A Greek Landscape for Earth Day

On this Earth Day, I could have written about Iceland, where new earth is being born this very minute. But instead, here is a painting of an elemental landscape in Greece, one that's probably existed in various forms for as long as human beings have gathered fruit from trees and fish from the sea: stony soil, an olive tree, the sea just beyond. If we listen, maybe we can hear the tinkle of bells on the collars of sheep and goats, herded into a hollow just beyond the picture frame... In Mexico, perhaps the olive would be replaced by some agaves. These are the sorts of natural and agricultural landscapes of basic sustainability that exist all over the world, which are threatened by climate change, and which we must protect. 

As I painted and thought about these things, I enjoyed knowing that some of the pigments I was using came directly from the earth too, and that water -- the most basic substance of all -- was the medium in which they were dissolved. But the connections go far deeper than the food we eat, or the elements we use in our daily lives.

For instance, it's iron that gives its red color to the earth that was at my feet in this picture, and there's an iron molecule in the center of each hemoglobin molecule in our blood, which is why it appears red.

Most of the time, we don't even think about these interconnections. But actually we are creatures of the earth, just as much as the old olive tree with its roots in the rocks: it's true on the macro level of our interdependency for life itself, and it's true on the micro level of the smallest cells in our bodies.

When we spend our lives in paved-over cities of concrete and steel, surrounded by digital screens, it's a lot harder to understand who we are, and where we come from, than it is for the shepherd who herds his sheep across this hilltop every day, or the farmer who gathers the olives from the tree and presses them into oil for his salad and his fish. I think, though, that we do all have some innate sense of connection, whether it's the awe we feel when watching a volcano being born, or the peace that comes from watching the ocean, or being in a forest or on a mountaintop. 

I feel more hope for our earth than I did a year ago. It's tenuous, but I do feel it, along with a great love and longing to be out in the natural world, where I always find myself again.

 

Comments

[Sharyn]

this is so lovely, Beth!

[am]

Thank you. Yes. Hope and a great love.

That Greek landscape evokes the landscape I grew up with in California as a child in the 1950s, especially the blue of the sea. I'm sure that Greek families who were my neighbors as I grew up found in the landscape a sense of home away from home. Western Washington, where I live now, has an entirely different feeling, but Eastern Washington with the Columbia River and fruit orchards and rolling hills brings back memories of the landscape I loved instinctively in childhood.

[Edward Yankie]

Absolutely love these, and the reflection that goes along with them.

[Peter]

Lovely. That about some it up, along with admirable and instructive!