The Twenty-ninth Day


The painting started out with a desire to explore my Ophelia figure. First of all, I wanted to make her fragile, to the point of dissolving and becoming a part of the landscape. But today the landscape has become equally fragile. Secondly, I wanted a simple human gesture that says that she has seen enough.

In my mind, she also symbolizes the Third World, its fragility, the difficulties of coming into existence, of finding its voice, of making its own song heard.

Ophelia turns away from a world in which there is no place for her, but her strength is that she keeps returning. I see her as a figure who never really drowns but keeps resurfacing through the centuries, checking to see whether the air has become safe for her to breathe.

The Third World, too, keeps up its struggle. I don't mean the political element (which is often so corrupt) -- rather, the people, the wanderers, the exploited. They keep returning and they keep multiplying. Wars and deprivations can't stop them, though Gaia might have the last word.

The title refers to a French riddle for children and it's meant to illustrate the apparent suddenness with which ecological catastrophes can arise. The riddle goes like this. if a lily pond contains a single leaf, but each day the number of leaves doubles -- two leaves the second day, four the third day, eight the fourth, and so on, and if the pond is fully covered and chokes out all life on the thirtieth day, at what point is it half full? The answer is: on the twenty-ninth day. The riddle is quoted by Lester Brown in his book on ecology, The Twenty-ninth Day.


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