Tag Archives: art

Why the Arts Matter: Everyday Magic, Day 181

Posted on January 15, 2011 | 8 Comments

The arts matter because when I felt all out of sorts this morning, my itunes suddenly started playing a beautiful Swedish waltz that brought me home to myself, calmed my frenzied mind and opened my heart.

The arts matter because the paintings of Paul Hotvedt, photographs of Jerry Sipe, paintings of Joan Foth and so much other visual art showed me how to see the earth and sky.

The arts matter because a child in a fifth grade class who didn’t think she was good at anything discovered one day that she was good at writing poetry, making me remember how I discovered the same thing when I was in tenth grade.

The arts matter because my friend rose from her chair at the dance symposium and started dancing to illustrate how dance belongs to all of us, showing us what it means to live in, to be a body with its own grace and beauty despite age and change.

The arts matter because an elder woman with her walker managed to get down the long hall and sit at the round table where, writing about her first kiss 60 years earlier, she rose above the pain she had felt lately, and lifted us with her.

The arts matter because an old friend just sent me a poem she wrote, the first in years, to convey the depth of feeling she had about what stories of her life are held in a specific old house.

The arts matter because Eileen Stewart, a self-appointed angel in New York’s Greenwich Village, cared enough about theater that she started LaMaMa theater, and then made costumes, promoted shows and even swept the stairs to bring us the likes of Sam Shepherd, Harvey Fierstein and many other theater greats.

The arts matter because a woman living out her last months with lung cancer could dress herself in something bright and come to a writing workshop, where she was able to put into words her life’s most precious stories for her family.

The arts matter because tonight I heard a young man stand up and read something he wrote that helped us all understand what mourning as a community means.

The arts matter because when it comes to learning to speak civilly with each other, shorten distances between polarized communities, and find a common vision, there’s no stronger bridge when the one made of art: a song, a painting, a shared experience mediated through the lens of the arts, gives us new language, courage and understanding of how to listen to each other.

The arts matter because tonight we sang our prayers for Friday night services, knowing what the Talmud affirms: singing way doubles the power of prayer.

The arts matter because the world in day or night, summer heat or winter ice, is so expansively mysterious and powerful that we need all the help we can get to open up our wide vision and see — through music, writing, art, dance, theater, and other arts — what it means to be alive.

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Becoming the Art We Are: Everyday Magic, Day 146

Posted on December 11, 2010 | Comments Off

For three days, I’ve had the joy of hanging out with my pal, Yvette, who stopped in Kansas to kick off a five-city business tripping extravaganza, and to work on her marvelous and inspiring book on women, leadership and narrative. At the Merc yesterday, I was delighted to notice how Yvette blended with the art, in fact, seemed to emerging from it. Later, walking downtown, we stopped in front of Wild Territory, and since part of Yvette’s style and calling has everything to do with patterns of zebra stripes, we stopped again for a photo (too bad she wasn’t carrying her zebra bag and zebra suitcase).

Writing, talking, planning writing, talking more and aiming ourselves toward artfully-prepared meals and rich bouts of coffee has made me think about how art is not something separate that parallel-plays with us, but something meshed with moments, then documented or revealed in word or image of sound or motion. Making art can simply be opening a window or turning around, although it’s more like this art makes us and makes us aware. The art of the cat sleeping in a circle on one particular square of the green quilt. The wind dance in all its winter-haunting dramatics. The nudge of the furnace coming on, in concert with that wind and dog loudly eating the sleeping cat’s food. Wabi sabi art of course, but the art that we can walk right out of or into at just about any moment, whether they are splashes and color or zebra stripes, or just quiet moments to think about it all.

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What I Love the Obvious Made Visible In Paul Hotvedt’s Paintings: Everyday Magic, Day 95

Posted on October 21, 2010 | Comments Off

“Treat the world as if it really exists,” writes William Stafford, and there’s nothing like looking at Paul Hotvedt paintings to see the truth and value of this statement.

For years, I’ve been enchanted with the paintings of Paul Hotvedt, a Lawrence land and sky painter who truly makes the obvious more visible without romanticizing, understating or overstating the beauty in front of us all the time. Paul’s work, such as these photos from his summer batch of paintings, show what’s right here in such a way that after looking at his work, I can look at the bushy cedar or the trembling leaves on the ash tree or the scraggly grass lining the woods in a new way: as if it really exists.

The combination of soft edges and just a tease of abstraction with the realistic light of his work helps me understand the colors and textures around me. Why is that important? Because such seeing helps me and probably many of us better connect with the true reality of the earth and sky instead of our ideas about the, and consequently, the bigger world our little lives and even little littler minds float through.

Here is the world. Let’s love it as it is, and that means, really opening our eyes and lives to what is vibrant and shimmering, aging and decaying all at once. Thank you so much, Paul!

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Making a Living & Following an Artful Calling: Everyday Magic, Day 93

Posted on October 19, 2010 | 1 Comment

Yesterday, in the course of an hour, I saw three women who inspire me by how they’re making the path by walking it in terms of creating their own right livelihoods. Andrea Hoag not only delights me with her dazzle, splash of pink and a little bling and ecstatic spirit, but by how she supports herself and her two beautiful children by freelance writing, mostly book reviews.

Dancer Susan Regier followed a lifelong love of dance into being the artistic director for the 940 Dancers in Lawrence. She dances, choreographs, works with various populations on movement and dance, and brings up great questions for us to ponder, such as who gets to dance, and dance publicly, in this culture, and what can we do about that?

Kris Hermanson, a wonderful artist of many media (felting, painting, drawing, fiber arts and much more), is launching her own grant-writing, fundraising, strategic planning and organizational development company, Insight/Envision, which follows beautifully from her experience of helping organizations reach their fullest potential and grow the arts especially.

Let’s hear it for taking the leap and landing in your own calling!

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Why I Would Move to Marysville, Kansas If I Needed a New Home: Everyday Magic, Days 85-86

Posted on October 12, 2010 | 1 Comment

Maybe it’s the sleek, handsome black squirrels with their boa-feather tails. Or the uber friendliness of a pair of orange cats who circles Laura and I as we strolled through Marysville on Sunday morning. Maybe it’s the ancient spirit and shining beauty of the ceiling, windows and flowery trim around the stage at the Waterville Opera House, or the view of long lanky hills dropping and lifting as the trees yellow and big bluestem reddens. Or perhaps it’s the curved expanse of the Big Blue river as seen from the Central Branch Railroad or the rails-to-trails walkway that took us through a covered bridge to walk through tunnels of trees. Of course, the homemade cookies and delicate chicken casserole at Our Daily Bread in Barnes, the bourbon steak at the Marysville Country Club and the walk through another era in Waterville’s streets late at night also have their allure.

I suspect, though, that my infatuation with the wonders of Marshall County have everything to do with people’s attitudes, words and deeds in creating a confluence of wonder through preserving, making and expressing history, a sense of place, and artful living. I saw this in the historic tracks, trails and buildings as well as tiled images of a pony express rider who gallops when you pass him, murals on the side of a bank building, the silhouette of a wagon train on the horizon, and all manner of flyers promoting plays, shows and community soup dinners. This kind of focus makes for a seemingly effortless integration of venues and events, bringing together many generations.

Yet the hard work happens because of the vision and insight of people like Wayne Kruse, who directs the Marshall County Arts Cooperative and brings ten artists (or groups of artists) to the county each year (and this on top of leading historic preservation and theater efforts too, plus his rather intense day job managing a restaurant). There’s also Ann Walters, who — when she saw the Central Branch Railroad was threatened with extinction — managed to raise $45,000 in a week to help buy up the tracks and create a living history experience for people to ride the old route. And saving the railroad, plus leading tours, is a drop in the bucket of what else she does when it comes to art and history.

In any case, if I were looking for another place to live in Kansas, I think I would head west a while, then north, stopping just short of Nebraska on the northern reaches of the Flint Hills where black squirrels aren’t the only little wonder that abides.

For incredible images of the area, see Tom Parker’s exquisite photographs and writing. Photos of mine in this story (from top): a black squirrel, Diana the Huntress in front of the Koester House Museum, Laura Ramberg posing with sun faces made by Jennie Thayer-Wood,  Wayne Kruse along with John, who volunteers at the Koester House, giving tours most days, Kelley Hunt and Ann Walters talking trains on the tracks, and the view from the train, somewhere east of Blue Rapids.

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On the Cusp of a Road Trip, Mystery & My Childhood Dream: Everyday Magic, Day 80

Posted on October 6, 2010 | 1 Comment

Tomorrow I head west, at least a little bit, and a lot north, meandering until I find myself in Marysville for five days of being Marshall County’s little poet-in-residence. There’s little I love as much as heading off to someplace new to see what happens. Add to this that I get to meet with dozens of high school students, lunch with elders, give a reading at a historic museum, ride the rails, meet lots of arts lovers, eat a bunch of food, do an all-day writing singing and workshop with Kelley Hunt, and perform with Kelly as well as our friend, the sublime dancer (and artist) Laura Ramberg, and well, I’m kind of in heaven.

When I was growing up, trying to imagine what I would be (as opposed to just being who I was, which has its own fascination but often got me into heaps of trouble), I knew the contents of contentment, but not the form. I wanted to travel, sing and perform, make things, meet people, and wander. In my mind, I even invented my own band called the Rootin’ Tootin’ Tootets, and of course I was lead singer, but I also would bang a tamborine against my non-existent (at the time) hips. The band and I toured extensively, each day an adventure. Turns out it all came true except for the singing part (although one could say reading poetry is its own kind of song).

But I think what I’ve always craved is taking road trips into the mystery of the wide-open world, and by mystery, I mean the present magic around us at each moment. Sometimes it’s easier to see and appreciate when stepping out of the car in a tiny town to look at what’s left of a charmer of an old gas station, but nevertheless, travel is clearly just a way to come home. And home is where the motion always is too.

This is all to say that jumping in the van tomorrow and aiming myself some place new is a way to become that Rootin’ Tootin’ Tootet lead singer again, thrilled at what the road will bring next.

Pictures (from top): Black squirrels from a park in Marysville — I WILL see those squirrels; Koester House museum, where I give a reading Thurs. night; the tour bus for my band would be even more colorful; Waterville Opera House, where Kelley, Laura and I perform on Sunday.

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Power of Words Brings Me Home: Everyday Magic, Days 69-71

Posted on September 27, 2010 | 1 Comment

For the last six days, I’ve been immersed in the Power of Words, both lower case (as in how powerful our words can be when it comes to changing the world and our lives) and upper case, as in the 8th annual conference of the same name. For me, this event was a homecoming of many dimensions: the conference was held at Goddard College, my second home (who every knew that this phrase would apply to a dorm room where I live approximately one month divided over three visits each year for the last 15). It was also a conference I founded in 2003. But mostly, I found my way home to that newborn glow of what can happen between us all when we create together stories, poems, songs, performances and exchanges about what matters most.

Maybe that newborn glow also had something to do with the newborn — Nahar Nadi Keefe-Perry — daughter of the TLA Network co-coordinators, Callid and Kristina, who were responsible for organizing the conference. Born less than a month ago, this inquisitive and beautiful new being was a constant reminder to me about how precious, alive, tender and beautiful the life force is.

The things we do at this conference include the usual suspects for most conference (workshops, big group sessions, performances and panels) along with the less-than-usual (talking circles each morning where each of us could speak deeply in a small group, hearing ourselves through having good witnesses and learning how to listen fully to others). Performances were dazzling:

  • S. Pearl Sharp’s performance poetry brought to the surface an artful and soulful combination of ceremony, humor, deep wisdom and the astonishing dance of Nailah.
  • Kim Rosen recited the poetry of Rumi, Mary Oliver, Derek Walcott and others with great passion and joy.
  • Gregory Orr’s reading and talk on poetry as a way to praise the body of the beloved (which could be interpreted as the life force, Book of Poetry, or whatever we love most) illuminated everything I know and want to know about language.
  • Nancy Mellon’s combination of superlative storytelling, mythological weaving and anatomy showed us how our bodies are our stories.
  • Greg Greenway’s singing, songwriting, guitar- and piano-playing journeyed us through the heart of music in praise of homecoming, liberation and the hard work involved in being fully human.
  • Katherine Towler’s reading from the third book in her Snow Island anthology took us to a small Rhode Island island, just on the edge of time and history, and shaped by a kind of yoga of the imagination so visible in her writing.
  • The Coffeehouse of Wonder was so gorgeous, full of the most expansive humor and wildest edges of grief, love, joy and courage that those of us in the crowd went wild every few minutes.

But what brought me home most of us was simply being in such a diverse community, covering age (from newborn to elders), race and ethnicity, sexual orientation and identity, life experience in so many varieties that we made a community that had each other’s backs and hearts. Sitting in the back of the haybarn last night were a pact of African American storyteller-shamans. Walking across the campus was a teenage girl who would still share her full imagination with her mother, both of them attending workshops together. Sleeping in the dorms were people ready to stand up and follow their callings as well as those leaning forward to open the door.

I’m back in Kansas through the magical surrealism of plane travel, but I’m still carrying that dazzle and depth, lightness and weight, freedom and connection of being part of the Power of Words.

Pictures (from top): Jen, Callid, Kristina & Kim; Nahar in the arms of Suzanne with beautiful mom Kristina looking on; Katie Towler; Scott and friends performing; a gorgeous pact of shamans; leaving Vermont.

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Wander Day: Everyday Magic, Days 60-61

Posted on September 15, 2010 | Comments Off

Ever read those great Frances the Badger stories? Frances (my favorite children’s book heroine), in addition to being a badger, has great imagination, and she regularly loads up her pull wagon with delectable delicacies, takes a friend, and has herself a little wander day.

In that spirit, my friend Kris and I do our own wander days, usually by car through the mysterious curves of road through Kansas that call to us, and once even by foot all over New York City and Brooklyn. We go where the wind takes us, choosing one road or street over another simply because it feels right, and enjoying the scenery as we travel. There isn’t really a destination except for the mandatory fried chicken, mashed potatoes and corn (if we’re in Kansas) and subway rides leading to amazing Russian food (think butter and sour cream) if we’re in Brooklyn.

Yesterday, we wandered, ambled, supposed and hunched our way west, southwest, north, northeast and eventually home. We found driving through an edge of Topeka oddly satisfying but couldn’t say the same about the big highwayed edge of Manhattan. We delighted in the great fried chicken in Wamego (where we have ended up before, but no surprise because it does have the Oz Museum, and there is no place……like Wamego) and gorgeous stone houses in a seldom-traveled highway through the Flint Hills. We found vistas, great conversation and the joys of mint water. I even got to kiss the Tin Man and Kris got to strangle the good witch (“Take that, Glenda!”)

The important thing when wandering is simply to follow your whims. It’s like Forrest Gump’s running stint across the U.S. and back — he said he just did whatever he needed to when he needed to do it. For us, the wandering refreshes us and resets our artistic impulses. It expands what we see and how we see, and gives us glimpse after glimpse how whatever we most want will often just suddenly appear, but more importantly, what we never expect shows up to, like a giant elk with a huge rack, and then a little parade of horses followed by a shaggy goat in the tall grass. Life is always happening, always changing. Wandering is a way to catch up with that motion.

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Twin Cities, Two Dreams, One Family: Everyday Magic, Day 47

Posted on August 30, 2010 | 2 Comments

This morning as I walked through Dinkytown, where we’re staying at the fabulous Wales House bed and breakfast, I realized every time I visit these cities, something happens. The first time in Minneapolis was for a conference, which I had to leave early because my long-suffering grandmother finally died, propelling me to re-unite with a cousin and aunt I hadn’t seen for 35 years because of my parents’ crazy divorce in 1973. It was healing for all of us.

The next time I came to Minneapolis to attend a conference, I ended up blowing off most of the sessions and wandering the city, traveling the light rail without any sense of where I was going, and recommitting myself to get my writing published despite years of intense rejections. I ended that trip leaning into the small opening of 18th floor hotel window with a Cuban fiction writer and Domician poet, all of us dropping tiny pieces of paper out the window with our writerly wishes written on them.

Last fall, one of my granted writerly wishes — to have my memoir published — led us to St. Paul for both the Midwestern Booksellers Convention and for Natalie to check out the McNally Smith College of Music. Signing books for a long line of people (even if my publisher was giving out the books for free) was a delight, and we were all smitten with the college.

Now I’m back to move Natalie into that college today, and last night, I received word that after 10 years of trying to find a literary agent, a very good one is going to represent my next book.

While I continue to live my writer dream, Natalie is here to embark upon her singer dream, in the twin cities where earnest wishes, hard work, surrender to the forces of chance and karma, and catalysts for true healing seem to always find me. I wish for her to find her own dream large and generous, unfolding for her as mine unfolds for me all life long.

Photos: even the houses here are twins!

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Quilting St. Paul: Everyday Magic, Day 36

Posted on August 19, 2010 | 2 Comments

Just finished the machine-sewing part of a quilt made of scraps from the quilt I made last month, edged with that magical orange, and ready to be finished and quilted for Natalie to take with her to St. Paul. When I think of her leaving, I’m in a similar state as her. She’s thrilled and scared, I’m thrilled and sad. I can’t wait for her to find even more of her considerable voice (she’ll be studying jazz singing) and all the new turns of wild joy college will bring, but I’m going to miss her. Like most grief, this grief is kind of retroactive so I’m feeling the loss already.

At least I know she’ll be dreaming under a quilt made of the same center colors and fabrics of the same quilt we’ll be under just 7.5 hours by fast car south. And I love that she chose the vibrancy of orange as her color to surround her new life.

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