(Transcript: Written as a prelude to the painting session.)
I call upon this spring’s leaf buds to stand as emblems heralding a new era, an era of enchantment! wherein we learn how to see again with eyes more subtle than seems, more surprising than surface, more now than before. It is not sufficient to see the truth as only we have from our one perspective, for the truth not only deserves better, but is better and makes better worlds when lived inside. That is as if two artists were to draw a hand, and then call the other mad for representing it from a different angle! It is boring to be bored and to have heard and seen with neither thoughtful listens nor imaginative looks. Welcome to the World.
Let us take our time here like clay and raise the land beneath our feet into the mountain we so love. One cannot rest always in reception of the grace of good seeing, because one is not always open when resting. So there is a making. And in it the world is made better. If we choose to see our partner as us, as better, we make ourselves capable of receiving what they do have. We enhance the availability of the god or goddess, and thus work the myth into reality.
Recourse from the challenge is to lean upon our static, predictable, and comfortable selfhood. The way we understand the world when we lay back cleanly into our ego seat. And in this static seeing, our selves become stone and lose their malleability and we grow old and die all in one moment. But when does it suffice to be wedded to a stone rather than a god? A stone, a crone, a croak, married and alone! Of course it is easy to see the surface of things, but I’ll not let my partner be so simple a thing and neither should you. Not especially when we’ve got the raw skill set, willingness, desire, and authentic love to create a stronger, more meaningful experience, a plunge past the surface. Where the really good questions are asked.
This is not a call to illusion. Our words are already made up, and we already live inside of metaphors and symbols sets, so to call one version “reality” and the other “wishful thinking” is tomfoolery. And so there is a making.
A call to artists, as the call to adventure. If we are going to do anything, we had better make up our minds to do it well. So, let’s you and I insist upon exercising our mind’s eye to see Greatness through the practice of faith, empathy, and imagination. If we perceive a flaw in the other, let us then doubt the hater and not the god. Let us not try to change each other [we are both already hard at work at transcending our own demons]. (I hear your tossing in your sleep) Let us instead raise a fist to doubt rather than the other person’s character.
I trust you are sleeping well upstairs. I sat quietly for many minutes as I considered you, from the edge of our bed, and wondered at these ideas, of your croak and your god, and of my imaginative capacity to see them. Seeing has just become a new sort of verb. Seeing as a pushing forth, a loving the mountain as you walk it, a contemplative devotional and creative act, an engagement, an invocation. I would sit and write, and you would sit beside me and read, and we would speak of style and flow and timing and wording, but no — missing the point. There is a making. My king with a crown of big, bed hair would sit with his feet next to me, and I would touch his eyes with thinking. And he would see, and I would see. And he would hear, and I would hear. And together we would make something.
Playing with titles:
Marriage on a Tuesday Afternoon
The Wedded Studio
Art We Married Yet?
Water We Coloring Here?
More calligraphy doodling (the doodling only really happened because I smudged the ink mid-way through).
The last line from a poem by W.H. Auden called ‘Bucolic II. Woods.’
“The trees encountered on a country stroll
Reveal a lot about that country’s soul.
A small grove massacred to the last ash,
An oak with heart-rot, give away the show:
This great society is going smash;
They cannot fool us with how fast they go,
How much they cost each other and the gods.
A culture is no better than its woods.”
Auden had a wonderful voice. I first heard it from one of The Books’ songs called “Be Good To Them Always.” Their music, and in particular their sound collage technique, changed the way I thought about and made music. Their influence is clear in this old track from high school.
A friend and I used to go “hunting” for sounds with an old Sony tape recorder. Those are fond memories. We would drive around with the Sony seeking out anything that might produce a novel sound. It changed the way we looked at things.
One sample comes from finding an empty Skoal can littered under a pavilion; you can hear it rolling across cement. Not surprisingly, playgrounds seemed to have the most interesting instruments. A swing set sampled. The hollow metal tubing banged on sometimes produced different pitches–sometimes even tuned! Whoever produced the equipment most likely had no idea. It was our discovery! At one point in this track you’ll hear a clip culled from those manic contraptions called spring riders: the horse, fish, or car attached to a massive spring in the ground.
The song is called “Funny Nostalgia.”
Does it seem a farce to personify the world around us? The non-person world is going on all the time, just doing its myriad things. We share the same time and space coordinates as these non-person entities around us. We even share significant amounts of DNA with many of the organisms surrounding us. And yet, our brains are so composed to understand and shed light upon the mysterious that even this is not enough. We familiarize ourselves (literally: make like family) the non-person objects around us through figures of speech like personification and metaphorical language.
We say that the plate is sitting there on the table, but it’s not. It’s not sitting because sitting is a person’s verb. Sitting implies legs and hips and the option to stand if it pleases. The plate is definitely not sitting there, resting in the sun let in by the window. And the window isn’t letting in anything. It’s not because it can’t stop the sun from coming in either. Like a computer program, the window has no unplanned functions and cannot improvise outside of its design.
Some linguists say that humans, on average, employ 6 metaphors per minute of speech or writing. This includes both creative metaphors as well as “frozen” metaphors which are built into our language. In their book Metaphors We Live By, George Lakoff, a linguist, and Mark Johnson, a philosopher, outline a variety of examples of metaphors hiding within and actively influencing the ways in which we perceive reality. Imagine, for example, the different conceptions of love under each of the following metaphorical structures: Love is a journey. Love is patient. Love is chemical. Love is war.
Consider similarly: Time is money; He shot down my argument; My thoughts are all over the place; etc. After a few examples the layered nature of language becomes a bit clearer.
It’s hard to imagine a world without metaphorical language to help us understand what is going on around us. Writer Edith Cobb wrote quite extensively about the nature of human imagination as a building tool and orientation factor among children. In her book, Ecology of Imagination in Childhood, she describes it thus:
“Children strive to fill the gap between themselves and the objects of desire with imagined forms. This psychological distance between self and universe and between self and progenitors is the locus in which the ecology of imagination in childhood has its origin.” (p.56)
The “imagined forms” of personification and metaphorical thinking alter our finite comprehension of the world around us. If the trees can “clap” their “hands,” and we can clap our hands, here we have found a familiarity between an other and ourself. Here we have built a meaningful, imaginative bridge connecting and expanding our sense of self and filling in some of the holes in the map of our surroundings, making familiar the mysterious (and potentially threatening) unknown.
These other things around us, occupying this moment with us — how do we outright refuse the sense of their presence and participation in this space? There’s a constant story being told all around us, or perhaps a thousand narratives rubbing up against one another as within a great crowd, and each of us is the only witness in a unique theater.
Through metaphorical language and imagination, one reaches out into the abyss to find the object of desire (from Latin: “of the stars”). We return from our reaching to find something of that same dark matter inherent in our own souls, confirming or securing our kinship with the other. This relates and deepens the mystery, relieving one of the solitude, but not of the wonder. Similarly, the stillness of the plates and cups on the table somehow also speaks to that deceptively quiet abyss inside of all of us.
Video collage by Matt Wisiniewski
A breeze presents itself now and again outside, affecting everything from the cadence of the crickets to the trees and their thousand clapping hands. I live near the ocean and, as though in emulation, the wind often plays the trees like they were calm and distant, crashing waves. Over this, the breeze is luring in the salty air from the sea. Clapping and playing and luring, the non-person world requests an audience. And I being the only one in the theater, witness it.