Creativity

I'm an artist. As an artist, I draw inspiration from every thing. I see what others do, I am inspired. I hear, I am inspired. I read, I am inspired. In the art world, there is this weird idea that derivative works are theft unless you admit they are derived from someone specific. How do you that? I might have seen something thirty years ago that bubbles up to lend an aspect to something I create today. I'm a compulsive reader, I read probably 300 books a year. Some of those are all words, some are art books, some are a mix of words and images. All that sinks into my brain and percolates. It might inspire immediate response, as this post was inspired by this TED talk. It might simmer for a week or a year, or decades, before bubbling up to influence my words, actions, creations.

I rarely sign my work. I have friends who fuss at me about that - how can I ever get famous if I don't sign my work? My answer is that I am only the conduit, I'm not the art. Ideas float around and some of them enter my head. The only way to get them out of my head is to make them. I might envision one thing, but part way through the creation, the creation takes over and becomes what It wants to be. It develops a voice, a way of moving, a personality that I experience whenever I see it (or read it). That's not my creation, any more than the child you gave life to is your creation. I am only the conduit.

One of the things I love about now, the 21st century I live in, is that art has exploded. Art is every where. Art is The Field. Writers are every where. Artists, musicians, makers of things. In this world, people get an idea and they must create. What brought that about? The internet, computers, global access to inspiration. Disney might get tetchy over someone using a clip from Snow White, but Disney did not create that story, they used it. Can you imagine Shakespeare rising up to protest West Side Story?

When I create something, it is my iteration of a previous concept. I deserve to profit from my iteration. When Harvey comes along, takes a snippet of what I made and uses it within his expression, Harvey deserves to profit from his iteration. I'm not talking about painting portraits of Disney's Snow White and selling them, I'm talking about using her withing a larger framework, such as plopping her image into a stark photograph of a crackhouse to make a new iteration, to express an idea in a way that highlights a concept. If Harvey took my creation and passed it off as entirely his own, Harvey would be wrong. However, if Harvey photographs my sculpture, takes it into photoshop and alters it, then makes the mouth move to a mash up of 'I Feel Pretty' and 'Born This Way', I say Go Harvey, you ROCK! It's nice that Harvey gave credit to me for the sculpture, and to the recording artists for the music. That gives us all a little more exposure. It might make some one look up 'I feel pretty' and expose them to something new. It might inspire someone to be who they are, instead of who they have been told to be. And along the way, Harvey - and the millions of 21st century artists inspired by current technology - has put together something that was not 'drempt of in your philosophy, Horatio.' They have expanded consciousness, awakened awareness, invoked wonder.

Songs in My Neighborhood

Listening to the radio as I worked last night, I was reminded how songs that mention ‘home places’ are somehow a little extra special. Starbuck’s ‘Moonlight Feels Right’ (1976) was on the radio when I got back into the truck. I arrived just a moment before the line “I’ll take you on a trip beside the ocean and drop the top at Chesapeake Bay.” It brought back memories. One night in particular when the entire gang ( and then some) were hanging out in Deale Island, Md.,  drinking and swimming and generally having a good time.  Deale Island isn’t really an island; it’s a peninsula, so there are fresh water tributaries running into the Chesapeake Bay. It was in one of these that we were swimming. All of a sudden, one of the guys on shore hollered  “everybody outta the water”, and a dozen or so dripping bodies burst out of the water like trained seals.

Since we weren’t were we were supposed to be, or more aptly, since we were where we weren’t supposed to be, everyone assumed the yell was a police alert, hence the prompt evacuation. No police, something of more immediate concern – water moccasins. Water moccasins are nasty vipers with nasty attitudes. Like copperheads, they will attack without provocation to defend their nesting area. Water moccasins are dark; they blend in with the water, especially at night. Their bite is miserably painful, and the venom rots the flesh. Few people die from the bites, but death is possible. Thanks to the moonlight and the sharp eyes of one of the guys, we escaped unharmed. Moonlight Feels Right was playing on the radio at the time. Every time I hear this song, I see a snapshot of that night.

There are places that have many songs; Dallas, New York, Chicago, L.A., San Francisco, etc. The Chesapeake Bay only has the one that I know of. While I was living in Dallas, a song that always amused me was Steely Dan’s “My Old School.” There is one line that says “California tumbles into the sea, that’ll be the day I go back to Annandale.”  I agreed, completely, though I expected Cali to fall long before now. It was California’s ‘tumbling’ that moved me off the west coast and into Dallas. Anyway, I had lived in Annandale briefly and while it was okay, the traffic was insane and I had no desire to go back. Even in the early Eighties, getting on the Capitol Beltway during rush hour meant wasting your life away. I’d just crank up the radio and sing, and marvel at the people who pulled over to wait it out.

Along side the road – at that time four lanes each direction packed bumper to bumper with vehicles – the intrepid would pull over, pull out a lounge chair, and read a book. I was tempted to join the shoulder sitters, but I never did. Every time I heard “My Old School,” I would remember the drive home from work, and sing ‘never going back’ with gusto. I am a die-hard Steely Dan fan. ‘Any Major Dude’ saved my sanity when I did come back from Dallas, but that tale is told elsewhere.

Dallas, of course, has numerous song mentions. My favorite is “Dallas, too close to New Orleans” from The Grateful Dead’s Truckin’. I just think that’s funny because they are worlds apart psychologically, and nothing is close to anything in Texas. Close means it took less than an hour to get there. It’s hard for me to pick a Dallas song that has actual Dallas memories attached. Nearly every one I knew in Dallas was in the music business somehow, so I was surrounded by music. I associate almost as much music with Dallas as I do with growing up in Maryland. I had a helluva lot of fun in Texas. Ask me someday and I’ll tell you about the Big Shoe and the Rain of Frogs. That was one strange weekend….

Aural Projection

Aural Projection

On  December  6, 2011, Dobie Gray died. Dobie was a musician, a singer. I only know one of his songs. That song, Drift Away, was written by Mentor Williams and recorded by Dobie Gray in 1973. For the last 38 years, Drift Away has been one of the few songs to consistently touch me. Many songs have had special moments in my life, some have gotten me through the really rough times, but few still touch me the same way now as they did then. Drift Away is my song. It perfectly describes the impact music has on my life and my soul.

There are songs that should never be allowed to die. They need to be renewed, so that subsequent generations can benefit from them. There are songs that are so iconic, it seems sacrilegious to remake them. Drift away is both, it needed to be remade to bring it back into the light, but what an undertaking! Uncle Kracker teamed up with Dobie Gray to do a beautiful remake. Either version moves me to tears every single time I hear them. Every time. Not because the song is sad or associated with sad memories, but because this song so perfectly says what I want to say. This song uplifts me, even when I am already up. When I am down, Drift Away reaches down into the depths of my misery, wraps its music around the ache in my soul, and sets me free.

This is a crank-it-up-and-sing-your-heart-out song. Hit repeat and play it again. I’m thankful Mentor Williams put a piece of his soul into the song, and I’m thankful Dobie Gray found it, wrapped it in a piece of his own soul, and poured it out for the world to hear.

Besides rescuing me from random funks, Drift Away takes me back. When I hear it, I feel the sun on my arms and legs. I feel the soft, cool grass between my toes. I hear the mingled voices of dozens of young people loving life on a warm summer day. I smell summer, that summer. This song plants me firmly in the middle of Fort Washington Park, on the huge green in the center, with Frisbees flying, touch football games, the mingled music of cruising cars, boom-boxes, and guitar toting hippies.  I don’t mean I remember the scene; I actually experience it. I don’t get that from the Uncle Kracker version of the song, just from Dobie’s rendition. Most songs that do this sort of thing for me only give me little flashes, like seeing snapshots. Dobie gives me the whole movie, in Technicolor, with Dolby quad sound.

Since we spent the entire summer in that park, with hundreds of other kids, I have a lot of good memories of Fort Washington. A lot of songs, sounds, and aromas elicit mental snapshots of that time. The snapshots have entire stories behind them, but with Drift Away, there is no single story; just that immersive experience I described above. Drift Away is my trigger for an instant connection with the universe, a three minute meditation that truly does ‘sooth my soul’.

Lifeline

 (songs mentioned are linked for listening or viewing)

Sometimes, life sucks. I don’t mean sometimes we have a bad day. I mean sometimes so much of your life is so totally opposite of what you wish for, that the only way to describe it is to say it sucks. I mean the times that last for weeks or months, even years, on end. If you’re lucky, something comes along to help you get through. You have to get through, you can’t go around it. You can wallow in it or you can get through it. Those are the options.

If you live long enough, there will be several sucky periods to get through. Sounds dreadful, and while you’re there, it is – but without the hard times, the smooth sailing is pretty bland. You grow a lot while you work on getting through. You come out the other side stronger, smarter, and oddly willing to enjoy life. If you aren’t stronger, smarter, and more inclined to appreciate things, you probably haven’t come out the other side yet. Just so you know….

Anyway, something helps you get through. Maybe you see a movie that has one little segment that resonates with you. Maybe you overhear a piece of conversation that gives you a new perspective. Maybe, like me, your lifeline is in a song. Songs are good because you can play them over, you can sing them even if they aren’t playing. I had a song that ran through my head like a little choo-choo on a circular track. I wore out 2 cassettes playing that song endlessly. 

That song, my ‘lifeline’, was “Any Major Dude” by Steely Dan. I love Steely Dan anyway, but I think I owe them my sanity. I was lucky enough to find a Major Dude (two, actually) to tell me that “any minor world that breaks apart, falls together again.”  First it just felt like they were singing directly to me, like Fagin and Becker were my closest friends there to prop me up. I think after playing it about 398457 times over the course of a few days I had brainwashed myself into thinking positively. I started to know it would get better and I would get through it. Eventually I did. Not before wearing out those two cassette tapes though.

That song also led me to recognize that our thoughts have immense power over our attitudes. I could have spent forever lamenting all that had gone wrong and blaming that one (decidedly major) traumatic experience for all my misery. I could still be wallowing in despair. Some people do that for the rest of their lives. Its hard to quit being miserable if all you do is think about how miserable you are.

Steely Dan made me think about what I had to smile about. First, ‘Any Major Dude’ gave me something to smile about. The song made me feel hopeful, the music made me tap my feet, and I would sing along. I feel sorry for my friends and family. I surely did not mumble along, I SANG. I belted out ‘Dude” at the top of my lungs. I dug down into my toes and pulled the words up through the ground and it swelled into a crescendo of catharsis that rattled the windows. I don’t have a fabulous singing voice. No one told me to shut up, so either they just love me a whole lot, or horrible caterwauling of a joyful tune is preferable to whining in misery. Either way, I sang that song a lot.

I find it difficult to reach into my soul, sing, and remain mopey. A couple of songs advise just that; ‘Song Sung Blue’ by Neil Diamond, and ‘Sing’ by The Carpenters. Neil points out that no matter how blue you are when you start, when you sing from the heart you just can’t stay mopey. The Carpenters encourage everyone to just sing, no matter what, and to sing out! I play those songs and bellow along. 

If I don’t have access to actual music, I just sing. I segue from one song to the next. ‘Song Sung Blue’ leads to ‘Sing’. ‘Sing’ leads to an Art Garfunkel tune  ‘I shall Sing’.  These are lively songs. I don’t think its possible to sing them without becoming energized. Youtube makes this a lovely experience. I think the song, type it in, and there it is. Any idea how often they (THEY!!) play ‘I shall Sing’ on the radio? Never. That’s how often. Youtube allows me to play the songs from my streamofconsciousness concert.

That could go anywhere. Today it moved to ‘Calling Occupantsof Interplanetary Craft’ (Carpenters). Another day it might move to ‘YouPositively Lost Me’ (Rave-Ups) or ‘Birdhouse in your Soul’(They Might Be Giants).

Willie Nelson wrote a very interesting little book called ‘The Tao of Willie’. I recommend it! In this book, Willie talks about how what he sang affected his life. He says that one day he realized that his life mirrored his songs when all along he thought his songs mirrored his life. He decided to try singing more positive songs and see what happened. Y’all know the old joke about playing country music backwards to get back your wife, your truck, and your dog? Go read ‘The Tao of Willie’. It has good thoughts, and even more important, it is highly entertaining. 

Then think about what songs you’re singing.

Mix Tape 1

 Each of the songs mentioned are linked for download at Amazon in the text and video linked at the end of the article. This is the first in a series.

Music tapped me on the shoulder, took me by the hand, and led me out into the world.  I was shy. I trusted no one. I lived inside my adolescent brain, in my own very vivid imagination.  In “The Sound of Silence” (P. Simon, 1964), I learned I was not alone:

“Ten thousand people, maybe more, people talking without speaking, people hearing without listening…” 

I heard people ‘talking’ as eloquent silences that cried out for love but were lost in the ten thousand other voices also crying out, all going unheard in the din. I found hope there. Those are the first lyrics I can remember touching me, personally. They opened the door, opened my eyes, and for the first time I could recognize fear and loneliness in other people. I wasn’t alone, and in not being alone I was free to go out and be among them. I could be open to enjoy “Saturday in the Park ”(R. Lamm).

           

“People dancing, really smiling, a man playing guitar…”

That is how it was, the perfect anthem to my teen years. We were a generation of children who sang. Everywhere we gathered, we sang. Someone had a guitar and we all sang along.  If there was no guitarist, we sang acappella, half a dozen or more voices joined in an instinctive harmony. Music was alive, it was everywhere, and people dance-walked their way through the ‘70s. Children went. We burst out the doors of morning and tumbled back home again through the doors of nightfall, and in between we danced a nomadic migration toward our future selves. 

“But you've been told many times before
Messiahs pointed to the door
And no one had the guts to leave the temple!

I'm Free -I'm free
And freedom tastes of reality” (R. Daltry)

My siblings and I were allowed to wander. We were expected to make reasonable choices, and we were expected to make mistakes. This, my parents said, is how you learn. We gave you, my parents said, the foundation you need, now you must learn to apply it. I feel sorry for children today. They are caged in a way I never was.  People claim the world was safer then. I had guns held to my head three times before I was 18 years old, and not once because I was somewhere I should not have been!  ‘Safe’ is an illusion. ‘Safe’ is a euphemism for a cage called fear. Music set me free from that cage and no danger was going to force me back into it. Danger passes. Fear takes root and strangles you like kudzu on a tree. It doesn’t look like a killer…

Freedom. Exploration. Adventure. Wanderlust. We all did it, my siblings and I, we all wandered off to explore the world. My exploration came when I was 18, the summer after graduation. We hit the road, my boyfriend and I, hitchhiking around the country with no particular destination or timeline. Where the ride went, we went.

“You're sick of hangin' around and you'd like to travel;
Get tired of travelin' and you want to settle down.
I guess they can't revoke your soul for tryin',
Get out of the door and light out and look all around. “

(R. Hunter)

We didn’t have any money, so we ate when someone fed us. We slept wherever we found a sheltered spot if the night threatened rain, or in any little clearing we came across. Sometimes people offered their yards or porches for us to pitch camp on. One family kept us for the weekend. They had 11 children in a two-bedroom house. We slept on the lawn, ate blue cornbread, and played. There was some serious love for mankind in that family. I can still feel it thirty years later.

A different night, in a different town, we slept under a bridge. With the interstate running over our heads, we went to sleep alone and woke up to a community of homeless people there because they had nowhere else to be. These people, who had nothing and no real hope of ever having anything, fed us, reveled in our tale of wanderlust, sang with us, and sent us out to conquer the world with their love and well wishes to carry us.  A ‘long strange trip,’ indeed.

I miss the singing. I think progress did us in. We have so much music available on the Internet now. We load it into our personal pocket jukeboxes, plug it into our ears, and shut out the world. Those lyrics from ‘The Sounds of Silence’, the ones that set me free, have a different meaning for me now. We text and tweet all day long, in short, vague sentences. Our ears are plugged with music, but we no longer hear each other’s voices. Where are the impromptu sidewalk sing-alongs?  Children aren’t even allowed out anymore, much less allowed to gather into little gangs of joyous singers. There is no acoustic guitarist sitting on a picnic table strumming songs. Even if there were, would enough random passers-by even know his songs, much less sing along?

A few months ago, someone asked if anyone actually knew the words to ‘Kumbayah ’. I do. Would you like to sing it with me?

 “Someone’s singing, my Lord, Kumbayah.

Someone’s singing, my Lord, Kumbayah.

Someone’s singing, my Lord, Kumbayah.

Oh, Lord, Kumbayah…”

 The sounds of silence; Simon & Garfunkle, words & music: Paul Simon

http://www.lyricsdepot.com/simon-garfunkel/sounds-of-silence.html

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h-S90Uch2as&feature=related

Saturday in the Park; Chicago , written by Robert Lamm

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UTFD1C4tVIg

http://www.lyricsdepot.com/chicago/saturday-in-the-park.html 

 I’m Free: The Who, Roger Daltry

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rGa70tVYVKo

http://www.lyricsdepot.com/the-who/im-free.html

Truckin: Grateful Dead, Words by Robert Hunter; music by Garcia, Lesh, Weir
Copyright Ice Nine Publishing;

http://www.lyricsdepot.com/grateful-dead/truckin.html

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pafY6sZt0FE

 Kumbayah, Gullah Spiritual

Lyrics:

(chorus)Kumbayah, my Lord, Kumbayah

Kumbayah, my Lord, Kumbayah

Kumbayah, my Lord, Kumbayah

Oh, Lord, Kumbayah

(verses) Someone’s singing, my Lord, Kumbayah (three times)

Oh, Lord, Kumbayah

Someone’s laughing, my Lord, Kumbayah

Someone’s crying, my Lord, Kumbayah

Someone’s praying, my Lord, Kumbayah

Generally, succeeding verses use whatever activity is going on – washing, mending, etc.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p3MiD_U4CHQ&playnext=1&list=PLF2E82E861B9CC868

Bobby McFerrin hacks your brain with music | Video on TED.com

Bobby McFerrin hacks your brain with music | Video on TED.com

Nothing more to say.

a pinch of this, a dash of that, its audio cuisine

http://soundcloud.com/dj-dain/dont-worry-im-yours-mashup
I love this. Soundcloud is totally awesome. I am amazed by the people who make these mashups. Some are just 'mashups', some are audio assemblages - sort of the difference between a good drawing and a masterpiece. They all make me say wow, some of them take my breath away, and some just take me away. Go there, explore, be amazed. Be inspired. Art is freaking EVERYWHERE! Gotta love that.