December 19, 2022

 

Last August, Kath and I traveled to western NY to visit Allen. While there, we took a trip down to Letchworth State Park, nicknamed “The Grand Canyon of the East” where the Genesee River, for thousands of years, has cut a gorge over 15 miles long and as deep as 600’. The gorge and its surrounding area are a mix of exposed rock and towering, dense forest. In the southern part of the gorge, the Genesee roars spectacularly over three waterfalls - the Higher Falls, the Middle Falls, and the Lowers Falls. The park is one of the most beautiful places to be found in the eastern half of the United States.

It was here that I saw these trees, suspended over the river and barely holding on. Their foundation of rock and soil had been eroded away, leaving them almost helpless to the pull of gravity. It seemed as if they were doing all they could to hold on to that little bit of cliff and put off their certain fate for at least another day. This was one of those times when life seemed to be so unfair - how just by chance, the wind had carried the seeds of these trees to the cliff’s edge instead of onto solid ground.

In many ways, we too, deal with chance. Life sometimes puts us in places and situations we wish not to be. Things happen that are out of our control.  This is where I saw a lesson from the trees. The three trees had not given up or given in to their predicament. Neither did the other trees around them. They all chose to change and make the best of the situation.

I noticed they were no longer giving energy to the expanding emptiness beneath them. Instead, the trees were extending their new roots laterally behind them, rather than sending them naturally downward. In this way, they were reaching back into the cliff, anchoring themselves where the rock remained solid, and where the soil could nurture them.  They were also sending their roots to join those of the other trees, which were also changing how they grew, and in turn, were reaching out to them. Beneath the ground, the trees, with their roots all intertwined, were holding on to each other, helping to keep the three from slipping away. The other trees benefited too by anchoring themselves laterally, stabilizing the bank from further erosion.

It was an inspiring moment to me. The three trees were able to make changes and reach out for help, and the other trees answered. The trees intuitively knew that their survival depended upon each other, and that being a forest was better than being on their own. Change is hard. Reaching out for help, and even giving help, is sometimes harder. It is something we all must work on whether we are on solid ground or not. We all need help at times, and at times we all need to help each other. If not, sooner or later, we all will fall. Nature, it seems, has it figured out. We just need to keep our eyes open to what she is trying to tell us.

April 13, 2022

 

The other night I was awarded third place in the 2022 Ocean City Arts Center’s Annual Juried Art Show for my photo, “Introspection”. I am thankful beyond words, and even days later, I am still moved to have received such an honor.

This isn’t the first time I have been juried into a show, or have placed in one. But each time it happens, it still feels the same as it did the first time. My excitement and appreciation have never felt less. I have never taken anything for granted, and I have always appreciated it when the art world has found artistic value in my work. Every time I am given an honor, I think of, and give appreciation to all of those who have supported me along the way.

One of those people is Jill Cucci. She is the one who started it all for me.

Since I can remember, I have always liked taking photographs, but I had never considered myself a “photographer” or an “artist”. Taking pictures was just for fun.  Although I sometimes thought that I created decent shots, I had never considered showing until I met Jill.

I met Jill though Quaker Meeting and began visiting the galleries and juried shows where she and other artists whom I knew displayed their works. Getting to know her, and seeing so much inspiring art had me beginning to wonder, “Was I good enough to give this a try?” “Could I do this?”  For a very long time, I kept these questions to myself.  

Jill, a rare creative who does encaustic abstracts and other forms of art, once owned her own gallery, The Barn. It actually was an old barn, and was located just steps from her house on a treed lot in Seaville. There, she created works of her own, taught classes to anyone and everyone who had an interest, and held art shows allowing all mediums. Jill loved art, but I think, she loved helping others even more.

I don’t remember exactly why I was at The Barn talking with Jill on a late summer day in 2015 – I think I was probably helping her with her chickens. I remember looking at all of her work hung on the walls, and the cups of brushes and paints on the tables that she used for her classes. There was an energy in that barn that I had never felt anywhere else, and out of nowhere, it pushed me to ask, “I am I good enough? Could I...?”

I heard “Yes! Yes, you are good enough, and yes, yes you can!”

“Go over the CVS and get some photos printed! Go to Michael's and buy a few cheap frames, and I’ll put them into the show I am having in September! Yes, you can do this!”

Jill made it so simple. So easy. There was no question or hesitation in her voice - only excitement. The energy I had felt in The Barn was beginning to flow into me.

The next day, I went to the CVS and made a few one dollar prints with the store’s photo scanner and then, a few days later, I drove up to Vineland to the Michael's store and bought two frames that were on sale. Being such a novice, I never gave any thought to mats. I don’t even think I knew what they were at the time.

By that weekend I had put everything together and two of my photographs were hung in The Barn.

Since then, I have been in a number of juried shows, as well as local galleries. I have placed in shows over the years and have made sales. More importantly though, by showing and competing, I’ve learned more about photography and art than I ever would have learned otherwise. I’ve also greatly improved my framing (and matting!) abilities, and I now have my photographs professionally printed. Through it all, I’ve grown and as a person. I’ve learned to be vulnerable and to accept failure as well as success, to stay true to my own intuition and not be any one other than myself. I’ve met some wonderful people. Some of those, like Renee Leopardi, Dan Myers, and Judy Maddox Saylor Allison have pushed, helped, and inspired me along the way.

But it all started with Jill. Every time I look at one of my pieces in a show, I can’t help but to think of her and thank her for telling me “I could”. I will never forget that she believed in me before I was ready to believe in myself!

I hope that everyone who has ever wondered if they “could” is as lucky as I was, and meets a Jill along the way.

 

February 6 , 2022

Way too often, I find myself struggling to be perfect, especially with my creative side, which is mostly writing and photography. This struggle causes me much self-criticism, frustration, and leaves me with too many unfinished pieces that I consider “not good enough”. There is some truth to the fact that not everything I create is going to turn out good enough – the unfocused shot, or the poem that goes nowhere. Yet…

A little more than a year ago, I read an article about the phrase “done is better than perfect” in which the author argued that we need to accept our flaws in order to accomplish anything of value.That doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t do our best and strive to get better at our craft, but that we need to step back and accept our present limitations as part of our creative and personal growth.

With this in mind, I challenged myself to write a haiku each day for the year 2021. I knew that I would not be able to produce a ‘perfect’ haiku every day and that I would need to accept the “not as good” ones just as I would the “good” ones.  For me, it would not be easy.  The shame of less than perfect has always been a self-set hurdle that I rarely clear – I knew that I would struggle to push it away, or to summon up the strength to leap over it.

It’s not that I wasn’t giving myself the chance for a great haiku - I had an entire day to perfect an idea, but as many creatives know, some days the inspiration just don’t come. Yet, perfect or not, good or bad, the point was to finish the day’s haiku.  I could always go back at another time and work on it again if I wanted to.

And that is what I did. I came up with 362 haiku in 365 days. I missed three days with no other excuse than on those days, there was nothing left for me to give - I had hit a wall, or more to the point, experienced creative exhaustion. I am not disappointed though - I still finished the year, even that was not perfect!

I learned a lot in the course of this personal challenge - mostly I learned about creativity and about myself.

-          - Inspiration can’t be forced. One can’t make a fire without a spark. I learned to have patience with myself and to trust that inspiration will come when its ready to present itself and I am ready to accept it. This waiting is an important part of the journey.

-          - No matter how flawed, every creation is special, just because it exists. Creating something where there once was nothing is a celebration in itself. Nothing is insignificant!

-          - Finished doesn’t always mean finished! Although I may have finished the haiku, I can always go back and rework it.  What is important is that I gave that day’s inspiration a root, and like a seedling, it now has the chance to grow.

-          - I felt a sense of accomplishment and confidence at the end of the day, and at the end of the year. It helped me to know that I could do this! To be honest, it wasn’t easy. Every day was as much of an opportunity to give up as it was to continue on.

-          -  Accepting imperfection in what I create, is also an act of accepting imperfection in myself.  Although I am flawed, I still have worth.

Like most things though, learning is just the start. Putting what I have learned in practice, and keeping it in practice, is the hard work. That is the real journey.

The following are a few of the haiku I wrote during my challenge. I have left them unedited – maybe imperfect, but still worthy, and deserving this space just the way they are.

 

new year’s day

sorting the pieces

of a new puzzle     

 

waking up

to the thought of you

moon light on the wall  

 

saturday morning

coffee and cold pizza

a poem’s last lines    

 

quarter moon

the stray cat comes a few

steps closer     

 

chewing cud

not all goats

do yoga   

 

the fallen tree

I am sitting where

I used to climb   

 

someone older

my reflection in a

storefront window