THE WAY OF LIFE

     The sweet ladies of my ceramic class remind me of my mother.  They are characteristically quiet while they work, meticulous and exact in what they do, and filled with wonderful and artistic ideas.  So you see it seemed easy and natural to  tell them about my mother.  And to, maybe it is because my mother would have been in her nineties if she were still with us. I almost laugh to write that last part because I feel her so close all the time. I have written about her somewhere here in these ramblings.   Her birthday would have been on June 6th.  

     You understand that I am not a boy (in age) and most who meet me consider me rather dangerous and overpowering.  The truth is that I am rather sentimental and tend to be inwardly emotional.  She taught me so much that I can't help but feel her (and sometimes see her) all around me.  I have a sweater of hers, hung on a hanger and in a plastic bag, that I look at (and sometimes caress) every day.  We have her rocking chair that sometimes for no reason just rocks on its own.  (Recuerdos de los seres queridos son fuertes en mi familia).  

     One way to look at life is to see it as a quest, or more accurately, a pilgrimage. We are pilgrims seeking answers and miracles.  We bring nothing with us and depend on the generosity of others along the way.  Events such as love, work, graduations, children, etc. are just stops along the way to get our visa stamped.  Oh! How we covet our "stamps".  We hold them up to others and say, "see, I have more stamps than you do"  or, "my stamps are bigger than your."  

     We forget on whose road we walk.  Who gives us guidance and great gifts.  We moan about the hardships along the road and pray and wail loudly for just a little more time to stay on the road.  

     It is almost my mom's birthday and I miss her, but, I know she walked her journey well.  She was a good daughter, loved one man all her life, loved, educated and cherished her son with all her heart. She believed in God and followed His will in her life.  And, that is the way of life. 

Kitsch versus Art?

I attended a lecture yesterday on the subject of the difference between Kitsch and Art given by Christie Johnson as a part of activities by the American Ceramic Society.  All definitions aside, it is not my purview or within my abilities to make the distinction.  No, I write this piece because I think it is important for all of us, artist or non artist to make a personal connection to life.

What do we look at when we see life?  What a question you ask.  I wonder if we really look at this wonderful gift we have been given with eyes that appreciate and honor what they see, or do we just view our surroundings as we might view a landscape through a train window.  When do we take the time to appreciate the world that stimulates our senses? The smell of hamburgers on a grill, the blue of a perfect sky, the sound of a child's laugh, the taste of our lovers lips.  Most people that I notice take more time to be concerned with their jobs, or their electronic devices than to really observe and take part in the wonderful world around them.

All this takes time.  Ah yes!  Time to stop and smell the outdoors after a rain, to hear the chirping of the birds in the trees around you, and so many other things.  How much life are we living?   I tell people that when I began to think as an artist that I could actually feel the stirring on the other side of my brain.  I went from being an anal left brained academician, who sensed only order, facts, results, to sensing textures, colors, shapes and feelings.  Not all will want or be able to make that change, but all of us can take a few moments every day to really live!  To see, smell, feel, and most of all to thank what ever higher power you believe in for the great gifts that are provided for us.

Our time here is brief!  No one knows the number of days or years of their lives.  WORK IS NOT LIFE!  Take time to really become part of the lives of your family and friends, Give to others, Become the symbol of MERRY CHRISTMAS and as "Auntie Mame" always said, Live! Live! Live!CrackedPotsandShards

Something I wanted to say

    The definition of communication is loosely defined as a "give and take" at best, between two or more people.  This is how it works.  You share something with me, I think about it, and I reply.  It is even better when both ends of the communication are on the same track.  This is fairly difficult in a world where most people do not read but rely on "sound bites" for information. If we read, is usually the 20+ words allowed on "Twitter" or the few that we "text" to friends and acquaintances.
     Now I ask you to read a "blog" which is by definition an expression of ideas that take a little more time and number of words.  Those ideas that deal with issues, or emotions that you feel you want to share but either don't have the time or that others don't have the time for.  How sad that so called friends don't have the time to listen carefully and respond to a friend.  I am as guilty as anyone.  I text rather than phone, I use voice commands to "write" memos or texts rather than actually speak to someone.  Honestly, it is more a factor of not being accepted for my responses than having the time. The reason for that is that when you are speaking to a friend you always have the fear that they want you to hurry.  Most people are not listening to your points, they are just waiting for their turn to talk.
     Sooo!  Why don't we begin a dialogue?  If you have gotten this far you are not one of those people I described earlier but one who knows the art of good listening.  What are your ideas, fears, emotions that you want to share?

Text me...

Some thought on Wonder and Majesty

  It is not hard to have things to say at Christmas time.  There are memories of Christmases gone by, gifts and gatherings and music and all sorts of tantalizing things to stimulate the senses.  For some there are not so great memories, but these words are for those who can see past them.  These words then, are not memories but reflections of what Scrooge might call "Christmas Present."

  However, is Christmas just a memory? For that matter is Christmas just a one time thing that happens in December?  Why not have it go from image to feeling, like art does to the spirit?  A feeling that fills us every time we see or remember that sculpture or painting or building.  I am not satisfied to let it be just be a one time party with gifts and food, a colorful tree and food, but a Spirit that lives in our hearts every day!  Oh, I too will get tired of carols and eggnog soon enough but do we have to put our loving spirits away with the decorations?

  I think of Christmas like I think of the memory of my mother, or the memory of the joy I felt when the first person referred to me as "artist".  Memories that were overwhelming at the time but that I welcome every time they come to me.  I used to dream about the clay spinning around on the wheel and looked forward to seeing how far I could stretch the clay before it cracked.  I still weep to think of my mother, no longer here to give me her smile and hear the sound of her wisdom. But, I never want to let them go!

  Like those memories and emotions, I want Christmas to be in me and about me every day.  I want it to be said of me, as it was said of Scrooge, that he knew how to keep Christmas, every day.

GOD BLESS US, EVERYONE

How Did This Happen?

     There are times, when I am tired and just begin to crawl into bed, that I begin to think.  Bad idea, you say, and I agree with you.  It came to me, suddenly, that I am old!  I don't feel old.  I don't look particularly old, but the calendar doesn't lie.  Getting old, and being old, don't necessarily cause me any angst, so what then is my problem?

     I begin to reflect on my past.  It was filled with great parents, wonderful experiences, (some joyful, some sad) that say to me; You've Lived!  So many funny moments, moments filled with adventure and desire.  People who have defined me in so many ways.  My high school English teacher who opened my eyes to culture and art.  My football coach who helped define my ideas of honor and teamwork.  My fellow workers that shared a common burden and managed to keep their humanity.  All good you say.

     My problem is the idea that it all may be coming to an end!  And that end is not that far away!  I am a man of Faith and have Hope in Eternity, but I don't seem to be able to get away from the idea that "I" have an end!  I don't want to end, I want to continue for ever.  My mind says, silly man, "All men are mortal", but my gut says can't we work something out?  It is disconcerting to have these thoughts, although, I imagine that I am not the only one who has them.  So what are we to do? Maybe God is telling me, "Buck up, sissy pants".   The reality is that all that thinking makes me depressed and vaguely anxious.   I do not want to go "softly into the good night".

   I am alive!  I want to continue to think, act, dream and believe in life and action and laughter.  I am looking forward to making new friends, finding new lovers, creating new art, and "boldly going where no person has ever been before".  At least I want to stop worrying so much about it.

   Got any thoughts?

Phooey to the Good Old Days!

     Today is the first day of my new e-store.  http://www.cactusjackceramics.com/ What a leap for someone who remembers dial phones and 8 track tape players!  I grew up learning cursive writing and latter, typing.  I remember telling my mother and father that the only thing I wanted for Christmas was a typewriter.  It was a tangible link to Gutenberg and to movable type.  A way for a Jack to climb the bean stalk and enter the world of giants.  It was there to help write essays on Hemingway and Heller, to write articles for the school paper, and to make those little poems seem a bit more real in type.  My illusions were soon to be dispelled when I was required to write a Masters Thesis!  In those days every sheet was typed with a carbon as the only record of the work done.  Misspell one word and you had to retype the entire page, or worse, any revision to a paragraph and the entire treatise had to be redone! An industry sprang up around how to "collate" pages.  No Spell check! No Grammar check!  God help you if you wanted to edit a footnote!!!
      Today, recording, editing, typesetting, addition of photos, and web references can all be done easily on the computer.  What Gutenberg did with movable type, any computer can do.  You don't even have to know how to type.  Voice commands can write out your thoughts on your screen, punctuate, spell, underline and even color the letters and add little smiley faces.  In a flash your words can be sent to hundreds if not thousands of people all over the world.  Even those in countries that do not use the same language can, with a button, translate them into any language or dialect.
      So, to those who sigh and let their minds wander back to those "good old days", I say, in terms of the written word, WE NEVER HAD IT SO GOOD!

Happy Birthday

June 6, 2013

     Today we remember my mother's birthday.  I remember her every day, but today is special.  She was a marvelous talented woman, and if you read these posts (and there is no reason for you to do so) you have heard me talk about her in the past.  

     She was born in Mexico, in a colonial town called Guanajuato. Her father was a "horse whisperer" and Mexico was not safe for those who were friendly with land owners.  She grew up in Wyoming and was not a healthy child.  The youngest of five brothers and one sister she was expected to learn the domestic arts and take care of the older family members instead of having a life of her own.  The family moved to Los Angeles and as family do, each member found a way to move forward.  

     Mom graduated from  Roosevelt High School in the L.A. inner city and began a career in fashion design. She lived with her parents and with her Sister and her husband.  They needed money and took in boarders.  One of those was my father, a man trying to raise three teen aged sons abandoned by their mother.  

     Over the objections of her family, she married and had a child.....me.  The early years saw her helping the family by working in a factory assembling thermostat controls, she was good with her hands and took a job with Luis Meyer (Indianapolis Race Cars) as a carburetor adjuster. I still have visions of her being called out of our home to adjust a carburetor for some famous Indy racer.  I would look out into the street and see her with her head deep in the engine with all the men standing around, watching in wonder.  She worked for years as a decorator at Gladding McBean Ceramics.  Most of the "Desert Rose" and "Apple" pattern was drawn by my mom.

     Mom and Dad worked hard and added to their property.  They supported their families both in the United States and in Europe and Mexico.  In 1961 my father died and mom was devastated.  She was encouraged to travel and spent some time in New York with my fathers friends.  One of those friends was soon to become the partner and confidante that she so needed.  I new Frank DeVico longer than I new my father.  I knew Frank as a generous and loving man. He moved to California and became Grampa to my boys.  

     Mom, Frank and my Dad are all gone now, they are all buried side by side in the churchyard cemetery at the San Fernando Mission, not far from a tree that my dad liked from the grave of Walter Brennan the actor.

     Today is the 100th anniversary of the birth of this wonderful woman.  We remember her today and will continue to remember her for as many years as we have to do so.  So, if you have read this far, let's stop for a moment to remember her and all our moms and the love they still send us everyday.