Pardon Me For A Moment

While I adjust my cross-wired brain...

Pardon me for a moment
while I adjust my cross-wired brain
nether my remaining hair...

As I settle with unsolicited claimant
a cloud seeded foggy moody rain
that drizzly dampens my air...

Obligating me to be patient
whilst relieving headachy pain
reasoning out impermanent despair...

This encounter is recurring and ancient
history has schooled is part of life's terrain
for living full and a begrudging transient affair.

On the Latitude of Lassitude

A geographical location of the creative mind...

In the central desert of Arizona primarily there are two seasons: Fluctuating Mild and Flaming Hot, commonly referred to as winter and summer. There are two brief seasons in between we call fall and spring although those who live in true four seasons climate's mock us for not having a true autumn where leaves turn photographically splendid and a spring where the world seemingly jumps out alive as flowers brightly bloom. Personally I'd rather not go through all those seasons and changes of clothing and enjoy the mild winters we have and generally I'm in my element in the hot, hot summer.

For some reason the shift between winter and summer that we refer to as fall and spring bring on an inexplicable languor in my mood although my life is in balance and stable otherwise. I long ago gave up analyzing it but retain angst over why to some degree because...well, I have to have something to wring my hands about when bored. Logically I understand that the lethargy actually is a pause and recharging between my two creative seasons that coincide with winter and summer. Logic however has nothing to do with matters of mood and consciousness to souls like mine. That's another wisdom I have gained with age and learned to let go.

"It is as it is" as the common pronouncement goes.

It is spring in the desert now, the trees have long past budding and sprouted leaves almost instantaneously as they do in this latitudinal climate. The weather is warming at night, a sure sign that summer is on its way and suddenly we will one day find ourselves in blazing heat. The sun is already bearing down in its inimitable way as it does in arid lands. I am patiently waiting for the zest of life for me, creative energy and mind thrilling thoughts that cause me to make visual art and write to come along and they will.

If patience is a virtue I wasn't born with it but I have learned to cope with not having it. Sleep is a great comfort and storage house of unconscious ideas and I have no guilt about indulging in it for that reason. I also see no dishonor in doing nothing productive except what has to be done to maintain a household, pay the bills and keep the mind and body healthy with sustenance and mild exercise. It does no harm since for a large segment of the general population that is the core of their daily lives and they do little else. That is not a judgment on the average person merely a statement that if I engage in it while waiting simultaneously for summer and inspiration, so what?

During the two seasons of our winter and summer I create pretty good creative work for a modest unknown artist. In between I am still creating but to me it is production of mediocre work to keep myself busy and continue to hone my skills. Others may judge otherwise, one way or the other about the quality of what I do at any time but that must be somewhat irrelevant to me out of necessity. All creative people want to bring into being work that has meaning to someone else observing or absorbing their particular art form. Whether or not I do that is for others is not known to me and I'm not sure it is important at this point in my life that I do. Naturally it is my desire to give pleasure to the observer of what I create and it would be falsely humble of me to say otherwise but I am not consciously aware of whether I do or not.

Perhaps someday I will know but the important thing to me and the message I really want to impart to others who create is the therapeutic value of it for our own well being. Perhaps we might not be Sergei Rachmaninoff, Robert Rauschenberg, Ansel Adams or Walt Whitman and known in our own time or possibly we could be like Emily Dickinson and never know in our lifetime. We may be another fish in the stream that forges imaginative work that is great, good, average or just plain. It is all irrelevant in the long run since recognition is not always a sign of greatness and some pretty poor work is well recognized and shamefully bad.

What is of value is the importance that it is to us, that we do whatever is we do creatively and continue it to keep our lives from being as commonplace as much of the general population since otherwise for us it is quiet desperation. The meaning and happiness is important to us and very likely to those around us since they also experience the joy we get from making our art. Without that joy we live in frustration because we are not expressing our inner selves outwardly as required by the very nature of our individual souls. That also means sometimes we have periods that we must wait for inspiration and if we continue to work our craft, when ingenious eruptions do occur we are ready with tools and skills to bring them to reality.

Born Again

Tree in seasonal transition...

Fall encourages leaves to die for the winter 

While spring emboldens them 

To live again for the summer

When Gray Is Gray

Not black and white or color either...

These past few months I've been struggling with some natural passages of life that a normal healthy person ought to go through. The wonderful thing about living is the longer you are here you recognize patterns of life and are able to recognize them. Sometimes dealing with them is another matter.

The tools for repairing the soul are within me and being a generally optimistic and self-reliant person I usually have no problem implementing them. At other times it's a matter of putting one foot in front of the other knowing that as surely as the clouds came in they will also eventually break and the sun will burst forth. These past few weeks my mood has been cloudy without even hint of cleansing rain while simultaneously very creatively productive for me. The creativity actually has been a result of my mood since creating colorful images seemed to be the only gleaming spots in dull days. While I'm in these period I tend to photograph my personal favorite classic iconic images in black and white or muted tones and then edit them to reflect my mood as I emerge into the natural luminescent light again.

The Sky Darkened

It was a dark and stormy night...

Then I awoke.

Recently I've been having one of those momentary periods that many of us get. My personal name for this flat aura is "My Anxiety" and occurs occasionally, for reasons not always clear at first although I know what seemingly minor events pull the triggers. The cycles begin with feeling anxious hosted by multiple demons which are uncertainty over the future, my perceptions of the world and a doubt about my creative ability. Like Jesus casting out the demons in the possessed man I start the process of doing that within myself. When these moods occur it is critical to remember that just as they arrive unannounced and unwanted they'll go away in pretty much the same manner. They cannot be left to work themselves out on their own though for that may call up Churchill's Black Dog and instead requires determination to be rid of the hangdog.

It is work that has to be done if I'm to get beyond it. The moods range from feeling deflated, being tired accompanied by overall body ache, spells of black and blue mood that are occasionally illuminated from the firmament through windows of rational thinking. It is the skylight of the rational thinking I have learned to seize and sort out reality that almost always follows the same pattern. There is nothing wrong with my life, actually I'm quite fortunate that I've been able to structure my life to be relatively stress free, comfortable and content, secure in my possessions, my abilities and my relationships. The conclusion is always the same, some chemical reaction has occurred in my system that needs to be worked out. Over the years I've learned what tools I need to get from the workroom and implement them.

During these periods it would be easier if I could just pick them up, deploy them and the interlude is then quickly over. Not so fast, time is one of the elements in recovery and it ticks on its own clock while recalling that motivation has also been dealt a surly blow. It would be nice if there was a one-size formula already worked out in some self help plan but in actuality what works for one person doesn't work for another. When people ask I let them know what works for me with the caveat that the solutions are arrived by individual sojourn until the Blue Box works for them and breaks their code. It is never arrived at completely and cannot be given up, if one thing does not work it is critical to continue and try another.

Nevertheless the knowledge itself is enough and once learned the process is shortened, the interlude limited and the darkness more a muted light gray than what at one time in my life was black. This recent installment explains my recent interest in taking photographs in black and white in the urban landscape and writing less. As these things go I knew it would pass and just as quickly as it descended and was recognized it has also lifted and passed. Not without some work and effort coupled with unwanted angst and confusion and cleansing out of the archfiends this storm has passed over.

My term "My Anxiety" came from my friend Maryann, who I've been thinking and wondering about.

Crossing the Virtual Desert

Seek water journeying past a brief void of mind...

Above all else keep squinting to the horizon for the oasis.

There are times when forces in life collide and a fiery mixture that creates a burst of creativity and colorful experiences explode and the thrill of living can hardly be contained. Then they are often followed by quiet periods of contemplation and the soul soaks up what it has encountered and cultivates it for expressions in art and intellect. Then there are those cycles where the energy seems sapped out of life and the mood is flat and the color is gray. If you are a soul that travels through the hemisphere of vivid contrasting emotions it is important to recognize when those intervals occur. It is a certain bet that you are a creative type, a thinker, whether it is art, literary or science and it is critical you be aware of your own states of being.

When I was younger it was learning not to let moments of maniacal-like outbursts of creativity get too out of control and manage them to productively use the energy. Quietude has always been a manageable and enjoyable period since instinctively I know that I am recharging for the next thing. What I must be wary of is letting the natural periods of gray turn to black. Above all else the black hole is to be avoided since then you are unable to see the ropes that are being tossed to you so you may pull yourself out. The cipher must be encoded beforehand so when the signalling dots and dashes arrive you recognize them and steer your psyche back to solid ground.

Gray has been my tone for over a month now. It creeps up slowly and seems like something else such as the cold that is tenaciously hanging on I can't get rid of. Possibly the long hot summer full of unsought dramas that have cooled as has the weather and the mood is used to excuse this as post-crisis recovering. Another warning beacon is nine to ten hours of sleeping, unusual for me. Then recognition occurs, a skill that has taken me a lifetime to learn, that I must pause and enumerate the elements to draw a conclusion about my current awareness. Grey is the current shade and steps must be taken to keep black from obliterating the landscape of my thinking.

It is through a series of these episodes I have learned how to redirect back towards color. It is not always easy but steps must be taken and the first is to keep one foot in front of the other although the feet are heavy and the cactus I'm surrounded by has spines. Seek help, in my case it's a long time, trusted and valued friend and professional help. Tell the really important people with a need to know but limit who is aware. Letting too many people know only makes it worse due to the human dynamic of action and reaction, perpetuating the problem rather than solving it. Do something even if it is the minimum, in my case must be something creative. What I do is take pictures and edit photos to keep the scintilla flickering since I'm just not up to writing or video editing. So what if they're not great photos or edited so well? The hand and mind is still active and in control and when living in color returns it will not be difficult to pick up again.

It is a virtual desert of the mind that must be crossed and looking for water as sustenance along the way is critical to keep going. Redirecting negative thoughts to positive ones should never be underestimated but considered a critical component. Keep going, to stop is to chance disorientation, gamble with dehydration of soul, lose sight of the destination oasis ahead; it is there in the horizon simply not visible yet. Keep squinting and looking, it will come into view, it's not as far as the mirage in between makes it appear.

Geography of the Mind

The real estate of my moods...

Some call it "writer's block" but that seems to me a term more for professional writers who must create some work on a deadline. I have no deadline except the inevitable one that we all face. Besides, it's not just about writing for me either, it's about everything, the panoramic landscape of living.

Over the years I have come to understand intellectually that a lull in my creative self has value but the knowledge makes it no easier nonetheless. It is because I tend to view life itself as a creative endeavor. I'm usually figuring out new ways to do things, see situations in another way, ponder different points of view, read something stimulating, engaging in interesting conversation. It also means acts of creativity, snapping a picture here or there as it strikes me, writing something, creating a video and occasionally a piece of art. I used to do music until I lost my singing voice, an adjustment that caused a real crisis, a story for another time. I do believe though that event helped me understand the terrain a creative soul deals with much better, teaching me a lot about coping with a dry spell. I've never quite understood how some people repeat every day in much the same way and never give it a thought, I see that as incredibly boring, although evidently they do not. To each his own.

When I'm experiencing a lull in creativity, such as I am now, life seems flat, dull, sometimes melancholy and at its worst, fortunately rarely, depressingly black. My field of vision is narrowed and not by choice. It is a good thing I have a strong sense of self (some would argue, especially my sister, far too strong) and I recognize that it will pass and usually when it does, I burst with a maniacal creativity which would leave some (especially my sister) to believe I'm manic depressive. That's an incorrect diagnosis, it is much more mood swings, going from a lull to being charged up with ideas. I tend to think that is not unique among creative thinkers.

The real estate of my mind crosses this Saharan desert condition, with meager oasis scattered in between, every once in awhile and if I wanted to I could map the path it takes. It's enough that I know it is usually seasonal and occurs around this time every year, briefly in the very dead of summer, again somewhere around the beginning of winter. I can't be bothered to survey it except with fundamental navigational tools to get out of the terrain. Road maps to steer myself away have proved useless to me since every time I've tried to avoid it, it's actually made it worse, steering me towards believing it's a natural occurrence to recharge myself. Easier to consider it like a cactus absorbing stored water for lean times, since by the time I'm past it, I'm too engaged again to chart it. I'm busy moving on in the lush Sonoran desert, marveling at how the minimalist landscape maximizes what it has, utilizing it as inspiration while recharging from the taproot for more water.

The best anecdote to this vista of plodding mind and parched brain is doing exactly this...writing about it. It is an effort, sometimes more so than others. Thankfully I've learned from being in rougher territory, the aforementioned losing my singing voice, that this pause too will pass and my inherent nature is to be always learning and creating something.