The Green Wave

February 24, 2008

Quick Art

Filed under: Music, Pleasures, Poetry, Spirit — kate @ 11:45 am

In a hurry? Crushed under a 90-item to-do list? In the spirit of doing art first (see “The New Gig” ~ 6 January), I offer these suggestions for lightning-fast art.

1. Do a zentangle. Essentially, this is an evolved form of doodling, centered around the idea that anything is possible ” one stroke at a time.” And true enough that is. My true love, my friends, and I have all been making zentangles and feeling the calm, the satisfaction, and even the gentle surprise which comes with creating an intricate and beautiful little work of art in just fifteen or twenty minutes.

2. Write a ten-minute poem. My dear friend Cheryl and I have been doing this for years on the theory that we always have ten minutes to devote to poetry. And sure enough, we do. These days, I’m also doing this with the poet friends I’ve met at Artella, a website devoted to creativity in every form. A group of us have been writing and posting poems every week.

3. Make a ten-minute picture. Gather your crayons, watercolors, colored pencils and your favorite paper. Set the timer for ten minutes. Go! Don’t think too much, critique, or edit. Just make something.

4. Rewrite a verse of a catchy song with your own lyrics. This is fun to do as you drive or while you’re waiting in line somewhere.

5. Write a haiku. Remember the essential rules: line 1 = 5 syllables, line 2 = 7 syllables, line 3 = 5 syllables. Haiku masters like to include a “turn” or surprise in that third line, and they also sometimes include a nod to the season. But to my mind, the main thing is to make something pithy, pungent – and brief. A little stinger of a poem.

6. Go on a one-mile poem walk. Or a song walk. Or a painting walk. Or a dissertation walk. Or any kind of walk that serves your current project or whim. The idea is to get moving and get outside for fifteen or twenty minutes. It’s fun to weave between observing the world and letting ideas simmer. Sometimes I find the two braid together and I come home inspired. And if not, I’ve had a lovely walk and feel refreshed.

7. Compose a one-verse song. When I do this, I don’t worry about immortality. I think more about flow and fun. It’s about now. This usually takes me ten to twenty minutes and most times I don’t even write the words down. I just polish up this one little song, send it out to the world, and then return to the day with an extra spark.

8. Write a note to someone you love. Consider including a tiny sketch or decoration, or use different colors for different letters.

9. Make an artful lunch. Or supper, breakfast, or tea. Just let yourself attend to the aesthetic qualities of everything you include – tastes and textures, colors, shapes, and even the names of things. Please your tastes without compromise but without fuss, either. Use what you have but make it wonderful.

10. Write a ten-minute journal-entry – but not with a pen. Use the side of reddish rock, a paintbrush dipped in honey, a Japanese calligraphy brush, a glue-pen. Or, write with your best Venetian glass pen or fountain-pen, but write with your non-dominant hand. See if this changes anything.

These are just a few ideas, but you can imagine many more, I’m sure. If you do, send ‘em along and help foster the notion that art lives happily alongside everyday life, enlivening, refreshing, and giving meaning to everything else we do.

February 17, 2008

A Friend’s Eye

Filed under: Music, People — kate @ 2:45 pm

makes a grand mirror, as the Irish proverb tells us (Is scathán maith súil charad). True for you, girl! I’m thinking of that today on the heels of a conversation with a dear friend who wishes to make more of her living teaching music. She is a marvelous musician, a natural teacher, and a creative dynamo who is skilled and accomplished in several arts. But the hardest thing for her at this stage was writing that confounded little blurb necessary for posters and promotional materials.

For me, her friend, it was a cinch to “see” her and mirror all of her remarkable qualities back to her. I just thought about what makes her special, unique, irreplaceable, and I thought, too, about what a student would learn from her: a kind of creative energy, how to flow between ideas and projects, a delicious sense of exploration and freedom, and even a spiritual connection to the arts. Students will be lucky to find her! And so within a few seconds I did what any friend could do and gave her a clear, inviting, and true picture of herself to use on her fliers. Great fun!

It’s dastardly hard to do this for yourself; at least I think so. What gets in the way? Our natural reticence, of course, and our humility. But also a sense of what we think other people want to find in one of these blurbs. So we guess that we should list a whole lot of credentials, or we inflate a publishing history, or we intimate we’re keen to do scholarly research, or that we’re schooled in oil painting when we most like working with crayons! The real trouble with this, though, is that if we follow someone else’s model, we lose what is most interesting about ourselves as we really are. And that can mean that we attract the wrong sort of attention and don’t attract the kind we most want.

But the eyes of love and friendship are not clouded by all this extra stuff, fear, calculation, and the desire to fit a mold. Our friends see us and love us as we are right now, and they see the possibilities in our lives sometimes in a way that we could never see ourselves. A few days ago, another dear friend shared some wonderful ideas for workshops I could teach. It was so exciting to hear her excitement about the possibilities in my life: how profoundly generous and how invigorating! And seeing myself through her eyes, I could share that sense of possibility and felt eager to get cracking.

For whom do you act as a mirror? And who serves as a mirror for you? It feels wonderful to play either role, but even more so to play both roles. And for those of you reading this who have been my “good mirrors,” here’s all my thanks and love.

February 8, 2008

Letters from Hell

Filed under: Music, Poetry, Spirit — kate @ 11:41 pm

OK: please let it be known that if we define Hell as a place of eternal torment and damnation, I am not in favor of it. However, as you will see from the poem below, Hell with its blazing fires and shadowy pits can seem a little intriguing to me, a locus of mystery and elemental power. So can Heaven, for that matter – but minus the temptations. The difference, of course, is that we’re not supposed to deny ourselves the celestial pleasures in life. On the other hand, only demons enjoy infernal pleasures without remorse or censure. And anything we’re not supposed to enjoy can exert a magnetic attraction.

  • Hell is the body. Heaven is the mind.
  • Hell is chaos. Heaven is order.
  • Hell is forbidden music. Heaven is choirs of saints.
  • Hell is something you’re not supposed to like or do. Heaven is consensus pleasure.

Perhaps I am not being fair to Heaven, but Milton did say, after all, “the devil has the best music.” And who can resist that? And besides, Heaven and Hell reside in every one of us, and both are necessary to life. But sometimes, when one is caught up in the whirlwind of creating poems, novels, paintings, or songs, or even discovering new rooms in the vast mansion of one’s life, it is possible to be consumed. This is a solitary, inward-turning time. And Heaven does not always approve of the solitary and inward-turning activity, preferring the group picnic instead. I wrote the poem below thinking of that kind of solitary, delicious, (almost) forbidden focus – especially anything that keeps you chained to your desk, listening to those “infernal” voices half the night.

Letters from Hell
You read them with smoking fingers
and a glass of water at your elbow
to prevent blisters and stink.
Everyone in the house dreams
of meadows and ice-cream
while you sit as though chained to your desk,
reading by hell-light far
into the questionable part of the night.

In the morning you stuff them in the freezer
wrapped in an old towel,
hoping no one wants a frozen waffle
or a tube of orange juice.
Hunger doesn’t interest you now,
nor the dishes in the sink.
Children blowing through the doors
escape your notice at last.

Tonight you will clean up the puddle
of defrosted t.v. dinners and take the letters,
still blazing, from the freezer.
You’ll muffle their brilliance with the ruined towel
and creep past the sleepers
to your study, ducking low
beneath the smoke-alarm.
Dawn will find you still reading,
infernal script branded on each fingertip,
your eyes red as dragon eggs
and your blood simmering,
never more alive.

Kate
5 February 2008

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