Mary Richmond Design

Flickers, Waxwings and Other Things

I have always loved flickers. They're big, they're bold, they're beautiful. What's not to love? This winter I have had three or four visit my suet feeder on a pretty regular basis but just before the big storm this weekend my yard seemed full of them. We have the Northern Flicker here, also called the yellow shafted flicker. I was so excited to see their cousins, the red shafted flickers when I was in New Mexico but that's another story.

There are several big hollies of different varieties all tucked in together in our tiny yard. Each winter they are full of berries. We also have privet bushes  growing up wildly here and there that are full of inky berries, most likely planted by birds and several good sized multiflora bushes that would actually like to take over the yard. Each spring we battle it out. I win in May but by September it's pretty obvious that they only let me win and only for a moment. You can almost hear their thorny snickers when you walk by. Multiflora is an invasive and a pain in the butt or any other body part it gets tangled up with but the birds do at least like the appparently tasty little hips that decorate the bushes at this time of year. We have a large resident mockingbird that makes it very plain that this bush, this land is its land with nothing for you or for me, to paraphrase Woody Guthrie. It spends huge amounts of time and energy defending this prickly territory, often to my great amusement.

This weekend just before the storm my yard was suddenly inundated with birds seeking seeds, suet and berries. All at once I had flocks of winter robins, cedar waxwings, starlings, blue jays and at least a dozen flickers. There were also the usual feeder friends such as cardinals, chickadees, nuthatches, titmice, goldfinches and house sparrows. The yard was alive with color and the noisy chattering of birds arguing and eating. There were birds everywhere; in the trees, in the bushes, all over the feeders and covering almost every inch of ground. It didn't last long, maybe 15 minutes or so, but it was one of those moments where you catch your breath and imprint the image on your brain and in the rest of your senses. You know it is rare, you know it is precious and you know you want to be able to pull it out to remember, to see, to feel, to hear on one of those cloudy gray days of the mind when all seems hopeless and sad.

Moments like these make me happy, make me glad to be part of this world, part of nature, part of all this wonder and mystery. This moment also brought me out of what can only be called a long drawing slump when I drew the little illustration above. I have had so little motivation to draw or paint or do anything creative these last few months. I hope it is the beginning of a renewed enthusiasm. I have to admit I have very little enthusiasm for anything right now and that's not like me. Perhaps I'm having my own migration and hibernation even though I'm still in the same geographical place and am not asleep....or am I?

Do All Artists Want to be Famous?

Alyson Stanfield over at Art Biz Blog has asked the question, "Do all artists want to be famous?"

Time was I would have said yes to that question but today I say NO. I think being famous must be a real drag. Imagine the expectations! Imagine the lack of privacy! Imagine wondering if people liked you because you were you or because they thought you could help them become famous! Imagine every piece of work you did being put under such scrutiny! Yuck! I think being famous would get in the way of being a good artist. I think being famous is way overrated. Personally, I think being famous would be a nightmare.

No, not all artists want to be famous. I don't anyway and I know others who don't as well.

Do all artists want to be appreciated? Now that's another question altogether.....

Is It Fact or Fiction?

One of the more interesting ideas that has come out of pondering writing down these family stories is wondering where the line truly lies that divides fact from fiction. Many of these stories are strands and tatters of old memories of stories my grandmother told. Others come from late nights talking with my mom when she was waxing poetical and sentimental. I'm sure all these stories are colored by time and faded with changing spotlights as they have rested in the memories of those that kept them alive. There's a part of me that thinks writing these down as I remember hearing them would be memoir but in reality there would probably be so much speculation and imagination that they would really be more fiction than fact. And then there is that question of what to do with all the other real people and families that populate these stories. Fiction allows one to change names and places, somewhat protecting the innocent as well as the guilty.

This is the part of the process that is intriguing me right now, the part that has me ready to write. I'm not sure I need to know if it's fact or if it's fiction. My reasons for writing have nothing to do with the history. They have much more to do with the emotional development of these characters that formed my own emotional development.

Have any of you been unsure when you started whether you were writing fiction or non-fiction? Perhaps this is where that strange term, creative non-fiction comes in? I've always wanted to know why that wouldn't just be fiction? How would you know what was made up and what was true? I don't think that matters in a story, in a fiction but when I'm reading what I think is non-fiction I want to think the author is giving me the truth to the best of their ability. Any thoughts on this?

Getting Started, Making a Writing Map

Thanks to everyone who commented on my last post. I started to reply to the comments everyone left then decided to make a general reply here. It seems to me that all writers and artists ultimately have to choose the way they are most comfortable working. Most aim for spontaneity, claiming that art and creativity must be spontaneous and free flowing and I agree that the best way to begin a project is to let the ideas flow from wherever and let them flow to wherever to get an idea of how things might develop.

At some point, however, doesn't the artist or writer need to shift from this loose brainstorming sort of place to a place of purpose? Well crafted writing, painting, choreography, screenwriting, etc. may start out as an exercise in spontaneity but it also seems to share a strong sense of purpose. Good creative work has good bones. Even the most free flowing and eclectic work usually has a good strong base of belief behind it. It seems that the author or artist has a focus that drives the work, even when they don't know exactly what that fragment of the work may mean or do at the moment of its inception.

I see a lot of artists and writers who start a lot of projects with lots of enthusiasm, creativity and excitement but when they reach a bump in the road or make a bad turn they get discouraged and disgruntled and give up before finishing. They get lost in their own work, it seems to me. They seem to lose their sense of direction, their sense of purpose.

While you're writing, painting, dancing, acting, etc. do you have an interior map that you follow? When working on a specific project do you know what you want the outcome to be? I often use Natalie Goldberg's style of getting started when I am beginning a project but even when I am writing my nature columns I have an end in mind when I begin. I know where I intend to go even if I sometimes digress and leave the path for a bit. As I put together this project of family writings in my mind I find I am piecing together a puzzle for myself. Where I am going isn't exactly clear yet but it is starting to take a shape for the first time in years. Some of you seem to suggest you don't worry about an end, that you let a project take you along for the ride and wait to see where it ends up. Is that true? Has that been successful for you in terms of having a completed project?

I love the idea of spontaneity and letting our creative juices flow but as I settle down to work I find I believe that all that flowing needs a little structure, maybe a lot of structure, if I am to be able to concentrate on getting the writing or painting done. I don't need an outline of every page or even every chapter as I begin but I find I am charting a map in my mind that is beginning to take me from A to C to M and hopefully eventually Z. I think I know where Z is but I'm missing P, Q, T and W. At this point I feel that's ok, that I have enough to get started with already but I also feel that if they don't appear to me pretty soon I will have to stop and hash it out for myself in some brainstorming sessions.

Have you finished a book? Did you know where you were going? Did you have a plan or did you just free flow your way through it? This is a huge and exciting project for me and I'm very curious to know how other writers tackle putting together a book.

 

Getting Back to Work

It's a gray and rainy day here on the Cape and after a two funeral week I feel it's time to get back up on my old work horse and get back to work. For me work is soothing and helps me get back in focus.

One of the things I've been working on, besides the ongoing clean out and organization of my home and studio, is my writing plan for the year. I backed off a lot of the article writing I've been doing and have just been focusing on the two columns I write every week. Once a month I write a third one. Not diluting my writing with 2 or 3 other articles a week is not only less stressful for me but is letting the writing I really love to shine on its own. I've received more emails and letters in the last few weeks from readers thanking me for my columns than I have in the whole year before. For me this proves sitting back and allowing focus is a good thing.

If you've been reading my blog for awhile you know I've been dealing with all these family boxes of pictures and lace, memorabilia and old clothes. While going through all these things I know there are stories here. I don't know if they are big stories or little stories but I am going to begin writing them down. Maybe they are just for me, maybe they will help my children see these people more clearly, maybe I will share them with the world. I don't know yet. I didn't know why I needed to stop writing articles unrelated to my work but I trusted that small voice that said 'this is causing you stress. stop for awhile.' Now the small voice is urging me to start writing these family stories. It's not saying much else. I don't know if what comes out will be fiction, memoir or just a jumble of disconnected memories. I get the feeling it doesn't matter. I just need to begin. I am planning to put aside an hour a day to work on this. Maybe even just half an hour. My goal will be to write a page a day.

Do you have a writing goal? Do you know your end before you begin?

Remembering Mentors

Years ago when Hillary Clinton was talking about how it takes a village to raise a child one of my mother's friends got very insulted. I raised my own children, she said indignantly. No village raised my children! My mother often retold this story because she found it so amazing and so counter to her own experience. It sure took a village to raise mine! she would say. And thank heavens the village was there, she would add. At the time I was raising my own children and couldn't have agreed more.

Outside our door are friends and extended family, ministers and girl scout leaders, dance instructors and football coaches. All these villagers have an impact on us as we grow up. If we are lucky they set wonderful examples and we can't learn enough fast enough from them. We wait anxiously for every contact, we look forward to what they will say or do next. We admire them. We love them. We want to be like them. They are our mentors.

I was very lucky to have many wonderful mentors in my life. Our village was extensive. My mother was divorced young and ended up working as a church secretary at a large, popular church. It seemed like everyone in town went there. The minister became our surrogate grandfather and many members of the church community became more like aunts and uncles than some of our own. A few teachers stand out, especially my third grade and fifth grade teachers. My biggest mentor from childhood was probably a young man who was a graduate student at Cornell and worked as the Education person for the Cape Cod Museum of Natural History. This man loved nature and loved kids and we adored him. He took us trekking and exploring all over the Cape and I remember many, many wonderful days following him around catching snakes, looking for salamanders, learning bird calls and exploring tide pools. He left after a few years and we did not stay in touch but he was instrumental in sparking my continuing love affair with the natural world.

Later, in high school, I had several mentors. Without them I don't think I would have made it through school. I hated high school. I hated school. Ironically I was a really good student but I hated the stupid stuff they made us do for homework, the long, boring classes and the endless amounts of what I could only call bull....twinkie that I had to listen to in class. I skipped school a lot and when I was in school I skipped classes all the time. I still don't know how I passed math. I was just never there. And I got A's. Go figure. Anyway, I had a wonderful art teacher. He was my saving grace in high school. He encouraged me, he listened to me, he let me skip classes in his room to paint and draw and daydream. He always acted like he had no idea I was skipping class when some other teacher would come to find me there and take me back to class. Then there was the drama teacher. I never took his classes but I participated in every play he put on for the four years I was in high school. I didn't perform--I hated to be on stage. But I loved to be around the theater and all the drama, both on and off stage. I painted sets, I helped put up lights, I designed and made the signs, posters, programs and whatever else they could think up for me to do. I played violin in the school orchestra and played in the show orchestras for the musicals each spring. (The orchestra leader by the way was my anti-mentor if there could be such a thing--he hated me and I was not so fond of him either!) This drama coach/director loved kids and coached amazing performances out of everyone. He was funny, he was easy going and he demanded your absolute best at all times. Everyone wanted to be as good as he believed they could be. And he was tough when he had to be. I am still friends with this man and the longer I know him the more I respect the quiet ways he encourages those around him to be their best selves.

Yesterday I spoke about my speech coach and yes, it is his death that has got me to thinking about all these wonderful mentors. There was also the youth minister that ran our fellowship program. He was young and cool and went to Harvard and I thought he was just awesome. We had wonderful spirited philosophical and theological discussions. He kept me on track in a whole other way.

It's maybe a little interesting to notice all my mentors were men. My dad left when I was 10 and was not around much so it's probably not rocket science to think maybe I was looking for father figures. Whatever. It worked. These wonderful men helped me through tough years and helped me to see that it was ok to just be me. I spent a lot of time and energy trying to prove them wrong but as I've gotten older I just get more and more grateful that they didn't give up on me.

If you've read this far, thank you. Remember it takes a village to raise a child. Look around you and see who you may be mentoring. Remember that kids look up to us and are watching and listening to us all the time. I love that what goes around comes around. I work with lots of kids. Who knows who I might inspire or help. If you're not actively mentoring someone maybe it's a good time to find someone who needs your encouragement and love.

What's your story?

What We Choose, What Will be Remembered

In the last few days I have attended the funeral of a friend's mother and heard that a man who was a wonderful mentor of mine has passed away. I have spent a lot of time this past weekend pondering lots of things but mostly ruminating on the lives and paths people choose and what we remember about them.

I never met my friend's mother. Her brother spoke at the funeral and remarked that if we were there because we knew one of them but had never had a chance to meet their mother he felt sorry for us. He told wonderful heartfelt and heartful stories about his mother. So did my friend. Tears flowed all through the room as we heard how deeply this woman would be missed. It was quite a tribute. She was well loved and shared her love unreservedly. How wonderful to have a mother, a friend, a person like that in your life!

The next day I learned that a man I knew had died in a ski accident. He was 72. He was quite well known in our area because he owned a popular home made ice cream store.  He was also a teacher and guidance counselor at the local high school as well and it was there that I knew him best. By the time I reached high school I was shy and odd and felt very alone and out of the loop. I was definitely a misfit, a nerd and a social outcast. You know in the movies about mean girls how there are those funny looking girls who sat at tables by themselves brooding and festering? I was one of them except after about 2 days of that I opted for smoking cigarettes in the bathroom instead where I learned all the interesting things that bad girls did. They thought I was odd, too, especially since the one and only time I went joyriding with a group of them I threw up and had to go home when I found out they were going to break into a house and party. I was way too much of a nerdy good girl and straight A student for that!

Anyway, fortunately for me there were teachers in those days that took funny little people like me under their wing and this man was one of those people. He had started a speech and debate club and actively recruited students he thought would show up and maybe even produce results. He rounded up an interesting group of kids, both cool and not so cool and taught everyone to work together for a common goal--winning a state award which would be a first for our high school. I hated public speaking but had several friends who were doing very well on his teams. I often hung around waiting for them and he started to bring me things to read out loud for him. In a few months he was actively coaching me but I still refused to compete. I would rather die than stand in front of an audience, I told him. He told me I would only be performing for a judge and a few competitors. Try it, he said. Just try it. And I did. And I won a prize. It wasn't a big prize, just a fourth place or something like that but he was ecstatic. I entered another competition and another and by the end of my time on the speech team I was regularly bringing home second place. This was enough for both of us and my points were high enough that I got to be on his first state award winning team. I am not the only person with this story. There were lots of us and through the years there were no doubt hundreds of us. He gave us confidence. He gave us opportunities. He gave us good coaching and lots of love. He made us feel like we were somebody. That we were worthy. He also managed to meld together groups of people that might never have bothered to get to know each other otherwise.

Most amazingly he kept in touch with everyone over the years. Whenever I would see him he would give me a great big bear hug like I was his most favorite person on the whole earth. Our families remained loosely intertwined through the years and we appeared at weddings, graduations and unfortunately, many funerals together over the years. He was a man who felt his emotions deeply and wasn't afraid to cry.

This man lived large. He bungee jumped, parachuted and skiied being pulled by a helicopter while in his sixties and seventies. He had a terrible ski accident about 10 years ago that he barely survived but it didn't stop him for long. This time he didn't survive the accident. I guess if he had to go this was an ok way for him to go. He was doing what he loved, he wasn't sick and he didn't waste away or slowly lose his mind. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of stories like mine about this man and as I've sat with my sadness over the last few days I've been thinking how wonderful it is that so many people had so much love for this man.

He was not famous, he was not an outstanding performer or athlete or rich or anything "special." And yet he was totally special. He was a simple man who did more with his simple gifts than most people do with the opportunities that wealth and privilege provide. He spread his love around and all that love surrounded him and kept him going. He was a very special, special person. I feel so lucky to have known him. Thank you, Mr. Warren!

Breaking Rules, Creatively Speaking

I thought I'd throw in a picture from summer on this gray, rainy winter day. Remember summer? For those of us in the northeast summer sure seems like a long, long time ago in a place far, far away....

Reading Cynthia Morris's blog recently I got to thinking about the rules we sometimes set ourselves as artists and writers and how ironic that is since most of us chose a creative path to get away from so many rules, especially rules about how to live or not live our lives. In her newsletter she refers to working in bed, even while knowing that was perhaps a bad thing to do and it set me to thinking about all these funny rules we have around our creative work, our health and even our spirtuality. How silly to think we can't write or read in bed all day if the spirit moves us because some sleep guru says it's a bad idea. Maybe it is a bad idea. And maybe it's a great idea to spend the day goofing off or working in bed just because you feel like it.

Have you noticed that in many circles there is a right way and a wrong way to go about your writing, your praying, your meditation, your eating, your reading, your drawing and even your sleeping? This one says clear the space of all other things, this one says use only pencil, this one says center your chakras, this one says find your blood type, this one says use your bedroom only for sleep and intimacy, this one says eat no dairy, this one says drink no coffee, this one says draw only after meditating, this one says write three pages non-stop then put the pencil down, this one says never erase, this one says never edit, this one says edit three times.....no wonder we're so confused. No wonder some people are simply paralyzed, pen or pencil in hand before they've even begun. No one wants to do it wrong!

Before anyone gets too excited here I know these are usually just meant to be suggestions, that they are meant to help people get down to it, that they are meant to help people break out of their routine and settle down with thier special creative, spiritual freedom. But as someone who teaches adults a lot I run into students who are often simply scared to even take the first step on what they hope will be their creative path. They have read this book or that one, seen this video or that one or gone to see some creativity guru who knows all the answers. They are convinced there is a secret they haven't found yet. They are afraid of not being worthy. All they want to do is try their hand at drawing or painting or writing or singing or dancing but they get so caught up in the mystique and seriousness of it all that they never lift the pencil or brush, they never open the notebook or join the choir or take the tap dancing class. Those that do often end up quitting because they sit next to someone else who has read all the books and whispers that they know the real way someone should be doing whatever it is they are doing and this teacher is wrong, wrong, wrong.

I think most of us just want to go about our business doing our thing. What is it in human nature that seems to invite us to judge and comment on the way someone else is doing their thing? I try and tell my students there are no rules, no right or wrong way. Some are relieved and gratified to hear this but others refer to the current popular book they are reading and sincerely try to correct me. There is a wrong way and I just don't know it. It says so on page 37. There are lots of books, lectures, videos, classes, workshops, etc. that lots of people find helpful. But for others I think they are just one more example of a status quo that the creative mind is trying to work around. Unfortunately these same teaching examples serve to keep many people from moving forward on their own creative journey. They just can't get past the rules and that's really a shame.

So this weekend let's all eat french fries and ice cream in bed while letting our chakras rearrange themselves. Let's get out our erasers and our colored pens and write outrageous stories about old lovers and angry mothers and draw goofy pictures of animals that will never exist. Or not.

What rules have held you back from your creative path?

Our Little Voice

Whenever I have a difficult or even interesting decision to make I let my mind wander around it for awhile. I write a bit, I talk a bit and I dream a lot. I'm waiting for my little voice to chime in.

You know the one. The little voice is that quiet self that takes a little time to settle in and think things through. Sometimes it knows the answer immediately and says so with no uncertaintly whatsoever but most of the time it likes to consider its answer. It wants to weigh things. Toss them around.

The funny thing about all this waiting and listening is that the little voice is whispering its answer even as we ask the question. We are often so busy justifying why we are even asking such a question that we don't hear the little whisper and the voice has to get bigger and bigger until we finally hear it. The little voice is very patient.

I've been working on a decision over the last few weeks. The funny thing is that I actually had my answer right away. The answer was no.

It didn't seem practical in the world to say no, though, so I made up a list with all the reasons why and presented that to my little voice to help it make its decision. This is all going on only in my head, by the way. My little voice was quiet for a bit but then something else happened and the little voice got all excited and said now you can say no and not worry about all those practical reasons!!!! I still wasn't convinced. I presented more practical reasons and the voice was quiet once again.

Then last night I had a dream. A rather shocking and very dramatic dream really and one that woke me right up. In the dream I was told I was dying and had very little time left. That I needed to decide what was most important to me. I sat up in bed and my first thought was now I don't have to do it. I have to do what's important and the little voice said Yay, she heard me. But by the time I was having breakfast and getting ready for work I had come up with more reasons to be practical. They were pretty half hearted though.

I called a trusted friend and told her the dream. Do I just trust this dream I asked? She told me she was listening to a tape right then that was telling stories of people who went ahead and took risks and other people who died without taking the risk they really wanted to take. What does your little voice say? she asked. I thought the tape she was listening to sounded an awful lot like my little voice, don't you?

By the end of the day I knew my answer was no. As a result I am withdrawing a job application. Don't get me wrong, it's a great job but it's not for me. I want to paint again. The job I have now is one I truly love. I don't love the commute but it's ok. I love the work, I love the people, I love the place and all that it stands for. And it allows me freedom. I can work when I want. I can stay home and paint when I want.

My little voice is singing now, by the way. I feel light and happy and free. Funny how the little voice knows all along. I don't know why I try to argue sometimes. Usually I don't. This time I didn't trust that the voice was real, I guess. I thought it was something else. I thought my little voice should really be more practical. My little voice had other ideas. It often does. Whenever I am willing to listen good things come out of the experience, even if the experience itself is a tough one. When I don't listen I get myself in trouble. Fortunately I'm willing to listen most of the time.

What has your little voice been saying lately? Have you been listening?

Trudging Along....Taking Flight!

It was a busy weekend. There were boxes and bags full of paper to keep slogging through and things to arrange and rearrange. For a formerly organized person the scope of my recent disorganization is somewhat alarming and disheartening. In fact yesterday I just got sick. I couldn't breathe, couldn't cope, felt like a mower ran over me and decided to spend the day under blankets with a box of tissues. I went to bed early, slept about 11 hours and woke up with an anvil on my head. Or at least it felt like an anvil on my head.

The sun is shining, the house is feeling more organized and after hanging around and reading the morning paper I decided to get up and at least act like I was feeling good. So far it's working! I have a busy week at work this week and lots of projects at the house to catch up with. I also have a second round interview coming up with a job I would really like to have so it's important I feel my best and ready to go.

It always amazes me how much attitude has to do with feeling sick or well. It doesn't always work. I remember having the flu one year and not being able to get out of bed no matter how positive I tried to be. I just had to give in and sleep. But giving in and sleeping is sometimes the best thing we can do. Yesterday I gave in and rested. I stayed warm, I drank juice and tea, I took extra vitamin C and read my new book while wrapped in a soft blanket in front of a lovely warm fire. John puttered and watched football and it was a quiet, cozy day.

Today is another day. I'm up, I'm clean, I'm dressed and ready to get to work. I know enough to take it easy so I don't get sicker instead of better but I'm hoping that acting like I'm feeling good will translate into feeling good for real. I really could be one of those people they test sugar pills on. When I'm in pain and am given a pain killer (like after surgery) I feel better before the pill is even swallowed. Could be a broccoli pill for all I know or care. If I believe it's working, it's working! If anyone were to hypnotize me I'd probably be happily clucking up on some bridge right now.

Happy Monday, everyone!