A transformative painting experience of an Aboriginal legend

This past week, I can safely say, has been one of the best weeks of my life. I have spent it in Sydney, at the International Anthroposophical Art Conference. It was held at “Riverview” (St Ignatius College … a Jesuit school for boys). First lesson of the conference… the Jesuits are richer than God … I kid you not. This place is huge. Acres and acres on prime riverside/harbourside land. The construction of the main building (a HUGE 3 storey affair made of big sandstone blocks) commenced in the 1880s. I will post photos in my albums later.

We had accommodation on the grounds, all lectures were held in the theatrette (just like a big university lecture room), we had concerts of a night time, morning singing sessions, and two painting workshops per day. My workshop was Art in Therapy (using watercolors). We painted based on an old Aboriginal legend, as a transformative story (and process of painting), a metamorphosis, that can be used for people undergoing major life changes and crisis (I found it particularly good on a personal level for me, given last year’s battle with cancer etc). Here I tell the legend, and show you the painting that I did as a result.

The Message of Butterflies

This legend comes from the Barkindji people of northern New South Wales. It is thought-provoking; a legend you will not easily forget. It explains how the very first Barkindji people came to understand and accept death. It explains how they came to an awakening belief in life beyond the grave.

There was a time when the creation of this land was still very, very new; when the birds and animals and all other creatures shared a common language; when humans could interchange their form or personality with that of birds and animals; when the concept of death and dying was still unknown. This was in the early days of the Dreaming. As you might expect, however, a death did eventually occur.

One evening a young cockatoo fell from its nest and lay lifeless on the ground with its neck broken. The first people, together with all the other birds and creatures, were very concerned, and indeed quite frightened. This was something they had no concept of; they did not understand.

A great crowd stood around silently and watched as the humans tried, unsuccessfully, to revive the bird. After a time the Elders of the group decided that the ever-present spirits must have chosen to take the life force from teh cockatoo so that it could be transformed or used in some new way. Still, they were very puzzled by this new occurrence. They agreed that they needed to experiment further.

They called for volunteers. At first no-one at all was keen to die so that the process could be studied by the others, but after a time some lowly caterpillars did, tentatively, offer their services. It was understood that the phenomenon of death, as seen by what had happened to the cockatoo, meant that those creatures involved in the experiment had to reach a stage in which they were totally still. They had to reach a stage in which they did not move, eat, see, hear, or do anything at all. It was agreed that the caterpillars must somehow mesmerize themselves ingto such a state and then maintain it for a period of time, to see what would happen.

A protective cocoon was duly made for each caterpillar. The cocoons were attached to the limbs of the tallest trees, some of which almost reached up to the sky-world. All through the long, cold winter the cocoons hung there in that place. At first the eager people watched them with great anticipation. Bu days and weeks went by and there was no change, no magic transformation, nothing at all to see. The people of course became very disappointed. Meanwhile, they kept themselves very busy making tools, gathering food, learning to build shelters and generally helping each other. Indeed they were so busy that, as the winter months slowly passed, most of them quite forgot about the caterpillars who had crawled into those dark cocoons, so many weeks earlier.

During this beginning period in time, the pattern of the four seasons was also still developing. The people were pleased indeed when, after the long, cold, bleak winter, the earth gradually began to warm up, yet again. They were delighted. It was exciting to see the buds bursting into blossoms; to see the leaves growing again on the bare trees; and most of all to feel the sun becoming warmer and warmer each day.

The people were so pleased that they began planning a feast and a special corroboree of celebration. They wished, through their corroboree, to show their gratitude to their creator for all the joys of the new season which we now know as spring. The celebration feast had just begun when a whole bunch of excited dragonflies swarmed in among the people.

‘Look up. Look up,’ they urged. ‘Look up at the cocoons.  They are splitting open!’

A breathless hush fell upon the crowd as all eyes turned expectantly towards the tall trees. Each person gasped in amazement and wonder as, one after another, the cocoons opened, letting loose a host of beautiful butterflies, the like of which had never been seen before. The delicate creatures fluttered gently down to be admired. They spread their fragile, multi-colored wings, the colors of which shone radiantly, iridescently, in the soft light. They rested gracefully on nearby bushes and trees. They looked splendid.

All the people watched in quiet delight. They were pleased that their experiment had been successful. The dull, ordinary caterpillars had indeed bee magically and wonderfully transformed. It was a most exciting result and the people, after that, lost their fear of death.

After such a demonstration, they would always see the process of death as a stage, as a still and silent stage, prior to a wondrous and exciting transformation, a new beginning.

Now, centuries have passed, and generation after generation of Aboriginal people have been born and have lived out their lives in this area. And all of them, together with most other people from other areas, have continued to hold this belief firmly in their hearts. Their faith has been renewed every spring as yet another cluster of beautiful butterflies has magically emerged.

At this stage I decided to take a photo because I was liking it so much and I wanted a record in case I stuffed it up along the track. Good thing I did 🙂

First, we started off ‘breathing in’ a blue, from the edges into the center, ultramine, to cerilean, fading to a white center. This was the beginning of creation. The blue is enfolding, nuturing, surrounding. The aim is to feel this as you paint. Carmine red is introduced into the center breathes out into the blue. The very first evening. The cockatoo is painted in next (we used gouache for this), surrounded by a gray ‘plane’ of death. Next we introduce more blue, strengthening parts of the blue, feeling the fear of the people and other animals. Next we introduced yellow. Yellow is an inquiring color, a color that likes to play and spread. Over the blue of course this produced the green. The tree felt it needed to go in the middle. I needed to keep washing over the cockatoo with color to keep him ‘dead’. He kept resurrecting himself with bright white! More intensification of blue, and violet communicating with the red and blue. Some ochre in the green to give it some ground. And the glow around the tree. More yellow/green.

I was very VERY happy with my painting at this point, considering this is the first time I’ve done a ‘real’ painting as opposed to a couple of color exercises.

Next the elders were painted in, in incarnadine, and a soft violet. I decided to do most of them sitting, waiting, wondering. At this point came the first of the stuff-ups … that bell-shaped Buddha-like one near the cockatoo. He shouldn’t be there. The more that was added, the more that everything that was already there needed to be strengthened. The green in the tree trunk, more peach blossom, more yellow/green.

The finished product.

The moon is falling away from the earth, separating itself. The cocoons are built in the trees for the volunteers … the catepillars. A time of quiet, waiting, stillness for the volunteers. Then … the butterflies arrive. I have to say right out I do NOT like my butterflies. One is the shape, naturally, and the other is the color. Now, the tutor doing our workshop had me do the butterflies this color because of the way it reacts playfully against the pink in the middle.  All of a sudden it looked like an illustration in a childrens book (which is fine, just not what I wanted, although it DOES make .me think of different things I could do perhaps…) I wanted multicolored butterflies, rather diaphanous butterflies. Not such solid, blue ones. Then, last of all of the new things in the picture, the green around the tree. The ‘leaves’, as it was the very first spring. This took away the beautiful silveryness of the tree bark, covered most of the glow, and came down and touched the biggest butterfly, making the placement all wrong.

So there it is, a story told in the actual ACT of painting, which is to be felt in the soul as you do it. I suppose I have to admit it’s not bad for a very first effort. In fact, I WAS told I had talent and I should definitely keep on painting. Very affirming, very warm and good for the self esteem.

But the best thing … I had FUN. I could stand at that easel for hours (and did), totally absorbed, totally happy, and unaware of anything around me. Only when we were told we had to stop did I notice that my feet hurt badly, or that it was dark outside the classroom and it was time for dinner! I am definitely going to do a lot more painting. It was bliss.