A Clasp

Statement

Be in the world but not of it.

Two realities coexist in the image.

In the reality of the courtyard environment, two plastic lawn chairs exist with plants and personal items- a purse and towels. Additional furnishings hint at how a life might be lived- a curtain in the doorway, the bench and tablecloths, a desk, the jar with saucer at the windowsill, and all windows shaded.

The environment of the large wooden chair with its rug and tile floor permeates the space of the courtyard. In the interlacing of realities, the courtyard and its contents remain undisturbed while at the same time the plastic chair is assumed in the space of the wooden chair, and is in effect held in its lap on luminous upholstery. From this vantage point, the this chair inhabits the space of the large chair but remains a part of its initial space and faces the other chair that’s properly tucked under the table, turned toward a wall, close to a purse.

A floor drain and a wooden half-door with handle balance between the two environments.

Knowing

When I was little, I was short and kinda chubby and no good at athletics. We moved to a new town when I was in fourth grade and I had to get used to a bunch of new kids. One of them was Denise J, who was graceful and thin and had astonishing athletic skills. She could do everything. Run, sprint, jump, hurdle, bat, catch, pitch, kick, climb, free-throw... all of it. She was so good. I marveled at her every day in gym class. Denise was also a very sweet girl, and I knew this even though she wasn’t in the group that would become my circle of friends. She was encouraging and upbeat, and didn’t put people down because they weren’t athletically talented in the way she was. Even as a young kid, she exhibited true sportsmanship, both on and off the field.

There was a Field Day at the end of the school year, and the kids could go outside and participate in outdoor activities, and gunny sack races, and silly contests of various sorts. There were sign-up sheets in the classroom for events, and students would stand in various lines to sign up. As I was milling about trying to find something to participate in, Denise asked me if I’d like to run the three-legged race with her.

I was flabbergasted. Eyeblink. Me? Running a race with Denise J? Perhaps the other athletic girls had already paired off with one another and she was left with the remainder, and I just happened to be nearby the signup table when she looked up. SURE! I globbered. That would be fun!

The time of the race drew near, and we lined up on the edge of the field, finish line in sight. I stood next to Denise, and soon the teacher was by us, fastening our legs together in two places-- above the knee, and at the ankle. All the contestants interlocked arms at the shoulders, and then quite calmly Denise told me the game plan. It was something simple, and encouraging, like ‘we’ll start with our middle leg, then just run together. And don’t look to the side, just keep looking forward.’ I remember she smiled broadly. She was happy and completely confident, excited at another chance to express her endless athletic ability, even bound to a last-placer like me.

I mirrored her enthusiasm and thought, well, why not? I recall the anticipation in the moments before the whistle sounded, and we were off. Denise’s instruction was perfect- we never lost our rhythm together. She was kind enough to match my slower pace, and I did everything I could to run at my maximum speed. I don’t know that I have ever run faster in my life. We never let go of one another’s shoulders.

I don’t know the length of the field, but I remember the sharp, burning sensation in my lungs as we crossed the finish line. I followed her advice and didn’t look around during the race, so I was shocked to learn that we finished in 3rd place. I was overjoyed- someone like me finishing in the top three. Not only was I not last in something athletic, but 3rd place meant we were going to get a ribbon.

At the end of the day, the ribbons were distributed. I was standing with my friends and Denise was standing with hers. She had an entire handful of blue and red ribbons already, and our names were called. We both emerged and made our way to the teacher, who handed us each a white satin ribbon with gold printing that said ‘3rd Place.’ To my eyes, that ribbon was beautiful- it had a pinked edge on the bottom and a twisted thread strung through a grommet on the top so you could hang it on your corkboard at home.

I absolutely beamed. This was one of the best days of my young life. I held onto my ribbon with incredulity, and stared at it once I got it home, touching the satiny smoothness with my fingertip, admiring the perfect zigzag on the bottom. And I had a moment of knowing, a true knowing, that this thin white ribbon with gold printing would be the only accolade I would ever receive for athletics in my whole life.

The memory of this knowing, of what direct knowing felt like, may have been the first time I had an experience of it. There was no emotion attached. It felt neither good nor bad, but more a quiet recognition of a simple truth that required no response from me.

I don’t know what happened to Denise. I hope she’s well. Our paths never crossed much after 4th grade, and the three legged race was the most time I ever spent with her. But the memory of the race surfaced recently as a way to understand the braided will -divine and individual- through the metaphor of this life experience.

Really, how much more obvious can you get? Here I was bound of my own will to a far superior athlete, one who had asked me kindly if I would like to join her for the event, who calmly instructed me at the time of the event all I required to know about how to proceed in the race, and who was far more knowledgeable and experienced in athletics but at the same time respectful of the partnership required to have the most fun.

As I reflect on its metaphorical aspect, I recognize how the experience can illustrate the potential of the egoic or personality self to deny an agreement with the divine. Why would a really good athlete ask me? I had never done a three-legged race, let alone demonstrate any athletic ability. Weren’t there more worthy kids? It’s the end of school after all, and I had put in a full year of humiliation in gym class. Looking from my adult vantage point I can invent all manner of excuses I could have used to bow out of participating in the race. I’m glad as a 4th grader I couldn’t have thought of them. The gift of the experience was that, at the time, I was utterly oblivious to what exactly was being asked of me. Metaphor or real life, all I had to do was say yes.

I had no idea what to expect, I couldn’t plan for it or practice-- I just had to show up. In the end everything took care of itself. We ran the race, and it was fun.

Sheba’s Throne (1)

When the Queen of Sheba came to Solomon,

she left behind her kingdom and her wealth,

the same way lovers leave their reputations.

Her servants meant nothing to her,

less than a rotten onion.

Her palaces and orchards, so many piles of dung.

She heard the inner meaning of LA: No.

She came to Solomon with nothing, except her throne.

As the writer's pen becomes a friend,

as the tool the workman uses day after day

becomes deeply familiar, so her filigreed throne

was her one attachment.

It was a large throne and difficult to transport,

because it could not be taken apart,

being as cunningly put together as the human body.

Jalaluddin Rumi, interpretation by Coleman Barks. Based on A. J. Arberry and R. A. Nicholson’s translations of Jalal al-Din Rumi’s poems and on Nevit Ergin’s work from the Turkish and John Moyne’s unpublished translations.

Barks, Coleman, A Year with Rumi (New York: HarperCollins, 2006), 128.

A Clasp, 18” x 18”, 2015-2023, painted in oil with hand refined linseed oil and egg tempera on glue-chalk gesso over glue size on cradled hardboard panel.