First of all, this blog was not my idea. It was suggested to me by those in the know as a means to an end. I wanted to create a website from which I could display and sell my artwork, and I was told that before the website was launched, I should invest the time in a blog and start blogging immediately. The result of this Machiavellian strategy in a perfect world would be that I would attract a following of sorts, or at the very least a modest presence on the internet in general and in the blogging community, specifically; which would ultimately lead to an interest in my website once it is available.
Theoretically it made a lot of sense, however, I still have not figured out by what method or means will anyone find the blog! I mean, where is the beginning, the starting point, the seminal appearance that will launch me into public view? It is sort of like the conundrum that has plagued me all of my life and that has the power to drive me insane were I to let it, and that is: If God always WAS, then who was the guy who made God? But I digress......
Although I am generally regarded as the quintessential rebel in many respects, I do know when I 'don't know' and will follow advice when necessary, and, therefore, a blog was born. The second layer of advice had to do with focus. Every blog has to have focus; it cannot meander and fray at the contextual edges or you run the risk of sounding feeble-minded and shallow as though you are incapable of absorbing any more than the droll, random, superficial, perspicuous human commodities and conditions, which are evident to all of us anyway, so why would we want to hear about them from someone else? There has to be an underlying posture; a singular thread weaving the hem of a larger garment, and it had better be sturdy and able to withstand the wash and rinse cycle!
Whenever I have a decision to make of some importance I try to sit with it a while; to meditate and pray a little; and after applying that policy to the whole blog-naming or blog-qualifying dilemma, the line that kept turning up in my thoughts was one from a poem I had written a few years ago after turning fifty: "Half past pretty and still just a face in the crowd." After pondering it further, I realized that although initially it was referring to the declivitous physical trend when sparkle gives way to a modest and slightly tarnished sheen, the same description aptly describes my art. In fact, it pertains to pretty much everything!
For one thing, my paintings are largely my flawed interpretations and quirky presentations of great works from masters in much earlier times or from beautiful photographs from the present; and my jewelry is constructed from vintage odds and ends that I repurpose and give a second life: Dog tags from decades past, old buttons, game pieces, broken jewelry, washers and keys and rusted hardware; objects that have already outworn their original intention but are now reinvented and made precious once more even though they are seen differently.
The same thing happens to all of us as we grow older. The beauty and skills and obvious talents and worth that we owned and represented at twenty-five have evolved into something else at fifty; and even though the contents have usually become richer and more extraordinary, they are often missed because the packaging has obviously been on the delivery truck for quite a while and shows significantly more wear and tear. No one wants what they perceive might be used or damaged goods, but that is only because they have not been shown how to see beyond what is there. As the brilliant physicist and philosopher, David Lewis Anderson, pointed out 'We don't see the world as IT IS, we see the world as WE ARE." It is all a matter of subjective perspective, so why not choose to find beauty in everything and everyone?
That is what my art, my writing, my whole being is about. Yes, I fail all the time. My altruistic aspirations far exceed my flawed sentience, but I'm not going to stop trying.
And all this brings me to the poem I wrote from which the 'half past pretty' reference came:
MIDLIFE CATHARSIS
On this day I want to have something to show
Beyond those mistakes atoned for
in rounds of silence
and domestic allegiance
At my stiff age the hard press of phonics
that spew out "Fifty!" amply stun my illusions
(An indictment for the crime of being
'Half Past Pretty' and still
just a face in the crowd)
Now torn from the seam enfolding the clean,
billowing garment of boundless opportunity,
I lie midst a tangle of thread-bare intentions
whose options are all scant
But on this day I will garner all rusted hope,
hurl it beyond the staid implication
of my thick-waisted silhouette
to fall discreetly behind my dreams
Then court and marry the years I've abandoned
and the prayers I engage
with the impartial grace
of an ageless eternity
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