tom waits, creativity, and daemons

i have, in passing, mentioned my damn near life long infatuation with tom waits.
he's fucking brilliant. he's who i want to be when i grow up, except that i'm 60 and don't have a chance in hell of being him, being like him,  or growing up.
he has pushed every edge he's ever met.
he's gone places, artistically, musically, that a mere mortal like me can't begin to figure
out how he got there, much less how he got back. no, wait, he didn't come back, he just kept on going. over the edge and through the woods.
not that i would take the same trip. aw, shit, who am i kidding? of course i would.
i think he's one of the most creative people on the planet.
even when i don't like his stuff, i like his stuff.
he's married to kathleen brennan, a brilliant, creative woman. dammit.
he has kids. can you imagine having tom waits as a father?
that's like having frank zappa as a father.
and we thought our parents were weird.


i'm saying all this because i watched this ted talk by elizabeth gilbert. (she wrote "eat, pray, love", of which i am not particularly fond.) she is speaking about creativity, and mentions tom waits, whom she has interviewed. that made me think better of her. plus, she's kinda funny. i've had experiences similar to that which she describes, especially of late during this poem-a-day quagmire i find myself hip deep in. her resolution (and tom's) has relieved me of an onerous burden. for that i am grateful.
so when you get stuck, mired in the morass of mediocrity, remember this:

bink, bink, bink

courtesy of the erudite cramcake , i was reminded of the term used to describe the antics of rabbits. binking is when they frolic and cavort about, for no apparent reason. it's a bit frantic as well.

that is a pretty good description of my mode of operation for the last week and a half, with a bit more emphasis on the frantic. i've had so much adrenaline coursing through my veins, sleep has been a non-starter. i am having more fun than is probably allowed by law.


this whole process has been an exercise in "ask and ye shall receive." or even, "don't ask, you'll get it anyway." i've received multiple gifts of help, suggestions, label printing (my printer died, great timing), donations of materials, support in all forms. the other artists i've met have been, without exception, nice.
nice, in las vegas. who would have thought?
to everyone who has hung with me, and that's everyone i'm in any kind of contact with, THANK YOU. we don't do anything by ourselves, except maybe die, and i'm not sure about that.


it's also required that i change my perceptions about myself, my definition of myself. i've never, ever called myself an artist. it appears that i am, in the loosest sense of the term. i've never acknowledged my creative abilities, except in the area of teaching. now i have to. there's no denying it. i've always nurtured the creative in others, but not in myself. that's done, too.

there are all types of media represented in this gallery. painting of all kinds, drawing, altered art, fabric arts, stained glass, jewelry, etc. some of it is professional, some not so much. as i've looked, i've realized that, holy cow, my stuff is pretty damn good, for where i am in this process. i'm not bragging. i haven't seen what else is out there. i know this place is not representative of the art world at large, but, damn. i'm doing ok for my first public hanging :)


the photos are hung, and tagged with name and price. i don't like the way the tags look, so i may change them tomorrow morning, if i get inspired today! i need a chair for my space, so i don't have to stand for 8 hours. i need to pack a lunch of some kind. there's probably other things that haven't occurred to me. and take a nap. oh yes.


i'll have photos of the space tomorrow.

WOOHOO!

life, art, what's the difference?

i've struggled with the "issue" of creativity my entire life. i was told, early and often, by family and teachers, that i was not creative, and that i had no artistic talent. in any arena. the implication was that i would NEVER have any, talent being inborn, and i was shit out of luck. and so, it became something after which i yearned, longed for, lusted after. the lack of it also became something that defined me. that lack lodged in my brain and body.

since i couldn't create, i became an accomplished audience. that was not enough.

i know a bit about how brains work, and how brain organization and perception intertwine. i know that i think differently, and see (both literally and figuratively) differently, than most. i know that now. back in the day, not so much. it's damn near impossible to hold on to your sense of self when everyone is telling you that you're crazy, wrong, or just plain weird.

i started mucking out the augean stables of non-creative crap. well, that's a life's work, if you're not hercules!

all of this is a long way 'round to saying, the tectonic plates have shifted, expression has erupted. aftershocks continue. the effects are not confined to the usual artistic endeavors. it is spreading to every facet of life. life itself is becoming an artistic endeavor.

from oscar wilde:

life has been your art.
you have set yourself to music.
your days are your sonnets.

finally, finally, it all comes down to recognizing, honoring, and acting on, what you know, in your heart, to be true.