Sprouting new Initiatives

It is New Moon - the sprouting time of the Lunar cycle, when new themes make themselves evident. 
This particular moon cycle is one of profound importance, with powerful astrological alignments occurring. The equinox, and festival of Mabon, comes around the time of the First Quarter. Dynamic joint activity of Venus and Mars, Uranus and Pluto characterise this cycle too.

What does it all mean?
The focus is clearly on taking action now. Leadership and courage are called for as all the celestial activity indicates this is the time to break new ground. If you have areas of your life you are keen to change, these next few weeks are the time to get under way. All of life is supporting the impulse to shift and to grow. 
There is potential here for real progress in both our inner and outer life. We are encouraged to release any stale restricting patterns now. Anything that remains to crowd or smother the delicate seedling of inner growth is best let go of.
Support is here for creativity too. Look for fresh new solutions to issues confronting you now. Lead into change from a steady centred awareness and watch for the flow and clarity guiding us all to a greater capacity to express our own authentic note.

As Kahil Gibran wrote:

“It was but yesterday I thought myself a fragment quivering without rhythm in the sphere of life. Now I know that I am the sphere, and all life in rhythmic fragments moves within me.”

Drawing from Life Chapter 19 continues:

Bill had arranged to meet Philip at lunch time. He had brought some of his carving with him, hoping to get a professional opinion on his work. The walk up to the gallery put him in a better frame of mind. At least he could count on his best mate to be an antidote after this morning’s interview.

It was a bit of a disappointment to find Philip was more distracted by business than usual. Bill sat and had lunch with him out the back of the gallery but the phone was going constantly. There seemed to be a lot of clients in and out as well. Philip was looking pretty pushed so he made an effort to take his mind off things by telling him a few of the amusing stories he had heard from Casey. 

Bill also gave an account of himself trying to teach youths how to swing a badminton racket without damaging themselves or anyone nearby- like the coach for instance. Philip smiled at that story. “It could be worse. Imagine coaching beginners’ golf.”

“No mate – well maybe the ladies class…” Bill noticed there was no answering laugh to that one.

Phil was obviously tired. He sounded a touch bitter when he said “Just to digress from your women for a moment, show me those bits of timber you brought over will you.”

 Bill could see it wasn’t a good time. He suggested they leave it for another day.  “You’re obviously pretty pushed …” Philip just smiled and put his hand out, until Bill reached in his satchel and pulled out a box wrapped in tissue.

 He watched Philip open it carefully, noticing the way he unconsciously switched to his assessing, professional face. “Nice. Small – what is it, a large netsuke size?” It was a sphere of kauri pierced in places, carved in an interlocking design of seaweed and exquisitely modelled. “It’s good Billy. I didn’t know you did this scale of carving.” He replaced it in the box carefully. “Not my line though. The chap you should see is at Devonport. Claus Petersen – runs that gallery by the Masonic.”

Philip was leaning his elbow on the counter, rubbing his temples with his hand. Bill couldn’t remember the last time he had seen him so stressed out. He was about to comment but Philip said “Your work is more in the art collectibles market I think. Show it to Rhona for a second opinion. That’s her field more than mine.”

Bill tried to explain he couldn’t show it to her but Philip ignored that. “You will have to talk to her sometime. She will be involved in sourcing for both galleries.”

It was unbelievable. Philip was holding something back he could tell. He asked him which galleries he was talking about.

Philip had his arms folded. He looked exhausted now. “The existing one at Devonport and the new one we are negotiating for. She is my business partner.”

Bill shook his head at him just standing there. “Well, stripping off must pay really well for her to be up in your financial league mate. I wish you joy of your tainted goods.”

Philip leaned over the table planting both hands in front of him. “You will retract that. It is not only untrue. It is vicious slander.” He stalked away to the street door.

 Bill stood and collected his satchel. “OK I apologise. I can see there’s more to all this than I thought.” It was time to go, before it got any worse.

Philip stayed only long enough to fix his Closed sign in place and tape his business card underneath.  As he walked to his car he rang Rhona to cancel his visit planned for that evening. They had arranged he would make his selection of her work tonight. He kept it brief, explaining that a matter had come up requiring his urgent attention, which was true. He drove to Upper Queen Street.

As he walked in to the gallery there he noticed an image from the fashion shoot. It was standing just inside the door- one he hadn’t seen before. 

When a young guy in tatty jeans appeared Philip handed over his card and asked for Al. He only had to wait a moment before a more assured youngster in more expensive, but equally tatty, gear appeared, frowning at the business card. Philip told him he knew Justin and Rhona and had come to see the work for himself.

Al was still looking uncomfortable. “Well, it’s not so big a deal. I just wanted…”

He tailed off when Philip pointed to the photo of Rhona. “This is a bold reference.”

“Manet? Well it seemed appropriate.”

Philip gestured to the stools at the back of the room and asked if they could sit down. “I want you to tell me about it.”

Al shrugged. “Sure. I guess they won’t mind.”

Philip had no time for generalities. “Tell me about that day. I’m interested in where your idea came from.”

Al explained the background to that afternoon shoot at Hauru Falls. For some reason he found himself describing Mickey – he mentioned no names. He even told the man about the assault – it seemed relevant somehow.  “That’s what I was trying to capture, that look on her face when she said something about broken glass. It reminded me of Folie Begere. It was the same pretty woman with the old eyes.”

There was a silence broken by Philip scraping his stool on the concrete floor as he stood up. He made no comment, just asked to see more of the work. They talked for a while about some of the other assignments Al had worked on.

Once he realised that this big cheese of the Auckland art world was genuinely interested in his work Al opened up enough to talk about how his sessions with Rhona had informed the work he had done since. Saying “Hold on- I want to show you something else,” he went away and came back in a minute or two holding a sheaf of black and white images in his hand. Leafing through them he explained they were from the first day of Justin’s shoot. “Rhona was ready but she hadn’t been called. I was just mucking around trying out some different things while I waited. Have a look at this one.” He passed over a photo of her standing wrapped in a light robe that was blown against her figure by the breeze. She was looking past the camera, out to sea. The horizon was well down the frame. “It’s kind of like the bar scene isn’t it? She is honestly the best subject I have ever worked with.”

Philip went back to the stool and sat down, holding the image on his knee. Al thought the guy had gone a bit pale and he asked him if he could get him a drink or something. He didn’t want that, but he asked if they could sit a minute. He had something to say. Al realised it was serious too because he checked the place was empty and kept his voice down went he started to speak.

“There’s a real maturity in your work. You seem to approach your art with some sensitivity so I hope you won’t feel patronised if I give you a bit of advice.”

It was kind of weird, the way he was talking, but Al gestured for him to go ahead. He wasn’t stupid enough to turn down a tip from a guy at the top of his field.

Philip had the photo upside down, flicking it lightly with his fingers and watching it while he talked. “Very rarely you will meet a woman who operates unconsciously from some depth we can’t really understand. A man coming into her range of influence will find himself producing his finest work – exquisite art, a scientific breakthrough- whatever.” He paused to check the younger man was following. “At the same time she unknowingly calls up his greatest fears, she seems to demand an even greater potential from him.’ He glanced across at Al and made a slight shrug. “This won’t mean much to you now I don’t suppose. The point is that an artistic man, unaware of who and what she is- well, he can get drawn in. Or worse, he will turn against her.”

Al heard what the man was saying, even with all the prosy talk. It was a specific warning as well as a philosophy lesson. He noticed the photo had been turned over again while they were talking. Al pointed to it. “When that one came out of the developer it was quite late at night and I thought: That’s like the story my Gran’ used to tell us kids- about the seal woman. A man stole her skin so she couldn’t go back to her seal husband. I didn’t notice at the time I took it- the far away eyes…”

Philip nodded. “Yes, a selkie. Exactly.”

Al gave him the photo later, saying it was fair exchange for Philip being so generous with his time and advice. At the door he said “You were right to tell me Mr Kerby. I had been thinking about her a bit – you know- why she was a great subject. I appreciate it.”

Rhona stayed at her work until nearly ten that night, at which point she realised that nothing would be added, and much destroyed, if she didn’t stop. Gracie was already asleep and the house was quiet as she cleaned up. She was aware of a sense of unease about Philip. There was something not right about his voice on the phone earlier. Marcus Bearing had emailed to let her know the gallery purchase and the partnership agreement were already underway. The fact that Philip had moved so quickly on the business seemed to indicate he was comfortable taking those steps. It was some other difficulty obviously. As she went to bed she wondered if he had heard about her altercation with Bill. It was possible but unlikely to cause him any distress, unless he felt it forced his hand. She tossed most of the night.

Next morning Gracie commented that her mother looked exhausted. She suggested a walk on the waterfront with a cafe brunch at the end. Rhona was resting her elbows on the dining table with a resigned look on her face. She agreed a change of scene would be welcome but she wanted to stay home in case Philip came. Gracie thought that was a lousy plan and told her it was time to stop pushing so hard “If he rings Anna can let him in to see your stuff. Besides it’s easier for him if you’re not here when he picks through your work.”

“True”, Rhona knew when she was beaten. She went to let Anna know the change of plan.

Philip did ring and Anna picked up the phone when she heard his voice on the answering machine. She assured him Rhona was fine, just washed out, but they had gone out until after lunch. He sounded relieved when she told him that, and told her he be around straight away. When Anna let him in, a little while later, she noticed how drawn he was looking, as if he was in some pain. She asked him if he was well, but only received a polite reply, so she didn’t press the point. Instead she said “You know the way. Just pull the door shut when you leave. I will be downstairs if you need anything.” He just nodded and went on up to Rhona’s apartment. Anna would have thought it rude in anyone else, but Philip was never impolite as a rule. He was clearly overworking.

As he mounted the stairs, Philip noticed how the silence intensified as he went up to Rhona’s apartment. He knew where to find her work room but he paused as he passed the living areas. A clear cut-glass vase was standing on the table. The full blown tulips it held had shed three petals which flashed scarlet against the plain white cloth. There was an old wicker basket full of apples on the kitchen counter. He stood a moment there. It was temporary accommodation but the rooms resonated with her presence to a degree that unsettled him.

Turning down the wide hall he walked quickly through Rhona’s bedroom to her work area. With his hand on the door he glanced back to the sleeping area behind him. She was very tidy but traces of her temperament littered the room. A homespun rug was thrown over the oak footboard so that muted earth tones of the fibers lay in sympathy with the heavy, ivory coloured bedspread. There was an oak cupboard beside the bed, doing duty as a bedside table. He hesitated a moment, then walked to it, reaching for the book that sat beside her lamp. It was a volume of Jung’s essays, a recent republication. He wondered at how far she was drawn into the subject of her paintings. Glancing down he noticed an A4 sketch book lying on the floor, as if it had been laid there just before she left the room. She had been using a fine nib marker. A botanically accurate strand of neptune’s necklace seaweed encircled the page on which she had drawn a foaming sea rolling onto sand. From the foam there reared the head of a horse, full of exertion and forward movement. Philip thought of Al then and shivered.

Philip shut the work room door behind him and stood leaning on it, both hands behind his back and his weight on his shoulders. The quiet was becoming eerie now and he felt so chilled he wondered if he was completely fit. The canvass on the easel in front of him was not quite dry in places. The background was a wash of various hues, with the clarity of stained glass. Starting with a blood red area in the centre, colour passed through the spectrum, pulsing out to the palest violet-white at the outer edges. An hermaphrodite figure was suggested, suspended in this colour, encircled by an ouroboros which, in contrast, was depicted with astonishing realism. The black, jade green and metallic gold of its shimmering scales seemed in motion. They glinted in the light as the self consuming snake moved sinuously, appearing to advance toward the viewer. The reptile’s black eye was disturbing.

Philip stepped behind the easel to open the cupboard. His face and hands felt clammy with perspiration as he lifted out several other canvasses. Even Rhona’s dark images used rich colours. Scarlet, purple and gold were prevalent. At times she laid paint so thickly, later scouring or gouging it to achieve her affects. Looking at a sword in one image he decided it was her bare nails she had used to mark the blade. Other work was lighter in tone. There was balance at least, he decided as he chose half a dozen for the opening.

As he started to stack the remaining work away, a brown cardboard envelope fell from the shelf above him and landed beside his right foot with the unmistakable crack of broken glass. He lifted the package carefully, not wanting to spill any shards from the wrapper, and placed it on the chair in the corner.  Guessing it contained a framed picture he decided he would take it and have it repaired for her, though it puzzled him why it should have toppled down so easily.

Once everything was tidied away he turned again to the parcel on the chair. Holding it horizontal he gingerly opened the top end and drew out an oak frame, a little smaller than A4 paper. The glass was broken, but in to no more than three pieces which had all remained within the frame. The image underneath was not pierced or damaged in any way. Light headed and uncertain of his balance, he sat on the chair a moment to right himself. He was still cold, although his shirt felt clammy on his back.

The oil painting was of a girl lying uncovered on her side, in a bed disordered by recent activity. A man’s back and legs could be discerned in the shadows behind her. She was curled up, with her upper most hand tucked under her chin, as a child would sleep. Her lower, languid arm extended over the edge of bed and between her dangling fingers was a partly blown dandelion clock on which a white cabbage butterfly had settled. She gazed at the viewer with inward looking eyes.

Philip had no affinity with the genre but as he professionally assessed the evident quality of execution, size and subject matter, he realised it was a successful picture.

Unprofessionally, it distressed him to consider how he could take it away and reframe

it for Rhona without discussing it with her. He profoundly wished he had let it alone and now he struggled to return the wretched thing to the envelope. He saw it was catching on a piece of card at the bottom which he had to pull out. Extended open as it was he could hardly fail to read the message from Eric Bates. Philip whistled silently. That relationship was clearly more significant than he had imagined. It came to him clearly that if Rhona were here she would say Eric had wanted him to find the picture. Was it a request, or pledge perhaps, one man to another? He rubbed at the throbbing in his temples as he stood up. Tucking the casualty under his arm, Philip left the house quickly, closing the front door quietly behind him.

He went straight home. Deliberately leaving the picture in the boot of his car he went to lie down in his room, stopping only to remove his shoes.

Several times in the next thirty-six hours Philip heard ringing sounds. He identified his mobile phone a couple of times. Once he heard the answer phone click to record a message. Drifting in and out of sleep, thrashing about, he was unable to respond even if he had found the desire to answer a call. He woke when it was dark, thinking it was Saturday evening. After a shower he saw by his watch it was in fact Sunday.