So many books, so little time…

July 31, 2014

At the top of the stack on the night stand, “Tell My Horse,” by Zora Neale Hurston

A few months ago, I first heard of an author previously unknown to me by the name of Zora Neale Hurston. This was an egregious gap in my command of of American literature for she is recognized as woman of considerable note and stature in literary circles. Her crowning achievement, “Their Eyes Were Watching God” is a powerful story of a black woman living in the South in the 1930’s finding security, status, love, and finally herself. Hurston wrote this landmark piece while working on a Guggenheim grant she had received for the purpose of doing an anthropological survey in….are you ready for this?….Haiti.

So I gobbled up “Their Eyes Were Watching God,” which I would encourage anyone with the slightest bit of interest to read, for it truly is wonderful. Then I looked into her study of Haiti in the 1930’s. Hurston’s book, “Tell My Horse,” is a result of that effort. At once a diary, travelogue, political commentary, and ethnographic piece, she respectfully illuminates Haitian cultural life, with Voodoo at its center.

 
Actually, it is a book written in three parts, the first dealing with the blend of Africa and the New World in Jamaica, and if the opening page of the chapter entitled, ” Hunting the Wild Hog” is any indication it is not to be missed. To quote, “If you go to Jamaica, you are going to want to visit the Maroons at Accompong. I warn you in advance not to ride Col. Rowe’s wall-eyed, pot-bellied mule, which he sent to meet me at the end of the rail line so that I wouldn’t have to climb that last high peak on foot. That was very kind and I appreciated his hospitality, but the mule didn’t fall into that scheme somehow. The only thing that kept her from throwing me was that I fell off first. And the only thing that kept her from kicking me, biting me, and trampling me underfoot was the speed with which I got out of her way after the fall. Maybe it was that snappy orange four-in-hand tie that set her against me. I hate to think it was my face.” I have no line of defense against story-telling such as this. To me, it is marvelous.

Guy Robbens Remy in his workshop with two new Voodoo inspired masks.

The remaining two sections transport the reader to Haiti, first with a vivid and colorful foray into its history. Even though history “stops” in 1938, the year the book was written, it is amazing to me that it still so closely describes the Haiti of today. As she writes, “ The president of Haiti is really a king with a palace, with a reign limited to a term of years….There is no concept of the rule of the majority in Haiti. The majority, being unable to read or write, has no idea what is being done in their name.” Carrying on to the final section, the subject turns to Voodo and Voodoo gods, and it is here that Hurston truly shines. Her own immersion into Voodoo practice was as an initiate, not a mere adacemic observer. She describes Vodoo beliefs and rituals in a manner that is well-informed, respectful and endearing; veering at times to the romantic. She records legend and correlates it with ritual practice in a style that is at at the same time edifying and graceful.

So what more do you want? I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: “Book club, anyone?”

Contributed by Linda for It’s Cactus

Soup’s On!

December 29, 2013

Celebrating while the soup is simmering. One-of-a-kind #3031 by Edward Dieudonne

Independence Day in Haiti is celebrated as the New Year dawns all over the world.  A hallmark of the Haitian celebration is the eating of a special soup, which Tequila Minsky describes in the following article that appeared online in “Saveur” on Dec. 31^st last year.  Read and enjoy, and if you are so moved, try making this hearty, satisfying soup yourself.  You’ll find the recipe here:  http://www.saveur.com/article/recipes/Soup-Joumou-Recipe

”Soup joumou (pronounced “joo-moo”) is the soup of Independence, the soup of remembrance, and the soup that celebrates the new year. The soul-warming dish commemorates January 1, 1804, the date of Haiti’s liberation from France. It is said that the soup was once a delicacy reserved for white masters but forbidden to the slaves who cooked it. After Independence, Haitians took to eating it to celebrate the world’s first and only successful slave revolution resulting in an independent nation. 

“Today, soup joumou is such a new year’s tradition that before any good wishes, you’re likely to be asked: “Did you have your soup?” “Where are you having your soup?” or “Do you want to come over for soup?” And asking someone of Haitian ancestry about pumpkin soup opens the floodgates of their memory, both personal and collective. “New Year’s eve was the only time we could stay up late,” Elle Philippe, a New York-based chef told me of her childhood in Port-au-Prince. “I remember when I was five years old, my mother would start making soup joumou in the evening, and around midnight we could begin to taste it.”

“Asking someone of Haitian ancestry about pumpkin soup opens the floodgates of their memory, both personal and collective.

 “Philippe’s mother, like many other home cooks, started her soup with a rustic beef stock. (“You must have a beef leg bone,” one friend told me, who insisted that the opportunity to suck the marrow is part of the pleasure of the soup.) Into the broth generally go marinated, seasoned beef; loads of garlic, onions, and other aromatics; and malanga, taro, yams, or other starches. After some time, cabbage, pasta or rice, and the cooked and puréed joumou, or squash, is added. The variety of choice is kabocha, a green mottled, squat pumpkin whose nutty, bright orange flesh flavors, colors, and thickens the soup.

Though in Port-au-Prince and other cities, people generally prepare meals using indoor gas stoves, in rural areas, I’ve also watched home cooks prepare soup joumou on the traditional recho, a three-legged circular or square iron basket filled with charcoal where the pot sits directly on the coals. In the most remote parts of the countryside, the soup pot might simply be propped over a wood fire atop a rustic tripod fashioned from three stones. But wherever it’s cooked, soup joumou is left to simmer in a deep aluminum pot in amounts enough to satisfy all the family and friends who drop by to usher in the New Year, and to celebrate Haiti and its hard-won independence.”

Contributed by Linda for Beyond Borders/It’s Cactus

Remembering Nelson Mandela

December 12, 2013

Nelson Mandela
July 18, 1918 –
Dec. 5, 2013

Since Nelson Mandela’s death last week, the media has been filled with accounts of his life, his trials, his triumphs, his leadership, and his sacrifice for the causes of freedom, justice, and equality. He was a complex individual, to be sure, but in the end the tributes flow like rivers in praise of the man who delivered South Africa from apartheid, became its first elected black president and used his position of leadership to set an example of forgiveness, inclusivity, and humanity for the world.

So as I’ve read the papers and recalled his legacy, I’ve wondered, “Where do people get that kind of courage?  What inspires them to struggle unafraid toward something as daunting as what Martin Luther King called, “bending the arc of the moral universe towards justice”? I remember watching “Invictus” a few years back – the film about Nelson Mandela getting behind the predominantly white Springbok rugby team during the ramp-up to World Rugby Cup as a means unifying the nation. There was a scene in the movie between Morgan Freeman (Mandela) and Matt Damon (A professional rugby player) in which the poem, “Invictus” by William Ernest Henley, was said to have inspired Mandela while he was in prison.  Mandela used the poem to similarly inspire the rugby team captain to greater leadership of the Springboks in the cause of athletic glory and national unity. Indeed Henley’s stirring verse compels one to courageous heights:

“Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid”

(Read the poem in its entirety here:  http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/invictus/  )

Yet, while Mandela was reportedly moved by Henley’s poem and did often recite it during his long years of incarceration, it was not the inspirational message that he actually did give to the young Springbok captain. Cinematic license at work, apparently.  The real Nelson Mandela gave Francois Pinaar, the real captain of the Springboks that really did go on to win the World Rugby Cup, a copy of a speech made by Theodore Roosevelt in 1910 entitled, “Citizenship in a Republic.” No doubt Mandela singled out a section on page 7 of the 35-page speech which has come to be known as “The Man in the Arena”:

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

Wherever the spirit of Nelson Mandela goes, it will not be among cold and timid souls. As he said in his autobiography, Long Walk to Freedom, published in 1994, “I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.”

Rest in Peace, Sir.  You’ve earned it richly.

Journeys of The Magi and Me

December 3, 2013

REC498 “Gifts of the Magi” by Jonas Soulouque

Of all of the symbols of Christmas, my favorite is The Three Magi.  Not coincidentally, I suppose, it is their journey that moves me.  At heart, I am an adventurer, and I know that they were too; undertaking a commitment of great distance, following a star to an unknown destination. What marvels did they see?  What hardships did they endure?  What lessons of men and mountains did they learn along the way?

According to what little historical background we can attach to their story, The Magi were Zoroastrian priests of Ancient Persia, an empire that at the time of Christ’s birth extended from what is now Central Turkey southward to the United Arab Emirates and east to Mongolia and the Indus Valley in India. The priestly class of the period was particularly avid in the study of astrology and astronomy and that these three apparently dropped everything in quest of a star could be equated to going abroad in the name of scientific inquiry.  Anticipation of discovery and the thrill of the adventure to unfold must have filled their hearts. What excitement they must have felt as they set out on their overland voyage!

Indeed, their journey was on my mind few years ago, early in the holiday season when I set out to run a quick errand.  I had been in the middle of decorating and had carefully arranged my Nativity set; The Magi leading their camels just so across the console table. Upon critical examination, however, I decided that I needed a couple of poinsettias or greenery at least, to complete the scene.  I jumped in the car to head out in search of same when I passed a Christmas tree lot that had the added attraction of offering camel rides. By golly!  I couldn’t drop everything to follow a star for months on end, but I had 15 minutes to stop and ride a camel.  So I did. Discovery and adventure do not belong only to The Magi.  It is something we share.

Contributed by Linda for Beyond Borders/It’s Cactus

The Fat Lady Sang

October 30, 2013

Cineus Louisme, showing us one of his terrific new tree of life designs.

Brutus Wiseton, shown here with his wife in the doorway of their home.

One of the things that we do at Beyond Borders that perhaps does

the most good, and gives us the greatest joy, is to bring artists from Haiti to visit the United States for a couple of weeks.  While they are in this country, they demonstrate their craft at shops and special events; they sell their work, meet the people that buy their art, and gain a larger view of the business of selling art beyond what they do in their village workshops. It is a tremendously valuable experience for these select artists; they have an incomparable opportunity to learn and then to share their knowledge. They work hard while they are here to be sure, but they are also able to earn relatively large sums of money in a short amount of time. In every case, they have been able to return to Haiti and use those earnings to dramatically improve their own lives as well as those of their families. When you stop to consider how much money the United States, and indeed the world as a whole has poured into Haiti in foreign aid, (According to the USAID website, $318 million was appropriated to Haiti by the United States alone in fiscal year 2013.) you would think that the US government would be HUGELY in favor of Haitians earning their own money and stepping away from the cycle of dependency that has been created over the decades and been re-enforced to an astonishing level, since the 2010 earthquake.  YOU WOULD THINK! Haitians learning, earning, and being empowered to stand on their own two feet.  Sounds pretty good, doesn’t it?

Yet, the US government works in mysterious ways.  (That’s the kindest way I know how to put it.) Beyond Borders contacted two of our long-standing, solid producing artists and said, “Do you have a passport?  Can you get one?  We’d like to bring you to the US for a couple of weeks.  What do you think?” The artists, Cineus Louisme and Brutus Wiseton were over the moon with excitement.  They had seen what a huge boost it had been to other artists we had brought over in the past and they were eager to have those same experiences.  They got their passports, we purchased their roundtrip plane tickets, they filled out their visa applications, we bought, BOUGHT (Yes, you read that correctly, at $135 a pop.) their visa appointments from Soge Bank, (A Haitian national banking franchise) and then, when the appointment day rolled, around they went in to the US embassy in Port-au-Prince and were both turned down cold.

At that point, Beyond Borders as a whole sprang to action.  We brain-stormed.  We called people.  We wrote e-mails.  We posted on Facebook.  We asked questions.  We called in favors.  In short, if there was a tree to bark up, we did.  Last week’s phonecalls to the embassy again went unanswered.  It’s tough to know what to fix, if you don’t know what’s broken.

We’re still clueless.  Did we not apply in time?  We started the process six months ago.  Was that not enough?  Was there something out of order in their paperwork?  If so, what?  Not enough money in their bank accounts?  How much do they need? After writing and calling and what felt like begging and pleading, we are no further ahead in our goal to get Cineus and Brutus here by mid-November than we were a week ago.  Though we have not given up the hope of bringing them in at some point in the future, for now, the fight is over.  The fat lady sang.

Sometimes, we just need a little help…

September 19, 2013

Crazy good antique store that still has MY French typewriter. Coulda, shoulda, woulda….

Horizontal pieces, such as this one-of-a-kind angel by LaGuerre Dieufaite, can add interest above an interior doorway.

A few weeks ago, I had the great fortune to have a morning to wander through the Sablon section of

Brussels for a few hours, all by myself.  The Sablon neighborhood is upscale and wonderful with the highest density of antique shops per square block that I can possibly imagine.  In fact there were so many, I started taking photos of them, just for fun.  But I didn’t go into any; most were a bit, um, rarefied, shall we say?  Except one.  It had a

“wanderer-friendly” appearance and in I went.  There, amidst the art deco glass and brass buckets was the most glorious manual typewriter.  It was French, I could tell by the arrangement of the keys and the accent marks. Accent aigu! Accent grave!  I loved it.

LOVED IT.  But I didn’t know what to do with it, so I didn’t get it and now I am left with nothing but

aching melancholy and remorse. I bet I could have thought of something.  Surely I could have.  I’m a clever gal.  I could have done something great with that fabulous old typewriter with the French accent marks.  Maybe I just needed a little guidance.

Which got me to thinking:  How many times have I overheard the remark at trade shows and in the shop, “You know, I really love

this Haitian metal piece, but I don’t know what I would do with it.”  OHMYGOSH! Let me spare you the anguish of loving and leaving – your guidance is HERE! Take a look at a few of these ideas for displaying Haitian iron.  These photos are not meant to be directive, but suggestive.  Hopefully, they will inspire a few ideas of your own.  So much the better!

Make a grouping that combines color, texture, and depth. Hang a few birds as though they are about to perch in the tree. (RND 253 plus SM491 B and E)

Tuck a smaller piece into a smaller space, such as a corner by the window.

First in a series. Contributed by Linda for Beyond Borders/It’s Cactus

The Price of Poverty: 300,000 Cinderellas and No Ball

September 13, 2013

Beyond Borders – fighting poverty with art. Fair trade keeps families healthy, safe, and together.

When I was little, I loved the story of Cinderella.  In fact, I had it read to me so often that there came a time when I could recite it, word for word, knowing exactly when the page turn came and frustrating every attempt to shorten the story before bedtime. (I’m not kidding, you can ask my mom.)  I knew exactly how that story went and no one was going to change ANYTHING about it.

What I didn’t know was that it really was a story of human rights violation.  Poor Cinderella was bound in perpetual servitude to her wicked stepmother and two ugly stepsisters.  She worked from morning ‘til night with no monetary compensation, she wore rags for clothing, her meals were crumbs and leftovers, and she slept by the hearth for warmth.  By any other name, she was a slave. Thank heaven for that ball!

Jean Robert Cadet didn’t have it quite so lucky.  No fairy godmother, no fabulous ball at the palace, and no glass slipper that fit only him.  His mother died before he turned four and he was given as a “domestic gift” to his father’s mistress. From then on, he labored; assigned the most menial, distasteful of tasks and given crumbs for food.  Rest was found at the end of each arduous day under the kitchen table.  The physical and mental abuses he endured were unspeakable.  Eventually, at the age of 16, he and the woman to whom he was “given” moved to the States.  Shortly thereafter, she threw him out.

As are an estimated 300,000 child slaves in Haiti today, Jean Robert was a victim of the restavek system.  Restavek is

The Jean Robert Cadet Restavek Organization is working hard to keep families intact and enable little sisters to walk hand-in-hand with their big brothers home from school.

a seemingly innocuous Kreyol term meaning literally, “to stay with” but in reality representing a harsh childhood of servitude and it is, unfortunately, woven into the fabric of Haitian poverty. Children born into families who have no way to care for them are not uncommonly “given” or even sold to families of greater means.  The handshake agreement is that the child will be fed, clothed, and schooled in return for “some” extra help around the house.  In function, it rarely turns out that way; the children are exploited, often grossly, by the receiving family.

The “magic” occurred for Jean Robert when a social worker found him sleeping in a laundry mat. She got him enrolled in school, from which he graduated in 1972.  He enlisted in the Marine Corps, and following his discharge, attended college and became a high school French teacher.  Today, he is the head of the Jean Robert Cadet Restavek Organization, working tirelessly as an abolitionist, not only advocating for cultural change, but also assisting restavek children by giving them clothing, decent food, clean water, and providing for their education.  Collaborating with universities in the US, he has developed a kindergarten curriculum that is in place in Haitian schools which teaches children – all children – of their worth as human beings.  The material for the students is presented in discussion, stories, and music to convey its vital message. (To read more about Jean Robert Cadet and his work, click here:  http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/world/2013/09/08/haiti-anti-slavery-foundation/2782649/ )

For today’s restavek children of Haiti, their “fairy godmother” comes as a middle-aged male, wearing a baseball cap and blue jeans.  He fully understands the gravity of their plight, and though he has no wand to wave, his dedicated efforts as their tireless advocate could well be their salvation.

Ha! It’s Me!

July 11, 2013

On a bike ID #2734
I’m pretty sure she’s me…

I love art for lots of reasons.  It can transport me in time and in space.  It can inspire me.  It can challenge my thinking; teach me to

I didn’t get up enough speed to even scatter the birds.

observe and to contemplate.   But while I appreciate all that art can do for me, I find the pieces that I enjoy most of all are those that give me a glimpse of self-recognition and make me laugh.

So maybe this piece by Tunis Dixon doesn’t resonate with you as it does with me.  Maybe you didn’t have the day on the bike that I did. More’s the pity. This hard-charging gal reminds me quite clearly of me the last time I rode a bike.  No, I wasn’t topless, but I was grinding away, wind in my hair on a beach down in South Carolina.  I had the clunker; we drew straws and I lost.   The bike was heavy, with wide tires that had no penchant for holding anything in the way of air pressure. But that wasn’t going to stop me.  It was a glorious day on the beach and I was with my friends.  They were riding like the wind and I was determined to do the same; grace and elegance be damned. Puffing and chugging, I was glad for the outing and chalked my sweaty exertions up to good exercise.  I look at this gal and I think if I’d had my portrait made at that moment, on that day, this is what it would look like.

Tunis Dixon in his workshop.

Tunis, you nailed it.  I saw myself and it made me laugh. Thank you for that!

Contributed by Linda for Beyond Borders/It’s Cactus

Jellyfish, art and ancient warfare

June 28, 2013

“Jellyfish” sculpture by Kendy Bellony SM504

Earlier this week, we posted 39 new catalogue pieces on our website.  Designs that we have worked long and hard to bring about, we are now excited and proud to present.   Though it is hard to pick a favorite, I’m going to.  Hands down, and for the next three or four days at least, it is Kendy Bellony’s jellyfish.

Isn’t it elegant?  That’s what I think of when I think of jellyfish. Elegance.  I saw them in an aquarium one time and in that particular exhibit, each of the tanks was surrounded by a heavy, highly ornate, gilt frame and in the background, classical music was playing – Bach or Handel, I’m sure. It seemed entirely appropriate as I marveled at the jellies gliding with refined grace through the water on the other side of glass.   Watching this video by David Regner for the National Aquarium in Baltimore took me right back to that experience. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aJUuotjE3u8  They are works of art, pure and simple.

Kendy’s sculpture looks to me like a sea nettle, which is a type of jellyfish found in both the Atlantic and Pacific oceans.  They are characterized by their long tentacles and frilly mouth-arms (I did not make that up.  That’s what they are called, according to the Monterey Bay Aquarium website.) and by the star-like pattern on the top of their bell. They eat zooplankton, small crustaceans, and other jellies, while they are preyed upon by tuna, dogfish, butterfish, sunfish, and sea turtles.  Jellyfish as a species have no blood, brains, teeth, or fins and are 95% water, which sort of makes you wonder about nutritional value and why ANYTHING bothers to eat them at all. Balance of nature and circle of life considerations, I presume, or maybe just roughage…

Sea Nettle – serene and elegant.

The splendid, flowing tentacles and mouth-arms of the jellies are, of course, where the “sting” is carried.  This insidious business is conducted by a multitude of stinging cells called nematocysts, which vary in toxicity from mildly irritating to deadly. Though my research resources are replete with gee-whiz facts with regard to “the sting,” this one, in my opinion takes the cake:  The National Aquarium website reports that the ancient ninja warriors of Japan used to scatter dried venom from the Northern Sea Nettle into the wind to irritate the nose and eyes of their enemies during battle.

Sayonara, Baby!

Contributed by Linda for Beyond Borders/It’s Cactus

Starting the day with coffee from Haiti

June 17, 2013

Taking care of the coffee crop. Haitian Farmer One-of-a-Kind Sculpture ID# HT1516

As my family will attest, coffee starts my day.  I need it – they need me to have it.  The day just goes better if I’ve paddled out to the kitchen in my jammies and headed straightaway to the stove to make and subsequently drink a cuppa Joe.  Yes, I still do this the old-fashioned way.  No high-tech Keurig for me, though I do admit it has its appeal and my eye has strayed from time to time. I make my coffee in a French press.  No muss, no fuss, I can do it in my sleep and in fact, that’s probably the way it happens most of the time.  So the last time I was in Haiti, I left with a few vacuum-sealed packages of local Rebo  Deluxe Coffee in my carry-on bag.  Good souvenir, I thought with a fair amount of satisfaction.  No chance of languishing in obscurity on some dark shelf.  I would drink and enjoy it to the last drop.

And now, I am out, which of course made me think about getting some more.  So where does one buy Haitian coffee in the US?

Once upon a time, Haitian coffee was plentiful worldwide.  During the French Colonial period, Haiti was the second largest coffee producing country on the planet and it was in the top three until as late as 1949. Dictators and trade embargoes did the coffee planters no favors and in fact, coffee production nearly died out entirely by the late 1980’s. Verdant acres of coffee trees were abandoned on the mountainsides, left to grow wild or die trying.

Fast-forward to post-quake Haiti and there has been renewed interest in reviving coffee production as a means of re-building the agricultural sector.  The Rebo company is in the process of expanding its export market, primarily to Haitians of the Diaspora, while at least a handful of importers are buying coffee from  Haitian farmers and co-ops under Fair Trade/Direct Trade agreements for roasting and selling in the US and Canada.  Haitian coffee is thus available to me, right here, right now – I can buy it online!

Ready to brew!

Thus, I shall order up.  From www.kafepanou.com I will get a bag of Rebo “Gourmet,” which is an arabica typica varietal.  From www.lacolombe.com I will get “Mare Blanche,” also arabica typica.  And from  www.williams-sonoma.com I COULD order “Lyon,” but it is cheaper to order it from La Colombe, since THEY sell it to Williams-Sonoma, OR just run up the street to W-S and pick it up myself, which I will do and at least save the shipping. “Lyon” is a blend of Peruvian, Brazilian, and Ethiopian, coffee beans along with Haitian blue forest semi-wild, heirloom beans.  And a portion of my purchase of “Lyon” goes to the Leonardo DiCaprio Foundation, which is an environmental preservation organization, so isn’t that nice? I’m gonna stop writing now and go buy some coffee.  Shall we have a tasting?  Oh, I think so!

To be continued…

Contributed by Linda for Beyond Borders/It’s Cactus