The Book of Genesis, regardless of our faith, is something with which almost all of us in the Western world are familiar—a foundational work of our culture we have read and, we believe, understood. After all, its language, despite its remarkable elegance, is simple. Its powerful sentences are short. And its messages glisten with clarity.
Rightly recognized as one of the world’s most important spiritual texts, the Bible has shaped thousands of years of faith, art, and human history. Yet for all its importance to believers and nonbelievers alike, we rarely engage with the Bible as a collection of unique narratives that were only later united into what we now know as the Old and New Testaments. And these different texts—historical narratives, dramatic visions, poems, songs, letters—speak to a broad range of experience, from joy and wonder to tragedy and mystery.
Dépassant son admiration, Gerry Souter, auteur du remarquable Frida Kahlo, n'hésite pas à ramener Diego Rivera à une dimension humaine, en constatant ses choix politiques, ses amours, et « qu'au fond de lui bouillonnait le Mexique, langue de ses pensées, sang de ses veines, azur du ciel au-dessus de sa tombe.