Double sided

Like that two-faced Roman god Janus.

The last I wrote to you, it was January and we’d had a lovely experience in a grocery store. Unfortunately, life (as the Janus-faced thing it is) can’t always be lovely like that. This world is full of incongruencies, dichotomies, and paradoxes; things that through their coexistence are hard to comprehend and reconcile.

January, as the beginning of the new year, is aptly named for the aforementioned and fascinating Janus¹. As January trundled along, the threshold into February approached. Janus— that forward-and-backward-double-facing Roman god of doorways, dualities, debuts and discontinuations—must have seen the discordance of the month to come. With his one face looking fondly and nostalgically back on his departing namesake, his opposite face gazed unflinchingly, head long into the onrushing February.

If there is light, there must also be shadow. Such is the duality represented by Janus.

In February, an argument between two men boiled over in a popular grocery store in my city. One of the men involved maliciously took the life of the second man. My three kids and I were among the throng of shoppers present in the store when this brutal tragedy unfolded. This is the kind of ugliness every parent wishes to shield their children from, yet there we and many others were. If there is anything to be thankful for, it would be that no bystanders were injured in the attack.

Obviously, the groceries we had accumulated in our cart did not cross the threshold with us when we fled the store for the parking lot. The air outside the store was filled with the murmurings and angst of the other shoppers as we all tried to find our cars and make sense of what we had been a party to.

Once across the threshold of my own home, I did not cross it again until the following day, when the lack of groceries made a second sojourn necessary. The sounds of chaos and violence reverberated inside my skull as I parked at a different store on the other side of town. I tried to hush the negative thoughts as I once again stepped from the safety of my car into a grocery store parking lot. The car door must have shut with a bang, but my ears did not register it, for I was lost in a new sound.

At the back of the parking lot, a man was playing a violin hooked up to a speaker.

A pen drawing of a Raphael fresco from the Stanza della Segnatura in the Vatican. This Apollo playing a stringed instrument is on the front of a book I own and it caught my eye in the aftermath as I remembered the grocery store violinist.

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The music intruded on my inner symphony of violence with unexpected pleasure. The sweet sounds of the violin expunged the horrible sounds of the day prior as this one man’s melodious gift floated through the crowded parking lot, touching each of us with its peace and beauty. Looking around, I could not help but feel astonishment. How could this be, this dichotomy? I know there are two sides to every coin, but the speed at which one side had flipped to the other made my head spin. Here was such a staggering juxtaposition of contrary circumstances. Two men. Two grocery stores. Two very opposite intentions. One man choosing destruction, the other choosing creation; one making panic, the other making peace; one taking a gift, the other giving a gift; one acting in hatred, the other acting in love. Life rarely feels so polar; or maybe I just fail to notice it.

The word polar brought our globe to mind

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When I think back, the two moments will forever be one in my memory, double sided, like the two faces of Janus. How does one reconcile the two faces of Janus? Perhaps it’s not possible to reconcile them. One can only acknowledge the coexistence, accept the dualities, and continue with the art of living as well as one can.

Half wilted bouquet.

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So, February started ferociously. Violence and illness both paid us a visit during those colorless winter days. But all was not lost. As the month began to wane, my spirits began to wax—my kiddo who was not predicted to survive beyond the womb had a birthday toward the end of the month. Celebrating this cherished child felt like a return to life. It felt like crossing the threshold from sorrowful winter into joyous spring, and then ceremoniously shutting the door—closing the gates to the temple of Janus like the ancient Romans did in their blessed times of peace.

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We took time off from school in February due to sickness, and we’re still catching up. I gave a crash course to the kids on gothic cathedrals and art nouveau; interesting asides from our classical architecture aims. We spent our drawing time studying perspective, light, and shadow.

Pastel drawing from life that I made in our drawing class.

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February caused me to swallow myself whole and keep my own counsel for awhile, which I tend to do when life gets too messy. Hunkering down in this way always serves as a kind of reset for me. I have been slow coming back and crossing the threshold to the outer world, but everything happens in its own time.

Taking time.

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Thank you kindly, both for your time and this cozy spot in your inbox, I am so grateful. In an echo of the generous spirit of the violinist, whose gift turned my darkness back to the light, I’d like to give you a PDF of a few of today’s drawings. I hope they spread a little joy and help to bring a little balance to any negativity you happen upon.

And if you’d like to take a peek at more of my art, my Etsy store is bursting with life and color.

All my scribbles are hand drawn with a sharpie pen, (except for the pastel) and though it means there is no erasing, it also means I can’t re-cross thresholds that I scribbled my way across. I must pay attention and make good choices and live with the imperfect results. I kind of like that about ink.

May beauty find you today. Catch you on the flip side!

-Jenn

My book featuring the masterful frescoes of Raphael.

1. https://www.britannica.com/topic/Janus-Roman-god