Thought for The Day - Prep Work

"As it is heaven, so it is on earth..."

Each morning, an alarm goes off on an old digital watch, kept on my desk. It goes off at 4:57 each day. At this point, it signals that it's time to wrap up my prep work, work on the blog and mentally prepare to hit the gym. When I set the alarm, years ago, it was to get up early enough for devotional time, exercise a bit at home and prepare for work. I haven't silenced the alarm in years, when I lay in the bed, my wife complaining that I should turn it off since I wasn't getting up. She doesn't know it goes off now because it's in my space and I'm up long before it goes off.

I've noticed that in my work, there are many keys from reality. Certainly, abstract work tends to trigger emotions, thoughts, providing us glimpses of our unconscious and what facts wind their way through our mind. So rendering in this way, I find cues from my past, present and the hoped for future. Patterns, shapes, colors and impressions occur with each stroke and sometimes, I'm certain I can see what lies off in a far away place...

Thought for The Day - Dreams

Come to you while you're sleeping
Away from the noise of the day
When no one else can be heard or lend their input
They surround you
Become your world
Taking you from the known
To the unknown
I\n this place there is no sensible or reasonable
Only what is possible...

Thought for The Day - Beneath the Surface

Externally, smiling
Within, something else
On the surface, quiet and shy
Beneath the surface, 100,000 ideas are flying about
On the surface, a somber yellow
Beneath, a kaleidoscope of colors and patterns...

For each of us, what is unseen is far more than what is seen. The eyes, to the observant, give away a hint at what's behind them, but we remain a mystery to  one another.

Thought for The Day - Awakening

It began quite a few years ago, probably earlier than I'm aware, but I will use this dream as a "mile-marker." I was 18 years old or so, attending school at Columbia College in Chicago. I had a writing class at the time and each week, we were to turn in a writing assignment. But also, we were expected to "tell a story" from the perspective of the world around us. It was a very rewarding class, where we were challenged to drop the precepts of "telling a story," using terms like "once upon a time," or "I see." In one of my stories, I recalled this dream.

In the dream, I am flying high! I'm up in the air, among the clouds, breathing "rare air" and reveling in my ability. But suddenly, I'm in my old neighborhood, on the west-side of Chicago. I find myself in the alley behind the apartment building owned by aunt and uncle, flying through the alley. My cousins, always playing softball in the alley, are there and when they see me, they take off after me, trying to catch me as I continue to fly, but getting lower and lower to the ground. As I fly the length of the long alley, I'm arching my back, trying to get back to the sky "where I belong." But my efforts are near wasted as I continue to get closer to the ground. At the garage where the owner sold "snow-cones," I wake.

That dream comes back to mind every now and then. I wonder about the connection of family versus my desire to reach higher. I know I've never been settled or okay with life as it is; I've always yearned for more. And it has always been clear that "value" and "wealth" aren't necessarily the same. While I've yearned for more, the value has always seemed more like a feeling than a dollar figure in the bank or a certain size home. Certainly, in my longings, I have wanted to be in a "certain place," or live a "rich life." And that has always felt like "more." But I can tell you, while I have achieved some things, each achievement eventually leads to the question: "what else?"

A quote from one of my favorite songs, "Open Mind" (Robert Glasper Experiment - Double Booked), sums it up: "Is it not possible for the dreamer to be awaken from what we call our normal life? Transcendent, as the dreamer wakes from his sleep."

Thought for The Day - Pieces

It occurs to me that many creative people communicate fragments of "The Dream." The dream isn't mine, neither does it belong to you; we swim in it, breathe it in, fight over it and in desperation, try to escape it. It is everywhere and everything is it, but we can't perceive it because of the "proximity;" "can't see the forest for the trees."

In a day's passing, countless thoughts, impulses and emotions wash through our conscious and unconscious. Decision as insignificant as whether to turn our head or the appropriate word to use in this sentence, pass from life to some other place. And yet there are the dreamers, or creative people who capture them and freeze it as a reference for us to snag our thoughts. Often, the snippets aren't immediately perceivable; we are after all, a bread and butter, meat and potatoes kind of world. We like our cars with four wheels and four doors; don't expect me to be okay with a car that never moves. Never mind I never go anywhere in the four wheel car. And never mind I'm too stubborn to move out of my own mental prison!

It occurs to me that some of us -- probably more if people would acknowledge there ability to create -- are compelled to create. Sure, we see the smooth, fluidity of daily traffic, and we have plenty of "good food" to eat, but our soul is so restless, it vibrates against our consciousness and forces out these snippets of messages. To sit quietly with all this 'stuff' in us; it would kill us! And we all want to live!

You feel me?

Thought for The Day - Subterranean

The Phoenix 18 x 24 pastels

Years ago on one of our many trips to the South to visit my parents' relatives, we stayed with one of my father's aunts, living in Mississippi. The land was my father's family land, a sprawling bit of acreage used for farming and growing trees. The narrow road going up to the place will probably remain rough and grown over until one of 'us' decides to make something of the place.

My aunt "Callie" - not sure if that's her real name - lived in a two room home a distance from the spot where my father and his siblings were raised, and I had the impression the land was used by many family members over the years. The house was far from fancy; it was as basic as one would imagine. No electricity, no phone and no running water; if you needed to use the "facilities, there was a small outside "closet" with a door, if you know what I mean. And water? there was a large well in her front yard.

Thinking back on the place, that well comes to mind. Her home is long gone and amazingly, the last time I visited the land, my grandfather's smaller home was still standing. He also had a well in his front yard, though it has collapsed as well. But it was looking at this land through adult eyes that lead me to write this morning. Creeks run around the land, beside the spot where my grandfather's home stands and in other spots. Wells and creeks; water running beneath the surface of the land. Water, from sources we can't see, but someone had foresight to dig to find.

Sources we can't see.

Water, nourishment you have to dig to discover

Places, resources one doesn't "know" but upon digging, you find what's needed and desired...

There are resources for which we search. We dig around, we scrape about, looking, longing and needing.

And one day you find exactly what you're looking for, but in the most unlikely places.

If not for the effort, the searching, what's needed would go undiscovered...

Thought for The Day - Peering into the Void

The Portal (working title...in process) 12 x 18 pastels

Many things can be said and when words are few...

I spent sometime yesterday working on the latest piece; a working title "the portal." As challenging as it is to define, designate a title, it's as difficult or rewarding to stare at the work and be flooded with a hundred variables. Typically, I don't get hours on end to sit and work, never mind actually sit and stare, but whatever I'm permitted, I feel multiple approaches flooding my mind.

That might explain the variable colors and textures...to best capsulize the process, there are colors and shapes and textures, layered upon one another. In my head, it's like a well written story, with plots and sub-plots, twists one never expects and even after the climax, there are subtle side stories continuing to run.

Sitting, staring, looking down a path and watching life unfold...sometimes one concentrates on one spot; other times, the mind tries to process every detail simultaneously.