A Two-headed Calf Once Broke My Heart

For those unfamiliar with the poem The Two-headed Calf, it was written by Laura Gilpin (1950-2007). This force of nature came to me by way of my dear friend, DS Levy.

Ms. Gilpin’s tragic, yet beautiful portrait reminds us of the choice each one of us can make regardless of our circumstance or time on this earth. The Two-headed Calf is taped to my computer where my singular brain absorbs it daily.

When I was a child, my brothers and sisters often visited the Blauvelt Museum (shown below) to gaze at its many taxidermy displays. One animal in particular always tore at my heart — the two-headed calf mounted on the wall above the mantle who looked through me with her six dark limpid eyes. How I wish I knew of Ms. Gilpin’s poem back then.

Hiram Blauvelt was a philanthropist, conservationist, art and animal collector. Ironically, Hiram was a big game hunter, and his kills provided the conservationist displays.

“Through his big game and private wildlife art collections, Hiram hoped to promote the cultural value of wildlife art and the need for conservation of its subjects and their habitats.” “Founded in 1957 as a natural history museum, the Blauvelt Museum introduced students, scouts and youth groups to the need to support wildlife and habitats conservation. Visiting artists created drawings and paintings from close observation of the specimens.”

In searching for the images for this post, I was elated to learn of Blauvelt’s direction. When the ‘hunt-then display to promote conservationism’ philosophy fell out of favor, “…the Board of Directors of the Blauvelt-Demarest Foundation decided that the original objectives would be best achieved by redesigning the museum to feature the works of contemporary wildlife artists, built on the artistic foundation of the Blauvelt’s early collection of works…” And among its many wonderful events, today’s Blauvelt also hosts an art museum residence program.

of something more

this has to be something more than the dish
serving the meat my mother so tenderly cooked for us
after being on her feet all day
something more than my dad telling us his ice truck story
and how he began work at seven when he believed Staten Island was Italy
this has to be something more than my daughter
not yet realizing just how beautiful she is
or my son who embodies the compassion of a soul lived
much older than his fifteen years
or a husband who supports my artistic demons
this has to be something more than collecting these memories
like paperclips in a box and storing them
this has to be something more than an appreciation
of life
this has to be love and living each moment
of that expression

Max and Caroline

Max and Caroline

I hope you all had a wondrous weekend