“Death would have him…”, the doomed Amphínomos

When I landed in San Diego I quite literally closed the final page of  Homer’s Odyssey ( Robert Fitzgerald edition); unlike our hero Odysseus I did not return to libertine suitors or “a wife dishonored” but rather my own dull life.

What I was left with was many vivid images.

Homer directs a set with meticulous detail, he minutely describes the marble halls of kings, golden vessels pouring forth liquid hospitality, horrifying monsters ready to pounce upon the weakness of man, fetching virgins willing to do the same and  the gallantry and failures of man himself.

Once such Everyman was Amphínomos, son of Nísos Aretíadês, comely , “gently bred” (340) and of all the ruffians wooing fair Penélopê he pleased her  “…for he meant no ill.” (302-303).  I was drawn to this character for in the telling of this tale Homer points out the excesses of  the suitors, the bold heroics of Odysseus and his son Telémakhos, the cunning of Kirke and the mad predictions of Cassandra; all characters extraordinary in their way.

Amphínomos isn’t particularly heroic he merely seems to possess basic deceny, a desire to try his hand at the hot widow Penélopê and indulge in the overflowing sweet wine and unending platters of roast meats served by boys with “…pretty faces” and “…pomade ever on their sleek heads…” (278). Can’t really blame the fellow.

In fact his only real act of heroics lies in his aversion to regicide, when the unruly mob of suitors plot to eliminate the young Telémakhos only Amphínomos objects, being unwilling to kill a “…prince of royal blood…” (303). Again and again it is just garden variety decency that makes Amphínomos so endearing, even to our lofty hero, Odysseus. Disguised as a beggar at his own court, Odysseus is greeted with cruelty by the band of loutish suitors; Amphínomos offers bread and cordiality to the unfortunate wretch. Odysseus repays this kindness with  words of advice “Get outta Dodge”. He warns the young man  that the king will indeed return and all are doomed for there will be “…no way out, unless by blood.” (341).

Something deep within the young knows this to be correct, he witnesses the debauchery around him and knows what the beggars says to be true. As he turns to leave he is frozen for “…his heart foreknew the wrath to come, but he could not take flight, being by Athena bound there. Death would have him broken by a spear thrown by Telémakhos. So he sat down there where he has sat before.” (340-341).

This is my interpretation of the doomed Amphínomos, the grey-eyed Athena and Unrelenting Death.

The Doomed Amphínomos
colored pencil on brown paper
24 by 18 inches

Well that is all it for now,after facing a fearsome goddess and Death himself, I must walk my dogs.

I had hoped to discuss my thoughts as to why this example of  Greek fatalism contrasted so sharply with the Good News of another figure to come. A theology where  redemption was indeed possible; where a fellow like Amphínomos inclined to change could have done just that. How in the Classical world god and man were bound by Fate ; the hapless must returned to the chair “…where he had sat before” and silently accept what must be. How a new theology could have understandably appealed to an ancient world weary of the irrational tyranny of  fickle gods and brutal destiny.

But thankfully I haven’t time to discuss such matters, I have rambunctious pups to attend to.

Until next time,

Take care,

LG

“M” is for Mictlantecuhtli and his lovely bride Mictecacihuatl

On to “M”,  I could have chosen Maize, the Maya or Monkeys; but instead  I chose some serious tongue twisting demons. That shouldn’t really be a surprise. I hope against hope that I managed to spell their names correctly on the Primer; would be rather awful otherwise.Given my dyslexia and increasingly failing eye sight I have my fears. 

“M” is for Mictlantecuhtl and Mictecacihuatl

Mictlantecuhtl is Lord of Mictlan, the seventh tier of the Underworld, a realm he shares with his bride Mictecacihuatl. He is usually depicted as a skeletal bundle, all bleached bone and red spots. As is true with all Lords of Xibalba, Mictlantecutl is a trickster but famously stupid and easily duped. I hoped to depict the arrogance and foolishness buffoons often possess, hence the priapic serpent between his legs. His bride’s disgust makes me smile.

Detail of a Randy Fool

The following is the image that inspired my little randy fool.

source

The double headed serpent motif may be familiar to visitors to the British Museum, it is one of my favorite objects.

For more information concerning the mosaic I suggest this link from the British Museum A History of the World in which they discuss 100 objects that altered the course of history; a wonderful program.

Well that is it for now.

Working on a large painting for which my weary eyes are pleased.

I begin a printmaking course on Tuesday, very excited indeed.

Until next time,

take care,

LG

Postcards from Miami, for an unwell Clive

Given that my friend Clive is unwell and taken  to bed rest I thought these recent photos would bring some cheer.

I boarded this morning from Ft. Lauderdale, arriving in San Diego a little dazed from the time difference. These images  were taken yesterday at Vizcaya, the Miami estate of John Deering which is situated upon the Biscayne Bay. Built between 1914 through 1923 the house and grounds are a marvel. Typical of the period it is a mad mash-up of the Italian Renaiisance and Baroque, pinches of Neo-Classicism thrown in for restraint and Rococo frivolity when called for. It is quite simply my favorite house in the States. Jefferson’s Monticello is of course a marvel, a close second in the race for my affections; but Vizcaya reigns supreme. It is a tremendously large house, rooms bloom more splendidly  from one to the next. Alas we are not allowed to take images indoors, a fussy precaution, this link is a gallery of interior images, well worth a peak. For more general information follow this link.

I hope the following  images speeds Clive along on his recovery.

Stone barge acting as dock for incoming guests.
View of Vizcaya and the aforementioned barge
An example of the very lovely Vizcaya pink.
One of countless caryatids.
Funny stone faces at every glance.
I just love her face.
The taste of the house and gardens tends towards the seductive, the male gaze particularly abundant. There are many such busts scattered about the grounds.
Living in the desert makes me ache for this sort of lushness .
I also miss little critters like this fellow. The ground at your feet is alive with movement.

I was able to find a vintage image of the interior, this being the entrance to the interior courtyard (now enclosed). Once again the seductive glance, this time from everyone’s favorite god Dionysis.

ca. 1917 entrance to Loggia

I’m going to close with an image of  Vizcaya’s designer, Paul Chalfin, essentially because I have a crush on him. I’m always having crushes on dead guys and given his good looks and incredible taste, he is just about irresistible. 

Paul Chalfin 1916 by Albert Sterner

Get well Clive!

 Until next time,

take care,

LG

“B” is for Bats

I am preparing to leave for a brief vacation to Ft. Lauderdale to visit dear friends; in between packing I am determined to post my latest entry for my Primer of New Spain: “B” is for Bats.

Yet another reason for my deep affection for the Mesoamerican culture is its appreciation for the  winged mammals. Revered and feared, bats pop up multiple times in the Popol vuh, indeed there is a temple El Zots , Place of the Bats, devoted to them- I recommend checking out the link, there is a tremendous video of swarming bat madness .

But my own affection for bats is more tenderhearted, I love their vulnerable beauty, they seem to me so fragile and endangered by man’s irrational fear of them. Perhaps this protectiveness stems from childhood , bullies who I knew all too well, one day switched their attention from me to a little brown bat that somehow had fallen from its roofline perch. Exposed to the sun and the taunts of these vicious boys, the bat screamed in defense, a little high pitched awful sound. I was with my mother and she shooed the ruffians with their sharpened popsicle sticks away from the little fellow ( perhaps the idiots thought the little bat to be a vampire).My mother was afraid of bats, but she gently nudged him under the shelter of shrubbery, hoping against odds that he would survive dogs, the sun and imbeciles.

So this little  blue bat is in memory of that little brown bat-and my mother.

“B” is for Bats
watercolor on paper
11 by 18 inches

The following is a depiction from Copan, I love his frank randy silliness, I thought Clive might get a chuckle out of him.

Well I will be off for a bit, back next Thursday.

I have a large painting started and thankfully the initial penciling in looks as pleasing to me as it did last evening when I shut the studio lights. It will await my return, that is something I will look forward to.

until that time, take care,

LG