The Primordial Language of Red

The Primordial Language of Red by Donna Alena Hrabcakova and art exhibit at the JungHaus Feb. 9 – Apr. 27

Hopi Woman by Donna Alena Hrabcakova

This exhibit explores the original language we all share as human beings–the ancient, primordial language of symbols and vivid colors that give expression to a new form of communication that access deeper levels of being and healing. The predominate color of red in Alena’s paintings—every variation and every hue—represents the life, death, and rebirth she experienced following several intimate losses that occurred during a very short time span. Her personal journey, accompanied by canvas, colors, symbols, dreams, and the ancestral knowledge of loved ones, led to a place of deep listening for processing loss and letting go. Her work as an art therapist on Indian Reservations and in hospice centers, as well as her Slovakian heritage, significantly influences her work. She has been exhibiting her fine art since the 1990s, currently in Columbus and Chicago.

Join Donna at the JungHaus on Sunday, February 10, for a reception from 2-4, including an Artist Talk at 2:30 p.m. www.Jung-CentralOhio.org

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THE BLACK MADONNA

I am from the Mohangehalia River an Indian word meaning where the silt and mud forms an embankment. 

I am from that dirt and flowing water. 

I was born along this umber waterway in Women’s Magee Hospital where my Bubba helped deliver me. 

I am from my mother, father, grandmother, grandfather and the great great great ones before me. 

I am intergenerational.

I am from the Tatras and Slovakian hillsides where women 4 feet 10 would brag about being 5 feet tall. 

I am from ornate altars, icons of the Black Madonna, sweet frankincense celebrating the departed with dark veils covering their tears. 

Stoic Souls.

I am a granddaughter from Ellis Island relatives carrying a tattered rosary worn thin with prayers. 

I am from the smell of sweaty cabbage, dark rye bread rising and strong black tea simmering overflowing with honey. 

I am from the melacholoy days of Ireland. 

I am from the old world where tea, toast and conservation changes everything. 

I am the last woman in my Matriarchal line. 

I am beginning to unravel these territories knowing my Ancestors faced so much more. 

I am redefining myself in a language I have not fully learned. 

Our stories heal the frayed narratives. 

I am translating words and painting with symbols colors handprints saying I lived here for a brief and passing time. 

I am my mother’s daughter.

I am my father’s daugher. 

I am Slovakian America that also danced with the Poland and the Ukraine. 

I have inherited my great grandparents and grandparents land. 

I am a mosaic of old ways woven into the new.  

I long for what once was. 

I am rebuilding a life.

I am breathing in the essence of all energy my Ancestors the New Ancients learning who they are. 

Learning who I am. 

This longing can never quenched. 

I heard this is how it always is for those whom are the dreamers. The storytellers. The keepers. 

I am their daughter.

— By Donna Alena Hrabcakova

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New Ancients

Spirit Bird

You have awakened?

Or have you?

You can choose to walk through this splintered oak and ivy door or not.

The Narratives are shifting exponentially. Where are you standing in the midst of it? Are your feet firmly set upon the hummus, the nutrients of this Mother Earth?

Many years ago, I dreamt of the Ancestors not really knowing what they embodied but I trusted they would take me on an unexpected journey. The journey led me to living on Northern Reservation lands, cross country trips more times than I can count and back to the Ancestral lands in Eastern Slovakia near the Tatra mountains.

I believe PLACE calls you and if you really listen the Ancient Ones are always whispering in your ears. The New Ancients are the words I heard. These ones have become the voices I am painting and the stories of my Ancestors. In many ways they are reinvented cave paintings made from earth pigments and found objects to define the times we are living in now. They speak the old languages possibly the first languages and songs they flowed as sound waves when sound first reappeared. At times it feels vague like fog and other days it is so clear it is like I can see clear to the other shore. I like to think I am only a stone’s throw away from my deceased ones whom are teaching me and guiding me in this temporal place we inhabit. I feel like the languages simmer around a tarnished beloved samavar bubbling with stories that want to be told. Here earthy rye bread smothered in butter trickles down your chin, as you sip on dark black tea. Here you are at the fires of the Old Ones weaving the long-ago narratives that will help us in these times Here is where the New Ancients live.

They are welcoming us home as they were there all along.

Welcome home my friend.

Welcome home.


Donna Alena Hrabcakova

We Are the Stories Earth Needs Now

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