Focus. I know what focus is. And I know what focus can do for an image, a mind, a life. And I have a doubt or two or a hundred that my life, my own personal playground, is not in focus. And I am not happy about that condition.

OK. My life is not in focus. What do I do about it? Do I expect change. Not likely without out focus. Back to the beginning. Reset. 

This must be quite a thrill to be reading this. Some guy is not in focus and he's writing. And when will it end...

Focus. I used to have focus. Turn the dial and wait for the image to clear. And then move onto the next square. Regroup. Refocus and move. Repeat until the end of the story. 

Focus. Move. Live. 

The Winter of my Content

It's winter. And my life rolls along. Rolls, rolls, rolls. 
Along.
Alone more than along.
Is it? 
Rolling?
Along?
Alone?
Rolling along alone?
It's winter. And my life rolls. Along. Alone, alone, alone.
Rolling. Rolls alone along the rolls of my life.
All. One. 
My life.
It is Winter all along.
Alone. 
Rolling to Winter alone.
Roll along.
Merrily.
It is Winter.
It is Winter.
It is Winter.
All along.

This world is so contradicted that living in it may seem like trying to solve a puzzle with no solution. It just gets harder and harder. Or does it...? 

Today, I look forward to an upcoming trip to New York City and Princeton, NJ to sing with friends. It's been a long time since I've been in the City and I'm ready. Mentally so. After reeling from the bombing in Boston, I do find the prospects of walking around a major city a trifle unsettling. But I am not cowed by the fear. It's small and manageable. 

The excitement grows in me. We'll be singing for people more unfamiliar with us than familiar. I look forward to sharing our sound. Each step toward the others strengthens my own personal comfort in the process. The Artist in me is honing the Craft. Bring it...

If you find yourself at Trinity Wall Street on Monday, April 29th at 1:00 PM, please join us for some music to heal what ails you. Really. 

We are Marching...

I'm not really sure who would have the stamina of interest to follow a blog which regularly posts every 6 months or so. Perhaps an Ent, say Tom Bombadil. I know that I would not. Having made this quite off-putting statement, where can I possibly go from here? 

[New paragraph] Onward into the next paragraph, of course. That is life in a nutshell. We truly have no viable option of going backwards. If(and I say this with the real fear that I am now speaking to a 7 year-old Finnish girl in the year 2057) we could reverse the timeline and follow it backwards, how many of us would be left to take out the trash, clean up the baby, write the lesson plans and monitor the ACT exams? I daresay not very many. The world of tomorrow would gradually become the world of yesterday. Anyone stepping forward without ceasing their forward direction would enter a wasteland of missed opportunities and unfulfilled dreams and nightmares. So...

[new paragraph] Hello again. I see you've made it into the future. Not so hard now, was it? Imagine yourself , though, with the "Big DVR Button of Life" and the ability and freedom to use it at will. Got the picture? Could you imagine not using it? Really?

[new paragraph] Hei neiti. Olen tyytyväinen kommentit ja terveiset niille meistä, jotka ovat tehneet sen tälle sivulle... millä tahansa kielellä.

In the great scheme of things, my life will create no more than a mini-blip on the Big Screen. Given that I accept this caveat, I propose that this "fact" is of no consequence in the face of 

• "what  do I do next" and 
• "how do I do it?" 

I want to make a mark. Is that the reason I became an artist? To literally "make a mark"? I do make marks. I also make digital marks in the form of photographic images. Will the sum of my artistic parts add up to more than the whole body of work? And how is this even possible to assess? 

In the course of developing my artistic self, I have developed my musical abilities. Music does not exist except to be performed and heard. On the page or in a digital form, it means very little if not nothing. Nothing. 

Something from Nothing. This my Artistic Credo. I would propose each of us has one. The output of an Artist connects to the source of the efforts. There is an underlying precept or stimulus. This underlying structure will often be unseen and unheard. Even the chance artists and musicians have to have modus operandi to bring new works from their own personal voids. Nothing truly comes randomly into this world. 

We are not random. 
Our world is not random. 
Random. 
Nothing. 
Whatever.

This post will bore some. It will annoy several of you. For the rest of you, you will have stopped reading by now. The one person I would like to see reading this post has told a friend of mine that I, the Artist and creator of this piece of art, is deceased.

Do I have your attention? No one I know posts from the grave. Having said that, I am not dead. I created this piece of hand made paper art. And then a person appropriated the work from me. May I say "steal"? I just did? Why yes, I certainly did say steal. Is it gratuitous to speak as if I were speaking to a person who is not, never, ever going to read the words I write? Is it? A waste of time? A waste of the precious seconds allotted me for said purpose? But I digress...

Catharsis. A term often applied to verbal diffusion and dispersal. Artwork. If you wish to enjoy artwork made by another, obtain it by legal means. That's all. JP- Show me the money!

A new fire burns in my belly. Many gifts have been given me and the response has thus far been small. To whom much is given, much is expected. It's a joy to return the favor of the gifting.

My response of the moment is to reach out for a boost or a lift or a nudge or a shove into the next level. Metastasis has set in and I must break out of this condition.

Crack...crack,,,crack. Is that the sound of an egg breaking? Is there growth of a major proportion on the horizon? Is all of this questioning doing anything but collecting bits and bytes?

Tune in tomorrow, space fans, for the further adventures of Jim, Creator and Human!

Anne Winter

Anne
You made a huge impact with your convictions
and you humor and your taste.
We who knew you but were not close saw your humor
and your intelligence and you reserve and your humility.
You were who you were.
Pretense was not your companion.
Though I had not seen you for years,
I found a hole opening in my Spirit
when I learned of your end flight from this Earthly plane.
I will seek to leave that hole as your memorial.
Your impact on me,
though seemingly small to others,
was as permanent as the memories of skinning a knee
or earning an award
or seeing the Challenger explode into space.
There is a place and you are there.
Peace to you on the next journey.

Enjoy this music from Imogen Heap.

The Office of the President

I do not envy the children of the families in which the President is not given respect due the office. Those children are not the first ones to ever be indoctrinated with an abiding disrespect for the person or for the Office. They are standing in a long line stretching back to our earliest days as a Nation. Andrew Jackson, Abraham Lincoln, John Kennedy, FDR, Hoover. Dare I go on? The Office is due respect. The person may be human and fallible. I'm sorry. The person is human and fallible. Personal assaults do come into the camp of racism when the President is noted for his racial identity as much as for his political ideology.

Pray for this group of children and for their guides in this world- their parents. As a Nation, we are no different than any other group of humans. We seldom learn from our mistakes. We truly do not learn from our mistakes if we do not admit that they are mistakes.

The Artist Blogs on a Monday

Monday.
It's just another day in the week. In my world, it's my "Friday".
My work week ends on Monday and starts up again on Thursday. So, I feel
thoughtful on this Friday and wish to drop a few thoughts.

As an artist, I create something from nothing. At this juncture, there is no physical or practical place in my world to create much of anything. That will have to become a liberating condition and not a stricture. No one needs my product. They do often like it and want it. That heartens me both as a person and as a working artist. So I persevere.

My artist profile on Facebook is growing. The fan base has doubled in the last week. That also heartens me. Without shows in the pipeline, any publicity may be good publicity. I look for another small bubble this week.

A corollary topic is the music creation and performance. This aspect of my creative life sits quietly in the shadows and hums to itself. Is it time to expand this area to fill the foreshortened visual side? The composer needs very little space in which to compose. And the performer has the same condition. Emotional requirements and conditions differ. But the two streams feed the same hunger. New or altered creation is satisfying to the Artist. The Artist must create. As a friend of mine says, "No, duh".

The Artist is anxious to Create.

Exercising Religion- not Exorcising Religion

(Written in response to a ministerial musing by Rev. J. T.)

We seem far from the days of the Church as State. Or do we? I appreciate your thoughts and emphasis.

I always feel a sense of "lacking", for want of a better term, when I think of the WWJD bubble of recent times. He would do what he did. And most of us would not have liked what he did. Or would do. Or will do. That's why we need Him.

Anyway, I digress a little. But, it makes me smile and cringe to think of the things that Jesus would do and to imagine the faces of We the People listening and watching.

Back to your article/musing. The State- our State- was created in the throes of spiritual and political subjugation. We know that. It was admitted by most and touted on the walls of humble taverns and city meeting places. The problem was fairly obvious but the answer to that problem was not. Fair-minded people disagreed about the course of action. But it was the Country-in-the-making which empowered the ultimate response.

At this point in our communal existence, we have no revolution at hand to overthrow a foreign power. We've suffered an interior injury to the body. We are hurting even if the left leg doesn't want to admit that the right eye is bruised and the left arm is in a sling. Oh, and the pancreas is inflamed. It is so much easier to band together when there is a common enemy attacking us from without. There is an enemy attacking. And to plagiarize Pogo,(yes, I'm going there) we have seen the enemy and he is us. When our eyelids droop and our heads nod, things happen. And dear old Sgt. Schultz always had the last laugh, didn't he:"I see Nothing!"

Exercising religion- not exorcising religion. And to throw in one final cliche, we all need to practice, practice, practice. Me especially.

Getting it early and getting it late

I received Sgt Pepper as a gift from my older cousin in 1966. I was 11 and was blown away. I somehow missed the album Pet Sounds when it first appeared. I finally bought it and at the time wondered why my favorite band had put out an album of animal noises. I was very literal, I guess. And once again I was blown away. Both were monsters albums.

A combination of the two albums would have been fun to hear. Think of the Grey Album by Danger Mouse but with a very different twist.

The Ox in 2009

All of my coffee from the morning is gone. It's a happy memory. I woke early this morning in order to make one of my favorite, simple dishes- quiche. It's an old recipe from a long unseen friend and is not complicated.

I began to put together the ingredients. When I got to the mayo/Miracle Whip, I stopped. I had enough left for a small sandwich- not a quiche. My morning plan to bake and eat in the comfort of a warm home flew away like the geese in fall.

Begrudgingly, I dressed and drove to the store. I added to the list the few things left to buy for Christmas cooking. Were they even open at this hour, I asked myself as I rounded the walled parking lot of the grocery store? Yes. They were open. I bought the ingredients and returned home.

My coffee pot had turned itself off. Since I had only had one cup before leaving, this left a sinking feeling in my gut. I love my coffee- usually as dark as I can make it. It was still hot enough. I drank coffee, I baked the quiche and I ate a big piece of it.

What began as a simple trip to the kitchen ended as a simple trip to the store before I ever really got going in the kitchen. The ox- it's a noble animal. Perseverance and good humor saved my day today. I look forward to Christmas time as a time for slowing down after speeding up.

I see family more, friends in new places and I eat quite a bit at this time of year. And I sing a lot. And I look again backward to be reminded of good things which come in small packages. The news of M. de la Villehuche and his oh so final decision gave me pause. What is a trip to the store compared to the loss of more than a billion dollars? The coffee I sipped tasted so good after my trip out in the cold. And I felt peace in the moment.

I lift my cup to the oxen. 2009- the year of heavy loads carried, of fields prepared and of harvests brought in!

The Weather in chant

I normally do not borrow whole cloth to post.

Publish Post

With this post I make an exception.

Enjoy.

The Hirsute Pursuit of Excellence

Yes. I threw in a semi-gratuitous rhyme for fun. And, yes, I am in pursuit of excellence in my artistic work with the fury of the Hounds of Hades. I approach something akin to the old-school 'later years' of ones life. That phrase doesn't mean much. Later can be 15 if you are going to be gone at 20. I am 52 and will be 53 in July. Many are gone before 30, 40 , 50. Some live to be 80, 90, 100. Midlife? Did I hear someone say 'midlife'? I don't give credence to that word in this context. The only way to truly measure "midlife" is to examine the whole and divide it into halves. I'm not ready for that quite yet.

Three vistas stretch out before me. Each has its beauty and its traps set to snare the unwary. I'll elaborate.

First, I am to wed a woman of uncommon depth and beauty. Door number one, if you will. Through this door I intend to go soon. And into the world beyond I'll walk. More later on this. I await with a smile and both eyes open- and my glasses on to adapt my often myopic vision.

Two, I am a busier artist than I have ever been. I have shows up and my exposure is gratifying if not yet lucrative. My creative process has many sources. Some involve the bringing forth of new work from the nothingness out of which it must come. Also vital to my self-managed career is the management of the 'product' and sales if there be such. My career still has life, or legs as it is often put. My next Door is the door into new Creative work. The risks I take not only with the CREATION but with the PRESENTATION of the creation make all of the difference. My goal is to create and to share in meaningful and monetary fashion. And into this world I also walk.

Three, I am a musical artist. With voice I offer song. My attitude about my singing continues to undergo evolution. Shyness has turned into reluctance, and reluctance moves toward comfort. When comfort reaches urgency, I will be an artist in execution if not also in purpose. May I then still have gifts to offer. I also compose and have enjoyed a continuing relationship with talented artists willing to play my work. The second half of Door three is the birthing of music through the written pages. My foray into what I've called 'Preludes' is near the original goal of 24. This number means much to me. When I have 24 Preludes written, I will have reached a milestone. A very personal milestone. I want to have respect as a composer. Whether I deserve it will be a matter of the listeners and performers. I do know that I have enjoyed bringing the music out of nothing and experience.

There. The hirsute, or hairy, pursuit of excellence: I ramble into these doors one upon the next and welcome the worlds beyond. The option to refuse these beckoning portals lost its allure when I lost my shyness. And now for some of that urgency.

Excuse me, I have some doors to open.

Iowa in the Crosshairs of Democracy

I'm from Iowa. I was born and raised there. I do not live there now and do not really wish to do so now. It's not that I have anything against Iowans. The acorn falls near the tree. I am that acorn and I grow into my own private oak tree quite near the tree(in Kansas). I only wish to preface my coming remarks with the full disclosure now ended.

The past months of political activity have finally come to an early cadence. Those people in Iowa interested enough to get up out of their chairs and go down to wherever they go to caucus will pick whom? They will pick a man or woman who they believe can be President of the United States. That's it. After tonight, very few people outside Iowa will care AT ALL about Iowa. Please raise your head up from your chest and nod if you are surprised. If you did not hear the request, then you are still asleep and may remain so. There is nothing to get up FOR.

OK. I ended a sentence with a preposition. THAT is more interesting than the Iowa caucuses. I enjoy political discussion to a point. This obsessive focus on such a small sector of the voting populace causes my sense of proportion to flash red and buzz loudly. I am envious of the people from the early days of American political life.

I admit that the early Americans had little influence in the greater society. They had almost no influence in choosing the President of the country. This task was left to the elite. I am not of the elite now and would not likely have been of the elite then. One of my points is this- I bemoan the hoohaa in the service of a process which has become a hindrance to our general welfare.

Does it really mean anything at all if Iowans like someone for President? Or the voters of New Hampshire? Or any one state? Do we need this horribly drawn out leeching of precious resources to select two people neither of whom will really be of much value as a human being and even less as a leader? Am I as cynical as I appear to be?

Iowa. The land of my birth. Oh, Iowa. My heart bleeds with every second of inanity. May you survive this assault on your gentle nature. Peace to you, Iowa.

Andrew Johnson and lil' bush

There is a movie about President Andrew Johnson called "Tennessee Johnson." I think. Anyway, it's all about Andrew Johnson, whom we the people impeached for trying to carry out the political will of another guy- Abraham Lincoln. And we the people did not like that.

Today we the people have a sitting pre-sident(small letter intentional) who will be the beneficiary of the grace of regime change if he can just get by with his shenanigans for about another year. We have let him go far too far in his terms to ever hope to create any kind of workable solution from an impeachment. We would merely tear ourselves apart and leave him with his God-forsaken record intact. I know it is tempting to think of some kind of redressing for the ills he himself has caused so many folks. I just think that he would win the battle and we all would lose the war. A Phyrric victory, if you will.

OK. I brought up the Andrew Johnson movie to make this point. When viewing the back story of President Johnson, even allowing for the often woeful lack of his-torical accuracy present in most movies, we see his passion for we the people. All of the people. And he had a split country to deal with after the Civil War. He got im-peached but not convicted. lil' pres bush sits convicted without being impeached. Convicted by his deeds and misdeeds. And would I ever like to see him brought low to face those for whom he has ground his axe? In a heartbeat!

The time he will do for the crime may make us quale(sp?) if and when we one day see the Judge of all Judges sifting through his deeds. I would not wish to be in lil' bush's shoes on that day. No Karl, no Rummy, no Daddy, no anyone can save him from that moment. I can only add blessings to heap on his head like burning coals.

And thank you Andrew Johnson for having the character to begin to stitch the country back together when you did.

The day is fresh. I've left this spot alone for over a year. Perhaps I've needed the rest from more serious thought. The thoughts always come in their time. How do you stop them? Without the extremity of a permanent fix of death or coma. Ah, the lighter side!

So much may lie ahead for me soon. A possible new position; a trip to Louisiana; new players for my music; a wife; a new place to live...

Many of the moments in my life are only allowed- not intended. My actions and intentions of late are more contiguous, more heel to toe. I do enjoy serendipity in its place and yet I welcome the paving stones of action unfolding.

Jim

The Fish in light of the demise of the Olds Battle (Custom) Cruiser named "Zombie"

In this quiet Saturday evening I pause to envy the fish. Today, I learned that my car of 7 years will not take me any further. It's a 1987 Oldsmobile 88 Custom Cruiser. It is basically a battle cruiser on wheels. And it had so much wrong with it that I'm amazed I even drove it as much as I did lately. The odometer sits at 160, 000 miles and cannot be moved any further.

I feel some relief at the prospect of not dri-ving another foot in it. Another part of me would not mind having it around to use when the odd occasion arose. I will give it my all to try to live without it. I don't think it will take me long to adjust.

And now to the fish. It moves through its world with grace and aplomb. It does not need gasoline. It does not need maintenance. It needs to stay away from predators. As do we. I merely wish to give the fish its due.

Glub, glub, glub...