The Mapmaker's War. . . I am currently submerged in this wonderful book by Ronlyn Dominique
Often it can be the first line or few paragraphs of a book that really draws me in. . . this one went beyond pulling me in with the following early narrative. . .
With meticulous care, you planned your provisions, though not your
expeditions.
Adventure wasn’t in the hunger to come but in the quest of
what to follow. You packed your pouch | nuts and fruit, soft bread and
hard cheese | along with parchment and ink, cloth scraps and straight
edges.
You mapped the hidden worlds when you were still young enough to see them.
Spiderwebs and honeycombs taught the wisdom of symmetry. To you,
everything before your eyes was built upon invisible lines and angles.
The very spot where you stood only a point among many. A girl is not
always in her place, you thought. A girl can be many places at once. And
so you were. When you settled upon a space in the forest or meadow, you
made a grid on the earth with small steps and tiny flags until there
were row upon row of even little squares. You took your seat within the
grid. You moved from square to square, noting what stood still and what
passed by. All day long you observed and measured, sketched and colored.
That which was off the edges appeared on the parchment as well. There
were mysterious realms of bees and ants and creatures never seen before,
with tiny castles and bright gardens.
In my previous post, Paracosm, I spoke about the beginnings of my imaginative childhood worlds and how they have been with me all through my life, even when I tried to put them aside. . .
This book took me immediately back to those days and the themes within it, mostly mythic and universal, truly touched a part of my soul that recognized it instantly as kin.
I feel like this is my charge again, among the worlds that others often neglect and, in some cases, never see. There is work to be done and many uncharted places to visit here. . .
Mapmaking is much more than pen to paper
It is about perspective and acute observation
It's about seeing with something more than our eyes
It's a visual poetry
When we look at early maps, what do you see? Do you see the world as you now know it NOT to be and think, "Oh, they had it so wrong then!" or do you simply surrender to the wonder and beauty of it, of the time and place and the impossible motivation that made people create them?
How we see maps tells a lot about us too. . .
What a good mapmaker sees, or what a mapmaker reads are more than pinpoints and land plots.
There is nothing finite about a map and the good ones seem to have no beginning and no end.
Like the art of writing kanji, each line begins off the page and then, on the other end, the motion and movement which are always present, carries the brush off the into space.
It is not a series of points. . but the motion of a living, breathing entity.
It does not end.
And so, again, I hammer home the point (to myself) that where we come from, the formative parts of our imagination, the maps we made, have no end.
If we try to constrain it to a page
A part of our history
A finite set of coordinates
It is incomplete.
Maps of all kinds change too
Constantly
There is a second story I love and often return to that has this same effect on me. You can, of course, read this one too but you can also HEAR it read on the podcast, Selected Shorts, if you are inspired enough to dig for it online.
It's called "The Mappist" by Barry Lopez
Of course, the pattern here, for my own purposes, is telling.
I am always returning to the mapmaker within
The charts and excursions of my youth.
My landscapes
Nothing stays the same and that is why we should, I believe, revisit and remap those spaces too. . .
it's why I intend to do so for the remainder of my days . . . my motion in a lifetime that also began off the page, appeared, and will one day exit into space again.
And through it all, I will remember this line from "The Mappist", to help keep my sense of placeas I go
“don’t make the mistake of thinking you, or I or anyone, knows how the world is meant to work. The world is a miracle, unfolding in the pitch dark. We’re lighting
candles. Those maps- they are my candles. And I can’t extinguish them
for anyone.””
Make your maps. dive into YOUR landscapes, and most of all tell and retell your stories as your miracle unfolds.
~nicolas
Monday, June 24, 2013
Saturday, June 15, 2013
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
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
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Poem - Starling Spring
In the city, Spring was my least favorite of seasons
Winter kept the streets silent
Everyday rain makes people go inside and
Whether that was a metaphor
Or just a corner bar
Made little difference to me
In my own treasured world
I did not have to bear the cacophony of
Jumbled hearts
Or displaced souls
Shrieking in the night
The downpour of winter was bliss
And every stormy day
Sang as a liturgy of beautiful hours
And unbroken solitude
Today, in this small town I now call home
The sun is a harbinger of the season at hand
Outside my window, starlings are busily going about it
Building their March nests and
Singing their intricate arias to attract a mate
For hours on end the hopeful
Perch and croon
Preen and display
And to my surprise
Their cacophony
Breathes a beauty into the season
I have rarely felt as an adult
Spring, in all it's bustle, is suddenly
A different place
A lesson learned
An old friend
I can embrace
Once again
- nicolas hall 2013
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
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
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
Monday, February 25, 2013
Silent Running
The little wooden sled never went very fast
But that never mattered
The first few trips down the gentle slope of the back yard
Were tedious
Cutting and packing the path that the next 4 or 5 dozen passes would follow,
Those first few leaving rusty orange runner lines in the pure white snow
Once the path was defined, I'd bring out the flags
Sixteen or so of the countries of the world
The ones that I included in my own backyard olympic event
Nordic and European
The US, Russia and Canada
Each tiny one drawn by hand, cut out
Pasted to a popsicle stick
And off I'd go
Each trip, after a running start, flowing across the yard
Down into the vacant lot
Then winding back along the sidewalk in front of the neighbors house
The last 20 feet, the sled moved just slightly faster than a crawl
And when all motion would stop,
A flag would be planted in the snow
The mark to beat
And back up for the next nation's run. . .
These games were always played when my mother was at work
And my grandmother likely sleeping or watching the soaps
I knew, if they looked out the window and saw me,
The inevitable questions would come
"What are you doing honey?"
"Are you just going to ride that sled all day?"
"What are those little pieces of paper down there?"
My grandfather, though he would check on me out the house windows as much as anyone,
Never asked me those questions
Never interrupted the games
Never seemed confused by the 10 or 11 or 12 year old's imagination
To me, that silence always spoke volumes about what we shared
And every moment I sit and indulge my imagination today
The silence connects us
Again~
nicolas hall
But that never mattered
The first few trips down the gentle slope of the back yard
Were tedious
Cutting and packing the path that the next 4 or 5 dozen passes would follow,
Those first few leaving rusty orange runner lines in the pure white snow
Once the path was defined, I'd bring out the flags
Sixteen or so of the countries of the world
The ones that I included in my own backyard olympic event
Nordic and European
The US, Russia and Canada
Each tiny one drawn by hand, cut out
Pasted to a popsicle stick
And off I'd go
Each trip, after a running start, flowing across the yard
Down into the vacant lot
Then winding back along the sidewalk in front of the neighbors house
The last 20 feet, the sled moved just slightly faster than a crawl
And when all motion would stop,
A flag would be planted in the snow
The mark to beat
And back up for the next nation's run. . .
These games were always played when my mother was at work
And my grandmother likely sleeping or watching the soaps
I knew, if they looked out the window and saw me,
The inevitable questions would come
"What are you doing honey?"
"Are you just going to ride that sled all day?"
"What are those little pieces of paper down there?"
My grandfather, though he would check on me out the house windows as much as anyone,
Never asked me those questions
Never interrupted the games
Never seemed confused by the 10 or 11 or 12 year old's imagination
To me, that silence always spoke volumes about what we shared
And every moment I sit and indulge my imagination today
The silence connects us
Again~
nicolas hall
Monday, February 11, 2013
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
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
Sunday, January 27, 2013
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
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
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