Paper Planes And A River Of Stones

// January 3rd, 2012 // 4 Comments » // illustration, Uncategorized, writing ideas

Here we are in the new year and I’m taking a new direction in my Ephemeral Adventurer series of paintings. I’m experimenting with larger paintings on canvas and trying a few designs without the maps.

This one is called ‘Fly With Me’ and it’s the first of the new batch. I’m going to order some wooden boards as well so I can more easily get some maps collaged in there. The canvas I used has beautiful deep sides and I painted them black which looks really great.

I’m still doing the art cards and have started getting a few custom orders through my Etsy store, so I set up a button where you can purchase a custom paper plane, paper crane or paper boat flying over a map featuring the city of your choice.

***

Another way I’m kicking off the New Year is by participating in the ‘River Of Stones’ event over at ‘the Writing Our way Home blog. The challenge, well it’s more of an invitation than a chellenge, is to write a small stone evry day for the month of January.

Fiona and Kaspa run the website and have some wonderful courses and a blog as well as a great community forum. Fiona has been writing small stones for years,  and they were a strong influence on my current writing practice.

What’s a small stone? It’s a beautiful form of writing meditation and people  are posting their examples at Fiona and Kaspa’s blog and forming a collective ‘River Of Stones’. You can check out everyone’s contributions here. Have a look, and you might want to have a go at writing Small Stones while you’re there!

I’ll be writing Small Stones this month and posting some of them on the blog.

Here is my Small Stone for today:

morning chill

the Blue Jay seated on a bare branch

springs away and up

one… two … three … four

back and forward … back and forward

the branch bobs good-bye.

Noticing Mondays: The Ephemeral Adventure

// November 7th, 2011 // 12 Comments » // writing ideas

Noticing Mondays is a new weekly event on this blog where I discuss my mindful writing practice of ‘noticing’ and encourage you to join in …

One of the things I love about writing is when you’re noodling along and all of a sudden a phrase comes to you that manages to clarify your thinking. This happened for me last week when the phrase ‘ephemeral adventurer’ came up while writing about my Art Every Day Month series of paper plane / boat / etc art card paintings.

The term captured the idea I’m playing with, of these fragile vehicles setting out over the vastness of the world. Their inevitable disintegration is never addressed in the paintings, but it’s always implied and is what gives the paintings life (for me anyway).

As I’ve been doing my ‘noticing’ practice, one of the things that has become clear to me is the ephemeral nature of my attention. I’ll get all set up, gather my concentration, and begin writing until eventually the pen will slow down, then trail off, then go still, and I’ll just mentally wander for a while till I come to, chin propped on my hand, a couple of sentences written down in front of me followed by a field of blank paper patiently awaiting my return.

I’ve been thinking of my mind as this ‘ephemeral adventurer’ which, like a paper plane, sets bravely out on its journey, knowing it may not complete the trip.

Almost every time I do ‘noticing’ my attention disintegrates for a little while, or gets blown off course. Which is entirely ok–this is a gentle practice. When I catch myself I just pick up my pen, write the word ‘noticing’ and begin again. Or if I’ve run out of time I can close up my notebook knowing I’ll get another session in later on.

Just setting the intention and starting out on the journey is enough because something good always comes from beginning, there’s no need to return.

Here is an exerpt from a noticing session I did last week:

Noticing the hardness of my chair against my back, the conversations in the cafe,  the black and white checkered floor, how it looks slightly grimy. A woman laughs. The air is cool, though my body feels warm. I’m warmly dressed and comfortable. It’s Autumn, my favourite season. Noticing a broad field of tension in my lower back, there’s a pinching kind of pain. Shifting in my chair, now sitting back leaning into the curved back of the chair. That eased the pain a little. It’s comfortable here among the conversations. I’m focused on the page, but bathed in the movement of voices, the occasional burst of laughter. There is an air of friendliness in here, I feel separate, but not left out at all.

So, if you would like to be an ‘ephemeral adventurer and try out some ‘noticing’ today here is how you can do it:

How You Can Join In:

Everyone is welcome to join in in whatever way you like.

First of all if you haven’t done noticing, you can check out the brief instructions in this post.

Then … You could hang out in the comments section and share your own experiences and ideas.

If you have a blog, you might like to do a little noticing experiment in a post, or write about your experience with noticing, and leave a link! I promise I’d love go and check it out and leave a comment.

Of course, you could check-in and read the posts and never comment, just hang out and play quietly with your own noticing practice. (I’ve always been a shy commenter, and that’s my preferred way of hanging out on a lot of blogs.)

Even though posts are titled ‘Noticing Mondays’ they are there to capture any noticing, or ‘noticing noticings’ that might come up for you (or me!) throughout the week!

You could also post mini noticing sessions, or noticing exerpts on twitter or google+. (Use #noticing hashtag so I can respond!)

Whole Life Creativity: Blue Thing

// July 1st, 2011 // 8 Comments » // creativity

I used to live in the bush just outside of Sydney. Our house backed onto National Park and one day as I headed out for a bush walk I spotted a Bower Bird nest just a few metres away from our back fence.The male bower bird builds a bower and then goes off searching for blue trinkets to attract mating partners.

I remember looking in at the nest and seeing the  weirdest assortment of things: blue clothes pegs, milk bottle tops, pens, plastic strapping–as long as an object was blue, the bower bird would be interested.

 
This common thread tying the bird’s bower decorating aesthetic together was amazing to me. It’s one thing for a bird to make a nest filled with junk, it’s another to fill it with only blue coloured junk. The choice implied an intelligence that I wouldn’t normally assume of a bird.  And that intention lifted what should have been a nest filled with plastic into a mini art exhibit in the middle of the bush.

 
I’m noticing this blog is turning into a bower of its own. I’m compelled to keep gathering, not objects, but processes and creative activities and bringing them here. My interests shift from writing poems, to the Tea House writing sessions, my art work moves from cartooning, to illustration, to painting and then back. Labyrinth walking, yoga, meditation and Shiva Nata all swing by for a while and disappear to be replaced by something else.

 
Once I’ve latched onto something, though, it does get incorporated into the cycle.

 
Labyrinth walking will swing away for a while and be replaced by Shiva Nata, or writing might take a second seat as I get the urge to paint more. The thing is, they have all been given a place in the bower. The bower being my creative practice.

 
It might seem random to someone walking by, but for me, like the bower bird, there is an underlying order to all of this. Each of the activities that I take on and decide to keep are ones that help me to relate more deeply with the world, and also give me some way to express that relationship.

 
My blue objects are the things that help me respond more fully to the world.

 
The first (and only) time I saw a painting of mine hanging in an art gallery I felt the thrill of accomplishment. I had the same thrill when I first saw my writing  published in a magazine. But after blogging for a while, and being able to publish my own art and writing, I’ve noticed that sort of thrill isn’t the primary thing I’m after.

What I’m really interested in is building a kind of creativity that infuses my whole life.

 
I’m starting to think in terms of practising a whole life creativity, rather than trying to become a particular sort of artist.
A whole life creativity is more about being conscious and present in the world, and less about impressing people. A whole life creativity is less about becoming a master at one thing, and more about including the whole of my life and responding as creatively as I can.

 
I still play with all the artsy things like writing and painting, labyrinths and Shiva Nata, but the organizing idea, my blue object, is that the focus of these activities is based on my relationship to life. A whole life creativity might involve art and writing , but also folds in family and work, ordinary daily actions and reflection.

 
I think that organizing principle has always been there, but this idea has been slowly coming into conscious focus over the last six months or so as I noticed the shifting nature of my interests and how random it all seemed, but how it also made perfect sense to me, too.

 
I’ve signed up for the Ultimate Blog Challenge for the month of July, that involves committing to posting 31 posts in 31 days. I thought I might make a lot of those posts an exploration of whole life creativity and what that means to me.

 
I’d love to know what you think of the idea of a whole life creativity and if you have your own ‘Blue Thing’ .

On The Cusp Of Creating

// May 3rd, 2011 // 3 Comments » // creativity, curiosity

I don’t know what’s coming next.

Sometimes it seems like the fire’s extinguished, the Muse snuffed out all the lights as she left, everyone’s gone to sleep, and the streets have stilled.

It’s just me and a full, insolent moon staring down:

Moon: ”What?”

The thing about creativity is you never know.

Maybe this is a trance I’ve fallen into, maybe it’s a trance I’ve fallen out of, either way: this could be it.

Maybe yesterday was the last day, and nothing will ever be created again.

But also, maybe I’m on the cusp of creating the best thing I’ll ever create.

Who knows? I don’t know.  The only way to find out for sure is to pick up a pen, to pick up a brush.

If I’ve dug myself into a hole and don’t have the materials to build a ladder then I’ve learned that it’s good for me to pick up my shovel and think “tunnel” or “pole vault” or “whatever” and do something about it.

Because as someone who gets stuck, a lot, I know that just thinking isn’t going to get me out of that hole. Once I get to the point that I’ve realized I’m in a hole, I can guarantee there’s already been a lot of not-so-great thinking going on.

When I shift into taking action, not only do things start to happen, but my thinking loses the stale quality it had and starts to take on a different air.

Small actions enliven my mind like oxygen bubbling through a stagnant pool of water.

The actions can involve doing something directly related to my art, or something seemingly unrelated like walking a labyrinth, or Shiva Nata, even just going outside and pulling a few weeds. Anything helps.

And when acting, I start making associations and things start to get clearer, brighter.

This feels good, too. It reminds me of why I like to create things in the first place: that quickening of the mind and body that tells me something is coming, that tells me something fresh and new is on its way.

This information comes through as both thoughts and sensations. It’s an embodied sense, it’s not just an idea or a state of being–it’s both those things, it’s everything–and when it’s happening I feel really alive to it, and to me. I feel like I’m really here.

I remember when I was a kid and my parents would drive us to the beach, approaching the coast there would always be these hills and dunes before we arrived, and I’d be stretching and straining to get the briefest of glimpses out the window: a flash of blue, swells moving in, a wave crashing over rocks.

It was a whole-body thing. I’d be tense and alert, my eyes would be scanning like mad. My mind was taking everything in and forming mental pictures of the surf–the size, if it was choppy or not, how crowded it was.

Once we got out of the car and started racing down to the water, the excitement was still there but that initial tension had been released.

That’s what it feels like when I’m in the act of creating, when the idea has appeared and things are happening.

There’s still an alertness and joy in everything that’s going on, but the initial burst of adrenaline always comes from those last few minutes of moving from total stuck-ness, to the glimpse of an idea, the picture being assembled in my head, and knowing this was going to happen.

I also remember that I used to, kind of, hate those last few minutes in the car.

As exciting as it was it was also hugely frustrating. I’m an immersive person. If I see an ocean I want to be in it. Forest, in. I’m claustrophobic and terrified of caves, but if I see one I want to go in. I like to be in the middle of things.

I like especially to be in the middle of creating things, right in that sweet spot where everything is flowing along nicely, thank you very much, and great things are emerging.

So not knowing what’s coming next, feeling creatively frozen, when the fires seem out–that’s the point just before everything gets great again. I know that, and also, I’m really good at forgetting that, at allowing myself to get immersed in that feeling too.

The other thing that’s easy to forget is the remedy: that when the idea of ever creating again seems insurmountable, like some great mountain looming over me, all it takes to shift things is to pick something up.

It can be an object so small it fits in the palm of my hand–a pen, a brush– and that small tool, put into action, can wipe away entire mountains, shadow and all.

Lessons On Play From The Bubble Dog

// March 6th, 2011 // 6 Comments » // creative parent, creativity

Red Thread of Creativity

// February 25th, 2011 // 7 Comments » // creativity

*****

There’s an old story about a Buddhist Monk going to his teacher and asking:

‘In whom does Buddha cause passion’

The teacher replies:

‘The Buddha causes passion in everyone’

Monk:

‘Then how do we get rid of it?’

Teacher:

‘Why should we get rid of it?’

*****

Sometimes Buddhism is presented as a bloodless, and fatalistic religion, one where all passion is seen as something to be extinguished. That’s not really the case at all, but the assumption is pretty sticky.

But it’s not just in Buddhism that passion might be seen as something to be extingushed, that idea is everywhere.

I’ve see it in everyday conversations, places I’ve worked, hospitals, writing groups, on-line forums, and even art classes I’ve attended.

In many areas, our culture shrinks from passionate and subjective thinking and leans towards passionless, objective thinking. Unless it’s in the form of an advertisement trying to invoke the precise flutter of passion required to purchase an over-priced sports car/ handbag / telecommunications device.

The dominant message is that viewing the world objectively trumps viewing the world subjectively almost every time.

I’ve never been sure why; we live inside the world, not beside it, taking notes on a clipboard (or overpriced telecommunications device).

The idea of being passionate about the people you love, or an activity that is seen as sufficiently practical is deemed okay. But get passionate about something that doesn’t involve financial money markets or making machines, and you’ll get plenty of messages about how it’s not practical to view that passion as a career path, or a serious pursuit.

Apparently, the things you’re passionate about are best done in the basement, alone, late at night. Please don’t offend the serious people.

All that is fine, I have the choice to ignore it, right?

Well, not really. Because whenever I go to write, or talk, or paint about things I’m passionate about, the same arguments come up from inside my head.

“They really don’t want to hear/read/see this”

“That’s not practical.”

“What a waste of their time and yours”

“Grow up”

I’ve done quite the job of integrating all those messages.

I’m sure the messages spring out of the good intent to keep us safe from being overwhelmed by our desires, but when they result in us being overwhelmed by abstract obligations to people we don’t know, then things are a little out of balance.

And isn’t balance the thing? A balance between our passions and our obligations, balance between subjective and objective, between wisdom from outside, and wisdom from within?

Going back to Buddhism for just a second, they have a concept called the ‘Red Thread’.

The Red Thread is a metaphor for the core passion that we bring to our lives, it represents a love of the things that we care most deeply about, and that help to drive our lives.

The string of fire that courses through us, enlivening everything it touches.

Why should we get rid of that?

I’ve been participating in Leah’s Creative Every Day challenge for a while now, but haven’t done much on this month’s theme: Passions. I often feel hesitant talking about some of the creative things I’m passionate about, because it generally amounts to a list of things that not many other people care about.

Having a blog devoted entirely to the subject of creativity is really helping with that, but still, the insecurity lingers.

This is the attitude I’m trying to foster about that: “So what. They’re the things I’m into, I can find a way to work these into my working life. Maybe I can do that in a way that gets some other people to care about them, too”

One way to strengthen that attitude is by naming these passions.

So, here is my Red Thread of Creativity list:

Labyrinths

Poetry

Yoga / Meditation

Shiva Nata

Parenting

Blogging

Reading / Writing

Surfing

Cartooning

Painting

Improv Theatre

They’re all things I’ve put lots of time into. They’re all things I’d love to be doing, or reading about, or writing about. I’m doing some of these things now, some obsessively, some things on the list are in hibernation, but I know I’ll get back to them. Some activities might not even strike others as being creative at all (surfing?) but I feel the link, subjectively, if not objectively.

What kind of things make it onto your ‘Red Thread of Creativity’ list? I’d love to hear!

*****