Show me the shine in your Japan, the sparkle in your China

Bodhisattva

This weekend I went up to DC and met up with a group of friends. Throughout the week (maybe) I'll post more about the trip.

I think of all the things we did, the hour spent in the Freer Art Museum has the biggest impact on me.


Bodhisattva

Would you take me by the hand
Bodhisattva
Would you take me by the hand
Can you show me
The shine of your Japan
The sparkle of your china
Can you show me
Bodhisattva
Bodhisattva
I'm gonna sell my house in town
Bodhisattva
I'm gonna sell my house in town
And I'll be there
To shine in your Japan
To sparkle in your China
Yes I'll be there
Bodhisattva 

I immediately had this song playing in my mind (as apparently did a few of my companions)

I think the other thing that struck me most on this trip was learning about mandala's. 

I cannot erase this paragraph from my mind, 

"Another visual form associated with Buddhism is the mandala, a representation of an enlightened realm where union between the human and the sacred occurs. Most often, for example in Tibetan Buddhist art or in Japanese Esoteric Buddhist art, the mandala is a circular or square configuration, with a center that radiates outward into compartmentalized areas. The deity at the center of the configuration, who signifies absolute truth, engages in reciprocal interactions with figures in the outer precincts, who signify manifested aspects of that truth. The practitioner unites the outer manifestations in the center of the mandala and then internally absorbs the mandala as a whole."

Compartmentalized truth. Huh. 

For more cool photos from my friend Chris you can go here:

-***-

Sorry I've been so MIA. Work is keeping me busy - even in the evenings. Or just luxuriating in the idea that I have evenings free. And cooking.

Friday Nights - FTW

Usually I am not much of a Friday night person. I look forward to wine, some food, Back Porch Music and an early bed time.

Last Friday my routine was changed. I meant to write about it earlier ... but (insert excuse here).

"The Dream Still Lives"

I had the best time last Friday night.

I got to see Spot!

My friend Mamie's husband belongs to Spot. I got an e-Mail announcing a Friday night gig ... and among other things it mentioned "the new Frank". In turn I invited my friend Meg (and a whole lot of other people) to join me, but only Meg took me up on the offer.

While making mygiddy plans to spend a Friday night out, Meg eMailed me back and asked, “So what kind of band is this?”

The question made me stop and consider … what type of band WOULD THIS BE?? I knew Mamie’s husband played the guitar. I knew he had a band that occasionally played at their church. So –they could be a "Good Band" – OR they could be“Not-So-Good-but-We’re-All-Polite-and-We’ll-Clap-Anyway” type band.

Being optimistic, I told Meg the band was in our age range and I was expecting blues and acoustical sets. Stuff we'd like.

After a great dinner with Meg and her husband (who is a loser and didn't join us afterwords), we headed out for the warehouse district. Spot's studios are in an artists' studio. It had exposed brick walls and this most amazing mural backdrop.There was a decent sized crowd ... (maybe 50 or 60 people), just friends of the band and friends of friends ranging in age from 30-70 years old. Everyone had BYOB and showed up to have a great time.

However, I didn't know what we were really getting into (at that point) ...so after Meg's questioning I was really worried about the band. I kept flashing back to high school garage bands. You know the type. They were made up of guys that were going to "live the dream and become a Rock Stars".

Although as you stood there, freezing your butt off in the garage, it was apparent the only reason you were there was because your best friend's boyfriend was in the band. True, they were enthusiastic. They had instruments and big dream. On the minus side, they also started every song 4 or 5 times. Between playing (partial songs) they had endless discussions about which song to sing next. After four hours of rehursing they'd sung four songs that you couldn't recognize. Because it was high school - you kept your thoughts to yourself although you thought what you were hearing was crap. (Because what if they DID become famous some day?)

So, my expectation was that I was going to hear a group of 40-plus year-old-high school guys play. (and I kicked myself for my enthusiasm)

BOY WERE MY EXPECTATIONS WRONG!

I had some details wrong. Durham (Mamie's husband) didn't play the guitar once. Instead, he's the keyboardist for this group and this night he was sitting behind this great Hammond B-3 with a Leslie. All the guys knew their way around the classic rock sets. Not only did they know the songs, they knew the order they were singing, and they never had to start a song a second time!

Besides Durham, there was a bassist with this great mop of curly hair, an elegant long face - and this intriguing looking mouth. As in any normal band, there was also the lead guitarist (the new "YOUNG" Frank aka Frank Gordon), a drummer (Bruce Sauls) and rhythm guitarist Mike Proctor.

In the first set, the song "Mustang Sally" with "the old Frank" singing set the evening's perma-grin on my face. From there the band moved onto the Ramon's "I Want to be Sedated", Led Zeplin's "Bring It on Home", Roy Orbison's "Pretty Woman" ... and lots of other blues inspired, growling, good-time rock and roll songs. (Or song that sound like those listed. I wanted to get a play list, but I didn't - and I am crap at recognizing song titles and artists.)

At some point Meg wanted to know who owned the space since her former studio was in this same neighborhood. Mamie told us it was the bass player's loft. At the next break, Meg went up to the guitarist to find out who painted the mural - and more about his space and work. We found out the mural was painted by a young art student and left behind after Tom honored him with a cocktail party during a showing of his work.

And the bassist himself and his work? Turns out he's Thomas Sayre and he is the designer of the new Raleigh "Shimmer Wall" at the Convention Center. We were both endeared with him as he actually *blushed* as he admitted that the wall was one of his projects.

Standing in the crowd ... bopping to the music, I was taking notes, as random people walked in and out of the space. The ever changing spectators were drawn off the street by the music and the energy. I was busily jotting down impressions of the evening when this guy showed up!

A fun thing about hanging out with artists. They always add their own creativity to the evening. Meg, unable to resist the look of this guy - grabbed the notepad from my hand and began sketching. Looking up, then down at the pad, she made a line drawing. Finishing she handed the pad back to me and disappeared for a few minutes. Returning to my side, she had her own notepad and as she giggled and laughed she did line drawings of each band member, repeating over and over again, "This is so much fun! I've never done drawings like this before".

I think she caught their personalities - and the spontaneity of the evening perfectly. She kept those images with her, but I wouldn't be surprised to see them showing up in her art work in the near future.

Near the end of the evening Durham, sang an original song. Like all the other music of the evening it was great!

I loved seeing him sit behind his organ, face lit up with the joy of singing as he growled out the lyrics. I do believe I'm going to become a permanent Spot devote! It was great seeing these guys who are still "living the dream" (and 100 times better than most garage bands I sat through as a teenager).

We didn't get home 'till late that Saturday night - and I swore to myself "no more late Friday nights!" Especially when I have a 1/2 day of Saturday office work ahead of me (as I did last weekend - and this weekend).

I was going to keep that promise, until my friend Gina called me last night at 5:15.

"What are you doing tonight?" she asked.

"Nothing. Why? What are YOU doing?" I said.

I knew she was in Raleigh dog sitting this weekend - and I assumed she wanted to enjoy a bottle of wine with me.

"I have four, eighth row seats, to go see the Allman Brothers Band tonight. FOR FREE. Plus VIP Parking and free drink tickets. Wanna go?"

Now I ask you ... HOW CAN YOU TURN DOWN AN OFFER LIKE THAT? (even if it means breaking your promise to yourself.)

So we loaded up two other friends ... (Hi East! Hi! Chris!) and had a great time. (Read his blog for more about the music)

Now I must admit. I am not a huge Allman Brother's fan. I mean, certainly I've heard their music as I was growing up. I liked it. If you'd have pressed me though, I'd have had a hard time naming a single song of theirs - although I can pin down their sound.

Before leaving for the show, I went to YouTube to refresh my memory. I was thrilled to find they were the band behind Melissa, Jessica, and Midnight Rider. I also saw one of the song's titles was "Statesboro Blues" which holds some special memories for me since Statesboro, Georgia is a cotton city. Of all the songs they played, I think I enjoyed Soulshine the best.

You may not realize this, but I have a huge "weirdo magnet". Without meaning to, I often engage it because I will talk to strangers. It was on FULL FORCE last night.

During the evening I switched places with Gina and ended up standing at the end of our group (away from the aisle) - with two highly "energized" fans in standing in front of me. Beside me were two men close to my age. As the concert went on small quips and comments were traded back and forth between all of us.

As I said, the two guys next to me were slightly older than myself, but not more than four or five years. However, they apparently didn't realize this as they kept asking me, "What do you think of this type of music?" I figured they were asking because although I was standing and clapping in time to the music, I wasn't bobbing and weaving in that Grateful Dead/Phish manner. Finally, I felt I needed to clarify my age with them and I said, "It would be hard to grow up in the late 60's and early 70's in the Bay Area and not have heard this music." I wanted to indicate that I LIKED the music, but somehow I just felt like I was certifying "uptight and out of my element".

Still I was enjoying myself until I had this surreal conversation with one of the younger two fans standing in front of us. It began when he asked if I was older than twenty.

(And may I add a "WTF" here? I do not think on the BEST OF DAYS I look anywhere near an early twenty-year-old-woman. NOT TO MENTION that Gina and Chris are BOTH ten years younger than me and look/act MUCH more youthful. Especially last night and at this concert.)

So - anyway - there I stood. Ms. Chatty - who accepted a compliment on the pashmina I had thrown around my shoulders in a vain attempt to look "youthful" and "with it". The next thing I new, TY-ishF (The Young-ish Fan) was saying to me,

"Give me a kiss!"

In reply I gave him the death look.

"Come-on, kiss me! Just once? It would totally make my night," he said as he moved from the seating section in front of us and glommed onto my side.

Continuing to twitch to the music and staring at me, he said, "No? You won't give me one long kiss? Then how about a short one?"

"No?! May I kiss your cheek? I can't kiss your cheek?" His incredulous voice made it hard for me to keep a straight face, but I was already kicking myself for talking to a stranger ... and knew with any more encouragement I'd be in deep water. My stoic and unchanging stance led him to this time-worn line.

"You're beautiful. You know that right? You have amazing cheeks." Which earned him a snort from me. Taking this as encouragement he moved on to, "Can I kiss your earlobe? It will make you weak in the knees, I promise! Nooo?! How can you say that?"

All this time, my friends were off to the right - totally grooving on the long percussive transitional section of the concert where the three drummers totally got it on. Back in my own private hell, we'd moved onto,

"How about a hug then? I'll feel better if you'll hug me. Not even just a quick little hug?"

I declined all forms and time frames for exchanging hugs with him.

"You got a boyfriend don't you? A husband? Oh! Are you into women?" At this point I looked at him and said, "No - I hate ALL PEOPLE and I'm a crotchety old woman. Now leave me alone."

Finally, after I convinced him I wouldn't just "stare into his eyes for a few minutes" (no, not even for just 10 seconds, nor 5 seconds... or even GLANCE HIS WAY) he decided I was serious - and moved back to his row of seats ... and then sat there and pouted until his friends roused him into some more "dancing". (WITH OUT ME! yay!) Even while TY-ishF was annoying, I totally enjoyed the evening - and watching/hearing Gregg as he sat behind that B-3. The music and lyrics reminded me of SPOT and how I can't wait to hear them again. (where it appears I am safe from people thinking conversation is an invitation to soul kissing.) Maybe going out on Friday's isn't so bad (if you don't talk to strangers).

A Few Fine Things

A question that nags at the back of my mind, “What is authentic and what is kitsch?” Where does “environmental design” end and “fakery” begin? Being here in Santa Fe it’s hard to avoid these comparisons. What’s “real” adobe and true Santa Fe design and what is the “Santa Fe Style” brought to you by “Schmaltzy Retailers Plus”?

I love the “real” southwest, the blend of Hispanic and Native American sensibilities and ethics. Their designs are simple, clean, uncomplicated, and organic. I hate the tacky “reincarnation” of these designs. I’ll throw up if I see one more cheesy Kokopelli sign or one more “yard shadow” of a leaning cowboy silhouette.

I’d only selected four galleries to visit today because I didn’t want to overwhelm myself with images and schlock. I can’t tell you how I chose the four – it was a web search – and they were the ones that looked most intriguing. Boy did I choose well!

After a wondrous breakfast at Horseman’s Haven where I consumed Huevos con Chorizo covered in the most divine Green Chilie sauce, I headed downtown. My first stop was the Gerald Peters Gallery.

As I turned into the crushed gravel parking lot I knew I’d hit a jackpot. The building was adobe – it had a large veranda – fired Mexican tile – and pots of blooming desert plants leading to the entry. One step inside and this vast landscape greeted me.

All the tension left my body. This is the desert I know and love. THIS is authentic. Not some stylized over worked color scheme.

The artist is Arturo Chevez. This is the first time I’ve seen his work, but he is beyond talented. I was struggling to figure out why his work spoke to me so much. In reading a little bit about him, I realized the word I was searching for was “authentic”. He paints the way I hope I write, with careful attention to detail and realism.

There were several other artists whose work I also enjoyed. Two pieces by William Shepherd attracted my attention. The first, Roaring Judy, would fit in perfectly with Blue’s project, “Collected Horizons”. The second (which I cannot find an image of) was titled, “Surface Events”. It is something Talla Paula would fall in love with – and her daughter wouldn’t be far behind. This is one set of rocks that I wouldn’t mind having in my home. Here’s a similar piece.

G. Russell Case was the final artist to capture my heart at this gallery. There were a few of his pieces hanging in a small room with a decorative tin ceiling and old, worn leather chairs – that invited one to sit down and sink into the moment. I did just that, staring at his vistas and the other cowboy art hanging on the white washed wood walls. The chairs – classic in design – worn with years of comfortable sitting – are what I’ve always envisioned in “my library”. Sitting there – soaking in the experience I wished I had my laptop, some Bob Wills and The Texas Playboys playing in the background while I sipped some bourbon or scotch. I can’t imagine a more peaceful place to let my mind wander down the roads of creativity.

Leaving the PG Gallery, I headed next door to the Nedra Matteucci Galleries. Here was another sprawling building. Room among room tucked in here and there, with the occasional doorway opening out onto a garden full of water features, sculptures, and trees with leaves making music as the wind blew through the leaves. Clicking on these links will show you why I instantly lost my heart here.

I thought I was safe and would be able to keep my lust under control – until I stepped into a room full of William Matthew’s work. This image, (Snowy Day #26) stopped me cold. Here are the men (#3, 7, 21, 25, 27) and landscapes (#6) I dream about.

As I thought about art – I thought about writing. Am I drawn to these types of paintings because they tell a story I understand? Or do the images allow me to create my own stories? Is this really “my” world – or just the one I’ve absorbed through osmosis. Pondering these thoughts, I came to this painting.

It’s a great illustration of what I want to learn in this craft called writing. Having the skill to frame my tales so that some of the story is just outside of what I tell. To draw images so strong that I can leave out a detail or two – like the cow’s head – and yet still have it be a complete scene. Or maybe – what this picture really represents is a good ending, one that allows the reader to continue the story in their minds after I’ve ended my part.

As I left Nedra’s a light rain began to fall. I decided I’d seen the best, so I headed back to the hotel. How decadent to take an afternoon nap, maybe find a wi-fi café and surf the net when I wake up, before heading out to dinner.

This is the life, a few fine things, savored and memorized.

Where Do You Live?

I have become involved in a Moleskine art project. A Moleskine is like a diary or sketchpad, filled with blank pages. It is passed from member to member of the community - and each artist creates a piece of artwork on a page or two. The artwork can be drawn, cut graphics, written, pasted, or adheared from another medium into the book. Sometimes the Moleskine's have themes, sometimes they do not. The one I am working on - and sending off tomorrow has a theme. "Where do you live". I have attempted to recreate my 3 crayon drawings added randomly to the Moleskine. I am not much of an artist - but the point is to be creative, right? Besides these images, I added a page of text. Here in the format of a journal or blog, I have mixed the graphics in with the text.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Where do you live?

I have no one residence, but live in a million places. The places I call home are places I go to often in my mind. They are places of solace, beauty, and acceptance.

I live in the cinnamon mountains and ocher chocolate canyons of the Sonora dessert; in the blooming pink-hazed spring orchards of the Sacramento Valley; in the velvet blue of Lake Tahoe and the glacial till of an Alaskan ice-flow. I live in the flash of a rainbow trout in a clear deep mountain spring and the pounding surf of the Pacific Coast.

I live in my words, which I send out into the Ethernet. Words of humor, encouragement, silliness, and prayer. I live in the minds of my friends and they live with me, no matter how far away, nor which spiritual plane they occupy.

I live in the food I prepare with love for all those invited to feast at my table. I live in the claret red of a smooth wine, the smoky mystery of a good scotch, and the effervescence of a sparkling champagne.

You will find me most alive whenever there is a still moment in church, with sunlight streaming through a stained-glass window; in the second of beauty just before a praise song ends; I live in the Bible passage that suddenly makes me see and the sweet acceptance and forgiveness of the communion cup and bread of Christ’s body.

I live everywhere and right here on this little piece of earth known as Raleigh, North Carolina. I live in the dogwood and azalea bloom, the summer crepe myrtle explosion of magenta, and the fast and furious thunderstorm that wipes ways the neon pollen or summer dust. I live in the jazz music that fills my house, the butter yellow of my living room walls, the mismatched yet harmonic hand painted tiles from Mexico lining my kitchen counter, the hardwood floors that gleam in the light and the bed that cradles me upon my return from a long trip.

I live in the Mississippi Delta – where time and culture move slow, like a hickory cure applied to barbequed meats. I live in the cotton blossom – open for one brief day before fading away. I live in the history of lint, picked and spun into the fabric of our life.

I live where I am loved … so I live here.

Transported

Today I went on vacation with Monet. No, really, I did! Yes, I feel fine.

Stop . Looking . at . Me . Like .That!

The North Carolina Art Museum is hosting an exhibit of 50 of Claude Monet's works spanning from the beginning of his career to the end. I took a day off from work and treated myself. What a treat it was … (if you don’t count all those other rude people), in so many ways.

In the late ‘90’s I was fortunate enough to see his Water Lilly Exhibit when I was living in Phoenix. I was blown away by his style. This NC exhibit has more depth as it explored the evolution of his style and subject matter. As a young artist, the French coast served as his muse. For me his ocean waves showed the greatest development of his skill. In his earlier canvases, he worked with curly lines and corkscrews to simulate the action of the waves. Like this:

By the middle of his career he understood the energy of the waves and was able to leave behind his corkscrews and curly lines be more subtle. I think this image shows the full evolution of his talent.

There were several painting from headlands or cliff looking out over the ocean. These views made me homesick for my northern California coast.

Who knew oceans could be so different? The mid and southern Atlantic shore is flat, flat, flat. So are its beaches and ocean. I want “a view” and drama when I see the ocean. If the tree in this painting were a coastal oak or Monterey Juniper, I’d think Monet had been to the Pacific.

Another thing that stuck me about Monet was his ability to let go of the details. (Hmm, I’m sure there’s a life lesson in here.) His earliest work displayed an attention to the little things, but as he grew, he became more interested in capturing the essence of the scene.

Monet often painted the same subject, from the same viewpoint, from different light and weather perspectives. The beauty of the image's essence was brought home to me in this painting. As you look at it, you notice it goes from dark to light as your eye moves from the bottom left corner to the upper right. See how muted the colors – and the architecture are? If you’ve even been in San Joaquin or Sacramento Valley fog, then this surreal rendering is all to familiar. What struck me though was Monet wanted to show me the beauty of the mass and the color gradient, not the architectural detail of this amazing cathedral in Rouen.

At the end of the exhibit my friend and I walked though some of the other galleries. The have a series of paintings of women which always captivate my imagination. Then we moved on to the landscapes. For a few minutes we gazed at the image of Bridal Vail Falls in Yosemite. It was a well executed painting, but it just doesn’t stand up to actually being there. Then we moved into the next room.

On the far wall hung a painting. I caught sight of it from the corner of my eye. I looked away. Then looked back. I turned so I was facing it directly across the expanse of the gallery. I was lost. All sound and extraneous noise dropped away from me. I wrapped my arms around my shoulders, hugging myself, as I gazed at the image. My eyes couldn’t look away. As I sought the horizon I knew I was loosing myself. The picture took on a soft focus effect and I, with out moving a foot, was standing on the edge of this abyss – looking off to the north. Staining with all my might, even leaning slightly forward, so I could be enveloped by this landscape. It seemed I stared for hours, longing rushing through my body. My senses tingled, at one point I closed my eyes, and breathed in. Smmmmm – but only air-conditioning reached my nose. Where was the pungent smell of sage, dusty clay, and the far off elusive smell of rain? I opened my eyes – and they grew misty. I tell you now – if longing could ever return you to a place, I’d still be standing on the south rim of the Grand Canyon with the elements washing over me. In that one brief instance I was transported. To another time, another place, another reality. Oh how my heart ached for that county that allows my soul to expand into the vastness of the horizon.

That my dear reader, is why painters paint and gazers gaze. The painter wishes to transport you to another time and place and the gazer wants the magic to work, just one more time.