldiers, Patroclus borrowed Achilles’ armor and entered the battlefield. The soldiers, seeing Achilles’ armor, thought their hero had come back to fight and, thus encouraged, started ripping the Trojans to shreds. Unfortunately, Patroclus could disguise himself as Achilles but couldn’t be Achilles. Even though Patroclus had fought valiantly, he was wounded by Hector and died.

Achilles fought for glory but Petroclus fought for his fellow man.

Maybe it is not Achilles but Petroclus the real hero.

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Related: The Ancient Greek Hero, Patroklos as the other self of Achilles + The Song of Achilles: Virtual Book Club with Madeline Miller +

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Seeds

“To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow” Audrey Hepburn

I feel uncomfortable. The world is coming unravelled. And at such a quick pace. It’s overwhelming, demoralizing, life threatening. So, to keep from feeling totally incapacipated, totally without hope, I plant seeds. Anywhere and everywhere.

A few years ago, I believed that my need for a reconfiguration within was about getting old. But, with the way things are going, aging is no longer my primary concern. Survival is.

Once I have an idea as to how I plan to approach this Ever Present Spookiness, I will be changing the header title of this blog to Synergy and Solidarity. Because we are all in this tragedy together.

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Uncaging the Bird

This summer I will learn how to express a complete thought without letting others interrupt me. And I’m not talking just about verbal interruptions but about facial expressions as well. Have you ever tried speaking to someone whose body is present but whose mind is on a kite headed elsewhere. Or whose cement face tells you they have no interest at all in what you’re saying. It can be so distracting that it’s easy to lose your train of thought.

A few weeks ago I read Maya Angelou’s “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings”. It’s the story of Marguerite Johnson before she became Maya Angelou. It’s the story about the heavy burden of Blackness. It’s the story of how childhood sticks to you like glue all your life no matter what you do. It’s also the story of how a woman learned to articulate her feelings so that she could defy the odds and sing her song.

When she was a child, Maya and her brother were sent to live with their Southern grandmother. Maya shares with us her feeling of abandonment, the harshness of bigotry, the shame for having been abused, and the burden of the resulting insecurities.

After Maya was raped, she stopped talking. But she had a life line thrown at her by Mrs. Bertha Flowers, the aristocrat of the local Black community, who “had a private breeze which swirled around, cooling her.” Mrs Flowers had no intention, she told Maya, of making her talk. But that was no reason to abandon language. And it was good that Maya read but reading wasn’t enough. “Words mean more than what is set down on paper. It takes the human voice to infuse them with the shades of deeper meaning.” So Mrs. Flowers lent Maya books but on the condition that she was to read them aloud even if just to herself.

So Maya read and started to fly. But then the racist slurs would send her back to her cage. “It was awful to be Negro and have no control” over one’s own life. And living with this prejudice coated her with a sensation of ugliness that was like an “uninvited guest who wouldn’t leave.”

In her teens, Maya went to live with her mother in San Francisco. Here the Blacks had learned to occupy space differently than those in the South. Her mother’s boyfriend, Daddy Clidell, taught her to play poker and blackjack. Because by playing cards you can learn to read a man’s character. Daddy Clidell also introduced Maya to a group of professional con artists who, as part of her education, taught her all about conning so she herself would never become anyone’s mark.

The most important lesson they gave her was this: “Anything that works against you can also work for you once you understand the Principle of Reverse.” And what gave a Black man the most power was the white man’s prejudice. The Black con man who could act the stupidest always won out over the powerful and arrogant white man. Like Detective Colombo whose apparent ineptitude makes the suspect dismiss him with arrogance thus unsuspectingly falls into a trap.

And years later, when Maya decided that she wanted to become the first Black ticket taker on the San Francisco street cars, she made sure to give her resume a narrative:

“Sitting at a side table my mind and I wove a cat’s ladder of near truths and total lies. I kept my face blank (an old art) and wrote quickly the fable of Marguerite Johnson, aged nineteen, former companion and driver for Mrs Annie Henderson (a White Lady) in Stamps, Arkansas.”

The narrative was convincing and Maya became the first Black to work on San Francisco streetcars.

Ahhh, there are so many new narratives for us to create. And I will now be focused on creating my own.

Thank you Maya.

Related: The Bluest Eye

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