When I was a boy, age 14, I walked into my first New Age bookstore. A little, literal, back-alley shoppe of enchantment called "Sign of Aquarius Books". I was, for lack of a better word, "searching" for answers to something that had happened in my life when I was 7 that no normal or spiritual/religious explanation could possibly explain. So, here I was, 7 years later still seeking answers when I stepped through the old, bell-laden, victorian door and into the shop.
No bigger than a modern studio apartment, the place felt cozy and inviting to me as soon as I set foot inside. This was not the typical soon to be cliched "new age store" of the 90's with all the trappings and merchandise galore. . . no, this was the old school, throwback, specialty book store that once thrived in this world when uniqueness and niche selling was part of the brick and mortar world. There was one room off of the main room and I heard voices in there so I assumed it was an office/storage etc and proceeded to begin browsing the shelves.
I was fascinated by the books I saw on topics I had never even heard of. I might have been wandering for 5 minutes or so before I heard a voice say, "Helo dear, is there anything we can help you find?" I turned to face a short, stout, beaming silver haired woman in her 60's, her eyes so alive. . .. and her husband who was also short and stout and rosy cheeked. I smiled and shyly said, "Umm, no . . . I just was . . .. looking. . . " but that sentence did not end as a statement but as an unfulfilled expression. The couple both smiled and the woman said, "Well, if you have any questions, I will be right over here but take your time and enjoy"
Oh, I did. . . I think I may have spent hours that day sitting on the floor leafing thru books on everything from Taoism to Tarot to Guardian Angels and Fairies.
My mind was alive with the symbolism and possibilities within. . . and while I may not have found my answer then and there, I definitely walked into a place that allowed me to explore and dream. One of the few outside of my home world that did so and, as was often the case in my life, one that I would come to look back upon as a small but important event.
I feel, with a nod to my guardian Angel loving Grandmother, that I have been "watched over" since I was a child. . . though I have come to see it, thru my own passing of the years, as an unbroken connection to something inherent. Not an external force that helps and aides but an internal one that, if we remain true to it and do not get so caught up and lose ourselves in THIS so called reality around us, will serve us infallibly until the end of time.
It's what we all know before we are "taught" anything here. Before our parents realities and those of the ghost world around us take hold. It has saved my life on occasion and has always guided me back to creativity and self fulfillment no matter what turn I took off the path.
That turn, down an old alley, into Sign of Aquarius, was a gift at the age of 14. That's a time when teenagers can be wholly consumed by their internal angst, lack of self comfort and incessant desires to "fit in" and yet I was turned outward and into new mysteries to indulge in and to digest. They took me deeper within. . . past all the bullshit of peer pressure and "coolness" and pop culture and steered me back into my own imagination. Sign of Aquarius, in our high proced realty-crazed, big box store nightmare, is long gone. But inside, it remains alive and that dear couple, then angels in my midst, are forever with me again.
nicolas
Showing posts with label journey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label journey. Show all posts
Sunday, September 21, 2014
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
The Art of Sincerity and Authenticity
Recently I heard someone state that their belief was that "the universe always rewards authenticity and sincerity in our personal and creative work". While that statement did not come as an epiphany or shed any immediate light on my own thoughts, over the last month it has worked itself into my subconscious and I find myself now writing and thinking about it, and how it relates to my life overall, almost daily.
I cannot say or try to describe what that means for anyone else or even where one would begin to follow that path inthemselves, I just know that, looking back acros 40 years of creating, it rings 100% true in my world.
In retrospect, so much of what I tried to do creatively in my 20's and 30's was not quite either of those things. I felt that I had to find my angle, my way in, my one great idea or concept. All the while ignoring the places I truly came from and knew so well in my heart. Also, I totally bought into the idea of my work having to be "grown up" and to project a mature viewpoint or an adult perspective. I'd at least like to say that while I feel the work I created was always sincere, it usually lacked the personal authenticity that I find people most respond to these days with my creative offerings.
What I have come to understand is that I only really began allowing myself to be completely authentic with my work a few years ago and, with that, came the growth and means to now create for a living.
So I have been listing every possible example of this authentic and sincere approach from my life. Trying to follow it back to the roots of my origins and where my best examples of it came from, mapping it like a travelogue.
A polestar for my creative heart.
In 7th grade there was a boy named Timothy Jackson who sticks out in my mind. While may of us were trying so hard to be cooler or to at least not stick out as easy marks to the bullies, Timothy went about his days just being Timothy. He was an A student who never missed school or an assignment. Over that year we grew to become passing friends and we bonded over what I learned was Timothy's free-time passion. Drawing superheroes, super-villains, medieval worlds, spaceships, aliens and then, sort of out of context, all out army battles on regular lined notebook paper. Stick figure soldiers mostly populated those but the time was put into complex and well-thought-out landscapes, waponry, castles, fortresses, space stations and alien worlds with detailed terrain, battle simulations and situations. I had noticed Timothy often drawing something when he was done with class assignments. . . and at lunch . . . and at assemblies. . . and in homeroom. . . and after school in the library. He was far too smart and too much of a loner to be bullied and too nerdy to be "cool". He was invisible, untouchable, an alien himself to most.
Of course, looking back, he was the coolest kid of all in hindsight.
As we became friends, I took to sharing in this drawing with him and, for most of that year, we were always comparing images and battles waged. We lived too far apart to get together out of school but we found time during the week to share ot drawings and great epic stories told on paper. In 8th grade we shared just one class and then, on different buses sent across town to a school of 3000 kids for high school, we rarely saw each other. But the impression, as I now am understanding, was left just the same.
He is one of the few people I recall clearly from that time that I have nothing but love for in my heart's memory. Authentic. Sincere. Just Timothy being himself every moment. Lost in what I now call a "paracosm".
When I return home, as I did last year for a few days, I can't help but go by the old school which is closed and listed for sale now. The neighborhood is just a shell of what it once was in it's heyday.
The old soda fountain pharmacy. Gone
Steel Mill. Gone.
The old homemade Apple Butter ad painted on the side of the brick post office, Gone.
The little market. Gone.
Five and Dime. Gone.
The Hot sausage sandwich shop. Gone.
Library. Gone. . . well, moved. But no longer in the old gothic brick building that made it a welcoming and timeless place.
An abandoned school is a haunting sight. Sit on those steps and close your eyes and it seems like there is the echoes of laughter and nervous chatter on the wind. So many impressions left behind on those playgrounds along the way.
So much of it seems like a blur. two years in that middle school with so few friends and each day, for the most part, an eye on the clock waiting to be done for the day so I could head home to MY paracosm and my own world of creation. My own authenticity.
It's really only now, all these years later that I am thinking back and realizing how few people I knew then that were living in authenticity and sincerity then. School years are usually about anything but as we try so hard to grow up so fast and become. . . what exactly?
All I can say is that everything I do today. All that you see in my shops and in my work is drawn from those early days exploring my own inner world and creating this paracosm that I have returned to. That I thrive in.
And I just want to add that authenticity and sincerity are not just about creative work of course.
My grandfather, during those two years of middle school. and all four years of high school, rose every day at 4 a.m. (as he had done for 35 years for his job at the the steel mill) to make sure I had breakfast before school. During the middle school years, since the school was just three blocks away, I'd walk home each day at lunch, which he always had waiting for me upon arrival.
That, in my memory, is about the most devoted example of sincerity and authenticity as I can show. That was who he was to his core.
I hope all of you are exploring and expressing and embracing what is natural, sincere and authentic in your own souls. FInding it in your past or present and carrying it with you into the future.
It will, undoubtedly, serve you well.
xo
nicolas
I cannot say or try to describe what that means for anyone else or even where one would begin to follow that path inthemselves, I just know that, looking back acros 40 years of creating, it rings 100% true in my world.
In retrospect, so much of what I tried to do creatively in my 20's and 30's was not quite either of those things. I felt that I had to find my angle, my way in, my one great idea or concept. All the while ignoring the places I truly came from and knew so well in my heart. Also, I totally bought into the idea of my work having to be "grown up" and to project a mature viewpoint or an adult perspective. I'd at least like to say that while I feel the work I created was always sincere, it usually lacked the personal authenticity that I find people most respond to these days with my creative offerings.
What I have come to understand is that I only really began allowing myself to be completely authentic with my work a few years ago and, with that, came the growth and means to now create for a living.
So I have been listing every possible example of this authentic and sincere approach from my life. Trying to follow it back to the roots of my origins and where my best examples of it came from, mapping it like a travelogue.
A polestar for my creative heart.
In 7th grade there was a boy named Timothy Jackson who sticks out in my mind. While may of us were trying so hard to be cooler or to at least not stick out as easy marks to the bullies, Timothy went about his days just being Timothy. He was an A student who never missed school or an assignment. Over that year we grew to become passing friends and we bonded over what I learned was Timothy's free-time passion. Drawing superheroes, super-villains, medieval worlds, spaceships, aliens and then, sort of out of context, all out army battles on regular lined notebook paper. Stick figure soldiers mostly populated those but the time was put into complex and well-thought-out landscapes, waponry, castles, fortresses, space stations and alien worlds with detailed terrain, battle simulations and situations. I had noticed Timothy often drawing something when he was done with class assignments. . . and at lunch . . . and at assemblies. . . and in homeroom. . . and after school in the library. He was far too smart and too much of a loner to be bullied and too nerdy to be "cool". He was invisible, untouchable, an alien himself to most.
Of course, looking back, he was the coolest kid of all in hindsight.
As we became friends, I took to sharing in this drawing with him and, for most of that year, we were always comparing images and battles waged. We lived too far apart to get together out of school but we found time during the week to share ot drawings and great epic stories told on paper. In 8th grade we shared just one class and then, on different buses sent across town to a school of 3000 kids for high school, we rarely saw each other. But the impression, as I now am understanding, was left just the same.
He is one of the few people I recall clearly from that time that I have nothing but love for in my heart's memory. Authentic. Sincere. Just Timothy being himself every moment. Lost in what I now call a "paracosm".
When I return home, as I did last year for a few days, I can't help but go by the old school which is closed and listed for sale now. The neighborhood is just a shell of what it once was in it's heyday.
The old soda fountain pharmacy. Gone
Steel Mill. Gone.
The old homemade Apple Butter ad painted on the side of the brick post office, Gone.
The little market. Gone.
Five and Dime. Gone.
The Hot sausage sandwich shop. Gone.
Library. Gone. . . well, moved. But no longer in the old gothic brick building that made it a welcoming and timeless place.
An abandoned school is a haunting sight. Sit on those steps and close your eyes and it seems like there is the echoes of laughter and nervous chatter on the wind. So many impressions left behind on those playgrounds along the way.
So much of it seems like a blur. two years in that middle school with so few friends and each day, for the most part, an eye on the clock waiting to be done for the day so I could head home to MY paracosm and my own world of creation. My own authenticity.
It's really only now, all these years later that I am thinking back and realizing how few people I knew then that were living in authenticity and sincerity then. School years are usually about anything but as we try so hard to grow up so fast and become. . . what exactly?
All I can say is that everything I do today. All that you see in my shops and in my work is drawn from those early days exploring my own inner world and creating this paracosm that I have returned to. That I thrive in.
And I just want to add that authenticity and sincerity are not just about creative work of course.
My grandfather, during those two years of middle school. and all four years of high school, rose every day at 4 a.m. (as he had done for 35 years for his job at the the steel mill) to make sure I had breakfast before school. During the middle school years, since the school was just three blocks away, I'd walk home each day at lunch, which he always had waiting for me upon arrival.
That, in my memory, is about the most devoted example of sincerity and authenticity as I can show. That was who he was to his core.
I hope all of you are exploring and expressing and embracing what is natural, sincere and authentic in your own souls. FInding it in your past or present and carrying it with you into the future.
It will, undoubtedly, serve you well.
xo
nicolas
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
The First Creations
It has taken me a long time to get to where I am comfortable talking about my creative path. And a couple of years to realize what I want to share here, in blog form, as well. Many a New Year's resolution to write more, blog more, share more have come and gone without success.
Some things just can't be forced before its time.
The delay was, mostly, because part of that story is about the events of my childhood. Not all of them pleasant and several outright harrowing but, in fact, they are a part of that creation inside.
So, no better time than today, on the cusp of a New Year, to start. . . without a resolution or promise. It's just time.
I would count myself among the millions who probably utter this phrase, "I have been creating since I can remember" more than I would like. It is, of course, true but I always have a bit of an issue with non specific statements like that.
I could say that it was a finger-painting a did at age 4 ( and vividly recall making) that my mother still has framed and on her wall almost 40 years later. I can still see the spot where I started to finger paint my name before realizing that did not constitute a "picture" and promptly smeared over it with a blend of paints.
That was done in the bedroom of the apartment my mother ad I lived in the first 10 years of my life.
But the memories of my first creations artistically are blended with the meory of my first creations in my head of the sing-songs, games and mantras that were to keep me safe from what can only say was a very dark entity in my room.
That is not a cloaked statement alluding to someone evil or any sort of abuse. It was most definitely some "thing" that I feared. And it haunted my horrible nightmares from my earliest memories. I would fight to not have to go to sleep in that room and often would convince my mom to let me stay up and fall asleep on the sofa in the living room or on the floor. Then she would get me into bed once I was already out.
In the nightmares it was something about the curtains/window of my room. The hideous floor to ceiling orange curtains might have been enough without their animating and speaking in those dreams. lol I also had a series of health issues then. Spontaneous nosebleeds that would not stop but, luckily I was told, I awoke just before they would start every time. So it seemed a battle of forces and, in my mind, I did all I could to appeal to the forces of good.
So, in that part of my paracosm, I found it useful to create ways, in my head, to defeat that darkness. I had games that, if I won, would keep me safe. Chants and sing-songe repeated the right number of times or for a minute straight etc.
In the case of the nightmares, perhaps it helped.
One night, in a most frightening dream where the darkness was closing in on my bed and the curtains were flailing across the room trying to grab me, I watched as that the ceiling of my room split and a shower of millions of gold spinning snowflakes (sort of shaped like little nuclei with tiny round orbs at the flake points but all gold and sparkly) , the size of a dime, cascaded down from the sky spreading over my entire bed. In the dream I sat uptight as the snowflakes poured over me and, then, awoke, sitting in my bed, still able to feel the last snowflakes falling on me and I could literally "see" them as well. Once they stopped falling I realized it was still very dark. . . late night. . . and I was alone. But then, as I stared into the darkness waiting for my eyes to adjust, I saw one spinning gold snowflake appear in front of me. Hovering and constant. I lay back down in my bed, realized I was sweating and got up to get a drink of water. When I returned, the snowflake was gone.
I never had another nightmare again.
In fact, to this day, I only remember dreaming once every couple of months or so and I sleep, most of the time, only 5 hours a night (which may be a hold over from those childhood years).
Also I should mention that anytime since that night that I think of those little spinning snowflakes one, and only one, will appear right in front of my eyes be it dark or daylight . . . as one is here in front of me now as I type. I'm used to it and, in all honesty, I find it most comforting.
All those little games, rhymes and songs were invented to keep me safe. To help me cope with nightmares, fears and the darkness. . . it would not be a stretch to say that now, in my adult life, they came back to do the same though the shadows were most definitely more internal and they had names we all know like expectation, self-doubt and all around general adult world illusions and societal programming.
The stories to come get stranger. . . but the power of creativity will be the theme throughout. The struggle to stay close to that possibility and wonder that permeated my youth. . . to this point where, once again, my whole life revolves around it now.
So I'll tell it as best I can and hope that it leaves something behind that will resonate with someone else one day.
Wishing you all a happy start to your new year!
Create it to be pure magic!
nicolas
Some things just can't be forced before its time.
The delay was, mostly, because part of that story is about the events of my childhood. Not all of them pleasant and several outright harrowing but, in fact, they are a part of that creation inside.
So, no better time than today, on the cusp of a New Year, to start. . . without a resolution or promise. It's just time.
I would count myself among the millions who probably utter this phrase, "I have been creating since I can remember" more than I would like. It is, of course, true but I always have a bit of an issue with non specific statements like that.
I could say that it was a finger-painting a did at age 4 ( and vividly recall making) that my mother still has framed and on her wall almost 40 years later. I can still see the spot where I started to finger paint my name before realizing that did not constitute a "picture" and promptly smeared over it with a blend of paints.
That was done in the bedroom of the apartment my mother ad I lived in the first 10 years of my life.
But the memories of my first creations artistically are blended with the meory of my first creations in my head of the sing-songs, games and mantras that were to keep me safe from what can only say was a very dark entity in my room.
That is not a cloaked statement alluding to someone evil or any sort of abuse. It was most definitely some "thing" that I feared. And it haunted my horrible nightmares from my earliest memories. I would fight to not have to go to sleep in that room and often would convince my mom to let me stay up and fall asleep on the sofa in the living room or on the floor. Then she would get me into bed once I was already out.
In the nightmares it was something about the curtains/window of my room. The hideous floor to ceiling orange curtains might have been enough without their animating and speaking in those dreams. lol I also had a series of health issues then. Spontaneous nosebleeds that would not stop but, luckily I was told, I awoke just before they would start every time. So it seemed a battle of forces and, in my mind, I did all I could to appeal to the forces of good.
So, in that part of my paracosm, I found it useful to create ways, in my head, to defeat that darkness. I had games that, if I won, would keep me safe. Chants and sing-songe repeated the right number of times or for a minute straight etc.
In the case of the nightmares, perhaps it helped.
One night, in a most frightening dream where the darkness was closing in on my bed and the curtains were flailing across the room trying to grab me, I watched as that the ceiling of my room split and a shower of millions of gold spinning snowflakes (sort of shaped like little nuclei with tiny round orbs at the flake points but all gold and sparkly) , the size of a dime, cascaded down from the sky spreading over my entire bed. In the dream I sat uptight as the snowflakes poured over me and, then, awoke, sitting in my bed, still able to feel the last snowflakes falling on me and I could literally "see" them as well. Once they stopped falling I realized it was still very dark. . . late night. . . and I was alone. But then, as I stared into the darkness waiting for my eyes to adjust, I saw one spinning gold snowflake appear in front of me. Hovering and constant. I lay back down in my bed, realized I was sweating and got up to get a drink of water. When I returned, the snowflake was gone.
I never had another nightmare again.
In fact, to this day, I only remember dreaming once every couple of months or so and I sleep, most of the time, only 5 hours a night (which may be a hold over from those childhood years).
Also I should mention that anytime since that night that I think of those little spinning snowflakes one, and only one, will appear right in front of my eyes be it dark or daylight . . . as one is here in front of me now as I type. I'm used to it and, in all honesty, I find it most comforting.
All those little games, rhymes and songs were invented to keep me safe. To help me cope with nightmares, fears and the darkness. . . it would not be a stretch to say that now, in my adult life, they came back to do the same though the shadows were most definitely more internal and they had names we all know like expectation, self-doubt and all around general adult world illusions and societal programming.
The stories to come get stranger. . . but the power of creativity will be the theme throughout. The struggle to stay close to that possibility and wonder that permeated my youth. . . to this point where, once again, my whole life revolves around it now.
So I'll tell it as best I can and hope that it leaves something behind that will resonate with someone else one day.
Wishing you all a happy start to your new year!
Create it to be pure magic!
nicolas
Saturday, December 14, 2013
Journey
When people throw the phrase, "I am going through a second childhood" around, I always like to ask, "Are you getting it right this time?"
By that, I mean, are you incorporating it into your everyday life? Movies, books, activities etc etc? Not just a trip down memory lane for a day or two but a real rebirth of that spirit within.
Often there is a "looking down"upon certain things, even in the midst of the reawakening, that can lead to a dismissal of many important elements.
I've said before I think one of our greatest faults is that we tend to see "growing up" as a need to move away from childhood loves and pursuits.
I try to keep all aspects of that time close by. Even finding some that I never really connected with or that were a part of my world back then. Always looking to expand that world and that possibility.
So, let me recommend a book to you that creates a world and a story that I think every adult and kid should peer into.
"Journey" by Aaron Becker is one of the year's best books for any age in any genre.
The lack of words makes it a story anyone can read themselves into (even the main character is not given a name) and, if you want to know if you are in touch with that creative inner-child, pick up this book. . . if it resonates, you have the magic in there somewhere.
Erin Stead, a former Caldecott medal winner said:
"We live in a time with a lot of flash and beep and tweets. Mr. Becker has made a beautiful reminder that there are times we need to turn it off. Sometimes we need a book, some quiet, and our imagination. It’s so well done."
The only downside of the book is that in all reviews it is listed as appropriate for ages 4-8. That, I consider to be. selling it far short. I picked it up at at our local library along with Maurice Sendak's last publication, "My Brother's Book" which needs no review or testimonial . . . because it's Maurice Sendak for goodness sake! Isn't that all you need to know? : )
But Journey is a book I intend to buy and keep near at all times.
One can't lose the way with that sort of guide. . .
As for the rest of my world. . .
Busy holiday sales were a bit intimidating. And, of course, in the midst of the busiest times I find myself coming up with new ideas for the coming year. So, instead of worrying about the dwindling shop stock, I am working on all new themes, creatures and little worlds to ring in the new year.
I hope the season, the solstice and the magic of it all surrounds you every day. . .
Until the next,
nicolas
By that, I mean, are you incorporating it into your everyday life? Movies, books, activities etc etc? Not just a trip down memory lane for a day or two but a real rebirth of that spirit within.
Often there is a "looking down"upon certain things, even in the midst of the reawakening, that can lead to a dismissal of many important elements.
I've said before I think one of our greatest faults is that we tend to see "growing up" as a need to move away from childhood loves and pursuits.
I try to keep all aspects of that time close by. Even finding some that I never really connected with or that were a part of my world back then. Always looking to expand that world and that possibility.
So, let me recommend a book to you that creates a world and a story that I think every adult and kid should peer into.
"Journey" by Aaron Becker is one of the year's best books for any age in any genre.
The lack of words makes it a story anyone can read themselves into (even the main character is not given a name) and, if you want to know if you are in touch with that creative inner-child, pick up this book. . . if it resonates, you have the magic in there somewhere.
Erin Stead, a former Caldecott medal winner said:
"We live in a time with a lot of flash and beep and tweets. Mr. Becker has made a beautiful reminder that there are times we need to turn it off. Sometimes we need a book, some quiet, and our imagination. It’s so well done."
The only downside of the book is that in all reviews it is listed as appropriate for ages 4-8. That, I consider to be. selling it far short. I picked it up at at our local library along with Maurice Sendak's last publication, "My Brother's Book" which needs no review or testimonial . . . because it's Maurice Sendak for goodness sake! Isn't that all you need to know? : )
But Journey is a book I intend to buy and keep near at all times.
One can't lose the way with that sort of guide. . .
As for the rest of my world. . .
Busy holiday sales were a bit intimidating. And, of course, in the midst of the busiest times I find myself coming up with new ideas for the coming year. So, instead of worrying about the dwindling shop stock, I am working on all new themes, creatures and little worlds to ring in the new year.
I hope the season, the solstice and the magic of it all surrounds you every day. . .
Until the next,
nicolas
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