Revisiting the Instituto Ricardo Brennand

As part of my second trip to Brazil, I insisted on going back to the Instituto Ricardo Brennand. It was one of the most stunning museums I have had the pleasure of visiting. 

A lovely courtyard.

A beautiful marble sculpture with gold. 

A close up of Alegoria Da Noite (Allegory of the Night), featuring her charming little star crown. 

A detail of a sculpture of a knight. I loved his calm, stoic expression and simple armor. 

Mulher Na Rede by Antonio Frilli is the most breathtaking sculptures I have ever seen. A true masterpiece from any angle.

You can almost see the movement in this bronze sculpture as he uses his body weight to string the bow.

Another one of my favorite sculptures I was lucky to see again. This emotive beauty sits in an outdoor pathway. 

This is an interesting piece I almost missed. This is a pocket watch, and it was on display with many others. They were all ordinary looking except for this one. Upon closer inspection you could see the racy imagery and the small piece of tape the museum used for censoring. I always laugh when people tell me that they think history is boring. What would you do if you owned this watch and someone asked you for the time? 

The museum had an extensive weapons collection. They had thousands of ornamental and decorative items. They were over the top because most were ceremonial. These blades were simple by comparison but I loved the golden covers. Each one depicted a leopard in pursuit of a ram. A reminder of the hunt, the thrill of the chase, and the life or death battle. 

The walk to the main entrance.

Brother's Backyard

My brother recently bought a house and I was captivated by the life in the backyard. 

Lake Osceola

My sister waiting for the Winter Park Boat Tour at Lake Osceola.

The Patron Saint of Solitude

"Let me tell you this: if you meet a loner, no matter what they tell you, it's not because they enjoy solitude. It's because they have tried to blend in with the world before, and people continue to disappoint them." - Jodi Picoult


Growing up Catholic I became familiar with the Saints. A particular favorite of mine was Lawrence the Martyr. He was a Roman deacon who was in charge of the church treasury and the distribution of alms to the poor. After the death of Pope Sixtus II the Roman army demanded that in three days he should turn over all the riches of the Church. In that time Lawrence gave away as much of the Church property to the poor as he could in order to prevent it from being seized. On the third day, when he was asked about the treasure, he showed the Romans the poor and the sick in his care and proclaimed that these were the true treasures of the Church. For this act of defiance he was ordered to be placed on a gridiron over a fire. As he was being burned alive he said something along the lines of "Turn me over, for I am done on this side".

I have always admired that level of righteous sass in the face of imminent harm.

I loved the lesson of laughing through the pain. It was something I wish I had learned to do more of in my early years. When I was little I remember sobbing at my grandfather's house. He told me lovingly "Don't cry, or one day you will run out of tears". It was a good tactic. I rubbed my eyes naively trying not to waste this seemingly precious resource.

Later I learned that the average human body is about 60% water. I am literally made of tears. As, long as I am alive I remain my own personal, endless supply.

My twenties were an enormous struggle. I survived unhealthy living situations, disastrous relationships, a crippling lack of finances, and severe sleep deprivation. I couldn't wait to be thirty. I wanted the stability I thought it would come with.

I worked tirelessly because I always thought I was working towards my goals. One of my goals was to start a family. I didn't realize how lonely that would turn out to be. I put my heart and soul into everything. My work ethic has become my greatest achievement and my splintering cross. When it comes to love there is a tremendous void. It just doesn't exist for me.

Work pays off. I have a finished product, something to reflect on, something added to this world. Love burns me up. I give but get nothing back. Karma only rewards my industry and forsakes my heart. So I devote myself to the work.

Love surely exists, but for others. I have always been comfortable being alone. Silence is freedom to think. To bridge the gap between heart and soul. Resilience is my only virtue. Cloistered in my room I create. I have become the Patron Saint of Solitude.

Penance in learning how to go forward without answers. Letting go without getting bitter. To love without receiving and to keep fighting without a reason.

You realize that the darkest hours are always in the beginning of the day. You open your eyes with the knowledge that you still have to make it through one more time. You have to battle demons but you have no weapon, only stamina. You'll never defeat them. You can only survive them.

I have been told for years that I am "an artist and that means I must suffer". As if the sarcastic lack of understanding is somehow meant to imply that my talents are some prolonged sin. As though I could never hope to find myself until I see the world though teary eyes. 

This concrete heart is heavy and tough, but porous enough to crack. We'd all like to think we are able to withstand, but how many days could you go without food? Without water? Without love? The reality is we are all just a few precious days away from disaster. I have had to endure this lesson many times over. The only way to grow was to create. Work with the parts of the soul that are not often expressed. Learning to never shy away, even when the pain is unbearable.

My weakness swells from my heart until it falls from my eyes. I wish I could be more like my grandfather. It is so easy to say "move on", to pick up the pieces, but all I've ever had was pieces. I've been trying to make something out of this broken mosaic for years. How do you reclaim something you were so happy to give away? When did working on a dream turn into begging for scraps?

Born to love but forced to battle. I never wanted to be a martyr for this cause. I just wanted to work miracles.

Turn me over, for I am done on this side.

Brazil 2016

Some of my favorite pictures from my second trip to Brazil. 

Large moth on the hotel window. 

High tide at the beach access. 

Lovely flower blooming after the rain. 

Boys skimboarding at the shoreline. 

Another boy further down the beach was riding his bike into the surf. 

An adorable stray dog napping on the beach. 

The Recife skyline just after sunset.

Little Gem

This tiny frog caught my eye as I was walking into my apartment. At first it looked like shiny coin. It was smaller that my thumbnail, barely transformed from a tadpole, and completely adorable.  

Marked

The week after the shooting in Orlando was an emotional one. Going to Chris's funeral was not easy. The church was full of shocked people still struggling to understand what happened. I ran into a few friends from high school and we got to catch up and share memories of Chris. 

I have to admit I had some concerns about going. The Westboro Baptist Church had members that were going to picket the funeral. That would never have prevented me from going but it was upsetting to think that anyone would go so far as to disrupt a funeral. When I got out of my car I saw a crowd and prepared for the worst. Luckily, the crowd was actually people from Orlando who were counter protesting the Westboro Baptist Church. They were covered in rainbow colors and had signs spreading messages of love. Some even wore angel wings to block the hateful messages from the funeral goers. Between the large crowd and their singing of Amazing Grace I never saw or heard anyone from the Westboro Baptist Church. 

I found out later that there were over 300 counter protesters from the City of Orlando and only four people from the Westboro Baptist Church. Apparently they left after only one hour because they were completely overwhelmed. 

The following day the City of Orlando held a vigil at Lake Eola Park. 

The crowd beginning to gather. 

The memorial at the Dr. Phillips Center for the Performing Arts. 

People wrote loving messages in the sand outside the center. 

The memorial for Chris and his boyfriend Juan. 

In the wake of this whole mess I was immensely proud of my city. We had come together in overwhelming support of each other. As a whole, we had made it clear that we would continue to fight for LGBT rights. This is our City and we will not stand for hate. That left a huge impression on me. 

Between loosing Chris, struggling with the funeral and feeling a great since of pride in Orlando, I was a powerful mix of emotions. I decided I wanted to be marked on the outside the way I felt marked on the inside. 

The things that stood out to me the most were love, compassion, and the fight for equal rights. I loved the geometric heart design featured on hundreds of shirts around town.

I took my idea to Little Joe's Primrose Tattoo Parlor and they helped me come up with a gorgeous design.  

It was so much more than just loosing Chris. It was about the amazing person that he was. The way he fought for others. Spending the day on Amber's couch crying and eating mac and cheese. All the texts and calls I got from friends who were okay. Its about walking to a funeral surrounded by strangers willing to keep you shielded. It's about the way this entire city fights for equality in all its rainbow coated glory. Its working for two jobs and how they both embrace diversity unapologetically. It was about letting yourself hurt so you had the strength to make it better. So the inside can match the outside.