You have to be there

I spent much of this morning experimenting, but it's not yet going where I want it to; still much too close to realism.  I think I'm avoiding something -- probably avoiding picking up a paintbrush -- but life is too crazy right now to throw all my eggs into this particular basket.

So it was lovely to get this in the mail today from Jan Phillips (I'm now on her mailing list, having attended her workshop last week).  She had gone to hear Mary Oliver speak at Seattle U (a talk I missed because I was in rehearsal) and apparently Mary Oliver spoke of the Muse, saying, "The voice is working in us all the time. You have to be there when you have promised."

This reminded Jan of the W.H. Murray piece about the Scottish Expedition to Mt. Everest which she shared with us at the workshop:

"Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favor all manner of unforeseen incidents, meetings and material assistance, which no one could have dreamt would have come their way."

I can think of any number of stories in my life and the lives of my family where this has proven to be true.  But for now I think I'll just say, I'm too busy to commit -- which means I've somehow gotten over-committed.  But this, too, shall pass -- and then... well, I can't wait to see what happens next!

It was beautiful one night

It was beautiful,
it was so beautiful one night
we all began to expect God would speak

from the waves
reaching toward the millet fields.

from the mouths of the hanging sky
ornaments crooning in light's infinite codes,

from the glances of children and plants
and hills playing with effulgent life.

It was beautiful,
it was so beautiful one night
we all began to expect God would speak.

 -- Hafiz, A Year with Hafiz

Drawing from life

This is a photo I took of a piece of art that hangs in the new apartment my friend will be moving into today.  I've been looking at it off and on all week: I'm very drawn to it, and I've been trying (on the one hand) to see what I can learn from it about what kinds of composition I find pleasing, and, on the other hand, despairing (don't artists do despair well?) of ever having the ability to come up with ideas like this one.

But this morning I had a wee revelation, as I continue reading Trust the Process.  And it's a revelation that has SO much to say about the spiritual life... So here's the deal: I don't have to come up with it alone. I am not separate from the world.  Anything I create is essentially the result of an encounter between me and not-me; together the world and I can become a boundless font of creativity.    It is the interaction between us that generates beauty.  I don't have to generate the messages; I only get to offer my own translation of the messages that are already there.

I've been thinking there is this sharp dividing line between photo-realism -- the work I've been doing for my past 20 years as a photographer -- and abstract art, the work that's beginning to emerge in me over the last two years.  And I've been quick to assume that abstract art has to come from some sort of well of creativity inside me -- a well that frequently runs dry.

But look at this piece: Couldn't it have been inspired by something as simple as watching a moonrise through a window?  I am surrounded by a world of constantly evolving compositions: the interior of my home provides a steady framework for the ever-shifting colors, shapes and textures of the world outside my home.  Isn't that also true of my soul and mind -- that the interior becomes a sort of processing framework for the varieties of experience that are taking place outside the boundaries of my body? Couldn't the interaction of the two serve as an infinite source of inspiration? 

My younger daughter is spending this month working on her senior project, doing camera obscura photos in the rooms and homes of her friends.  This involves blocking off the windows of a room and allowing the outside world to project into the room through a pinhole onto the walls, and I find the results utterly appealing.  (With her permission I hope to show one of her images here at some point).

How could I, watching the evolution of her project, not have realized how important -- and potentially creative --- that interaction is between what goes on inside our relatively stable internal structures and the ever-evolving world outside us?

Well, duh!

I just had a flashback to a college art class assignment: we were asked to find a flower and draw it.  I ran out of time and drew one out of my brain and memory.  I wasn't particularly pleased with the results, and neither was the teacher -- who realized immediately that I wasn't working from life.  I don't remember his exact words (it was, after all, 40-something years ago) but he said the drawing had no life in it.

I can't believe it took me 40 years to figure out that he didn't mean I wasn't creative enough; he just meant I wasn't drawing from life.  And I mean that in both senses of the word: as artists, and as spiritual beings, we are meant to draw sustenance from life itself -- not just our own lives.  The cup of our creativity -- which can so quickly become an empty cup if we rely solely upon ourselves -- is filled and fed by the world and spirit that is all around us; we only need to be open to it, aware of what's happening outside our own little windows, willing to see our lives and beings as a stage on and through which the glorious dance of the universe can be uniquely performed and presented.

Hmmm...

Ogres under the bridge

Gentle One,
I have too much to do today,
tasks and deadlines swarming,
wave after wave of demands,
and under every bridge the ogres
of people's fears and expectations.
The monster of my failure lurks.

Loving One,
give me grace to step outside of this illusion.
To see through the smoke and mirrors
of pressure and anxiety.
To get out of other people's fairy tales.
Let me see only what is real,
what matters, what heals.
Let me fall in love with you on the elevator.



Present One,
may my only desire today
be to be lovingly present in you,
to seek and to live your delight,
to do one thing at a time,
with attentiveness and grace.
May I walk gently with you
through this pleading and anxious world
with courage and healing in my heart.

Peaceful One,
the stones and arrows approach-
and on your face
a little smile.

-- Thanks to Bill Harper, who shared this poem by Pastor Steve Garnaas-Holmes, who blogs daily at
http://unfoldinglight.net

Which way is up?

Today's image is from the convention center in Anaheim, CA; our message is from that great philosopher, Barry White:

Which way is up?
 
Which way is up, what's goin' down?
I just don't know, no
I don't know, I don't know
C'mon turn around
Which way is up, what's goin' down?

The world is moving much too fast
Enjoy the good things and make them last
Each day there's something new to learn
Everyday is a new way for what you learn

I've gotta make money, I've got to live
I'm not complainin', that's just the way it is
A ball and chain around my neck
The more I dig out, the deeper I get

Which way is up, what's goin' down?
I just don't know, no
C'mon turn around, people

Which way is up, what's goin' down?
I just don't know, no
C'mon turn around

Got a whole new outlook on life itself
I'm gonna make it, won't settle for nothin' else
It's up to me to achieve it
And I know I will 'coz I believe it

The more I know, the more I'll grow
Knowledge is key and I wanna flow
This ball and chain is comin' off my neck
I'm gonna pick this ball and chain
I'm gonna put it in check

Which way is up, what's goin' down?
I just don't know, no
C'mon turn around, help me

Which way is up, which way is up?
Which way is up? That way
Which way is up?

Which way?
Which way?

Which way? That way
Which way? That way
Which way? That way

A day in the life...

We live on a one-lane road, and there's a new house going in between us and the entrance.  We received notice that the road would be blocked from 8:30 am on yesterday with a concrete pour, so at 7:30 I moved the car to a parking space past the pour, parking close to a fence so other neighbors and two friends who would be visiting later that morning would have room to park.

At 8:45 I walked down to the car, planning to head to my Pilates class, but unbeknownst to me there was a bolt sticking out of the fence, and it caught the edge of my front bumper.  I was backing slowly, being careful to avoid the fence, when all of a sudden the whole front of my Honda popped up and off.  Fortunately the cement trucks hadn't arrived yet, so I drove the car -- fenders flopping over the speed bumps -- back to the house.  My husband was able to get everything back into position but all the plastic clips were broken, so we duct-taped the car together and called the insurance company; no Pilates for me!

The day was broken up throughout with visits from friends (to pick up a photo for an auction and to order another photo), calls to the insurance company and the body shop, a visit to the body shop, calls to our daughter to see when she might be home with a spare car, a visit to the physical therapist, and, at the end of the day, a makeup training session for the play that opens next weekend.

When I arrived the assistant director mentioned that the director was hoping I'd take pictures of the session, but I didn't have my camera with me,  so I made do with my iphone.  The results were less than spectacular, but they did manage to capture the event; this one was my favorite. 

It was quite amazing to see the transformation of the various women who were willing to attempt the techniques that were being demonstrated for us.  But more amazing to me was how relatively calm I was able to be earlier in the day, faced with the mess I'd made of our car and the inevitable monetary damages that ensued.  I felt embarrassed and apologetic, of course, but I didn't feel shaky and worthless, the way I used to feel when things like this happened (the last time was in 1998 when I accidentally backed into my husband's car, slightly denting his rear fender; I was devastated!)

I'd like to think it's my meditation practice that helps me stay sane through all the complications -- and inevitable challenges -- that can occasionally arise.  But maybe it's just age and experience; certainly I'm not ALWAYS this calm. 

But yesterday I was looking through God is at Eye Level by Jan Phillips -- a much underlined and highlighted copy that has pretty much been my photographic bible for the last 15 years or so.  And the first highlighted sentence is an exercise: "Take a picture of something that makes you feel calm."  I suspect I may never have gotten past that first instruction -- it seems like all the pictures I take -- the ones I really love, at least -- have a way of making me feel calm; I think that's what people like about my work. 

Clearly that one sentence resonated -- and tomorrow I get to go hear Jan Phillips give a workshop.  I wonder what new wonderfulness she'll have to share!  Mostly, I'm just hoping the duct tape will hold the car together until Monday, when it's scheduled to be fixed...

One regret

One regret, dear world,

that I am determined not to have

when I am lying on my deathbed

is that I did not kiss you enough.

--Hafiz