Joining VisionsHeaven and Earth
Even though it’s warmer than I wish (our new climate-changed winter) as January comes to a close, the colors and forces and faces of the season are familiar. I took a long walk this evening and got reacquainted with an old friend, the Roanoke River. Another old friend, Tom, died this week. He let go of life, and, with great atheistic enthusiasm, was resolute in his conviction this life was all we have, so when he “departs” waste no money on preachery, no precious energy on prayers, and shed no tears regarding saving his “soul.” Essentially, remember him fondly and move onward. 

He was already in great pain when his beloved pet cat Ruby, with him two decades, was killed by a car in front of his home in October. A few of us were concerned it might throw our cancer-ridden, battling-yet-still vital friend into a downward spiral, that he might “check out” on his own volition. Police happened upon the dead pet scene and a kind police woman, seeing Tom struggling to dig a hole to bury Ruby in his garden, insisted she would take care of the digging and he should just take it easy and not get worked up. Telling him “People sometimes get upset and aren’t real aware of themselves when such things happen.” This man who had endured a terribly tough, physically abusive childhood, who’d escaped to the US Army (as a closeted gay man, no less) and then lived in West Africa in a hut on an island off of an island and suffered many illnesses there, then rubbed shoulders in NYC & SF with uber elite wealthy, and walked among the poorest of the poor, and had seen and endured so many things, told me: “Well, I was just fine digging a little hole. As far as I was concerned, dear Ruby was gone the minute she expired in the street. Now all I was doing was putting the dead body of a cat into the garden for the worms. I really don’t know what all the fuss was about.” 

So I’ve been reflecting on this a bit since Tom died two days ago. Callous as this may come across to some, I find great comfort in his view. Wrapped within his hatred of religious institutions was his love of integrity, and within his “onward” phrase was a push to not waste the moment before us. Sadness was real, natural and acceptable, but not to be something that debilitated one. Far worse was to be trapped within an unsatisfying or miserable life. Which he’d been determined and successfully avoided for his last 50 years, and, I assume, was what he felt encroaching upon him these last months. So his departing was sort of his ticket off the misery train before it had carried him too far.

"...sadness is good. May sadness be a bond for you with humanity. May sadness connect you to life. Life contains difficult times and life has beautiful times. This is a complete image, and you can't live a human life without all these aspects being part of it. This is a kind of myth that you could avoid all painful parts and just have the pleasant parts. This will certainly never happen. People keep wishing it would never happen. So the fact that it hurts and you feel sad, think of it as really helping. Consider it growth, sometimes it's what growth looks like. "  ~~ Pema Chödrön

This evening I crossed the bridge over the river and cast my eyes at the water. I was struck by the resonate beauty of the currents and the rich, nuanced colors, framed by golden grasses and the leafless silver, umber, and red tipped branches. As I walked on along the Greenway I found myself pulled off the paved trail, down to the river’s bank. I felt magnetically drawn to the water’s edge, pulled to be immersed within it once again, as I’d been for weeks as last summer turned into fall. I wanted to step into it today, let it float me off, forget the notion of trying to control anything, release all my concerns. I was ready to bounce against some rocks and let those flows twirl me. This evening part of me wanted to again wordlessly nod at the herons, let life flow through me, float on my back and gaze unthinkingly at the clouds. But just as in the summer, this was not entirely about finding a distraction. I felt energies. The water was clearly more forceful today, and the power of those hypnotizing currents only made its invitation more appealing. As I crouched on the bank and took in the rhythms of the powerful torrents, I also sensed a kind of merger, a losing of my self within them.

“If you can live with the sadness of human life (what Rinpoche often called the tender heart or the genuine heart of sadness), if you can be willing to feel fully and acknowledge continually your own sadness and the sadness of life, but at the same time not be drowned in it, because you also remember the vision and power of the Great Eastern Sun, you experience balance and completeness, joining heaven and earth, joining vision and practicality.”  ~~ Pema Chödrön​

Earth and heaven. Tom would laugh heartily at the notion he is now “wearing a robe and sandals on some cloud in the sky.” He was more of the Mark Twain “Go to heaven for the climate, hell for the company” type. Likely he’d be annoyed even to hear anyone exclaim he was once again with his beloved Ruby. But I do think he might accept that each of their bodies were now feeding other life, and that the circle and flow of energies was continuing onward, just as he had admonished me to do. I think too, that he would encourage us not to accept any BS, from others or from within our selves; to be authentic and true. To be as soft-spoken or loud or assertive or gentle as you can, but most importantly be honest; be genuine, be real. Don’t give in to your fears and don’t suffer fools, or snobs, or posers whose projected insecurities and cowardice will eat your soul. Live and savor the incredible, complex beauty that is everywhere in front of you at every moment, because we’ve only so much time, to appreciate, to share, to BE.

A Sharing Space

Sometimes things get labeled and defined in ways that obscure a deeper, more meaningful value. I needed a place to use as a gallery to display a recent body of artwork.  I’ve a background installing art museum exhibitions, running a cooperative gallery, and showing my work in other settings, so I knew I could make the right space work. I found a location and was pleased with how I was able to present the paintings. But the magic ingredient, the catalysts that really alter the dynamic in the gallery, are the people. 

I’ve spent time sitting in galleries since I was 20 years old (gallery monitor was my first art museum role). It was usually a quiet time to take in the art, read, reflect. The more mature me of today notices other things, like how the visitors’ unique energies transform a space. Each brings their own special aura, and these in turn interact with the works displayed and as significantly, with the others folks there at the time.  

Of course I enjoy receiving insights from people, and their very personal responses. There have been several visitors who mentioned being surprised by the feelings evoked, many have admitted wiping their eyes, some referred to feeling embarrassed about tearing up. For me, there’s no need for embarrassment, in fact I see this as a great compliment. When art can move us to connect to our feelings, and further, a setting has allowed them the room for these to be expressed, I feel it’s fulfilling a crucial role. In my view we are overly fearful of our emotions and desperately in need of healthy outlets in which to attend to them—and I would add, accept them and not instantly try to “fix them.” As one of my heroes, Brene Brown puts it: great courage requires great vulnerability.

This unfolding interaction has been an unexpected joy to witness and experience. I have met new friends, reconnected with old ones, and watched strangers bond through the conversations amid the art. While I greatly appreciate sales of my work, for me, this magical alchemy is in many ways more important. If I can contribute to people discovering buried feelings, recognizing our interconnection within the natural world, or bridging with each other, my role as an art maker is utterly complete. Observing and being part of these new bonds has been a delight and very fulfilling experience.

In addition, I’ve been able to share in the diminishing art of direct, non-digitized, fully exposed tone of voice, read-the-body-language conversation. Hearty ones abound in this space: the last few weeks have included serious brainstorming about how to bring back a successful city jazz festival with a highly respected jazz musician Lenny Marcus; discussions about the creative process with an eloquent and published poet Gyorgyi Voros; the importance of recognizing how humans fit within the “more than human world” with an environmentalist/author Rick Van Noy; the lost appreciation for hand-lettered sign fonts with a former skilled practitioner William Saari; how musical progressions translate into color nuances in a painting with a brilliant young artist/musician/philosopher Miguel Carter-Fisher; the challenges of being the first gay couple to adopt a child in Virginia Cole Gordon; the experience of ecstatic dancing and the courage involved in allowing oneself to truly BE one’s self Clarissa LaFountain; and dozens of other profound, playful, small and big topics we all encounter traveling along this woolly game of life. I relished and will cherish each and every one of these!

[I feature the folks in these three photos only because I happened to take their photos and generally didn’t interrupt moments with other visitors during the many wonderful encounters.]

 “Juice” Juicepoet Smith the impressive man in the doorway is a fixture in downtown Roanoke, an anchor for so very many folks, and easily one of the hardest working people I know,. He can be physically imposing but reserves that for certain circumstances (he’s a bouncer, one of his many jobs) and he’s also a sensitive, extraordinarily sincere person with an amazing attitude about life. In addition he’s a refined, seriously hard-working slam poet, and treated us to one before he ran off to attend to another errand. It’s perfectly fitting that he’s got Ali on his shirt, as he’s become a great inspiring friend to me.

Joyce Crowder, (who I regret is barely visible in the right side of the photo) drove from over an hour away just to come by and see the show. We’d never even met, and she’d only seen my art on FB. She quietly wandered the space and patiently took in almost every work. She was so quiet, at one point I thought she’d left without me noticing. But in fact, she’s was trying to avoid being seen wiping tears. We hugged and within moments, we had the warmest conversation and the more I learned about her, the more I admired her, a stranger, then a FB friend, now become dear. She worked for many years as an animal control officer, loves the outdoors and spending time on the water, is a fabulous devoted mom, and a huge supporter of live music in our region (primarily at The Harvester performance center, a great music venue that’s also over an hour from her home)! 

Gina Louthian has been a fast friend for years—a dedicated teacher and art maker, she has been a supportive spirit for me and I’m sure hundreds of others for decades. We share a knowing about what’s significant and important in life that transcends words. I love her art and am so grateful she’s in our region positively affecting young lives in her day job and guiding adult workshops in her after hours time! Mostly I’m happy she’s in this valley and in my life as a stalwart friend. Not surprisingly, the magic was flowing, and Gina found connections in Joyce’s home town, and Juice knew Gina from some interactions several years ago! 

The radiant couple are Luisa Bartel and Gisela Pacho, old friends who came to the gallery together. Gisela is of Spanish decent by way of Cuba and then Detroit, my hometown. Beyond Motown, we’ve shared the rolling journey of life as friends for a decade now. She is earnest, articulate, kind, insightful, and fun-loving. The kind of friend with who you can talk about the most serious issues yet manage to always laugh when you get together. It’s a treat and an honor to know her. I’d never met her lovely friend Luisa, who’s family is from the same province in Spain (even though they met here in Roanoke, where they both worked as interpreters). I find it it so engaging to talk to people who were not born in America. Luisa quickly sensed what I was after in my art, got to the core of several of my works, and gifted me with her compliments and thoughtful questions. 

Lastly, a photo of a fellow who will remain anonymous, but whose genuine childlike expressive enthusiasm for the paintings had me beaming. We all might aspire to be so uninhibited! 

Thank you to the very many “undocumented visitors” (including intrepid folks who came out for the Closing Reception last Friday amid miserable weather) and for all the terrific, supportive conversations over the last few months that helped me grow, made sharing my work such a rich experience, and encourage me to “keep following my heart” on this path.

“Ebbs and Flows” 24” x 24” mixed media/panel

I love the river near my home — everything it represents, and IS. The way it physically and metaphorically reveals the unceasing flow of life. The way it offered me a refuge during challenging days. The way dipping my toes in the cool waters eased my hot, worn body on floats, and the bird songs and subtle rippling sounds soothed my mind. The way surrendering to the gentle flow encouraged me to accept life’s currents. The way it offered my being room to breathe, allowed my imagination the space to wander, and my spirit to be replenished and rise. I will ever be grateful to Anna Robertson, who nudged me by example to immerse myself on simple inner tube floats on the Roanoke River through my hood. It replenished my soul, profoundly deepened my relationship to my home, and was one of the joyful highlights of the year.  

I really enjoy making paintings. I love taking life in and allowing the energies to reveal themselves in a work of art. I consider myself a conduit in this process, and see it as a great privilege.  Although it may sound a bit hokie, I also like participating in the best parts of this tradition of making beautiful things, which I trained in and have studied and appreciated for nearly 40 years. 

“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans” ~ John Lennon 

Like anyone my age, life tosses us unexpected circumstances that redirect the plans we’ve made. Life ebbs and flows. Several chunks of time (sometimes for years) during those decades I chose to set my passion for art making on hold a bit rather than feel stressed trying to have it compete with other places needing my energy.  Mostly toward what I feel were good reasons and responsible priorities. 

Besides, I’m reflective but not one to look back on life with regrets (seems a waste of  precious energy). The last few years some responsibilities have eased; among other things, my son has blossomed and is happily into his own career. These have spurred me to delve back into art making without feeling I was compromising other things.  While I continue to run a business full time, I try to remain aware having time outside of that work these last few years is a great luxury. 

“Be a lamp, or a lifeboat, or a ladder. Help someone's soul heal. Walk out of your house like a shepherd.” ~ Rumi

Stick around long enough on the earth and eventually ever more friends and family pass. Some folks may be indifferent to this; I’m not. Beyond a loved one’s transition, the grieving, and possibly attending to their loved ones, an indirect affect is that it wakes me up to our limited time and interactions with others. I really try not to squander either. We all have to decide what this means, but for me it distills to trying to be a positive force, keeping authentic, true to myself and others, being of service where I can, and sharing others’ burdens and my own joys. 

To me, people in few professions epitomize this as well as caring and dedicated teachers—I’ll even venture that those in America’s public schools are in many ways challenged to hold their center even more than others. So it’s a confluence of wonderful things when a painting I’ve been fortunate enough to help bring into form, about a subject that profoundly moved me, displayed in a space I was able to establish and share it, is chosen by some dear trusted friends who ARE long time teachers for purchase to adorn their warm home. 

A heartfelt thank you to Mike Scott and Theresa Bell, your support and friendship are  invaluable and allow the flow of vital life forces to continue. ❤️🙏

“On the Horizon Looms a Terrible Beauty” 12” x 16” Mixed media/panel (On view in “An Open Hearted Journey” — final Saturday, January 25, 10AM - 3 PM)

We’ve all encountered storms in our lives. Sometimes we can see them coming, others hit us unexpectedly. Sometimes they knock us down even when we thought we were prepared. Sometimes we race to evade them, other times we walk into them head-on. Such events are inevitable because part of the great beauty of life is its continuous transformation. How we respond is the key to whether we grow or are diminished, but the sea of life is ever rolling. And following every storm comes a calm. 

There’s a tale in the New Testament about Jesus walking on water. When I was young this was “painted” to me simply as being a miracle (the point of which, I suppose, was ostensibly to impress future followers with his great god-like powers?). Like so many things misunderstood when young, to me now it clearly was meant as a memorable metaphor and never intended to be interpreted literally. This is what myths of all spiritual traditions do—they offer us memorable imagery and stories to help us better direct our journeys forward. 

Though indirectly, I feel this passage from a wise Sufi, Hazrat Inayat Khan, gives that tale above a more valuable context and understanding:

“Many seek protection from all hurting influences by building some wall around themselves. But the canopy over the earth is so high that a wall cannot be built high enough, and the only thing one can do is to live in the midst of all inharmonious influences, to strengthen his will power and to bear all things, yet keeping the fineness of character and a nobleness of manner together with an ever-living heart. To become cold with the coldness of the world is weakness, and to become broken by the hardness of the world is feebleness, but to live in the world and yet to keep above the world is like walking on the water. There are two essential duties for the man of wisdom and love; that is to keep the love in our nature ever increasing and expanding and to strengthen the will so that the heart may not be easily broken. Balance is ideal in life; man must be fine and yet strong, man must be loving and yet powerful.”

Tuesday over lunch, I was gifted by a visit with some friends (Cole Gordon & Clarissa LaFountain) who wanted to see an exhibit of my art work. They were complimentary in the comments they offered about my art and writing, for which I’m very grateful. Naturally many creatives (artists, musicians, film makers, and poets) inspire me. Yet I’ve always been drawn toward folks who integrate their desire to grow or spiritual goals into their daily life.

I’ve since been thinking about that lunch chat, and the hearty decisions they both had made in their lives. They graciously offered supportive words about my artwork and writing and great questions. I shared my belief in trying to bring the concepts of honesty and openness into the creative process, and my desire to incorporate being vulnerable, following my heart, and living courageously into paintings. But I was struck by the paths each of these two modest friends have taken. It’s no surprise that both of these giving people are also devoted parents, and that each has cultivated a wide community of friends. 

Specifically, what struck me is that while I am nudging these ideas into my art, these two extraordinary people have embraced and LIVED within the consequences of their goals and noble concepts! My admiration kept returning to their very courageous choices:  the life-changing, life-affirming, and incredibly gutsy actions they each took. Through much personal effort they both managed to lay solid foundations amid challenging circumstances. They walked ahead amid storms where others might have run for shelter, and for years now have continued the work to grow (while  taking on and adapting to still other changes). 

Our valley (like, I suspect, many communities) is filled with profound journeys taken by amazing, unassuming people—through their genuine sharing I was again reminded that I only need to make the time to listen for stories of courage to be revealed. Significantly, both of these friends have retained open, compassionate hearts, despite challenges and set backs; without compromising honesty, each continues to spread Light. I’m in awe, and so very honored to know them both. Such friends lift my spirits and my own aspirations.

​I don’t know any stats about the upcoming generations, but I DO know that the younger folks I know are wonderful. Despite the many global issues which (I feel) my generation largely created and will be leaving them, I’ve found them to be extraordinary. I could easily go on about my son and his partner, or my nieces and nephews, but to emphasize my point, here are two couples of no relations I recently had the great delight to have visit me. 

Jameel McMillan and his family drove to Roanoke over the holidays to visit his family. I first met him when he just a curious cute teen, starting high school at PHHS, a classmate of my son, over a decade ago. He went on to be my son’s first college roommate, and we’ve all stayed lightly in touch. A bright engineer, he now works for the US Navy and though not 28, already has spent time across the world to work on ships in Japan. So it was a surprise and honor to get a message from him, asking if he might arrange for his family (and his sister) to come see my art exhibit. Even more so when I learned he specifically wanted to do so because his stepdaughter had a strong interest in art —he felt it might be helpful for her to meet an artist and see work in a different context. Naturally I was delighted to do so. 

Jameel and Emily have only been together a few years, married even less, so they all have had to make a lot of adjustments as they created their “new” family. As he shared, he happily went in with eyes open, but basically has been on a steep learning curve going from being a single bachelor to parent of a precocious young girl in a very short time. Essentially, in my view, in a time when some like to emphasize the opposite among young people, he’s a stalwart example of someone who has courageously “stepped up” and graciously taken on big responsibilities. Beyond caring and kind, he’s self aware and so sensitive to his role (and incurred boundaries) in relation to his stepdaughter’s father. It warms my heart to verify that the smart and fun-loving young teen I once knew is now clearly an outstanding young man and father. 

Having been a parent with shared custody, I can relate to the many delicacies, nuances, and challenges of caring for a sensitive and aware child sharing two sets of parents. They may understandably become withdrawn or cautious, especially around people they do not know. I’ve taught young people just a bit too, so I was considering this as I waited in the gallery for their arrival. As I waved them in from the sidewalk, prepared in my mind to find ways to ease the nervousness of us all— a young girl and her mother were meeting someone they literally had never met—Leyna raced in first (without nudging) and all but leapt into my arms with a big hug! She exuded such confidence, trust, and joy that she instantly erased any concerns! We carried on famously for another hour. It was obvious that Emily and Jameel (and her father) are doing very many things right in building a solid foundation upon which Leyna will blossom. To me they’re shining examples of their own generation nurturing the next as well.

Yesterday I was graced by a visit from my friends Christine Lockerby and Miguel Carter-Fisher. You can sense by their glance at each other their sincere love. Again, I could write several paragraphs about what I admire in each of them. I met Miguel when he was a toddler, the son of a graduate school classmate, and then we had no contact whatsoever for thirty years. In one of those incredible unexpected gifts life offers us, I reconnected with him when I learned that his father, my friend, had died over two years ago. From the moment I met he and Christine, I was taken by their thoughtfulness, sensitivity, compassion, and insight into every topic we discussed. Their respect and love for each other glowed then, and I am so very happy to have attended their wedding last fall. They’ve already experienced so many challenges and weathered several storms, and through grit and reflection and integrity, gotten stronger and wiser and, most uniquely, more expansive and loving.

I love engaging in conversations with people younger than me that push me to keep up with their deep thoughts! And they both do so in humble and gentle, honest, yet non-defensive, non-arrogant ways. They are realists; concerned about issues in our world, and striving to best apply their many talents because they earnestly want to help create a better world. Yet they also recognize the importance of self-care and balance. They don’t always agree, yet understand fully how to share their views in respectful ways that clearly reveal their admiration and respect (and deep love) for each other. They can sharply analyze several art forms (film, paintings, literature, music) dive into philosophical realms, and yet retain a self aware earthiness, even playfulness, that is refreshing and so often lacking in folks so brilliant. It was such a treat and great gift to spend several hours with them, and even more so share in a visit to the home of one of my mentors. 

I highlighted these two couples but could list several other young friends, (from physical therapists to baristas to yoga instructors to hair stylists to engineers to produce stockers to writers to software designers—I hope you all know who you are!) each of whom is impressive in their unique talents and integrity and outstanding character and desire to serve others and improve the larger world. To read the fearful media headlines one may get the notion the future looks bleak. I find that to engage with and listen to and consider the future through these young folks, found everywhere, it looks and feels bright indeed.
  .

​What is this 
human need 
for touch
that connects 
Us in such 
profound ways?

I have walked past this 
marker on my path, for years, 
noticed it in daylight and night light. 
Made by another’s hand,
unknown to me, yet so known to me.
Passed by it again and again — 
en route to grocer; to movies; to the river; 
journeys of joy, of grief; of delight; 
of the mind and the heart; thousands.
Truly, I added it up!

Why is it such
big-brained beings
require placing 
our hands onto 
something solid 
to make it real?

It was nine months ago
that I last hugged 
the last woman to whom
I handed my heart.
On my birthday
as fate would have it.

We spoke once after, then 
only messaged—erratically,
sporadically, cryptically distant. 
There was no touching
no hugging, beyond that fate-filled 
day of ironic celebration. 
Soon after, communication and 
all else between us 
changed, lost its feel.

My heart reeled and limped forward
Not knowing what to feel
or believe, or believe in.
My head strove to alleviate it,
Fingers flipped pages of dozens of books, 
Searched for answers and wiser minds,
Consulted theories, visited suspicions
and insecurities ten-fold. Still,
nothing was solid, or grasped,
all was conjecture.

We can build amazing worlds,
scheme great strategies,
grow brilliant fantasies,
design distractions of lives,
adopt unhealthy habits, 
concoct elaborate roads to heaven
and yet always, we will ache to feel. 
We want to touch, leave some mark
even if only discreetly, underfoot.
Something that says however simply:
I was here/we were here, we felt this. 

I journaled pages and pages
Asked dozens of questions
Pondered the path forward as my 
feet walked the gracious earth.
I explored the pain, shed rivers, then 
floated on them, hiked mountains,
weighed the moral choices.  
I was told (and tried) to 
forget; let go! But it felt 
wrong to do either, 
in fact, I could do little, 
except only, feel and with gratitude 
forgive—both of us.

I embraced the unclear reality
Embraced my discipline, my art
Embraced traveling and new lands
New ideas, new faces, new friends.
I embraced spiritual practices 
And sadness, and tears, and breathing
And my confused and bumbling 
Very imperfect self

No relationship is set in concrete.
But at root, in order to nurture 
healing, to grow, and begin 
to become whole again
deep down, I knew all along
I had to keep facing my fears.
So despite all, I reframed the future
as I addressed the invite, to her
and the old beau returned
and dropped it in the mail 
late this afternoon. 

All we ever really desire, 
is to share this life’s riches. 
Even after, to feel as if “we” and 
our a shared concerns and joys, 
had not been utterly erased. 
I ached for a mark, a sign, 
that we really had been.

This evening, as always, was only
a string of ephemeral moments.
Except tonight, again by fate,
near the anniversary
of the event, in the very place
that first brought us together
and we’d hugged for that first time,
here we were again.
 
So tonight, for the first time 
in nine arduous, soul-searching months
We touched. I hugged her and
looked into her kind, bright eyes, 
held her soft, strong hands, and
in an instant volumes were spoken.

Tonight, for the briefest of moments, 
we again shared space and presence. 
The very same type of encounter 
that began us, one year ago, 
now at last, gently begins to heal us.
Tonight’s exchange, already a shadow, 
offered energies of touch that
confirmed more solid than concrete:
We were. We both still are.
We are here. We can Be.

Through simple genuine touch  
a hand held in hands, 
unsaid words are superseded,
a fear-filled cycle begins to melt, 
wounded hearts begin to mend.
The circle connects, 
becomes more whole. 
As do we.

“Hunting Those Elusive Subtle Rhythms (for Lenny M.)” 11” x 14” mixed media/panel 


It’s a special privilege to get to know artists that one admires. For me, even more so when they’re doing very fine work in another discipline. Lenny Marcus (at the keys in this photo) has been making terrific jazz music literally for decades, and has earned all the praise he’s received over the years from seasoned experts who know way more than I ever will about jazz music. It’s been my great fortune to hear him perform dozens of times in recent years. So it was an extra honor to have him visit my art exhibition yesterday, and more so engage in a stimulating discussion with Lenny and his spouse about bringing more jazz to our community. There’s a certain kindred knowing in such dialogues that transcends words; I savored it in every way.

Rick Eckberg is on the upright bass and Larry Scott is there holding down  the fort on the drums in the back.  Lonnie Jackson is on percussion in the lower right. I met Lonnie over 25 years ago when I was coordinating presentations to relate to an exhibit of West African arts. He’s been hand-drumming for longer than that, and both his skillful rhythms and affable manner are known among musicians in our area. He’s always had a quick and kind smile, nothing but good words about others, and revealed a soft, generous heart in my times hanging with him. 

It’s very moving for me to hear these accomplished artists perform. I especially love when a song will simmer for a bit and then reach those special moments where their unique contributions as artists all gel into a flowing, multifaceted, lush woven wave of sound. It’s like all those years of practicing and performing suddenly coalesce within a song. They seem to get within each other’s individual soulful sound, yet do so in such a way that only enhances the magical and undefinable whole. I find the entire experience utterly wonderful and most inspiring. In my paintings I often aspire to integrate disparate elements in a similar way, despite differences, discover and reveal harmonies. Sort of an analogy for social healing, maybe even of the natural dynamics of life.

I deeply appreciate the rigor of their discipline. In many ways the way my approach to making a painting emulates my understanding of what these folks offer: a mix of spontaneity within a structured medium, a willingness to trust one’s instincts and take creative risks, yet also seek (and achieve) harmony in the whole. I can’t claim any deep intellectual understanding of jazz, but it seems to me very much like what I am after in my “wordless” abstract paintings. It requires an open-heartedness and a trust in oneself and beyond one’s self, while aiming for a beautiful experience that transcends words. Like all great art it reaches something within me that goes beyond thinking, touches my heart, and lifts my spirit. My hat’s off with much gratitude to Lenny, Lonnie, Larry, and Rick (who I heard perform together last night) and all the many inspired and inspiring musicians out there, playing their hearts out to elevate us all.

A simple Roanoke River Greenway stroll can be especially potent on these shortest days of the year. Here in southwestern Virginia the sparseness reveals the underlying beauty, the foundation that will support next summer’s bounty. Sparseness implies a lack of richness, but this isn’t so. Maybe the jewels are just easier to spot when there’s not as much packaging. 

With less bodacious colors clamoring at our senses, textures are afforded room for their voices to be felt. Although “traditional” snow levels and expectations of “used to be” temperatures can no longer be counted upon, fortunately the leaves still generally let go by this time. The undergrowth bushes and grasses have withdrawn, gone inward, in preparation for the cold that will come. 

The sun rises late now, hangs low all day, so the horizon views are more expansive because the skyline gets extended with less framing foliage. Yet the view is also more intimate, as the individual trees, formerly draped in garments of green turned gold and crimson, finally get to show off their hard-earned new figures, after enduring three seasons of growth. It’s easy for me to imagine their roots are secretly all holding hands under the table top of Earth, where we can’t see. The skies always feel to me a bit crisper on these clear December days.

The earth itself is dormant, asleep perhaps, but clearly still breathing. The frozen ground often suspends the melted snows, frosts, or rains on its surface. The little pools become cameo mirrors, underfoot pockets of shifting sky. The tender but stalwart silver and golden ochre grasses wave softly when the winds are passing a whisper along. For some reason when I choose to wander along the river’s edge at this time of year, I seem to encounter few humans. This generally suits me fine—I know I can find them in the coffee lounges, or our village shops, or online. On some of these restorative walks, I may not see them because I try to make time to step off the paved path (if only for a few moments) to be near the water’s edge. It’s kinda become my own way of honoring this ancient conduit of life.

I love how walking slows us down and puts our body in sync with our heart, mind and soul. It takes me inward and at the same time opens me to the “soul” of life beyond me. When the cold is bearable enough and I’m sensibly layered enough, and can stand keeping still for a bit, very occasionally, within the palpable winter quiet I may notice the delicate twitch of a stalk or the hint of grasses rustling. I like to imagine it’s a shy mouse discreetly waving at me. More often a brazen field sparrow emerges, flitting, chirping and darting to the next patch in search of seeds. That particular twitching is a familiar sound of old, from the days when I was a (not entirely typical) teen boy “hunting” for mice in the fields and industrial park lots near our home. We’d flip over the discarded cardboard that served as “roofs” to the mouse compounds below. Any critters would race away in a gray-umber blur, leaving behind a soft, loosely woven nest of soft, cozy bedding materials. It was never quite clear how we’d catch them, nor what we’d do with one if we did—but we were thrilled by the hunt!

It’s odd how memories and sensations acquired nearly fifty years ago remain vivid. The decades of experiences that accumulate within us, become a part of us — or perhaps we become them? I wonder if our seemingly unique personal experiences can serve a purpose opposite how we normally frame life. Rather than marking us as individuals, sometimes I feel they’re nudging us to shed the covers of our arbitrary individual identities, our own protective and necessary layers of foliage, and instead recognize how connected we humans are to the whole. 

I long ago let go of the desire to catch any critters physically, but I do love catching the sights and sounds and sensations of the fields, and breezes, and distant soft bird songs echoing against the gray winter skies, and allowing it all to penetrate into and through me. And especially, being accepted without pretense or judgment into the presence of this quiet, ever-unfolding majesty. 
​