(Teton Valley Rodeo)Oops! I wrote this a few days ago and must have clicked "save" instead of "post"...
Spent some time in Jackson while visiting the Tetons. It's an interesting little town with more flyshops than churches, a few art galleries, a rodeo (I went on the 4th of July - how patriotic of me), some character and lots of bleached-blond men walking around without their shirts on. Two places (not so much the shirtless men) made the trip into town worth it: the National Museum of Wildlife Art and Images of Nature, Tom Mangelsen's photo gallery (thanks for the recommendations, Jeremy and Sean!).
The NMWA had an intriguing exhibit on aboriginal art and its connection to the spiritual-natural world. The most interesting works in the aboriginal art gallery are paintings of "the Dreaming", by indigenous Australians. The Dreaming, according to aborigines, is the process by which the natural world was created by their Ancestral Beings. As their ancestors traveled through the world, they created all living and non-living matter and once finished, eventually transformed themselves into stars, animals, trees, etc., thus becoming a part of their own creation. Australian aborigines believe that the Dreaming continues today since their ancestors-creators are still among them. They celebrate and participate in the Dreaming and their religious/cultural heritage through dance, song, story-telling and painting - a nice change from the preaching, proselytizing and war-making that characterize so many other religions.
Links, in case anybody's interested...
Images of Nature gallery: http://www.mangelsen.com/store/catalog?Args
The Dreaming: http://www.acn.net.au/articles/indigenous/dreamtime/
NMWF:
http://www.wildlifeart.org/
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5 comments:
Hey Adventurer:
I have this vague recollection connecting "I'm Goin' to Jackson" to Johnny Cash. I wouldn't stake my house on it though.
Loved the "Dreaming" information. Here's to all the mystics of every religion who believe in the oneness of all things in the love of God.
Your observation that Jackson has more fly shops than churches reminds me of some quotes from the A RIVER RUNS THROUGH IT
"In our family, there was no clear line between religion and fly fishing. We lived at the junction of great trout rivers in western Montana, and our father was a Presbyterian minister and a fly fisherman who tied his own flies and taught others. He told us about Christ's disciples being fishermen, and we were to assume, as my brother and I did, that all first-class fishermen on the Sea of Galilee were fly fishermen and that John, the favorite, was a dry-fly fisherman."
"My father was very sure about certain matters pertaining to the universe. To him, all good things - trout as well as eternal salvation - came by grace; and grace comes by art; and art does not come easy."
"Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise. Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of those rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters."
"Each one of here today will at one time in our lives look upon a loved one who is in need and ask the same question: We are willing help, Lord, but what, if anything, is needed? For it is true we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted. And so it those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love completely without complete understanding."
"My candle burns at both ends; it will not last the night. But ah my foes, and oh my friends - it gives a lovely light."
"Long ago, when I was a young man, my father said to me, "Norman, you like to write stories." And I said "Yes, I do." Then he said, "Someday, when you're ready you might tell our family story. Only then will you understand what happened and why."
"One reason Paul caught more fish than anyone else was that he had his flies in the water more than anyone else. Brother, he would say, there are no flying fish in Montana. Out here, you can't catch fish with your flies in the air.."
Hi Juveria!
If you haven't read it yet, you should get it, it would make for a good companion read for your trip: Eat, pray, love by Elizabeth Gilbert. Just finished the book, loved it, it's very funny, honest and insightful. Gilbert reminds me of you a little :)
my vote (and juergen's) is against johnny cash - the second i read the line the melody came up in my head, as i told j: i hear the voice in my head, singing (to which he rolled his eyes), and it doesn't sound like cash (then again, what do i know, never been good with popular music, as you know), but i wouldn't know who else it could be... so--- answer please? who is it?
the excerpts "ktw" posted from "a river..." are just so beautifully written! have to get me the book... (know the movie, but not the book)- true, another book that fits your journey.
aargh, those guys - both, the ones with big trucks and those w/o t-shirts just sound so.... not fitting the beautiful scenery and places. what are they doing there?
happy traveling!
sabine
Reading through your travel adventures (which I'm thoroughly enjoying, by the way) inspired me to dust off a copy of select writings by Edward Abbey that I've left languishing on the bookshelf entirely too long. In one of his essays, Watching the Birds: The Windover, from Down the River, he quotes the opening stanza of the Eagle and the Mole by poet and novelist Elinor Wylie. I like to think of you as a majestic eagle, spreading her wings and soaring high above the fray of noisy RVs and speeding monster trucks - a bird in her proper place.
Avoid the reeking herd,
Shun the polluted flock,
Live like that stoic bird,
The eagle of the rock.
The huddled warmth of crowds
Begets and fosters hate;
He keeps above the clouds
His cliff inviolate.
When flocks are folded warm,
And herds to shelter run,
He sails above the storm,
He stares into the sun.
If in the eagle's track
Your sinews cannot leap,
Avoid the lathered pack,
Turn from the steaming sheep.
If you would keep your soul
From spotted sight or sound,
Live like the velvet mole:
Go burrow underground.
And there hold intercourse
With roots of trees and stones,
With rivers at their source,
And disembodied bones.
Peace,
Gary
Hey Juveria:
Its amazing to me the interchange that your blog is producing - all because you are willing to share a bit of your life.
The poem posted by Gary is fantastic. Sabine's suggestion about Eat, Pray, Love is very cool to know about.
On top of it all, we get to tag along on your venture with your reflections so poignantly rendered.
This is a gift. Thanks Juveria and everybody!
Kevin
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