A Prayer for Artists to Our Blessed Lady

Our Lady, Mother of All Good Things

We artists are a complex weaving

Our beauty and our pain seek us

Through brush and pen

Through hand and foot

Through drum and flute

Through paper and scissor

Through image and word

Through life and death

Through our desire to be self expressed.

While we are at once struck with joy

at sudden inspiration, we are also

sometimes stuck with a strange halting fear

Fear enough to stay the brush

or halt the tambourine.

Is it worth it to make art?

Am I good enough? Can I sell it?

What will others think? Of me, my art?

I should be doing accounting,

become a lawyer, a doctor or politician,

or clean my house after all,

instead of getting myself to studio or notebook.

We all know – poets and artists –

are of no value here…there are mouths to feed!

And so we chatter on in this way

Poisoning our ideas with lack of Faith.

Blessed Lady, You have heard all of our complaints I am sure.

For many thousands of years, and as a form of medicine,

have given yourself, Lady, your own image and heart,

to millions of painters, poets and songwriters to keep them

Going. To keep them company in the dark night.

For this we thank you. For this I thank you beyond measure.

You are the most painted, most sung about Lady in all the world!

Blessed Lady I beseech you on our behalf, on behalf of all artists!

A Letter To Grandma – Dia De Las Muertos

Letting you and Grandma Eden go, is so far, the hardest thing in my life. Since I go to the Orthodox Church now, I finally understand how you got how you were. The sacredness, and the expansiveness. How I wish I had asked you more questions. When I am in church, I feel I am with you – and my family. I feel my roots and I have a sense of understanding about the nature of my own soul as it relates to my blood line. Who knew I would find mother church, after you left. How I wish I could take you to Vespers tonight, I think how happy you would be – even though you left and went to the Protestant Church, I know your heart remained with the church “back home” in Lopez, Pensylvannia – where the church Grandfather Dimitri helped to build, still stands, 100 years later. The icon that was in your room when you died, is mine now and sits on one of my many altars.

Photo 77
Grandma’s Icon

There is also a flower in the book – dried and preserved though I cannot tell what kind. And it is inscribed from your mother, to you and grandpa and dad and uncle. That I get to see Grandmother Mary’s handwriting and know she touched the page, feels a blessing. I believe in particles – in essences – in momentary flahses of light and consciousness that link us to the past – and the present.
Letting you and Grandma Eden go, is so far, the hardest thing in my life. Since I go to the Orthodox Church now, I finally understand how you got how you were. The sacredness, and the expansiveness. How I wish I had asked you more questions. When I am in church, I feel I am with you – and my family. I feel my roots and I have a sense of understanding about the nature of my own soul as it relates to my blood line. Who knew I would find mother church, after you left. How I wish I could take you to Vespers tonight, I think how happy you would be – even though you left and went to the Protestant Church, I know your heart remained with the church “back home” in Lopez, Pensylvannia – where the church Grandfather Dimitri helped to build, still stands, 100 years later. The icon that was in your room when you died, is mine now and sits on one of my many altars.

Photo 77
Grandma’s Icon

There is also a flower in the book – dried and preserved though I cannot tell what kind. And it is inscribed from your mother, to you and grandpa and dad and uncle. That I get to see Grandmother Mary’s handwriting and know she touched the page, feels a blessing. I believe in particles – in essences – in momentary flahses of light and consciousness that link us to the past – and the present.

Letting you and Grandma Eden go, is so far, the hardest thing in my life. Since I go to the Orthodox Church now, I finally understand how you got how you were. The sacredness, and the expansiveness. How I wish I had asked you more questions. When I am in church, I feel I am with you – and my family. I feel my roots and I have a sense of understanding about the nature of my own soul as it relates to my blood line. Who knew I would find mother church, after you left. How I wish I could take you to Vespers tonight, I think how happy you would be – even though you left and went to the Protestant Church, I know your heart remained with the church “back home” in Lopez, Pensylvannia – where the church Grandfather Dimitri helped to build, still stands, 100 years later. The icon that was in your room when you died, is mine now and sits on one of my many altars.