MK Čiurlionis: a Lithuanian artist that did nothing but paint and compose music for 6 years straight. Most paintings rarely leave Lithuania because they’re incredibly fragile (he couldn’t afford the durability of oil paints or large canvas) so I feel blessed to have seen his mythological cities, anthropomorphic mountains and clouds in a glorious array of colours in person.
One of the things that had always bothered me and couldn’t quite place at first in the Percy Jackson Universe as well as many retellings of the ancient greek mythology was the narrative of the Gods and Godesses abandoning their land of origin so that the story could take place in the US. The authors managed to create a persuassive device to make this whole scheme of theirs work and although it honors me, seeing so many people draw inspiration from my culture, i couldn’t help but feel massive sadness as well, for these people probably never had the chance of visiting the remnants of the time of Myths and Heroes that are currently in the form of monuments and ruins.
How could you visit The Oracle of Delphi, tucked in the mountains, overlooking a deep canyon, its white sun warmed marble pillars rising towards the sky seeking for a divine embrace, without sensing the ultimate serenity of Apollo’s sanctuary, the canopy although rich, parting for the rays of sunshine to softly caress your cheek as if the God of light himself, no matter how cruel he is, still lets his heart rejoice with the sight of people remembering his time of glory.
How could you visit the Temple of Hephaestos in the ancient agora of Athens, standing at the foot of the hill of Acropolis, under the shadow of his sister Athena’s magnificent temple, solemly accepting his sister’s glory and spotlight for he was never a vain god and always put his family above his own self, without observing the burned ceiling, a long gone memory of a time that the God of Fire didn’t let the christians desecrate his home and turn it into a church, fearfull that he might be forgotten if he did not intervene and burned his own temple with the brightest flame.
How could you visit the Temple of Poseidon in Sounio, standing proudly on the edge of a steep cape, the angry waves hitting on jagged hard rocks causing such a commotion, without hearing the God of the Ocean’s desperate cries for remembrance and recognition.
How could you visit the Parthenon, watching over the city of Athens for millenia, and not feel Athena’s defiance against the many conquerors’ and theives’ efforts to break her down, the Godess of Knowledge never abandoning the land that gave birth to her but still stubbornly standing, a reminder that she will never let us go although we have forgotten her.
How could you visit the Theater of Epidauros, a monument honoring Dionysos, without feeling the ecstasy and catharsis at the end of every ancient tragedy that are still performed by those greeks who have not forgotten, the God of Festivity raising his wine as a form of salute to his people and as a form of welcome for all these new peoples who never let the barrier of language seperate them from appreciating the spectacle destined for his own enjoyment.
The Gods and Godesses, you see, have never left the land that created and birthed them, a land that went through hell and back but still managed to hold on to its past. The Gods and Godesses would never abandon it for strange places and even stranger people that seem alien to their eyes, so far away from their grasp that they still choose to reside in ruined and colourless memories of their radiance
