The queen of alliteration dares you to try this:
Go to the library, (or the music store if you're so funded and inclined;) and pick a shelf. Grab half-a-dozen random items. Take them home and listen. Criticize, analyze, etc..
Wasn't that fun? I bet you found something new that you like!
That was the basis for my "Ear Candy" list, below.
I nabbed one random c.d., then proceeded to an area that wasn't being restocked, so I wouldn't be in the way, and just pulled whatever struck, yeah, a chord. Everything from one shelf; no cheating.
Nothing I had heard, (at least all the way,) before. Like, who hasn't heard "Ode to Billy Joe" 5,000 times? But I had never heard ANYTHING else by Bobbie Gentry! That was an easily corrected mistake; all I had to do was lift it from the shelf for some free inspiration. (If anyone wants to tell me I can sing like that, it'd be very cool...)
Steve Earle may be lyrically a little depressing, but his music belies a ridiculously infectious sense of hopeful playfulness. I didn't know this until Monday! What a day.
Never heard of Elizabeth Cotten. Well, now you have, too; and this Smithsonian Folkways recording is a heartfelt breeze of simplicity. Makes me wanna learn some alt-tunings.
And then, I wonder, in each case, who is responsible for these recordings being available? Who requested or ordered them? Who borrowed and gave them back? Thanks, everyone!
I needed a vacation, and this one is so pleasant.
A double-dog-dare for the dog days of summer!
Love,
Robin
P.S. It also appears that, as previously unbeknownst to me, every one of the artists I've listened to so far from my selection, are songwriters! A heavenly wink, I think!
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Sunday, July 24, 2011
A fluid medium.
As much as I love paint and it's transformative powers, I have found a new love for a different fluid medium; (Oh, man, I just admitted I'm seeing other art! Sorry, acrylics!)
Songs.
flu·id
n.
A continuous, amorphous substance whose molecules move freely past one another and that has the tendency to assume the shape of its container; a liquid or gas.
adj.
1. Of, relating to, or characteristic of a fluid.
2. Readily reshaped; pliable.
3. Smooth and flowing; graceful: the fluid motion of a cat.
4.
a. Changing or tending to change; variable: a fluid situation fraught with uncertainty.
b. Characterized by or allowing social mobility: a fluid society.
5. Convertible into cash: fluid assets.
(Thank you, Free Dictionary!)
A song can be all of that! Ok, not molecular-ly, but essentially.
Words shift , words change; you change a note or an inflection; (usually every time you interpret it;) it might be a bit faster or slower. Is it EVER identical in live performance? Impossible.
Is a song a fluid medium? Does it change, vary? Obviously. And, can it be smooth? Sometimes! Does it allow social mobility? You bet! Does it assume shape? Think ice, or glass. Is it convertible into cash? We hope so, although the idealist in me struggles with that, the painfully honest girl in me sincerely hopes so, at some level.
Are songs ever "finished"? Is there a fixative?
I have rewritten one of my favorites (is it OK to pick favorites?)4 times plus. Now that I am happy with it, I am considering a "perfect" word for one little line; continually changing a word here, a phrase there, adding a bridge, balancing meter, considering repeats; I have revisited it at least weekly for almost 4 months. But, is it DONE?
Are they ever? As long as someone can interpret, play, improvise; the answer seems to be no!
It's like my, (and my sister's and mother's,) penchant for constantly rearranging furniture. There is, probably, an ideal arrangement of all the stuff. But then, it depends upon how the room is used, and how many people use it; things that can change. Basically, my brain can't process rooms as static in arrangement. I think of them as puzzles, and we even dream and daydream about it.
It boils down to a pleasing set-up at any given time you work it. After that, well... songs are open to interpretation and revision, small and great, continually. My friend Bill said, "...when you've had a publisher or artist say that they love something you've written, but they want a small modification, you'll lose your devotion to your original line in a hurry!" I'd like to experience that very fluid motion one of these days! I hope I never have to hear one of them destroyed, but too much in music is a matter of taste to not expect it at some time. But then, if that makes the song pleasing to another group of listeners, is it a bad thing?
I guess if it were only all about me, I wouldn't have anything to offer everyone else. "I" am certainly not my point in writing songs. I can fill a glass, as well as be the glass. I like to be the glass, too, for me and for others, but that's not why I write; (or the only reason to sing, for that matter.)
I hope that I write songs that make positive puddles in the world; that paint mental murals that create a better environment. I want to be the barrista of joy and goodness; of redemption, strength, caution, thoughtful wisdom; of ideals that I would like to reinforce and model. I want to empower voices that beg to be heard; to be an audible heart rhythm in poetic melody. I want to make people think and feel, and to be a relief valve. If I rant, may it be based upon the knowledge that others feel the same way. Music supplies a connectedness that nothing else can; it's the intersection of my story and "every-man's" experience; fun, silly, sweet, passionate, honest, angry, hopeful, painful; like life.
Next round's on me.
Songs.
flu·id
n.
A continuous, amorphous substance whose molecules move freely past one another and that has the tendency to assume the shape of its container; a liquid or gas.
adj.
1. Of, relating to, or characteristic of a fluid.
2. Readily reshaped; pliable.
3. Smooth and flowing; graceful: the fluid motion of a cat.
4.
a. Changing or tending to change; variable: a fluid situation fraught with uncertainty.
b. Characterized by or allowing social mobility: a fluid society.
5. Convertible into cash: fluid assets.
(Thank you, Free Dictionary!)
A song can be all of that! Ok, not molecular-ly, but essentially.
Words shift , words change; you change a note or an inflection; (usually every time you interpret it;) it might be a bit faster or slower. Is it EVER identical in live performance? Impossible.
Is a song a fluid medium? Does it change, vary? Obviously. And, can it be smooth? Sometimes! Does it allow social mobility? You bet! Does it assume shape? Think ice, or glass. Is it convertible into cash? We hope so, although the idealist in me struggles with that, the painfully honest girl in me sincerely hopes so, at some level.
Are songs ever "finished"? Is there a fixative?
I have rewritten one of my favorites (is it OK to pick favorites?)4 times plus. Now that I am happy with it, I am considering a "perfect" word for one little line; continually changing a word here, a phrase there, adding a bridge, balancing meter, considering repeats; I have revisited it at least weekly for almost 4 months. But, is it DONE?
Are they ever? As long as someone can interpret, play, improvise; the answer seems to be no!
It's like my, (and my sister's and mother's,) penchant for constantly rearranging furniture. There is, probably, an ideal arrangement of all the stuff. But then, it depends upon how the room is used, and how many people use it; things that can change. Basically, my brain can't process rooms as static in arrangement. I think of them as puzzles, and we even dream and daydream about it.
It boils down to a pleasing set-up at any given time you work it. After that, well... songs are open to interpretation and revision, small and great, continually. My friend Bill said, "...when you've had a publisher or artist say that they love something you've written, but they want a small modification, you'll lose your devotion to your original line in a hurry!" I'd like to experience that very fluid motion one of these days! I hope I never have to hear one of them destroyed, but too much in music is a matter of taste to not expect it at some time. But then, if that makes the song pleasing to another group of listeners, is it a bad thing?
I guess if it were only all about me, I wouldn't have anything to offer everyone else. "I" am certainly not my point in writing songs. I can fill a glass, as well as be the glass. I like to be the glass, too, for me and for others, but that's not why I write; (or the only reason to sing, for that matter.)
I hope that I write songs that make positive puddles in the world; that paint mental murals that create a better environment. I want to be the barrista of joy and goodness; of redemption, strength, caution, thoughtful wisdom; of ideals that I would like to reinforce and model. I want to empower voices that beg to be heard; to be an audible heart rhythm in poetic melody. I want to make people think and feel, and to be a relief valve. If I rant, may it be based upon the knowledge that others feel the same way. Music supplies a connectedness that nothing else can; it's the intersection of my story and "every-man's" experience; fun, silly, sweet, passionate, honest, angry, hopeful, painful; like life.
Next round's on me.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Playing catch up...
Last night, I went to bed at 11:11, my magic time. (Ask me about that later.) Slept for 7 straight hours. Got the lord of the manor off to work, cooked up a formidable stack of pancakes, and went back to bed... for an hour and a half. Ahhh. That felt good.
Haven't slept much lately; always having been an 8-9 hr. person, getting 4-6, and that not necessarily all at once, seemed to be catching up to me. Yesterday, my new, improved picking was not too hot and I couldn't type. (In truth, I barely type at my best!) These events made me realize, "I'm tired!"
I've been losing sleep by spending a lot of time the past few months catching up on other things. Kind of ironic, but, my dreams.
Music is just me. It's a base of reality. It's a therapy. It's intrinsic, natural. I had a revelation back in March or April. I know, sounds lame, but I looked at a friend and said, "I'm a musician!", like it was some big discovery. Kind of was, though. I never acknowledged it before. I "played" or "loved" music; I "love to sing", but I have never said "I am...". The larger component of the statement was the inclusion in it of an acceptance. Music is not only me, it is OK; it is helpful, acceptable, fulfilling; a gift to me and to others. It's not a hobby, it's a state of being, a life. And it's OK, it's good. Man, talk about "the best things in life are free"; and free, I have become. Feels like being born-again, again!
It's kind of a bucket-list thing; for the past year, I have been contemplating what I would do if I could simply do what I love, (under an assumption that you will be good at doing what you love,) and it was sitting right there. Don't know that it was invisible to anyone else. It just somehow wasn't OK, to be a musician, a writer. It wasn't conventional, instant money, a "practical" life. It was just my "artsy side." Guess what? I don't have another side! And, it's my good side, too. How many hundreds of times do you have to hear, "you have a beautiful voice!" before you believe it? Welp, yup, apparently about that many, in my case.
So, having been hit by a ton of bricks and a ray of light, I am juggling them at an insane pace. True, they're not really bricks; they are words; all of the words I have been ignoring, all of the melodies I have never recorded; tons of raw material that is pouring out like a fountain. I didn't realize how prolific I seem to be until someone expressed amazement. After saying nice things about a recent offering, someone curiously asked how many songs I had written since April, and seemed to think i was really cranking; I guess! All new to me. So, I am a victim of songwriting on steroids, or something. No, I don't take them, just vitamins. But my brain might be on something; it's kind of doing it's own thing, like it just got it's first car, a driver's license, and a $1,000 gas card.
In truth, only about, I think, 9 or 10 are in sharable condition. A number of them are still only a set of well-metered rhyme on paper, not having been happily joined with music to mama's satisfaction. I have, at last count, 7 varying sized notebooks going, some nearly-filled, with observation, thought, lyric, lines, ideas. Zero to 60 in 4 months, or something like that.
It sure is fun.
It feels like home.
I suspect my enthusiasm is probably annoying people.
Fortunately, the most important person is agreeable to all of this. My dear husband, better-half and quietly supportive advocate, anchor and adoring fan of whatever I am, isn't complaining about my obsession. Except, he says I need to sing louder and need a louder guitar. (We'll have to work on that request!) He seems to be ok with my new lifestyle, including the wonderful people, the meetings, the late nights, the unfinished house work. At least for now :) In fact, it's his idea that I post this entry, 'cause I wasn't gonna.
I've gone from being a person who couldn't ever get enough sleep to one who forgets she needs it. I've gone from demonstrating a level of timidity in almost everything to one who is probably out-there forward. I hope the moderation is never complete, though; I will be very happy to only come down about half-way from my crazy high. I know it won't always be this way, but so far, playing catch up is, literally, the time of my life.
Haven't slept much lately; always having been an 8-9 hr. person, getting 4-6, and that not necessarily all at once, seemed to be catching up to me. Yesterday, my new, improved picking was not too hot and I couldn't type. (In truth, I barely type at my best!) These events made me realize, "I'm tired!"
I've been losing sleep by spending a lot of time the past few months catching up on other things. Kind of ironic, but, my dreams.
Music is just me. It's a base of reality. It's a therapy. It's intrinsic, natural. I had a revelation back in March or April. I know, sounds lame, but I looked at a friend and said, "I'm a musician!", like it was some big discovery. Kind of was, though. I never acknowledged it before. I "played" or "loved" music; I "love to sing", but I have never said "I am...". The larger component of the statement was the inclusion in it of an acceptance. Music is not only me, it is OK; it is helpful, acceptable, fulfilling; a gift to me and to others. It's not a hobby, it's a state of being, a life. And it's OK, it's good. Man, talk about "the best things in life are free"; and free, I have become. Feels like being born-again, again!
It's kind of a bucket-list thing; for the past year, I have been contemplating what I would do if I could simply do what I love, (under an assumption that you will be good at doing what you love,) and it was sitting right there. Don't know that it was invisible to anyone else. It just somehow wasn't OK, to be a musician, a writer. It wasn't conventional, instant money, a "practical" life. It was just my "artsy side." Guess what? I don't have another side! And, it's my good side, too. How many hundreds of times do you have to hear, "you have a beautiful voice!" before you believe it? Welp, yup, apparently about that many, in my case.
So, having been hit by a ton of bricks and a ray of light, I am juggling them at an insane pace. True, they're not really bricks; they are words; all of the words I have been ignoring, all of the melodies I have never recorded; tons of raw material that is pouring out like a fountain. I didn't realize how prolific I seem to be until someone expressed amazement. After saying nice things about a recent offering, someone curiously asked how many songs I had written since April, and seemed to think i was really cranking; I guess! All new to me. So, I am a victim of songwriting on steroids, or something. No, I don't take them, just vitamins. But my brain might be on something; it's kind of doing it's own thing, like it just got it's first car, a driver's license, and a $1,000 gas card.
In truth, only about, I think, 9 or 10 are in sharable condition. A number of them are still only a set of well-metered rhyme on paper, not having been happily joined with music to mama's satisfaction. I have, at last count, 7 varying sized notebooks going, some nearly-filled, with observation, thought, lyric, lines, ideas. Zero to 60 in 4 months, or something like that.
It sure is fun.
It feels like home.
I suspect my enthusiasm is probably annoying people.
Fortunately, the most important person is agreeable to all of this. My dear husband, better-half and quietly supportive advocate, anchor and adoring fan of whatever I am, isn't complaining about my obsession. Except, he says I need to sing louder and need a louder guitar. (We'll have to work on that request!) He seems to be ok with my new lifestyle, including the wonderful people, the meetings, the late nights, the unfinished house work. At least for now :) In fact, it's his idea that I post this entry, 'cause I wasn't gonna.
I've gone from being a person who couldn't ever get enough sleep to one who forgets she needs it. I've gone from demonstrating a level of timidity in almost everything to one who is probably out-there forward. I hope the moderation is never complete, though; I will be very happy to only come down about half-way from my crazy high. I know it won't always be this way, but so far, playing catch up is, literally, the time of my life.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Comes a time...
when you really do stop caring what other people think.
I am waiting for that moment.
I'm working toward it, and with good progress, but it seems a steep hill some days.
It's not that I don't care about other's opinions, it's just that I want to believe so strongly in myself that caring about their opinion doesn't change mine when it shouldn't.
Don't want to be uncaring, just, um, sturdy. Maybe the word is steadfast.
1. (esp of a person's gaze) fixed in intensity or direction; steady
2. unwavering or determined in purpose, loyalty, etc. (steadfast resolve)
That'll work.
I didn't have a word of the year until just now! Usually, I pick a word at New Year to set the tone for the upcoming year in my mind; (not one to make resolutions, finding them to be pretty much useless.)
Strong, not callous. Focused, not myopic. Determined, not indifferent. Unwavering, not inflexible. Not going anywhere but down the chosen road, one bump at a time, enjoying the clatter and the rhythmic rocking. Watchful, prepared for the haul; excited to see what's ahead...
are we there yet?
I am waiting for that moment.
I'm working toward it, and with good progress, but it seems a steep hill some days.
It's not that I don't care about other's opinions, it's just that I want to believe so strongly in myself that caring about their opinion doesn't change mine when it shouldn't.
Don't want to be uncaring, just, um, sturdy. Maybe the word is steadfast.
1. (esp of a person's gaze) fixed in intensity or direction; steady
2. unwavering or determined in purpose, loyalty, etc. (steadfast resolve)
That'll work.
I didn't have a word of the year until just now! Usually, I pick a word at New Year to set the tone for the upcoming year in my mind; (not one to make resolutions, finding them to be pretty much useless.)
Strong, not callous. Focused, not myopic. Determined, not indifferent. Unwavering, not inflexible. Not going anywhere but down the chosen road, one bump at a time, enjoying the clatter and the rhythmic rocking. Watchful, prepared for the haul; excited to see what's ahead...
are we there yet?
Friday, July 8, 2011
Resistance.
This word conjures up a bevy of images; electrical, military; most recently, to me, an image of "everything"; a swirling mass of everyday life. It is a mighty, domineering whirlwind; and overwhelming cloud. It's in the stuff, the attitudes, the places, and the people. It's in the minds of every person you see. It is all that is negative rising up against any effort forward; any effort toward positive investment.
I was recently, happily, gifted with a copy of Steven Pressfield's "The War of Art."
In his little, but loaded, book, Pressfield names the overbearing cloud as "resistance". (I'm the one with the overbearing cloud image; his descriptions are various and different from the one I am picturing today.)
I don't know if resistance is the devil, or in him, or of him; or a product of the fall; it is mystical, it is non-material, though. I don't know if it is engineered by God Himself, but I do know that it is real.
It pushes back, against, down. It hates beauty; it despises achievement. It lives in me, and I know it. It lives in you, and I know it. I think it is aptly named by Pressfield.
Have you ever struck out on a venture, or attempted something deeply meaningful, only to find yourself feeling very alone, very unsupported, very divided even within your own mind? Let alone the misunderstanding and criticism of others; even worse, their disinterest. All products of resistance.
Everything that can get in your way, will. Somehow. It just happens, even if you're simply emptying the dishwasher.
The word "transcendence" was tossed my way a few days ago; I caught it. My first thought was, "that's such a spiritual word", and my second thought was, "transcend what?" What is the enemy, the opposition? Resistance.
Transcendence doesn't mean we have to simply rise above, we can be grabbed at and pulled back under by resistance if we're floating on a fluffy cloud of superiority. We have to conquer; we have to visualize our big, heavy army boots of desire and purpose squashing the enemy. We have to acknowledge the reality and enormity of resistance, and fight back. We have to have a "cow catcher" affixed to our foreheads, fitted to shove aside the inevitable debris.
Once upon a time, "One step forward, two steps back" meant that I couldn't get anywhere. Now, it only means that I have to walk three times as far. (I think that's one victory right there; wouldn't ya say so?) Gotta hand it to me sometimes...
It's important to support the dreams of those you care about, (and who you should care about may be a whole 'nother issue.) It's important to acknowledge their accomplishments on the way. It is easy to observe and say why something won't work; to upbraid the downside. It's our nature. But love should conquer all, right? Love is part of the fight; love is active, it is an awareness pregnant with intent.
Don't be an "unconscious objector".
Wake up and join the fight.
I was recently, happily, gifted with a copy of Steven Pressfield's "The War of Art."
In his little, but loaded, book, Pressfield names the overbearing cloud as "resistance". (I'm the one with the overbearing cloud image; his descriptions are various and different from the one I am picturing today.)
I don't know if resistance is the devil, or in him, or of him; or a product of the fall; it is mystical, it is non-material, though. I don't know if it is engineered by God Himself, but I do know that it is real.
It pushes back, against, down. It hates beauty; it despises achievement. It lives in me, and I know it. It lives in you, and I know it. I think it is aptly named by Pressfield.
Have you ever struck out on a venture, or attempted something deeply meaningful, only to find yourself feeling very alone, very unsupported, very divided even within your own mind? Let alone the misunderstanding and criticism of others; even worse, their disinterest. All products of resistance.
Everything that can get in your way, will. Somehow. It just happens, even if you're simply emptying the dishwasher.
The word "transcendence" was tossed my way a few days ago; I caught it. My first thought was, "that's such a spiritual word", and my second thought was, "transcend what?" What is the enemy, the opposition? Resistance.
Transcendence doesn't mean we have to simply rise above, we can be grabbed at and pulled back under by resistance if we're floating on a fluffy cloud of superiority. We have to conquer; we have to visualize our big, heavy army boots of desire and purpose squashing the enemy. We have to acknowledge the reality and enormity of resistance, and fight back. We have to have a "cow catcher" affixed to our foreheads, fitted to shove aside the inevitable debris.
Once upon a time, "One step forward, two steps back" meant that I couldn't get anywhere. Now, it only means that I have to walk three times as far. (I think that's one victory right there; wouldn't ya say so?) Gotta hand it to me sometimes...
It's important to support the dreams of those you care about, (and who you should care about may be a whole 'nother issue.) It's important to acknowledge their accomplishments on the way. It is easy to observe and say why something won't work; to upbraid the downside. It's our nature. But love should conquer all, right? Love is part of the fight; love is active, it is an awareness pregnant with intent.
Don't be an "unconscious objector".
Wake up and join the fight.
Impatient?
Absolutely.
I really, really dislike when I have to set a song aside because "the other half" isn't there yet. I guess I'm seriously spoiled; enough of them appear pretty much intact; lyrics & something of a working melody essentially in place, that when I have a perfectly good lyric, and it won't finish itself, I'm irritated. Just as badly as if "someone" ticked me off; that thing has a life of it's own, and shoot, a will of it's own, too! Hmmm. I thought I was done having kids. :)
I really, really dislike when I have to set a song aside because "the other half" isn't there yet. I guess I'm seriously spoiled; enough of them appear pretty much intact; lyrics & something of a working melody essentially in place, that when I have a perfectly good lyric, and it won't finish itself, I'm irritated. Just as badly as if "someone" ticked me off; that thing has a life of it's own, and shoot, a will of it's own, too! Hmmm. I thought I was done having kids. :)
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
The sounds of...
silence.
I have been listening to all kinds of music lately, and really enjoying the experience. Even reading creates a dialogue in my head that I have to consider "noise". I find, as a writer, that in all of that listening, I am missing something very important these past couple of weeks.
My own voice.
It's great to hear and experience lots of stuff, great to explore. It is necessary. I think, though, that we very often fail to miss an essential part of the art experience if we neglect the need for "negative space". It is essential to all art forms; a canvas fully covered still maintains visual negative space; in fact, it is that delicate balance of arrangement and color around negative space that makes art great and pleasing.
In writing, it's also a balancing act; editing. What to leave in, boot out, or add.
While studying and appreciating the art of others is mandatory, and fun, our art is not theirs. Our art is our own, born from within. It is influenced by our observations and appreciation of the art of others, but it is not theirs; it must remain our own if it is going to mean anything. Our art is the expression of our uniqueness.
So, do we make time to listen to the sounds of silence? I mean, isolation from the noises of the world, the constant input and outflow required by modern society. Have you listened to your brain, your heart, lately? Have you turned off the phone(s!), the computer, the TV, the radio, and just spent some time with yourself? You know, talking to yourself, thinking, wondering and hoping? Nope, not planning. That's outflow. Just being in the moment, with yourself.
This is the "magical" tipping point of creativity. (Not really magic, but as close as I can imagine to that concept we refer to when we can't explain things happening!)
When I listen to what I have to say, that usually translates into a song.
This is where the negative space creates the word-magic; this is where Mr. Muse infuses ideas and melodies, and best of all, sanity.
ALL of last week was a blur of activity for me; doing, planning, directing, blah. I can't carry that very far without the support of negative space in my head. That's when I become impatient, frustrated. I try to impress upon my kids how mom "needs her space", but they don't get it; so I am in charge of taking responsibility for creating it. I owe it to everyone around me, and they should appreciate it. We all have our personal boundaries, and need to be protective of them. Let in the positive influences, block the threats. A constant cacophony dilutes my ability to think, to create; and the need to create is, well, great. It supports sanity. I marries the dream to reality. I think this is why so many times, in the moments before sleep, some charming phrase or spirit-ish melodic line appears. I always hope I'm still awake enough to respond to them, but it's not always the case. If you are still, they will come.
I think that's why God asks us to "Be still, and know that I Am..." Psalm 46:10. We are able to realize His presence with us when we make ourselves aware of His presence. Sometimes He imposes Himself into our consciousness, more often not. He implores us to seek Him.
Well, if we're created in His image, I think it makes sense to seek yourself, too. Not in the "god" sense, since there is one Almighty. But not much in life comes from not striving, seeking; relationship comes with effort; mutual aspiration, goals; so it is with one's self.
Okay, I've been pouring out a lot of words here. Now I'm going to go and give you some negative space; some silence; and hopefully, the encouragement to grab that opportunity with delight.
I have been listening to all kinds of music lately, and really enjoying the experience. Even reading creates a dialogue in my head that I have to consider "noise". I find, as a writer, that in all of that listening, I am missing something very important these past couple of weeks.
My own voice.
It's great to hear and experience lots of stuff, great to explore. It is necessary. I think, though, that we very often fail to miss an essential part of the art experience if we neglect the need for "negative space". It is essential to all art forms; a canvas fully covered still maintains visual negative space; in fact, it is that delicate balance of arrangement and color around negative space that makes art great and pleasing.
In writing, it's also a balancing act; editing. What to leave in, boot out, or add.
While studying and appreciating the art of others is mandatory, and fun, our art is not theirs. Our art is our own, born from within. It is influenced by our observations and appreciation of the art of others, but it is not theirs; it must remain our own if it is going to mean anything. Our art is the expression of our uniqueness.
So, do we make time to listen to the sounds of silence? I mean, isolation from the noises of the world, the constant input and outflow required by modern society. Have you listened to your brain, your heart, lately? Have you turned off the phone(s!), the computer, the TV, the radio, and just spent some time with yourself? You know, talking to yourself, thinking, wondering and hoping? Nope, not planning. That's outflow. Just being in the moment, with yourself.
This is the "magical" tipping point of creativity. (Not really magic, but as close as I can imagine to that concept we refer to when we can't explain things happening!)
When I listen to what I have to say, that usually translates into a song.
This is where the negative space creates the word-magic; this is where Mr. Muse infuses ideas and melodies, and best of all, sanity.
ALL of last week was a blur of activity for me; doing, planning, directing, blah. I can't carry that very far without the support of negative space in my head. That's when I become impatient, frustrated. I try to impress upon my kids how mom "needs her space", but they don't get it; so I am in charge of taking responsibility for creating it. I owe it to everyone around me, and they should appreciate it. We all have our personal boundaries, and need to be protective of them. Let in the positive influences, block the threats. A constant cacophony dilutes my ability to think, to create; and the need to create is, well, great. It supports sanity. I marries the dream to reality. I think this is why so many times, in the moments before sleep, some charming phrase or spirit-ish melodic line appears. I always hope I'm still awake enough to respond to them, but it's not always the case. If you are still, they will come.
I think that's why God asks us to "Be still, and know that I Am..." Psalm 46:10. We are able to realize His presence with us when we make ourselves aware of His presence. Sometimes He imposes Himself into our consciousness, more often not. He implores us to seek Him.
Well, if we're created in His image, I think it makes sense to seek yourself, too. Not in the "god" sense, since there is one Almighty. But not much in life comes from not striving, seeking; relationship comes with effort; mutual aspiration, goals; so it is with one's self.
Okay, I've been pouring out a lot of words here. Now I'm going to go and give you some negative space; some silence; and hopefully, the encouragement to grab that opportunity with delight.
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