The art of Ryno Swart

Cleopatra.

    There has never been as good a time to paint a picture of Cleopatra.

    It is a long time since Cleopatra, after Mark Anthony killed himself with his sword, clasped a snake to her breast and died. She was buried as the last Pharoah of Egypt, and it is just possible (I find it likely) that he was buried with her. What a tomb that must be! The skill of Egypt, with its treasures, dedicated to celebrate this woman, reputed to be an exquisite beauty... and by her side, the most powerful Roman general, at the time of his death, the shared ruler of Rome himself.

    Egyptians had legendary skills in preservation. Gold, jewelery, weapons, cloth and even bodies, have survived the centuries. The famous archaelogist, Zahi Hawass, head of Egypt’s Supreme Council of Antiquities, believes that he has located the tomb of Cleopatra, and, with a team of 12 archaelogists and 70 assistants, is waiting for the dry season, around November, to expose the entrance and to venture into what might be a treaure beyond even that of Tutankamen. For us, lovers of art, this might be the most important discovery in the history of art.

     If Mark Antony is buried with her (and even if not) this tomb may contain, not only a time capsule of the culture of Egypt around 60 B.C, but also a time capsule of Greco-Roman culture around the same time. Not only Egyptian artefacts, but possibly the personal collection; sculpture, furniture, weaponry,  clothing, and most importantly, paintings; assembled by the most powerful Roman of his and all time.

    Imagine a portrait of Cleopatra by a top Roman artist; no, imagine a figure study of Cleopatra by a top Roman artist. This would immediately become the most valuable painting in the world. Go one step further: imagine that Mark Antony was a collector of art, not only of his day, but of earlier times. Now imagine that the paintings of the great Greek master, Apelles, known to have been looted by Rome, were in the possession of the most powerful man in Rome. It takes little imagination, it seems more like simple logic.

    When this tomb is opened, the mystery will be revealed, not only what Cleopatra looked like, but the techniques and subject matter of Roman. This then is the last opprtunity for the romantics, for the dreamers among us. It is our chance to paint a picture of Cleopatra, an image of what may be found in that tomb. Do you visualise a portrait, like the Mona Lisa, or a figure study, such as the Venus de Milo, or maybe an action subject, such as Liberty leading the People? I am already working on one, and I want to invite you all to do so, just for fun, really, but also as an opportunity to demonstrate the power of imagination, in the face of soon-to-be-revealed fact.

    Email me an image.

The lesson of the mole

It was the morning of my birthday. I was awakened by our lovely new cat who had just caught a mole. I managed to get up and to take the mole away from her, untouched. What a strange birthday present, I was thinking, as I took it outside, beautiful little creature,  down the road, carrying it close to my heart, and placed it on a rock. It tried to dig down on the spot, looked annoyed, and moved onto some dew-damp soil, where it just melted away like butter in a frying pan.

    I believe in the connectedness of all things. When an animal comes into our lives, American Indians believe, it has meaning. It brings a message, and the message is itself. The character of the animal is a reflection of some aspect of our lives; it gives an indication of what we can do or what we can be. But a mole? Still, the message could not have been clearer. The first thing as I woke up on my birthday, was to grasp the mole in my bare hands, and holding it close to my heart, to stroke its soft fur, and to release it.

    I read it up on the Web:

'Mole. An underworld creature endowed with the powers and secrets of the earth. Moles are symbols of those who have tunneled through the earth and discovered its mysteries. This journey may be understood as a symbolic death leading the initiate to another spiritual plane (or the place of the dead.) In Native American mythology the mole is the first shaman. He is associated with the underworld crack in the world. Through the crack the other world, ancestors, and other ages may be seen and contacted.'

    Interesting, exciting, and ever so slightly scary, I thought, as I went to sleep that night.

    "There is something under my dressing gown." Anne woke me up because the little cat was playing again. I was worried, because if it was a mole, surely the magic could not happen twice... It was a mole and it had crawled into the pocket of Anne's jeans. "It is dead," Anne said, and as I lifted its lifeless body, its head just lolled to one side. I just sat there, cupping it in my hands, for minutes, trying to make sense of it. I was stroking its chest and looking all about it for puncture marks. There were none. I tugged at its legs, and pushed them up towards its chest in miniature artificial respiration. Nothing. At last I got up, and as I did so, its right paw fell inward. I froze. Nothing. No breath, no pulse. I stood up, reached for my shorts with one hand, and I felt a little twitch. "I think it is alive," I said, so softly that Anne ignored me. Hitching up my shorts, it twitched again. "I think it is alive," I repeated, louder this time. It did stir, but it took a few more minutes before I could know that it was alive... alive, but unconscious, and that I would be taking it outside, not to bury it, but to release it. The lovely little beast woke up as I left the bedroom. It struggled feebly. I showed it to Jean in his room. "Shall we keep it as a pet?" I asked, smiling.

    When I placed it on the grass, it was too weak to burrow down, but after sniffing around, it found a soft bit of earth, and slowly, working hard, dug itself away into its warm, snug element.

    "The other world?" I thought , trying to get a last bit of winter warmth under the blankets. The world of sleep, and imagination, of dream and sideway and forward memory. The world of insight and dark and dusky desire and longings for union. This was a world that I could relate to, one that I know and love.

    This world is too much with us. The other world remains often unseen. Why, I asked myself is the mole blind? it isn't. It sees with the true eye: the inner eye. The animals are guides, spirit guides. We walk these unmarked paths dimly and alone - these are our companions.

In this issue

• Cleopatra.
• The lesson of the mole

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