the art of ecstasy

Do you have a favorite image? One that takes you out of yourself and pulls you in at the same time? One that always, always, stirs something inside you?

This is mine.

   Ecstasy by Maxfield Parrish, 1929

There’s a cheap calendar print of it over my desk and the image graces the cover of a journal I have propped on a shelf next to my bed so I see it at night before bed and in the morning after I open my eyes. After the glasses get shoved on my face of course, because there is no vision without the specs.

There are other images that pull me in, move me somewhat - photos, paintings, statues and the like. But this one? This one always makes me feel better, always.

I feel her, you see, up there on those rocks. Wind blowing through her hair, billowing her dress around her. That caress of wind and sun on her skin. It is liberating, that cleanse of air, the warmth of sunshine. I can feel it. The stretch of bone and sinew as arms reach up and over, reveling in the freedom and power of myself while standing alone in the breeze.

I’ve stood up on a mountain top, perched upon an outcropping of rocks as they jut away and left me standing on the precipice of air and stone with a vista of water and green below. And have felt the cares and worries and everyday fears slip away as easily as a cloud slides by the sun. Because that is beauty and perfect and wonder.

Whenever I’m having a crappy moment at work, feeling stressed or just wallowing in my head, I look up and there she is. Calling to me, telling me to breathe in the air, absorb the warmth and remember who I am. To remember how it feels to be perched on the top of the world with clouds and sky and finding my peace.

There are moments when I’m grooving on a project, when I’m writing or am just happy, I look up and there she is, celebrating with me in the ecstasy of that moment, reveling in the emotions as they surge through me and I can be, for a few moments, standing on those rocks, letting the sun and air soak that wonder into my body as the world sees what I feel inside.

When I need to think, to clear my head, to daydream, I look there, and see her standing, offering her dreams to the sky. I see those vibrant ethereal colors, the puffy clouds of dreams, the whisper of winds and the sense of security that everything, ANYTHING, is possible if you believe in it enough.

If Maxfield Parrish were alive and well, I’d slap one big juicy kiss on his face for painting this.

That is the power of art. No matter the medium, the artist, the style. Something for everyone, always. Go find yours.

Photo courtesy of Maxfield Parrish and the interwebs.