When an unexpected new friend visits it makes your day. It’s all the more interesting when I reflect on the timing.
I’d just spent about a week preparing an application for an artist’s residency. It’s similar to a job application, putting forth a CV, requesting references, selecting samples of work, and coming up with a “proposal” that expresses why one wants such an opportunity. As a sole proprietor for nearly 30 years, the whole process felt foreign. I realized how far I’ve moved, or removed myself, from the waters in which I once swam.
Similarly, I’ve agreed to be part of our city’s Arts Commission, where we attend meetings and try to be present at public events we sponsor. I want to support creativity and feel strongly the arts cultivate skills that will be evermore essential in the near future. I spent 15 years as an art museum professional but shifting my gears back into this realm, even within this informal and fun group, has taken adjusting. I’m not sure the old clothes are suited to the new world we face.
I suppose we tend to prefer the comfort of habit and what’s familiar. There’s a security in knowing what’s coming. It’s also partly why I chose to get involved in these ventures, to nudge myself in fresh directions.
In both cases it revealed some tension about where I want to apply my energies. Have I become selfish working alone for so long? Or is it maturity to have become more selective and reflective about limits to my time and energy?
I’ve got other concerns on my mind. The pressures on our ecosystems caused by our extractive and unsustainable way of life, and the suffering this is and will continue to cause weigh on me. I want to help alleviate the tragedies on the horizon. Yet I know we can only do so much as individuals. In many ways it makes sense to work with existing organizations and institutions. IE: A good friend volunteers as a City Tree Steward, and the more I reflect on it, the more important nurturing our tree canopy feels. Another has taken on raising awareness about data centers siphoning our precious fresh water supplies. All as the current federal leaders dismantle the guardrails of our government, especially those capable of addressing large scale social concerns.
In my residency proposal, I reflected on my own quandary regarding where the energy I invest in making art balances with living in a world whose crucial ecosystems we’ve pillaged and foolishly are shoving out of balance. I’m enough of a creative optimist to feel it’s possible to reconcile these, I’m just not sure how.
Some like-minded friends and I are reading “True Human, Reimagining Ourselves at the End of the World” to explore and sort out how and where we can humbly play our part in healing our imminently shifting world.
I literally was reading a section in the book about cultivating awe into our lives, when a catbird alighted on a table nearby. I looked up and our eyes met, it cocked its head a few times, sizing me up as I made a few soft clicking sounds, and for an instant, we felt each other’s presence. Then, to my great surprise the usually shy bird hopped onto the table where I was seated. It lingered long enough for me to snap a few photos.
Among the suggestions by the True Human author, Samantha Sweetwater, is that we cultivate relationships with the more than human world. I’ve randomly done this for years, but the timing and forthrightness of this unsolicited encounter with a wonderful winged friend pushed me to give it more heed.
The next three days in a row, I returned to the same spot at lunch (knowing that birds too like familiarity). Each day she and her more vocal male partner paid me a visit. I learned fruits are part of their diet, and brought some treats. The female arrived cautiously, alighting on the seat, making her way onto the table top, and quickly gobbling up the raisins I’d set out, one per visit. The male usually perched on a branch a few feet away, robustly singing a part of his repertoire and then listening very intently as I whistled a few phrases it had never heard. It was clearly intrigued, either trying to figure out how to mimic me, or curious just what this strange, unfeathered creature that makes bird-like sounds was all about.
I’d just spent about a week preparing an application for an artist’s residency. It’s similar to a job application, putting forth a CV, requesting references, selecting samples of work, and coming up with a “proposal” that expresses why one wants such an opportunity. As a sole proprietor for nearly 30 years, the whole process felt foreign. I realized how far I’ve moved, or removed myself, from the waters in which I once swam.
Similarly, I’ve agreed to be part of our city’s Arts Commission, where we attend meetings and try to be present at public events we sponsor. I want to support creativity and feel strongly the arts cultivate skills that will be evermore essential in the near future. I spent 15 years as an art museum professional but shifting my gears back into this realm, even within this informal and fun group, has taken adjusting. I’m not sure the old clothes are suited to the new world we face.
I suppose we tend to prefer the comfort of habit and what’s familiar. There’s a security in knowing what’s coming. It’s also partly why I chose to get involved in these ventures, to nudge myself in fresh directions.
In both cases it revealed some tension about where I want to apply my energies. Have I become selfish working alone for so long? Or is it maturity to have become more selective and reflective about limits to my time and energy?
I’ve got other concerns on my mind. The pressures on our ecosystems caused by our extractive and unsustainable way of life, and the suffering this is and will continue to cause weigh on me. I want to help alleviate the tragedies on the horizon. Yet I know we can only do so much as individuals. In many ways it makes sense to work with existing organizations and institutions. IE: A good friend volunteers as a City Tree Steward, and the more I reflect on it, the more important nurturing our tree canopy feels. Another has taken on raising awareness about data centers siphoning our precious fresh water supplies. All as the current federal leaders dismantle the guardrails of our government, especially those capable of addressing large scale social concerns.
In my residency proposal, I reflected on my own quandary regarding where the energy I invest in making art balances with living in a world whose crucial ecosystems we’ve pillaged and foolishly are shoving out of balance. I’m enough of a creative optimist to feel it’s possible to reconcile these, I’m just not sure how.
Some like-minded friends and I are reading “True Human, Reimagining Ourselves at the End of the World” to explore and sort out how and where we can humbly play our part in healing our imminently shifting world.
I literally was reading a section in the book about cultivating awe into our lives, when a catbird alighted on a table nearby. I looked up and our eyes met, it cocked its head a few times, sizing me up as I made a few soft clicking sounds, and for an instant, we felt each other’s presence. Then, to my great surprise the usually shy bird hopped onto the table where I was seated. It lingered long enough for me to snap a few photos.
Among the suggestions by the True Human author, Samantha Sweetwater, is that we cultivate relationships with the more than human world. I’ve randomly done this for years, but the timing and forthrightness of this unsolicited encounter with a wonderful winged friend pushed me to give it more heed.
The next three days in a row, I returned to the same spot at lunch (knowing that birds too like familiarity). Each day she and her more vocal male partner paid me a visit. I learned fruits are part of their diet, and brought some treats. The female arrived cautiously, alighting on the seat, making her way onto the table top, and quickly gobbling up the raisins I’d set out, one per visit. The male usually perched on a branch a few feet away, robustly singing a part of his repertoire and then listening very intently as I whistled a few phrases it had never heard. It was clearly intrigued, either trying to figure out how to mimic me, or curious just what this strange, unfeathered creature that makes bird-like sounds was all about.
Catbirds are related to thrashers annd mockingbirds, and often live in thickets. They can live 15 years or more, so have lots of time to accumulate and learn from experiences near people. Granted, these two are living within a neighborhood and adjacent a coffee shop, so are used to humans. But the broader reality is we humans moved into and radically transformed their forest neighborhoods not that long ago. In any case the camaraderie and communion were a profound delight, the highlight of my week.
I hope I gave them as much joy as they did me. More so, the initial greeting especially felt like a confirmation that I’m on the right path. For a long while I’ve toyed with the notion of a series of abstract paintings based upon the exquisite color harmonies of various bird species. I even wrote it into my application. And just as I was pondering what will become of my bid, a living work of beauty I’d written about literally came to me and hung out, close enough to touch!
As we stumble into this metacrisis, I’m of the view that the way forward can’t be addressed just by applying technologies built by our rational mindset. Nor can it be solely about how we “use resources,” or adherence to some government rules, or future corporate plans, or a pending socio-political movement. Primarily it needs to begin with how we relate to each other, and opening and healing our relationships with all life.
Openness, kindness, and appreciation are things we can choose today, that matter now. Even if the route is uncertain, it seems fitting the path of the future will be revealed in each moment
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