Class Summary.

  I started this class with the expectation of suffering through boring books full of out of date language rambling about the happenings of the past, only to have my expectations shredded, turned into confetti, and thrown in my face. With the guidance of Professor Sexson, I was taken on a journey discovering the past and discovering myself. Every time I learned something new it felt as though a light was turned on somewhere in the dark that beckoned me to the next doorway. Not only were the things I was learning applicable to my everyday life, but they were incredibly fun! The assignments and atmosphere in class were pleasant and encouraging. Not only was the educational leadership astounding, but the classmates along my side were nothing but encouraging and intelligent.
  I have learned to listen, dig deeper, and get to the bottom of the iceberg in every possible situation. I have realized that sometimes a painful initiation is a good thing and is only designed to make us grow as humans in a society. I have even been humbled by unexpected successes and failures through the course of my semester. Ultimately, this will go down in my history book as one of the most influential classes of my undergraduate career.
  Thank you Professor, you will be greatly missed!

If I could teach you, teacher,
I'd teach you how much more
you have accomplished
than you think you have.
I'd show you the seeds
you planted years ago
that are now coming into bloom.
I'd reveal to you the young minds
that have expanded under your care,
the hearts that are serving others
because they had you as a role model.
If I could teach you, teacher,
I'd show you the positive effect
you have had on me and my life.
Your homework is
to know your value to the world,
to acknowledge it, to believe it.
Thank you

By Joanna Fuchs

My Life as a Mythic Detective.

  Why do we come to universities or colleges? Having grown up in a comfortable middle class family in rural Washington, I was brought up to never question me attending a university. It was expected of me, and I happily accepted this destiny. I blindly subscribed to the idea that by going to college, I would gain an education and a useful set of skills that would catapult me into a lucrative career. Once having attained said career I would delve into it and it would be my passion in life, my purpose. Coming from an old town with old fashion ideas, I believed that after my purpose had been found, I would be happy. Obviously this excited me, and I quickly fell headlong into a dark cycle.
  
  After the initial newness of college wore off, I found myself simply going through the motions. I passionlessly completed assignment after assignment. Despite my love for art history, I found little joy in memorization without context and failed to see any relevancy to my actions. I kept trying to focus on my dream job of museum curation, because that would to make me happy once I got there, right? I attempted to convince myself that all I had to do was make it through the next few years of school, get hired somewhere fantastic, and let the happiness and passion I was missing come down like rain. Despite my efforts, you can only fool yourself for so long. My lack of interest in learning led to overall apathy that grew into bitterness that swiftly turned into depression. This depression took its toll on me mentally which led to physical damage with serious and possibly permanent consequences. After sporadic hospital visits, I would emerge "healthy" again. I felt like my life was centered around a self assigned punishment akin to that of Sisyphus. Getting back to healthy and happy was like pushing that boulder up the mountain, and it seemed that every time I reached the summit, the boulder would crash down the other side taking me with it. I began to resemble Hecuba, my actions speaking to the emotion that bruised my heart, always asking "Why do I live through these long days that have no end but night"?
  
  With my personal idea of life's purpose seeming more and more bleak and pointless, I actively pushed people away that dared to get closer than small talk. Despite the choice exile, I did not enjoy sitting there alone and brooding, so I once again delved into my schoolwork. While I thought that this was simply the start of another Sisyphus-esque cycle, I trudged on. I once again went through Ovid's Metamorphoses among other books with no obvious sign of anything out of the norm…until a few days later.  On a random Sunday afternoon, I was sitting with some friends, relaxing. I was only half listening when I heard one girl start to talk about spiders and how she loved the webs they weave, before I knew it was was telling the story of Arachne and Athena. I was engaged in the act of story telling, loving the feeling of involvement and reveling in the joy that came from possessing a deeper understanding than most.
  
  Slowly this started to happen more and more frequently. I found myself becoming engaged in life and actively seeking out mythic occurrences. My heart skipped a beat with every coincidence between life and fable I found. This made me thirst for education in a way that I didn't think I could! I began to feel happier with each piece of applicable knowledge I gained. I began to compare myself to Pygmalion, the Paphos I was sculpting was myself! I yearned for breath and warmth to come back to me, and it was at that point that I went and got help for myself.
  
  Unknowingly, I had become the hero in my personal epic. Gradually I had faced my challenges, growing through each trial. I realize that I am still in the abyss and that larger challenges await, but I am more excited by the metamorphoses they will bring and finally having this particular veil lifted from my eyes. I never thought that my version of a Mythic Detective would mean using myth as a means to investigate myself and assist in my adventure to happiness.
 
  Professor Sexson always talks about our elders and realizing their beauty, and in a way, these myths serve as our elders in many ways. Through the simple act of turning a page, these stories and characters whisper in our ear, telling us fables and relaying lessons that transcend centuries, they take your hand and pull you along for adventure, whether you realize you've embarked on one or not. If you listen, they can even teach you about yourself. I am learning that a person's purpose is what they choose. I choose to learn, discover, experience, and above all, LIVE! This is my young life as a Mythic Detective. 

Iceberg Ahead!

   I think it is safe to say that pretty much everybody has heard the phrase "Life is like an iceberg, most of the important stuff is under the surface". I had always attributed this saying to people meaning that all the things that make up a humans attitude and personality were inside their head, not just their appearance. This attribution might be a good one that is obviously applicable, I did not realize that there are philosophical arguments that say this also works for life and education.
  Throughout the course of the Mythology class, I have learned that every action has a precedent behind it that is most likely mythological in nature (like wiping your eyes on your apron). Upon further investigation, I found a Socratic idea that is similar to the iceberg principle. Socrate's believes in something called anamnesis. The basic tenants are that everything that we know as an individual and as a species is already known to us, all we have to do is rediscover that knowledge. The way that this could happen deals with the idea of a soul. Everyone has a soul that is eternal and has be reincarnated though time into different people. This soul is constantly learning and retaining everything that has happened to it, so therefore, all the knowledge through the ages is already inside us. The reason that we cannot remember the information is because at birth, the initial shock startles us into forgetting. With this in mind, the process of learning is really a process of rediscovering what is "under the surface" already. Socrates saw himself as a midwife aiding in the birth of knowledge that is already in the student, instead of a teacher.
   I found this to be very interesting and I really enjoyed re-learning about it!

The Death of Socrates, 1787, Oil on Canvas, Jacques-Louis David

Death: The Creator of Beauty.

 

Beata Ludovica Albertoni, 1671-74, Marble, Gian Lorenzo Bernini

   Throughout the progression of Professor Sexson's Mythology class, he has said many times that we should cherish those who are elderly, because they won't be here for long. The fact that they are at the sunset of their time is what makes them beautiful. This always gave me a melancholy sense of happiness and made me think. If an object or a being cannot perish, then there is little to no beauty in them. (This is why we do not marvel at artificial flowers). So after hearing this and coming to this conclusion, I think it is fair to say that beauty can only grow as the years progress. With each passing day, and individuals value grows exponentially. A persons true beauty is never realized until it cannot be experienced anymore.

Just like the dahlia
Death comes in all its beauty

And so I stroke her petals
Push my feet root-deep
Into the composted soil
As weary clouds unite
Coalesce
Darken through the greys
In preparation

Incontinence prevails
Lachrymose in empathy

They cry for me
Sharing tears
Mortality brings
As twilight closes

I rot
(They fade)

To be the plant
(They'll water)

Struggle thro' my fantasy
To seal the state of mind

That I of soul
Remain eternal

Back on the windowsill
A daffodil stretches
From a bulbous foot

Flirts like a ballerina

STOPS

Wonders of the world

My cat hears the brassy thoughts
From yellow trumpet
Pricks up his ears
Iridescent eyes
Focussed on the future

I'll wait
For his appraisal

-Mark Slaughter 

On A Random Note.

    I cannot deny that I have thoroughly enjoyed reading Ovid's Metamorphoses. The stories are full of beautiful imagery, wonderful morals, and entertaining anecdotes that make for an extremely captivating read. Aside from all of these wonderful attributes, there is one more thing that these myths are full of, and sadly that is rape. Yep, I said it. RAPE. I know that this topic makes some people uncomfortable, but the gratuitous amounts of sexual assault in this book make me uncomfortable. Honestly, I do not think that a single book in the Metamorphoses passes without some act of dominance over women. Here is a short list of women raped in Ovid's Metamorphoses:
-Europa
-Caenis
-Proserpina
-Calisto
-Herse
-Leda
The list is longer than this, but you get the point. In this book, many of the women are described as virginal, virtuous, and above all, beautiful. The beauty of these women seem to prove too much for the gods to handle, and they simply cannot keep it in their pants...or toga...whatever it is. I think I would be a little less riled up about this if the gods faced some form of punishment for their actions, but that never seems to happen. In a cruel twist to these stories, it normally ends up with the woman being punished or exiled...after being raped. Shall we kick them a little more while they are down?
   Now, I do understand that these stories are hundreds of years old so I fully accept my lack of ability to change anything about them. The only thing that makes me a bit sad is the fact that they almost normalize rape, and that is something that has carried over into today's society. It had to start somewhere right? In today's media and social circles, there is something that has been dubbed "Rape Culture". It pretty much means that people normalize and down-play rape or even make it out to be the victims fault. This can be clearly seen in the Steubenville rape case. ( I have attached links to a blog that makes valid points about the media coverage and a link to CNN's disgraceful coverage of the court's rulings).
  The only reason I am blogging about this is because I feel like there was not an appropriate amount of discussion concerning this in class. I mean, the rape of women are central points in stories that formed an entire culture! I think that it lends itself to a conversation. Well that is my random rant. Take it as you will.
Great Video Blog
CNN's coverage on the issue.

 The Rape of Proserpina, 1621-22, Marble, Gian Lorenzo Bernini

We All Get "It", In The End.

"I sat in the dark and thought: There is no big apocalypse.

Just an endless procession of little ones."

-Neil Gaiman

  Being a young American woman, it probably comes as no surprise that I was inundated with Christian ideals and teachings beginning at a very young age. I can remember many of the Sunday school lectures I attended when I was an adolescent girl, and most of them were quite pleasant and full of songs about Jesus loving me and a "little light" that was apparently in my possession. All in all, the overall experience was quite happy and enjoyable...until one day. I still recall the day when the youth pastor started to talk about hell and the apocalypse. To say that scare tactics were used liberally is a gross understatement. As the pastor talked, images of fire, chaos, and panic in the street filled my impressionable mind. I held onto these ideas about the "end of times" until my late teens (even though I had left the church years before). 

   When the newest apocalyptic craze bubbled up (Mayan 2012) I have to admit, with some shame, that I was slightly concerned. Obviously 2012 came to pass quite quietly and with no evidence of hellfire and damnation as far as I could tell. Despite this, my ideas about the apocalypse did not change at all. It wasn't until Professor Sexson said something profound (in my mind), that my ideas flipped a complete 180. The professor said that, when you trace the idea of an apocalypse back to its origins, it roughly means to "remove the veil" from one's eyes or the disclosure of knowledge. 

  It was at that moment that something clicked within my mind: Life is made up of tiny apocalypses, some occur within a few months and others from day to day. They are nothing to be afraid of, but something to embrace. With the conclusion of each day, class, semester, and year, the "Fallon" of yesterday dies and a new emerges. Layers and layers of veils are slowly being lifted from my eyes and I can only hope that this process continues. 

 The Veiled Virgin, year unknown, Marble, Giovanni Strazza 

The Forbidden Fruit is Poison. Tasty Poison.

  Everybody has been a child and understands that innate burning desire for knowledge that accompanies youth. Many of us have gotten ourselves into trouble by snooping in and around things that we had been told not too. Despite the ever prevalent fear of punishment, why do we actively question things we are told not too and open doors we have been ordered to keep closed? Moreover, what are we expecting to discover, and is it worth the repercussions that we might have to endure? 

   There have been many stories through time that warn us about the dangers of defying orders in the pursuit of knowledge. In Ovid's Metamorphoses there is the story of Actaeon and his plight when he stumbles upon Diana bathing with her nymphs. Despite being told to look away, the foolish boy does not avert his eyes, and for his disobedience, Diana turns him into a stag. Shortly after his transformation, his hunting crew kills him and only once he had suffered tremendously was Diana appeased.  Another story many are familiar with is the tale of Pandora and her box. Pandora was a woman the Grecian gods created. They bestowed Pandora with many gifts such as beauty, speech, and curiosity. Among these gifts, Zeus gave her an exquisite container and ordered her not to open it. Unfortunately curiosity overcame Pandora and she removed the lid. Once the lid had been removed, all of the evils that plague men came swarming out, forever punishing mankind. Now, to venture into some Christian mythology. I can guarantee that almost everyone is familiar with the story of Adam and Eve. "God" created Adam and Eve and placed them in the Garden of Eden which contained everything necessary to sustain them. God told his creations that they were allowed to eat from anything in the garden except for the tree in the center, for if they did, they would be punished with mortality. Eve ventured out and after some urging from a sly serpent, she ate the forbidden fruit and so did Adam. They ate this fruit despite the looming threat of death because the serpent said that it would give them the gift of knowledge. Adam and Eve gave up immortality for the sake of knowing. 

   All three of these stories have three things in common: Curiosity, Defiance, and Punishment. The punishment for knowledge seems to involve death in each of the tales, but that raises the question: Is knowledge worth death? Being only 20 years old, I do not think I am qualified to present a definitive answer to this question, so all I have to go on is my opinion. 

  I believe that knowledge is completely worth the threat of punishment and death. Many people throw around the saying that "ignorance is bliss", but I could not disagree more. Ignorance is simply ignorance. If, as a population, we did not strive to educate ourselves we would end up as opinion-less automatons marching through a haze of blind obedience. Personally, I do not want that as a life. If ignorance is bliss, it is a shallow and falsely won victory. Without the awareness and experience of suffering, how could we recognize what happiness truly is? Speaking for myself, I would rather take a big, juicy bite out of the forbidden fruit that is education. 

 Adam and Eve, 17th century, Oil on Canvas, Peter Paul Rubens

Hanging By A Thread.

Las Hilanderas, c. 1667, Oil on Canvas, Museo del Prado, Diego Velazquez

  One of the most well known and frequently depicted myths in Ovid's Metamorphoses is the story of Arachne. While the specific details of this tale are not necessarily applicable to today's society, the underlying story has been told and retold, time and time again. A young person who is proficient and prideful in their work gets the idea that they can outdo the master in their craft. After much boasting, they end up challenging the master despite the admonishing of friends and elders. After a challenge ensues, the prideful youth receives a lesson in humility in some form or another at the hand of the master. 

  As an Art History Major, I really appreciate accurate depictions of myths, and (as seen in the above photo) Diego Velazquez goes above and beyond simple story telling. Through the different layers and scenes in this painting, Velazquez seems to communicate the moral as well as the fable.  In the painting, there are two distinctive rooms, one in the foreground and one in the back. The room in the foreground is dim and cluttered with young and old women staying busy with their spinning and weaving. The women are painted in such a way that the viewer can almost feel the immediacy of the room and see the dignity in hard work. Despite this room being at the front of the painting, the real action takes place in the back. Up a couple steps, the viewer sees a room that is bathed in a bright light that creates a divine quality. Athena can be identified on the left hand side by the silver helmet on her head as she peers onto Arachne's tapestry. Arachne can be seen in the center with her arms open wide, pridefully presenting her depiction of The Rape of Europa. Velazquez borrowed the image that Arachne spun from a painting by Titian to show his veneration for the Venetian master. Obviously, Diego did not want to commit the same folly as Arachne. 

   It does not take a detective to see that this tale is one about the dangers of pride. After Arachne challenged Pallas to a spinning contest and loses, Pallas strikes her down and Arachne hangs herself to save her pride instead of admitting defeat. Oddly, the god shows mercy and saves Arachne by turning her into a spider (which is why spiders weave webs).  This myth elegantly illustrates the dangers of boastful pride and how it can lead to downfall or a forced change. In Ovid's version, Pallas Athena disguises herself as an elderly woman in order to talk to Arachne and present her with the opportunity to repent saying, "Wisdom arrives with years- take my advice, accept your reputation among mortals...but give your goddess grace for your gifts and ask her to forgive the thoughtless speeches of a foolish daughter; You'll be forgiven if you say your prayers". Obviously, this warning fell onto deaf ears and Arachne issued her challenge and Pallas accepted, and subsequently won. 

Behind the facade of our big egos we constantly do hide
And pride of five letters is only that just pride
And some will even tell you pride comes before a fall
From life we have been learning from before we learned to crawl,
The thing we refer to as pride not easily understood
A little pride is necessary but too much pride not good
Pride can lead to big egos and snobbish self conceit
A truly humble person is one you don't often meet
The self opinionated and self conceited never known to be rare
Those who promote their egos in the bigger World out there
From the seeds of a big ego success is often grown
A humble quiet achiever is one I have not known
A little pride is necessary and self esteem okay
But too much pride can lead to arrogance and that seems sad to say. 

- Francis Duggan

The Rape of Europa, 1562, Oil on Canvas, Titian 

  

The Beauty of Sisyphus.

Sisyphus, 1548-49, Oil on Canvas, Titian 

   A vast majority of people in today's society have heard the story of Sisyphus or a displacement resembling the original tale. Out of the people that have experienced this saturnine tale, I believe that many of them would agree with me when I say that Sisyphus's plight appears quite tragic on the surface. A man who is doomed to push a large boulder up a steep mountain side, only to have it plummet down the other side once he reaches the summit hardly shows any potential to make one feel cheery. While I do concur that this myth is quite disheartening on the surface, I think that there is a small amount of beauty to be found as well.

  Personally, I envy Sisyphus. Now, before you write me off as crazy, hear me out. I do not envy Sisyphus's circumstances in any way, but I do envy his resolve. Even though he is on a forced charge to repeat an impossible mission, he has more determination than I have experienced in my lifetime. Despite the fact that the slope is steep and his load is heavy, Sisyphus still pushed that rock up, knowing full well that it would fall down the other side immediately. I think that there is a lesson to be learned in this myth. I see a metaphor about being persistent in the face of supposedly immanent failure.    I can only hope that someday I can learn to have the same amount of bravery and determination depicted in this fable. 

Oh, but to have the passion of

Sisyphus... To be contemptuous 

of Hope...

To look forward to the endless

struggle... To rail against that 

heartless slope...

Freedom is found within the

heart, Tyranny cannot enter thee...

We are invincible, we are defiant

of Life's absurdity.

-Larry L. Conners

Crossing The Threshold.

  Henceforth I ask not good fortune—I myself am good fortune;                                            Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing.                                                                Strong and content, I travel the open road.                                                                                                                                    —Walt Whitman

  In my 20 years of life experience, I cannot count how many times I have heard the statement "Life is an adventure waiting for you to answer the call". While I have always understood the purpose behind adults telling me this I always found it to be cliche' and overused. How could life truly be an adventure? All the adventures I had come across through reading and media (Lord of the Rings, Eragon, Harry Potter, etc.) were so grand and involved great peril followed by great reward for those brave enough to embark on the journey. Each of these heroic tales started with grandiose calls to action followed by engrossing tales about the adventure ahead, while the closest I had ever come to a "call to action" was my high school art teacher telling me to run to the office and make a copy for her. So day by day I went through my life waiting for my "calling" to appear and whisk me away to my destiny... but it never came. 

  After arriving at Montana Sate University, I started to gain exposure to other great works of literature containing even more tales of enterprise. It probably comes as no surprise that one of these books is Ovid's Metamorphoses. Happily I read along through the different tales until I came to the parable of Theseus and the Minotaur. After I finished reading something struck me like a lightning bolt. Theseus did not wait for a sign before he took action, he willingly sought it out when he saw that it was necessary. 

  I was quite taken aback by this seemingly obvious solution to the problem I had been living through for years. While life might be an adventure waiting in the wings, it is not going to click on a neon sign signaling you to take action, sometimes you have to grab a flashlight and search for it. It was at that moment that I walked into the study abroad offices at MSU and applied to the Lorenzo di' Medici University in Florence Italy. After a few weeks of fretting, I received my acceptance letter. So that is that, soon I start my own monomyth with me as my own hero. I cannot wait to go through every bit of my separation, initiation, and eventually, my return. Sometimes all it takes to wake you up to reality, is a long forgotten myth. 

The Wanderer Above a Sea of Fog, 1818, Oil on Canvas, Caspar David Friedrich 

I Must Be Mistaken.

Daedalus and Icarus, Oil on Canvas, c. 1620, Anthony van Dyck

  It is no secret that Professor Sexson's homework assignments are unorthodox to say the least. Being asked to "go hug a tree" or "pay more attention out there" are not uncommon requirements for this class. Despite their peculiarity, each of these tasks are centered around the concept of metamorphoses and our unexpected growth as students, people, and mythic detectives. Out of the laundry list of sapid missions that I have been sent on, one has always vexed me. "Go out and make a mistake". The task seems easy enough due to the vast amount of slip-ups I get myself into, but none seemed to fit the bill in my mind. It wasn't until now, with the end of the semester looming on the horizon, that it hit me. 

  My ENTIRE semester has been a mistake.

  I understand that this statement can come across as pessimistic or defeatist, but I mean it in the best way possible. I guess I relate my experience this semester to that of Icarus (without the whole crashing to your death fiasco). What I mean by this is that my cumulative mistakes were all made to teach me about balancing my personal and scholastic life and the proper way to fly in the middle of both. 

  Before I left the safe nest of Colville Washington, my mother gave me advice that I wrote off due to it's simplicity. My mother told me, "Have fun and study hard, but don't do too much of either". After reading Ovid's Metamorphoses, this advice reminds me of what Daedalus told Icarus before they took to the skies. "Remember to fly midway, for if you dip too low, the waves will weight your wings with thick salt water, and if you fly too high the flames of heaven will burn them from your sides" was the warning presented to both Icarus and myself. And like Icarus, I didn't listen. 

  At the beginning of my classes I was adamant on being the best. I would spend hour upon hour in the library or in my room studying. As my grades and knowledge rose up and up, the more burnt out I was becoming with education and the scholarly process. To counteract my dwindling desire to learn, I thought it would be beneficial to take a break and live it up a bit. I took a figurative dive down from my school work and into the party scene. The more partying I did, the more weighed down I felt and it eventually lead to my inevitable string of illnesses. 

  Thankfully I was able to take the hint nature was giving me. I am in the process of balancing my flight path in order to grow as an intellectual. My mistakes gave me lessons in life and the way to live it, so ultimately...I think I did my homework.

Sparagmos: From Myth to Modernity

Pentheus torn apart by Ino and Agave, Lekanis Lid, ca. 450 BC

  As we all know, the term sparagmos roughly translates into "to tear, rend, and pull to pieces". Being students of mythology, there are many different tales that we can find which fit this description, the best known being the story of Pentheus. According to Ovid, Pentheus was viciously torn to pieces by the Bacchae (women under the influence of Bacchus) for being a headstrong "God mocker". Even Pentheus's aunt Autonoe got in on the action crying "Look at him. I'll tear arms, legs, all hanging parts from that rough body". Sounds painful right? Right. Punishments such as this seem to belong only in the dark and twisted tales that come from Ovid's Metamorphoses, but after some research is done, we see that this is not the case.
  If you have ever read any stories that take place in England around the 1300's, then you have probably read the phrase "hanged, drawn, and quartered". This phrase describes the punishment that was inflicted upon men that had committed high treason against the crown. It started with the man being hung until he was almost dead and then he would have his stomach slit. Immediately following this, the guards would tie each limb to a different horse and have them run in different directions, tearing the man into "quarters". If this doesn't fit the term sparagmos, then I'm not sure what does. Sadly, acts such as this did not end in the 1300's. In 1993 there was an incident known as Black Hawk Down that happened in Mogadishu. Members of the U.S. military had their mutilated bodies drug through the streets after their helicopter crash during a mission. While this might not have the same "tearing" action that sparagmos literally means, this is still an action that hearkens back to the mutilation of Pentheus.
  Pain, punishment, and sparagmos are things and experiences that occur in modern times that have a mythic feel to them. Not all actions that can be traced back to "origins" are pleasant. If you don't agree... Go ask Pentheus.

Origins and Originality

  

Fin de' Arabesque, Oil on Canvas, 1877, Edgar Degas

  At the start of the semester I remember walking in a couple minutes late to class and hearing Professor Sexson say "There is no such thing as originality". Now, as an Art History major, a photographer, and a former modern dance instructor, I took slight offense to this before he went onto explain that "originality" really means "going back to origins". At first, I didn't buy this notion entirely. In my head I remember spending hours and hours in the dance studio attempting to choreograph dances that had never been seen before. As the choreographer of many different dance routines, I allowed myself to think that I succeeded in experiencing true originality, but upon reflection I realized that was not the case. 

  Whenever I was creating a dance and could not think of where to take the piece, I would look up other contemporary dances on youtube for inspiration. This alone takes the "originality" away from my creations, but with a little more thought and research, I realized that the dances I was creating could be traced back to the mythological beginning of time. 

  The dances that I stumbled upon all used moves that could be traced back to Martha Graham (the mother of modern dance) and her seemingly innovative modern dance company and style. Even though Martha Graham was considered to be an innovator and visionary, she too, had her origins. Martha (like many girls) was most likely taught classical ballet in her youth, which has been preformed since the Italian Renaissance. This got me thinking... The word "renaissance"translates roughly into re-birth which brought up the Greek creation myth concerning the birth of the world. In the beginning (in ilo tempore) the Greek goddess Eurynome danced on the waves of Oceanus to create the world! Before this class I would have never realized just how mythological my daily action of choreographing really was.

  * On an intriguing note: Martha Graham's dance company preformed a three part dance program entitled Myth and Transformation.

Link: One of my dance pieces

Link: Scenes from Martha Graham's Myth and Trans.

Catch Me If You Can

  

  Lana was almost finished with her senior year at Pattonville High School in St. Louis Missouri and already had accomplished many things in her 18 years. Along with maintaining a 3.75 GPA, Lana was involved with the Earth Day Club, Drama, and Band. While she was very dedicated to her clubs, it was no secret what she was really known for. As every record book in PHS could validate, Lana was the fastest runner to ever compete on the track team. In all four years of competing, there was not a single racer (boy or girl) that could beat her times, and Lana was very proud of this. Every morning at 5 am, she would get up to practice and train. With the combination of training, school, and extra-curriculars, Lana had little to no time (or desire) to pursue any other endeavors, especially romantic ones. For most young girls, avoiding romantic advances would be a non-issue, and it would be the same for Lana if she was not breathtakingly beautiful. 

  With the end of the school year looming on the horizon, posters sporting phrases such as "PROM! Who are you going with?"started popping up like the flowers outside. With Senior Prom in the minds of the young men, Lana was getting bombarded by date requests on an increasingly regular basis. After weeks of avoiding the lustful advances of adolescent boys, Lana came up with a plan. Jogging down to the track Lana declared that whoever could beat her in a 400 meter dash would be her prom date, but anyone that lost would be thrown in the dumpster behind the school. 

 A few young men felt up to the challenge and lined up for their chance to race the beautiful Lana. To no surprise of the on-lookers, no boy was able to beat her, and were subsequently tossed into the dumpster like a carton of milk gone sour. It seemed like Lana was going to escape without a date until a young man pushed through the crowd. 

  Mason was a handsome boy who had just moved to town. He came from a very well off family due to his great grandfather being the owner of the Neptune Cruise Line and much like the others, he was instantly captivated by the gorgeous Lana. After catching his eye, Lana too felt a rush of blood that reddened her face and made her skin warm. Due to her foreign emotion, Lana tried to convince Mason to walk away from the race, in the hopes of sparing him the humiliation. Little did Lana know, Mason had a plan. 

  With both pairs of feet on the starting line, the flag was waved and the two runners took off. Mason, while being a strong young man, was no match for Lana's pace. As she started to pass him, Mason put his plan into action. Quickly glancing downward, he spat out the piece of bubblegum he had been chewing, and with one more step, Lana got stuck. She paused only for a second to scrape off the gooey pick mass and then continue on. This happened two more times, allowing Mason to pass Lana a little more each time. On the last 100 meters, Mason spat out the biggest, stickiest piece of Bubblelicious bubble gum which held Lana up long enough for him to cross the finish line. 

  With mixed emotions clouding her mind, Lana went home to pick out her prom dress and a matching tie for Mason.

The True Story of Sickness

   It surprises me to this day that there truly are mythologies concerning every human experience. With the terrible flu hovering over MSU campus like a dense fog, I thought it would be fitting to inform fellow students about the origins of illness and suffering. It should come as no surprise that this story comes from the depths of Pandora's Box.
   "For ere this [the opening of Pandora's jar] the tribes of men lived on earth remote and free from ills (kakoi) and hard toil (ponoi) and heavy sickness (nosoi) which bring the Keres (Fates) upon men; for in misery men grow old quickly. But the woman took off the great lid of the jar (pithos) with her hands and scattered all these and her thought caused sorrow and mischief to men."
   Now, that might sound like a bunch of mumbo jumbo, so I will summarize. The nosoi were the spirits of illness, plague and disease. Hesiod describes the nosoi escaping from Pandora's jar, and like Elpis (Hope), they were probably personified to a certain degree. However, in most Homeric literature it is the arrows of the gods Apollon and Artemis which bring plague, rather than a band of daimones. The Roman equivalents of the Nosoi were Morbus, Lues, Pestis, Tabes and Macies.
  So now you have been offered the incredibly short version of how illness truly came to plague humanity. 

Bonaparte Visiting the Pesthouse in Jaffa, Antoine-Jean Gros, 1804, Oil on Canvas, Muse' de Louvre 

Taking the High Branch.

Tree of Crows, Caspar David Friedrich, Oil on Canvas, 1822, Musee' de Louvre 

Pinch Me I'm Dreaming.

    I consider myself to be very fortunate when it comes to dreams. Most of the time my dreams are very vivid and considerably pleasant to experience. This being said I have never needed to keep a dream journal in order to improve my dream recollection. For one of our assignments in Mythology this week, we were asked to recall a dream or start jotting them down once you have one. Because I have no trouble recalling dreams, I have started the process in learning how to Lucid Dream.
    A Lucid Dream, roughly defined, is a dream in which the dreamer is aware that he/she is dreaming and can exert some amount of control over the ongoings. A lucid dream can begin in many different ways. There is dream initiated lucid dreams where the dream starts as a normal dream and slowly the participant becomes aware and starts exerting control. Then there is a wake-initiated lucid dream, this is when the dreamer can enter the self aware dream state immediately with little to no effort.
    A wake initiated dream is extremely hard but that is my ultimate goal. So far I have had one lucid dream. Hopefully with some practice that number can increase.

All that we see or seem, is but a dream within a dream. -Edgar Allen Poe 

The Nightmare, Henry Fuseli, 1781, Oil on Canvas, 101.6 cm x 127 cm, Detroit Institue of Arts.

Serendipity.

   Serendipity is defined as an aptitude for making desirable discoveries by accident. I prefer this phrase over coincidence because there is a type of poetry to the word. As a 19 year old college student, I feel that most of the discoveries that I happen across are serendipitous, or more so, lacking any true forethought. Never the less, I am always glad when new discoveries occur, intentional or not.
   My latest dance with destiny occurred last week while reading a biography on my favorite sculptor Gian Lorenzo Bernini. In the book, there were in depth analysis on some of his more popular and well known works including my absolute favorite: Apollo and Daphne. I have always been captivated by this amazing work of art and even traveled to Rome in order to see it in person! Despite my technical break downs of this piece of art, it never occurred to me that the story of Apollo and his futile love Daphne, came from Ovid's Metamorphoses.
    For those who have not read the story as of yet (you really should read it, it's beautiful), I will give the Sparks notes version of it:

Apollo was struck by Cupids arrow which caused him to fall madly in love with the nymph Daphne. Daphne, on the other hand, was not as captivated by Apollo or by any other man for that matter. She plead with her father to make her an eternal virgin, which he did by placing a spell on her. At the climax of the story, Apollo chases Daphne through the woods and, upon catching her, Daphne begins to turn into a laurel tree.

    There is obviously much more detail attached to this story written in much more poetic terms, but you catch my drift.

    Now, you may be wondering where the serendipity comes into play. Well this personal discovery of mine happened the morning before I attended Prof. Sexon's mythology class at 1:10. In that class he gave us an assignment to "Go have a coincidence". So all of these events occurring on the same day seems pretty serendipitous to me.

This is:
Apollo and Daphne, Gian Lorenzo Bernini, 1622-25, Marble, 243 cm, Galleria Borghese, Rome