Unbalanced

There it is. A painting of Isaac Newton. He looks like he could have been a member of Kiss. He would have been chased out of the Bible Belt in the sixties, right?

According to Mr. Newton, for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

What this has to do with figs, I have no idea.

But I find that this truth is remarkably untrue when it comes to emotional energy and the realities of everyday life. In particular, it doesn't apply to the arts. Using religious ideas to express it, it seems to me that Karma is not only not true, it is practically a joke. No offense intended to those who embrace the idea, but almost every aspect of life among humans demonstrates that there is no balance to the force. Everything is about as out of balance as you can get, and there aren't enough Darth Vaders in the universe to bring it into balance, no matter what anyone thinks about it.

And then there's God. The real One. Who doesn't seem all that interested in our sense of what is balanced and what isn't. He's got his own scale and we aren't allowed to touch it. So sad, too bad. But, the truth is, we'd only mess it up anyway because we simply don't know the true value of things.

Anyway.

How have you been?

I've been enveloped in the process of change. I'm changing in subtle but distinct ways, and it's making me a little nervous because I'm not really sure where it's all headed. I wonder if I'm going to end up being someone I don't care too much for, or will I be someone I could hope to be? I'm starting to feel the inevitable pull of "aging." And I'm not really what you could call old yet. Or at least I hope you don't.

Thing is, you'd think that if you put in a lot of effort, you could count on the results to some degree.  You'd think you'd end up with some control over what comes next. But, alas, that's just not the way it goes. At least not always. Then again, who knows?

Certainly not me.

And by the way...

I've been writing a lot of new songs after quite a long dry spell.

Why?

I have no idea.

I like it but it can be a bit unnerving how things come and go. And they do. Come and go, that is.

Turns out that some beasts require a lot of fodder to produce a few little morsels of meaningful something or other. And feeding those beasts can get very tiring.

If you don't believe me, just ask all of those artists with unfinished works.


Peace to you.




© LW Publishing 2014

Book of Life

I can't believe it's been, like, 5 months since I've posted on this blog. That seems crazy to me. I won't say that I've been too busy. I've just been focused on other things - and there are times when I just don't seem to have that much to say.

I have been taking a lot of things in over the past year; trying to listen and learn and assess things. A big part of that has been a kind of reading frenzy. I don't even know why, but I have read more books over the past several months than I have in a long time. I've read them very fast, like I used to back in the day, including a lot of novels, which I thought I was done with. Prior to this, I went over a year without reading a single novel. It was all biography and history and technical reading and such.

Why?

I don't know.

I've also been rereading a few things that I read over twenty years ago. Things I read and really liked. I liked them so much I kept them on shelves. I'm not sure if I ever intended to read them again, or if I was saving them for someone. When you read a great book, it becomes a part of you and it's hard to let it go. But I've been rereading some of those and putting them in the box to give to the library. I won't be reading them again. I'm saying goodbye. Moving on.

To what?

I don't know.

I wonder some times about the afterlife. I wonder if we'll write and read novels and do other artistic things for all of eternity. I like to think so. I like to imagine that all of the art we produce in this life will be like the crayon drawings of two years olds compared to what we'll produce with the wisdom of eternity. Even Mozart and Bach will be like kids stuff, which is hard to imagine. What they did seems so sublime and perfect. And yet, I can't help thinking that, as a race, we've only scratched the surface, and scratching is all we get to do until the blinders are taken off.

I like to think I have a book in me. I'm not sure. A novel, maybe. Or some kind of historical thing. I have lots and lots of ideas. The ideas I'm brave enough to even start writing are the ones that are the least interesting. I know, call me "chicken." I guess the idea is that swimming in the kiddie pool is safer than jumping into the deep end. At least to start. The other problem is that the patience required may not be in my bag of tricks.

We'll see.

For now I'll just have to continue to feast on the hearts and minds of others.

Yeah, I know that sounds kind of zombie. But it really is a feast.



Peace to you.


© LW Publishing 2013

Chanified

Why, oh why, do I like Jackie Chan movies so much?

I don’t know.

I just do.

They aren’t, technically speaking, good movies. I know that. I know a good movie when I see one. Jackie Chan movies don’t particularly qualify.

But I don’t care. I like them. Mostly because Jackie Chan is in them. And that’s all that seems to matter. The movie itself doesn’t have to be all that “good.”

Besides. I like lots of things that aren’t what you might call “good.” Which doesn’t exclude liking things that are good. I think it’s important to know the difference, but why be a snob about it? What good is that?

I like good coffee. I know good coffee. I drink good coffee. Most of the time. And I don’t understand why people drink bad coffee all the time and think that it’s good. That is a mystery to me. But, occasionally, I specifically, on purpose, have a mug of crappy, instant coffee. I couldn’t drink it all the time. It’s not really even coffee. I don’t know what it is. But, sometimes, I drink it for what it is. I make it really strong, and I like it.

Same kind of thing: I like good movies. I know a good movie from a bad one. Just like there are good novels and bad ones, there are good movies and bad ones. And everything in between. The point is, I know what makes Citizen Kane “good.” Lawrence of Arabia is my ultimate, all time favorite movie. Very few modern films come even close to the artistry of such films. They are, in every sense of the word, "art." They are masterpieces. The word “art” genuinely does apply to some movies and a lot of other things, and we can miss out, big time, if we don’t learn to appreciate the art of things.

But, occasionally, I’ll watch a Jackie Chan movie. And enjoy it.

Why?

Just. Because.



Peace to you.


© LW Publishing 2011

Monsters

I really, really, really like monsters. Really.

More than anything else, I like the design and the creativity of them. Someone had to come up with that thing, whatever the monster is. Some prefer to call them “creatures” these days, but I like the word “monster.” Monsters literally have to be created by an artist of some kind. An author, a graphic artist, a film maker. It’s really amazing when you stop and think about it. If you think it’s easy to do, step away from the computer right now and go draw an original, cool monster. I dare you.

Trust me, it’s not easy. Especially the “original” part.

I like how creepy some of the monsters are, but only if there is some kind of fun through line in the story surrounding them. I don’t much like movies that only scare. GOTCHA. They’re fine, but that’s not really my cup of ectoplasm.

I like the idea of monsters, the notion, mostly because I know they aren’t real. The more real something is, the less you actually want to be scared by it. That’s my hypothesis anyway. If you think that death in a movie is anything like the real thing, then you are deceived. And monsters are the same way. Real monsters, which are almost always human (or, perhaps, an illness), are not something we really want to toy with. Some human beings are much more genuinely frightening than anything anyone has ever managed to put on a movie screen. Trust you me.

Much better, or at least much more fun, are the monsters we create with our imaginations. The ones who say something about the nature of being human. The ones that creatively reflect the things we feel inside, good and bad, but have a hard time expressing. I think the pretend monsters help us, in a small way, to cope with the threat of the real ones.

And, even if they don’t, they’re fun, plain and simple.


© LW Publishing 2011

Days with Disney pt05

As would be expected, I spent a lot of time waiting while at Walt Disney World. Waiting in lines for rides. Waiting in lines for food. Waiting in lines for buses and monorails. But there was this one particular kind of waiting that was really tough to deal with: the waiting for my kids to come out of the facilities (a.k.a. “the toilet”).

I don’t get to go in there with them, being of masculine descent, so I can’t say with certainty what they do when they go in there, but I have some ideas. I’m thinking:

1. Secret planning for world domination.
or, perhaps...
2. Long conversations about the meaning of life.

I’m just saying that with the amount of time they spend in there, it breeds big expectations. But, while waiting, I had a little time to consider some things that you consider while you’re in Walt Disney World. For instance, what’s my favorite thing in Walt Disney World? That’s a question we ask the kids, “So what was your favorite thing?” “What was your favorite ride?” And I think I know what my favorite is.

My favorite thing is the architecture and design of the Disney Hollywood Studios Park. I know there were probably hundreds of people involved in this, but from what I’ve been able to find out, it started out as an expansion of Epcot, under the direction of Marty Sklar, a gifted and creative leader at Disney, and then Michael Eisner suggested starting the new park and putting the ideas in place there, which is what they did. The Disney employees I’ve talked to and read about over the years didn’t seem to like Michael Eisner very much, but this new park was a great idea. They used to call it “Disney MGM Studios,” but something didn’t pan out and they changed the name. My guess is that money didn’t pan out, as that’s what really drives Hollywood above all other things.

But when you walk into the Hollywood Studios, the buildings along the avenue and even the layout of most of the ride exteriors – like the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror – they all have a kind of fantasy Hollywood of the 40's and 50's vibe going on with touches of Art Deco mixed in and very California color schemes.

I wish the real world looked like that section of the park. Well, not exactly. But I wish that in our towns and cities we did things with the same sense of energy and design and attention to detail. Of course, we could never afford it, given the way we do things in the world, but it would be great if we could. They say that’s how Paris, France is. But I’ll probably never make it there.

So, call me weird, but that’s my favorite thing. Something about that environment just clicks with me. Don’t know why. It just do.


Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2011

Me and Mr. Poe

And so, in the darkest of dark nights, I stood at the precipice, leaning over the abyss, like Sisyphus at the base of his hill, mightily inverted, knowing this expanse must be mastered, but to what purpose? Another expanse arises. Always arises. And yet, in the dim twilight of my discontented musings, I knew that onward was the only way. Onward, on the way to the next onward, and the next. And, as she fluttered her ebony wings of misfortune, the bride of the darkest ruminate clouds, overshadowing my soul, she called out to me in silent prayers, like angels of anguish over the battlefield vanquished. She called to prayers the lonely moments of my wandering heart, and I heard in those dulcet tones the expanse, calling me again. Onward. Only onward.

***

Honestly, I’m sorry, sort of, a little, but I’ve been reading a bit of Poe, you see, and it just erupted onto the page. I’ve got this large, two volume set with everything he wrote, and I dip into it on occasion. And this is one of those occasions.

Have you ever read any Poe? Have you seen the Roger Corman “Poe” movies that have almost nothing to do with the writings they are based on? Some of the movies are pretty good. But Poe they aint.

Poe, by the way, was not just a writer of little horror pieces. He wrote a lot of things: fantasy, romance, myth and humor. He liked writing suspense and mystery too. He was a fairly well respected critic and editor, though he had a hard time putting food on the table with his writing.

So did van Gogh. And Mozart. And Schubert.

Oh, what Bedlam is art?


Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2011

How To Avoid Exploding

Suddenly I’m feeling creative. Not that I have time for it. The reality is that you make time, or your head might explode.

I’ve been writing some new songs, and I’ve got some story ideas. I’ve had an idea for a screenplay for quite a while that I’ll probably never get done. Who knows. I have a friend who has written a screenplay. I told him about the idea and he seems to think it’s a good one.

There is this weird energy that I feel when I’ve got the creative going on. My head buzzes with thoughts which it always does, but instead of having it all bottled up inside, causing distress, it’s like someone turns on the faucet, and you get to fill those glasses with nice, cool, clean water.

I realize that when I start to use these similies and metaphors, it can make some people scratch their heads in wonder. One time I was at a pastors meeting and I was trying to describe the process of getting ideas down on paper and I remember describing it as being like “bees buzzing around your head, and you’re trying to grab one.” That, to me, is actually a perfect image, but they just stared at me like I was crazy, and I get that. If I wasn’t me, I’d think I was a little nuts.

But what is creativity if it isn’t going a little nuts?

I’m a firm believer that everyone is creative. Some people have had it beaten down so they suppress it. Some people decided that someone else was better at something they liked to do, so they gave up on it. You see that a lot. Some kid decides that they like to draw. They draw everything in sight. Their parents and family notice and tell them how good they can draw. But then they get to school and some kid in their class can draw “better,” so they give up the idea of drawing because someone else is “better.” Which is extremely sad in every way.

There is competition in life, but life is not a competition.

Most people who say they “can’t” draw or paint or sing or write, simply won’t. It's not that they "can't." They spend too much time judging themselves, condemning their own efforts. Somewhere along the line someone made fun of them or they realized they weren’t the “best” singer in the room and they gave up on it altogether. Some people sing out of key, so they don't sing. Not even in the car by themselves. And that’s just sad. I’m not saying you should do it professionally, whatever it is, singing, dancing, drawing, basket weaving. Whatever. But why abandon it completely? Why not just enjoy your own experience. Stop worrying about how “good” it is and just enjoy the experience of doing that thing.

If you don’t your head might explode. And you’ll never catch one of those bees.


Peace to you.


© LW Publishing 2011

Squishing Out Songs

Late last night I was in the basement mixing a song that I’ve been working on. It’s a painful process in some ways. Some people compare it to giving birth, but that’s stupid. I have watched my wife give birth and suggesting that writing a song is comparable to that effort is the height of ignorance. But there is a kind of squishing, pushing, shoving, working to get this thing out of your mind and have it “work.” That’s my word for it. Some things “work” and some don’t. They fit, they click, they fill in the missing pieces: however you want to put it. There is this element of craft that is built on discipline, but it really blooms with the heart.

As I work on my songs, I have to compensate a lot for my weaknesses, and that can take up a lot of time. But things still come together. And when I hear them coming together, it makes me weep. I’m not kidding. I know it’s pathetic, but I have been a long time getting to this place.

Crafting songs is a challenge. I don’t think I would ever be totally satisfied, no matter what. I suppose I could have a world class producer, a multimillion dollar studio and a lot more ability than I have, and I’d still find things that just aren’t what they need to be. It’s kind of a curse. But I’m trying hard to learn to be satisfied, especially with my radically low end set up.

So far, I have three church songs that are basically finished. They need to be mastered, which I don’t know how to do. I also have a country song that’s been done for a while, but I frankly am not sure what to do with it. People I play it for like it, but I know nothing about the country market. And I have about 6 songs in the pipe, being developed and chipped away at, along with about 30 demos and some other pieces of things that aren’t whole yet. And then there's the backlog of probably 40 or 50 more songs that I haven't even started getting organized. Interestingly, so far they are all very different in a lot of ways. I don’t have a “sound” but I don’t especially want one. I’m not particularly looking to perform these myself. I’m hoping to have others do that.

When I say “craft” I really mean it. Not in the Harry Potter sense, but in the skilled trades sense. Like a carpenter. Like an artist who carves statues. Like a teacher trying to shape the mind of a student. Music and writing and a lot of other arts are, at their core, a craft that has to be developed and nurtured. Which takes time and patience and massive amounts of commitment.

Even the most absolutely pathetic pop stars are usually surrounded by excellent craftspeople. They wouldn’t ever release any music if they weren’t. I’ve got some people helping me that are way more than I deserve. Very gifted and willing to be there to get things done. Without them I’d probably only have one song up by now. And even with the great musicians, few of them have it all in themselves to get great things done.

Squishing out songs is a team effort.



Peace to you.
© LW Publishing 2011

Relevance

Everyone says it, everyone seems to believe it, in business, church work, teaching and communications: relevance is what matters. And it seems clear they’re right. If you aren’t relevant, then what are you?

Irrelevant.

Webster’s defines “irrelevant” as: not important or relating to what is being discussed right now.

All well and good. But the problem is, this is often used in a completely shallow and subjective manner, as if we’re discussing relevance on the Jerry Springer show. Businesses, churches, schools and non profits of every stripe sense that they need to be relevant. But there are some questions we should ask if this is going to get us anywhere. The first being...

1. Relevant to who? And why?

Relevance is extremely relative, and can be horribly short sighted. For example: A lot of younger people today have a hard time watching older, black and white movies. They think these films are irrelevant and, on a surface level, they make it true by their own preferences. It’s not intrinsically true, it is practically true for them. And the result? They miss out on over fifty years of film history, including some of what are arguably the best films ever made. It’s like going into an art gallery and saying, “I don’t like photos that are in black and white. Ansel Adams sucks.” Many things these days are dismissed out of hand, with no thought for, or serious attempt at, appreciation. And the individual responses must be what? Fate? Destiny? How about stupidity? I do know this: dismissing things out of hand because they don’t fit your narrow paradigm is a clear path to ignorance and mediocrity. And we can feed that mediocrity with blind catering to relevance.

And there are other related questions:

2. What if “what is being discussed right now” is a self indulgent, self aggrandizing pulp of cheap values? What if “what is being discussed right now” completely misses the point of life? What if we mistake relevance for meaning or value?

Trust me, you are surrounded by people who mistake relevance for meaning and value. It is how too many people do life right now. Paired with Materialism, it is the curse of the modern world.

The concept of relevance can be a powerful tool, or a very destructive force. Relevance can help you be heard, but it can also cause people to stop thinking. When you only hear what you want to hear, you stop thinking. Relevance is often the realm of the incorrigibly incurious.

And beyond these things, what if what matters to the Creator is not relevant to us anymore because we simply don’t care? What if what could really make a difference, to make the world a better place, isn’t accomplished in the world because no one thinks it’s important? What if we fill our lives with what we think is relevant – so much of which is driven by selfishness or self pity or hedonism or pettiness – and it ends up being a path to...

irrelevance?



Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2011

Interplay

 I’ve been listening to a lot of different music lately and have been trying to pay attention to what grabs me while I’m listening.

You’d think the words would be the thing, but the words have more potential to push me away than draw me in. As long as the words aren’t so stupid or corrupt that they drive me away from a song, I find that I’m looking for something more complex.

Even in the simplest songs that have more than one instrument, there is a combining of rhythms and tones that are crisscrossing, moving and changing. And I find that this causes a really strong response in me both emotional and, I think, physical.

It can be something classical, like Bach’s Goldberg Variations. I have a recording by Dmitry Sitkovetsky where he arranges this keyboard music for strings. It is, in my opinion, some of the best music ever recorded. Hearing it on strings is almost like hearing it move from two dimensions into three. I always go back to listening to it over and over again because the interplay in the music is endlessly compelling and profound.

But it doesn’t have to be classical. The music of James Brown or Tower of Power, Thelonius Monk or Chick Corea. The complexities of the drum programming that Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis produce. David Crowder’s melodic twists, stringing out against changing patterns. The counter melodies that some country and folk and pop artists craft between the instruments and voice.

There is a math to all of this that rises above numbers on a page or musical notes on a staff. It’s like finding the answers to questions you didn’t even know you had.

There’s an old hymn from the 1800's called “This Is My Father’s World.” And there’s a line in the song that says, "This is my Father's world, and to my list'ning ears all nature sings and round me rings the music of the spheres.”

This “music of the spheres” is a very old idea, basically that the planets and universe figuratively “sing” with their interplay throughout creation. And I find a similarity there, between how I feel when I look up at the night sky and see the stars and planets, and how I feel when I hear the interplay of music.

I don’t know if you can relate to any of this, but I felt like trying to express it. I think I have not done it very well, but some things are not done much justice with words.



Peace to you.


© LW Publishing 2011

Anti-ist Art

 I have, for many years now, enjoyed the writing of author Toni Morrison. Her work, in general, is powerful stuff. It’s not for wimps. It is visceral and visual and challenging. It provokes the reader in complex ways. I could read her novel Beloved over and over. Reading this book is like watching a great dancer, at the top of their craft, or like listening to a great musician who plays effortlessly, demonstrating years of care and dedication.

The only book of hers I haven’t read yet is a book called “Paradise.” I was looking to find out a little about it online and came across an interview at Salon. The interviewer says: "Paradise" has been called a "feminist" novel. Would you agree with that?

Her response was this: Not at all. I would never write any "ist." I don't write "ist" novels.

I’m sure she would add -ism, -ian, and a few other suffixes to the list as well.

For me, that is one of the best responses she could have possibly given. And it’s true. While others have continuously tried to categorize and package her writing, to claim it for some cause, she forges ahead, past preconceptions, to speak with a totally original voice in a way that begs questions and makes the reader think. That is, if they are willing to think.

If only more artists would try to do the same.


Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2011

Autonomic Art

I’ve been involved in music since I was a kid. I tried to write songs at a very early age, and I started instrumental music with piano lessons when I was 6 or 7. The piano teacher told my parents I just didn’t have the talent to play because I struggled with it so much, but what was really going on is that my eyes were bad and I couldn’t see the music. No one knew it at the time, but after I got my first pair of glasses, it all went clear. Yet, I didn’t go back to the piano because it cost a lot and too much time had passed, which is a very sad thing for me.

But no one could keep me out of music. I kept trying to write songs. I listened to music like people drink water to stay alive. Then, in fifth grade, they put some of us on recorder flutes and started to teach us melodic notation and, as we prepared for sixth grade, our band teacher asked us what instrument we’d like to play. I said “trombone.” I was very enamored of the trombone. Who wouldn’t be? But she looked at me and said, “You look like a drummer.”

So I was a drummer.

I went on to play drums with school band, drum and bugle corps, a local symphony, rock bands, a country band, a rockabilly band, church bands, so on and so forth. With drums and percussion, I was better at the symphonic and drum corp stuff than playing on the set, but I did okay. I always liked to sing, so I tried my hand at that and did okay. I eventually took guitar lessons and a few piano lessons to get the theory down, and kept writing songs which, for me, was and still is an autonomic response to life.

But I’ve known some musicians and other artists who quit. They just quit playing, quit singing, quit painting, quit their crafting, quit making quilts or building cars and whatnot. They quit producing their art pretty much completely. Which has always been strange to me. I honestly don’t understand it. It makes me wonder why they were doing the thing in the first place. I mean, there are all kinds of petty reasons we might cling to in order to justify our expression of art or craft or skill, when we shouldn’t be trying to justify it at all.

I like this quote from Stephen King. He said,”"Life isn't a support system for art. It's the other way around."

I’m with that.



Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2011

Kitsch Me Baby One More Time

It makes me sad sometimes when I see someone apologizing for something they like because it isn’t cool or hip to like it. Just watch some people backtrack when they say they like a movie, and then someone else starts attacking, explaining why it was terrible. It’s easy to feel ashamed of liking something when others think it’s horrible or stupid. We think that means we’re stupid, because we like it, I supposed. But that’s a pile of nonsense.

I, myself, have always been inextricably drawn to some of the worst kinds of art and popular culture imaginable. And I am NOT sorry about it. It’s part of what makes me me.

Hey, I know good movies when I see them. Usually, anyway. I have spent time learning to understand the art of cinema. And I’ve read a lot of the classics. I’ve got a good sense of what makes for great music. For the most part, I can recognize the good stuff. I just don’t always know the bad stuff. In fact, a lot of the “bad” stuff just isn’t bad to me. I happen to like it.

I can watch Citizen Kane or Lawrence of Arabia or Sunrise, and enjoy every second. Then I can watch Teenagers From Outer Space or Invaders From Mars and enjoy every second. I can read masterpiece novels and enjoy every word, then immediately read some cheesy sci-fi hack piece and enjoy every word. I’ve always liked kitschy things, as far back as I can remember. Gumby and Gilligan’s Island and the Ghoul. I liked ALL of the Planet of the Apes movies. Elevator music. Donny and Marie. I even liked Elvis at his most Vegasy..

I think it’s not good that some people don’t appreciate higher or more complex forms of art simply because they don’t want to put in the effort it takes to understand and appreciate it. It’s a great loss. But it’s also not good to look down on other things simply because they lack a certain finesse, or they don’t measure up to something else.

It’s not that I don’t think there are bad novels or movies or music. I can't stand certain things. But sometimes we like things and it doesn't matter that it's bad. What makes something “bad” to me is not that it’s made cheaply or that it’s stupid or cheesy. Sometimes it's "bad" simply because it's corrupt. Or preachy. Or obvious. Or manipulative. Or who knows what. My first reaction to a lot of things is simply an emotional one. Some things click with me, while others don’t, and I don’t always know why. Do you?

If I like it, maybe it’s because it reminds me of something my mind has forgotten but my heart needs to remember. Maybe it makes me think. Maybe it taps me into feelings of childhood. Maybe I’m moved by the artistry of some things, the innocence of others, and perhaps the audacity of others, or perhaps it makes me feel like someone out there understands me. Maybe it’s all of those things and more.

Maybe I just like it...


Peace to you.




© LW Publishing 2011

Laying Down Tracks

I’ve been doing some recording. Finally. I have a hard earned set up for recording my songs so I can at least try to submit them to publishers. And I have to say that it’s really been fun so far. I have great friends helping me lay down the tracks, and they are doing a fantastic job. Things are going very slow, but fairly smooth. I only have a few hours a week to work on this stuff.

When you commit yourself to recording, and doing it as right as possible, it is also very hard work. You have to listen to it over and over ad nauseam. And you have to be very precise. You discover very quickly what your limitations are, as long as you have the ears to hear it. The recording doesn’t lie. It doesn’t try to flatter you. If what you played is good, it tells you that. If what you played is off, it tells you that. It is totally honest.

Kind of like a good friend. Maybe.

There are times in the process when I wish the recording would just be better than it is. I wish it would lie to me. I want to hit playback and somehow that fret buzz would disappear or that note would be spot on instead of being slightly off. But it IS slightly off, so I do it again. Almost there. Slightly off again in a different spot. Do it again. Slightly off somewhere else. Arrrrrrrrrrge!

Sure, there are tools for smoothing things out, and even the best of the pros use them, but they cost MONEEEY. And usually lots of it. But the thing is, there has to be some talent and precision there in the first place or you just end up with a mess no matter what. And don’t even get me started on what it takes to actually write a “good” song. Despite what you may have heard, the music business is not full of talentless people who are manufactured into presentability by studio tricks. Small imperfections and issues can be smoothed out, but garbage in almost always equals garbage out.

Kind of like life.

Some of the people working with me are in other bands that you might like. Check ‘em out if you’re interested...

My friend Greg is in a great cover band called “Ultra Violet.” They play around town. He also has a band called “Strawberry Alternative” doing his own songs. You can check that out here...

strawberryalternative.com

My friend Tom is in a few bands too. The one that plays out a lot is called “A Hundred Miles.” You can check them out at...

ahundredmilesmusic.com




Peace to you.


© LW Publishing 2010

The Work of Art

There are at least two basic theories about creativity that you hear articulated in different ways by different people.

Theory #1: One theory is that a person creates something out of nothing. Sort of – poof – and they have some new idea or some new song or some new thing. They feel that what they have come up with came out of nowhere.

Theory #2: And then there is the theory that a person creates something out of a kajillion things that they can’t even necessarily understand. The mind is full of puzzle pieces that life has tossed in there, and somehow the mind or the spirit or both begin putting the pieces together until the picture starts to make sense.

I am a theory #2 person. To my way of thinking, only God is a theory #1 person. So I go with #2, and the reason is that I can sense the puzzle pieces floating around within me and in the world. I can sense when they are starting to connect. My job is to do things to help them connect. In my mind, that is the “work” of an artist. To develop the skills that enable you to bring about these connections.

If I’m right about this, it suggests that if you want to be “creative” and you’re waiting for some sudden flash of insight from out of nowhere, you’re not likely to create very much. And if you want to be creative, but you don’t train yourself to do the work necessary to put the pieces together, then I don’t think you’ll produce much either.

Art is not for sissies.

Being creative means developing skills. It’s about craft. Songs, poems, stories, needlepoint, paintings, relationships, cars – whatever – the created thing has to be crafted in one way or another. Albert Einstein did not wake up one morning with the theory of Relativity bouncing around in his head. He agonized over it for a long, long time. He found pieces of the puzzle in the work of other scientists, which he added to other pieces he observed in everyday life. He had to develop his math skills because it wasn’t his strong suit, and he knew he’d need to get the math right to present the theory. He pressed pieces thinking they would fit, but they didn’t, so he had to keep looking. Finally, he managed to put it together. He didn’t create a law of nature. He painted it into his mind and into the minds of other people. Well. A few people. The rest of us just scratch our heads.

But the point is the same. Every work of art takes work. You have to do the work. To my way of thinking, that includes your stories, your paintings, your children, your spouse, your church, your songs, your movies, your theories on life and death, your work, your play . . . everything.

Life is an art.



Colossians 3:23-24

Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2010

Signify

Years ago I went to see Chick Corea’s Band. Chick on keys, John Patitucci on Bass and Dave Weckyl on drums. In case you don’t know, these are musician’s musicians, at the absolute top of their craft, playing fusion and traditional jazz. These are awe inspiring, gifted players. But, for the most part, I was there to see Dave Weckyl. I grew up playing drums. I was never great at it, but I like to play. So I saw Weckyl play, and my emotional response was that I should never touch a drum again. It was like Salieri seeing Mozart’s sheet music in that Amadeus movie. He was stunned and destroyed because he knew that, no matter what, he would never be that good. That great. It was not going to happen. And it made him bitter to the point that he wanted to kill Mozart.

I wasn’t bitter, so Dave Weckyl is safe. But some part of me, probably the American part, felt like, “Why bother! What could I say with the drums that this guy hasn’t already said a million times better.” It was childish thinking. I mean, what if only the “best” basketball player in the school was allowed on the court? No game. What if only the “best” musician was allowed to play? No band. What if only the “best” teacher was allowed to teach? No education. Think about it. It’s stupid.

If you can be original, that’s great. If you’re the best at something, hey, that’s great too. I’m not trying to take away from that. I could watch Michael Jordan jump-shot replays all day long, and I don’t even like sports. Dave Weckyl, Michael Jordan, Mozart, Stevie Ray Vaughn, Tiger Woods: that kind of talent can be taken as evidence of divine creation (I said talent, not morality). I think that if people can relate to and enjoy what you say or do, that’s great. It adds to your sense of community. The more the merrier. It might even make you some money, especially if you express yourself through plumbing. And who says you have to be original? Who says you have to be the best or sell a million whatevers? Where do these rules come from?

Be all you can be. Go for it. Just do it. Don’t quit. Never give up, never surrender. Boldly go where no one has gone before. Please do. But at some point you’ve still got to think about why you do what you do. People may not want to pay you for the thing you love to do, and maybe they shouldn’t. If that’s the case, then you won’t be putting food on the table with that particular thing. And so what? That doesn’t mean you have to live like a sponge, absorbing forever and a day. Perhaps it’s time you allowed some of your heart and mind to move off into the world around you. Produce something. Maybe it will just echo back for your own pleasure. Maybe others will hear and want to hear more. Maybe they’ll throw you a tip. Who knows.

Did you know that Vincent van Gogh only sold one painting in his lifetime? Why do you think he kept painting? Was he just crazy? Maybe he was.

If only we could all be so crazy.

From what I’ve read, it was apparently van Gogh, the man who sold one painting, who originally said, “Winning isn’t everything...it’s the only thing.” This is why he’s remembered as a painter and not a philosopher. No wonder he chopped his own ear off.

Please believe me, and I’ll try to believe myself. You don’t have to be the “best” at something to express yourself. You don’t have to be “market worthy.” You don’t have to be the winner of some opinion poll or have the biggest house, car, following, church, sales record, whatever. Simply treat your expression, your art, your talent, your thing you do because you are you – whatever it is – treat it as the sacred act that it is. Enjoy it. Develop it. If it’s what you do for income, then do it the best you can. If it’s not, then do it the best you can. Imagine that whatever you do – no matter how well you do it at the moment – imagine that you’re doing it, not for Donald Trump, not to impress people, but for God.

Are you alive? Signify.



Colossians 3:23-24
Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2010

My Problem

Hey!


I have this problem.

When I go to museums I always, and let me stress the word – ALWAYS – get into trouble. Last summer I went with my buddy Joe to the Detroit Institute of Arts. On the way in I warned him that I ALWAYS get in trouble when I go to a museum. I ALWAYS get yelled at no matter how hard I try not to.

I confess. I have this compulsion to touch the paintings. I know it’s baaaaad. I know they’re worth millions of dollars. I know I shouldn’t do it. I don’t mean to do it. I don’t try to do it. But in my heart I want to do it and as hard as I try not to, I discover that I’m doing it again when the guards yell at me to get away from the paintings. It happens every time. It happened with van Gogh. It happened with Dali and Picasso. And it happened again last summer. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

We went into the DIA. They had a display of paintings by Norman Rockwell. A very humble and kind man who was an astounding painter. If you ever get the chance to see his paintings up close and personal be sure to do it. The colors are amazing. The expression and realism are incredible. He’s a modern magical realist of the painting world.

Are those enough superlatives for you?

The thing is that paintings are tactile things. They are a product of touch. A brush is just an extension of the hand. And when you see a painting up close you see how it was so carefully touched. You can see the brush strokes and the movement used to make shape and shadow. Light and the lack of it imitated on a flat surface. On some of the paintings by Rockwell, you could almost feel his hand moving across the canvas. There were also tiny little lines where a brush wouldn’t work so he took a pencil or a pen and used that instead. Sometimes you could vaguely see the shape of his original sketch behind the paint on the canvas.

From a distance you can’t see any of that. So you want to move in. You want to touch the canvas like Rockwell did when he painted it. Well, maybe you don’t want to, but...

It’s like looking at the paintings of the impressionists. The paintings seem to be a splash of odd shaped pixels across the canvas to make an image. The farther you stand from the painting the more “concrete” the image becomes. But if you really want to enjoy the painting, you also need to see it up close and get a feel for how the image was formed, piece by piece. You have to get your eyes right on the canvas. Your hand just wants to . . . touch it.

Which is when the security guards start yelling at you. Trust me, I know. And it seems almost criminal to me that we would have an art form that is so tactile, but you can’t touch it! It’s like torture! Oh, the humanity! The colors cry out to my phalanges!

You can pray for me on this. I thank you in advance.



Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2010