Gone Green

Tea: Iced Chocolate Chai

Music: The Producers, "She Sheila"

Time: Night

What is it about the green of aged copper? I've been trying to figure it out. It's more than the color itself -- although that sea-green (yes, that's a Crayola reference) shade does have something to do with it.

(Speaking of Crayola, what *is* burnt umber? I know they don't make that color any more, but it's still bugging me.)

Whatever it is, for me it's always That Green -- capitalized -- and I can't take my eyes off of it.

Could be time for a camera expedition soon. The Great Patina Hunt of 2008, anyone?

Only For a Moment and the Moment's Gone

Tea: Chai

Music: The Jayhawks, "Blue"

Time: Night.

Hied myself to Homer's Coffeehouse in Overland Park today, to get some editing done and spend some of the gift certificate my fourth graders gave me for Christmas.

There was a stray pink glove in the snowy parking lot.

Horrid me, my first thought wasn't, "Oh, some poor person has a cold hand." It was "Oooh. Must take pictures."

So I did. Eight of them, to be exact. Then I went inside, had a mocha and a bagel, and plunged headfirst into words for more than an hour. When I came out, it was warmer and the glove was half-submerged in a puddle.

So, of course, I pulled the camera out again. But something was wrong. No matter how I tried, I kept getting my own reflection in the shot.

I may go back later this week to see things in a different light. Maybe the glove will be there. Maybe it won't. Either way, there'll be no second chance to capture the shot I missed earlier today.

And that's fine. I'd rather take my chances on tricks of light than engineer all the reality out of a photograph. There's something appealing in capturing an image that can never be captured the same way again -- which more than makes up for any angst at missing one.

For me, I suppose, that's the difference between a photograph and a photo illustration. It's an odd sort of parse, I know. Maybe it's because for me, photography is like haiku. There's a moment, briefly captured, that is sure to change -- and some things are more beautiful for being transitory.

Sometimes I Wish ...

Tea: Mandarin Green with Honey

Music: Holly Cole, "Make it Go Away"

Time: Night.

I have a friend who can feel others' pain. Literally.

It's something for which I've wished on more than one occasion -- not only to be able to feel it but to bear it, and not only pain but illness.

But I couldn't. And I still can't. And that, sometimes, is its own kind of pain.

She says it's nothing for which I should wish.

Still do sometimes, though ... still do.

A Charlie Brown Day

Tea: White Grapefruit with Honey

Music: Vince Guaraldi Trio, "Linus and Lucy"

Time: Night

My day hasn't been scripted entirely by Charles Schulz, but it's been close.

I did manage to get all but the last four pieces (which still have to be ordered) matted and framed for the photo show in March and April. But along the way, I managed to completely clear a table by accident when I stood up, didn't realize I had somehow become attached to my matting cloth and started to walk away.

Markers and tape littered the floor. At least I'd cleared the glass stuff a minute earlier.

But on the positive side of Charlie Brownhood, I got to do the happy dance once more when friend/collaborator/undefinable kindred spirit Seánan Forbes got her first New York byline, in the Jobs section of the New York Post. Check it out here. (Actually, it's a bit of a gloat dance. I told her she was good enough to get the gig without having to show previous clips, and she was -- and is.)

I just hope the Schulzian day doesnt' carry over into tomorrow. It's supposed to turn cold -- and while this yellow sweater with the zigzag stripe keeps my top half warm, 30-degree weather won't be any fun in these shorts.

Bridgework

Tea: Mandarin Orange.

Music: Nik Kershaw, "Wouldn't it be Good"

Time: Night.

Been thinking much about bridges lately, for lots of reasons.

Time, perhaps, to begin writing about one again.

Can't say too much, but I hope you'll all be reading about it someday.

So here's to bridges, and the building thereof.

Nightlight

Tea: Matcha.

Music: Angels and Airwaves, "The Adventure"

Time: Night.

This ain't heavy, it's my blog post.

Under Section J of the Unilateral Code, this is Goofy Day. So in honor of same, here's ... well, Goofy.

And here and here and here. Go watch 'em fast. I hear Disney gets all upset when people get free laughs.

Thoroughly Something or Other

Tea: Lapsang Vanilla with Honey

Music: "Thoroughly Modern Millie"

Time: Night.

I went to see a really good high school production of -- well, I'm sure you can guess the musical -- tonight. Good casting, solid performances. And lest anyone forget those out of the line of sight -- it was a spot-on night from the pit and the stagehands.

It takes so many things to make any production come together. It only takes one thing to mar it. The box office loses a ticket order. An usher abandons post. A cue gets missed, a reed squeaks ... and the spell is broken.

Check that. The spell's bent, not broken. Even a wretchedly overacted performance by the star (who, being the director as well, managed to fail at two jobs simultaneously) in an off-Broadway production of "The Screwtape Letters," which I saw in November, couldn't detract from the flawless performance of the lone supporting character.

Sometimes, the magic's not in the grand things but in the small. Sometimes it's in a moment that passes, yet resonates. And sometimes it's in even getting something to the stage at all.

So what's it all mean?

Who knows? But every day is showtime, isn't it, in one way or another? So dim the houselights, turn your cell phone to "vibrate," and we'll get some ice cream at intermission.

Surfacing briefly

Tea: Cherry Chocolate Caramel Vanilla

Music: Various selections for piano and voice

Time: Night.

It's been a long but productive several days here in Weston, Missouri. Good food, lovely people and killer story ideas abound. (And yes, there will be plenty of pictures of rust and bricks and peeling paint. Some things never change, no matter the location.)

Tonight, there was excellent Cajun food at a new restaurant in Leavenworth. Then, back across the Missouri River in Weston, there was an impromptu piano/voice performance by one of the owners of the bed and breakfast that's home for the night. (Given that she's sung with the Kansas City Symphony, that was an extra special treat). And now, there's tea, and soon there will be sleep.

Blessings, all of them. And I'm grateful.

Brrr ...

Tea: Chocolate Cherry with Honey

Music: Alan Parsons Project, "Days are Numbers (The Traveller)"

Time: Night.

It's snowing outside. I've already seen one nasty wreck. Ten bucks says I'll see a few more before I see the inside of my eyelids.

But staying in, attractive though it might be, isn't an option. There are late-night places to check out, and write about.

Here's hoping I stay out of one place that never closes -- the emergency room -- and that all of you who don't have to be out are staying in with hot tea and ginger cookies.

The Center Cannot Hold

Tea: White Grapefruit

Music: Dog's Eye View, "Everything Falls Apart"

Time: Night.

So I've been thinking a lot lately about entropy (yeah, those are my pictures), how natural and artificial order passes to disorder.

Rust, unraveling, fracture, decay ... pleasant thoughts, eh?

(Insert wry chuckle here ...)

But at the same time, there has to be a breakdown from time to time. Fire burns and renews. Rotting leaves fertilize the soil from which their trees grow.

In short: No death, no new life. The kernels of wheat must die for the bread. The skins of the grapes must break for the wine. Deconstruction becomes a sacrament.

And so it goes, and comes back, and goes again.

It's that way in all things. Aspects of life die so that new ones can be born. Careers rise from the ashes of previous jobs. Grief at the end of another's life, fear at the knowledge that one's own life will end -- fuel for art.

So, yes, things fall apart. It happens. But sometimes, we're given the chance to put what's left together in new ways.

Shadows and Light

Tea: Jacob's Dream (grapefruit herbal) with honey

Music: George Winston, "Cast Your Fate to the Wind"

Time: Night.

I've been shooting -- and pondering -- shadows lately, for several reasons. I'm not going to get into all of them here.

It struck me tonight that I'm grateful for all the shadows -- not only the ones that wind up in front of the lens.

Metaphorical shadows are rarely beautiful, although they can produce beauty. Where would the 23rd Psalm be without the Valley of the Shadow of Death, "The Hollow Men" without "falls the shadow"?

Shadows are part of the full range of human experience, though. For us to better appreciate the light, it must be obstructed from time to time. And if one can be grateful during those times, even if only for one breath at a time, that's a truer gratitude than one given by someone who has never known darkness.

That said, I'm praying for a little light for those I love.

Worn

Tea: Pu Erh Poe with Ginger and Honey

Music: Elvis Costello, "Almost Blue"

Time: Night.

It's been a wearing weekend. And I am worn.

But I and mine are loved and cared for, thought of and prayed for.

And that helps. Immeasurably.

It's a grace and a gratitude, and I am grateful.

Broken or of a Creative Bent?

Tea: Chocolate Cinnamon.

Music: Squeeze, "Up the Junction"

Time: Night.

I've been thinking a great deal lately about the links between creativity and some sort of "offness," as it were.

Edward Hopper, one of my favorite painters, once proclaimed, "I guess I'm not very human. All I really want to do is paint light on the side of a house."

I can relate to that, sometimes. It's easy to hide behind a notebook and/or a camera, and not engage the world as anything but material.

I'm doing my best to strike a balance. But isn't imbalance -- the kind of imbalance that fuels creative tension -- what I'm after, too?

Maybe that's the paradox. Creative sorts have to be human, to understand the range of human emotions, strengths and frailties. But we (at least I hope to be listed on that roster) also have to be able to disengage, to switch to a purely observational mode.

Human, more than, less than.

Is it any wonder that we wonder?

Moments, Spirals and the Sound of Butterfly Wings

Tea: White Grapefruit.

Music: Norah Jones, "Come Away With Me"

Time: Night.

I've always considered a good deal of my writing -- as opposed to workwords -- to be momentarian in nature.

Things noticed in brief -- a wild strawberry, an inexpertly removed tattoo, an argument between strangers (to me) in an unfamiliar city -- tell larger stories. The stories are in the details, I tell the fourth graders entrusted to me once a week.

Or as friend/colleague/undefinable kindred spirit Seánan Forbes says, Life is lived in the detours.

Even much of my my longer work hinges on small things, moments, tiny spirals in a Fibonacci sequence. Things can go this way or that way, and any minute act can turn the actor into an Amazon butterfly. The storm hits, half a continent (or half a planet) away ... but is it a tornado, or a gentle rain over a Kansas vineyard?

And in focusing on moments, can one lose sight of the big picture? It's a danger, I suppose. Turning to look at one thing means turning away from another. That in itself is an event, one with spirals all its own.

Moments, choices, spirals and storms ... I am a Bear of Very Little Brain, as Pooh once said, and big thoughts sometimes elude me.

Just for fun, though, I'm going to add two more paragraphs. There's no reason, really. It's just to keep you reading for another few seconds. Everything else in your life is now delayed for that span of time. Maybe you'll miss something. Maybe you'll find something you would have missed.

Flap, flap, flap ...

Fond of the Found

Tea: White Grapefruit.

Music: U2, "Stay (Faraway, So Close)"

Time: Night.

People lose things. And when I find them, I take pictures.

Gloves everywhere. A fork in a grocery store parking lot. Yesterday, a chile pepper Christmas ornament on the lawn of the alternative high school.

It's nothing worth a "found" ad in the newspaper. If it were, I'd pick it up and try to find the owner. I just snap a few shots from different angles -- if the surroundings are interesting enough, that is -- and move on.

I've thought about building a collection of the found objects, for several reasons (and yes, one of them is that it would be sort of cool to exhibit a photograph next to the object itself). But I never have.

There's enough at my house already (various rubber ducks, interesting stones, animal figurines, etc.) to keep archaeologists busy for years if, say, Yellowstone blew up tomorrow and deposited a few yards of ash over the whole thing.

And besides, someone else might come wandering along, camera or sketch pad in hand, and see something entirely different in the same object.

So if you hurry, I'm pretty sure that Christmas ornament's still there.

This Post is No Longer Blank.

Tea: Candy Cane

Music: 8mm, "Stunning"

Time: Night

Ever done that? Hit the "Publish" button when you've said absolutely nothing?

That's what I did tonight, and I'm (bad word)ed if I can find the "Delete Post" button.

Oh, well. At least I had the chance to go back and put in some words, maybe a link or two, so the post wouldn't be a total loss.

Either that, or I could go back and wipe out all the words and call the whole thing a koan (What is the sound of eight fingers and a thumb not typing?) Bill Bruford, one of the world's best drummers, once contributed several minutes of "creative silence" to a King Crimson composition, after all.

Maybe I just need some more tea.

Or maybe I should give you what I usually give you when my brain turns to (steel-cut) oatmeal (with real maple syrup, maybe some dried cranberries and a bit of ginger): Other people's poetry.

Tonight, Adelaide Crapsey (stop snickering), deviser of the cinquain form:

Night Winds

The old
Old winds that blew
When chaos was, what do
They tell the clattered trees that I
Should weep?

Whew.

Tea: Pu Ehr Poe.

Music: Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds, "Hiding All Away"

Time: Night.

We interrupt our regularly unscheduled panic to bring you this important bulletin:

The photo show is back to its original date, March 1-April 30 at Nighthawks Coffeehouse in Mission, Kan. And boy, am I relieved.

While there was a certain adrenalin rush to trying to get everything pulled together by this Friday, I wouldn't have been able to do it right. I couldn't have promoted it decently, that's for sure.

Life lesson? Sometimes going for the Big Thing quickly can be a lot of fun -- but it takes a lot of little things, done over time, to make the Big Thing work.

Originals

Tea: Cranberry.

Music: Autumn's Grey Solace, "Still"

Time: Night.

Do me a favor, will you? Pretend it's New Year's Day. No peeking at the calender. (Hey -- that means you, too. I'm watching you.)

First, let me stress that I have nothing against the nice people who make reproduction posters and prints of well-known works of art. Better to have a mass produced Ansel Adams or Monet print that you really like than one of those pieces of crap people buy at the furniture store because it matches the couch.

But here's my New Year's challenge for 2008:

This year, find a way to get your hands on an original -- a signed original, if possible. Painting, sculpture, art pottery, glass, photography, any manner of mixed media, whatever. Buy it. Trade for it. (No stealing.)

Get it because you like it, not because it harmonizes with the area rug. When people ask you about it, tell them about the artist. Tell them about the place where you bought the piece -- be it a gallery, a coffeehouse, an art fair or an auction.

Prints are acceptable, so long as they come directly from the artist. I realize not everyone has a bazillion-dollar personal art budget. I know I don't (but I wouldn't mind one.) A lot of artists do studies and small pieces, too. Be creative.

Now, here's the fun part (and I mean that literally): Talk to the artist, if you can. And by that I mean more than "Would you take fifty bucks less for it?" Get a sense of the vision and passion you're buying. After all, you're inviting the artist into your home as a permanent guest.

And by all means, get rid of that furniture store monstrosity over the love seat.

Out of the Silent Steeper

Tea: Candy Apple

Music: King Crimson, "Indiscipline"

Time: Afternoon.

Hi, kids.

Yeah, I've been gone for a while. No 'Net access in southwest Kansas (I mean, they have 'Net access there. I just didn't have any myself) and a huge jumble of blargh since I got back.

No excuses, though. I've been slacking.

So ... first, to tea. The Candy Apple tea is part of a parcel that friend/colleague/undefinable kindred spirit Seánan Forbes sent to me. (More tins of tea! The rest of the family uses the same words, but with a question mark and different inflection: "MORE tins of tea?")

I'm going to be needing a lot of caffeination in the coming days, though. Remember the camera Seánan sent me? Um, yeah ... I've been taking a lot of pictures with it. A ... lot ... of ... pictures.

Last month, the owner of Nighthawks Coffeehouse was kind enough to offer me a show. The middle room, March and April. Plenty of time to get ready, right?

Enter the monkey wrench. The room opened up when the scheduled artist ... well, vanished. Brian -- said kind owner -- asked if I could get something up by next week. So, I'm getting something up by next week.

It'll come together. As it does, I'll thank Seánan with every sip of steeped fuel -- and when it does, I'll thank her again for the camera and the impetus to start shooting again.