Well, it’s here: the final weekend before the Presidential election on Tuesday. I wait, like many, with a mix of eagerness to move ahead in a new direction and with the fear of having hopes crushed. There’s a feeling that this may be a pivotal moment in our history, that this may be a decision that may indeed, unlike other such elections, affect our day to day lives for years to come. It’s at times like this that I always come back to the words of Uncle Walt.
Walt Whitman was shaped and defined by his Americanism and the turbulent time in which he lived. He spoke to the highest ideals that our nation embodies. His words ring with a universal truth that seem as fresh today as they were over a century ago.
This is a small bit from Song of Myself from Leaves of Grass. When I first read this (so many years ago) it resonated in my mind. As I evolved into a painter I carried the sense of these few words with me and often when I look at some of my work, I can see those words in the work.
I too am not a bit tamed,
I too am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric yawp
over the roofs of the world.
As always, thanks, Uncle Walt.