To Mine and Ours

Photo from Graff World

One of the personality traits that I find myself most drawn to, that which many of my good friends and my husband all possess in spades and which I personally own very little, is a strong sense of navigation.  I mean this both literally and figuratively.  The loved ones in my life always seem to know exactly where they are going.  In some cases, I know this to be absolute fact.  In others, it's quite possible that I'm dealing with some seriously savvy game-facers.

In truth, I've always felt a strong sense of where I need to be in the moment; I've understood clearly when a position, relationship, house, or way of life was provisional, and yet, still recognized the value of being present under those very temporal circumstances.  Inevitably, the winds always begin to shift, and I can sense that it is time to shake things up.  It's how I applied to graduate school at the very edge of every application deadline: on an instinct that had been settling me over throughout the course of many months.  It's how I eventually quit a job that had been eating at my insides for years.  After months of convincing myself that I needed an alternate plan, I just allowed myself to walk away.  It's like a line written by Hemingway in The Sun Also Rises: "How did you go bankrupt?"  "Two ways.  Gradually, then suddenly."

I suppose it has inadvertently become a mantra: "gradually, then suddenly."  I think in many ways it suits me fine, as long as I'm able to recognize the gradual shifts before they snowball into major life decisions without warning.  But tonight I'm stargazing a bit.  I'm watching the loved ones in my life pursue their desired course with dedication and sweat and whole-hearted zeal.  And I'm knee-deep in my admiration of each and every one of them.

Daylight Come

I saw these amazing banana cases at Tokyu Hands, (which just happens to be the world's greatest department store, ever) and promptly channeled my inner hoarder by buying them out of stock.  Just kidding.  I only dreamed about buying them out of stock, but then I would have had to explain an entire bag of multi-colored banana holders at customs and believe me, they'd already had their fill of me and my 'stuff'.
 
However, the banana case has come to represent all the qualities of the perfect gift:  completely unexpected, useful, peculiar, and well-made.  A good gift need not be expensive, or difficult to find.  It shouldn't be stuffy, or take itself too seriously.  But it does need to have style, and a strong sense of self.  A good gift should be stumbled upon, and, once discovered, it should consume the purchaser to the point of distraction.  Missing out on the opportunity to give this item to a particular person would be such a dramatic misstep that the giver has no choice but to buy it.  Immediately.  And a good gift demands to be enjoyed right away, regardless of whether or not there is an occasion for giving.

A side note: These rules can also be applied to perfect dates, friendships, and meals.

stay golden

Through a series of completely amazing and unexpected events, I found myself traveling across Japan this last October.  I hadn't exactly put it on my list of must-see countries, but I never object to seeing any place that I haven't already spent much time. So there I was, on Halloween day, excited to find myself embarking on a very special "work" trip to visit communities of artists with developmental disabilities.

During our travels, we toured a small program hosting an art exhibition for those who lived onsite.  Amongst the abstract charcoal prints and brightly colored pastel animal portraiture, I found a long white banner with Kanji written in dark, feathery brushstrokes.  When I first saw the banner, I was so taken by the music of those brushstrokes that I instinctively had to own it.  I wanted to absorb that free-form sensuousness into my daily living.  I wanted to sit inside of it for a broad expanse of time.  The very kind and thoughtful man who was giving us our tour laughed softly and told me that, actually, I couldn't own the banner because it belonged to their program.  It was, in fact, their motto.  Roughly translated, the phrase was simple:  "Find identity, join society."    

Months later, I continue to be touched by this phrase and think of it often throughout each week.  So simple, so basic, and yet, such a complex and, at times, extremely difficult accomplishment.  How many of us struggle with just those basic fundamental concerns?  All those existential questions regarding purpose and desire, all those socially awkward moments and feelings of inadequacy and regret, culminating into a pure dichotomous philosophy that seeks to enrich all of us (regardless of shape, size, ability, and limitation).  Thinking about this solidifies that the duality of self and community can exist so readily, and yet, must be a conscious and daily act.  One that is supported by every branch of life, including art, work, family, and self.

 Note:  For any who are interested, the program is called Yayoien and you can find them here.

Developing a Sort of Nirvana

One of my dearest friends came to stay with us on Friday night, and we chased an evening full of gin and tonics and great conversation with an early Saturday morning cartoon fest.  Obj. #4 was snuggled up like a nesting doll, and I was explaining the myriad of reasons why Super Why just happens to be the best cartoon in rotation today.  (Even though the thrill is gone, it seems, for our daughter.)  I said something to the effect of, "It's great!  Sometimes the characters act helpless and say things like, 'but we can't, it's written in our story!'  And then Super Why swoops in and just goes, 'well, I guess we'll have to change the story.'  And they do!"

And that's when I gave up reading philosophy books.  Because everything I ever needed to learn about spiritual awakening, I got from PBS kids.

everything I own in a paper bag

Paper is the most fascinating medium.  It can be so pliable, so malleable to the touch, and yet, so fragile to manipulate.  I imagine it takes a great deal of patience and calm to create these amazing structures created by Alexandra Zaharova & Ilya Plotnikov (hat, b&w dresses, bottom) and Matthew Brodie (technicolor piece, top).  I also imagine it takes a great deal of time.

I'm pinning these images on my wall today to remind myself that a creative project is only as good as the time invested in its cultivation.  Every few minutes applied towards even a fragment of that project means something.  Sometimes a cut, no matter how small, makes the entire piece fit together.  That goes for poems, stories, paintings, sewing projects, and sourdough starters, as well.

Feeling out the Edges

framed objects by the.

Everything looks better with the right frame.  I can't tell you how often I've seen an ordinary object transformed by just the right shade of mat, by a certain thickness of stretched wood.  I've also seen incredible works of beauty that have been dulled due to careless and cavalier approaches to packaging.   

The same can be said for people.  Presented within a certain context, people are more or less approachable.  More or less desirable.   We view our experiences and lessons by the emotions that border said events, and we understand the world around us by breaking it down into more manageable parcels of information.  Everything is contained, we just differ in our method for organization and appreciation.   

So why is it that we often find ourselves unable to recognize the awesome power of the individual frameworks that surround our everyday thoughts and actions?  What of the ways in which we frame our environments, our experiences, and our objects?  In the social sciences, framing is a powerful tool used to develop and enhance social and political movements.  It helps one to identify, define, and remedy issues by pushing forth a particular perspective.  What would happen if we were to utilize this tool not only in our social and political lives, but in experiencing the mundane everyday items as well?