The Creation of Art

It is said broken people make the best art. Perhaps because they understand it the best. After all, art is an expression of humanity that cannot be communicated any other way, and brokenness is only a concept to describe what we barely understand. It is also said we must be broken before we can be renewed.

In retrospect, "good" experiences that make you "happy," give you a natural high, exhilarate your feelings don't necessarily increase your productivity or creativity. When things are good, when you think you've found the best thing in life thus far, what more is there to consider? When the world's at your feet and you think you can see the future, things become so much more expressable - easy to relate. We've all been there, in love, or just on top of the world, like that 60's pop song, or 90's pop song, or that new one... the one with all the same chords.

But when things are hard, when you've hit the rocks and the last splinter has been ground away by the sand, when you're just a piece of glass on the beach being worn away by sun and sea, that is advancement. A piece of seaglass doesn't become smooth from being on a shelf somewhere in someone's bedroom, it's from months, years of turmoil and chaos, storms and tides. It's the hard times that make the beauty shine through. And though there may be the same beauty at the heart of it, it is hardly the same piece that came from the glass blower's. From the outside you wouldn't know.

In some respects, it's possible that is what art must go through before it really becomes worthwhile. Or even gets created. I'm no expert, but there seems an initiation process of sorts before things become great, or great ideas are born. Lately I've been thinking about Dickens and Beethoven. Alot about composing, just the process of creating something. Like the prelude, or the novel.

I'm only stewing ideas. Merely because I'd never written songs before, and now I have. Maybe that's really typical. I don't know. I'd like to think of playing it someday, maybe it being popular in underground circles, in a small way.. and somehow one person will know it was written for them.

Philosophy of Rain

This weather has put me in a contemplative state. Or maybe it was walking into the closet door the other day that threw my thoughts around a bit. There's an irony to our best-laid plans of what we will make ourselves to be, our plans of success and fulfillment, and then the reality of being a puny speck on a planet in a corner of the universe.

I wonder how much the color of my room affects me. It's pink. I wouldn't have painted it pink, I probably would have made it blue. If it were blue, I wonder how much lonelier it would make me feel. Because I like blue, but it's apparently a lonely color.

Some great poetical lines from a Teitur song:

There comes a time

When you must stay in the moment

Though your heart is bleeding

And there comes a time

When you must walk away

Though your heart's still beating...

All my mistakes have become masterpieces.  

This is Terrible!

Well, it happened... I'm published. And quite embarrassed about it, to be frank. After 2years in the process, This is Terrible: The Writer's Lament is in print and available at The Word Shop, or from myself. It's a compilation of works from various writers associated with the Word Shop and particularly the First Tuesday Writers group. My submissions include a ten-minute exercise and a long short-story written at age 14 and edited and rewritten for years afterwards.

The last time I looked at Foul Weather Friends was when I submitted the final draft 2 years ago to the publishing project. Happy to have it finally out of my life, it seems almost foreign to see it in print all of a sudden. With my name on it. Ahhhh crap.

On first perusal, it's actually not too bad. The first thing that struck me was simply this: too many words. Just too many altogether. I wrote things elaborately, thoughtfully, skillfully actually, but they could have been stated much simpler. I definitely was reading O'Brian at that point. He has better command of the wordiness, though.

I suppose if anyone out there was even remotely interested in reading it I've probably turned you off by this point. However, you will be interested to know that the book features many great works by skilled and entertaining writers. Totally worth it even if you skip 6500 words in the middle.

Note Excerpts from Recent Travels in Europe

Upon Arrival in Munich...
    Wandered around the Hauptbahnhof for a while looking for Tram16. Found the right stop, then Tram17 came by. I was wondering if it would get me to the same place when a guy who'd been standing nearby said, "After you. Yes, this goes to The Tent; I live there." And that was how I met Oskar, a longhaired young man from Spain. He has a summer job working at a Biergarten, and gave me some interesting info. He said Oktoberfest actually is in September, from about 15.9 - 27.9 so I may miss it. He also said it's not that special and it's very expensive (10euro for a pint as opposed to 7 for a liter). Unfortunately after checking in and buying some pasta for dinner, I got pulled into a long philosophical/theological discussion with some dude from Santa Barbara, so I wasn't able to talk further with Oskar. He was very helpful though.

Radstadt...
    Amazing hike today. I think the big difference in the forests here is there aren't any medium-sized bushes. There are some small ground foliage like blueberries and ferns, and then there are the trees; so you can actually see alot more than the forests in California. Top of the mountain was incredible; the whole town spread below, two glaciers within sight, tons of ski resorts and amazing mountains and cliffs everywhere. Spaetzel und Kaese is really yum.

Daytrip to Venice...
    Left the house at 5am and started the 3-1/2 hour drive to Jesolo, Italy. I slept most of the way to Udine. In Italy, the countryside drastically changed though. It flattened out and there were large fields of corn and grapes (vinyards) and ancient tumble-down brick houses. The architecture took on a major change as well, light tile roofs, older buildings had more of a rennaisance look than gothic. And things were generally in a state of disrepair. Rather like an older, wealthier Mexico.
   We arrived in Jesolo, the main point from which ferries leave for Venice. It was crowded and chaotic, but Peter speaks some Italian, so he was able to help us get on the right ferry. Then began our wanderings in Venice.
    We started in San Zaccaria, on the border between the San Marco and Castello quarters. The skinniness and romanticness of the streets, alleys and canals was overwhelming. And the buildings were astonishing. Architecture from centuries over, cute shutters, arched doorways and incredible sculptures amazed me.
    There were a lot of people though, and most of the city stank. Billions of tiny shops, bakeries and cafes, a lot of them selling similar things; bags, purses, theatrical masks, scarves, clothing, coffee, glasswork, leather shoes...
    We passed one super fancy shoe and purse shop, on a corner enclosed in glass. There were a husband and wife, the husband was trying on shoes, and the shop clerk helping them, the only one in the store, was wearing a tuxedo. Haha.
    Stopped at a cafe for coffee, and in Venice, Italy, a place known for good coffee, I had the worst cup of my life, ironically. I ordered a "cafe corretto," there being a large menu and not knowing what to try. It was a shot of espresso with a shot of grappe. Disgusting. It didn't have enough coffee to really be a "coffee," but there was just enough coffee flavour for it to not be a shot. Gross. Most definitely something I will never forget.
    On the exciting ride home in the dumping rain, we went over a mountain pass. The rain turned to snow and it was 1degree celcius. Near the top, Viola and I got out and ran around barefoot throwing snowballs for a few minutes. The way down the mountain was trickier because the car still has the summer tires. Got home to find that we had locked ourselves out of the house, which was another adventure altogether.

A Day in Munich...
    The couple who sat next to me on the train helped me get the right tram to Marienplatz, and thus began my adventure in Munich. I saw a lot, much of which I forget what the building or story was.
    Except Asamkirche. When I saw that, I realized in full what Fred meant when he talked about the Baroque style. Embellishments, over-the-top gold leaf, sculptures in every imaginable location... The church was built by the Asam brothers (I forget exactly when) because they vowed to build a church if God saved them from a terrible shipwreck.
    At about four I was in the garden by Max-Josephplatz and it really began to dump rain. Sitting in the gazebo, I came up with a brilliant plan to keep both my umbrella-less self and my backpack dry [at this point I had everything for 2weeks of my trip with me]. I draped my coat over my pack and the hood fit perfectly over my head, accomplishing my goal and creating a ridiculous hunchback at the same time. Happily, living in Santa Cruz has taught me not to worry about outward appearances, and I continued my sightseeing in the direction of the Hauptbanhof. Had a little difficulty find the actual station... for about half an hour... on the same block...

Vienna...
    I got up early to get standing room at mass, where the Vienna Boys Choir and the Vienna Phil were playing Schubert's Mass in Gminor. That was how I met Amber, who was staying at the same hostel. We got brunch together afterwards at cafe Ruedigerhof and shared single-traveller-stories. She left today unfortunately, but it was a very enjoyable morning. The waiter was funny, he seemed the sort of man more suited to construction than waiting on tables. He plunked our coffee and food down disinterestedly and that was the last we saw of him until we walked up to the bar an hour later to pay. The stereotype for the Viennese waiter is quite humorous.

London...
    After reading The Perks of Being a Wallflower, or actually halfway through, I started wondering if I myself am a wallflower [...] I'm having some Bulmer's apple cider, which is quite good and reminds me of Fantastic Mr Fox which makes me smile and feel fuzzy inside. It's been entertaining to legally buy and consume alcohol, but also I've learned how to simply enjoy a beer or drink in moderation, something I knew I should learn after [...] Also all this writing is helping me, I can feel it working through my system, all the months bottled up now to come spewing out of my pen at last. Sometimes I just forget to write. Or I'm afraid to. Maybe I am just like the wallflower.

Leaving London...
    I got to Canada Water station at 01:35 like the stationmaster told me to... and waited...and waited. There was no bus. There were a couple other people standing around, so I asked this guy if he was waiting for the bus also. He wasn't and he said I wouldn't be catching the bus at this time of night, but inquired as to where I was going. Then he asked, "Wait, are you American?"
-"Yes."
"What state?"
-"California."
"REALLY?! Are you from LA???"
-"No, I'm closer to San Francisco actually."
"Oh... Well, I do have one American friend, and for his sake I will help you get to Stratford."
    One of his friends had just got in from Portugal, so they were waiting for a cab to get them to the flat she was staying in, and then he was going home, which was quite near to Stratford. The cab was quite late, and it seemed to take forever to get to the apartment. After his friend was situated and he's gotten a jacket (poor guy was freezing at the station in a t-shirt), we headed towards the Stratford part of town, which is East London. The cab driver turned out to be an old neighbor of his fathers, and consequently he said we didn't need to pay him. I think they were speaking Portugese, but I'm not sure. The cab dropped us off at a bus centre, and the real race against time began.
    We almost got on the wrong bus, and it was lucky he was with me because I wouldn't have known the difference if I were told it was the right one on my own. We found the right bus, which dropped us off near his flat.
    He said we had 15minutes to get to the bus stop that would get me to the station, so we alternated between running and walking, and I think it must've been over a mile altogether.
    He said the three other American girls he had met in the past had all been on a European trip to get over their breakups, and I had to disappoint him in saying that wasn't the reason I'd gone. He said it was very strange, 2 would be a coincidence, but 3 was starting a statistic.
   As we got closer to the bus stop I thanked him heartily for helping me, because honestly I wouldn't have known what to do otherwise and I didn't even have a phone to call a cab. He said it was no problem.
    I had to run the last block and around the corner to make sure I hadn't missed the bus, which thankfully I hadn't. As the bus pulled up, I dug through my bag and gave him a package of Manner (Austrian cookies). He asked if I could find the rest of the way myself, and I said I was confident I could. He said goodbye and good luck, I thanked him again and that was the last I saw of him.
    I got off at the stop for the main station, but to my consternation I had no idea where I was. Again, a divine intervention I believe, there was a girl with a suitcase and I followed her through the empty shopping mall, and when we came out the other side we were at the station.
    The bus I caught to the airport was late, and when I got through security there was no information for my flight. There were mobs of people and it was awful and crowded, worse than airports normally are it seemed. Perhaps because it was nearly 4am.
    There being no gate information, I bought some groceries which took probably about 15minutes. Then I checked the screen again and it said final call for my flight! I ran as best I could, and there was a horrible mess of slow people in the hallway to the gates, and guess what - there was a terribly long line at the gate. Horrid. Bloody fishpaste.
    Anyhow, I got to the gate and the girl there was simply cruel. First she said I had to put my handbag inside my luggage "because, madam, you are only allowed one bag only." So I crammed, reorganized, smashed my crackers and got it all to fit. I started walking, but she said "Oh, now you have to fit it in that grid" By this time I was the last person, and I frustratedly jammed the thing in and couldn't get it back out. There was a nice man who kindly helped me pry it out, and then I ran to the plane.
    Of course I was the last person, so everything was packed. Then they made me move. "Excuse me miss, you can't sit there, evne though the rest of the plane is packed and the girl at the gate made a mess of your luggage and made you last, and you're about to cry." When I finally got a seat - next to a window ironically - I did cry. I just wanted to go home and forget this stupid airline and these idiot snobs and all the crap.
   I arrived in Salzburg, it felt like home, and immediately got a bus from the airport to Mirabell Gardens, and took a nap. I love that place.

Graz...
    Riding our bikes to church, albeit late, was amazing. The fresh air of the morning, the bright fall colours everywhere, the incredible Austrian architecture... a great experience.
   On the crowded buss to the Hauptbahnhof there was this cute little boy in the stroller I was standing next to. He was probably about a year old, and all smiles. Being the bad influence that I am, I stuck my tongue out and made silly faces, and he stuck his tongue back at me whilst grinning. Then it stayed there, and he kept sticking his tongue out at me delightedly, and his poor mother noticed, and tried to push it back in with her finger, all in vain of course. Hilarious.   

Deja Vu in Vienna

Vienna likes to sleep in. At least most of the cafes I walked past this morning, perhaps it's only an american thing to go for coffee before ten. I did find this incredible whole grain/organic bakery on Mariahilferstrasse, though. Really great.

It is a humongeous city. Well, I suppose it is the captitol. The tall building and skinny streets remind me of San Francisco. It is an ancient city, but there is an energy to it and a youthful vibrancy to its artistic scene. I am sitting in front of Cafe Sperl in a small yard with a few flowerbeds along a moving street. The "Oma" Kaffee I ordered was very good, I wonder what it was exactly.

This reminds me of a story I started writing about two people with no names. The man was a traveller, and in the opening paragraph he is sitting on a bench contemplating the "Tasse von Himmel" he had had in Vienna. Or somewhere in Austria. Ironic. Perhaps this was one of my dreams I didn't realise, but now I'm living it. Having an amazing cup of coffee in the center of Vienna and writing a few notes down. Quite artistic and a bit on the romantic side. Oh well, as I once said to a friend, "I'm a sailor, a musician, a writer and an artist; I think I'm allowed to be romantic."

On one hand it's a little difficult to be traveling by myself. On the other, I feel a little more relaxed and the days lie before me. I can see what I want in whatever order, or even wander around in circles if I wish. I can follow in the footsteps of Fatty Goodlander and write for four hours a day, or sit and contemplate Viennese architecture. But ultimately, things are much more worthwhile when you have someone to share them with. There isn't anyone to tast this coffee and help me try to distinguish the ingredients to an OmaKaffee, or remark on the day's events. However, my pen is always here and he's currently quite willing to contribute to this experience.

Now it is four minutes past ten and Vienna seems to be stretching her arms and yawning.

Simple Harmonies

I really like this, it spoke out to me more than the original version. It's acoustic, raw, simple. Well done. It's real.

A Moment of Peace

Through all this chaos in life, everything that could possibly go wrong going wrong, every intention moving backwards, every smile only superficial, every spare thought hoping the day will be over. In the midst there has been born a moment of peace, a second to think and reflect, an idea to be realized. The world can go on, the daily grist will keep being ground, the pace continually set up a notch. But life, true life is eternal and all else are merely the details. Time is relative; our paths move in harmonic, tangent, beautiful lines like streaks of daylight weaving through the ocean. Whatever is meant to be will be, and if in His will, all will work together for good, no matter the doubts or the impossibilities. We only see a facet of reality; our minds cannot encompass the fullness of Truth on their own. Feelings are perhaps also relative, but deep knowledge within the heart, if the heart has been cleansed in the fullness of God's truth, is something of one's spirit and should not be ignored. There is something beyond what we may intend to do with our time and our earthly lives; every mishap, every turn that we didn't mean to take, every place we never imagined we would come to is part of the path for a reason. Finding the reason is not the object here, though. The reason often does not become apparent until afterwards, or perhaps never in this part of the journey. Nothing is done in vain, and we are finite in our logic. We must trust in divine grace and guidance for many things, and simply keep living, fighting the fight and running the race.

I believed I must have run out of compassion, and patience. I thought I was through and there was no way I could endure the situation any longer other than to extricate myself. But something struck me from behind your eyes and I realised that whether things went my way or not, the connection was meant to be there and it was not my place to sever it. The form of connection may change, but the contact itself will not end yet. It cannot be forced into some predetermined form that others can identify and understand, it is its own and I must let it take its course. My feelings I can release, and my want to control it, but the connection will go on the way it was meant to be, to fulfill its original purpose. I don't know what that purpose is, or what it could mean on a future day, but someone greater than myself is guiding it and so I relinquish my responsibility, and I find my given freedom in my own course through the infinite galaxies of time and space.     

A Broken Dream Revisited

It was a connection I didn't know I still had. It had been made so long ago, in a formative stage of my youth, another life it feels like. Perhaps she was the first vessel I turned my eyes upon after the notion of having my own boat had entered my head.

At my age then, she seemed a nicely sized boat, her twenty-five feet encompassing all the space I could possibly need. She was glorious with her forest green hull polished glassy, nifty brass portholes, varnished teak and mahogany. No engine, but she didn't need one, oh no. Norm took her out regularly and skillfully brought her back in under sail every time. True, she was all wood, but she had been well kept by a man who loved her. She was beautiful with a name to reflect it. Adagio. She had a character all her own, I talked to her sometimes as I paused in my dock wanderings. She was small and cute, but strong and well built. I dreamed about her and she filled me with ideas and ambition.

Some time went by. I returned to Moss Landing and found that Norm was no longer able to keep Adagio, she'd been given to the wooden boat lady to sit with two unfinished projects. Remembering my connection, I asked about her. It was a price far beyond me, something I couldn't be prepared for. So I let her go, I let her stay and I moved on in life. I went to school and experimented with different areas of interest, I suppose I developed my mind. Time passed anyways. Adagio languished by herself and became a neglected derelict. I forgot about my dream, only the passing fancy of a child.

But I was wrong. A piece of my heart stayed somewhere amongst the green paint and dark mahogany. Perhaps first inspirations stay with you like that. She did, at any rate. I realised that as I looked at two pieces in the scrap yard yesterday, a little bow piece and a little stern piece. Old paint on them, still cute and dainty, traces of her lines in them yet. Years after that first notion, boats make up most of my life and a day hardly goes by without a trip to the harbor or the smell of teak and varnish. And little Adagio is gone without the breath of new life I dreamed of giving her, the love and care that she deserved, the sailing she longed to have. She was my first dream, she owned a corner of my heart, she gave me inspiration. I didn't realise all she was to me, how influential she was, how she impacted my life. And now she is gone.

The Heart of the Sailor

The Ocean, it is pulling me off the shore. How badly I want to go with her and learn her secrets. Ever since I was a child she has called to me like a siren with alluring sunsets, bright sunrises and a calming voice echoing with the waves. She holds everything I need to live, but also possesses a finicky temper that could kill me without a thought. I have no desire to conquer her, for I believe that to be impossible. I only want to know her, to understand her complexities and her moods.

There are other things I love in this earth, but none that demand my heart like the Sea. It is as if I am left with no choice but to pursue her until my last breath has been drawn from me. It is hard to believe that she will allow me human love either, for she possesses other hearts as well. Perhaps we are meant to be fellow slaves to the same end, ceaselessly striving to understand that incredible force of nature, that Ocean...

A Calm in the Unknown

It is possible to have peace when the future seems uncertain. Not that I've ever seriously doubted the reality of it, but when things are going how they "should" be according to our miniscule selves the security factor overtakes what the true peace is all about. Trusting in His greater plan for me, and that this new direction is the right one, the inevitable one, is what really brings me peace. Yeah, a lot of things in my life are up in the air or unknown at the moment, but they'll work out and things will get better, and no matter what happens or what mistakes I make in the future He will always accept me for who I am and set me back on my feet. I don't think I will ever come to understand true love completely, but I see facets of it often and if I can just reflect the Father's unconditional love, then everything will fall into place. Because the most important thing is to love Him with all your heart, mind and soul, and love your neighbor (basically everyone). People can talk about "love," but this love is the real true Love that will last for eternity.

Danke!

Today, I just have thankfulness in my heart. The people I've been allowed to meet, befriend, work with, live with... It's incredible, and I don't deserve the point I have reached. So if you're out there, thank you!

Some Thoughts from Rockwell Kent

"Only the voyager perceives the poignant loveliness of life, for he alone has tasted of its contrasts. He has experienced the immense and wild expansion of the spirit outward bound, and the contracted heartburn of the homecoming. He has explored the two infinities - the external universe - and himself."

...

"What forces men on to the deliberate quest of miseries and danger? Are they remote yet deeply rooted habits of a race which once delighted in adventure for the gain it held, that still assert themselves against the very soul's desire for peace and the mind's clear understanding of the paths that lead there? Is it a far-visioned life-force maintaining itself against the disintegrating allurements of ease, a militant expression of the subconscious will that's cognizant of individual weakness, an assertion in contraries of the complex of inferiority? Is bravery the cloak of cowardice?" 

It is a bit wordy, I know, but when you get through it it's really a great piece of work. I find it quite interesting, the whole idea of our inherent desire for comfort and peace but also our thirst for adventure and everything that could cause discomfort and disrupt whatever peace there is. Humans are contradictory beings. Sometimes you'll be out in the cold and wet, and all you want is to be dry and wrapped in a blanket in front of a fireplace, and you ask yourself "why am I out here? How did I let myself be fooled into thinking this was a good idea?!" But eventually you pull through, and after you are wrapped up in your blanket, you start to think "hey, that wasn't a bad idea... It makes this blanket worth so much more." It definitely gives value to things that otherwise would be commonplace. Appreciation comes from perspective, so if you change yours often, I believe you will appreciate more things in the long run. 

That Feeling When...

New sheets make sleep amazing. A good session makes one stoked. Hitting every single note at the right time makes the music come alive. Catching the best ride yet causes euphoria. Watching an infant makes one appreciate our inherent capacity to learn. Sunsets make me dream of distant horizons. Wind makes me want to go sailing. Love makes my head spin.  

Something Akin to Joy

I think Joy is a place; that distinguishes it from Happiness which I think is a feeling. I've been feeling a lot of happiness lately, but I believe there is a piece of joy in there as well. There is peace in many things, and I have had a few clear thoughts recently. Not thoughts that should be posted here, but they were clear nonetheless. I think it is a good start to the year, and if I get half as many weeks that are this amazing in the rest of the year then I shall count myself lucky indeed.