Being Tall

My artistic process requires music. I've been told by certain family members and friends that they know when to walk in the studio and when to just walk on by according to the music that pours out from behind closed doors. I suppose I cannot imagine the act of creating without a soundtrack of somesort. Every project I embark on, every book, canvas, invention or collection, has a selection of music that goes with it which can be played in the background for another layer of meaning. The art of composing, creating, building, it all requires layer upon layer, making something, an idea, that starts out flat become multi-dimensional and able to stand tall on it's own merit.

Enjoy one of my favorite artists and a mainstay in my studio... The Tallest Man on Earth

Thirsty

It's amazing to think of how many plants grow next to fountains and are yet parched and dying of thirst. So committed in their rooted existence, those plants are unable to move, to bend, to reach out and drink in that which is so close. I noticed this beautiful Dahlia and was struck by the fact that it required someone to physically water it each day for it's survival despite being within feet of a sparkling fountain. It left me wondering about how many people are like this beautiful flower... dependent on others to meet their thirst, unable to fetch a cool drink for themselves. The creative often creates in solitude yet, they must seek inspiration for themselves, they must find water lest they wither away.

Quacking

One of the most interesting qualities children have is their natural instinct to simply broadcast, unfiltered and unapologetically, to the world, exactly what it is they are thinking or feeling in that moment. As children age and mature into adulthood, they learn from their environment how to discern and exercise restraint, to extend courtesy by refraining from raw, unsolicited outbursts, and to be quiet.

While visiting a local park and picnic area, a group of baby ducks emerged from the water's edge to warm themselves in the sun. The first few people who had noticed the flock, all adults, said nothing in speech or action to acknowledge their presence. The ducks themselves were silent too. It was as if each duckling was in the process of earning their flight feathers in this training drill, as they dutifully stayed in line, and then found their place on the field to satisfy part A of their exam. Tired from their exercise, the warmth dared them to keep their eyes open.

The park benches were filled with silent observers, some wrinkled, some less wrinkled, some holding hands with another, some holding hope in their fingertips, some remembering, some wanting to forget... all extending courtesy and staying quiet in their thoughts. The little girl bounding down the sidewalk could not have been more than 4 years old, her freckles tacked down angelic on her face and held her smile permanent. Her riot of strawberry blond curls were contagious, springing with energy that transferred instantly to all those who witnessed them and her chatter snapped passerbys out of their reveries. She squealed with delight upon seeing the flock of ducklings and tip toed towards them with the grace of an elephant. She said "hello babies." The child could not contain her excitement when one single duckling, looking her straight in the eye, quacked. She burst into tears and laughter at the same time, awestruck that Nature would speak her language. In that moment, we all became children.