Savannah Blaze Lee Writes . . .
From a Rich Heritage
They call themselves the Plain Folk, take pride in large families, serene communities, and prize a wife who can cook hearty food to feed an army - usually one to which she gave birth. In some ways it was an idyllic life and there are times when I miss the simplicity of being isolated from the cares, fears, and challenges of the outside world. The cookbook represents the good parts, the icons, the lore, and wonderful recipes. The novel tells of a darker side.
"Mennonite families are no different than any other. The same violence occurs, the same incest, the same brand of man’s inhumanity to man . . . and woman . . . embroiders their landscapes. The debatable difference from the real world lies in the fact that no one talks about it . . . ever.
That was my cardinal sin. I did talk about it, refusing to live the happy, Utopian fantasy embraced by my kinfolk. Somewhere, my seven brothers and two sisters inhabit a world where my name is rarely spoken, save for wondering if I am dead or still alive. But they keep searching nonetheless. Cousins, nieces and nephews have no idea what I look like. The family has no knowledge of where, or who, I am. But then, they never did. I do not exist, for I have been shunned, sentenced to walk like a ghost in the world outside those picture-perfect pastures of the
Savannah Blaze Lee Paints . . .
And Sculpts, and Builds, and Laughs as much as possible.
For those of you fortunate enough to have never been addicted (not so fast there; everyone has SOME vice) to a lethal substance, the reason users ‘use’ is for the escape. Period. You can psychobabble your way through the family skeletons until you’re blue in the face and it all comes down to the same word – escape. The benefits, of course, are the endorphin rushes to the brain that engender experiences like seeing music in colors or feeling that you are one with the gigantic cell that is the Universe. The side effects, predictably, are ruined livers, eroded nose cartilage, dying brain cells, crime and punishment, and devastated lives. We are pleasure seekers, and the ‘rush’ is worth the pain. Just ask any marathon runner. That endorphin is God. When an artist stumbles into that Void by accident, it becomes no less an addiction, no less ‘high’. If we remain balanced, it’s a much healthier escape than drugs and won’t get us arrested. And, yes, we would do it for free for the rest of our natural days, if somebody would just take care of the damned landlord for us. We'd all like to have that "Mercedes in the Garage".
“Abstract design is all right – for wallpaper or linoleum. But ART is the process of evoking pity or terror. What modern artists do is pseudo-intellectual masturbation. Creative art is intercourse, in which the artist renders emotional his audience. These who won’t deign to do that – or can’t – lost the public.”
Stranger in a Strange Land, Robert A. Heinlein
Savannah Blaze Lee Believes . . .
In One Cardinal Rule.
That children - no matter what our age - should have the right to dream and see their own worth in spite of gender or stereotypes.; that women should have the right to be happy and free from fear of being beaten (even mentally); that no one earns the privilege to make you feel less special than you are. My art, my writings, and my entire life (since awakening) have all been geared towards helping other victims realize their potential and young people develop into men and women who are fully conscious of their choices and capabilities. In short, my Golden Rule is that no one should ever, consciously, attempt to hurt another living entity unless survival depends upon that awful choice.
“Dissidents used to be locked up in Soviet lunatic asylums for “reformist delusions,” it being quite naturally and reasonably assumed that anybody mad enough to propose reforms had lost all sense of self-preservation.”
God Is Not Great, Christopher Hitchens