One of the most extraordinary paintings in the world is the Aristotle with a Bust of Homer, a masterpiece of Dutch painter Rembrandt Van Rijn. I´ve met people who have crossed two continents and a vast ocean to arrive in New York City to see this incredible work of art exhibited at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
One of the reasons that makes this work of art so remarkable is the story behind the painting: a wealthy Sicilian, devotee of Rembrandt, commissioned the piece with the only provision that Rembrandt would paint for him a philosopher. It was a time of financial hardship for Rembrandt and his Sicilian supporter paid for the painting eight times more than what he could have paid an Italian artist for the same type of painting.
Rembrandt chose the great philosopher Aristotle as the subject of his painting. Aristotle rests his hand on a bust of the great poet Homer and is seen in the painting wearing a chain with a medallion bearing the image of Alexander, a disciple of Aristotle. Three great men painted by a great master. The twist to the story is that Rembrandt paints an imaginary Aristotle, a subject that is painted directly from his imagination, bearing no resemblance to the classical figure. The result is a painting that has survived history, a true masterpiece.
But here comes the point of this story. Years earlier, Rembrandt began a phase of self discovery that resulted in a profound metamorphosis. He deliberately left the circle of the reigning taste and becoming indifferent towards what was in fashion, he rejected the idea of pleasing everybody else. Rembrandt followed his own vision not caring if he would be liked or not. He was unpopular with many but his unique talent and the love for his work immortalized him.
Few people know that Rembrandt never left the Netherlands, his homeland. Such a universal figure lived his entire life in a tiny nation not even travelling to Paris or Rome as almost every artist did. Christopher White in his biography of Rembrandt beautifully writes in the last lines of the book that though the work of Rembrandt was created in one time and one place, it is universal and eternal.
When I stand in front of the painting of Aristotle with a bust of Homer, I stand before a group of mentors. Aristotle, Homer and Alexander, are three great men that have the ability to teach you anything from human psychology to poetry and politics. Then Rembrandt, the great Master who is completely alive in his work. If you listen to him carefully you will walk away knowing that you are capable of achieving anything in your life.
Some people will tell you that they cannot succeed because they have never left the small town where they were born. Others will tell you that they cannot succeed because they are very different and not well understood. Others will tell you that they don’t have the money to be able to dedicate to what they love the most. While others will tell you that they are too old, too lonely, too undignified to transcend life and live forever.
When you have a mentor like Rembrandt Van Rijn you learn that all it takes is to follow the vision of your heart. Your heart knows exactly what you need; it is filled with the power to transcend any boundaries, any fashions and any limitations. This is the secret of immortality.
Saturday, 29 August 2009
Sunday, 23 August 2009
I trade you my $999 Louboutins for your $9.99 glitter slippers! -Desperate measures from desperate women.
Last week, partying at the mega cool Pacha night club in NYC, I came to realize that sometimes, under desperate conditions, we, women of the world, are willing to fail our innermost values.Wearing a pair of 14cms Bianca heels by Louboutin, I was going more for the powerful statement of the mega heels rather than a good night out dancing all night long. My girlfriends are accustomed to hear me saying the ever classical expression “my feet are killing me!”However, at Pacha´s that night, after hours of dancing on the most stylish shoes on earth, I did something that most women would find hard to believe. Unable to move, with feet totally paralyzed by the twinge of wearing such massive heels, I met a girl in the club, and I traded my $999 Louboutin heels for her $9.99 George gold glitter slippers.
My feet rose from the dead, I looked like Cinderella, but at least I was able to keep dancing and having a good time. My female counterpart left the club almost immediately, wearing my magnificent shoes and “Dashing Away with the Smoothing Iron” just in case I would change my mind.Not only did I not change my mind, I felt happy, relieved from the pain. Until next day, when I actually regretted it.Running next day in Central Park, coming to terms with the departure of my most iconic pair of shoes, it dawned on me that sometimes, desperate women will go for desperate measures. And I realized that trading my shoes, was just another example of what we are willing to trade, not without regret, when something is killing us.
Have you ever met a beautiful and bright woman who has traded her most handsome husband and beautiful father for a bald, fat and very daft man?. I ask you if you have seen a “woman” who has done this before, because we have all seen far too many examples of handsome and intelligent men trading their beautiful and loving wives for cheap looking women wearing far too much cheap perfume. I do not want to give you the idea that I am comparing men to shoes, though a beautiful pair of Louboutins is worth the comparison. But the motivation to trade a pair of well earned Louboutins for a cheap pair bought at Walmart, is perhaps not very different to the motivation to trade the love and trust of someone, for the momentary pleasure of feeling better about yourself.
We have seen it so many times before, it is almost cliché. The heiress who trades her diamond Harry Winston chronograph in the middle of the night for some casual escapade, the successful entrepreneur who is mugged on the street and is willing to wear the whiffy jacket of a beggar who at the time seemed an angel, the beauty queen who has it all and is willing to leave it all just to feel that she´s alive again. It seems almost as a Stanley Kubrick film but the fact and the matter is that is happens every day, everywhere around the world.
Peter Cetera in his song “Body Language” summarizes it: “moment by moment, day after day, trying your best to forget. It’s all behind you, it’s part of the past, you’ve got no time for regrets. Time to start over with somebody new, you’ve got nothing more to lose. Out for the evening, dressed for the kill, leaving your troubles behind.Dangerous places, dangerous times, leave with the first one you find. Live for the moment, who cares if it’s right, who needs tomorrow, you’ve got tonight”.
When I told my husband about the pair of shoes that he had given me for my birthday and how I traded them in a night club, he only wanted to know why I chose them in the first place if I knew that high heels kill my feet all the time. When I told my husband years ago that I traded his love and trust on me for a fake of a man, he wanted to know why I paid attention to that man in the first place when men like that kill women all the time.
I could argue that desperate men and women are willing to take desperate measures. As we run to catch the subway, it seems we have no time for regrets. We learn to live for the moment, and we don’t think about tomorrow. But when tomorrow comes, and the pair of Louboutins is gone, you are only thankful that the man you love is holding your hand and still with you.
Sunday, 16 August 2009
A birdy-girl trying to make it in a male-bird world
A few weeks ago, while on holiday at my parent's home, we bought a little pink-yellow female canary. My mother and father already had five male canaries wandering around in the big patio. There are huge bamboo trees and plenty of space to fly and feel as closer to nature as possible. The little girly-bird arrived and she was named Paris. The vet told us that her pinkish colour was the result of a very low protein intake. However, it was her colour that allowed us to set her apart from her male counterparts.
On her first day at home, Paris behaved as expected: quiet shy, sitting in a corner eating cake, seeds and fruit and not leaving the cage as the others. The next day, she ventured outside. We all wanted to see the reaction of the five male birds who on the previous days to Paris's arrival, were singing loudly every day. However, they ignored her but something changed: they stopped singing.
The third day, Paris became more adventurous, flying high among the trees and already developing an attitude of: I´m free!
The following weeks were a spectacle. Paris would fly over and over and over from one side of the patio to the other. Endlessly, happy, singing (although the fact that the vet told us that girly-birds don’t sing). As the boy-birds had stopped singing, we were even happier to have Paris with us, even if her songs were a little quieter than the boys´.
As she jumped and flew and sang and stole the cake from the other birds, we looked at the male canaries watching, in the distance. Even the youngest ones, seemed old and tired by her side. It made me think about my own experience working as a trainee many years ago in a place full of older men. I was so energetic, enthusiastic, so filled with energy, that would make the men around look like true skeletons waiting for a departure to other dimensions.
Then something gradually started to happen. Paris became shier. At the beginning, the change was unnoticeable, but day by day, she stopped jumping and flying and singing. She became like all the other birds. And then it dawned on me: are we women, minority women in a male´s world, victims of the same protocol that nature exhibits? We are after all members of the animal kingdom, and the female reaction of a female bird, wouldn´t be any different than the instinctive reaction of a female human.
So I wondered, did Paris out of the blue realized that her singing, and her flying and her energy were not making any difference in that place. All the male birds seemed united in their silence, somehow disapproving of the outburst of energy of the new bird in the block. I remembered as a younger woman going through the very same situation. Facing the condemning faces of grey coloured men disapproving of the endless energy of the new girl in the block. As I grow older and wiser, I ask myself if my behavior reminded those men of what it felt to be young, to be free, not being afraid to show emotions and colour in your life.
And then I figured something out. I decided to pay more attention to Paris than the rest of the birds. I bought her pink toys, a pink beauty mirror (perhaps cliché but I just thought that pink will remind her that she was not the only girl in the house). I talked to her when she was sad, and I reprimanded the boys for isolating Paris so much. And then something changed. Paris began flying again, eating more again, becoming more daring every day. She looked less afraid and somehow I think she demonstrated that she could be the alpha female in a world of males. And then suddenly too, the boy birds started to follow her way and move around and fly more and be just simply more adventurous.
And then I reached a conclusion. I never had anybody to do for me what I did for Paris. A powerful hand that would show support and care. It was my inner strength facing a world of men, most of them old fashioned, boxed in their mentality of “we love women in the kitchen”. Then I realized the sad, grey figures of so many older women, successful in their jobs, and quite ghostly in the street. Looking sad, almost insane, as if their female strength would have been sucked by a vampire. Women who chose, perhaps forced by the circumstances, to abandon that wittyness, that fantastic spirit of what makes us women.
I think Paris, the girly bird, may have actually been luckier than many women in the world trying to make it in a world of men. Who is there to lend a hand to all those strong and vibrant women? Who is there to remind them that they can actually, with a little support, change their whole environment for good?. What do you think? Are you the free bird flying and singing happy through life, or are your wings cut by the invisible imbalance of simply being alone in a place where you know you can make a difference, but you actually are not allowed to?
Tell me who you are and how we can change this.
Maria Carolina Cruz
www.planetalice.net
www.mariacarolinacruz.com
On her first day at home, Paris behaved as expected: quiet shy, sitting in a corner eating cake, seeds and fruit and not leaving the cage as the others. The next day, she ventured outside. We all wanted to see the reaction of the five male birds who on the previous days to Paris's arrival, were singing loudly every day. However, they ignored her but something changed: they stopped singing.
The third day, Paris became more adventurous, flying high among the trees and already developing an attitude of: I´m free!
The following weeks were a spectacle. Paris would fly over and over and over from one side of the patio to the other. Endlessly, happy, singing (although the fact that the vet told us that girly-birds don’t sing). As the boy-birds had stopped singing, we were even happier to have Paris with us, even if her songs were a little quieter than the boys´.
As she jumped and flew and sang and stole the cake from the other birds, we looked at the male canaries watching, in the distance. Even the youngest ones, seemed old and tired by her side. It made me think about my own experience working as a trainee many years ago in a place full of older men. I was so energetic, enthusiastic, so filled with energy, that would make the men around look like true skeletons waiting for a departure to other dimensions.
Then something gradually started to happen. Paris became shier. At the beginning, the change was unnoticeable, but day by day, she stopped jumping and flying and singing. She became like all the other birds. And then it dawned on me: are we women, minority women in a male´s world, victims of the same protocol that nature exhibits? We are after all members of the animal kingdom, and the female reaction of a female bird, wouldn´t be any different than the instinctive reaction of a female human.
So I wondered, did Paris out of the blue realized that her singing, and her flying and her energy were not making any difference in that place. All the male birds seemed united in their silence, somehow disapproving of the outburst of energy of the new bird in the block. I remembered as a younger woman going through the very same situation. Facing the condemning faces of grey coloured men disapproving of the endless energy of the new girl in the block. As I grow older and wiser, I ask myself if my behavior reminded those men of what it felt to be young, to be free, not being afraid to show emotions and colour in your life.
And then I figured something out. I decided to pay more attention to Paris than the rest of the birds. I bought her pink toys, a pink beauty mirror (perhaps cliché but I just thought that pink will remind her that she was not the only girl in the house). I talked to her when she was sad, and I reprimanded the boys for isolating Paris so much. And then something changed. Paris began flying again, eating more again, becoming more daring every day. She looked less afraid and somehow I think she demonstrated that she could be the alpha female in a world of males. And then suddenly too, the boy birds started to follow her way and move around and fly more and be just simply more adventurous.
And then I reached a conclusion. I never had anybody to do for me what I did for Paris. A powerful hand that would show support and care. It was my inner strength facing a world of men, most of them old fashioned, boxed in their mentality of “we love women in the kitchen”. Then I realized the sad, grey figures of so many older women, successful in their jobs, and quite ghostly in the street. Looking sad, almost insane, as if their female strength would have been sucked by a vampire. Women who chose, perhaps forced by the circumstances, to abandon that wittyness, that fantastic spirit of what makes us women.
I think Paris, the girly bird, may have actually been luckier than many women in the world trying to make it in a world of men. Who is there to lend a hand to all those strong and vibrant women? Who is there to remind them that they can actually, with a little support, change their whole environment for good?. What do you think? Are you the free bird flying and singing happy through life, or are your wings cut by the invisible imbalance of simply being alone in a place where you know you can make a difference, but you actually are not allowed to?
Tell me who you are and how we can change this.
Maria Carolina Cruz
www.planetalice.net
www.mariacarolinacruz.com
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