From Daniel Rekshan:

Basically, I agree with Kandinsky and the Theosophical movement in general that the role of the artist is to investigate the spiritual world and share the findings with those individuals surrounding the artist. 

 I study, meditate, and do dream-work in order to explore the spiritual world.  My findings are most clearly stated in my art and when I express them in words, they get a little bizarre.   Here are some I’ve listed in a statement I’m writing now:

• Divinity is an action of the individual
• Likewise, evil is an action of the individual
• The individual must take responsibility for the cultural mythos, ie, must enact the divine acts in each moment and sublimate the base acts.
• There are many worlds. This physical/cultural/mythological/spiritual complex is one of many worlds. Our world blends with the other on the border of the physical. Just as there is an indefinite complexity of organisms on this plane, so too is there on the others.
• The physical is a paper-thin illusion
• Individual motivation, thus action, determines the inhabited world.

These notions are clearly expressed in my dreamscapes.  The representational aspect of my landscapes obscures my motivation and their message; that’s why I have such long titles.

My physical creative process involves expression of either an external or internal vision, ie, landscape versus dreamscape.  I simply create a composition in perspective, build up tonal planes, add hues and highlights, and iterate the process if needed.  My landscapes are done location.  Interestingly, I’ve been “growing out” of an easel.  I find it is better to sit cross-legged on the ground, as in meditation or in art-making as a child.

Find Daniel’s work online at http://www.danielsimagination.com and you may also contact him through the website.

Sun Lo and the Sewer by Patsy Ledbetter

     She eyed them suspiciously.  Her heart beat faster as they approached.  The tall strangers seemed anxious to speak to her.  Why had they requested her presence?  What had she done wrong?  She was not used to being observed.  What did they want?  Why were they here?

      Many questions surrounded Sun Lo as she made her way down the corridor to her small room.  She was a small, middle-aged woman with short, graying hair.  She was slightly bent over with a limp and a missing tooth.  She had lived a simple, solitary life…work, eat and sleep.  Yet there was something angelic about her….She carried a secret.  Her strength came from a higher power….love she felt from her Heavenly Father.

     “Hello Sun Lo.  My name is John and this is my wife Sara.”  We have heard of your unbelievable sacrifice and we are here to pray with you and bring you some gifts,” said the kind man.  His wife had an encouraging and sympathetic smile.

     Sun Lo told the story of how she had been questioned about her faith when she was a young girl and because she was open and honest about her faith in Jesus Christ, she was sentenced by the authorities to rake the sewer for forty years.  She was provided with a place to live and enough to eat and drink. A very dull and discouraging job she was entrusted with and because she loved her Lord, she took up her cross daily and followed her orders.  It was lonely and frightening at times, but Jesus was with her.

     “I would be honored to hear you pray, Mr. John.  I have not heard the prayer of another in forty years.  John spoke softly and sincerely.  He asked for the Lord’s blessing on Sun Lo and all of the Christians in China. 

     “I am so excited to tell you that we have collected money and we have brought you two year’s worth of wages!” John spoke quickly.

     He handed her the wad of money and she pushed it aside.

     “I am not interested in money,” she spoke quietly.

Editor’s Note: This story deals with an important, current issue of our time – persecution and discrimination against people of conscience due to religious, political, or other nonviolently held beliefs. We at Synchronized Chaos seek to educate readers that millions of people around the world still live without freedom of conscience, and we stand with those working for basic human liberties. Nonpartisan, nonsectarian organizations such as Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch have campaigns where artists and writers can write letters to world governments on behalf of prisoners of conscience and stand alongside those wrongly persecuted.

Patsy Ledbetter may be reached at patsyled@sbcglobal.net and welcomes feedback on her writing and conversations with other writers.

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Vignette #9: Super Glue on a Ball Bearing

The space station had the shape of a vast ring, or perhaps a doughnut, or better yet the wheel of a bicycle.  It was a narrow torus, connected by four spokes to a central hub.  The station rotated slowly about the hub, like a bicycle wheel being pedaled by an unearthly titan, and the centrifugal force created by this rotation provided simulated gravity to those who dwelt inside the ring.
 

The security guard was off duty and sat in one of the station’s lounges with his friend, also a security guard.  The panoramic windows in the floor showed space spinning by under their feet.  At various times in the station’s orbit, they would see the great face of Earth zoom past dizzyingly, completely filling the field of view.  Newcomers to the station could be disoriented by how quickly the starscape spun past, but the security guard and his friend were far too used to the sight to even give it a second thought.
 

The guard was discussing the workshift earlier in the day with his friend.  They had processed a shipload of arriving passengers:  miners on a layover from the ground, heading out on a month-long asteroid mining mission, and wealthy sightseers, spending a week or more on the station before taking a shuttle back down to the surface.  Miners and tourists made up the bulk of the transient population.  Scientists, engineers, and various administrative personnel composed the more permanent staff.
 

The guard was was pouring beer from a pitcher into his and his friend’s glasses, when they felt a deep thud pass through the station.  The guard looked at the clock on the wall and scowled, then turned to his friend and asked, “There wasn’t any shuttle arrival scheduled for now, was there?” 
 

His friend finished taking a gulp from his glass and wiped off his mouth with the back of his sleeve.  “Not that I knew of,” he responded.
 

The guard knew about all the arrivals.  Or at least, he had known about all of them until now.  He wondered if he should ask someone about this.  Then he shrugged his shoulders and lifted his glass to his lips.

Read other vignettes and leave comments for Jeremy Warach here: http://warach.com/wordpress/category/vignettes/

Warach welcomes writers’ groups and other artists to finish the stories, or link them together into one piece, if that’s possible.

A Dream Come True

by Cynthia Lamanna

Barbara Ann walked into the old coffee house; an old haunt where she and her friend,

Shelley used to lament about their woes, (as teen-agers) or share first crush stories; Later on in their twenties after college, young marriages, and new babies, they had reconnected, and shared the glory of Motherhood, as well as the wistful days gone by.

In their sophisticated 30’s, Shelley had gone through a painful divorce, and once again, it was here, over a swearing off of diets, they told their secrets in whispers, and open grandeur. Root beer floats, and Pete’s onion relish, still waffled in from the small back kitchen.

.

Now, 20 years, and 20+Ibs later, unable to silence the lull of sweet memories, she had made the trek from California, not only to satisfy a yen, but to follow a deeper calling

of her heart, and to pay her respects to the old mountain town, she had called home for half of her life; On her way here, from the bus station, she had been tickled to catch the familiar sight of blackberries, and friendly down home folk, sweeping their porches, grateful for a little sunlight peeking in through the Northwestern clouds.

She paused, in a light headed wave of nostalgia, as she surveyed the mom and pop restaurant, with renewed interest; an old ghost of its earlier bustling days, that still bore vintage pictures of Hollywood on its faded blue walls;  A few old men were drinking coffee, and shooting the breeze on a Saturday morning. As Barbara Ann selected a window booth, she felt a chill of excitement, as the first rays of sun filtered in through the whipped cream white curtain; she was transported in time, as a blue eyed young man came to mind. She had sat at this exact spot, gazing into his eyes. Ray Townsend. Cowboy, musician, and aspiring minister;

He was the one who brought the hope of real love back to her and as they say, “the one who got away.” Actually, it was she who turned away a real chance at love, after a glorious season of romance and friendship. She had been separated from her violent estranged husband, and now that she had met Mr. Right, was sure that she would never go back.

Things had taken a serious turn as Ray had proposed over coffee and dessert! She sighed, and closed her eyes, as the exhilarated feelings, color of wild flowers, and Sunday aromas, came back in clarity. Kent had been jealous to find that she was smitten with another man, who was taken with her as well; after some deliberate attempts to spy on them, with his dark glasses, he decided he would exercise his giant ego, and try to woo her back. He was a charmer when it suit his purposes; he cajoled her to come back to him   and with his usual bullyish conduct, threatened to take away their young son, if she did not relinquish Ray Townsend.

Though fed up with her husband for good, overwhelmed by his intimidations, with a heavy heart of reluctance, she went back to him.

The look in Raymond’s eyes pained her that rainy morning, as she told him the dreaded news.  Tears blurred her vision as he walked away, head bent in defeat. Fool!

She had chided herself, after Kent went back to his old ways, and they divorced soon after. Raymond had gone back to his aspens, in Colorado.

Cynthia Lamanna may be reached at cynthialamanna@yahoo.com – and would love to discuss her writing with others!

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Conception

What is art about? More precisely, what are my paintings about? I have struggled with this question ever since I started to paint. Having copied famous artists’ work, made many still life and figure studies, and having painted for the simple sensual thrill of presenting beauty or ugliness, I am left with the certainty that art is much broader and deeper than these technical accomplishments. For me, art is incomplete if it does not transcend simple depiction of life, and enter the realms of the historian and the social commentator.

The intricate involvement with life, the sub-textual social criticism — unpolluted by overbearing propaganda — that is evident in the works by artists such as Matthias Grünewald, Albrecht Dürer, Francisco Goya, Max Beckmann and Käthe Kollwitz has begun to teach me how to connect myself, as an artist, to the world; and, most importantly, how to perform my duty to the society as an artist, to reflect the world through the expression of my feelings.

Growing up in communist China, I lived through the hardship and capriciousness of dictatorship. At the same time, I witnessed the way that for those who closed their eyes to the inhumanity of totalitarian rule, daily life was not always so grim: such people still worked hard, made merry, found time and occasion to smile and laugh. People can adjust to just about anything, finding comfort even in the predictable order of totalitarian society.

I thought that my escape from China would put such bitter truths behind me. But the closer I look at the society I live in now, especially in this era of wholesale assault on freedoms that Americans have come to take for granted, the more troubled I feel. It doesn’t trouble me so much to know that people in power covet and plot for more wealth and control: that is to be expected. It doesn’t trouble me to realize that people in power seek to brainwash the populace to sate themselves on shallow pleasure and hollow profit — one can hardly think of a more efficient way to dominate the populace than by conditioning them to cease thinking. What does trouble me is that there are so many who prove willing to trample the lives of others to gain money, power, sex, or products they crave. What troubles me is people’s readiness to barter priceless liberty for the illusion of safety. What troubles me is their willingness to believe craven lies and to grant people in power carte blanche, in exchange for the empty “sacrament” of super-sized consumption. I was baffled when I attempted to understand how Hitler could gain control of a nation of highly educated people, until I witnessed the rise of Pat Buchanan and the anointment of George W. Bush. I am troubled, saddened and angered. I am angry that our great nation is forsaking the foundation of our democracy. I am angry at the citizens of the most powerful country on the planet, for carelessly allowing our leaders to exert our indomitable might without taking upon ourselves the responsibilities that are morally intrinsic to the exercise of force. I feel a doomsday coming.

As a society, I wonder whether we have lost track of the human spirit. We live in a privileged time and place, with abundant materials to consume. We are blessed with scientific understanding of the physical universe and we have been able to plant our national flag in the virgin soil of the moon. But have we built the world we ought to live in? As an artist and a human being I have serious doubts. Can we truly be meant to be the masters of the earth, if reckless consumption, pollution, and mass extinction are the result of our mastery? Will we destroy our own civilizations through irresponsible selfishness? Will our extinction follow those of whales, tigers, foxes and dragonflies?

My heart aches when I think of the future. But at the same time I have hope. The struggle of individuals continue to inspire. The memory of Spring 1989, in Tiananmen Square with my fellow students, gives me hope. The enormous protests in San Francisco, Paris, London, Milan, and Madrid during the dark winter of 2003, against George W. Bush’s cynically manipulated, ideology-, dominance- and profit-driven, faith-based war on Iraq, promise me a new spring.

So much emotion: fear, anger, foreboding, despair, and also hope all tangled up together.

I have created my Apocalypse Series of paintings to commemorate human suffering and struggle, as my much revered Albrecht Dürer did during the raging Peasant Revolt, a mere five centuries ago.

Matthew Felix Sun may be reached at oatlantis@aol.com – and you may view more work at www.matthewfelixsun.com

Artist statement:

“I began drawing at the age of three. I recall that I always was interested in the particular image I drew. After studying art in college I found I worked well with watercolor. After years of practice; I must of done around 300 paintings, my work started to evolve into a specific style. One teacher I had early on who worked in watercolor showed me examples of other artist’s (Hopper, Turner, Wyeth) who used the space around their images to create a duality between the negative and positive space. Recently, I began using  the space around the image as part of my design. This idea dawned on me about when I did an illustration for Parabola magazine that featured articles on “Prison” life. Then I did an illustration for Resurgence Magazine about the emergence of combining science with religion. I feel my style really took off with this illustration. Later, I had some ideas for using shapes along with the design in the piece. This is where the dragon series began. I guess that’s where I am today. I really put a lot into my art. I feel it has to be worth it for me to look at the piece after and enjoy what I see. This makes the creative process worth while, though it took me 300 paintings to get here.

Tim Davis

September 20, 2009

San Francisco illustrator Tim Davis has been a watercolor artist since 1995, and a commercial illustrator since 1996. Educated in the arts at three different schools, starting in Texas, and then in San Francisco – first at SF State, and finally the California College of Arts and Crafts – his illustrations have appeared in Tikkun magazine and Parabola magazine. Now, selected paintings from Davis are on display at the Artist Xchange in San Francisco as part of the gallery’s “New Works” exhibit, along with a host of other exhibiting artists.

A community-based gallery dedicated to promoting local artists, The Artist-Xchange both displays artwork in its Mission-district gallery space and operates as a sales representative for its featured artists, with promotional events, charity sponsorship, and an online virtual gallery where you can browse through its catalog of artists and even purchase artwork online.

“New Works” is open through October 4, 2009, at the Artist-Xchange Gallery, 3169 16th Street, San Francisco CA, 94103. Gallery hours are Monday through Sunday, 1pm – 7pm.

Tim Davis may be reached at: d_tim@sbcglobal.net and his website is www.illustrationsbydavis.com