Alexandersmap

    Category: Art

    • To Live Creatively

      “Many times, in writing I have looked over my own shoulder from beyond the grave, more alive to the reactions of those to come than to those of my contemporaries. A good part of my life has, in a way, been lived in the future. With regard to all that vitally concerns me I am really a dead man, alive only to a very few who, like myself, could not wait for the world to catch up with them. I do not say this out of pride or vanity, but with the humility not untouched with sadness. Sadness is perhaps hardly the right word either, since I neither regret the course I have followed nor desire things to be any different than they are. I know now what the world is like and knowing I accept it, both the good and the evil. To live creatively, I have discovered, means to live more and more unselfishly, to live more and more into the world, identifying oneself with it and thus influencing it at the core, so to speak. Art, like religion, it now seems to me, is only a preparation, an initiation into the way of life. The goal is liberation, freedom, which means assuming greater responsibility. To continue writing beyond the point of self-realization seems futile and arresting. The mastery of any form of expression should lead inevitably to the final expression—mastery of life. In this realm one is absolutely alone, face to face with the very elements of creation. It is an experiment whose outcome nobody can predict.” — Henry Miller, The Colossus of Maroussi

      Another long quote to start this blog, and surely the SEO needs improvement. So be it. I might have doubled the length for all Henry Miller had to say. In fact, stop reading my blog altogether and go pick up the book. We are the people he had in mind when he wrote these words. Can’t you see him looking over his shoulder at us? If Miller was looking to the future with hopefulness that the world would catch up to his way of thinking, well, he may have been sorely disappointed. We all shake our heads at the madness in the world, and the inclination to dumb it all down for the benefit of the power brokers with all the fancy toys. Some things never change.

      To tag along with Miller as he wanders around Greece on the cusp of World War II is fascinating for the historian in me, for we know how the story ends but not always how the world felt about it as things were playing out. Miller found his soul in Greece just before things got truly crazy. What of us?

      Some of us write to reach self-realization and rarely go beyond it to reach for mastery. I talk a good game myself, but my default is to quiet quit on mastery. It takes a level of discipline I’ve learned I don’t want to grind out of myself to be a master craftsman at anything. I can see it in the pursuits I’ve started and let die out. If the price is to exclude everything else to reach mastery, I’ve come to realize that I won’t pay that price. There are precious few who keep going, which is why there are so very few masters of any craft.

      But there’s hope. If the goal of life is Arete and reaching personal excellence, then the journey never truly ends. Perhaps writing for self-realization is part of the journey that eventually we break through to reach for something more. The only certainty is that the creative journey continues, and so long as the blog posts reach you, you’ll know that I’m still pushing through what Steven Pressfield called the Resistance to find out what’s on the other side.

      There’s a reckoning coming. When we keep pushing ahead it’s inevitable that we’ll face more and more resistance. For us to keep going with the work that calls to us is audacious, and some might say self-serving. This too is recognized as resistance. There comes a point in our lives where we tell our quiet-quitting self that the work means more now. We may still end this trivial pursuit and go on to some other distraction. Just not today.

    • More Movingly Visible

      “What are the needs and impulses that make a man spend years of preparation, and then months of labor, to produce a work of art? Presumably because he wishes to express himself, his ideas, and his moods; because he longs for distinction and reward; because he has a keener sense of beauty than most of us; because he aspires to combine the partial beauties and veiled meanings of actual but transitory forms in a vision of clearer significance or more lasting loveliness. Usually he sees more than we see, in fuller intensity or detail; he wishes to remove some of these perceived aspects in order to leave the essence and import of the scene more movingly visible to our eyes and souls.” — Will Durant, Fallen Leaves

      Empathy is a conditioned response. We are empathic when we live and struggle, find our way around obstacles or alternatively, find no way around it and find some other way to live, knowing deep down that that other way was closed to us. Those “not for you’s” burn inside as a driving force or a ready excuse for other behavior. If we’re lucky, we find a person who encountered a similar obstacle in their life and made something of themselves anyway. The world is full of examples of people who rose to greatness and also those who spiraled into darkness. Empathy is seeing ourselves somewhere in each.

      The artist learns to see through similar conditioning. Art is a daily struggle to express ourselves in a world that wants us to shut up and fall in line. It takes courage to put oneself out there under such circumstances, but the art takes on a life of its own. The very best artists turn the lens over to us to see what they saw, and maybe something more. Art, like music and prose, is digested and interpreted by the audience. We work through some things, run into our own share of “not for you’s” and produce some time stamp of the person we were at the time. Some work resonates, some falls flat, but the work continues for as long as we choose to dance with the universe.

      Writing, like my amateur photography, helps me to see. Each attempt expands my idea of what’s possible, and I lean into it a bit further with each session. I’ve read books I’d never have read otherwise in my pursuit of more, taken side trips that I might never have considered, and most essentially, turned my gaze outward. We all have an internal dialog happening within us, the artist trains themselves to open that dialog to the universe and expand the conversation. The art is thus a transcript of the moment, a scene made more movingly visible for others to see.

      The thing is, the universe reveals itself to us on its own terms. We learn to be patient, to do the work, to engage and observe. We may be witness and yet not have the wisdom to see the beauty in our moment. Some art is not for us to express. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t express what we can in our time. Like sketches in a student’s notebook we mark our journey to a higher place.

    • The Communal Nature of Creativity

      “Your dreams don’t belong to you. If you hold on too tightly to them without recognizing the mutual and communal nature of creativity, your work will probably not have significant impact in the world.” — Drew Holcomb

      Writing a blog doesn’t feel communal, it feels more like a drawing out of oneself something internal and placing it out in the world for the reader to do with it what they will. The fact that almost 8 billion people will ignore it isn’t even the ego hit one might believe it to be, it’s not even the fact that it won’t ever reach the level where it’s a blip on the radar for those almost 8 billion people. Ego isn’t creative, it’s only role is to fuel the audacity to publish anything at all, and then let people in on the secret. After that it awkwardly gets in the way and is best pushed aside.

      The communal part of blogging is when you click publish. The work is then out there for others to interact with. For random strangers who stumble upon it, it’s a chance to hear a new voice and accept or reject that voice on their own path to finding out. For the loyal subscriber, it’s a choice of whether to let the steady drip, drip, drip of a daily blog become a part of their daily conversation. And for the inner circle of family and friends who read what this character has to say, it’s a chance to reconcile the person they know with the words they might be surprised by. I’m just as surprised, some days.

      Writing a blog isn’t thought of as collaborative. It’s the writer’s thoughts and opinion put to page, and not generally the product of the community with which that writer engages in. And yet we are the average of the five people we surround ourselves with. The influence of my community is as clearly reflected in the work that I produce as any book I’ve ever read or experience I’ve had. In fact, many of those same books and experiences are being had by that community and discussed over beverages now and again.

      There’s no doubt that music is one form of creativity better expressed communally. Lennon had McCartney and was the better for it. And then he had Yoko, and took his work to a different and far more personal place. When one looks at his entire body of work, we see his transformation as the influence of those around him ebb and flowed. The chorus naturally reverberates more than the solo artist. That doesn’t take away the power of the individual artist, it amplifies it. For art to speak, it must engage with others, which means that the artist must also engage with others. So, hello and welcome! Nice to have you here. Drop a comment.

    • Intentions vs. Routines

      “You don’t make art out of good intentions.” ― Gustave Flaubert

      Our routines and systems determine what we produce. I write every day to see what will come of it. Sometimes I use a writing prompt, other times I write of experiences I’ve had, and still other times I start typing until something tangible ends up on the page (deleting the nonsense that led me to it). Nothing great comes to us until we meet it at least halfway. Sometimes a lot more than halfway. And sure; we don’t always reach great…. But we do reach.

      Some days we are able to stick rigidly to our routine, some days we stray or are pulled from it. The trick is to get back on track as soon as the opportunity presents itself. This applies equally well to exercise, flossing, daily chores and yes, blogging. Do the things that must be done in the time you create for it. If we don’t create the time, then it isn’t the priority we say it is.

      Life is more complicated than that, of course. It’s not always about the stray—sometimes it’s the pull as other things take priority. But one day we’ll be pulled from it all like every artist, writer and poet who’s come before us. Knowing this, we ought to keep at it while we can. Stick with the routine and do the work that matters most now.

    • The Better For It

      “Love what you do. Get good at it. Competence is a rare commodity in this day and age. And let the chips fall where they may.” — Jon Stewart

      “The artist uses the talent he has, wishing he had more talent. The talent uses the artist it has, wishing it had more artist.” ― Robert Brault

      Over time we become proficient at some things at the expense of other things we might have done instead. We simply can’t do everything in this world, and when we try we dilute our potential to master anything. Focus matters a great deal in becoming competent at anything, let alone to master that thing.

      Lately when I click publish there’s a wave of purposelessness that washes over me for just a moment. The dialog goes something like this: “I’ve completed the blog for the day, the one nagging thing that drives me out of bed that must be done is done… so what now?” And that’s usually when the noise of the world fills the void and my purpose becomes clear once again. Do the things that must be done that have been ignored that you might do this other thing. The fog lifts and I get to it.

      Sometimes the noise of the world keeps me from writing the blog until later in the day. Those are days of great discontent, as if I’m being held back from something essential. Now don’t get me wrong—what is essential to me is mostly noise to the rest of the world, if heard at all, but it’s another rung on the ladder towards better that I must climb. The talent uses the artist it has, and I hate disappointing it with lackluster effort.

      When we love what we do, we keep doing it with an earnest focus on something beyond competence. We owe it to ourselves to reach for excellence in whatever we’re doing in this moment. We can always be better, until one day we can’t be. The race for mastery has an expiration date that we’re charging towards faster than we might believe. Shouldn’t we love the work enough to put our best out there right now? If we’re blessed with tomorrow we’ll be the better for it.

    • In Service of Better

      Many months ago I dropped what used to be Twitter from my life. I missed it immediately, not for the political extremism but for the carefully cultivated feed I’d developed over the years I had it. Sometimes I still miss that, because the alternatives aren’t all that great yet. But I keep pressing on with Mastodon and Threads and added an annoying email subscription notification that will go away soon I promise, and keep putting content out there for incremental growth numbers. The question I keep asking myself is why? Why have any social media link at all? Why gather email subscriptions at all? To increase followers seems a bit of an ego stroke. But engagement fuels consistency. We just can’t confuse the subscribers for the work.

      “A woodpecker can tap twenty times on a thousand trees and get nowhere, but stay busy. Or he can tap twenty-thousand times on one tree and get dinner.”― Seth Godin, The Dip: A Little Book That Teaches You When to Quit

      The question is, which tree are we tapping on? Is the end result going to be fulfilling or will it just be an empty hole that we honed from time we’ll never get back? Why keep publishing every day when I could use that time for other creative work? Unless you’re an author putting your name and work out there for the masses to find, or selling something else you’ve built, then the end game of a blog shouldn’t be about accumulating a massive following. The end game is the development of the person creating and publishing it every single day.

      “There’s a practice available to each of us—the practice of embracing the process of creation in service of better. The practice is not the means to the output, the practice is the output.”
      ― Seth Godin, The Practice: Shipping Creative Work

      The thing is, the writing has always been about cracking the shell of complacency off and having a go at a soufflé. Inevitably we get it wrong now and then. Inevitably we wonder why we’re doing it at all. But within us there’s someone who wants to reach mastery at something in this brief go-around. We know when we’ve done well, and we know when we’ve checked the box to live to fight another day. Both matter a great deal. The trick is the consistent push towards better.

      When I start thinking about the effectiveness of platforms and email subscriptions, I know I’m straying into a minefield. When I question why I post a blog every day instead of simply writing, I know I’m tapping on the wrong tree. It’s always been about mastery, and the long and often frustrating road to getting there. Discipline, focus and time applied to honing a craft you have the audacity to believe you ought to be honing. Don’t stop me now, for I have a ways to go. Still, it’s a hell of a journey.

    • It’s Probably Magic

      “The appearance of things changes according to the emotions; and thus we see magic and beauty in them, while the magic and beauty are really in ourselves.” ― Kahlil Gibran, The Broken Wings

      Who said that every wish
      Would be heard and answered
      When wished on the morning star
      Somebody thought of that
      And someone believed it
      And look what it’s done so far
      — Paul Williams and Kenneth Ascher, Rainbow Connection

      It took several days, but the bluebirds and cardinals finally found the feeders again. They’ve been elsewhere lately as the feeders came in for the summer. With a bit of short day trickery I’ve moved the feeders closer to the house, that we might see flashes of color and motion during stick season. Attracting beauty is often a matter of simply meeting it halfway. We must do the work to realize it.

      Lately I’m bursting at the seams with magic. I’ve been filled with the stuff from reading a few gorgeous books in a row, meeting with some magical people I haven’t seen in some time, and in conversations with one remarkable woman that I see most every day. Some days you look around and see that life can be truly magical if we just open ourselves to experiencing it.

      Now don’t believe for a moment that I’m not aware of the million tragedies unfolding around us in dark corners around the world. A heart can only break so many times over the foolishness, madness and anger of humanity. To carry on in this world at all we must find and shine a light within ourselves. That light may in turn offer hope for others navigating their own stormy seas.

      Sometimes it feels like so many bad people never seem to get the comeuppance they deserve. But we don’t know what their shriveled up souls are invoking upon them in quiet moments. It’s best to focus on finding the light within ourselves, aware of the darkness but never allowing ourselves to be lost in it. We aren’t here simply to be witnesses to the behavior of others, but to contribute our own verse, if only to tip the scales back to beautiful.

      We come to realize that we’re purpose built for reflection. We shine back on the world what the world gives to us, but this works in reverse too. When we bring light to the world, it comes back to us in spades. When we bring darkness, karma catches up eventually. This is the eternal hope of the universe, that any of this matters, and the person we are gets what we deserve. That belief is deceiving, of course, for so much of the good things in life seem so far out of reach when we always want something more.

      The thing about magic is that it’s found in the leap between what we believed was possible and what we encounter. Sure, sometimes we find it in sleight of hand trickery, but it also applies when we encounter the person we are becoming and the larger work that we are creating. There’s magic in art, and in performance, and when we rise to meet our essential role it’s a beautiful encounter indeed.

      Now I’m no magician, and the jury is still out on the work that I produce in this world, but I love to dabble in light and song and a bit of magic now and then. Life isn’t meant to be a spiral into the abyss, but a climb to possibility and contribution. We play our part in our time, and show the way for those ready to see the magic of becoming for themselves. This isn’t wishful thinking, but purposeful transcendence from the norm. Simply put, we attract what we believe. We know that it’s probably not magic, but surely it can be magical.

    • The Vanishing Act

      “All morning I lay down sentences, erase them, and try new ones. Soon enough when things go well, the world around me dwindles: the sky out the window, the furious calm of the big umbrella pine ten feet away, the smell of dust falling onto the hot bulb of the lamp. That’s the miracle of writing—when the room, your body, and even time itself cooperate in a vanishing act. Gone are the trucks rumbling outside, the sharp edge of the desk beneath my wrists, the unpaid electric bill back in Idaho. It might seem lonesome but it’s not: soon enough characters drift out of the walls, quiet and watchful, some more distinct than others, waiting to see what will happen to them. And writers come, too. Sometimes every fiction writer I’ve ever admired is there, from Flaubert to Melville to Wharton, all the books I’ve loved, all the novels I’ve wished I were talented enough to write.” — Anthony Doerr, Four Seasons in Rome

      Doerr wrote this while helping to raise toddler twins in a vibrant and new place completely unlike the place where he normally wrote—Rome as you may infer from the title. I can relate to this, as a restless pup bounces about behind me, chewing on seemingly everything I once held dear. Puppies are a wonder, and fill the room with joyous energy. That doesn’t make them helpful for concentration and immersion into a place where I might meet the work at hand.

      There is a time and a place for everything. A good part of Doerr’s lovely book is about the experience of being lost in an impossible, chaotic world of new parenthood and a new city. A new puppy may feel both impossible and chaotic, but really it’s simply managing our own time in lieu of the commitments made to that outside of ourselves. I simply give the pup an ice cube to work on and meet my writing somewhere closer to where I was before. Temporary relief, to be sure, but relief nonetheless.

      The thing is, the writing is flowing well, despite any distractions I bring in to my world. So well that I feel compelled to open up the spigot and let it flow more freely. The darkness of late October mornings releases this compulsion. Perhaps it’s an underlying fear of missing out when the skies lighten up, but pre-dawn seems to be magic time for the muse in my mad world.

      There are times when the work seems to flow, as every productive person has experienced in their work, and times when I know the muse has thrown up her hands and abandoned me for more dedicated writers. Until we commit to something fully, we’re just skating the line between attention and distraction. The vanishing act is elusive, wished-for but often not earned. It’s on the other side of comfort and distraction, awaiting only the fully-committed. I’ve learned to say a silent plea to myself each morning: may it be me this day.

    • Break Up the Habitual

      “We need habit to get through a day, to get to work, to feed our children. But habit is dangerous too. The act of seeing can quickly become unconscious and automatic. The eyes see something—gray-brown bark, say, fissured into broad, vertical plates—and the brain spits out tree trunk and the eye moves on. But did I really take the time to see the tree? I glimpse hazel hair, high cheekbones, a field of freckles and I think Shawna. But did I take the time to see my wife?
      ... The easier an experience, or the more entrenched, or the more familiar, the fainter our sensation of it becomes. This is true of chocolate and marriages and hometowns and narrative structures. Complexities wane, miracles become unremarkable, and if we’re not careful, pretty soon we’re gazing out at our lives as if through a burlap sack.
      … I open my journal and stare out at the trunk of the umbrella pine and do my best to fight off the atrophy that comes from seeing things too frequently. I try to shape a few sentences around this tiny corner of Rome; I try to force my eye to slow down. A good journal entry—like a good song, or sketch, or photograph—ought to break up the habitual and lift away the film that forms over the eye, the finger, the tongue, the heart. A good journal entry ought to be a love letter to the world.
      Leave home, leave the country, leave the familiar. Only then can routine experience—buying bread, eating vegetables, even saying hello—become new all over again.”
      — Anthony Doerr, Four Seasons in Rome

      A long quote, but honestly I could plug the entire chapter of this delightful book in here and call it a day. This is a song I know well. We are creatures of habit, and a good habit will save us as much as a bad habit may be our ruin, but this often puts us on autopilot with our senses. There’s a fine line between being fully aware and being overwhelmed. A bit of focus on the task at hand is just as essential as being aware of everything around us. Situation awareness can quite literally save the day for us, but awareness of every situation can make us completely useless.

      Still, so many of us miss the details for the routine. How much of a drive do we ever remember? What of the miracle of commercial flight? Most people simply resign themselves to the screen in front of them for the duration, never glancing out the window at the world of wonder just outside. What of home? Do we ever immerse ourselves in something we once gazed at lovingly, like that picture we once cherished and now barely see? How many marriages end in just such a way?

      We know the Latin phrase: “tempus fugit carpe diem” (time flies so seize the day). Seizing isn’t just an action statement to go out and do bold things, though surely that’s a big part of it. It also means being fully aware of the world around us while we’re living this day. Well before the Romans began creating such memorable phrases, that old Greek sage Seneca had his own take on this, saying “As each day arises, welcome it as the very best day of all, and make it your own possession. We must seize what flees.” Indeed we must.

      Doerr seized his day moving to Rome for a year, grabbing the opportunity of a lifetime just as he and his wife were navigating the challenge of raising newborn twins. That’s quite a one-two punch to anyone’s routine. His call to leave the familiar comes from his own experience in doing just so. But even under such extreme change in his and his wife’s lifestyle, he found routine he had to break through to find full awareness. What of us?

      “Rise free from care before the dawn, and seek adventures.” – Henry David Thoreau

      At a party of the weekend I was introduced to someone as “a blogger” and was asked what I write about. I write about everything, I explained, but didn’t go much deeper out of… habit. We rise to meet our moments or we simply go through them. Writing is a form of heightened awareness of the moment. So is photography, for that matter. I tend to be the unofficial photographer at family events and during travel because I see opportunities either to capture or create the moment. In the end, moments are all we have.

      This blog is a call to arms for myself as much as it is a collection of observations and thoughts. Tempus fugit, sir, so carpe diem. Pay attention to the moment, friend, but do note the days gone by on this journey too. We waste so much of it, don’t we? We must be aware, and be productive with our days while we have them. Make each day new all over again.

    • The Cover of October Skies

      Well, it’s a marvelous night for a moondance
      With the stars up above in your eyes
      A fantabulous night to make romance
      ‘Neath the cover of October skies
      And all the leaves on the trees are falling
      To the sound of the breezes that blow
      You know I’m tryin’ to please to the calling
      Of your heartstrings that play soft and low
      You know the night’s magic seems to whisper and hush
      You know the soft moonlight seems to shine in your blush
      Can I just have one more moondance with you, my love?
      — Van Morrison, Moondance

      It’s no coincidence that we are drawn outdoors in October. In New Hampshire, the foliage is strikingly beautiful on some trees this year, while others have barely begun to turn. Strange what a year of near-constant rain can do to a tree’s inclination to dress up for the party. But the show must go on nonetheless, stragglers will inevitably catch up in their time. For it’s all about the shrinking days now. If leaves are the flowers of autumn, then they’re more like the blossoms of a fruit tree, announcing their time in the sun is over with a brilliant dance in the breeze on their return to the earth. Don’t we owe it to them to bear witness?

      I dwell in such things. I have a photographers eye and a philosopher’s mind, and though perhaps neither may ever be fully realized in production each sneaks out now and again. We each aspire to mastery, don’t we? Mostly I hear the call to bring the beautiful to light. It falls on people like us to keep reminding the world that it’s worth paying attention to the magic now and then in our own shrinking days.

      To reach our potential we must be attentive to every detail, and we must put ourselves in the mix. On a crisp Sunday afternoon I spent time at a four-year-old’s birthday party, gingerly holding her infant second cousin like a football, to celebrate the next generation tasked with realizing a brighter future. I spent time at a quiet graveyard, reminding those who couldn’t quite realize a full life of their own that they aren’t forgotten. That they did enough. The two sides of the spectrum dancing under the cover of the same brilliant October sky. Some leaves shine golden in their time, some have arrived back to earth. We are the witnesses to each, biding our time on a quest for mastery.