Archive for month: April, 2013
To live is to create
Creativity is infinite, ever available. It seeks expression. It needs you.
But not just your great ideas. It needs you to rediscover the world; to clean its dusty corners and buff its dull surfaces. It wants you to get comfortable with the uncomfortable, to toss out your assumptions and expectations; to find a way, not just out but in.
It wants you to be lighter and younger, whatever your age; to look around each day and say, “Well, I’ll be darned!” It wants you to love and like and breathe deeply. To listen with your heart. To appreciate the incredible complexity and simplicity of life — and how it all boils down to this:
To live is to create. To create is to live.
So do not hesitate or fear or question the truth. Simply, live.
“Art of Words” exhibit
Writing is an art. And art is writing. That’s no play on words for me, as can be seen in my exhibit, “Art of Words: Illustrated Writings” (details below). It’s the first time I’ve coupled my writings and artwork. Where one leaves off, the other begins, giving greater depth to my work.
It’s been an incredibly creative process that began at Lowe’s, of all places. My husband was off buying tools, and I wandered over to the paint section and became enthralled with the paint chips. I gathered a bunch and began arranging them in my hand, as if they were playing cards. The colors were so vibrant, and I was hooked.
Hooked on bringing home dozens more paint chips every time I returned to Lowe’s. (A weekly pilgrimage for my husband.)
One day, I spread them all out on my desk, got some scissors and rubber cement and began collaging. I didn’t set out to accomplish anything other than to relax.
Over time, however, I discovered that my collages made perfect illustrations for my written meditations. (Many of my books, in fact, are meditation collections.) And so I kept at it. The results are what I will exhibit. Should you be in the Baltimore-D.C. area, please stop by. It would be nice to meet and share my work with you.
“Art of Words: Illustrated Writings” — Saturday, May 4, 5-9 p.m. Cowork Frederick 122 E. Patrick Street, Frederick, MD CoworkFrederick.com 301-732-5165
My mother tries to kill me
My mother, Judy, and me, circa her driving days. (Note: I am still alive.)
My mom ran away from home in her mid-50s. My sister and I had officially left home, and it was her turn to fly without a net. And fly she did, to L.A. She had no place to live, no job, no friends or family; just a few thousand bucks she had inherited from her uncle. But she had a dream: to sell her screenplays to Hollywood.
She also had a car — which she didn’t know how to drive.
The car was a puke orange Datsun, circa 1830s, rustier than a nail. Its skin flaked to the touch, and because it had been rear-ended, it required a chain and lock to keep its trunk closed. But the car had pep, four tires, a steering wheel and the requisite number of mirrors. It also had the right selling price: $1. Read more
Junk as autobiography
Some of this week’s “Out Campaign” tossings. Obviously, I have yet to differentiate between major and minor junk. But I am doing what I can in the face of my own resistance. Amazing how things have sudden value when they dangle above a garbage pail. And glory be! The social and ethical dilemmas they raise. Should they be recycled, donated, pawned off as heirlooms to an unsuspecting relative?
How interesting, too, that each item has its own backstory. To toss is to relive a relationship, an experience, a thought or dream. Junk as autobiography.
The thong was a birthday present from my younger daughter, who thought I needed an underwear makeover. I wore it once but hated the butt-floss feel. I’m giving it back to her, along with a pair of earrings (which are the specks within the left thong strap). She doesn’t like my taste in jewelry and will toss them. Better her than me.
This black sock was orphaned years ago, but it has taken until now to face the inevitable: its sibling ain’t coming back.
What every writer needs: a quill. Alas, I don’t plan on writing a sequel to the Declaration of Independence. Into the garbage it will float. I feel lighter already.
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I want to have an affair
One can dream …
I envy women who have an affair. Not the affairs themselves but that they have the time to have them.
I can’t imagine how, on any given day, I would find time to slip away in body and mind and add yet another person to my life. And were my husband to ask something as simple as “How was your day?”, I’d surely crumble:
“My day? Why do you ask? Do I pry into your day? If you must know, I hung around the house. Like I always do. Except Wednesdays. Between 1:45 to 3:30 p.m. Because that’s when all the good sales are. Nothing wrong with that, you know. Do I chew you out when you buy another damn tool? Do I? Do? Ha! And you ask me how my day was. What nerve!” Read more