Click here to go to the next issue
Highlights Home Page | Receive the Nondual Highlights each day
#1824 - Thursday, June 10, 2004 - Editor: Jerry
This issue features selections from works of Jerry Wennstrom, reproduced with permission http://www.handsofalchemy.com/
from The Inspired Heart: An Artist's Journey of Transformation
In 1979, I destroyed all the art I
had created, gave everything I
owned away, and began a new life. I sensed an inner and outer
world
in perfect order. I sensed that I could become a willing
participant
in that order, and that it allowed for my individual expression
and
unique contribution. I know now that my participation was
conditional
on how well I learned to listen and to see the inherent patterns
within the natural order I sensed. The return of a physical
creative
expression came later, after I learned what was required by the
inner
life. The new life that I gave myself to required unconditional
trust
and noninterference. I asked for nothing from any human being. I
needed to know if there was a God and I risked my life to find
that
out. I know now that we risk far more when we attempt to create a
life devoid of a personal relationship with our God.
~ ~ ~
With my rent miraculously taken
care of, my life went deeply inward.
I hardly spoke for over a year. Many visitors came, sat in
silence,
and left. Sometimes I spoke, but mostly I did not. The unwritten
rule
seemed to be that I would not speak out of discomfort or fear of
silence. I would speak only when I felt that somehow a
compassionate
word might help someone I was with. Fasting, silence, and reading
defined my life for several years. I fasted for so many days one
year
that I thought I would just fade away.
~ ~ ~
I was fascinated by the lidless
garbage can that Lester set out in
front of his building each week. It was always filled to the brim
with empty gin bottles and discarded cigarette packs. Somehow, I
admired the fact that he did not attempt to hide this from the
world.
I thought most of us probably would have. Lester and Louise sat
in
their upper-story window, drinking and smoking, every day, it
seemed.
Their window looked out onto the street below, and Lester called
out
to the people he knew as they passed by. I was often touched by
the
warmth and love I heard in his gravelly old voice as he
acknowledged
and insulted his friends.
Like deities looking out from the
upper realms of a crumbling old
Tibetan tonka, Louise and Lester sat three stories up, blessing
those
on the streets below with their loving attention. As people in
the
community passed by, they often looked up to Louise and Lester’s
window to see if they were holding court that day. They were
there
together for many years.
One day I realized I had not seen
Louise for several weeks.
Eventually I heard Lester tell someone on the street below that
she
had died. Then it was just Lester alone, sitting in the window,
drinking and smoking, blessing the people passing by.
One day I came upon Lester
shoveling snow out in front of his
building. He was blowing on his hands, trying to warm them. As I
walked by, I handed him my gloves. He courteously refused. I
could
see that he wanted them, so I insisted. I felt I owed him that
much
for the gift I received whenever I sat in the chair closest to
the
wall, with my morning cup of tea, and heard Lester singing in the
bathtub. Listening to Lester sing stirred my imagination. I felt
privy to the recurrence of an original blues moment—the
sacred moment
of inception when the blues was first conceived. The sacred
essence
of the blues passed through my wall in those early morning hours.
Lester’s song was a lonely prayer in the temple. I was the
church
mouse, listening unnoticed, savoring the tiny blues-seed, which
contained original DNA, faithful to its origin. Here was the
quiet
suffering of an old black man who sang the blues for no one but
himself. My only payment for the pleasure I received from this
covert
activity was the very deep gratitude, love, and respect I felt
for
Lester.
~ ~ ~
Wandering the dump, waiting for a
shimmering object to quietly
present itself, can be a form of ritual for me. Sometimes one
small
object found at the dump or the thrift store, or something I have
been given, can inspire an entire new art piece. On this
particular
day, I spotted a seven-foot-long piece of brass, roughly in the
shape
of a three-dimensional lightning bolt. It appeared to be the
irregular edge of an old sign.
I like the people at the dump and
I think they like me. I fulfilled a
long apprenticeship to learn the subtleties of dump etiquette. To
earn the staff’s trust, I had to make sacrifices. Often,
when I was
negotiating a purchase, both the dumpworker and I knew that I was
being overcharged, yet I would quietly pay and thank them.
Somehow
this helped to develop a relationship of trust and generosity.
An event that helped the process
and became my claim to fame in the
eyes of the crew was the discovery of a large old painting of
mine
that had been thrown into one of their dumpsters. The attendant
who
found the painting pulled it out of the trash and nailed it,
Christ-like, to a wall. Loosely inspired by the theme of The Last
Supper, the painting did have Christ as the central figure, so
this
crucifixion seemed appropriate.
Selected scenes from the Parabola video: In the Hands of Alchemy: The Art and Life of Jerry Wennstrom
http://www.handsofalchemy.com/media/film/handsofalchemy.htm
Flaming Stupa
Meditation Tower on Whidbey Island, WA
Flaming
Stupa (side)
The dream of having a meditation
tower began for Marilyn when she
read CG Jung’s book, Memories, Dreams and Reflections when
she was 20
years old. Marilyn was, and continues to be influenced by Jung's
works, and loved the fact that he had built his own tower.
Jerry built this tower as a wedding gift to Marilyn.
Flaming
Stupa (front)
As usual, Jerry found or was given
materials for his tower. Someone
donated 2" thick planks of solid cedar, and a group of Sufi
practitioners showed up at the right moment to help pull the
nails
from the heavy boards. A propane tank is the bell, a recycled
fire
extinguisher makes the fanciful prayer wheel, an old cement water
tower forms the base, and dirt rammed tires form the ascent to
the
entrance. But before climbing the stairs, one has to walk a path
of
400 pounds of jewel-like shattered safety glass, salvaged from a
dumpster. "To enter the sacred," says Jerry, "you
have to walk over
glass."
Building
the Flaming Stupa
Waving Buddha
Turning a crank on the center of
this piece makes the Buddha’s hand
wave. The hand is inside behind the glass. There is a small
Buddha,
also waving from behind the glass that appears and disappears.
There are 2 levers on this piece,
which offer a choice. Choosing one
activates a loud buzzer and flashes a red light on the top of the
piece. Choosing the other opens the main chamber hidden behind
the
carved face revealing a straw mask. There are also small, lighted
compartments to be discovered and one cast iron foot at the base.
Jerry Wennstrom was born in New York on January 13, 1950. “I don’t have much of an impressive bio,” he admits. “All I could do was paint, and because there was nothing else that I could do very well, painting was what I most identified with as a human being. It didn’t hold though, did it? I let it all go, became nothing, and found everything.”
~ ~ ~
To read more from The Inspired Heart, watch video excerpts, listen to Marilyn's music, see more artwork, access radio and tv interviews, please visit http://www.handsofalchemy.com/