An Art Full Life

Each change of season requires a shift and we have just begun autumn. I’m orienting myself, first by noticing associations with this time of year, and second, by noticing how I relate to them. Though the questions are impersonal, the answers aren’t. I’m sharing them for fun, and if it’s fun, join me!

Food: What are five foods you love to eat in autumn? Persimmons from California, stewed apples, pumpkin pie, pumpkin soup, Indian food. 

Gratitude: What five things are you grateful for this autumn? My friendships, collaboration, releasing two EPs, our apartment, having enough time to make art. 

Ripeness: What three things are ripe in your life right now? The Slowest Curve–just needs artwork finalized and to be manufactured. My generativity–I’m old enough to know what I want to do and old enough to do it. My teaching–I’ve gotten to a place where I know what to ask and have fun asking for it.  

Harvest: What three things are you ready to complete? The work with Kristine, the EPs, last year’s thank you cards. 

Fruitfulness: What three things do you want to bring to fruition this season? The EPs, but also I want to start owning performance. Whatever that means. Also, I want to make our apartment really cute. And write loads.

Routine: What five things could you regularly practice to support your fruition? Sunday morning dancing. Practicing meditation and embodiment most mornings. Being present while doing dishes. Writing most days–though I don’t know exactly the bare minimum for me with that.

Feasting: How will you share? Continuing this blog. Organizing an internet presence for music. Playing more shows. The EP release party with Jessica.

Maturity: What have you grown into? What have you grown out of? I’ve grown into loving the northwest. I’ve grown out of wanting to always be in control. Now I just mostly want to be in control. 

Knowledge: I finally learned that my voice is, like, legit the way it is. Though I still want to learn to do more things with it.

School: If you could take five classes right now, from the school of your dreams, what would you study?  raga, western art composition, pop arrangement, feminine mythology, jazz piano. 

Melancholy: We’re all just passing through here. Melancholy has a bad rep, but it holds our depths. So. What do you miss? And what are a few things about this time will you one day miss?  I miss being as athletic as I was in my early 20s. And one day, I’ll miss the process of making these recordings. I’ll miss my hair being mostly brown. I’ll miss calling Grandma.   

This week, I’m overwhelmed with the most delicious things. So, instead of posting something half-baked, I decided to share with you the very best explanation of the meaning of life I’ve ever seen or heard. Enjoy!

“People say that what we’re all seeking is a meaning for life. I don’t think that’s what we’re really seeking. I think that what we’re seeking is an experience of being alive, so that our life experiences on the purely physical plane will have resonances within our own innermost being and reality, so that we actually feel the rapture of being alive. That’s what it’s all finally about…”

–Joseph Campbell

This post speaks to me right now so I’m revisiting it. And if you’re willing to share, I’d love to hear how you react to and deal with completion…

I finished the outline of my newest song, Endure, two Wednesdays ago. I was in the main lobby, afternoon light slanting in open windows. My first song in two years. And it’s pretty good for me–it’s simple and organized and it doesn’t detail my love-life.

Outside flowers bloomed. Tourists loitered over wine and cigarettes as waiters squinted out at the traffic. Children rode scooters, women walked dogs, clouds blotted the sun and I sat mute on the piano bench, the floor stretching out smooth and speckled-gray under my feet. My big moment.

A friend walked in, thank god, fed up with his own studies. I told him the song was finished and then forced him to listen as I limped through it. I asked for feedback, which he gave. It was good feedback–it helped the song, but it did nothing for me. I wanted some kind of emotional reaction. I wanted to know that something real had happened these past two months, as I gave everything I had to something that never existed, something I still couldn’t touch. But there was no way for him to give that to me.

Luckily, I know this phenomenon, the completion blues. In high school, I would always get so excited over a big art project, finish it just in the nick of time and get sick the very next day. In particular, I remember hand-sewing a dress of palm-fronds the night before I was supposed to wear it, and then being so sick that I hardly could. In college too–I remember the dress rehearsal of the one-and-only opera I ever choreographed. I must have looked as crazy as I felt, pacing around in short-shorts, a leotard and some barely-contained tears. Afterwards my then-boyfriend drove me home where I proceeded to sob the night away in his sleepless arms. My glory days.

We think when we finish something we will be happy. We will be complete. What really happens is that we are less complete than before. The work keeps us greater company than we realize and when it’s gone, when we’ve taken it where it needs to go, we are deeply alone. Here’s how to deal:

Ground. Pick up, wash the murky tea cups, do the laundry. Throw out the chili that’s been living in your fridge all this time. Schedule a hair cut, a doctor’s visit, a bike tune-up, a dental appointment. Pay your student loan. Exercise. Take Emergen-C.

Celebrate. Seek company and go get Thai food, visit the hot springs, bake a cake, gossip. Ask your lover for a neck rub, or schedule a two-month slumber party. Watch 30 Rock with someone who’s never seen it before.

Share. Pick your most adoring friend or family member–your Grandma counts! Don’t ask for critique, like I did. Make your intentions clear.

Acknowledge your loss. Come home and cry. Feel your empty chest. Know that it’s a kind of opening.

Revisit what you’ve made. Quietly, gently. You may see it differently. You may notice it no longer seems done. Try to leave it alone anyway–the drive to continue engaging with what we love can cloud our vision.

Connect with delight. Do something silly and intriguing. It’s the fastest way into your next project.

Most of all don’t worry. There will be other work. You will feel just as alive again, just as engaged. Right now, just give it time.

I’m so excited to share this with you! A few months ago, I realized that a blog was the perfect excuse to ask nosy questions of people whom I greatly admire. Simone Berk, front woman of Sugar Snow, generously agreed to be my guinea pig. We are so lucky! Here goes…

Dear Simone, how do you define the word artist?

Complicated question. It is easy enough to say, “A creative person who sees the world in a unique way and creates from it”, but I suppose a serial killer could fit that definition, too. I think, just like the concept of “art”, it is in the eye of the beholder. I collect old (as in 50 years+) appliances and machinery, like typewriters, sewing machines and victrolas, and they were created not just for functionality but for beauty. That is part of the design, the aesthetic appeal. I think the vintage Singer I have is art. Would someone else? Maybe not. It’s like trying to define “normal”.

Do you consider yourself an artist? Does it matter? Does this affect how you spend your time?

The only thing I ever label myself as is OCD. Ever. That is the ONE things that affects my productivity.

I am trying to train myself to look at songwriting as my job. Not in the every-day-drudgery way, but in the sit-down-and-do-it way. Sometimes inspiration strikes, but I don’t have the luxury of dropping everything when that happens, since there are too many demands on my time. Rotten kids. So when I can, I try to write and play, just as a matter of course. The quality of the output is less important than the fact that there IS output. I don’t usually use lyrics I write right away, anyway, so I will write and write without editing, without structure, and then not look at it again until i need them to become lyrics. At that point, I don’t remember whether I was feeling inspired the day it was written, or it was a sit down and write kind of thing. and there is usually something usable in there, at least as s starting point.

What practices besides songwriting itself support your work?

You know, I wish I could have a practice that is regular. It seems the only absolutely regular thing I do is walk the dogs, which is meditative in its way. Songwriting IS my practice, I guess. It takes me away from all this reality, and puts me in a creative place.

How important is it to share what you make?

More important than I ever would have expected! I think music is meant to be shared; it is performance oriented by nature. It became way more important for me to have my stuff heard after the CD was finished, and as I write new material. And the truth is, the business of music seriously sucks (meaning promoters, bookers, etc) so without the songs/shows, there is nothing fun at all!

What are the most effective actions people could or do take to support musicians in general? And what could anyone reading this do to support your work in particular?

All musicians want an audience. Go to shows. That is the most important thing you can do. get out of the house and GO. Listen. Tell them what you think. But being there is the most important thing you can do. Second would be tell people about music you like. Spread the word.

Those two things are the most important for me. Buying a CD or a t-shirt is really helpful, and gives us some validation. And cash, which is welcome. But more than anything, we want to be heard.

Anything else you’d like to share?

The only thing I would like to add to the whole thing is the issue of pay. More often than not, meaning 90% of the time, we are paid less than $40, if at all, for a show. We are hired as entertainment for the night, and yet we aren’t paid unless we bring in people, regardless of whether the venue has done ANYTHING to promote the show. They get their money from drinks and cover, and every other person working for the club–bartender, door guy, barback, sound person–ALL get paid. We don’t. So please tell your readers who are not musicians not to think we are getting rich doing this. Most of the time we don’t even have gas money from it. And there is something terribly wrong with being expected to work for free.

Thank you so much Simone! Now let’s all go check out her work with Sugar Snow on their website: http://sugarsnowmusic.com/