Sorrow And Triumph By Victoria Levitskaya

-

I found this image while searching for a picture of an old man and a dog to illustrate my post on the Cawein Waste Land poem.  Here is an old man and an old cat who have come to the end of their shared journey.  It is not the artwork but the presentation that I find so heartrending.  The art is good but I see lots of good art without it affecting me like this has.  This is genius.




The little cat holds onto the hand of the person he loves and worships.  The man is ready for their journey and he knows that all eternity stretches before him and his beloved friend.  It is hinted that the man is a person of intelligence and extreme kindness.  The cat accepts his hand and is ready to go with his father wherever fate takes them.  He does not know anything except that only goodness will come to him while he is with his human. The man protects his little friend and always will.
An ocean is the visual metaphor of time stretching far beyond any human's comprehension.  This is journey's end and a new adventure at once. These two will be together forever, for love never dies.  It is locked into the time worm and cannot be excised or obliterated.  Even if they never meet again this moment is unique and discrete.  The little cat trusts the man as much as the man loves him.  This is a picture of devotion such as I have never seen.  Hopefully the cat will die first and his owner will see him off proper.  While sad, this is the best the natural order offers us.  Animals are our wards.  Even if raised for slaughter they have the right to a decent life, never mind those that we call our pets.  They are our partners, and we must look after our partners.
And -  the rose symbolizes the eternal renewal of love, even among rocks and sand.

(Painting copyrighted by Victoria Levitskaya.  I took this off a commercial site, and that is why it is covered with watermarks.  This is the only such picture I have ever posted because I could not find one that was not all fucked up with proprietary bullshit, and I wanted to put this up very badly.  I thought it important enough to break a rule.  The title is one that I have given it).




Comments

  1. chaosfive55May 8, 2020 at 12:33 AM

    This one really hits home. Heaven to me is nothing more than lying in bed, watching a favorite movie, with my cat curled up beside me, her paws holding my hand.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Father's Last Escape

-
Image
It happened in the late and forlorn period of complete disruption, at the time of the liquidation of our business. The signboard had been removed from over our shop, the shutters were halfway down, and inside the shop my mother was conducting and unauthorized trade in remnants. Adela had gone to America, and it was said that the boat on which she had sailed had sunk and that all the passengers had lost their lives. We were unable to verify this rumour, but all trace of the girl was lost and we never heard of her again.  A new age began - empty, sober and joyless, like a sheet of white paper. A new servant girl, Genya, anaemic, pale, and boneless, mooned about the rooms. When one patted her on the back, she wriggled, stretched like a snake, or purred like a cat. She had a dull white complexion, and even the insides of her eyelids were white. She was so absent-minded that she sometimes made a white sauce from old letters and invoices: it was sickly and inedible.  At that t
Read more

Two Bad Men, Said Their Murderers

-
Image
John Choate, 25 August 1818 - 3 August 1869 Crokett Choate, 1842 -3 August 1869 This tells of a grave by the dashing wave A fond friends lip that did quiver Of an eye that's hid by a leaden lid And a voice now stilled forever. John on the left.  They were originally buried where they were killed but October of that year the Refugio Masons moved the bodies to Rockport.  This was all part of the Sutton-Taylor feud, the Suttons were backed by the U. S. Government and of no particular righteousness, they were badge wearing murderers and bullies.  The two story house with the porch running around the second floor in the left background belongs to my sister.  A lovely house and the best behaved neighbors possible! Photos by Steve Davis. The man who killed them.  Sheriff.  Regulator. Murderer. https://books.google.com/books?id=PUvanZiwzdUC&pg=PA64&lpg=PA64&dq=john+and+crockett+choate+death+jack+helm+gunfight&source=bl&
Read more

Roller Ball Murder

-
Image
The game, the game: here we go again. All glory to it, all things I am and own because of Roller Ball Murder. Our team stands in a row, twenty of us in salute as the corporation hymn is played by the band. We view the hardwood oval track which offers us the bumps and rewards of mayhem: fifty yards long, thirty yards across the ends, high banked, and at the top of the walls the cannons which fire those frenzied twenty-pound balls-similar to bowling balls, made of ebonite-at velocities over three hundred miles an hour. The balls careen around the track, eventually slowing and falling with diminishing centrifugal force, and as they go to ground or strike a player another volley fires. Here we are, our team: ten roller skaters, five motorbike riders, five runners (or clubbers). As the hymn plays, we stand erect and tough; eighty thousand sit watching in the stands and another two billion viewers around the world inspect the set of our jaws on .multivision. The runners, those bastards
Read more