Mind of an Artist

Art Student, Chiamaka Okenwa, answers the question, ‘What runs throughout the mind connected with an artist prior to the birth of the true masterpiece?’ This is a question that plagues everyone, particularly today’s chaotic world where your identity is well lost.

The reply to this question is the thing that I have got down to find in my stop by to ‘Identities’, an exhibition at Denk Spaces. At the entrance to your gallery became a display through the exhibiting artist Erasmus Onyishi. What had in the beginning appeared to be just tangle of wires and clutter took form upon more careful observation as being a colony of ants marching in the wall. This mixed media piece, Openly Closed, was perhaps what opened our minds for the existence of other kinds of art besides realism, an idea we had been about closed away and off to.

Stepping in the building, eyes started fill with wonder. Each separate work would be a colorful and vivacious expression of the identical, special theme: Identity. The exhibiting artists had identified themselves through their work by their various color, line, texture and form, each work drawn all of us differently. One of Henry Eghosa’s expressive works, depicting women in the process of dressing in traditional attire appeared to whisper, our culture is our pride. Stephen Osuchukwu, in their dignified rendition of the elephant herd, drew focus to your matriarch elephant whose leadership position is nearly synonymous with its identity. This female cow could be the oldest and largest from the herd and it is responsible for leading the elephant herd. Their survival rests on the broad shoulders. On deeper reflection we realize that, perhaps, we’re a sort of matriarch when we have been given leadership positions.

Obinna Makata, as part of his work Beauty Deeper than Cosmetics II, leads us to appreciate the need to maintain each of our unique identities in a very world where society dictates getting a great look, the way you should look and, ultimately, who we become. Another work of his, Of Race and Identity, lets us know Africans that any of us do not truly conform for the label [Black], but our identities are rainbows of color, since there is a a little something special in just about every one of us. His artful employment of Ankara emphasizes individuality. Just as each Ankara pattern derives its beauty looking at the unique pattern, therefore we derive our personal from our difference in identities.

Promise O’nali, whose novel style would identify him within the farthest corners around the world, provides us another undertake the term, identity. Because who’re we, really? It is something for being deeply reflected upon. His works, inside a cool and manner, induce the viewer to observe the intricacy of man’s journey through life, plus the constant battle to keep up his true self.

At the finish of this truly inspiring and eye-opening exhibition, I returned almost with a different plane of mind. I had recinded one general lesson. In the words of Mr. Nnoli, “Art is obviously involved in our everyday life… It opens the door in our individual creativity.”

And indeed, I have truly been inspired to start those doors, and take the magic in many creative ways.

Might Have Known Him


I schedule my sessions so I can come out to walk throughout the neighbourhood. What a wonderful strategy to clear my head. As I meander down tree-lined streets, I occasionally look into a house, just as if there’s some outcomes of me and someone living there. And for a short time, I stop and wonder…

Recently I talked by Skype with Renee, a stylish, middle-aged lady that has a thick head of dark hair. She smiled as she introduced herself, then gestured to her adult son, sitting behind her.

“Can Bruce-” She stopped, flustered. “I mean Ted-”

The child narrowed his eyes and stared at his mother.

“Ted,” she repeated using a shake of her head. “I are not aware of why I declared that.” Then she looked to me. “Can Ted sit in in my session?”

Ted acted similar to this was the final place he considered. I closed my eyes and begun to centre myself, asking my guides permitting me to assist this woman and her son. Instantly, I felt a substantial connection to a male energy. “I’m receiving the sense he was a substantial man. He’s making me feel strapping inside my chest. Was he an individual trainer?”

“Yes,” Renee said. “That was my son, Bruce. Ted’s twin.”

“Bruce is telling me his head hurts. A blood transport burst in their brain. It was totally unexpected. It happened while working out. There was nothing anyone could do… ”

“Yes,” Renee answered. Bruce came through with several messages for his mother and once he mentioned Ted, the youngster’s ears pricked up.

“Bruce is showing me a bowling ball,” I said.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “I haven’t felt similar to doing that since he died. Sometimes he’d navigate to the bowling alley when camping and shoot pool while I played during my league.”

At the conclusion of the session, I felt compelled to settle and speak to Renee to comfort her. Being a mother myself, I could only imagine how difficult that it was to lose children.

“I do not know why I called Ted by his brother’s name,” she said. “I’ve never done that.”

“I feel that was his means of letting you know he was here,” I said. “His presence was strong.” In fact, I saw him during my mind’s eye so clearly, I could’ve described him as a result of the buttons on his flannel shirt.

“I’ve never been in a medium before,” Renee said. “One in the reasons I felt comfortable about creating an appointment along is your office is situated two streets from where Bruce lived. He always explained how much he liked coping with this area. Everyone is so friendly.”

I felt a chill as I bid adieu to my clients, then gazed out of the window. I felt Bruce’s presence still with me at night. He’d lived within my neighbourhood. I might’ve seen him jogging. My cart might’ve passed his within the grocery store. Could I have said hello to him while out for example of my walks?

Down the path, a portly fellow within a Jays t-shirt was mowing his lawn. He stopped for a short time to chat using a young woman and her daughter, who had been walking a beagle. The dog sniffed the man’s ankle, then sniffed throughout the grass just as if it was searching for a bone. I didn’t are aware of the woman and her daughter, nevertheless the man had forced me to be start my car several winters back. I decided just to walk over and say hi for many years. It’s important to many thanks for neighbours. Bruce would’ve liked that.

Carolyn Molnar is often a Toronto based Psychic Medium and Spiritual Teacher. She has over 30 years’ experience. She provides readings and in addition teaches others how you can tap into their intuitive abilities.

Her book, ‘It Is Time: Knowledge From The Other Side’, has created a real impact in how people understand intuition. She has been featured on radio, television plus in print. Carolyn believes intuition is obtainable to everyone.

the Marathon Man

The Washington Post article by Christopher Ingraham (June 13th, 2014) says everything “There tend to be museums within the U.S. than you’ll find Starbucks and McDonald’s – combined.” Quite accurately we feel of museums essential cultural and educational institutions; however, they’re also quiet superstars from the entertainment industry. According to The American Alliance of Museums (AAM), craigs list 800 million live visits annually, their attendance exceeds that surrounding all amusement parks and major sports entertainment combined. But America’s museums less difficult more than popular and numerous; these are cultural and educational gems that play a huge role. They are community elders that tell the stories of our own American neighborhoods. Mamie Bittner with The Institute of Museum and Library Studies (IMLS) stated within the Washington Post article:

“Many these institutions, specially in small towns and rural areas, are historical societies and history museums. We are fond of our history – for a very grassroots level we care to the histories of our own towns, villages and counties,”

The story of how I stumbled on visit and admire numerous small museums begins nearly eight years back when I faced a scary scenario. Diagnosed with prostate kind of cancer my doctor’s instructions were clear and blunt. “We caught this thing very early; lose a few pounds but by year’s end look after this.” Taking care of this meant either a surgical procedure or radiation. He was certain that either procedure can be sufficient; nevertheless, I was scared as hell. When you hear that diagnosis, “you have cancer”, one thousand things race via your mind at the same time, yet somehow the world stops simultaneously. What are the therapies… I have to analyze each treatment… I have to investigate surgeons… let’s say I don’t help it become… what are the results to my spouse… what are the results to my loved ones… I want this thing beyond me… how will you research these things… I want this done prior to end in the year… why me… why don’t you me. My mind was racing, racing, racing. Who do I tell? When do I actually tell them? Should I say to them? My mind was only racing, racing, racing.

It was June 2010. I was 54 yrs . old, a professor, husband and father. Earlier that year my partner had been hospitalized for 34 days. Should I tell my lady? Would this aggravate her condition? She had been worried about being unemployed. Do I tell her? Our three sons were all in senior high school and doing reasonably well; the oldest would start college inside fall. Out of worry would my oldest boy forgo his athletic scholarship to remain home in reference to his ailing parents? Even if he did head to college, if he knew I was battling cancer how could this affect him academically? Who should I tell? Do I tell my boys? Do I tell everyone? Do I tell no person?

I once heard somewhere that “we mature and become our parents.” How factual that is. Although it didn’t afflict me back then, I’d seen this example play out before in 1969; I was 12. One day my father asked me into the future with him to his doctor. This was strange; he never asked about to visit a doctor with him before. We went along to St. Nicholas Park, Mount Morris Park, Central Park, baseball games, museums and supermarkets. On Sundays we walked to newsstands to purchase the New York Times and Daily News. Afterwards we’d return home and eat big southern style Sunday breakfasts – smothered chicken, smothered pork chops, grits, gravy and biscuits, never rolls – always biscuits. We did a good deal, but he never mentioned to head to a doctor with him. I should have known that something was up, but I didn’t.

The doctor’s appointment occurred on an early evening. The office was on the first floor associated with an apartment building and yes it was dark outside. I sat within the waiting area while my father met privately together with the doctor. That day his doctor told him he previously six months to reside in. My dad a tall, quiet, dignified WWII vet said nothing. We went home and that he acted as though nothing had happened. He kept everything to himself. Yet twenty-one years later, and following his doctor were dead, my pops was still alive. He told not a soul this frightening secret rather than those years. Finally, in 1990 he spoke with me in what had happened on that day made use of in 1969. When I asked him why he hadn’t said anything he previously a classic answer, “Hell, I wasn’t gonna die to only to make the physician look good.” To this day I still have no idea if he ever told other people.

In 2010, 41 years after dad was told he’d six months to reside and said not even attempt to the family, I became my father – absent the courage and dignity in the WWII vet. Initially I told not a soul. I did however pay attention to my doctor’s advice and began power-walking aggressively to shed the weight. I weighed 308 pounds. This was the start of a journey. Little did I know it would transform my health, my figure and to a terrific degree my soul.

I elected for just a robotic prostatectomy as treatment. Recognizing that I can be hospitalized for several days I was forced to say something to my lady. Every married man understands that disappearing for several days without telling your partner is a guaranteed death sentence; cancer is merely potentially lethal. We sat documented on the lounge sofa on the Sunday around 7pm. It was the evening before I’d be admitted for the hospital. This scenario gave her not much time to place the matter; I had being at the hospital early the following day. As I had feared, she eradicated and started to cry so that as soon I uttered the term cancer. We agreed not to ever tell our sons; the two of us thought it may cause them to worry.

Fortunately the operation was obviously a success. Neither chemotherapy nor radiation was required. Several months later I resumed my power-walking. Over time a routine evolved. I prefer walking outdoors in parks (no matter what temperature) to treadmills and tracks, mornings are superior to evenings, warmups last 5 – 7 minutes, weekday walks last 45 – 50 minutes, weekend sessions work for a minimum of 90 minutes and lastly, nearly all sessions end with 7- 8 minutes of stretching. I walk four times per week during cold months and four to five times each week during warm months, I also found an extremely reliable partner, music on the 70s, 80s and 90s. My partner also gets along fabulously by having an ancient Sony Walkman. Who knows, perhaps this partner is my subconscious whispering to remind me of prodigal youth.

While I do not claim for being a very religious person, being outdoors in parks (which can be after all tiny forests) sweating, breathing and one of many general splendor of God’s nature may be a spiritual event. The cancer has now been gone for up to eight years. Over that point 70 pounds have melted away and my diabetes has recently disappeared, or with the very least be well controlled. Along the way I started enter races; I power-walk but compete against runners. Half marathons (13.1 miles) and 10Ks (6.2 miles) are my top picks. Being somewhat vain, before entering my first race I checked the times in the runners to generate sure I would not finish last. At first I entered local races. Later a colleague, who is usually a runner, said about the Philadelphia “Love Marathon” which I competed in. This lead me to analyze races in other locations. Now, I happen to be participate I races. However, journeying to cities and then participate in just one race seemed hardly for being an efficient using time and travel. I needed another activity to go with the racing. This is how I developed an interest in small museums.

I had some knowledge about researching museums. Years ago I had begun exploring museums as field trip venues for high school graduation students. At the time I supervised a university program that provided various activities for at-risk school students. The American Alliance of Museums (AAM) provided an incredible deal of information for the program. Later, as I did start to look for museums within the cities and towns I could be racing in, AAM as well as some other museum related organizations such as The Institute of Museum and Library Service (IMLS) and Museums with the World (MOW) are getting to be valuable resources. One undeniable fact that immediately became clear is the fact that America will be the undisputed museum capitol with the world. According to MOW there was an estimated 55,000 museums in 202 countries in 2014. IMLS, (a U.S. agency) states you will discover 35,144 active museums inside United States alone. Assuming these data are accurate, over 63% in the world’s museums are positioned in America. The IMLS 2012-16 Strategic Plan indicates “There tend to be more than 4.5 billion objects locked in public trust by museums, libraries, archives along with other institutions inside the U.S.”

My articles attempt to capture some from the fascinating stories, color, history, myths and life that happen to be the marrow of America’s small museums. I hope you will join me. Coming soon wax, warships as well as a poet named Wadsworth.