Wrap It [on DR Thursday]

Christo wrapped mountains in fabric. He wrapped coastlines. He populated passes with umbrellas. When I saw the candlesticks wrapped in plastic and ready to roll out the door, I thought, “Little Christo.” Wrap it and it becomes something else. Visible, invisible.

My favorite part of Christo and Jeanne-Claude’s website was found way at the bottom. Click on the words, “Projects Not Realized.” There were so many ideas! Whacky and wonderful visions that, for one reason or another, never made it off the drawing board. Why was one building wrapped and another rejected? Why did the mountain of barrels never block the intersection? What sense is there to be made of projects that are not invested in sense-making?

Sense-making follows experience and, in these times with so much media shouting for attention and propagandizing belief, it’s very hard to have a direct experience. I suppose that’s why Christo wrapped mountains. It takes an extreme act of non-sense to shock us into silent what-the-heck-ness.

I saw his umbrellas popping vibrant yellow along the pass from Bakersfield to LA. Giant dandelions stretching for miles. What I most remember as I stopped to get a closer look: children found it impossible not to dance at their bases. Make sense of that.

read Kerri’s blogpost about CANDLESTICKS

greet the world © 2011 david robinson

Treasure Your Treasure

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

The process of moving has afforded me two recognitions. First, I’ve found two outlines for books that I meant to write a few years ago, the completed text for a children’s book that only needs the illustrations and another that I only need draw final drafts of illustrations. I found two plays, poorly written, that are waiting patiently for me to revise and reconstruct into health. Who knew that I had so much unfinished work in the file! I am an out-of-sight-out-of-mind kind of guy. Filing cabinets are mausoleums for my projects. If I file them, they might as well not exist. I feel like I just opened a pyramid and a long lost friend was sitting inside and said, “Hey, it’s about time!”

The second recognition is that I have too much stuff. I am an odd duck in that I expect myself to move lightly through this world. It’s not that I have a house full of furniture, I don’t, but I have more books, more files, more paintings, more…stuff, than I want. So, moving has provided the opportunity to lighten up. It has been interesting to see what things I invest in, what carries meaning for me, and what does not. My friend John made me a small box a few years ago and I treasure it. Sam gave me a signed a copy of his book of poetry – I would grab it first if the house was burning down. Tamara made me a glass sun to help me through the winter and I will hold it close until I die, not to mention a growing catalogue of songs that she’s written and recorded that warms me inside. Teru made a quilt for me that is beautiful beyond belief; it evokes gratitude every time I look at it or sleep beneath it. I have DeMarcus Brown’s notes about theatrical design written in a notebook that he made himself almost a century ago. His daughter gave it to me after Marc passed away, saying, “This belongs to you.” I cherish it. My niece Tori sewed for me a purple bear that I have named Mulberry and there is nothing more valuable to me on this earth.

I’ve realized that my treasures are my friendships and the deep love I hold for so many people. I step as a gypsy into this New Year walking into many unknowns and double uncertainties and I’ve just reaffirmed how rich I am in projects, ideas, creative fire and made more wealthy by the vibrant, generous people accompanying me through this life.