Award for Excellence in the Arts: Martha Mayer Erlebacher
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Award for Excellence in the Arts: Martha Mayer Erlebacher

Award for Excellence in the Arts: Martha Mayer Erlebacher

Last night my husband Sabin Howard & I attended the Newington-Cropsey Cultural Studies Center event honoring Martha Erlebacher. Martha is a realist painter and teacher. She taught Sabin twenty-seven years ago at the Philadelphia College of Art, and Sabin credits Martha and her deceased husband Walter Erlebacher for giving him the tools with which to create beautiful classical art with a powerful modern sensibility.

It was a wonderful, heart-warming evening. Sabin and I picked Martha up at her hotel to take her to the Lotos Club. In the taxi, I asked about Sabin as a young art student. He had, at one point, sported a gigantic thatch of a beard that would have made ZZ Top proud. Martha laughed, told me that in all her decades of teaching, there were maybe 5 students who had serious, big talent as artists. Sabin was one of them.

She and Sabin fell into a conversation about the draughtsmanship of drapery. I shut up and listened. When two artists of the caliber of Martha Erlebacher and Sabin Howard are discussing drawing, Leonardo, and the play of light, I want to hear every word that comes out of their mouths.

Martha and Walter had to re-invent the Renaissance system of proportions and of how to structure the figure. Walter Erlebacher had been a darling of the art world when he was an abstract expressionist showing at the Whitney Biennial; when he turned to the figure, to the human body, they dropped him. Sad commentary on the lack of taste and vision in the art haute-monde.

No one was doing realism and the figure back in the 60’s, when Walter and Martha understood that the human body is the greatest expression of truth, beauty, and narrative that human beings have. Against a condescending environment in the art world and a disembodied academia that had forgotten the perceptual power of art in favor of heady conceptual babble, they reinvented the proportional system. Martha was the painter and Walter was the sculptor.

“The sculpture of human form is the metaphor for the human desire to live forever,” Martha told me, as we spoke later in the evening. She was telling me how her husband was a genius.

“Don’t underestimate yourself and your contributions,” I said, gently. She shrugged. But this evening was about her. Sabin introduced her, and it was an intense moment for him, because he got to publicly express his gratitude to someone who had, literally, changed his life. Who had set him on the path he lives. “Martha gave us the manual on how to make awesome, powerful, visceral classical art!” he said, with tears in his eyes.

Noah Buchanan, a painter with a big following in California, also spoke. Noah related some funny anecdotes about Martha’s classes, how her words had stayed in the heads of her students who went on to be teachers themselves.

It was a joy to behold the praise being given to a woman who has made such a quiet, fierce contribution to the world, to both the joy and the discipline of art. She’s also a beautiful painter. The painting shown above is her “Dream of Eden.”

Shivaratri & Lincoln’s Birthday: February 12
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Shivaratri & Lincoln’s Birthday: February 12


Shivaratri

I follow the Hindu festivals, much as I observe the Jewish holidays, Thanksgiving, Easter and Christmas. Any excuse to pray and meditate! Any pretext for bringing myself into the Presence of this moment! The cycle of holidays through the year elevates human life, takes us out of the pedestrian and provokes reflection.

So today, Feb 12, is a collision of Shiva’s Great Night (Shivaratri) and his wedding to Parvati with Abraham Lincoln’s birthday. Shiva is the god of dissolution, the one in whom the Universe sleeps after destruction and before the next cycle of creation. Abraham Lincoln is the president who dissolved the bonds of slavery. Lincoln was forced to use the destruction of war to do it, which weighed heavily on his heart. What he wanted was for all individuals to have equal dignity of prerogative.
So this, for me, is a day to reflect on emptiness and compassion, freedom and justice, union and choice.
IMMORTAL en francais, and Two great new blog posts
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IMMORTAL en francais, and Two great new blog posts

IMMORTAL en francais

IMMORTAL en francais, and Two great new blog posts

Voila, IMMORTEL

What an awesome cover! I love it. It reminds me of 1940’s pulp sci-fi, a genre I sorely miss. Reminds me of the juicy fun covers of Edgar Rice Burroughs books, when I used to save up money from my allowance and my paper route to buy books. To the French illustrator: my compliments!

Certainly, my French translator did an amazing and meticulous job of translation. He kept emailing me with questions until he really grokked everything I was trying to say. So, for all you French speakers: Buy this book!

The journey of this novel has been an extraordinary gift. The most interesting people respond to the book. Sometimes they contact me, sometimes they don’t.

Laura Faeth, herself the noted author of the visionary memoir I Found All the Parts: Healing the Soul through Rock ‘n’ Roll, recently emailed to tell me that she’d enjoyed the book. Her comments were thoughtful and she asked if she could send questions for me to answer for her blog, Rock ‘n’ Reincarnation. “Yes, please!” I replied.

Laura’s questions were intriguing, as expected from a close reader with a unique and self-aware perspective. Her deep sense of the soul of mysticism informs her writing. She posted my replies… So take a look at Rock ‘n’ Reincarnation.

Then sometimes something about Immortal pops up on the internet, unexpected and delightful. I set up google alerts to notify me, and something fun came through: a great review on The Bookworm’s Library. A reader named Lisa posted a review: “This is a great, unexpected treasure of a story that I came across, while I was looking for something else in the library recently…. This book offers a tremendous historical fiction of a fascinating time in history….This story is an amazing read… We are challenged to find that the most important thing in this life is the true nature of the self… I loved this book, this one is a great read!”

Lisa wrote several paragraphs. Like Laura, Lisa read passionately and thought carefully. It’s a blessing and a joy to have such readers.

So, thank you to Laura and to Lisa, and take a peek at the blogs…

Rock ‘n’ Reincarnation and also Sound of your Soul by Laura Faeth

The Bookworm’s Library which seems to be by AbbyW, Lisa, and Nikki.
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NEW REVIEW OF IMMORTAL, COMING IN JULY TO RENAISSANCE MAGAZINE

NEW REVIEW OF IMMORTAL, COMING IN JULY TO RENAISSANCE MAGAZINE

In a recent National Public Radio spot on Dugald Steer’s Dragonology: The Complete Book of Dragons and other books in the Myth(ologies) series, an enthusiastic fourth-grade fan of those books remarked, “There’s sorta like a fiction way to learn real stuff.”  How true—and for adult readers wishing to plumb renaissance Italy while being thoroughly entertained, there is Immortal, Traci L. Slatton’s stunning debut novel set primarily in the majestic heart of Florence. Immortal sweeps across the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries as it follows the tumultuous life of Luca Bastardo, a beautiful blond-haired orphan boy who is kidnapped from a wretched life on the streets and plunged into an even worse existence as a prostitute by a murderous brothel-owner who surely ranks as one of the most vile characters in literature.

   Blessed with unnaturally keen senses, Luca’s salvation is his ability to free his mind and soar to calming places while he is forced to “work.” As time passes, others age, but not Luca Bastardo, who at twenty-seven still looks about thirteen.  Inventive and lush in the manner of author Anne Rice, Immortal explores the dividing line between the real and unreal, following Luca’s journey across time as he struggles to unravel the mystery of his birth and his ageless beauty while facing a difficult choice: immortality or the chance to find his one true love.

   Along the way, Luca survives the Black Death and the Inquisition and becomes intimates with such giants of the Renaissance as artists Giotto di Bondone and Leonardo da Vinci—150 years apart—not to mention Savonarola and Sandro Botticelli. A mix of art, religion, alchemy, and historical intrigue, Immortal is original and beautifully written, a true gift to the senses and an uncommonly good read.

Alana White
 
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Genart Hosts the Nice Fashion Collective

My life consists, right now, in raising children, writing, and wiping up our new yellow lab puppy’s pee. And have I mentioned child rearing? Whole weeks go by when I wear my yoga clothes until my husband sniffs at me and orders me, firmly but gently, to take a shower. So it was with vast, oceanic pleasure I found myself invited to the GENART Nice Fashion Collective Show.

On arrival, we were whisked through the line of plebes into the special portal for those invited by GENART. We were given seating tickets and then ushered through a red carpet where photographers snapped pix. I was really glad to have pulled the spinach from my teeth and shaved my legs. Actually I was wearing a black skirt, suede boots with 4″ heels, and the Spanx hose that make my tummy look as if I haven’t had 3 children. I’d also taken care with my make-up. I’m humbly hopeful that I didn’t look as old as Methusaleh, who seems like a youngster to me on all those mornings where I’ve been up once, twice, or thirty times during the dusky hours of night. If my 4 year old isn’t having a bad dream and needing cuddles, or the puppy doesn’t need to pee, or my 18 year old isn’t returning from a night of debauchery at 3:00 am, then I wake up to see why not.

There was free alcohol and lots of it, and swarms of people with strangely lacquered hair and high contrast eye-liner. My husband sniffed and claimed everyone looked like art students from an art college. There were goody bags on our chairs filled with eye cream and tequila, and naturally the tequila prompted the notion of a strip-tease. I reined myself in and instead hollered risque things at a man in an aviator hat who was climbing the rafters. I think he was supposed to be performance art. I mentioned this supposition to my husband, who snarled, because he was checking out Aviator Man’s biceps and feeling jealous. Maybe I shouldn’t have been screaming, “Take it all off, nakedness is more artsy” ?

“Yes,” my husband the Renaissance sculptor spat from between clenched teeth, “this is the difference between artsy and art.”

But who cares, it was fun!

Then the clothes: Dickensian pickpocket chic with a twist of Afghani rebel and urban ghetto ‘tude. There was lots of smeared gray eye shadow, matted hair, and angry ‘do rags. A couple of models sauntered through with their faces covered, so I called, “Robbed any banks lately?” It made my husband snicker.

But I did like the monochromatic vesty, bowler hat Oliver Twist look; it seemed to fit the gray economic times. Brought up images of dark bleak London filled with coal smoke. I wasn’t quite as thrilled with the union suit look and I was pretty sure one of the models was stuffing his codpiece. If not, I feel sorry for his boyfriend. Nor did I love the shiny white scuba pants on the female model, but they could have been white leather, hard to tell. Either way, they’d be hard to wear if you weigh more than 85 pounds and have the body not of an adolescent boy, but of a woman with curving hips and an indented waist.

All in all, an enjoyable evening, a break from the usual fare. There was still plenty of kid & puppy stuff waiting for me at home.

3RD ROCK FROM THE SUN
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3RD ROCK FROM THE SUN

3RD ROCK FROM THE SUN

My friend Gerda is not only a gifted healer and psychic, she is also a friend who understands. We have had this discussion many times, to whit: What are we doing on Earth? We don’t belong here. This place is crazy.

I maintain it is because of Chocolate. I was happily zipping around the cosmos as a gas being, all cool and free, when I approached a pretty little blue and white planet with its sticky astral plane, and someone waved a gooey piece of hazelnut-filled chocolate. BAM! I was caught, like a fly on glue paper.

“Oh, yes, chocolate,” Gerda sighs. “That would do it. Have you tried Milka?”

I am lucky there is someone else here from my unit…. And that 3rd Rock can still be seen on dvd. My children gifted me with seasons 1-4 for Christmas. I laugh and laugh watching it, the laughter of truth and understanding. The laughter of, when is my mission over, when do I get to go home?

Meantime, this planet is rich in pleasure. It wasn’t just chocolate that lured me here. There are also hugs from my children, swimming in a warm sea, lying in the sun, stretching into trikonasana, love-making, beautiful clothes, the scent of lilacs and white flowers in perfumes like DelRae’s Debut or Yosh’s White Flower, an old ripe amarone or brunello di montelcino (I’m partial to the 1997’s), sliding between clean, crisp sheets at night, Krishna Das rocking out to Hare Krishna, or the Dixie Chicks wrenching my heart with Landslide, walking through the Vatican Pinacoteca….

It’s worth it, even with all the accepted, institutionalized insanity, even with all the suffering and loss that come with this bipedal flesh bag with opposable thumbs and uncontrollable emotions. This mission is valuable in and of itself.