Sergio Gomez, "Spirit Rises"
I encountered this piece at the National Museum of Mexican Art in the Pilsen neighborhood of Chicago after a morning spent reading John O’Donohue’s last work To Bless the Space Between Us. His opening words: “There is a quiet light that shines in every heart. It draws no attention to itself, though it is always secretly there. It is what illuminates our minds to see beauty, our desire to seek possibility, and our hearts to love life. Without this subtle quickening our days would be empty and wearisome, and no horizon would ever awaken our longing.”
I have always been captivated by the dual nature of visual art--how so often it can speak in one voice up close and such a different one from afar. My photograph is an anemic medium, and does nothing to convey the improbable luminosity of Gomez’s rendering. At a foot away, it is no more than rubbed dust and random splatter. From ten paces back, it hovers off of the wall, ready to dissolve into ether. And it glows--just flat white paint against charcoal, and it glows. In its presence I heard words from Mary Luti’s recent reflection on Epiphany: “...our world only appears solid, still, dark, and cold, but is in fact ardent, vivid, and porous...we live in a world that is leaking light.”
This time of year, we entertain new beginnings at the most unlikely time, as we dwell in the earth’s long sleep. It is worth remembering this is the light we nurture with spiritual discipline, the one that glows for others because and in spite of the stuff it is made of--starshine and clay.
