Edward Burne-Jones: Flamma Vestalis (1884 - 1890)

Gallery Notes:
Burne-Jones’s daughter Margaret modeled for this painting. The Latin title refers to the Vestal Virgins of Rome, who tended the perpetual fire on the altar of the goddess Vesta. Begun before Margaret’s marriage in 1888, the painting aligns her with these chaste women, suggesting her innocence and purity.

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"Let there be light" is an English translation of the Hebrew phrase יְהִי אוֹר‎ (yehi 'or) found in Genesis 1:3 of the Torah, the first part of the Hebrew Bible. In Old Testament translations of the phrase, translations include the Greek phrase γενηθήτω φῶς (genēthḗtō phôs) and the Latin phrases fiat lux and lux sit. It is part of the Genesis creation narrative. Wikipedia

I had grown to take light in all of its variety for granted. It was as if some God had commanded it, and nobody could rend it asunder. Truth lingered somewhere in there, too, and justice, and even, beleaguered, The American Way. Those were the days before American became a pejorative term, and patriotism still stood for something upright rather than creeping around in artificial night. Light seemed infinite and immutable then. It stood as purification, clarification, and sustenance. I sensed the EndDays were coming when I noticed the light diminishing, when information became more weapon than sustenance, when simple truths could still manage to sustain themselves without much in the way of artificial amplification. Before an incessant mumbling all but erased our sense of greatness.

The pursuit of greatness introduced a spreading darkness over the world, as if the command Let There Be had somehow been suspended. A twilit world appeared, one defined by shadows. Half-truths encroached on formerly immutables, and derision began eclipsing vision. We began navigating by echo rather than plan. I could no longer reliably see the hand held up before my face. I became lost in considerable space. What once seemed tangible forfeited a dimension or two and seemed flat and featureless, uninteresting. What had once quickened my pulse left me dizzy and delirious. I lost my past in dimly lit clutter and could no longer clearly perceive my collective or even individual future. Without light, I lost an essential sense of myself, as if existing in darkness.

Is my memory faulty, or is it likely that a darkness has been spreading these past few years? The Damned Pandemic visited during our resident idiot’s first term, inviting insanity into the larger room. Four years of well-earned respite resolved the contagion and began raising the shades to let in the sun, before a reversion slammed them shut again, with even greater earnest this time, seemingly achieving total darkness at times. Were it not for the Spring, Winter would have never receded this year. This living in dimness exhausts my spirit and suffocates my soul. I must keep going, though, always forward and upward, even when–especially when—I cannot quite see where I’m going. Maybe Spring will know the way to Summer this year, and maybe Summer will say, “Let There Be,” and I’ll be able to see my way forward again.

EndDays encourage me to seek light. Like a frustrated seedling, I naturally reach upward. Perhaps I should be reaching out as well. Perhaps the more directions I can seek, the more likely I will be to find the light I’m looking for. I look without clearly perceiving. My eyes work mostly by some facility resembling muscle memory, only faintly recalling the time when light still shone brightly and when my own vision of myself still felt compelling. This morning, the sky holds a low blue-gray haze, like a dome containing Spring within. Trees leaf their tender yellow-green while an Oregon Grape hedge screams yellow in comparison. Vision seems muted, as if seeing the world through allergy-clogged ears. I can barely hear a murder of crows complaining about the dog walkers violating their territory. I perceive deafly.

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Tags: #EndDays, #PureSchmaltz