[L, diary, ephēmeris] 1) BLOG

"Briefly, I now have two of the most wonderful books, written by Marie Popova. One is called THE VELOCITY OF BEING, Letters to Young Readers. Here is a drawing discovered after class, influenced by this book:

The literary part of the book is a little above the kids but so gorgeously illustrated they are continually drawn to it, responding to the stories within the letters as best they can.  With almost non-exisistant English, Chay Chay had no idea what the letter says about the power of reading, but the illustration reached him, motivated him, and I had the private joy of discovering his path in the casual clutter left behind at the end of the day.

    

What delights me most is that I can find a match for every one of his illustrations except the figure at the top of his copied ladder and moon...I think he has marvelously inserted himself in it.     What do you think?"

 

Later, this email was edited into a larger post but the kids continue to surprise me with private examples of the book's continuing influence.  Last week, this was discovered in Resty Joy's drawing book:

There's a funny story about my not realizing she'd copied/edited it from Popova's book.  I'd taken it seriously, as if SHE were the one who'd discovered the described note in her drawing, had found it inside one of OUR books, so I was almost frenzied searching through the bookcase seeking a book old and worn enough to be the one...until she produced Popova's  Velocity of Being.  Here's the page that inspired her:

Confession Time:  Lately, I've been feeling emotionally unable to effectively continue holding Saturday Art with the kids, as well as having the energy to maintain this website. I was about to pull the plug on both.

The last four months of full focus on hauling PILAR, the re-stepping of her masts, re-rigging them, too, has been intense; ultimately rewarding but depleting on several levels. So, while my boat's needs were being met, the kid's needs were not. That morning, I'd gotten frustrated and disgusted with Resty Joy's lack of interest in an, admittedly hasty ('busy-work') word game, given to the others.  Later, after my bad attitude towards hers, but prior to being suddenly allowed to see what she'd been working on, I'd seen her sitting alone in the far corner of the room, hunched over her drawing book with a large and droopy pillow on her head, and knew I was failing.  Time to quit.

Everything changed when she freely brought me her book to show what she'd been working on.  This, from a child who hates having her photograph taken, who routinely speaks so low she cannot be heard then says, 'Never-mind' when asked to repeat what she'd said, and routinely answers, 'I don't know,' to any inquiry for a personal preference...though she does know because she's extraordinarily bright when it sneaks out of her.  No wonder I'd thought that the lonely letter found in the artwork story of a library book, asking someone to write to the author, had inflamed my own guilt for earlier being dismissive towards her!

Sometimes the way she designs her art work, or asks a difficult question, or repeatedly watches one special video of a Israeli/Palistinian Women's Peace March, I am filled with awe. Humbled. 

Saturday, it was clear that it is not for me to judge how much or how fast what I have to offer bears fruit.  Selfishly, it bears fruit in ME, so I will continue to provide a Saturday place of exposure to exploration for the children to visit.  And, I will continue to post what we do there...in all it's gloriously messy humanity. 

In that, Maria Popova guides me, again:

 

"Looking back on the most important things I have learned about life, I keep returning to a central paradox of our culture: We know that the flower doesn’t go from bud to blossom in one spritely burst, yet we crave stories of overnight success and spontaneous self-actualization, disinterested in the tedium of the blossoming, in the incremental ripening by which we become who we are, the innumerable tiny choices, the imperceptibly small steps by which we pave the path to our own destiny in the very act of walking it. We are each a continuous becoming, our future a rosary of presents strung along the strand of presence — presence with the smallest corpuscles of existence: the smell of a neighbor’s curry slipping through the window cracked in midwinter, the atlas of wrinkles on the hands of the cashier scanning the box of strawberries at the grocery store. Sensing, noticing — the raw materials of presence, and thus the elemental stardust of our becoming."

Joel Paquet's essay about committing to be an artist stunned me while reading his Open Letter to Artists. As it unfolded,  a challenging view of myself as an artist was revealed.  His intentional message was supportive of artists, for those days when the work artists do doesn't work.  As I read I applied each of his headings to myself--Innovation, Resilience, Perseverance and Faith--and slowly the painful awareness came of how very far I was from artists who'd made full-time commitments to their craft.

I've always thought of myself as an artist. Totally. Without a doubt. I grew up in an art-filled home, have always been creative in whatever I've put my hands to. But suddenly I realized I'd never gone to the extent of being truly fluent in any of the skills I enjoyed using regularly.   

So, IT HURT to see this new vision of myself. Especially so since the equally disconcerting epiphany of making choices about living life as either a Tourist or Resident. I was appalled  to think I might be just a TOURIST in the world of art, not a RESIDENT. Was I really a person who played the field rather than commit 'for better or worse'  to my artistic gifts?

Expressing this painfully close-to-the-bone idea to a friend who also has multi-abilities and interests, his reply was:

"On identity, I feel it’s too limiting to see yourself as “resident artist”—period.  Of course, you’re more than that when you think about it.  You’re a teacher, a craftsman, a counselor, a boat lover, and on and on."

His observation was consoling. My life wasn't totally devoid of consistent commitment. Persistent dedication to developing skills of nurturing, specifically for any child or old boat, has been fundamental since I was young.  Support for the path I have trod was also to be found in Pacquet's letter, under the heading, Perseverance :

 
"Like Karma, the artist's life has it's own organic path if you let it unfold naturally. Work ethic, love of the job, proximity and opportunity all play a role in developing a life in art. Be clear about these and adjust your life to maximize your gifts."

...and then there was also this to reflect on:

“Before you tell your life what you intend to do with it, listen for what intends to do with you.”

-Parker Palmer, Let Your Life Speak

Which seemed to be what I had done when gazing back at the evolutionary projects that my love of kids and boats and art had produced. I saw the shaping of my life and theirs, saw the honing of our abilities for pursuing even further visions for each of us through the art we've shared.  From the mirror of what I continued to pursue when writing to other friends my commitment to revealing art everywhere, in all our lives, was clear:

"I have not given up on the dream of creating a Cultural Community Center for the locals…a place where artists and writers and musicians and handcraft artisans can have workshops, not just for the able-bodied but for the Theresa’s of our community, too.  I want a gallery where their work can be displayed, and a boat building shop where tourists can come help the out-of-school youth build little sailboats or kayaks, and other tourists can rent them and bring an income to the locals…I want a restaurant, too, to serve organic foods from my garden…to sell fresh bread we grind our own flour for, and bake ourselves…and a fish market/eatery where the fishermen can sell their catch so they don’t have to put it on trucks for markets outside our community, so that even the locals won't have to travel to Siaton to buy fresh fish!  Silly system. 

I mean, really, is that too much to ask for? Just a simple Community Center…"

Though, for now, for just a few of us on Saturday afternoons, that is happening when we make art.  When we bring it into our lives in ways we'd never known possible.  When we begin to see ourselves as artists, as creative humans able to bring our individually unique visions into being. Valued.

Which is what this website is beginning to showcase.