When the contemporary world reads Homer, much of the poetry’s former “content”—its voice—goes unheard. Originally, the Odyssey was sung by an aoidos or poetry “singer”—a profession likened in honor to that of healers, seers, and craftsmen. But, even where Homer’s epic poem may have maintained a certain literal integrity, entropy actively transformed the world around it (us) for some three thousand years. Thus, the mighty sun god, Zeus, and his favorite daughter, “rosey-cheeked Dawn”, have since passed wholly into the indices of myth.

Interestingly enough, leading physicists today are guiding us to heed the sun’s power, to peer once again into the skies for potential solutions to mounting global issues—an act, in symbolic terms, not entirely unlike those of Odysseus’ own calls to the god of skies. According to Michio Kaku, co-founder of string field theory and Professor of Theoretical Physics at the City University of New York, humanity is currently facing a crucial transition from planetary (petroleum, coal) energy use to that of solar-driven energy. In his book, “Hyperspace: A Scientific Odyssey”, Kaku describes this transition as a dangerous maneuver, but one that, if successful, may grant a continuation of our species even despite ourselves.

Perhaps we shouldn’t be surprised, then, that Artemis, the fiber artist from Lichtenstein, is garnering international recognition and praise. Her pictorial voice is mythology made modern. Literally drawing the sun into her loom as she weaves, the artist works by daylight alone. But why, one might ask, would pure sunlight be important to a weaver, or to any artist for that matter? A simple, but incomplete answer would be that Artemis’ subject matter is light. For an artist taking on Odysseus’ epic journey home, what better way to channel light into the story as she weaves it? One might even wonder if the artist’s personal aim has been to dialogue directly with the gods. But a more complete answer would take into consideration Artemis’ potential to bring contemporary culture not simply to a deeper level of environmental awareness, but to a degree of environmental contact and immersion.

Technically, the use of color and form in Artemis’ work invites an immediate relationship with the viewer: it is an invitation to come closer. A level of visual combined with symbolic complexity then lures us into subtle narratives that are astonishingly sensitive in her work—one could easily argue that they are her work’s raison d’etre. The stories trace the human condition, by means of Odysseus, through various moments of hardship and bliss. In her work, “The Trojan Horse”, for example, only a nucleus of information of what is about to transpire is shown—but not the act itself. We are led to intuit the sweating brow of the soldiers hidden within, and of the blood that will eventually spill. But the battle takes place only in our minds. This level of abstraction and the undeniable aesthetic that Artemis employs opens the work to interpretation on many levels and permits a viewer response that can be richly emotive. Will we respond? Will the skies open up to guide Homer’s protagonist safely home? Listen closely to the song her tapestries sing: they have this, and many more secrets to tell.