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.

I found this video on theageofreason.org If I linked every thing there that got me thinking, I'd just link everything there. The video is a teaser to lead you to the Age of Reason. Something to think about.

Scroobius Pip, A letter from God to Man.

Poems - a few

good save

What is

The answer please?

I do not know, you say.

What is the question, precious girl?

You were not listening! Again!

I was! Until I got

Distracted by

Your charms. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 The poem above is an eintou. An eintou is a poem that follows a format of 2,4,6,8,6,4,2 - either syllables or words. If you're really good, I suppose you could do both. 
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Pease Porridge Revisited 

Pease porridge hot

Best served with a scoop

These days we call it

Split pea soup

Pease porridge cold

Leaves me agog

Thick as pea soup

Walking in the fog

You can’t see a thing

So some like it not

I’d rather pease porridge fog

Than pease porridge hot!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

new dawn

whirling eyes watch as this cream stone

mottled red, gold, and green

moves of its own accord

nestled among glittering gems

something more precious than gold

crown jewel in this dragon’s horde

with a thunderous cracking

from stone does emerge now

beautiful dragon spawn

as glistening wings do slowly unfurl

a tiny tongue samples the breezes

at the edge of a new dawn

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

song

weightless
and brilliant
as bright as the sun
you light
my way
when I am
undone

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Song, like most of these, was written for a contest. This particular contest allowed only 8 lines. Many of the people reviewing 'song' felt it was too short, or the title didn't fit the poem. I wrote an explanation of the poem - something I normally would not do, as I feel that the reader has to get what they get not necessarily what I get. This one, however, deserved explanation, as every word was carefully chosen to pack maximum meaning into minimum space. The explanation follows.

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'song' is the English translation of psalm - a song of praise.

weightless =light, but also, light itself is weightless, so the meaning here is double. Because the light is there, the burden is lightened.

brilliant = shining brightly, illustrious, magnificent, of great intelligence. Something so wondrous as to defy any other description.

bright as the sun = So intense that you cannot see it by looking at it directly, so vital that you cannot survive with out it.

you light = you, Light, you light (both an address to the specific 'Light' and a description of the action of guidance.)

my way = combined with you light, meaning I am guided by the light of Light (the guide).

when I am = philosophically, there is no "I", as we are all part of the whole. One cell in your body is a specific cell, but without all the other cells, it does not comprise a human. So, when I misplace my connection to Everything, then I am. When I recall my connection to everything, then am 'i'. (Note the case - i is a part of the whole, I is egocentric and separate. Here, "I" is the only capitalization within the poem, placing the value of "I" above the value of the light, hence "undone".)

undone= what we are when we misplace our connection to Everything. We cannot lose the connection, but we do sometimes seriously misplace it. You cannot be separate from that from which you are made, but in feeling alone, you feel undone, unconnected, unloved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

New Beginnings

I watched as the swinging boom did bring
The building to its knees
Scattering brick and glass and dust
And random memories.

The rubble was cleared, it took some time
To haul it all away
And in its place we planted laughter
To let the children play.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

New beginnings (contest entry, 8 line max) is another misunderstood poem. Most people got it, but some thought "planted laughter" meant a new house was built, where an old house had been torn down. I meant that a dilapidated building in the city had been replaced by an inner city playground. I wonder if the difference in perception is equal to the difference between a "privileged" childhood and growing up poor? Or at least, not growing up well-off. Curious.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Canada Geese

We watched the goslings hatch and grow

Three families in the pond.

They overstayed the welcome though

And we became less fond.

Less fond of their ceaseless chatter.

Less fond of the mess they were making.

Less fond of their organic matter.

Less fond of sudden braking.

And then one day they went too far,
 My little daughter’s lunch! -

They knocked her down beside the car

This thieving, feathered bunch.

I knew not how to make them leave,

To shoo them from our docks.
 I never thought I’d ever be

Rescued by a fox!

Each early morn, the fox would come

And set the geese to squawking,

And I would curse the noise it caused,

This early morning stalking.

And then one day, with swift dispatch

The fox became a winner

Feathers flew, then down the hatch

That goose was fox’s dinner.

Oh, crafty fox, you made a mess

Of feathers everywhere!

The goosey flock, in sheer distress,

Took honking to the air.

They’ve flown away and not returned,

How peaceful life's become.

My gratitude that fox has earned

And this poetic fame.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I took liberties. Canada Geese don't tend to attack people, white geese do. Mixing them added some spice to the poem. The white geese attacked a child I nannied (a thousand years ago). The fox did solve our Canada Goose issue last spring. So, I took liberties, but the events were real enough. This one did not win its contest. I apparently offended the judge who made it clear that he was not pleased with the fox. =) I'm guessing he's never had a yard full of gooseshit to contend with!

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revenge of the revenge

Oh! Sometimes you make me
Madder than a cat in the bathtub!
This time you really went too far.

Sometimes, I think of ways to get revenge
For my tattered, aching heart.
I never follow through.

Instead, I clean the house –
I go a little overboard.
I’ve been known to wash the soap.

I scrub the grout between the tiles
On the bathroom floor.
This time, you really went too far!


Your forty dollar whitening kit
Is doing a fine job.
Who knew I’d one day follow through?

My aggravation lessens as I scrub
Then escalates again.
I used the wrong toothbrush.

Yours is in the caddy,
Mine is in my hand.
This time, I really went too far.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another contest entry, in which I had to use the bolded phrase "the wrong toothbrush".

I have to be honest - I've never been known to "wash the soap", and your toothbrush is safe with me. I'm not much on revenge either. This one won it's contest. WooHoo!   

© Copyright 2011 Rikki Ansell

all rights reserved

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….