Gratitude and Disappointment

It’s disappointment that’s kept me from blogging for so long. It’s been holding my heart down so of course my hands have followed suit. I’m still battling this love-hate thing with blogging. I hate the fact that I have a record of my hopes and dreams and plans and it seems like they’re all still hopes and dreams and plans. Sometimes I think I’m asking for heartache when I take dreams, whimsical and wispy, and paint hard edges on them and try to fill in the details with a fine brush and stick them in a frame and announce to those passing nearby “This – this is my dream!”.

I’m tempted think that dreams are too delicate for that kind of treatment. They need to be nourished carefully in half-light, stroked and spoken to gently in hopes that they can grow strong enough to support themselves and emerge suddenly and delightfully, or else die in the privacy of their cocoon where none will know that they once lived at all… that they dreamed once of being. But I know that it’s not dreams that are that fragile. As intangible as they can seem they’re hardy. It’s me that is fragile. Maybe it’s ego. Maybe it’s my picture of myself that I dislike once the hard edges and details have been added. Maybe I prefer the fantasy that’s left when I forget as much as I tend to, to the sentences which can’t be challenged after they’ve been said – the ones that always will say how it really was.

So when the list is made of the things that can cripple a man someone make sure that “disappointment” get’s the prominent position it deserves. But something else insists that I write. It’s push is strong enough that I’ve interrupted my work (work that I actually don’t mind doing and was making good progress at I might add) to capture what it wants to say. I really have so much to be grateful for. And gratitude unexpressed… well… isn’t.

God has blessed us with a daughter. We’ve named her Maia Lisanne and I’ve been so absorbed in all that’s come with this gift – diapers and bottles and burping and vomit and crying and falling asleep and tiny fingers and eyes that follow my face. And I’m amazed at very small things, which I think is as close as I can get to be being born into this world again. And we’re settling comfortably into our new home. And God continues to take good care of us, of all of us each day. So thanks Dad for all you’ve done. I am satisfied with what you’ve given and understand that you give a peace which quiets the restlessness and recriminations.

I don’t think gratitude and disappointment are opposites. But I do know that gratitude has prised me from under disappointment this time. I think I’ll have to battle disappointment a lot along this journey so I’d better label my tools well. So I’m back. The writer isn’t dead. If only I could shape all of this stuff into song…

A return to blogging

Hurricane Hits Holiday Hopes

Okay… so Gustav wasn’t a hurricane when it hit us, but I’d lose that wonderful alliteration if I had to call it a tropical storm. Artistic license? In any case, we didn’t go on our short holiday trip as planned, because of Gustav. So all my plans to write and blog didn’t happen. I think I was depending on some sort of a break to get some momentum for paper playing. At this point, I think I’m going to have to accept and adjust to the reality that I’m going to have to do this project while doing everything else. I can’t really “stop” anything in my life to facilitate this.

A part of the challenge is that I like uninterrupted hours in order to really focus my attention on a task and they’re really hard to get right now. So I’m going to have to find a way to carve out one hour at a time and make the most of it.

A River Ran Through It

By “it” I’m referring to our house. We live in a section of a house that has been divided up to make several “apartments”, but I do mean a river ran through the house. Gustav was spectacular. There’s a way, when you live in a hurricane zone, that the thought of facing a storm while it’s still classed as a tropical storm brings you a weird comfort. You think of it as a small, weak thing, compared to the wrath of the hurricanes you’ve lived through. But Gustav was a slow killer. I’ve never seen so much rain. I didn’t understand how water grows and changes and how suddenly it can make its move.

I saw the water just after it started coming in under our front door. By the time I could call Sam it was halfway across the room. You can try to fight water but it will win in the end. You find you keep making concessions. You give up the living room as lost and try to refortify in the bedroom. You keep retreating as it keeps advancing and you find yourself fighting for the lives of the few dry square feet of floor left. Our shower was the dryness floor space in our apartment when Gustav was done. I have however managed to salvage some good metaphors which I might be able to pour into my writing (pun unintended at first but milked on second thought). I understand some things about water that I didn’t before. I have a healthy respect for it now. To be honest, before Gustav water as a metaphor had become for me… well… a bit dry.

Where From Here?

I’ve been a bit distressed about the lack of momentum for paper playing. I’m dealing with that by continuing to trust God that I wasn’t wrong about trying to do this and trying to do this now. So I’m managing. I’ve had what I consider to be some good and important ideas about the project. I’ll blog on those soon. I’ve also jotted down what I hope will become some good lyrics. There are some ideas that are less welcome than others. They don’t paint the pictures that I want to paint. They don’t look to me like I want to be seen. But they’re true. I think a part of my becoming a good artist is a growing willingness to live with truth and not hide it. So we’ll see where that goes.

This week I’ll steal some time from myself to have some important conversations about the project and related things. I’ll also start blogging about my philosophy as an artist – as far as its developed up to now. And this week I will write.

Pace and exhaustion

I haven’t blogged in a bit… which in this case means I haven’t been doing much apart from work. The good thing is I’ve been in a good flow for work. I’ve been getting early, not so much because of the Olympics (I’m glad they’ve been there to keep me company though; early morning TV normally sucks!) but to get a start on all of the things I have to do. The work has been going steadily and going pretty well. The pile is still big though. I’m not sure what I can delegate either. These days I’ll work right through the day and I’m so focused on what I’m doing I don’t want to break for lunch if any preparation is involved. I’ll work right through into the afternoon and when I stop I’m usually exhausted. I’m physically tired of course but more significantly I’m mentally spent.

The problem with that type of exhaustion is that I have no energy for anything creative. I haven’t been able to write. I’m working from early in the morning and by the time I’m done there’s nothing left to put into songs. I know it’s a season (I don’t expect work to continue at this pace; It won’t go away entirely but it will slow down again) but it’s a frustrating season to be in right now since I want to get paper playing off the ground.

I’m looking forward to this week though. I plan to go on leave for at least a part of it. If God sends the money (read ad for prayer here) Sam and I should go out of town for a couple of days. Apart from taking a break and focusing some time on gearing up for parenting I’m hoping to spend some hours each day writing and blogging. I’m optimistically targeting finishing one song and laying out several other ideas. I’m also planning to blog about my philosophy of art making and my journey to where I am now as an artist.

So the pace of all my writing should pick up again this coming week.

Why this blog?

I’ve been threatening the world that I’ll start a blog for some time now… in my mind (Cue diabolical laughter)!!! That is, the threats have only been issued in my mind… not that the blog would be in my mind… erm… maybe I should start this post over. Oh whatever!

I figure if I’m going to give paper playing a go for the next few months, it would be worthwhile to blog about it. Most people who aren’t involved in the process of creating art, view art mostly as a finished product. Some get a look behind the curtain, whether it be a band rehearsal or a visual artist’s studio. I think it could prove useful (and hopefully interesting to someone other than me) to journal about and during the process.

Whenever I’m interested in an artist I’m curious about how they do what they do. I want to know what went on, how they came up with that concept – it’s hard to explain how much really great concepts piss me off and inspire me at the same time, how they crafted that verse, how they play that riff. The curiousity is stronger when it comes to music because it’s the art form I use, but it happens with poetry, prose, film, painting, etc. I guess art does that. This blog is my opportunity to record the “behind the scenes” without it being doctored, cleaned up or decorated.

I’m guessing it might help me as an artist if I journal my own process; to see where I started, where it took me and what it ended up being. I’m convinced art has a life of it’s own and it leads you just as much as (or more than) you lead it… but let me abandon that train of thought before I start sounding spooky or mystical. Too late?

It also would help me to see myself through the lens of paper playing. I think I’m finally not afraid to see myself and to capture a snapshot of a “now”. I’ve always disliked journaling because when a “now” becomes a “then”, the raw realness of who I was is very uncomfortable and sometimes just ugly. My memory has a wonderful way of self-sanitizing. There are benefits to forgetting as much as I do but I’m sure they’re drawbacks too.

This blog will serve as a history. It may only be a history of an attempt but God-willing, it will be history of a successful project and the story behind an album. And if God is willing, it will be the story of a miracle; maybe a small and specific miracle but a miracle none-the-less, because when I look at what I’m attempting and the comprehensive lack of resources I have to pour into it I’m sure miracles will be required.

So, that’s the “why”.

“… It will not be perfect, but it might be good…”