same place - different day ...
sunday morning, and an entirely different set of circumstances - a cloudless, azurite-grey sky - yellow-gold, dawn sunlight playing high-contrast shadows across a near perfect blanket of freshly fallen snow - except for the trails left by high-volume nocturnal traffic close to the forest edge - which could have something to do with the carrots, corn, celery, and potatoes i left yesterday ...
and the branches of the trees, with the absence of any breeze make the forest look like a photograph - having been out already, even the westerlies don't seem to prevail - it must be God's day off - or maybe He's gone to the super bowl - or trying to get far enough away from it to avoid working overtime ... i stopped trying to guess what's in the mind of God a long time ago - but we do jest and test ...
yesterday's archetypal weather panic is gone as well - obviously a day to savor the beauty - so i'll start with a triple espresso, a Marlboro, and the Sunday NY Times - paint can wait for a little while ...
the coffee kicked in hours ago and i've been going about the business of art with due-diligence most of the day - with a few minor distractions - a pleasant one being a visit from long-time friend and fellow band mate [Absentee Ensemble]; the writer - Rick Dee ...
on many levels, we 'get' each other - he loves NYC - has a condo on the upper west side for most of his adult life - but his creative side always finds its way back to the countryside of PA where there's less distraction and the kind of beauty that feeds his soul - he too, is a minor casualty of Bush economics, corporate down-sizing, and middle-age disposability - too young for rank and file tenure, and too old to be coerced into pouring blood for low wages - and though he still has his condo, he's been edged into subletting; living in PA, and commuting to Jersey for gainful employment while periodically escaping to 'the city' for his urban fix - but it all seems to roll off him with a stoic acceptance comparable to that of a Benedictine Monk, or at least an artist hell-bent on avoiding diversions ...
i sometimes get the point of things the wrong way around - like when friends say they've appreciated the regularity of my journaling, or they didn't know i was 'that involved' with photography, or that i can write more coherently than i sometimes speak - to which i respond, "i've always done that" - and i have, with growing boxes of journals, sketches, and photographs that have followed me for decades - then i have to wonder 'what the hell took them so long to get it' - until i recognize what's different ...
the right tool for the right job at the right time - something my father used to try to instill in me - but it's true; over the year i got a new MacBook, a digital slr camera, a compact movie camera, and actually took the time to learn them - which must be getting easier, because the encyclopedic manuals are getting smaller - but that's it - i'm plugged into the 21st century, and i like it ...
but there's some things i can't or don't want to change [and they may find their way here] - like writing long-hand with a pen on paper - with sketches - the smell of paper, and the sound of the pen chicken-scratching through ideas, and all the thoughts conjured while doing it; like the memories of my grandmother and mother encouraging me to practice penmanship at the kitchen table to avoid getting smacked on the knuckles with a ruler by the Nuns, while they cooked dinner on a Sunday afternoon and had animated Lithuanian discussions - or trying to get the sound of the pen to mimic their phonetics while maintaining legibility - or recalling my first art teacher's [and my] satisfaction when the connect was made between what i saw and the way my pen moved to prove it - so far, the pen remains much mightier than any device Steve Jobs has come up with - but i am learning the tools of today's trade ...
so much used to be done for approval - from family, to friends and peers, clients, etc. - but as my discussion with Rick went today - we do what we do because we have to - for the love of it - and like i said to him - whether it sells or not, i'm like the fireman sitting on the chair outside the volunteer fire station - i show up every day because you never know ...
literacy in america concerns me, but i'm sure those fears will fade if i tune in to the 'big' game tonight ...
