The Landscape of Imagination

I mentioned that I had begun reading "The Natural World of Winnie the Pooh: A Walk thru the Forest that Inspired the Hundred Acre Wood" by Kathryn Aalto

It's a wonderful peek into the world of Winnie the Pooh's creator, A.A. Milne and the landscape, childhood memories and characters (his own son, Christopher Robin, and his stuffed animals that became the characters) that bring to life the Pooh books we all know.

I want to share a passage with you and then, a realization it opened for me.

In recent years, there has been concern that the very nature of childhood has changed. People have begun questioning if there has already been a "last generation" to play outside.  In "Last Child in the Woods", author Richard Louv writes about the modern disconnection between children and nature and the importance of providing children some autonomy in the natural world. "Whatever shape nature takes, it offers each child an older, larger world separate from parents. Nature can frighten a child too and this fright serves a purpose, too. In Nature a child finds freedom, fantasy and privacy, a place distant from the adult world, a separate peace."

When we are young, tramping through forests also leaves footprints on paths well into our adulthoods.

Throughout the writing of this book, for example, I heard laments from grandparents and parents about the diminishing range our children are now allowed to wander. Milne's childhood and his stories are touchstones of a paradise lost, of a bygone time that many - writers, psychologists, parents - believe is important in the development of a child. with these rising concerns over the nature of childhood itself, Milne's books offer a reminder about the importance of freedom in nature.


And that took me into thinking, as I so often do, about my own childhood.

I often say I grew up in a city, which I did.  A large industrial eastern US steel town. One decaying under the weight of the loss of those mills and industry. And many of my childhood experiences and the process of "becoming" are tied to very city-like adventures. Riding streetcars by myself, exploring downtown and all the people and activity of a city. But I immediately recognized something that I now feel so eternally grateful for. That in the midst of the urban life, I was fortunate to have woods, dense tree covered hillsides, (under which old mines lay) on either side of the house that I spent much of my childhood in. Entire days were spent exploring, making tree-houses (even if many of them were just a board slung through the branches to sit upon), following birds and squirrels, digging, climbing and creating worlds apart from the ones of my family and their adulthood. Time to be whatever and whoever I dreamed of being.

Much of what I write about in the short stories I am working on came from those childhood experiences and the imagination that the time. A mix of city experiences like "pitching nickels" with school friends against buildings and walls downtown. And also the woodland adventures scouting from treetops and crossing imaginary bogs and quicksand pits. Hiding from trolls under large spruce trees. . .

But to choose, one or the other? It's not even a question. The woods were far far more important to my future self.

The freedom of nature.

A separate peace.

And there was much in the world around me to necessitate that peace, that break from the slip-slide into adulthood.

Even today, my conversations with my own mother, who never had such a childhood and who I used to think of as being so overprotective but who, in comparison to many parents today would have been seen as very permissive, tend to be fraught with her lamenting the daily decline of the world around her. The news blaring from her tv all day long. And me, with no tv at all, no social media feeds, no newspapers. . . still the dreamer and believer, and every day seeking a deeper connection to that childhood me instead of that adult "other".

Maybe part of the problem is that it's the adults who forget and who become so lost in the very ideal of their own adulthood and it's many pitfalls and traps, that childhood seems eons away. Like a distant dream nearly unattainable now.

Or maybe more and more adults are coming from a childhood that lacks that time in nature, that freedom, that ability to develop those skills of nature's teaching?

I am saddened by the way kids become more screen bound and less independently imaginative with each passing year. I see it in the small town I live in, one surrounded with woods, blackberry patches, out of the places all bordering an expansive estuary/coastline/bay. The computers at the library are always in use. . . while many, many great and inspiring books, graphic novels and natural resources are not.

People defend this modern age as just the changing of the times and I do not disagree. Change is a given. . . but that simplified view asks us to accept that all change is, or can be, good, and that all change has an equal exchange within it of what is lost and gained.

It does not.

Losing the natural world, the freedom to explore, the ability to develop self-taught skills and stir imagination from within. . . there is no substitution for those.

All this is to say I never gave those woods, that space I had growing up, it's due. I took it for granted as just being part of the landscape but see now, thru the eyes of Pooh's creator, how very important it truly was. My own little "Hundred Acre Wood".

I see how it just being there for me each and every day amid the grind, noise and weight of the city, and of impending adulthood, was more important than I could have ever known.

Thank you for reading,

nicolas

I imagined building little cottages like this in my own childhood woods/forest many times.

The Stories We Tell - Part II

(Continued from yesterday)

Why so many people carry the worst of their lives forward is hard to grasp.  Sometimes I think it's a fear of letting go. . . or perhaps an issue of scarcity. If you don't have the past to hold to and define the present and the future is completely a mystery, , what do you have?

Well, in my world, that has always been answered with "limitless possibility." One that is not present when the past casts it's shadow over the present. It's soooo like the Vashta Nerada from Dr. Who. Shadows that swarm, consume and grow by feeding on our life force.So I always like to remember the good Doctors words. . . "Stay out of the shadows!"

So the items we sell are extensions of our lives too. The light of them actually. Our creations become part of the story and even in my world, retelling ancient Egyptian tales, sifting through the nostalgic past of my childhood, making up new fables about Fairies, Elves and inventing and sharing worlds that only I know all fit into the story of who I am now. They all, quite simply, make me happy.So why would I not sink into them completely?

They are at the heart of the version of "me" I care to express most of all. And the more I delve into these worlds. The more I allow them to rule my days and my day dreams, the more happiness I find in life. . . the more the shadows receded and lost their power. . . and the more successful my endeavors become.

The world of our human leisure/spare time revolves around, and is immersed in, stories. Travel, TV shows, theater, movies, song lyrics are all about stories. The products you buy, the labels, the name brands, the reputations we believe in. . . all stories. All created.  And even hobbies and the skills learned thru them have a legacy and history behind them too. . . more stories. . . all of it is a tome that we are intrinsically a part of. A world that we escape into and through.

And THAT is what people want in the things they spend their hard earned money on.

Take two crafters who make the exact same thing. Same price, same style. If one tells a story around their work and one does not, the storyteller will, all other things being equal, be the more successful of the two.

Tell someone why they want your work. Give them the slightly open door in. It's no different than how we sell ourselves in the "real world" through how we dress, how we speak, how we treat others. . . these are all stories we tell too.

And it's why I believe in the happiness they can and do  create.

It's a choice, obviously, and one that each of us has to make.
My point is simply that we are doing it whether we think we are or not.
We ARE storytellers.
And we are all capable.
And we are all deserving.
That's MY story.

The Stories We Tell - Part I

Anyone who knows my work knows that it is inherently connected to the stories I create that go with each piece. I will hold a finished item back from the shops for weeks if I do not have the story that goes with it ready for the listing as well.

Many times when I offer the advice "Create a story for your items"  to sellers and artists about their work it is met with, "Oh, I am not a storyteller" or 'What sort of story could a piece of jewelry or an abstract painting have to tell?"

For these folks I like to give them an exercise to try that I remember from writing workshops past.  Head out to any thrift or Goodwill store and pick out a simple little doodad from the knickknack shelf and take it home. Sit there for 15 minutes and write a story about it. Where it came from, who owned it, where it has been. That's it. No editing, just write!

Inevitably this is far easier for people than writing a story about their own work and creations. It almost always ends up with a fairly well imagined tale about the piece they just bought. Histories, legacies, treasures of the heart etc etc. Wonderful stuff!

The truth is, most people tell stories ALL the time. Every tale we tell and retell from our lives is really no different than the ones we may create about our offerings in the art world.  With the exception that the ones we invent can be anything. . . there are no boundaries and no limits. I think, often, it's THAT which keeps people from writing at all.

So much of what we tell about ourselves is truly a form of fiction anyway. . . or at least a skewed bent of reality. One side of a story. And they do tend to change with time as we all know. . .

Which is all fine too.

But the main reason I believe in using that power of storytelling for my work is this:

 I believe the stories we tell about our lives. . . about ourselves. . . becomes the single most important factor in how happy we will be in life.  The spin we put on things. The pieces we chose to carry forward. The power of storytelling is immense.

Those who dwell in the negative, the painful, the betrayal and losses and the common-among-us-all poor choices are doomed to relive them again and again with each retelling.

It's how we frame the stories that decides how we experience them in the retelling.

Maybe this is just another spin on my world of paracosms? Maybe it's a "cheat" that I leave out entire sections of my life. . .  that I have reinvented who I am again and again and why I carry almost nothing and no one forward from one incarnation to the next.

The past is a world of ghosts.  . and as I recall from my childhood, ghosts almost never have good intentions. . . .

( Part II tomorow :)

Do What You Want, Be What you Are

So I want to begin sharing more of the day to day process and inner workings of being a full time maker-of -things.  Let me start by sharing a little picture with you.

This is my studio work table on a random morning taken about a week or so back. Now, the funny thing about this picture is, I almost did not use it for this blog because, as I looked at it, I thought "Oh that's too neat. . . it looks staged." I'll pause while those of you with a neater bent to their organization and creative work spaces gasp and shudder at the thought. : )

In actuality, all I removed from the scene were paint rags and some scraps of notes that were not relevant. The rest, as seen, is pretty much how my work table looks. . . on a good day.

That little clear space on the front/right table, on the clay mat, that is where I make almost everything in my shops. All the rest are the parts of projects that are going on right now, things drying, things waiting for their day in the photoshoot sun, things in progress etc etc. This is the eye of the storm I suppose you could say. . . because it is always a clam and workable space to me. And, in the chaos, it all makes sense.

The point of this simple little post is this:

Too often I think we unlearn things that were simply inherent to us because our "teachers" believed their way to be better.  In the end, as we grow up, we fight our natural tendencies because we may have been taught that they were not good ways to be. Nowhere is this more destructive than in the creative realm.

In my world, that "teaching" was an endless string of contradicting statements that for years kept me from being the wonderful mess-maker that I am.

Family "teachers" said:
"When you are done (playing) put everything away! It's a mess!"

Except so many of my "games" were paracosms and ongoing worlds that didn't end when I had to stop playing for dinner, sleep or some other such nonsense. . . . They went on without me so how could I just pack them all away? How could I slip back into them seamlessly if they were neatly stacked in a closet or forced under the bed?

Art teachers in school said:

"Focus on one idea or technique. Don't try to do it all. Finish the project you've started. Perect what you are doing"

Except that I never was a one thing at a time person.
Not in reading books ( I have 5 going right now)
Not in traveling. The first time I went to Europe I looked at the map of the continent and said, "Right, 17 days and I'm going to 14 countries! (umm that did not work out once I hit France. . .  and so I DO learn you see!)
Certainly not in creative projects, which, I believe, tell ME when they are ready to be finished and not vice versa. So some sit for days. Weeks. Even months till the finish is apparent to me. 

In my first "career" of the culinary arts, I was taught by the chefs I worked for:
"Don't try to do too many things, just pick a cuisine and master it." (So, needless to say, I fell into the Fusion/cross cultural cuisine trend of the 90's with all my heart and soul!)

Oh the list goes on and on. . .

It took me years to learn that I have this pattern of creative chaos and that it works perfectly for me. 
Let every idea come forth.
Jump at making whatever makes me happiest
Figure the rest out as I go along.

That's being me.  That's who I am. Yet I spent a great deal of my early adult life trying to "do it the right way" by what I had been taught was best.

And while I had to do some work to learn how to make this authentic, natural me into a workable model that could make a viable living, it really only came together when I finally sloughed all that old, repetitive programming off and let myself be the creative soul I was born as. . . working with, instead of against, myself.

That's what allowed this to now grow into a full time occupation that suits me perfectly.

The interesting twist to the story is this. For all the "creative" mess one may see in my life, in my daily way of being a maker-of-things, let me tell you where my life has no mess and jumble.

Basically that would be in every other department.

There are few people who get my time, few outside distractions are ever allowed in, I make very few obligations/commitments and selectively extend myself and there are just very few things I feel compelled to do other than create. I have not heard my phone ring in four years and, like the old days, only return calls at the end of the work day when done. I moved to a place where I can walk to almost everything I need (including places in nature where I can be alone) each day.

That too was something of old programming that I had to break.  We are told to "do one thing" when it comes to work, art, careers, interests or anything we want to "achieve". . . but then we are told a well rounded life includes all that excess which pulls us in 20 directions at once.

How many people I have known that felt that a well rounded life was about having all THOSE diverse interests filling up their schedule and making the hours something to be counted and rationed?

How many people have I listened to as they lament not having the time to do the things they really love while constantly rushing off to yet another engagement or obligation?? How many friends have I watched running around frazzled all day long, every day, so caught up in being "busy" and saying it as if being busy were an accomplishment in and of itself?

But I'd swear, if you ask me, busy is a modern synonym for "messy" in regards to living life.
And when I did it, it just made me feel further away from what I most wanted to be doing. 

And so my advice to others, about a creative life, when asked,  is:

Neat or messy, one thing or a whole basket full of ideas, or anywhere in between makes no difference
Do what you want but be . . . what. . . you. . .  are.
And what you are IS inherent. Yes it can be molded and tightened up and tinkered with.
But the core of it is going to be something you always and already were. . .

Because following that path and being just what you are is always going to lead to happiness doing what you most want to do.

So as a word of advice from a mess-maker extraordinaire, messy is cool. . . it's fine to stray and wander and indulge in many wonderful ideas and pursuits. . . just tidy up the REST of life and let the true you rule the creative day.

xo
nicolas

Protectors

I believe one of the many things we tend to leave behind as adults from our childhoods is the many forms of a Protector that we create in our imaginations and in our creativity at those young ages.

For me the role of protector came in many forms. From improvised sing-songs and night time routines that kept me safe from scary movie creatures and dark shadows to the devotional candles my grandmother kept burning round the clock in our home to the many little internal bets I made about how long I could do a certain task, with the inevitable success granting me safe passage or dreams.

There also were dream images themselves. And voices. . . which, as it turned out, DID save my life on two occasions but that is all for another time.

My draw to the pantheon of ancient Egypt dates back to when I was 6 or 7 and the treasures of Tutankhamen were touring the US for the first time.  The images of Tut's burial treasures were on the cover of every major magazine and many books were released about the discovery and the history of the tomb.

It was in grade school that I first was shown one of those books by my teacher. That was followed by a trip to the library and a venture through our family encyclopedia. (Anyone remember those? )

I was completely enchanted by the anthropomorphic Gods and Goddesses and the amazing array of symbols and meanings attributed to them all.

I fashioned many of the objects I saw out of whatever materials I could find. The  tin foil roll was a favorite target of mine, much to the dismay of my mother, and I made countless small little statuettes of the figures out of it.  This led to my first bit of sculpting clay but i was not good with it at all. I was much better at drawing and so, in short order, the walls of my bedroom closet became a tomb with hieroglyphs drawn on all three walls.

This also did not go over well with mom. :) 

I can tell you that I felt protected by the strange and wonderful figures. I memorized their names and forms. . . Horus, Isis, Anubis and Hathor were my favorites to render and, by age 10, I had taken to drawing them on the tops of my feet in felt tip pen, also with the understanding that they would protect me. Though I never felt I needed protection against anything in particular.

So when took up polymer clay work a few years ago, it seemed natural to want to create something from my childhood. Perhaps something I never could then. And while it did not leap off the page into my head to make Egyptian statues, it was not far behind the first thoughts.

One thing that had NOT changed was my lack of ability with clay. Art, in almost every form, comes somewhat naturally to me. But clay, even polymer clay, just felt so foreign at first.

Once I began trying to create votive statues of the ancient Egyptian pantheon, it all fell into place and I suddenly had the incentive and the motivation to stick with the clay. It has, to say the least, paid off.

I never knew there were so many forms and deities spread throughout the history of ancient Egypt. I'll never master them all but I do so love the time spent researching and learning just as I did as a child. It is as important as the art that comes from it.

 One of the forms I never knew of in my youth but who I am so drawn to now, is Bes, a multifaceted and infinitely interesting Deity of many faces and forms. Celebrated as the full-service protector god who served as the champion of everything good and the protector against anything bad, Bes had a long and impressive list of deity duties, including:

Protector of Women
Protector and Entertainer of Children
Guardian against Nightmares and Dangerous Animals of the Night.
Patron of Warriors, Hunters and Travelers
Patron of Music and Dancing
Guardian of Families and Keeper of Domestic Happiness
God of Good Fortune, Luck and Probability
God of Commerce
Guardian of the Vineyards
Guardian Against All Manner of Misfortune

I almost never make the exact same form of Bes twice! This is my latest.

Now, the world is filled with guardian spirits, angels, entities and deities. Bes is just one of many form cultures of every corner of the globe.

But what is often missing in the adult versions we hold to is the child's ability to take the image, the idol, the entity and expand it in our own universe.

Essentially, to reinvent and create it. And then, in doing so, to believe in it fully.

And while many people I know tend to believe this is because we "know" too much about the world around us and it's inherent dangers, I think it is quite the opposite.

We have forgotten far more than we have learned since childhood. For some, that is not a choice. Bad things. . . terrible things, definitely do happen to us. Sometimes placing us beyond the point of return.

For me, each statue and amulet. . .  or each fairy world or gargoyle . . .  or each elf or miniature house I create is a protector. Everything I create in fact could be seen as such. I find that the mystery is everywhere around us. . . and, unfortunately, there are still a few monsters out there too.

The deal we make with these created protectors is a simple one to strike.

I believe fully in it as I create it and, in doing so, it opens the door for another to believe in it as they decide to bring it into their own world. In whatever form, when it arrives, it is an acceptance of something that binds from the earliest days of our creativity.

 It is a desire to make sense of the world around us in the very same way the ancient Egyptians belief in their pantheon came to be.  It changes, it grows, it adapts and it reinvents itself over and over and over. . .

As we should too.

Every piece I create is a step into that reinvention.  It's a claiming of something that was inherently mine all those years ago and, for whatever time I have left in this world, I want it back as completely as I can manage.

And, along that road each day, I leave these little markers. These Descansos. All of them protective icons and imagery that allows me to step forward without fear again tomorrow.

Into the unknown and the well known.
All at once.

Silence and Gratitude

I've done it again. . . gone over a month without saying much. . . silence is a dear friend to me but I seem to lose track of time so easily these days.

Some of you may know that I spent part of June and July on jury duty here. First on a trial jury for an eminent domain case and then, as luck would have it, my number was called to fill an absence on our county grand jury for two months immediately following that.

It was, in our small rural county, a breeze and simply a joy to serve on the grand jury. There was only one case where the members of the grand jury had any disagreement at all. And that was simply on a lesser, unimportant charge.

But I have to say that 8 consecutive weeks of listening to the stories of people who just can't get their life together, who seem to have no idea that there is another way to live and who, often, repeat the same mistakes countless times over within the lives they live. . . well, it all starts to wear on a person.

It drove me to a bout of silence and solitude in it's aftermath.

And from that comes a wealth of gratitude.

As one of my great aunts used to say repeatedly, "There, by the grace of God, go I"

I grew up with a brother, much older, who made just about every bad choice you can make when it comes to life. And while some families seem to breed a consistent pattern of such behavior, I am happy to say that he was the exception to the rule in ours. And all that I saw him go through was like a guide book of what not to do. . . how not to live.

But there is one event in my young adult life that I believe was very instrumental to my not turning out like that or ever stepping down those pathways at all.

When I was 19, out of school, a little lost myself. . . a friend of mine at a club (where I was underage) one night asked out of the blue, "Hey, do you want to go to Europe?"

She was trying to get some distance from a suffocating girlfriend/relationship and just wanted to get far away for a few weeks.Europe seemed far enough. . .

I, with little thought, said "Sure, why not."

That trip and all of it's twists and turns was a life changer for me in how I perceived the world around me. Suzy, who I always thought was such a strong person, had trouble with the currencies, the languages, the constant need to be on our guard and make decisions and meet trains, get rooms etc etc. And I, who had no idea I could, stepped up to fill in when she was unable, and vice versa. . .  we were perfect travel companions and I leanred so much about my own abilities and areas that needed improvement.

We spent an all-nighter in Piccadilly Circus in London when we could not get a train out due to not having British pounds after banking hours. We considered, but rejected, an offer from a young couple to stay and work in their pub in the Lake District, and then our proposed "day trip" to Paris that ended up being a 4 day love affair with all things French.

There was the little Riviera village of Menton where I was solicited by a little old grocery store owner as a date for her granddaughter and, again, offered a job. ( I spoke French fairly well then)

The overnight mail train to Scotland and stepping out, pre dawn in Edinburgh, just in time to see the sun arriving over the mythic Arthur's Seat. . .

The list goes on. And while I neglect to mention them there were plenty of moody moments and discouragements too. . .

But the truth is, all these years later, I can look to that journey as the time I came to realize there were no limits to where I could go or what I could do. I returned to the US but could have easily stayed in France, Britain, Scotland, Switzerland, Belgium. . . somehow, just knowing I could, was enough.

And I can say in retrospect that I never looked at life the same again. . . suddenly the world was wide open and while I had little desire to roam the world in a drifting way, I knew that I was not limited to one thing, one place, one situation, for any amount of  time.

I grew to believe that I could create any world I wished as well, no matter where I was.

This is turning out to be true creatively too. I do not feel stuck to any one thing or "life" with my creativity. If I want to try to succeed at something new, I will. And, without a doubt, I have created the ability to make a living by not only doing what I love and being true to who I was in childhood, but by adapting and shifting when necessary to keep things moving forward. 

A little compromise, a little stubbornness, a little solitude . . .  and a lot of faith.

So yes, there is much gratitude for what I avoided by allowing myself to open to possibilities. Years later I learned that this country I live in is big enough to provide a wealth of scenery, lifestyle and opportunity if one is willing to get up and go. . .

In the end, I have chosen simplicity. Small town, rural county, more cows than people. . . the internet makes this possible, opening new opportunities to just about anyone. . .

That'sit really. . . not so much a story as a meandering of thought.

With a healthy does of gratitude for everything in my world.

For any of YOU if you took the time to read this.

Autumn is hanging so close on the horizon.
My season of choice
And as always
I will emerge
Create
And be grateful. . .

~nicolas

You are "Here"

If there was one special superpower I would love to be able to instill in others at will, especially other creatives who want to make their way to making a living from a craft, it would be the ability to step back and distance themselves enough to realize that everything in this life takes time, maybe an entire lifetime in some cases, to unfold and I'd give them the ability to stop thinking in the short term with an immediacy there is almost never a good reason to hold. I'd give the gift that would allow them to just grow into their work one day at a time. Because, the truth is, sometimes we just aren't ready yet. . . 

Is that two superpowers? Maybe. . .

The Gods know I was as guilty as anyone of trying to hit it big with everything I ever did. Always thinking of the best scenarios and the highest accomplishments and, often, that came at the expense of the reality that I hadn't the skill or the know how to get there on a jet rocket trajectory. .   and to be honest, my endless energy and belief in what I was doing took me further than I probably should have gotten with the abilities I had.  Belief does factor in to a degree. . .

I had reasons for pressing on in that way in spite of what I lacked. . . some of the reasons were healthy and many, of course, not so much. In the end my greatest enemy was my inability to see that it takes time to develop and mature into any pursuit.  There is no better or more proven way and often, those who find the rocket trajectory beneath them, come down too fast and too hard on the other side. 

Of course, looking back, I could not have gone about it any other way. I didn't know enough and I, of course, did not have these superpowers either.

I knew I had to press on though.
I knew that you do and will figure it out as you go.

It is hard for me to write or explain the path I took to get "here".  It seems, sometimes, like such a short story having just walked away from owning a coffeehouse two years ago to now creating all of my art and craft that currently supports my life. But in truth, it is a lifelong story that has been  unfolding all these years and it wasn't until I embraced the beginnings, the mistakes and the growing pains I did experience and began to work with what is inherent in me from childhood that the page turned and I started to find my way. . . and, just for the record, I am not "here" yet, nor will I ever likely be. I expect it to be a lifelong pursuit and a lifelong path of creative expression, ups and downs and ultimately as many frustrating days as perfect ones. But that's all fine with me. . .  I no longer feel the need to achieve anything that is big-goal oriented. Just to work hard at my craft every day to bring something beautiful into it each day and to hopefully be fortunate enough to share that with others along the way.

The fact is our life should teach us about repetition and patterns and the way life prepares us over and over for the cycles it moves by. We all went through those wonder-filled childhood years, were subdued in those awkward teenage angst years and dodged the insecurities and the uncertainty of stepping out on our own for the first time. We all had our individual experiences to work with of course,but the point here is they should also teach us that we will repeat them in life within any pursuit we undertake.

The cycles of life repeat always and in all ways.

So, you want to follow a creative dream? Then whether you really begin that path at 15 or 35 or 55 be prepared for the phases of it to mimic your early life. I actually think this is what keeps most people from trying something new with all their heart. The realization hits early on that this is not going to be easy. That you'll have to learn new skills, leave old programming behind and reinvent your life to fit the new "you" that you envision.  You have to walk through it all again. . . the young innocent phase, the awkward teenage phase, the first steps into adulthood phase and hopefully, eventually, the mellowing into it mid-life phase where it all comes together.

The calm in the storm. . .

And, since you went through it over those early years of life, it should not take as long this time around.

Don't hang the entire world on an ideal of quick success and always give yourself a chance, a REAL chance,  to grow into it as you have anything else throughout your life. . .  And then, eventually, one day,

You are "here"

~nicolas

Paracosm

It has been awhile since my last post and the reason is singular and simple. Writing does take my soul deeper into my own experience and, recently, in writing some unrelated thoughts to answer someone else's questions about my life as a maker-of-things, I came to a deeper revelation about that very part of myself. . . and so I have taken the time to really mull it over internally and explore it fully before writing about it here. And this is what I have discovered. . .

If there is one thing that most artists I know have in common who have been able to create a successful art business, and even most people I know who are TRULY happy with their day to day lives, it is that what they live, what they are creating and what they love in life is a direct link to something from their childhoods and that untainted past. Some part of them that never quite went away and fuels, in some way, their life pursuits today.

On the extreme end of those childhood experiences, there is the idea of the creation of a paracosm which is defined as: a detailed imaginary world or fantasy world, involving humans and/or animals, or perhaps even fantasy or alien creations. Commonly having its own geography, history, and language, it is an experience that is often developed during childhood and continues over a long period of time: months or even years.

I had many such worlds in my childhood.

Nothing I played, drew or created was just a game but had back-story and detail and a running dialogue within.  From my imagining of being alive in ancient Egyptian times or in the Roman Empire, Pompeii, Alexandria, Druid times, Viking times etc and on down to my creation of little towns and worlds each year with the model railroads I built under our holiday tree.

Everything had a place, a story, a reason.

When I sit and create the things you see in my shops, in all three of my shops, they are, in no uncertain terms, a direct link to my childhood experiences and explorations of the world around me.

As I grew into my teens and 20's I, like most, felt a need to become more "grown up" and set off into the "real world" to find my way. . . this was, unarguably, the greatest mistake I ever made. One that I plan to rectify for the rest of my days.

And I truly believe that the "mistake" part of that was the desire to leave that childhood past far behind.  Of course, in my quiet, alone moments, I allowed myself to indulge and revisit it at times but, as my world became cluttered with people and social events and owning businesses and adult life. . . I left more and more of it there.

I will, in the near future, reveal more of my own paracosm and try to show how it formed me and how it has come full circle.  How I believe that life is indeed cyclical and how we often allow the negative aspects, people and events to remain with us along our path while discarding the most integral parts of our soul which are meant to help us as we grow into our later years because they wre there at the foundation of who we are. 

The thing that is often NOT talked about with paracosms is how so many adults are creating them daily in what we like to think of as our adult world. This life is. for lack of a better definition, ALL fantasy. All paracosm.  It is US who creates the place, the story and the reasons for anything in our worlds. And if you can step back and allow that one idea to sink in and become truth, then you may recognize how the choosing of it is always up to you.

Whatever you subscribe to is indeed part of your created paracosm. Career pursuits, ideals of success, ideals of relationship, security and contentment. . . even the dialogues we desire to hear, the way we fantasize about one thing or another. . . we create all of those too. Do they work? I can't speak for anyone but me. Except to say that whatever you believe in is strictly YOUR creation. And often we are so caught up in wanting to "belong" in a union, a community or group, an accepted circle of some sort that we allow too much outside information and influence to shape our world within.

I tried many adult paracosms over the last 20 years that just did not fit because the inherent landscape of my childhood was simply too strong to be changed that much.

So, when I began to return to it and allowed myself to roam within it freely again just a few years ago, I immediately recognized that what I sought, what I desired and what made me happiest had been there all along. . .  I began creating the creatures and worlds that were alive in my thriving childhood imaginings. I allowed them all to come back and through that indulgence I suddenly began connecting with others who found them appealing for whatever reason.

The more I allowed myself to dwell within that paracosm again, the happier I became.

The more of the "adult life" I left behind, selling my business, moving away from the grind of the city, leaving happy hours and social commitments and the larger community behind, the happier I found myself being as well.   

My world of many and much became a world of few and little and allowed me the space to grow into that vast landscape again. It requires a lot of space. . . a lot of solitude. . . and a lot of internal silence.

I do believe paracosms are truly meant to often be singular experiences. But for children, that never seems to present much of a problem does it? For me, as that child, that alone time was so precious and desired over almost any activity involving others. I had friends. More than I can remember but only a few who were able to occupy the landscape I created in my deepest imagination.

It is funny how, as adults, so many take such a strong dislike to being alone. And maybe, just maybe, that is because we are not happy with the paracosm we have created as an adult.  If it requires others for happiness, it is not deep and true enough. There is nothing wrong with wanting to share what is within. . . but that will follow the act of creation. . . not the other way around. Find and know yourself completely first and THEN others can follow safely in your footsteps. YOU are the explorer of the landscape within. The better you know it, the more likely others can traverse it with you in safety and
 the more likely you will attract the right people to be a part of it.

I had that wrong for years too.

And of course, for me, this is all ultimately about creativity. One of my favorite writers once said that "if you want to be a writer you just have to be crazy enough to sit down and let the words bang out."

Often people come to creative pursuits from the perspective of how they can make a living doing the thing they want to pursue. . . but this is really backwards thinking. . . the creator must create first and find it within . . .  it must come from the places deep within that are the storehouses of the inherent.

Those who try to "create to sell" rarely find success and almost never find lasting happiness or fulfillment within that pursuit.I tried that as well and guess what. . . it never worked.

I am glad I found my way back. Reconnected with the child within who had been waiting all this time for me to finally understand that HE is who I am. He was, after all, there first. He was born, not of a plan or a constructed architecture of hope. . . not of a reinvention that I contrived or designed. . . but of something so deep and pure that it simply can not be ignored.

I shall never set him aside for anything again.

So think about the idea of your lifetime thus far and the paracosms you may have once created and continue to create now.

Do you see the paracosms of your yesterdays and today?
Do you find it all to flow in a cyclical way too?
Do you see the pure essence of YOU in the child you were?
Does he/she still have a foothold in your adult world?
Are you kind to him/her when he/she appears?

I hope so.
There will likely never be a truer "you".

-nicolas

Simple Roots

To understand who we are I think it is important to mine the past. . . the childhoods that formed us into who we are today.

For all the reinvention, desire to establish myself as an individual and attempts in teenage angst to shock and stand out, I am essentially the same person I was at 10 or 11 today.

I often wonder if I had recognized that 20 years ago would I be "further along" or was I somehow just not strong enough in my 20's and 30's to walk this decidedly uncluttered and simple path?

In between that boy of 10 and now there have been several moves and changes of scenery, several creative incarnations and a few businesses and careers owned and passed through. And while all of those experiences add to the foundation. . . .the foundation is the same.

I believe this to be true for more people than most would care to admit and I also believe it is a great cause of the unhappiness I see and feel in the world daily.

I believe those early experiences are just the simple roots of what we will become in our lifetime. But as with any rooted thing, they always remain the life source through which everything else flows. 



*  *  *  *  *  

One constant in my life has always been the lack of people who get into my "inner" world. I have always been so very protective of my creative spaces and, since I was a boy, I have preferred to dwell alone there unless a soul came through who just fit and could come and go without it either affecting of distorting the world I was creating.

If you think about it, that's a rare, rare happening in anyone's life. Most people, I think, are just better at compromising and making room. . . but I believe that to be a constant state of sacrifice rarely worth the trouble. There are and WILL be souls who fit. . . perfectly. . . . without much if any effort or notice.  What is more likely to happen though is that people make room out of a fear and dread of being alone. Out of needing someone to fit even when it causes more harm than good.

That, in my world, has always been such a foreign idea. . .

As a child I had, from the ages of 9 to 14, really just two great friends. And from age 15 to 20, just one. I never felt lonely. In fact I do not know if I ever have felt that emptiness that so many seem to want to run from.

David was one of the two friends in those early years who just fit.

He was someone who could show up and at a moments notice, fit into whatever game or world I was creating.  Looking back, I think his family life, with a house filled with brothers and sisters never allowed him the peace he desired and the sense of space to create and explore with noone looking over his shoulder. So, we were fast friends. He knew he could come and go as he pleased and create what he desired when we played together.

Ultimately it turned out that he was diagnosed as schizophrenic in his late teens which led to a tragic end not many years later.  The diagnosis, revealed to me at 19,  really came as no surprise as I remember far too many instances that were strange by any account but, to me, it was always was accepted with nothing more than saying, "Well, that's just David."

The most telling might be that there were many times he would call me up and say he wanted to come down and play. He lived about four blocks from me up a steep hill and, from late Autumn through Spring when the trees were bare on the hill, I could follow him from the time he left his house until he got close to mine by watching out of my mother's bedroom window.  He would usually run the whole way down as he loved to run.

Sometimes, and it happened with more frequency as we got older,  he would start out down the hill and then, halfway down, swerve off onto a side street and disappear. He simply would not show up.

This was of course, baffling at first.

When I would next see him I would ask him about it and he always seemed to not be sure what I was talking about or make an excuse that was obviously not true but, at the same time, I never felt it was quite a lie.

I just knew that wasn't like him to just lie.  I never brought it up after a few instances.

If it happened, I went about my day myself and wouldn't even ask him about it anymore. It came to make perfect sense that it was as if there were two Davids. And those differences are what drew us apart as friends by the time I was 16.

During our friendship though we got along so well because no matter who's game we were playing or whose world was being shared, the other person had no desire to alter it or change it to suit themselves.

If it was my game and he came into it, he adapted to the rules and the scenarios and vice versa.
Seems simple but I look around me and revisit my adult life and it seems that so few can enter into another life and simply cherish it for what it is and meld into it seamlessly.

So few can just allow something to be without making attempts to change, fix or better it.

As an adult, I gave into the idea that it was normal to compromise and to lose oneself into the world of another. And it took me 20 years to regain the strength to see that I/we are not meant to fit with "many" in this life. But to wait out the few who will fit with us as perfectly as we do with them. That's what allows us to fully discover and be who we are. .. well, that and a healthy dose of being alone.

Sifting through.

Discovering within. . . 

* * * * *

Not long before I left Portland for the coast I was riding a public bus across town and it happened to be at the time the city schools were letting out for the day. As the bus pulled to a stop in front of a middle school, I was suddenly in the midst of 30 to 40  hyper, young teens whose energy swarmed me as much as their non stop chatter! But, in the midst of those 30, there were two I noticed who were in their own worlds. One girl with headphones and Ipod stared straight through the crowd un fazed by their manic energy. . . another with his nose in a book and no interest in the behavior around him either, occasionally gazed out the window into the rainy November day. . . .

I think many people watching this scene would have felt sorry for those two or worried that they are somehow misfit "loners" because they were not interacting with friends.

I felt like they were sifting through. . . and protecting their vibrant world within. There seemed to be nothing sad about them. Nothing off or missing.

They got off the bus at different stops and headed home to what I like to imagine are worlds of their own creation and making of things as well. 

And I thought. . . "There are two who will likely one day be
just fine. . . "


nicolas

Hide and Seek

Recently, while reading the blog of one of my customers from Etsy, I realized something that I feel is very critical to describing who I am and what my core beliefs of happiness are.

The blog is a spiritual based one and, I knew that this particular customer has, as many of us do, fallen in and out of their practice be that spiritual or creative)  and was having some life difficulties during these times.

Their return to regularly blogging and practicing their spiritual path, marked a noticeable increase in their happiness and feeling good about themselves and their world again.

As that sank in, I realized that it is the same path for many of us in life. That, whatever it is we love, if we approach it with a spiritual regularity, we will likely find peace and happiness within. This happiness is, of course, not linked in any way to our lifestyle, standard of living, wealth, or even physical health. . . indeed it is something that we may foster to transcend all the difficulties that we may encounter in this physical realm and turn to in our search for solace and comfort and, most importantly, an understanding of self.

Growing up I would say my grandmother and mother were my finest teachers of this phenomenon though in completely different manners.

A devout Catholic, my grandmother went to church every Sunday well into her 80’s despite having difficulty getting around and she prayed the rosary and lit candles daily. Her faith was, not unshakable, but rooted and solid. Her personal polestar. . . and it saw her through many, many difficult times. One of the things that scare me to death as a child was how any mention of something fun. . .a drive to the park, a trip to the candy store. . . a ride in the country, , , was always followed by the stipulation that we would go “if we live.” So, “Oh honey, how about Monday we go get you some new things for school. . . if we live.” It was just matter of fact to her that we might not live to monday but her faith made that a fact, not a fear. 

 Now in comparison, my mother’s spirituality was her work and her job (and I should add, raising me). Hostess and waitress 5 or 6 days a week at an Italian restaurant. mother 7 days a week and then, when that became too much for her physically and I was grown and off on my own, she took a part time job office cleaning with her cousin. Work was her belief. Her trust in things being right. When grief hit the family, she was always better when she could go to work for 8 hours and put her mind elsewhere. I understood that as being a path as well.

In both of these examples there was something in the routine and the comfort each felt in their own way that was spiritual and not, even in my grandmother’s case, simply religious. My grandfather had an even larger impact in this way too, though it was clearly more beneathe the surface and will be looked at separately in future posts.

For me, that spirituality of life has always been my creativity. It is my absolute core foundation. My rock. If I practice it daily I am happier than I could be doing anything else. And it took me years to realize that my happiness in life was tied directly to it. That it was in every manner a spiritual sort of approach I needed to cultivate. 

 I spend each day creating and doing the hard and often exhausting work of selling what I make to allow me the gift of continuing along this path. . .  and as I grow within it, I see distinctly, the paths of my grandmother and mother that are part of my own path and my success.  I create religiously. . . I work religiously. . . I follow my soul as a spiritual path and, while it took me 40 years to figure out how to do that, I am grateful for the practice of all these years that prepared me for it here and now. 

I also am a huge believer in geography as metaphor for most of my life.  It shows in so much ofmy creative output.  I find geography is a polestar for my soul. Books like Kathleen Norris’ “Dakota: A Spiritual Geography” stories like  Barry Lopez’ “The Mappist”, even songs like Howard Jone’s “Hide and Seek” have all embedded themselves into my consciousness and are  like Psalms to me.  . and the writings and lectures of John O’Donohue  a man who I feel possessed a perfect blend of religion, philosophy and awareness of life’s depths in all of his writing who said:

“Your soul knows the geography of your destiny. Your soul alone has the map of your future, therefore you can trust this indirect, oblique side of yourself. If you do, it will take you where you need to go, but more important it will teach you a kindness of rhythm in your journey.”

I’ve always been so close to that rhythm and maybe just a quarter beat off. . . and all of these things through the years were signposts. .. pointing me to the place I belonged. . .  then it clicked . . . fell into place . . . this is my spiritual path. My practice.

I am a maker-of-things. Nothing more, nothing less.
That is my home

I only feel “right”. . . “centered” . . . and at peace. . .  when I am doing this daily.
It is MY unshakable belief

I hope you find the same with everything you see within too.

nicolas

Escapism

Listening to the NY Times Book Review podcast yesterday and one of the guests was Joe Queenan who was discussing his habit of rereading books again and again.

At first I was intrigued because I have a few titles of my own that I could read a dozen times (and have) and always find something new within.

But what struck me most was a comment he made about how reading is, for so many people, an expression of the desire to escape their world into another.  And he believes this is especially true of those who read voraciously as he does.

As he spoke of his own reading habits, it became clear that it is something more than just enjoying books and stories.  . but that they are truly another world for him to exist in.  He copies lines, passages and quotes for future reference, then organizes and stores them. So the escape continues outside the covers of the books themselves into his own world. . .

He connected this pursuit to being similar to anything people do in excess. . . and, for me, the light went off imediately in my own head.

*** *** ***

As a child, I did not create to escape anything horrible or unjust.

I had a rather charmed upbringing in a simple, working class, urban home in Pennsylvania.  My hours and hours of "escape" were fueled by the fact that I simply preferred those self created places and imaginings more than most of the possible interactive reality with kids my age. (this from ages 7 to 17 really. . . and, in truth, through most of my adult years as well) My interests from sports, to ancient Egyptian art to sci-fi fantasy, writing stories, music and building miniature railroads was all something I felt most at ease delving into totally alone so as to be created by just one set of rules. My own. . .

And I was a voracious maker-of-things within each of those elements.  The worlds I created extended beyond the time spent within them. In my head, there were constant dialogues and imaginings of what would come next. Sort of like previews of upcoming shows.  This was the main part of my world for many years.

Somewhere along the way, in my early 20's, that got sidetracked . . . set aside. . . and I lost my way for awhile in life in general I think. 

It seems to me that so very often, under the guise of growing up, we think we have to leave much of that early escapism and creation behind.  Also, there are people who perhaps never had that in their own childhood years and they actually discover it later in life. Sadly, they relegate it to "hobby" or "interest" status as that is the more grown up way to give it voice.

Now this, it seems, is all in the interest of having these things fit into our adult lives and this is, in my world, backwards thinking.

Do we ever find it if we venture far from those childhood places or allow our passions and loves to be compartmentalized into being called indulgences, hobbies, interests and a few-hours-a-month-when-time-allows activities??

In my life, after all these years, those indulgences and worlds of my own creation are front and center again. They occupy almost EVERY waking hour and they are how I make my living now. They are the very essence of my world today, as they were all those years ago and, yes, that comes with costs that few would be willing to pay. 

With the exception of the computer, where I do indeed sell most of my items and creations on the internet, I have left behind the modern world almost completely.  I am certain that it is not a place where creativity can reign or be nurtured because it is all about the moment and the minutia of our lives. Instant and constant flooding of the unimaginative and mundane.

Creativity, on the other hand, takes time and effort and imagination and solitude to discover. . . to unlock something magical within.

The desire to connect in today's instant access world only serves to push more and more people into forced community instead of celebrating the unique, the individual, the mystery and, maybe most importantly,  the solitude and aloneness of us all. 

Which is, to me, the best thing we can slow down and explore.

And this, I think has trickled right down to every form of escape, even reading which, as Mr Queenan states in his thoughts about e-readers,“ they have purged all the authentic, non-electronic magic and mystery from their lives.”

It's all about magic really. . .
And taking the time to create it is the best thing I believe I can do every day. Because ithas paid me back ten-fold in ways I have yet to even tally.

I hope you will take the time and create it too.


nicolas

What's Missing

She asked me, "Did you know that Malta is it's own independent country?"

I did know that.

That simple question though prompted me to think about HOW it was that I knew that. Where that little bit of knowledge came from and why it remains with me to this day.

It is there because  many years ago, on those Friday nights when my grandfather and I would watch Studio Wrestling as I drifted off to sleep, there was a regular wrestler named Baron Mikel Scicluna who, as it turns out, hailed from the "Isle of Malta".

I am sure it was one day when I was 11 or so that I took to leafing through our home encyclopedia and read about this Isle of Malta for the first time.  That led to a visit to our neighborhood library for more reading.  This was right around the time of Malta's claim to independence so there was much to read at the library.

It was planted in my brain and remained a part of my consciousness all these years.

But why it remains up there is, I believe, mostly because of all the circumstances surrounding the actual knowledge I acquired.

Today, when I think of something or hear about something that peaks my curiosity, I look it up instantaneously on the internet and, to be honest, it is usually gone from my memory capabilities within a day or two.  I believe this is because a large part of the circumstances that make things memorable are not there with such instant, high-speed gratification.

As a child, there was the need to research any topic you wanted to learn about and an effort required to do so. Even if it was only to get up and go into a different room and pull out a thick volume of an encyclopedia and leaf through it. Better yet to walk the long blocks to the library and pour over books and magazines. The trip there and all the surrounding experiences etching themselves in as a form of inducing the tactile memory.

I love the world wide web. . . it is how I make a living and I count on it for recipes, information, news etc etc but, I know deep inside that something is missing when I take that route. As someone who experienced life before and after the explosion of the on-line world, I can tell you that the convenience is not always the best thing for our storing and retaining of knowledge. 

Something is missing when you can just sit at the same desk and whip through one subject after another. . . there is no separation. No lead up to the discovery of the knowledge. No sense memory to help write it into our consciousness.

It's not a better way.
It lacks soul, as do so many other internet based discoveries. . .

I recently got a library card in the new county I live in. Just walking around the aisles of books and magazines remains a thrill.  And I am determined to venture there on occasion to learn things the "old fashioned way".

So they'll stick like Malta.
For years to come

The Weight of Existence

It has been 8 months since we left the city. . .  there are ways I feel the change in a very immediate sense and then, in other ways, the changes are not as noticed until something brings them to our attention.

Yesterday morning, with dawn light just beginning to pour over the coast range,  I sat here looking out the window and watched the sky begin to glow. I turned away to begin my work day and, after a minute or two, I turned back realizing there was something outside the window that was just "off".

A quick survey of the surrounding area told me it was that there seemed to be an inordinate number of gulls and crows flying about.  To see these scavenger birds, along with herons, pelicans, swallows, terns, cormorants and geese is, of course, not at all uncommon. But to see them so close, circling and perched on the wires across the street, calling so shrill in the early morning, just seemed out of place.

As I watched, several of the birds took advantage of the lack of traffic on the road to swoop down and land at, what I then saw, was a dead seagull. It had been hit in the night by a car or truck. It lay on it's back, it's brilliant white wings spread out and slightly upward as if awaiting a deliverance from that hard asphalt spot.

I watched for a minute as crows and gulls approached and, it occurred to me that the crows were busy feeding upon the gull while it's kin seemed to be trying to pull at it's feathers. . . almost as if to remove it from the road.

A few seconds later I could hear the sound of a car approaching on the road and, as it reached the spot, it had to slow. The crows, always keen and aware in busy road conditions, had safely flown up to the wires again but the seagulls, more used to the lull of the bay and the ocean and at worst, a passing fishing boat, did not make a great attempt to get out of the way of the car.  

The car passed by going around the site and, a moment later another approached and I watched the same scene play out.

I decided I could not wait a moment longer and I immediately threw on the first jacket I could find and grabbed a large garbage bag and headed barefoot down the steps and out the door.

I reached the street and saw no vehicles coming. The crows and gulls had returned to their tasks around the fallen bird. They scattered as I approached, again the gulls not clearing the way but just moving along the road a bit,  and I stood over the gull, it's wings spread a full 3 to 4 feet tip to tip and each feather along the span still so perfectly and beautifully aligned.

I bent over and covered the bird with the bag and scooped it up as quickly as I could and, having not thought beyond this moment, stood in the street unsure what to do next.

Before that thought could be completed I was overtaken with the realization that a bird like this, that I had watched and marveled at it being so magnificent and impressive in the air, and even in the prone death pose on the ground, could weigh so little now here in my hands. The thought carried me unconsciously and I found myself then on the side of the road holding onto the bird, wrapped in the bag and I could not help but be fixated on it's lightness. . . and consumed with the thought of the weight of it's existence.

My entire day was affected. . . as was the next and still, today, it hangs there within me. 

8 months ago, and all the years prior living in the city, I would not have noticed "too many" birds gathering anywhere or if there was any rhythm or pattern to their movements at all.  I have loved birds all my life but not since the days of my childhood, when I would lay on my back beneath my grandmothers bird feeder and watch them in awe and wonder as they flew in and out of the tree have I felt that I was truly a part of this life WITH them. . .

There is no going back for me. . . the weight of my existence is growing noticeably and considerably lighter since I chose this place. What it allows for is more room to breathe and to grow, more emptying of the old and unnecessary and a stronger belief, as I often express in my visual art, that there is a theory of flight that just may allow us to, one day, spread our own wings and ascend.

nicolas

Playing with Passion

I constantly get asked where I find the time to create such a variety of items in such a wide range of mediums.  In addition to the three online shops I also write music and poetry too. And, yes, I make time for all of it.

The truth, as closely as I can tell it is this. Since I was a young boy, creating has been the most important thing in my world in one way or another.  What people get to "see", through my online shops, is just the tail end of that lifelong process.

The shops have only been open for two years. But the creativity and passion behind them are a force that has guided me for the last 40 years.

I try new ideas all the time because I have, thru that 40 years,  eliminated that angst artists often feel about how "good" their work is.  I know when I make something for the tenth time it will be many times better than the first iteration. But I know that my calling for creating is going to make sure that my first iteration is definitely setting the bar high.

If I have one true "passion" in life it is to make things. Now, the list of things I love or have deemed as a passion thru the years is quite long. Cooking, golf, travel, history, mythology, ice hockey, Zen study, building tree houses etc etc from ages 10 to 40 I filled my "spare time" with all sorts of pursuits. . . and they have all served me well.

But there from the start, before and through them all,  was the desire to make things.  

This is the inherent quality I talk about a lot.
Figuring out what is at it's core is a must for each person to be truly happy in life.
And I can almost guarantee you that your true passion somehow, someway, ties into who you were at a very young age.

It will manifest in a variety of ways throughout the years.
But it will have a raw and undeniable form that you will recognize.

And that form will not be based on how much money it can make you or how many other people will relate or understand it. It may be the one thing that leaves you feeling so very much alone. . . that too, in my opinion, can be a beautiful and healthy thing.

Creating your life, creating the happiness you seek, is inevitably tied to things we have always known in life.

How we can best manifest that in a daily form is ours to discover. . .
And then, when we do, it is up to us to change our lives to accommodate it fully. 

So, how do I manage to create so many things?
I simply NEED to. . . more than I need many things that other people fill their days with.
More than I need any of those things I used to list as my "other" passions. . . there just is not time and, if I want to succeed in creating a life from creating, I have to be willing to let some things go

So far, so good. . .

I have 40 years of history and passion behind me every step of the way. :)

nicolas

Spirituality in Miniature

Why do we do what we do?

I am not sure I ever asked my self that question until I hit my mid thirties.  I always enjoyed my work. From chef to coffeehouse owner to musician to recording engineer to multimedia performer.  Everything I set out to do in my life has been, for the most part, a joyful experience.

Each brought new insight and understanding to my world and each has imparted something to the creative path I am on now.

When I think about what I do now, the reason I make miniatures, why I create little worlds and spiritual descansos and dabble in whatever suits me on any given day, I see it is directly related to the days of my childhood.

There are, in play, rituals as profound as any other we may experience in adulthood.  Ones that set us on a path that, if it is true to our nature, will remain with us forever. As I began to ask the questions of "why" in my life, all the answers seemed to point back to those early days. And, the more I realized this, the less satisfied I was with the things I pursued as my "work".

When I was 12, and my mother decided it would be ok for me to have my first true model railroad,
I had no idea what lay ahead of me. I was instantly consumed with the planning and layout and creation of the miniature "world" beneathe our holiday tree. It came naturally to me. Just as I had done my whole childhood, I created stories and sub-plots for what went on in my little train town.

It became a ritual to bring the town to life every year and create new stories within it by adding new features. I started earlier, often planning the setup as early as my school summer vacation and I left the village and train up later each year.

The art of miniature from railroads to dollhouses to terrariums to keepsakes allows for the creator and the buyer to indulge in this highly spiritual ritual. The time spent on  such things is meditative and relaxing and allows for the creator to "get away" from the other life they may lead.

We can create ideal places and can pour our innermost dreams and desires for how we wish to live our own lives into them. We make a ritual out of the creation and care of such places and, indeed, the way we tend them over time often runs parallel to the way we tend to our other, adult lives. And sometimes, when that falls out of balance on the imagination side, it is a sign that we should look at changing that "real world" around us to reflect what it is we are missing.

So yes, for me the creation of miniature is truly about ritual and a spiritual application of the work it takes to make such things.

Ritual combines repetition and a certain spiritual or religious observance . . . and both of these are traits that, I believe, are common in many of us during our childhood years.

We cultivate ritual in our games and in our imagination. Those worlds we create are what keep us aligned with our true inner voices. They speak through the roles we create and adopt within those adventures, It stands to reason then that I also believe one of the things we cast aside all too often in our desire to be "adults" is that ritual of wonder.But it is never far away.

Life offers every opportunity to find or create such places again.
Along the way we do need reminders though.
We need little votives marking possibility
Miniatures may act like polestars.
They may be signposts
They can keep us on track

I have never been more content than I am right now in my life. I feel completely at ease with what I do and where I am going with it. In between childhood and this moment, I definitely lost my way at times. But it is funny how, along the way, there would always come a reminder. . .

A model railroad catalog
An artist working in miniature
Walking through a toy store or hobby shop
Sitting in the silence and ritual of a monastery
Visiting old, forgotten towns that seem to linger in simpler days
These were my polestars
They kept me close to the path
Tugged at my childhood love of ritual
Once again became my religion
They brought me back home

And I will never leave again. . .

nicolas hall

The Value of Time - Etsy Lessons - Creating a Life Around Creating

It is one of the biggest discussions in the creative marketplace.

"How do you value of the time you spend making an item you sell?"

The mistake, to me, is in the asking of the very question itself.

The question, from the working or want-to-be working artist's perspective should be:

"What is the value of the time you are given to spend creating?"

Subtle difference? Only in the wording.

The first question asks us to look at how much we want to make for our creative efforts. Regardless of the skill level, the perceived value, the quality of materials, the market that exists for the finished product etc etc. It's a sales/financial oriented question top to bottom and often, in my experience, it puts people in a huge hole from the beginning in their attempt to make a viable living from their craft.

The second question asks us to define how valuable it is for our SOUL to spend time creating.  There are only 24 hours a day. How many of them can be spent doing what we truly love is directly influenced by only one thing really. How we have built our life around us to sustain those creative hours. In other words, how simply we live. The less money we have to make "out there" to support ourselves, the more time one can spend within. In that creative space.

The question, at it's deepest root is, do you value "having" or "being"?

I believe the reason more people focus on the first question is because it is how we are programmed to think by the society we have grown up in. An acquisition based philosophy that leads to so much suffering and sadness.

How much money we make is at the core of so much stress in our lives. But that is a perspective that needs to change for the better good in this world. How much we need to make is directly influenced by one thing only. What kind of a life we have created and are creating for ourselves.

I am amazed when people talk about the problems within the world economy today that no one mentions the one thing that seems, to me, to be at the heart of almost all of it.

Greed.

Gone are the days of valuing a simpler life and in it's place we have sunk deep, thirsty roots in the soils of acquisition, status and wealth.

Call it whatever you want but when we NEED the newer car, the faster computer, the nicer house, to live in the middle of a city, the designer clothes, the two week vacations, the dining out, the best concert tickets etc etc etc we are choosing that. They are not necessities. They are superficial needs and that need is a product of human greed and desire. We choose them. And, that is perfectly fine. . . but, if what we want most, if our soul NEEDS is to create? What do those niceties have to do with anything in that chosen life?

We choose. It is all our doing and our undoing.
So, my next question to anyone who wants to make a living creating is:
"How much are you willing to do without?

It might mean tough choices. Giving things up. Doing without. Settling for less.
But sometime less IS more.

Somehow we have gone from a society that once believed in building towards a dream to one that believes we simply DESERVE and have a right to be living the dream.

Charles Bukowski, in one of his better known works, put it best:

our educational system tells us
that we can all be
big-ass winners

it hasn't told us
about the gutters
or the suicides.

or the terror of one person
aching in one place
alone  . . .

 <><><>

Our time here on this planet is deceptively short. Too short to think we have enough of it to do all that we might like to do. So it is important to first define what we truly need, one or two things at most, then show that we value them and build our ENTIRE life from those points and ONLY those points.  If it does not serve them, it does not belong. Period.

Remember that if it is in our soul, it is a lifetime's work. It will take a long time to fulfill it. A lifetime of building towards that dream we hold. No guarantees. Just the pursuit of a soul fulfilled.

It's enough,
Trust me

Just let go. . .

Postcards

In the postcard, the old man is stands along the edge of a rough and stony shore
It's on an inlet or a bay perhaps
A wooden fishing skiff sits at the water's edge
Weathered and worn as the man

The scene around him is vivid and raw
Stones reach to the sky, jutting from the water
Their outlines worn and shaped by the ever present forces of time

The obvious natural beauty of the scene is not the essence of the image though
To me, the draw to it is something more
The man in the postcard belongs
This land is clearly as much a part of him
And he is of it

There is so much talk in our country of seeking in a spiritual context
And it occurs to me now that perhaps what is missing is not the lack of community or of a faith
Not the lack of belonging to an organization or a lineage
But the lack of belonging to a place
To a landscape

But instead, here, people flock in droves to the same urban bone yards
And what their spirit seeks is never going to be found there
We've leveled and scorched that landscape
We've built above and through it's heart
We've left ghosts and shadows on this bloated vista
 Inhabited by empty souls
Dead weight

Our place can't be found among the hordes and the groups born of so called common interest
That is not what we are bound to connect with in this life
We have created that purpose in our mind
To stave off the constant hunger
Just as we have created so many other distractions
So many other false starts

But maybe you have felt it stirring inside of you
Along a weekend country drive
Or at the water's edge
Across a plain or a plateau
In the forest or the sea 
Just a moment perhaps, when everything you deem your life was left behind
When it all disappeared into a dream
And the place filled you
Consumed you
Recognized you
As you seemed to recognize the place
What lie did you tell your heart then?

Often, in the end, we let all our superficial needs pull to the bone yards again
How would we live without our pleasured distraction?
How would we live without our tribe and causes?
How would we live without ambitions and status?
How would we survive?

The answers is
If you truly listened
Heard the landscape
Opened to that spirit
You might actually find yourself
You might actually find that you ARE alive there
You might just. . .

One day I hope to be the old man in a postcard
In the right place
A part of the landscape somebody captures
Whatever the background
Wheteher a storm is coming
Whether it is dusk or dawn
Whether it is sea or sage
I want to look, not like an awkward visitor
Not like a stranger
I want to look
As if I too
Belonged

nicolas hall 2012

Poem and Visual Art: Theory of Flight

Featured image in my Etsy Shop : My Antarctica (link in the margin to the right)

Theory of Flight"

It's not necessary to hold tight to this so-called reality
The mystery does not always need to have answers
Science is lacking in it's charms anyway
Knowing too much is always a weight upon the soul

Once, we drew the plans for airships and
Mythic, winged creatures filled the margins of our notebooks
The red, vertical line a boundary no one dared to cross
We dreamed and doodled every possibility
We were better for that innocence
We were
Better

And now we look back at those same, red lines
Standing here on what is supposed to be the usable part of the life "page"
A page we fill with urgency and to-do lists
We fill with hellos and goodbyes
We fill with budgets and breakdowns
We've forgotten how to hold on to a dream
We've forgotten the way back
We've forgotten and we've grounded
All of these
Mythic
Impossible
Winged
Dreams~

nicolas hall 2010

Second Skin

"You mean you don't want any of them?" my mother asks, at least semi annually.
She has taken out the shoebox of old photos and cards again.
A semi annual ritual though not one in accord with any changing of seasons or certain anniversaries.

"No, none. . . thank you." I respond
Semi annually

I have never been one for the taking of or keeping of photographs.
As long as I can remember, I never found myself wanting to look into polaroid frames of the past.
At least not ot when the image I would be looking at was myself

This is not a preference derived from avoiding shadows
I had a most wonderful childhood
The images my mother keeps are, I know, happy and light
A family history unstained
She keeps them, I have supposed, to quell her age-old fears that she was the reason I moved far away
That she was somehow a faulty mother

It's much simpler than that though
I do not want to look into those eyes staring from the box.
My eyes
At ten
At thirteen
At fifteen

I am afraid of what I might see there
I am afraid of the sign of a secret separation

While others often keep photographs as markers of their youth and pull them out, or up, to remind themselves of what once was, or what could have been, I tend to walk side by side with my past
Always keeping close to that boy
Of ten
Of thirteen
Of fifteen
He is with me in every way
As much a part of me now as then.

So close that
Sometimes I think of him as a second skin
And I know it can be so easy
To dissolve that part of ourselves into a living, time-line memory
Instead of doing away with the apparitions of adulthood
The ones which keep us stacked in the cardboard shoe boxes
Filed under "Yesterday"
While we struggle daily
Just to breathe and
To find a way home
Again

nicolas hall - 2012

Death Knell For Another Coastal Community

I read this in a small coastal business paper today.

"The creative class of people is one of the signs of an emerging area. Then rich people are attracted to that gritty feel."

I felt immediately ill. . .

As I reflect on it, my gut feeling is that this story, played out in community after community, is killing this country faster than anything else I see on the near horizon.

It is also in great part why I removed myself from the hipster haven of Portland to the small, blue collar fishing village I now call home. One with no room for pretentiousness or attitude. It is the antithesis of a town like the one described in that quote. One that will never likely turn itself out for the quick fix of the  "revitalization" and "progress" that others have sold the soul of their own towns for.

Goodbye Astoria. . . I'll remember you as you were while the wave of hipster attitude quickly erodes your unique landscape and charm and tramples your historic soul, I wish you peace.