Ode to the Great Game

My youngest daughter loves the game. I'm not sure how this happened in a 'nominal' football family. We are amateur game watchers at best. But this is the second year we have celebrated the most sacred day on the AFL calender in style because our youngest is a true believer. And since our beloved Cats were out of the game, we showed our support for the underdogs. Go Sainters!

Here she is, in all her streamered, facepainted and inked out glory, meditating on the object of her worship...

...then giving it the boot. And yes, she is wearing her moccasins. I think I have actually given birth to a true Aussie. Quite by accident!

I blame Lucy, apostle to the great game, for inflaming my youngest with her passion. Lucy can recite names, positions and tactics of players on the field. She knows the game better then the umpires on the field. They ought to have a phoneline directly to Lucy. When I am confused by the many rituals of this ancient game, I turn to Lucy for advice and guidance. She's my football mentor.

See? She's coached me well. Here I am, the most unlikely of supporters. Decked out in my full colours...

...carrying the sacred leather with all the confidence of a third generation believer.

On the most sacred day of the AFL calender, part of the ritual is to play the game. Our footy field is right outside our front door, on the median strip between two roads. The council had kindly slashed this hallowed ground two days before the big game, no doubt in antipication for this big match.

Even the family football atheist, wearing her 'football sucks' t-shirt under her black coat, came out to play, hoping to remain incognito...

Ha! Here for the world to see!

Team-members trained for monts for this match. Nothing was left to chance!

Moments of brilliance...

... even by those on the wrong team.

The troops coming in from a spring shower.

And no holy day is complete without a feast. JB in charge of the sacraments.

People gathering, sharing.

On this sacred day, when the world stands still to watch two teams battle it out on the field, old friends become unspoken enemies, and long-standing enemies are tied to unlikely friendships in support of their team.

And this last photo and cryptic caption leads me to my own grand finale in this "Ode to the Great Game." Below is a journal entry, written about a month ago, when I was the reader in church one Sunday morning. These were my reflections from that morning. And my allusions to the religious rituals of football will become clear. I'm not sure whether this blog entry has returned the sacred to the secular, or made the secular sacred. I'm not sure if I am guilty of impiety before the court of either football fans or the religiously devout. I'll leave the verdict to you...

"reading the sacred text, aloud in god's temple with god's people...in that moment i have become part of something else. i have become grace-filled. in the moment when i attend to the task, to the reading, when i speak the words and hear my voice carried into the corners of the sanctuary, in that moment i know my voice is no longer simply 'mine' but has become part of something more, something beyond the everyday cursing, complaining, explaining, berating, cajoling, screaming, placating...i have entered the divine and for a moment i am home. there is simply no better place to be - nowhere pressing. nothing demanding. no multiplicity. no disunity. i have become my self, my voice is not just 'mine' and yet it belongs wholly to me, or i to my voice, to the words uttered - to the sacred text spoken. i belong there and i am whole. a transformative moment."

after much nagging, wheedling and cajoling, my little sister convinced me to accompany her to the ngv to view the european masters exhibition. with typical dutch thriftiness, we arrived with a coupon and got in at half price. acknowledging this cultural faux pas will set the tone for this blog entry. just in case you, my beloved and esteemed reader should expect a conversation of the tenor appropriate to beings-who-frequent-art-galleries.

Johan Chr. Dahl - The eruption of Mount Vesuvius in December 1820 1826

(Der Ausbruch des Vesuv im Dezember 1820) oil on canvas128.0 x 172.0 cm

Städel Museum, Frankfurt am Main - Acquired in 1928

this was the first painting as you walked in. it was quite big and would make a nice addition to someone's rumpus room.

Johann H. W. Tischbein - German 1751-1829

Goethe in the Roman Campagna 1786-87(Goethe in der römischen Campagna)

oil on canvas164.0 x 206.0 cmStädel Museum, Frankfurt am Main -Acquired in 1878

introducing - the artist goethe-tischbein, a painter in a long line of painters who painted his friend, goethe, as they hitched their way across italy on their way to naples. he painted his friend goethe, icon of the romantic spirit and german geist, in all his glorious splendour in what must have been a labour of love. of his artist friend - goethe scribbles a few lines in his diary - "we are so well suited that it is as if we have always lived together." goethe-tischbein immortalises his friend on canvas, his friend gives him a cameo in his travel diary - italienische reise. Some time later, the two parted ways.... and goethe-tischbein is remembered today for this portrait of his foppish friend.

overgrown boys - a lesson in humility from a modern artist - a term somewhat loosely defined as such things go in this post-modern world.

"thank you, please

but your flattery

is truly not becoming me.

your eyes are poor. you're blind.

you see,no beauty could have come from me.

i'm a waste of breath, of space, of time."

Paul MeyerheimGerman 1842-1915
The jealous lioness c.1885-90 (Die eifersüchtige Löwin)
oil on canvas49.6 x 69.0 cmStädel Museum, Frankfurt am Main -Acquired in 1903

grrr. i am woman. hear me roar. I

Max LiebermannGerman 1847–1935, lived in France 1874–78
‘Samson and Delilah’ (Simson und Delila)1901-oil on canvas151.2 x 212.0 cm
Städel Museum, Frankfurt am Main -Acquired in 1910

grrr. i am woman. hear me roar. II

Claude MonetFrench 1840-1926 The luncheon 1868

(Le déjeuner) oil on canvas231.5 x 151.5 cm

Städel Museum, Frankfurt am Main - Acquired in 1910

Pierre Auguste RENOIR - French 1841-1919
After the luncheon(La fin du déjeuner) 1879 oil on canvas100.5 x 81.3 cm
Städel Museum, Frankfurt -Acquired in 1910

a couple of nice paintings done by some frenchies who are quite good. they need an agent, somebody who will market their paintings and turn these images into icons - into cards, fridgemagnets, prints, t-shirts, coasters, placemats - billboards, advertising...

"so i've been hanging out down by the train's depot.
no, i don't ride. i just sit and watch the people there.
and they remind me of wind up cars in motion.
the way they spin and turn and jockey for positions.
and i want to scream out that it all is nonsense.
all your life's one track,can't they see it's pointless?
but just then, my knees give under me.
my head feels weak and suddenly it's clear to see
it's not them but me,who has lost my self-identity.
as i hide behind these books i read,
while scribbling my poetry,
like art could save a wretch like me,
with some ideal ideology
that no one could hope to achieve.
and i am never real;it is just a sketch in me.
and everything i made is trite and cheap
and a waste of paint, of tape, of time."

Franz von Stuck - Pietta

"so now i park my car down by the cathedral,
where the floodlights point up at the steeples.
choir practice was filling up with people.
i hear the sound escaping as an echo.
sloping off the ceiling at an angle.
when the voices blend they sound like angels.
i hope there’s some room still in the middle."


Gustave Moreau - Pieta

because possibly nothing on youtube could compare to the european masters and it is almost sacriligious that i should do so...but...well...i've already admited my failures - no beauty could come from me.

the hour is late. i need to leave my office. get in my family car. drive through the sleeping suburbs. to my weatherboard house in a leafy street where my six year old is tucked in bed and my husband with my son watches the final quarter of the game and my oldest girl waits anxiously for me to come home and share the burden of her teenage angst. which sometimes strangely resembles a youtube song with the lyrics that end -

and try to just keep moving on,
with my broken heartand my absent God
and i have no faith but it's all i want,
to be loved.
and believe,in my soul

and i remember, romantic highs and lows belong to artists who travel to naples, guitarists with broody eyes and a teenage girl who stands on the cusp of adulthood and longs to spread her wings...

and i thank my little sister, the incurable romantic who disregards my timetables and my deadlines, forces me out of my self-imposed pergatory and stands me face to face with the rich heritage of the humanity to which i belong.

and that moment of recognition, my beloved and esteemed reader, is a gift that is enough...

Solstice 2010

My devoted disciples,

Today is officially Melbourne's shortest day of the year. We celebrated the passing of the longest night of the year last evening at the Geelong West Community Garden. Today's blogpost is a dedication to all things pagan.

Or at least, I couldn't go past this clip from a Dutch pagan metalband. Heidevolk formed in Gelderland, a Dutch province, and sing heavy-metal songs in Dutch with manly titles that include 'het bier zal weer vloeien' (the beer shall flow again) and 'wodan heerst'. They are all about returning to their roots as 'people of the heathland'. Apparently, people of the heathland run around bare chested, with flowing hair and bushy beards - barking guttural sounds into the microphone.

Incidentally, I was born in Ermelo, a town in the famous 'Veluwe', the heatland of the Heidevolk. I have come from and walked the 'oude grond' (from old soil- translated title of their third album) - as a child - and somehow missed the Heidevolk that roam these hills!

The song below is called 'Het Gelders Volkslied', and its quite dreamy - for a metal band that celebrates all things teutonic and technotronic. Also a couple of photos of the Veluwe in winter. It is very beautiful. Of course, while we celebrate the winter soltice, de Veluwe is in the full bloom of summer. But that is no more incongruous than a Dutch band celebrating the mythology of a nation that is renowned for its cosmopolitan, multi-cultural, liberal and progressive ethos.

And now returning home from the dreamy realm of the mythical to the cold reality of the present. Soltice at the garden, where we created our own mythology, with woodfired pizza, mulled wine, hot soup and congenial company which thankfully did not involve flowing hair, bare chests, bushy beards, tankards of ale and heavy metal.

firing up the pizza oven

preparing, gathering, sharing

we were treated to the divine

the ghoulish

the even more ghoulish -

A reading of Hans Christian Anderson's Snow Queen

in which we found out

'What Took Place in the Palace of the Snow Queen, and what Happened Afterward'.

Where Gerda found Kay in the palace,'flew to embrace him, and cried out, her arms firmly holding him the while, "Kay, sweet little Kay! Have I then found you at last?"...Kay burst into tears... and shouted, "Gerda, sweet little Gerda! Where have you been so long? And where have I been?" He looked round him. "How cold it is here!" said he. "How empty and cold!" And he was held fast by Gerda, who laughed and wept for joy. It was so beautiful, that even the blocks of ice danced about for joy... Gerda kissed his cheeks, and they grew quite blooming; she kissed his eyes, and they shone like her own; she kissed his hands and feet, and he was again well and merry...they took each other by the hand and wherever they went, the winds ceased raging, and the sun burst forth... it was lovely spring weather, with abundance of flowers and of verdure. The church-bells rang, and the children recognised the high towers, and the large town; it was that in which they dwelt. They entered and hastened up to their grandmother's room, where everything was standing as formerly. The clock said "tick! tack!" and the finger moved round; but as they entered, they remarked that they were now grown up...grown-up, and yet children; children at least in heart; it was summer-time; summer, glorious summer!'

And if this moved brought a tear to your eye, imagine it being read to the gentle strumming of the harp, interspersed by birds whistling, horses galloping, winds blowing, and clocks ticking.

And people choking on their mulled wine in fits of laughter

And the reader of the story in all her dark glory, barely able to go on.

Creating solstice mythology in 2010. A big thank you to Katie, carver of the pumpkin, Barry the Bearded, keeper of the fire, Stella, priestess of the prayer and Peter, bringer of the divine spirit and the fabulous sound effects.

Peter, his harp and his family - or should that be, Peter, his family and his harp? - were recently featured on Australian Story. Despite his new found celebrity status, Peter brought along his harp and treated the faithful to some beautiful music of non teutonic/technotronic variety.

And so Petra, spinner of stories, teller of tall tales and mistress of mythology, would like to wish all her people a happy solstice. And will now pronounce the final blessing... (we shared this the garden last night, for the second year - it's called Fire Blessing -an ancient Prayer... 40,000 years old... handed down through the Aboriginal culture and translated into the English language.)

May the fire be in our thoughts
Making them true, good and just,
May it protect us from the evil one.

May the fire be in our eyes;
May it open our eyes to share what is good in life.
We ask that the fire may protect us from what
Is not rightfully ours.

May the fire be on our lips, so that we may
Speak the truth in kindness; that we may serve
And encourage others.
May it protect us from speaking evil.

May the fire be in our ears.
We pray that we may hear with a deep, deep listening
So that we may hear the flow of water, and of all
Creation.
And the dreaming.
May we be protected from gossip and from things
That harm and break down our family.

May the fire be in our arms and hands
So that we may be of service and build up love.
May the fire protect us from all violence.

May the fire be in our whole being -
In our legs and in our feet,
Enable us to walk the earth
With reverence and care;
So that we may walk in the ways of goodness and truth
And be protected from walking away from what is truth.

A gift from Burnum Burnum