Spring

Spring is hope. Buds swell and ache to bloom. Tan becomes green. Birds gossip. There is a busyness in nature we all appreciate. It makes us feel good. Spring is exciting. People make plans in spring. The heavens open and new life presents itself.

In the spring, ideas for creating explode in my imagination like popping corn. At first, I try to write it all down so I won't forget. A futile effort I soon realize. Years of incomplete lists are tucked away in filing cabinets, many cover pages in sketch books, some float around the studio on scrap paper like dandelions in the wind, others are written and fading on table tops or hidden by dribbles of paint, many are lost. Caging ideas in a list quickly makes them stale. Popcorn is best eaten warm.

The Responsibility of an Artist

One would tend to think the simple act of creating is the sole responsibility of the artist. To my thinking, this isn't so. An aware artist knows the finest art is created when the artist is not the source of the art. In fact, the finest art is created when the artist is merely a conduit for the intelligence in the nothingness. The intelligence in the nothingness, being the energy source of all creation. Imagine an extension cord. One end plugging into the source of energy, the other delivering the energy. Think of the extension cord, as an umbilical cord. The umbilical cord has no ego, it is not a person. The umbilical cord is the transfer system of energy from the source to the destination, the evidence of creation. In my mind, the sole responsibility of an artist is to trust the source and deliver the creative energy unsoiled by ego. Isn't this the responsibility of everyone?

Snow Angel

Deborah: winter 2006

I AM

A creative genius is the best way to illustrate the man Doug Aarne. I was blessed to play a small role in his first film, I AM. Doug recently informed me the film was On The Lot. I didn't know what On The Lot was. He sent me a link. On The Lot: I AM This little 13 minute film is a jewel. Treat yourself to a mental and emotional vacation and see for yourself. If you feel inspired, leave a comment supporting Doug.

Added 28 February 2007: Doug here is the poem you requested. This was part of a talk I gave at The Longyear Museum of Anthropology in association with my exhibition, Culture in Decay.

Art is not a mirror
Art is a hatchet
I am an artist
therefore
I am a savage
My color is the distillation of pure emotion
None burns more brightly than the fiery glow of the embers in my heart
Screaming hues of art, artifact and artifice
I am Big Chief
I am Tonto
I am the drunk on the bench
I am the Shaman
Choking on Indian head nickels,
I mutter the Ghost Dance under my breath
I scream my dreams in Technicolor
I am an artist
therefore
I am a savage

2007

Peace and Blessings for all in 2007 and beyond...

Heaven

When I was a little kid, I was sitting in Sunday school listening to a woman wearing sensible shoes talk about heaven. I sat quietly like a good boy should. Something about this heaven didn't seem quite right. I sat quietly for a while before I just had to ask a question, "Will we know each other in heaven?" No, I was told. It was explained to me we would no longer have our earthly bodies and we would not need or have friends or family in heaven. Whoa! Red flag! I always liked the idea of heaven. Now I was feeling a little scared. The idea of spending forever all by myself didn't sound so good. The Sunday school teacher continued, but I no longer heard or saw anything around me. The room disappeared as my inner turmoil wretched my empty tummy. I abruptly interrupted whatever she had been saying with a burning question. "Will there be animals in heaven?" The answer was my worst fear, No. Sensible Shoes explained to me and the rest of the class, animals didn't have souls and therefore would not go to heaven. Animals just die, she said. Okay, that's it! I resolved right then and there I wasn't going to any heaven that didn't allow animals and said so. I could deal with no friends and no family, but no animals? Nope, not going. I grew up surrounded by animals and had looked deep into their eyes on a daily basis. I knew at seven years old, animals had just as much God in them as people do, probably more! Now Sensible Shoes was asking questions. "Just where then do you think you will go when you die?" She thought she had me. There was no way she could have known how much I enjoyed setting things on fire. (See "Playing With Matches" in archives.) I held together all the resolve a little boy could have with the odds so stacked against him. I was trying to look kind. I didn't want to get into trouble for what I was about to say. I knew my parents were just down the hall. I announced, "When I die, I want to go where the animals the animals go." Thank heaven the bell rang and I was able to escape into the hall.

A Big Idea

An idea is a fragile thing. Like an egg, it requires fertilization to come into fruition. If the idea isn't conceived, it pops out as suddenly as it popped into the consciousness. The seed is our intention. Where did the idea come from? The place all things came from, the source. What is the source? Different cultures around the world have different names for the source of all things. By any name, the source is a big idea.

Bullet Holes

Bumper stickers are a declaration of a persons thoughts, beliefs or need to advertise or persuade. A person goes to a store, finds just the right message with adhesive backing they wish to share with the world, and places it on the back of their automobile somewhere. The more passionate one is about the message, the more stickers. Some people go to the trouble and expense of creating their own bumper sticker. The desire to communicate with a stranger is fulfilled somehow with a bumper sticker. Most of the time the sticker is placed with great care and thought. Sometimes you will see one or several which seemed to be applied with the precision of a sling shot. -- Not long ago I was sitting at a stop light, waiting for green. The expensive, well cared for pickup in front of me had what looked to be bullet holes in the tailgate. Closer inspection told me these were stickers, made to give the illusion the vehicle had been pierced by bullets. I wondered what kind of person would want to fool people into thinking they had been the target of hate. The light changed and the pickup moved forward exposing the disabled veteran license plate.