Play The Ukulele

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Last night I was at Ukulele practice in a garden on the shores of Lake Michigan. I am a rank beginner and learning to play the Ukulele with 47 other people. We were laughing our way through Over The Rainbow. I was playing air Ukulele pretending that I was expert at my chord progressions, when a sphinx butterfly circled us, flew into the garden right next to me, and began drinking from the flowers. It was close enough to touch. I’d never seen anything like it before. I was so captivated by the butterfly that I forgot to pretend that I was strumming.

A sphinx butterfly looks like an exotic hummingbird. It is shaped like a hummingbird, its wings beat like a hummingbird, it hovers like a hummingbird, and yet it is not a hummingbird. My section of the ukulele band completely dropped their chord progressions and joined me in gaping at the butterfly. We entered an intense debate about whether it was a hummingbird or indeed a sphinx butterfly. The people seated to the left of the garden voted for hummingbird. Those of us on the right were solidly in the butterfly camp. I had no idea so I went with those seated around me. Each camp had solid justifications and good reasons for their point of view. The butterfly paid us no attention. It was not concerned about our debate or our need to identify its species. It continued feeding regardless of the label we attached to it.

I can’t help it. In moments like this I step into the role of witness. I watched people enrapt by a butterfly. I watched their loving debate, their laughter, their awe. I watched this group of amazing people hold their treasured ukuleles of many colors – green, purple, midnight blue, orange, red, pink and sky blue, white and black – watching a butterfly of many colors – pink, orange, purple, salmon, white, blue and black – and I was in awe of their awe. They did not see how beautiful they were as they admired the beauty of the butterfly.

This is the role of the human being isn’t it? To see the beauty of the world. To appreciate and give a name to the awesome and unimaginable. To engage with the beauty and then to join in a simple way with the creation of beauty: this group who gathers each Wednesday night to play their ukulele’s together and laugh and drink wine and gape in utter amazement at a butterfly.

Dance With “What If…?”

886. Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

I’m on the road today and a new posts is impossible. So a repost. This was #555:

David just started his new job. He is now a professor of acting and directing at a university. He just finished his first week of classes after moving to a new city a few short weeks ago; he’ s the new member of an old faculty; everything is strange. He has no comfortable patterns yet, the grocery store is unknown, the walk to and from work is more a discovery than a ritual. Creating a new life is never easy precisely because of the unknowns. And, what I love about David is that he is the consummate teacher, a gifted artist that uses his experiences as fodder for class; he studies his life just and uses what he finds as material for his work.

Our conversation was about his students, about how dreadfully reinforced they are in the notion that they have “to know” before they commit to an action. He laughed and told me, “I was the same way! I had to work through this debilitating idea that I needed to know what I was doing before I made a choice. Consequently, I had a hard time making choices!”

I’ve yet to meet a dynamic, potent artist or businessperson who really knows what they are doing. Artists become potent when they stop thinking that they need to know. What they need do is try, experiment, offer, wreck, scribble, tear, sculpt; play. They need to make a strong choice and follow it. They dance in the fields of “what if…?” By the way, this is also known as good scientific method: state a hypothesis and test it.

As David and I discussed, needing to “know what you are doing” is a certain sign of feeling like a fraud. All of us have at one time or another ducked behind a mask of certainty to hide our belief that we were inauthentic – and we felt inauthentic because we invested in the tragic notion that we needed to know before we acted. Putting down your need to know is a passage ritual, it is the threshold to vitality and self-actualization.

Life is never found in the knowing. It is always found in the questioning. It is made vital by the freedom to experience without masking or hiding behind the castle wall of knowing. The sweet secret to bold artistry is the same sweet secret to vital living; whisper it to yourself as it seems to be a dirty little secret: nobody knows what they are doing regardless of what they pretend.

Dream And Follow

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Patti used to say that she refused to make business cards because a business card was a commitment. Say it and you will have to walk it. I’ve learned in the past several months that entrepreneurs resist talking to potential customers for fear of learning that their idea – their dream – may not have merit. Today Sean said it best: people are afraid of failing at their dream so they find a thousand reasons not to pursue it.

Dreams can be deferred but they will not be denied. A dream rejected becomes a knot in the belly. A dream ignored becomes low-grade anxiety, heart palpitation, road rage, a good reason to drink too much, an investment in notions like perfection or not-good-enough, a deathbed regret. Ignore a dream and it will twist and block all flow.

“What if…?” is a powerful question when in reference to the future. It is a call to action, a fount of possibility, an imagination tickler. “What if…? is equally powerful question when in reference to the past. No action is possible. It is an imagination tormentor. it is an abdication of responsibility to your self.

It is an old adage: the only certain road to failure is to not try. Failure is an abstraction. It is a construct that exists only as a story in your mind. It is an investment in what other people might think. Hint: other people have their own dreams and usually if they are negative about your dream it is because they are ignoring theirs; they need allies in their impotence.

As Tom used to say, “A painter paints.” A Painter does not succeed or fail. A painter paints and becomes a better painter. Failure is not an option when you are following your dream. Success is not an option when you are following your dream. Dreams do not dally with failure or success. Dreams call. All that is required is to follow, to grow, to learn, to live. To love.

Swing

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Sometimes I think the most amazing piece of art I create is the studio floor. While working on paintings my brushes dribble and spatter, charcoal is ground underfoot into a fine dust and swirled into the gesso drizzle. I rarely look down at the unintentional artwork that emerges under my feet but when I do I am awestruck. It is lively, spontaneous, child like, and free. My underfoot artwork is not labored, over-thought, or heavy with a too serious intention. It is emergent, ongoing and completely without limitation.

My underfoot artwork is vital because I am not in the way.

A few nights ago I confessed that the muse possessed me and I stapled a new canvas to the wall. In a fury of gesso madness, I coated the canvas so that it might stretch and ready itself to reveal its secrets. Today I put on a second coat of gesso and also managed to cover myself with more gesso than actually made it onto the canvas. This has always been true of me: it is nearly impossible for me to put paint on anything without getting equal amounts on myself. Roger used to say that I only needed to walk within ten feet of a can of paint in order to wear half of it. Too true! During the process of painting I am never aware of my personal transformation into canvas. It is only after the fact that I discover the spatter pattern on my shirt and pants and shoes. And, today, while following the spatter trail to my feet (no shoes where involved today), my eyes went to the floor! It was glorious.

Picasso famously said, “Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.” When we grow up we put down our big brushes, our spontaneity, our spirit of play and pick up our little inner critic, a need to impress others with our little brilliance, and the notion that “artist” is something you do. Adults forget that artistry is essentially curiosity in relationship with a moment. “Artist” is not a role, it is a way of being. What happens when you smear the paint simple to feel the smear, tear the paper for the sound, use vibrant orange to paint the broccoli tree against a purple streak that might be an indication of sky – or deep joy made manifest with the swipe of a brush. Every child knows that joy is purple today and another color tomorrow.

My underfoot artwork, now showing on the studio floor gallery, is the work of the inner child, the real artist. All of the critics say his work is vibrant, free, and alive. The artist is not concerned with the critics’ interpretation because he was distracted by the sun, left his brush unattended on the table, and went outside to swing. All the world is his studio and swinging is, after all, real work of the serious artist.

Answer The Call

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Tonight, for the first time this year, for the first time since I started my wandering, I stretched a new canvas. Actually, to be more specific, I stapled it on the wall. I don’t know what possessed me. It was after midnight and I was closing up shop and suddenly I found myself unfurling a large piece of canvas, covering the wall and the surrounding furniture with plastic, and stretching and stapling the canvas to the wall. It’s a big piece!

Preparing a new canvas is a ritual. It is a commitment to the unknown. It is a dance with the gods of possibility. Preparing the canvas is calling the muses. It is to walk to the leaping off place and call into the void, “I am ready for you,” and to expect an answer. It is an act of surrender, an invitation to battle, a flirtation with a lover, a cry of anticipation, a step into silence. Preparing the canvas is to step through the threshold.

The first coat of gesso tightens the fibers and pulls the canvas tight. I relish this process because it is messy and furious and fast and that was especially true tonight. I was splashing gesso and water onto the newly stretched canvas as if I had no control. I needed to do it. I needed to call into that void. I needed to issue a challenge, “I’m here. Take me.” It had been a long, long time since the last ritual passage.

I recognize this frenzy. In the past it has come when the doors that have been locked tight for months suddenly open and the universe like the light of a full moon pours in. The frenzy is a kind of madness, a response to the moonlight and there are few satisfactions greater than dropping the brush into a bucket after the madness passes and asking myself, “What’s this?”

It is potential. It is the universe standing on the edge of the leaping place calling to me and saying, “I’m ready for you.” And this journey, like all great journeys into art, begins with a smile of recognition and a leap into the unknown.

Make The Offer

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If you’ve not yet heard Neil Gaiman’s commencement address to the University for the Arts in Philadelphia, take a moment and treat yourself. His message in a nutshell: make good art regardless of what life throws your way. And, by good art, he means your art. Give full expression to your voice. Make your art regardless of what life throws your way.

This morning Kerri sent me a text. She’d just played the music for a funeral. Her message: this ride is short. There’s no time to be afraid. Make your art. Step into life. Love big. Love now. And, back to Neil Gaiman, enjoy your moment. Really enjoy it. That’s how you make good art. The tortured artist image is highly overrated and mostly a lie. Art comes through pain but is never sourced in it.

As Skip and I waited for the ferry last night he recounted a conversation from his day. It was with a young entrepreneur who thought the whole world was waiting impatiently for his idea. Idea thieves lurked around every corner. He was keeping his idea close to his vest. He was suffocating his idea and himself so steeped was he in his assumed importance. I told Skip to share with the young entrepreneur what Quinn once told me: there are several billion people on this planet and you are the only one who gives a damn about what you think.

Life is too short to suffocate your ideas and limit your artistry with assumed importance. The other several billion people are thinking about their voices, not yours. They might compare theirs to yours and perhaps, like you, even copy some of what you chunk out. That’s called inspiration. Make good art. Share it. Enjoy it, regardless of its reception. Its worth has nothing to do with how it is received. Your worth has nothing to do with how you are received.

Make the offer. Make good art.

Occupy Your Center

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Robert is a gifted actor, director and teacher. We had a long conversation yesterday about actors and acting. He said that the art of acting is unusual because young actors in training don’t always recognize the necessity of technique. So, for instance, an opera singer would never expect to advance in his or her career unless they had rooted their voice in solid technique. A pianist would not expect to become a concert level musician without a solid technique. As Robert said, “Many young actors believe that if they feel it, if they connect the dots from feeling to feeling then they are acting. “Anyone can emote and call him or her self an actor,” he said, “but acting requires just as solid a technique as any other art form. It’s just not as expected or understood.” Robert recently told a young actor, “It does the audience no good if you feel it but they aren’t invited to participate.” Technique facilitates participation because it frees the artist to be present. The point of any art form is to share, to include, to transport. Artistry is never about the artist. It is always about the relationship.

Today in tai chi Saul-The-Chi-Lantern paired the beginners (me) with the more advanced students. We were doing a simple push hands exercise that I recognized as the technique beneath the practice. I had a revelation that shocked me to the core and inspired me to teach it to every artist that I know. In push hands, the idea is to empty of all resistance, to drop deeply into your center and use your partners force to knock them off center. As the advanced students told me, “The point of the exercise is to fail. Failing is the only way to find your center and empty yourself of opposition.” My revelation was this: opposition (resistance) is the act of giving another person responsibility for your balance. Literally, you invest your balance in their center. It is visceral. My partners easily tossed me off balance because I easily gave away my center every time I resisted them. When I (occasionally) found my center and emptied myself of resistance, I entered a balanced fluid center that shocked me in its potency.

I left tai chi today and went to see a student production of a Shakespeare play. The rivers of my conversation with Robert and my tai chi revelation met as I watched the young actors push and force and resist and reach for feelings. They did not know to include me. Their play was about them, not the story or the opportunity for relationship with me, the audience. Yet, the paradox, the moment of truth came after the play when I listened to their investment in what the audience thought of their work. They gave me their center because they shut me out of their play. Had I cared I could have easily tossed them off balance. As I left the theatre I thought, “Someone needs to teach them how to fail.” In that direction technique is found. In that direction is learning.

I wished the young actors had access to Robert or the advanced students in my tai chi class. If I keep at it in fifteen years or so I might have the capacity to keep my center. The young actors need to pretend that they can do it all now. They are oriented to the test (performing the words with feeling) and not the mastery.

Even though I know the 37 moves that constitute the tai chi form, I am only now capable of beginning. At this age, I am finally capable of understanding the relevance and necessity for solid technique.

Walk Through The Studio

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While working on the comic strip and getting the book ready for publication, I’m spending many days alone in my studio. I like the solitude. If I don’t meet someone for coffee or dinner, it is common to be twelve to fourteen hours by myself. I recognize this gift. Most people I know would give anything to have twelve hours of quiet, focused creative time a month. Not long ago I was lucky if I had two hours a week to devote to the right side of my brain. Now, I have to be very intentional to maintain my relationships beyond my project team.

The time by myself has fostered a unique perspective. When I leave the studio, I feel often as if I am watching a movie. It’s as if I can see people enact their dramas. They are not relating, they are performing. They are not listening they are trying to be heard. It seems as if people are performing their idea of who they are. They might as well be scripted! If you consider a pattern of behavior a script then they are, indeed, scripted. So am I.

I usually walk to the studio in the morning and walk home again very at night. Each way takes me roughly an hour because I like to walk slowly and my studio is across town from where I am staying. I like to pay attention to what’s happening around me so I try not to rush to get “there.” The practice is to keep my focus in the process – which is another way of saying to keep my focus in the moment or on the relationship. The practice is to be where I am. I get to see the early morning dramas and the late night dramas. I’ve come to think of my walks as episodes.

Ana-The-Wise once told me that my task in life was to make all the world my studio. I used to think of my studio as the place of my creative action. If I wasn’t in the studio I couldn’t create. She challenged me to flip my assumption. It occurred to me today that I’ve finally flipped my perspective – the world is now my studio. It is ironic that flipping my perspective has opened my eyes to the amazing acts of creation that surround me each day. My relationships are a creation. The way I walk through my life is my creation. What I see is literally my creation (an interpretation is a creative act). There is never a moment that I am not in my studio. Now, the distinction is whether I’m in the populated or secluded variant. Either way, it amazes me.

Bring It

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This afternoon I taught a Business of Theatre class at Cornish College for the Arts. The students were seniors in the final weeks of their degree programs. Their assignment was to make project pitches as if we, the class, were granters or investors. My job was to support them to get better at doing project pitches. Through the several pitches, two themes emerged that became the focus of our conversation.

The first theme: rather than pitch their ideas as great, almost all the students justified or somehow diminished their idea. They defended it prior to an attack.They were unconsciously seeking reinforcement or approval of their idea. Or, to be clear, they sought approval as if I was the keeper of worth for their idea. Had I said, “What a stupid idea,” they might have agreed with me. The need for my approval trumped their personal point of view. My approval was more important than their idea.

Theme number two is related to theme number one: they entered the relationship assuming that the granter (me) had all of the power. As pitch makers they cast themselves in an unbalanced, powerless position. They came as supplicants. They assumed that the grant maker held the golden key to open the door to their project/dream. In this play (a pitch is a play) they cast themselves as impotent.

Both themes were unconscious. Both were based on assumptions of lack.

Every artist, if they are to thrive, must reorient at some point in the arc of their career. They must leave behind orientating according to what they might get from the world and reorient according to what they bring to the world.

Grant makers, foundations, investors and auditors have no power over an artist – unless, of course, the artist is oriented in the relationship according to what they might get from the relationship. At best, a granter can support a route. They might open a pathway to fulfilling an idea. There are hundreds of routes. There is one dreamer. The responsibility for manifesting the dream is the dreamers not the granters.

No one need apologize for his or her dream. No one need justify why it is important. It is a dream. It is an idea. It is a desire. No one else need approve; the approval belongs to the dreamer.

The students and I discussed the power of bringing the dream to the world. We played with the perspective shift that happens when artists own the responsibility for their dreams and refuse to define their role as impotent. Bring the dream. Stop seeking your worth in the responses of others. Bring it. The granter will fund it or not and that should have no impact on whether the dream is pursued or not. Bring your best game. Bring it everyday. If you have a dream, create it. There are many routes. Explore them all and in each case pitch your best game.

Learn The Space Between

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I just read this phrase in an old notebook. I’m not sure who to attribute it to though it sounds as if it came from Ana-The-Wise: Between the inhale and the exhale there is an empty state. It is from this empty place that we create.

The “space between” has emerged as the theme this week.

A few days ago I had a conversation with a class about the space between actors on a stage. The play is never about the actors or the characters, the play happens in the space between them. It is the space of relationship. It is the place where the verbs express. If the actors are honest, the space between them opens and the audience joins the story. The audience participates. If the actors are pretending, if they are dishonest, the door closes and the audience can only witness the lie.

In Transformational Presence coaching class we also worked with the space between. In this case, it was the gap between what we know and how we live. Alan calls this praxis and has defined praxis as integrating belief and behavior. He writes, “Praxis is closing the gap.” In exploring the gap we worked with the relationship between what we know and how we live. They are not separate concepts but a living relationship. The gap is a dynamic space. It is the space where you will find your fears and stories of limitation. Close your gap and you will discover and transform all the reasons you believed you couldn’t walk your talk. And, just as actors on a stage discover, bringing an honest intention to the space between (relationship) creates movement, openness and flow. Bring dishonesty to the space between and the door closes. Fear takes over. Limits flourish.

The space between is always a relationship. It is never and empty space in the sense that is a void. In meditation it is the door to stillness. Learn the space between your inhale and exhale and you will find a quiet mind; it turns out that your thoughts and breath are as integrated as the rhythms of your heart and lungs. Place your focus outside of yourself, put it on the space between you and the world, and you will find a fertile, vibrant, creative realm ripe with possibilities.