Pic of the Day

Propaganda and the Male Aesthetic

Henry Cavill

The idealized male physique, often described as an "inverted triangle" or "V-taper," features broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and a strong, muscular build with low body fat, a physique seen in many male athletes, models, and actors. The ideal male body has evolved throughout history, with earlier periods valuing strength and athleticism, and more recent times emphasizing a lean, muscular look. Media and social trends play a significant role in shaping perceptions of the "ideal" male physique. 

The idealized male aesthetic—emphasizing physical perfection, muscularity, and strength—has long served as a powerful tool for propaganda, shaped and reshaped to fit the political and cultural needs of various societies throughout history. This image of the “perfect man” functions not only as a model of physical excellence but also as a symbol of ideological values: power, discipline, dominance, and purity.

Augustus of Prima Porta

The roots of the male aesthetic ideal can be traced back to ancient civilizations like Greece and Rome. In Classical Greece, the male body was idolized in art and sculpture (e.g., Polykleitos’ Doryphoros), representing harmony, rationality, and civic virtue. Strength was linked to moral integrity and democratic citizenship. Rome adapted this, associating the powerful male body with imperial authority and conquest, as seen in statues of emperors like Augustus, who were idealized as youthful and godlike.

The Renaissance revived classical ideals, presenting the strong male body as a symbol of divine beauty and human potential. Artists like Michelangelo, with his David, reinforced the link between physical strength and spiritual or moral superiority. This era celebrated the “universal man”—physically capable, intellectually refined, and culturally elite.

Arno Breker, The Great Torchbearer (1939)

As nationalism surged in the 19th century, the strong male body became central to shaping national identities. In Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany, propaganda weaponized the male aesthetic. Mussolini was often shown shirtless, working or posing, to convey virility, labor, and strength as core values of the state. Hitler’s regime promoted Aryan ideals through statues, films (like Leni Riefenstahl’s Olympia), and youth programs, equating physical perfection with racial superiority and moral righteousness.

“Worker and Kolkhoz Woman” was made by Vera Mukhina in 1937 for the World Fair in Paris. It was meant to overshadow the Nazi German pavilion that was located opposite to Russian pavilion in the fair. In the end, both pavilions won a prize, to keep the political balance.

In Soviet propaganda, the male worker or soldier, muscular and stoic, symbolized the power of the proletariat and the communist state. These images weren’t just about fitness—they were loaded with meaning: loyalty, discipline, and the ability to serve the state.

Even today, the muscular male figure continues to be used in propaganda, especially in authoritarian regimes. Leaders are often depicted engaging in rugged, physical activities—Vladimir Putin’s shirtless horse-riding is a modern example—projecting vitality, control, and masculinity as signs of leadership and national strength.

"For Your Boy" was one of many posters issued during World War I to encourage support of the war.

In the West, while the use of male aesthetics has shifted more toward consumer and celebrity culture, it still has political undercurrents. Military recruitment posters, sports ads, and action films all reinforce a vision of the male body as capable, heroic, and dominant.

Throughout history, the idealized male body has served not only as a cultural aspiration but also as a political weapon. Whether sculpted in marble or splashed across a billboard, it reflects the values and anxieties of the society that produces it—always more than flesh, always a symbol of something bigger.

Pic of the Day

Migraines have their say

Migraines have their say
By Teri Ellen Cross Davis

Whitney cottage, Hermitage Artist Retreat

You could write about the windows
all nine of them. You could write about

the gulf, red tide strangling Florida’s
shore, the opaque eyes of dead fish

caught in the algal bloom. You could write
about the sky—long as a yawn, sky blue

chasing cerulean away, stretched wisps
of white determined to be the canvas

for another sunset showstopper. But the body
has its own narrative in mind. Neurons hustling

pain blank out any page. No writing can be done
when an electric snare corrals the brain. No ear

searching for song while one temple pulses
an arrhythmic lament. Mercifully there’s triptan,

a black curtain over this inflammatory act. Strike
through today, uncap the pen again tomorrow.


About this Poem

Teri Ellen Cross Davis’s poem “Migraines have their say” offers a poignant exploration of the debilitating impact of migraines, particularly when they intrude upon moments meant for creativity and reflection. Written during her time at the Hermitage Artist Retreat, Davis captures the profound frustration of having one’s artistic aspirations overshadowed by physical suffering.

In the poem, Davis vividly describes the serene environment of the retreat—the expansive windows, the vast sky, and the Gulf’s horizon—elements that typically inspire artistic expression. However, the onset of a migraine transforms this idyllic setting into a backdrop of torment, as the pain eclipses her ability to engage with her surroundings or channel them into her work.

Davis’s personal history with migraines adds depth to the poem’s narrative. Diagnosed at thirteen, she endured prolonged episodes of pain before effective treatments became available. Even with medication, migraines continue to claim significant portions of her time, making their intrusion during an artist’s retreat feel especially cruel—a “special kind of theft,” as she describes.

The poem resonates with many who have experienced chronic pain, articulating the internal conflict between the desire to create and the incapacitation imposed by illness. It underscores the broader theme of how physical ailments can stifle self-expression and the pursuit of one’s passions.

For those interested in experiencing the poem firsthand, Davis’s reading is available through the Academy of American Poets’ “Poem-a-Day” series, offering an intimate connection to her words and experiences.

In “Migraines have their say,” Davis not only sheds light on the personal toll of chronic migraines but also invites a broader conversation about the intersection of health and creativity, and the resilience required to navigate both.


About the Poet

Teri Ellen Cross Davis is a distinguished American poet and advocate for the arts. Born in Cleveland, Ohio, she pursued her undergraduate studies in journalism and international affairs at Ohio University. She later earned a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing from American University.

Davis has authored two notable poetry collections: Haint (Gival Press, 2016), which received the 2017 Ohioana Book Award for Poetry, and a more perfect Union (Mad Creek Books, 2021), winner of the 2019 Journal/Charles B. Wheeler Poetry Prize.

Her commitment to the literary community is evident through her fellowships and residencies at esteemed institutions such as Cave Canem, the Virginia Center for Creative Arts, Hedgebrook, the Community of Writers Poetry Workshop, and the Fine Arts Work Center in Provincetown. Additionally, Davis has received grants from the Sustainable Arts Foundation and The Freya Project.

Davis’s poetry has been featured in various anthologies, including Bum Rush The Page: A Def Poetry Jam, Full Moon on K Street: Poems About Washington, DC, and The Golden Shovel Anthology: New Poems Honoring Gwendolyn Brooks. Her work also appears in journals such as Poet Lore, North American Review, Gargoyle, Natural Bridge, and Tin House.

Currently, she serves as the O.B. Hardison Poetry Series Curator and Poetry Programs Manager at the Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington, D.C. Davis resides in Maryland with her husband, poet Hayes Davis, and their two children.



P.S. As you might can guess, I woke up with a migraine today. I would love to stay in bed and call in sick, but I cancelled classes last week because I was in the hospital and don’t feel like I can cancel any more. Also, I have a follow up appointment at my doctor’s office to see how I am doing since I’ve was discharged from the hospital.

Pic of the Day

Back to Work

I have to return to work today. I can’t express strong enough how much I don’t want to go. I’m still really tired and don’t want to go back. I know it will do me good to get back into a routine, and it will probably give me more energy. Still, that doesn’t mean I’m ready to go back to work. However, I’m not sure I can put it off any longer. I did “work” Friday by going to the workshop I attended and did well. I didn’t feel like I got overly tired, and my energy level was good. So, maybe today won’t be too bad. At least my boss won’t be there. I’m not ready to deal with her strong perfume or loud voice. It should mostly be quiet in the front offices where my office is. I also have a ton of emails to catch up on and work to do for classes this week.

Pic of the Day

Blessed Are the Woke

Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness but rather expose them. It is shameful even to mention what the disobedient do in secret. But everything exposed by the light becomes visible—and everything that is illuminated becomes a light. This is why it is said: “Wake up, sleeper, rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.”

—Ephesians 5:11–14

In modern culture, particularly in political and conservative Christian circles, “woke” has been turned into a sneer. It’s often used to dismiss people who speak out against racism, inequality, or systemic sin—as if awakening to injustice were somehow un-Christian. But what if the word “woke,” in its deepest and truest sense, is exactly what Jesus calls us to be? To be “woke,” in its most honest and biblical sense, is to be spiritually and morally alert—to see clearly the truth of God, the dignity of others, and the brokenness of the world. To be woke is to be awake—to the suffering of others, to the call for justice, to our own sin, and to the movement of God in the world. It is spiritual awareness and moral alertness. It is, in fact, discipleship. Nowhere is this clearer than in the Beatitudes.

When Jesus began His Sermon on the Mount, He didn’t begin with commands—He began with blessings. The Beatitudes are not a checklist for moral perfection, but a radical reordering of what it means to live rightly in the eyes of God. In a world that often equates power with success, wealth with favor, and pride with strength, Jesus turns everything upside down.

In Matthew 5:3-12, Jesus said:

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me.
Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.

To be “poor in spirit” is to recognize our need for God and to understand we don’t have all the answers. It means awakening to the reality that we are not self-sufficient. We need grace. We need justice. And we need each other. This is the doorway to the kingdom. Wokeness begins in humility. It’s the opposite of prideful self-righteousness. A woke Christian doesn’t pretend to be better than others—they acknowledge their need for grace and their responsibility to listen and learn.

To be spiritually awake is to feel deeply. We mourn for the brokenness in the world—for racial injustice, for poverty, for violence, for exploitation. We don’t harden our hearts or dismiss others’ pain. We weep with those who weep. And Jesus promises that those who mourn with compassion will be comforted. To mourn is to be moved—to cry out for what’s wrong and to long for what is right. God meets this mourning with comfort—and with purpose.

Meekness is not weakness—it’s strength and courage under control. Woke Christians don’t seek dominance but justice. They resist evil not with violence, but with faithfulness and love. The world may reward arrogance and cruelty, but God honors those who seek peace and equity with humility. To be woke is not to dominate or rage, but to stand firm in truth with gentleness and patience. Jesus says the earth belongs to such people, not to the proud or the violent.

Matthew 5:6 says, “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be filled.” This is the heartbeat of a woke life: a deep hunger for righteousness—not just personal piety but justice for others. The Greek word dikaiosyne used here includes both righteousness and justice. This is not about personal morality alone; it’s about longing for the world to reflect God’s character: justice for the oppressed, care for the poor, healing for the hurting. To hunger for this is to desire the world to reflect God’s goodness—and Jesus promises we will be satisfied. To be “woke” is to refuse to be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters (Amos 5:24).

That bring us to the next of Jesus’s blessings, mercy. Mercy is love in action. It’s seeing the suffering of others and responding with empathy, not judgment. Woke Christians offer compassion to the marginalized—not because it’s popular, but because it reflects the very heart of God. Jesus never mocked the vulnerable; He moved toward them. Mercy is the practice of a woke heart. It is seeing someone else’s pain and stepping into it with compassion. It is forgiveness, care, and a refusal to dehumanize. The merciful understand that every soul bears God’s image—and they act accordingly.

Purity of heart means clarity of purpose. To be pure in heart is to see with clarity—to be free of deceit, manipulation, and divided motives. Woke Christians are not performative; they pursue justice not for applause, but out of conviction. They seek truth, even when it costs them. In doing so, they begin to see God—in the faces of the oppressed, in the work of reconciliation, and in the transformation of their own hearts. The woke Christian seeks integrity, transparency, and the truth, even when it’s uncomfortable. And in that clarity, we begin to see God in our world, in people, and in unexpected places.

Peacemaking is more than avoiding conflict—it’s creating wholeness. Peacemakers are those who do the hard work of reconciliation. They build bridges. They speak truth in love. They don’t settle for false peace or quiet injustice. Peacemakers carry the family resemblance of their Father in heaven. The world may call peacemakers divisive, but Jesus calls them His children. A woke faith works to heal what sin has broken. Wokeness is not just awareness—it’s action.

To live this way will cost us. Jesus warned that truly living these values would lead to persecution. Woke Christians will be misunderstood, resisted, and sometimes hated—not because they’re offensive, but because they are living out God’s upside-down kingdom. But Jesus says: stand firm. The kingdom is yours. When people mock “wokeness,” they often mock the very things Christ died for: truth, justice, mercy. To be faithful in the face of ridicule is to stand where Jesus stood—misunderstood, rejected, but faithful to the end.

How can Christians mock the woke and still claim Christ? It’s a serious question. How can Christians, who claim to follow the crucified and risen Jesus, hate those who mourn injustice, who pursue mercy, who hunger for justice? Proverbs 17:5 says, “Whoever mocks the poor shows contempt for their Maker,” and 1 John 4:20 tells us, “Whoever claims to love God yet hates a brother or sister is a liar.” To mock the “woke” is often to mock the ones Jesus blessed—to laugh at those advocating for the very people Jesus embraced. And when Christianity becomes more about defending comfort than confronting injustice, it has strayed far from the Gospel. Christ calls to wake up.

Ephesians 5:11–14 offers a final word, “Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather expose them…Wake up, sleeper, rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.” Being “woke,” in this light, is not a worldly insult—it’s a holy calling. Jesus doesn’t want sleepy disciples. He wants people who are awake, aware, and aligned with His kingdom vision. The Beatitudes are not abstract virtues; they are a blueprint for awakening. They teach us how to live in love, mercy, justice, humility, and hope. They challenge us to reject cruelty, hardness of heart, and the mockery of those doing the hard work of justice.

So let us not be ashamed to be called “woke.”

Let us wake up.
Let us rise.
Let us walk in the light—where Christ Himself leads.

To put it succinctly, a woke Christian is a Christlike Christian.

Pic of the Day

Moment of Zen: Jesus Prado

I love this photo set of Jesus Prado by photographer Joan Crisol. There are a few more bonus pics I’m sure you will love if you click “read more” below.

Pic of the Day

Workshop

I have a workshop/one-day conference to attend in Burlington today. The size of attendance at the workshop is expected to be small due to everyone having budget cuts due to the idiocy of the new president’s administration. Many nonprofits are losing their funding, and if they haven’t lost it already, they expect to. That aside, I’m looking forward to today. After my hospital stay earlier this week, I’m sure this will be a tiring day (Burlington is about an hour away),  but hopefully, an enjoyable one as well.

Have a great weekend everyone!

Pic of the Day

Rain and Migraines

I had planned to write today about a recurring dream I’ve been having, but it has snowed all night and now we are having a rare Vermont thunderstorm. With bad weather inevitably comes a migraine. I dread today anyway. I have a dentist appointment late this afternoon. I think I might just go back to bed.

That being said, here’s you Isabella pic of the week. I missed her when I was in the hospital.

Pic of the Day

Good to Be Home

It was so good to be home and sleeping in my own bed last night. I had a wonderful group of nurses and LNAs taking care of me, and my hospital bed was comfortable enough. However, there is nothing like my own bed. I haven’t been able to say much about what happened not because I was keeping anything secret but because: 1) I did not feel like writing much and 2) I did not have a phone charger with me so I could only do so much before the battery was going to die. Luckily, I started feeling better, but also because one of my overnight LNAs offered to take my phone and charge it using her charger while I was sleeping.

Anyway, you are probably asking what happened. Friday night, I got a severe migraine, and when I woke up Saturday morning, I still had the migraine but my back was also hurting and I had a stomachache. The stomachache got worse throughout the day. I one point, the pain was bad enough that I could not move. I was on my side and tried to roll over onto my back and wasn’t able to because of the pain it caused. I was nauseated and vomitted at least three or four times during the day and had been running a low grade fever off and on throughout the day. At this point, I would normally would have gone to urgent care, but there were reasons I didn’t. We received 9” of snow over Friday night and throughout the day on Saturday. While roads had been plowed, I would have had to clean the snow off my car, and I was in no condition to do that. I was also in way to much pain to drive anywhere or to get up and do any of that. I took medicine that I hoped would help and alternated between my bed and the couch. I eventually fell asleep and mostly slept through the night not having been able to eat anything the day before. I had drank a cup of tea first thing, but that had seemed to take forever to get down, I had drank as much water as I could keep down, but it wasn’t much.

When I woke up Sunday morning, I was feeling better, but not a lot better. Susan convinced me to go to urgent care, which I did and was there just after they opened at 9 am. When I finally saw a doctor and told her what was going on, she examined me and poked and prodded me. I cried out in pain as she pushed down on the upper right quadrant of my abdomen. She said, let me make a phone call. She left the room and came back a few minutes later to tell me that she had talked to the doctor at the emergency room at the hospital and she was sending me there. She suspected it was either the flu or my gallbladder. She said that when I arrived to tell them she had sent me. Since I had driven to the clinic, they let me drive to the ER. The nurses in the ER thought I might have the flu and tested me for Covid and the flu. Both came back negative. They hooked me up to an IV because my blood pressure was very low, something like 90/56, and I showed signs of dehydration. On the weekends, the hospital apparently doesn’t have people who can do ultrasounds, so they sent me for a CT scan. What the CT scan found was that I had an obstruction in the small intestine, some minor kidney damage, and an enlarged spleen. They admitted me to the the hospital, and I was taken to a room.

While the nurses and LNAs had checked in on my regularly and taking my vitals throughout the days and nights, I only saw a doctor for about a minute Sunday night, maybe two minutes Monday morning, and another two minutes Tuesday morning. Basically, the only thing he told me was that the kidney damage and enlarged spleen on the scan was probably from dehydration, and if I kept feeling better and had no setbacks, he would begin progressing my diet, which he did. He told me if I did well on the progressed diet, that I should be able to go home. I was told by the nurses that the best treatment was to limit my diet and allow the IV fluids they had given me to get things moving again. The ER doctor had told me that surgery did not look necessary and that the most they might have to do is to send this thing down my nose and into my intestine which would then balloon up and push anything on through. She said it was an unpleasant procedure and would only become necessary if the rest and fluids did not work.

By Sunday evening, there had been signs of movement, but nothing to indicate that the blockage had moved, and I was only allowed ice chips. At this point, the only thing I’d had since Friday night had been some water, a little ginger ale, and some hot tea. I really did not want to eat. My blood pressure and glucose remained low and my temperature was still slightly elevated. I was miserable. Eventually, there were small signs of movement during the day on Monday, and I was allowed to be on a clear liquid diet starting that night. I still had some pain whenever I took in anything more than ice chips, but things did seem to be getting better. On Tuesday morning, they let me have a full liquid diet. I have never been so excited over vanilla pudding before. Around mid-morning, a nurse brought me the room service menu and told me I had been allowed a full diet and could order whatever I’d like. I ordered an open faced turkey sandwich with gravy, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, and some vanilla ice cream. When the lid came off, I immediately got nauseated, but that passed and I was able to start eating. I ate maybe a third of it because it was making me nauseated, and it was very bland, which I had expected.

About mid-afternoon, a guy came in and said he was there to take out my IV, and I said, “I assume this means I’m going home.” He said that’s usually what it means. My nurse of the day came in, said she had some paperwork for me, went over the information about what medicines I’d been given and what I had not been given (they kept me off my blood pressure medicine since my blood pressure was so low), and asked me to sign another sheet of paper. I said, “So, I can go home?” She said, “Yep, you can go home.” I said, “I just get dressed and walk out?” She said, “Yes, unless you want a wheelchair to be brought up to take you out.” I told her I was fine on my own. I got dressed, and as I was walking done the hallway following the signs from the elevator, I saw my LNA of the day, and told her goodbye and asked if the elevator was just ahead. She said she’d walk me to it. We were talking on the way to the elevator and I told her I had to find my way around to get to my car which was in the ER parking lot. She said she’d walk me through the emergency department and rode the elevator with me and let me through the employee area to a set of doors just behind my car. I got in my car, sent some messages to different people telling them I was on my way home, and then drove home.

It was an ordeal, but thankfully it was not worse than it was, and I did not require any surgery or any more significant time away from Isabella. By the way, I did have a friend bring me a phone charger, but it was having some trouble which is why the nighttime LNA charged my phone for me. I told my boss that I would not be in this week. My coworker, who isn’t known as the most friendly person, texted on Monday to see if I needed her to go check on Isabella. I thanked her and told her that I had neighbors who would do that. My boss texted to check on me, sounding reluctant that she was doing so, at least it seemed that way to me. My cold and distant coworker sent a warmer message than my boss. I just can’t get that woman. Anyway, she should be working her ass off today with me not there. We are having an event that I’ve been planning for months, and she has continually added more and more for me to do and offering no help or assistance. Now, she gets to reap the rewards of her style of management that has everybody do only their job and nothing more. We are a three person staff, siloing jobs doesn’t work. Maybe she will learn a lesson. I will be taking a sick day tomorrow also.

Pic of the Day: Home Edition

I’m so happy to be back home. The hospital released me this afternoon. I couldn’t have asked for a more wonderful group of people to take care of me when I was sick. I’m taking the rest of the week off work to rest and completely recover. I have a workshop in Burlington to attend on Friday, but I am looking forward to it and will get an early dinner up there afterwards.

Thank You 🙏🏻

Thank you everyone for your well wishes. They have meant so much to me. I am feeling better, and if things go ok today, I can hopefully go home. I am more than ready to go home at this point.

I wish the guy above (Finn Harding, if you’re wondering) was taking care of me, but I couldn’t ask for a nicer group of nurses and aids taking care of me. They have all been so sweet and kind.

There won’t be a poem today and I won’t have a chance to post a Pic of the Day until I get back home (I have to conserve my phone battery), but I’m hoping we’ll be back to our regularly scheduled program soon.

Thanks again for all your well wishes. 😘

Addendum:

You get my random musings since I am bored and don’t have a charger for my phone to be able to use it much. Anyway, I was thinking that instead of Elon Musk buying elections with million dollar checks or Jeff Bezos buying the Washington Post for wider propaganda distribution, why can’t they take a page from other super rich individuals in American history. Yes, many have been influential in politics. JP Morgan bailed the country out of a financial crisis, but others did great things following the concept of the Gospel of Wealth. Carnegie built libraries all over the United States. Bill Gates supplied computers for schools across the country, as did Apple. The Waltons built one of the finest art museums in the United States.

As I sit here bored out of my mind, I wonder, why can’t Jeff Bezos distribute thousands of Kindles to hospitals throughout the United States and the world so when people are unexpectedly hospitalized in a place where they have no family or friends to bring them needed comforts. (I have friends, but I don’t want to inconvenience them unnecessarily.) Kindles can be reset and allow a new person to log into their own account. Cell phone companies should provide phone chargers to hospitals so that people could at least charge their phones. Those are just two minor things that would be a drop in the bucket for these billionaires. The wealthy could do so many wonderful things to help people in need, instead of only doing what increases their influence, power, and wealth!