Tag Archives: painting

The Inability to Sit Still

A dear friend of mine, an amazingly talented painter, posted these words the other day.

“Unless it comes out of your soul like  a rocket.

Unless sitting still would drive you to madness, or suicide, or murder, don’t do it.

Unless the sun inside you is burning your gut, don’t do it.

When it is truly time and if you are chosen,

Then it will do it by itself and it will keep doing it until you die or it dies within you.

There is no other way,

and there never has been.”   Charles Bukowski

 

I’ve thought about sitting still.  I’ve thought often about throwing away the idea of writing completely. It’s not something I do in my spare time, I’ve quit a full time job with benefits in order to work part time, giving me the energy and opportunity to write.  But there are days when I realize that the ‘writing clock’ is almost as slow as the geological clock of the earth and I am certain I don’t have the patience to see it through.  Yet when I really think about it, when I really weigh the consequences of walking away, I always come back to the same thought:  I would explode with all the unwritten ideas, I would forever wonder how many lives I could have affected – even in the smallest of ways.   “Sitting still” would indeed drive me to “madness, or suicide, or murder.”

I am thankful for the inability to sit still however. Such energy lets me know that I am in the right place, doing the right thing.  If I were comfortable enough to sit still, if I possessed the wherewithal to take it out of me and set it aside, then maybe its not for me after all.  Maybe I don’t have the passion it takes to make it work.   If that’s the case then I am better off finding a thing that does invoke my passion, writing is difficult enough without it.

I know I can’t ever sit still though, and I know there are many of you out there who can’t either and whose gut burns with a bright sun. May we encourage each other to wait until it is ‘truly time’.

Here’s to a great week kids, and the inability to ‘sit still’.

Yours,  Frankie

 

 

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Okay

I cannot sit in a cubicle

Is that Okay?

Four walls confine my body

Four walls constrict my creativity


I don’t fit into the corporate world

Is that Okay?

Competition instead of cooperation

Competition for only money


I don’t buy into the vanity

Is that Okay?

Fake nails and hair

Fake pleasantries and friendships


I am different than most

Is that Okay?

My work is of the soul

My work is to capture what cannot be seen


I’m unable to work a 9 to 5

Is that Okay?

Nature sets my schedule

Nature alone defines my days


I am an artist

Is that Okay?

favedahliaAnd if I don’t fit in

It is because

Freedom is required

In order to create

And that is

Most certainly

Okay.


Thank You, And Keep Your Head in The Clouds

The Apology

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)

groveandglen

Think me not unkind and rude

That I walk alone in grove and glen;

I go to the god of the wood

To fetch his word to men.

Tax not my sloth that I

Fold my arms beside the brook;

Each cloud that floated in the sky

Writes a letter in my book.

Chide me not, laborious band,

For the idle flowers I brought;

Every aster in my hand,

Goes home loaded with a thought.


There was never mystery

Bu’t is figured in the flowers;

Was never secret history

But birds tell it in the bowers.


One harvest from thy field

Homeward brought the oxen strong;

A second crop thine acres yield

Which I gather in a song.


Emerson understands that a creator, an artist, is necessarily bound to walk with nature and daydream.   We simply cannot function without the secrets we find tucked away and disguised.  They are our inspiration.   We don’t work the same way that others work, but please don’t hold that against us.  We are each twice blessed with a physical harvest from your work and the soulful harvest from our work!

Kahlil Gibran put his own twist on the idea a few decades later while discussing Buying and Selling in “The Prophet.”

And suffer not the barren-handed to take part in your transactions, who would sell their words for your labour.

To such men you should say,

“Come with us to the field, or go with our brothers to the sea and cast your net;

For the land and the sea shall be bountiful to you even as to us.”

And if there come the singers and the dancers and the flute players, – buy their gifts also.

For they too are gatherers of fruit and frankincense, and that which they bring, though fashioned of dreams, is raiment and food for your soul.

We artists are as much worker as any who would toil with their body instead.   Ours is a soulful work, full of investment and bleeding and daydreaming in order that we can share a second harvest – one of imagination, thoughtfulness, and beauty. In our world today, it feels as though we sometimes have to fight to carve out the ability to dream, but that’s okay.   This place is better off for all our efforts, I am certain of it.

Oh! And Thanks!  I’ve just reached one hundred followers.

Heads in the clouds kids…

Frankie

*photo is my own, taken recently in one of my favorite local hiking areas.


The Importance of Being Inspired

I attended an open mike session last week, a local event where writers and wanderers meet to share their works.  I hadn’t been to one in a over a year and as I sat and listened to a variety of people share their writs, I realized that I had been shorting myself.   Hearing the voices of others and watching their passion burn for the phrases they carefully constructed inspired me and challenged me.  Here is a perspective on love from a young just – twenty- ish man, there is a young woman wrestling with the conflict of how society tells her to act and dress, and what she knows to be true about herself.  An older man muses over a day in the life of a golf ball, a Mrs. Dalloway kind of narration.  The phrase ‘electrostatic syncopation’ is tossed out in the course of a monologue like a bean bag, it was a gem to me. A small opal that popped among the rocks, I wanted to pick it up and bring it home (apparently I did). I left the night refreshed and full of creative energy.  I thought about one of my mantras:  Creativity begets Creativity.  I became acutely aware of the Importance of Being Inspired.

bohemianartloft...

The Bohemian Art Loft

Redding, CA

Inspiration feeds the artist’s soul and without it we will starve.   We give out a lot you know.  Mr. E. Hemingway put it best when he described his take on being a writer, “There is nothing to writing.  All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” Any artist can relate, we could well replace the verb ‘writing’ with ‘painting’ ‘sculpting’ ‘composing’ ‘playing’ ‘dancing’ ‘acting’ ad infin. We invest immense amounts of energy in our work and that energy must be replenished from somewhere and on a regular basis.  I made a promise to myself to attend more open mike nights as a means of replenishing my creative wells and keeping my writer’s mind inspired.

Because the Importance of Being Inspired has been foremost in my thoughts this past week, I noticed how often I tend to subconsciously replenish my soul with other creative forces.   Music of course.  Always there is music.  My morning shower and workout tracks are chosen for their ability to immediately quench my thirst for energy, get my neurons firing, and set off ideas to bounce around in my head the rest of the day.  A treasured painter friend will sometimes let us in on what he’s listening to as he delves out himself with each stroke of the brush or scrape of the pencil.

Nature constantly provides Inspiration for the artist’s soul.   Monet fixated on light as his inspiration and painted the same church from the same angle at different times of the day, recording its varying hues and tones, its changing mirage and shadows.  The result is a symphony of paintings that have gone on to do some hefty Inspiring themselves.   How many poems have the stars inspired?   How many similes have we managed to come up with for the movement of clouds across the sky?   Nature is infinite in its beauty, its nuances can be fleeting, a small shadow can make all the difference – we artists agonize over a way to capture them.  What right combinations of words can describe the way a river is lit by the sun?  What color mixture will I need to ensnare the way the sky looks after a summer storm?

monet's churches

Words inspire.  Great speeches have changed the course of history.   Beautiful novels remind us that resolution is always possible.   Poems etch out a new facet to an object or an idea.  Words challenge us to consider a thing.  They challenge us to make a decision.   They challenge our prejudices and our secrets – and whether we agree or not – we are stronger for the challenge.

The strength of an artist, I’ve come to learn, is in his ability to understand the Importance of Being Inspired.   We can not create something from nothing after all. Bleeding and starving, insomniatic and obsessed, agonized and tortured – we must nourish ourselves with the work of others and the work of nature – or we starve.  And the songs start to sound the same, the books end up with the same plot line, or the paintings become the same fruit bowls.

Here’s to Inspiration kids…may we seek it, may it find us, may we be more aware of it.  Who knows what creative wells we might discover?  Who knows what great works might be produced?  Who knows who we might Inspire ourselves?

Peace, Frankie