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...

Jim Jandt USA



1.Brave Feet, Rest by This Pool, 2004 photography, DIFFERENT SIZE AVAILABLE BY REQUEST
1




Brave Feet, Rest by This PoolBrave feet, your rest is come.No longer to tread upon flame-scarred earth;no more to find pathways upon our mist-covered hillsides.Stand down. Dip feet gladly for it is sufficient in repose to hide your flesh within these womblike covers.Look careful upon your scars borne of action and reaction.These whited mantels over-coating toes and heel belie the true natureof limbic grace and strength.Deep below, below leather and laces, muscle and outer flesh leapto the gates in order that they might again flay the giants of our older age.Tread graceful. Move in careful step. Sneak forward yet make no haste to leave your ancestral gait behind.Rest and refresh beside this pool of untroubled waters.

© 2006 CTRL28.com

In the Middle of a Move

This a valiant effort time for me. I'm in the midst of making stabs at bringing creativity and promise from my quiver and sending them into the heart of the external. May they find their marks and bring down quarry so that I might feed and regain my place among the herd.
The man at the left is Gyorgy Ligeti. He is a composer of music which gives flight both to my imagination and to my spirit. I can only hope to bring forth such as he has done. In my own way, of course.
Thank you for bringing your eyes to bear on my words. May you be rewarded soon with more for your other senses. Peace to you and to those you love.

The treasures in my evacuated personal well

Refugee.

The days of the refugee within our borders are with us. Evacuees. That also describes them. And it describes me. I have no home to go to.

I am not in a flood zone. And yet I am in another's home with no where to which I might return. This is a phase of my life which I did not plan. I saw it coming. I also watched it bear down on me with the force of a wall of mud. There is a difference - actually many differences. The prime difference I see is that I asked for this change in so many actions and words. I had no idea what was coming. And I still do not.

This morning I sit at the PC of some friends listening to BBC 6 giving you my current thoughts. Today- what day is this? Yesterday I could not remember the date. And I can't blame that on age. At 50, I am on the downslide of an unknown slope. But I am not without my faculties. They're just strewn about. My inner landscape looks a bit like New Orleans. Most everything is there. But you may have a time trying to make out anything familiar. And you may not be able to use anything familiar for awhile.

Gratitude. Let me tell you about gratitude. I will never appreciate what my friends have done for me in my time of rootlessness. They are treasures. And they are precious. Look around you and see your treasures. Even the view from your window(s) can be a treasure. That old adage "you don't miss your water till your well goes dry" is very true.

Today, take a drink from the pool of your treasures. And get ready for the day of the dry well. But don't push it away or pull it towards you. It will come soon enough.

Just drink.

Heroes come from Jersey, too

Patty Smith.

The name conjures intensity of expression. Reach into your guts, into your heart, into your pants..Well maybe not your pants. She has created a legacy of poetics which can only be reached through thorough examination of ones self and the requisite dragging of the felled beast within onto the killing floor of the arena.

The glory of "Gloria" ascends.

"G-l-o-r-i-a..."

Repeat at a faster and faster pace.
Gain a life.
Lose the life.
Regain the life lost.
Live the life regained.
Can you tell that I admire the survival and ascendance of Patty Smith?

She is not really heroic in a traditional sense. She has certainly thrown herslef into her life. She is no slacker. She goes on and on. Her reflection rebounds into expression. And she mitigates with humor. But she has flown low and taken no prisoners with supersonic flight of words and sheer viscera.

Beat on, oh Jersey Princess. Beat on till the words fall slowly as molasses from your mouth.

Thank you for taking flight. And for landing long enough to drop your load of spirit amongst us - the groundlings.

Heroic efforts with heroic material

Karlheinz Stockhausen.







To say much about this man is to try to explain how a duck quacks. Or how a balloon full of helium floats upward. You just have to sit and listen. Or walk and listen. Or get involved and listen. It's about letting the music get into your personal stream.

Listen. Live. Listen. Live.

A hero? Not in a traditional sense. In my book, his feet of clay, his grey matter and his efforts to advance his little corner of our musical heritage qualifies him for something. Heroic efforts often do yield heroic results.

On a personal note, I wish to study with Herr S. in Kurten next year or before he either stops teaching or passes from us. I may miss that train.

I hope I do not miss that train.