rescue from gilligan's island

In Rescue from Gilligan's Island, (1978), we see a continuation in a series dedicated to studying the Hellenistic search for the 'Ideal Male'. A society-within-a-society, the 'male hut' provides us with the two facets of the 'perfect male' study.

In Gilligan, we have the younger ideal: the bright-eyed, androgynous student, subservient to the older and wiser 'alpha-male'. Although somewhat the bumbling fool, we observe, time after time, the young understudy both stumbling into, and actively building a better future - albeit a mistake-prone exercise. This is represented, for example, by Gilligan naively starting a dangerous cooking fire on the raft deck; this youthful, impetuous act turns out to be the life-saving rescue signal for both the inner male society, and society at large.

We observe both the initial conflict with, and gradual acceptance by the elder 'ideal' counterpart, as it becomes a passive observer into this evolving 'brave new world'.
to be continued...

More in this series:
Goddess Torn Asunder - the Ginger / MaryAnn Paradox, or The Athena Duality, Armless and Overboard

the soul of a windmill

The ancient serpent adjusted his bulk on the rocky cave floor, wincing as a broken sword fragment shifted in the tender flesh beneath his scale armor. The dragon's hard scales scraped across the equally hard floor, leaving a thin trail of blood and rancid water as he searched for a more comfortable position. Looking out, beyond the fierce waves crashing against his stony home, he muttered a prayer into the wind - a wish that the mettle of all valiant knights had finally been tested. Head sinking onto the hard gravel floor, and with a heavy sigh, the battle-weary dragon first slipped into an uneasy slumber.

Briefly, somewhere between the first and the second, the gravel softened and yielded under the weight of his tired body. The sound of the ocean waves came closer and closer to his sleeping form. As the wave's watery form crashed against the sleeping dragon, he could see the virtuous faces belonging to each of his opponents reflecting off his wet, glistening armor. The dragon became each opponent in turn -- experiencing the searing pain of a serpent's fiery breath tearing at exposed flesh, tasting the swallowed fear of likely death.

Gradually, the dragon's body stopped resisting the waves, they poured into and through his tired flesh. The dragon's pain and weariness dissolved in the salty water and washed from his armored body. At peace, he fell into a very deep sleep - that sleep which is a gift of all creatures. The waves brought deeper and deeper revelations, each carrying the dragon closer to understanding. He became smaller and smaller beneath an infinitely great purpose. He saw all that is, all that was, and all that might ever be.

serpent ring

What an unbelievable pain in the rump! This carving is a test and learning experience for sand creature ring.

I have carved, re-carved, made too perfect, re-carved, over-detailed, under-detailed made too thin, made too thick...

I know I have not been my finest the last week, but carving this ring was way too hard for the results - so far - I say this, but I really do not know. I look at the wax model between my fingers and cannot decide if it is the best ring I have ever carved, or whether it would better serve as fuel for my wax burning lamp - nor can I decide whether I spent too little time, or way too much time carving this beast (metaphorically and literally speaking), I do lean toward the latter opinion.

For better or worse, I am now doing final detail clean-up, then making a prototype cold mold, then storing the model in a place far from grasp and thoughts. My only hope is that I have done an Edvard-Munchian multi-layered, gouged, paint-over disaster until something usable percolates up and out of the mess. Come to think of it, that is all I ever do, so it should fit comfortably into the surrounding mediocrity.

lisa gerard

This voice is on a tiny list of undeniably beautiful things on this planet.
It can, at any given moment, or affectation, pierce my soul to it's will.