My name is Jonene Ficklin, and I'm a full-time wife, mom, writer, and professional artist. I've been
drawing since I was old enough to hold a pencil. I use colored pencils, oil paints, and watercolors. I love what I do!
I have Mummies on my mind. It happens now and then. They’re gross, morbid, and thoroughly fascinating. Why?
Well, I just read a great article in September’s National Geographic. The surprise is that the mummies in question are being made (as in – still being made) in Papua New Guinea (PNG). As in a rainy, humid, non-mummy-supporting jungle by the indigenous Anga tribe.
Yeah, that’s one to check out.
Here, a modern day mummy expert travels to Koke, PNG, to help a grieving son save his deteriorating mummified father. (Kind of reads like the bookback of a thriller, doesn't it? You keep waiting for the big finish.) In the photo, the papa mummy leans forward in a chair, as if trying to whisper secrets from the otherworld. If you get the chance, check it out. It's on page 140.
Despite the creepy thought of preserving the dead, and in some cultures, putting them on display like the Anga do, I think the thing that turns my head the most is the story. New or old, every mummy promises a very good one.
Here was a real person either loved, revered, worshiped or otherwise deemed eternally valuable enough to preserve in the flesh. Sometimes that person is surrounded by wealth, ancient foods, furniture, and art depicting their life. It’s a peek back in time. There’s just enough information to form a framework of their life, but enough holes that the mind has a fantastic time filling in the blanks.
Take King Tut for instance. Countless investigations have brought countless conclusions. Yes, we want the truth, but maybe not the whole truth. It’s the mystery that makes it timeless.
And it never hurts being able to see the proof of their life, even thousands of years after the fact.
So here I am, eagerly, morbidly awaiting the next juicy mummy story. I know. It’s perfectly normal, right?