Showing posts with label JOURNAL. Show all posts
Showing posts with label JOURNAL. Show all posts

Thursday, December 27, 2018

HOLIDAY GARDEN [APRES CHRISTMAS] 2018...

 I am digging back into the studio after the holidays, 
as seen with the pile of garden cuttings 
impulsively spray-painted 
silver, for a decorative "arrangement" now languishing 
while I ponder being safely rid of the leavings...
T'won't compost & probably ought not to be burned. 
I did not think that one out very well...
Solstice has long been the heart-fully factual event for us. 
This year we attended a lively party with a large group of
 good friends... Enjoying much fine conversation! 

On our way home we walked the path around a large pond 
where one Islander gifted the night's magic... 
a millennia of flames... luminaria 
flickering harmony with misty light of full moon! 
Then home to our own lamps for a long recuperative sleep!
Thus Christmas was happily celebrated quietly. Just the two of us at home here at Soundcliff... a very rare thing! The first time in many years that we have not been traveling, either to spend time with family... or seeking to avoid any additional rush of festivities after the period when the Island's Studio Tour absorbs so much of the calendar with the hard work of cleaning & preparing for two intense weekends of "showtime"... ringing in, ringing out & ringing up the bells' business!

We've tried escaping to various parts of the Orient, only to discover the universality of Santa & various versions of decorated trees, even if oftentimes they are more entertaining than in this country. So it is probably easiest to just sit tight & ignore the fuss where we have the most control! 

Our weather, while quite wet, has been mild, so the garden has continued to produce & bloom. I picked greens & salads for the meals to which we treated ourselves. Stephen made a big batch of his specialty crab cakes. There was fresh salmon & ahi for the succession of nights... sweet times!
The reliable gift of produce in this season is Mashua, the starch crop I've grown since learning about it at the Mother Garden in Sonoma County, when I lived in northern California 25 years ago. The abundant foliage climbs high all summer, giving its spicy nasturtium zip as addition to salads, but in late autumn it develops happy blossoms, signaling that its roots are making the tubers for which it is generally raised by the Peruvian gardeners who more famously gave us potatoes.
 
These beautiful organic packages of intense flavor can be eaten raw... I like them thin sliced like winter "radishes" to make toothsome crispy zippity-do-da salad nibbles... 
but are more usually served as a cooked vegetable. Sauteed or better roasted, 
both the flavor & texture soften & sweeten rather ephemerally.


 The hexagonal raised bed produced Trout's Back lettuces & Baby Bok Choy...
The Wasabi Arugula blossoms went in the salad to accompany the Ahi well!
Pineapple Sage blossoms color holiday salads festive...
The small Camellia started blooming to add more red to our view.
One stalwart patch of pansies held-on!
 I brought the Abutilon into the studio to protect 
& display its bell-inspiration during the show...
But this fuchsia made a lovely small show 
spiting difficulties from lack of light & temperature.
I've been celebrating the small mountain of cedar sawdust which covers the new hugelkulture Tom helped build during a week of Indian summer... an experiment in re-sculpting the contour of one large section of the garden from "sagging swale" into a more visually sturdy "rib". A long term project!
Reminding the sweet welcome in/out my plane window as we came home from Thanksgiving in Florida. Tahoma is our beautiful mother mountain... we watch her from Soundcliff's windows every day she isn't hiding in the clouds with which she dresses for her constantly evolving fashion!
These Ibis & Pelicans joined us for lunch at a dockside restaurant one afternoon down there...
Reminding me of the sculpture hiding silhouetted behind the mylar sheet we use as a sun shade in our bedroom window... not needed often during this dark time, but useful when we are journaling & reading on rare enough mornings desiring celebration of any such intrusions of light returning!
Early Bird Blessings For this New Year!

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Leo Toye Returns...

I am flummoxed how to explain from scratch who Leo Toye is… being a part of me who's been mostly retired. Long ago… about 25 years...  he came along as my doppleganger when I joined a group of artists in Sedona, Arizona to revive an Open Studio venture. We decided to publish a newspaper each month & I wanted to become a "columnist" & since I, loving that image of an inky feather quill pen, had always wanted a nom d'plume... Leo Toye became my pen name.

It seems I have always practiced calligraphy, remembering many posters made for High School campaigns & events, not to mention all the placards & signs for the department store where I worked after classes. Early on I gave-up my cursive... picking up my father's version of writing with a curious mix of upper & lower-case, mostly block letters, gradually coming to love writing all in caps, long before that became digital screaming. But then... I've always been a bit of a screamer.
Leo Toye's name is a literal description of my visual logo… that lion on wheels. The format was graphically columnar, of course. The medium was ink, thus the title TUSCH... meaning ink, most specifically the "india ink" with which I had a rather deep relationship, using technical pens to write my journal in that permanence.

I had danced, work/playing, with graphic design those middle years [early 80's] in Sedona, creating logos & labels for other businesses, so when we conceived making a monthly tabloid as our publicity organ, which declared a quaint anodyne to the slick-cover-magazine-culture supporting / supported by the galleries, I was there with a black & white sensitivity useful to newsprint.
 This is a drawing I made for the front page of one OPEN STUDIO issue:
Leo surfaced on my mind's drawing table & evolved in small body of work of which I've always been proud. Leo could use words in a way which mixed studious years of evolution inside the many covers of my habit to journal with something attempting visual poetry. While I was angry he could be enigmatic… I did indeed like having a doppleganger to blame for my excesses!

Three of the columns:
We eventually became mired in the publishing & the group wore itself out. Leo mostly retired, yet "we" kept writing in my journal & doing the occasional bit of calligraphy or design. I still frequently refer, in many stories & much history, to Leo Toye when I'm playing with words & ink.

Now, after some long periods of neglecting my journal, in part due to having become computer literate, as they say... believing I would journal digitally. I did not, for numerous reasons, mostly because the computer seems to lack similar intimacy as pen-in-hand fosters deeply private thinking. The keyboard supposes capability of publishing, while the ink flows from my hands in very different mental processes involving more soul somehow...

I have recently returned to that inky process which I realize as being important, if not imperative. I can only allude to the many stories I would tell, but this is still just the introduction to Leo Toye, who  seemingly spontaneously resurrected himself when I volunteered to write a publicity piece for our upcoming Spring Vashon Island Artist Studio Tour. As I began making notes for an article in pencil I quickly found myself drawing the words as interactive shapes rather than sentences.

This is Leo Toye's art, a certain visual poetry... calligraphy making a composition of literate words & drawing dancing more lively than typeset on the page.
 The work begins in pencil on paper:
Then a tracing on drafting film, also in pencil:
The drawing is then traced in ink on film:
This stage was scanned into a program & finished digitally:
Notice that the lines about "grace" were replaced by digital "ink work":

Click the "read more" button if you would like to view the columns as larger images... 

Saturday, October 10, 2009

JOURNAL... LIVING ONE'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY...


TO JOURNAL IS UNIQUELY ACTIVE
REFLECTION BACK-FORWARD IN TIME
LIVING WHILE RECORDING ELUSIVE MOMENT
BIOLOGY AUTOGRAPHED

I find myself piqued to quill by a questioning post on cousin Anjana's blog... was the bride of the wedding which we went to India to celebrate...

How much do you want to document your experiences ? Will recording them help you make better sense of your own evolution ? Has it helped you evolve in the future ? How much do you [return] to the documentation and is reviewing it interesting enough that it was worth the effort?

How much nostalgia is healthy and appropriate for you ?




I've kept a rather regular journal for most of thirty-five years, beginning seriously when at 30 I embarked on a rare journey of rich exploratory travel into a new period of my life.

While there are several other small volumes with some few pages written during my late teens, such attention was obviously short lived... only beginning dreams toward this time of my turning 30, leaving Denver, evolving toward a less urban, more solitary mode. I was ready to bring new maturity to the process.

What began as a typical road-travel diary came to include the I-Ching readings I made for contemplation during this extended solitary road trip. I was in a Jungian stage of individuation. I was working with an already well developed ego & had the time to indulge myself in deeper work, much of it dancing out of my involvement with a play therapist named Austin Delaney, making two dusty drives down to his remote retreat in Baja to spend time sifting & soaking in sandbox symbology.

My use of words like "play" & "dancing" for describing such adventure of my life began then & I celebrate that they still are some of my most preferred & useful verbs.



I now have a trunk tightly packed with the collection of bound volumes accumulated over these years, plus another matching trunk of photocopied letters written back when I tried to share similar writing with family & friends. I consider these papers part of my journal.

All these pages are handwritten, usually in the india ink [I wonder if I am I a fan of India first by default of a misnomer?!!] from the rapidograph technical pens to which I was so long addicted... reassured by the sense of permanence that ink suggested. My fingers became almost as permanently stained. Flying with one of them was quite an adventure, as they often reacted to the changing cabin pressure by leaking or even burping exuberantly... I dedicated myself to the ritual of holding the uncapped pen bedded in a handkerchief during takeoff & landing to prevent the cap from filling with that dangerous black to ooze out when next I wanted to write. A handkerchief which long lived inside the book's covers became an archive of marks & blots from years of grooming the nibs of those tetchy writing instruments!

I've had sleek leather slip covers [barely seen in the photo above as background for a datura blossom] made to hold my chosen size of standard blank books, one for each, writing & drawing.

I became quite serious about my journal & perhaps, even obsessed!


I developed the calligraphic block style of my handwriting from my father's curious mix of caps & lower case handwriting & my art student's fascination with the rather standard draftsman's block style & those old speedball pens we used for making posters in high school. I lettered myriad signs for the department store where I worked during High School. I abandoned cursive when my handwriting was quite young, as can be seen if I try to use that form now. After years' habit & development, my handwriting has developed a strong familiarity as part of my identity & even a certain fame.

Long before any sort of writing style with the ideas words can convey, I was developing a sense of how they should look... indeed, that is no small part of how I think with words now. Committing one's everyday thoughts to such ink invites fastidious forethought... even as the first mandate is to capture the moment.

I wanted it to look good as well as being legible. At first I tried the notion that each page was a calendar day, but the accumulation wasted of paper quickly became evident as I would almost never finish writing that much in 24 hours... even as I attempted using the blank trail to guilt-trip myself into more diligence.

I began to read the unwritten tales of some pages... analyzing my state or mood by the slant of the lines. I sometimes tried to project my life through it, making affirmations. That was as iffy in ink as it is in the ephemeral world... but I appreciate the clarity of idea that notion teaches: "Be careful what you wish for..."

I studied my calligraphy, practicing nuance to reveal or disguise the word's wells & walls, to enhance one glyph's relationship to its neighbors. Early on I needed to consider whether I would draw in my journal, or reserve it for words alone. I love that the proper verb for making an Icon is "to write" rather than "to paint"... so I appreciate how drawings can be "literal, but I decided that the obviously more messy process of drawing was better kept out of these pages... I maintain other books for that kind of thinking. Still my love of symbols & glyphs required some visual notes.

I played with my journal. I studied myself inside it. I was often literally living it.

Over the years the questions about to whom & for what I'm making all these words has been omnipresent & never quite answered. Writing for oneself must be what brings one to writing in the first place. Before writing what one wants to say, one must say/write those things to oneself. God knows I often sermonized & still can. I veer not enough toward poetry. I write dialogue between parts of myself & with a second person, trying to clarify what I do not say so easily in actual conversation.

For all my lack of it, I practice to simplify & clarify... realizing that is a life's work. I long wrote in curiously punctuated [or often not!] stream-of-consciousness rambles: Sentences full of parenthetical wanderings [inside more & more brackets... ] strung vaguely out between a noun & its far flung potential verb, which needed to change tense several times for all those clauses. It has taken me years to learn to think in paragraphs... indeed, my early journals & letters were often nightmare rides through my immature mind!

Because I wanted to watch the accumulation of words representing myself in ways unlike, if parallel to, my visual work, this archive has often been useful to help me see myself more honestly. As I write toward Anjana's questions about the values of the journal processes to explain one's experience, I feel my own sense of those values. I'm obviously still doing it, so I believe in it even as i must suppose I will never know the end of its story. I've heard stories of the destruction of journals in apocalyptic ritual or fits of pique & fear. I'm happier never yet to have had one of those.



I've always had faith this trunk of books would find its own journey into the unknown after me, my gift to the plague & blessing of words humans have unleashed as history. Accepting as well that they might not make it beyond the next flood [in spite of that potential protection of waterproof Indian Ink!] or fire or a slide over our edge & down the cliff, much less into another century. As an art history lover I've always wanted some of my own work to pass the test of the ages, being chosen again & again to save. I peg my second chances on my journal...

I do occasionally go back to read in the writing, especially when I'm trying to remember some detail of time or relationship... but I've learned that I often do not write what I would want to read later, being so busy with the doing that I did not have time or presence of mind to write much at all in such memorable times... I trusted to unsupported memory itself the very things I later wish I hadn't forgotten. To my frequent dismay I find boring menus or guest lists rather than the spark of excitement I want to recover. So the process is inevitably flawed, or at least, incomplete.

I have found it useful & fun to read from my old journals to someone aloud sharing selected notions of my earlier life. I see change & growth. I see ever old habits & ideas cycling new through the sense of time which has days quite full of words & those left inexplicably equally blank.



Journalizing renders present into immediate past while inviting past to remain present toward the future.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

CIRCLING WITH FAERIES...


Back this morning in the nest of our home I am basking in rare sunshine & the memories of what must be something like my 20th time circling with the Northwest Radical Faeries at Breitenbush Hot Springs, deep in the woods of central Oregon's mountains, where we have gathered for the last 25 years.

This is a spiritual gathering of mostly gay men who feel called & re-called to the mission of creating & re-creating magical space for healing themselves & the planet... a far flung ambition, no doubt about it!

Harry Hay holds a position of honor as one of those who made the call for the First Spiritual Gathering of Radical Faeries in 1979 which now has become an international collective of rather anarchical groups who continually reinvent ourselves. We are a rare example of what is actually the very [pre]historic process of coalescing humans to consciousness around deep seated need to advance what it means to be human.

Too much groundwork would be necessary to bring you fully into appreciation & understanding... even we do not know quite who we are most of the time! But I want to attempt that impossibility by narrowing my focus to what might be considered our basic sacrament, which we call Heart Circle.

I illustrate sharing photos of an experiment I began several years ago, which now suggests itself as an ongoing personal practice: a book, which I first saw some four years ago in a Florentine paper shop, but passed it by as impractical for my journaling. Stephen presented it to me nonetheless some days later, in Rome, on my birthday. It is gorgeously handmade, rich paper bound with a leather spine & marbled paper covered boards.

Half moon shaped, it is a crescent which becomes fully round when opened... which shape is why I was first both attracted to it but then observed it being impractical for my squarish calligraphics. Still, he knows well how to feed my heart...

Heart's song happily often creates askance while dancing antithetical to practicality. I do love the book so I've dedicated it to drawing rather than writing, however rare it is I have time in quality to sit with such importantly playful work. Much needed education has come through while I approached this project of drawing a skin of graphite over/onto the soft ribs of such heavily laid cold pressed rag paper. Much pencil pressure will easily cause the surface to crush, introducing even stronger texture... to this I must be student.

The laying onto tone over careful tone, more shading than crosshatching... chiaroscuro become meditation.

Such drawings become lengthy studies... significant investments of time... I've managed to fill only 8 or 9 pages so far, or paired pages, since I am making these drawings to fill that full circularity. Still, it has sat most of a year between some efforts.

While I'd brought it to Heart Circle before, at this gathering it began to find new strength in meaning to me. I stopped being concerned it might be disrespectful in the larger context as I considered that it is not unusual to see faes knitting or doing hand sewing. I come to see circles within circles as I continue my exploration with this format. The aspect of mandala... which Sanskrit makes disc obvious.

Circling is primordial human activity... "Wherever two or more of you are gathered..." reclaims a sacrament far older than that quotational fragment. Ancient peoples formed eons of family & tribe on this model. Holding circle creates & describes community at it's most basic level. Curiously, we have mostly lost the form because more hierarchical natures have long prevailed to construct our ignorance for their power.

There is nothing of top down in a circle. There is only a totality wrapped in endless continuum. There is center... that which holds. There is oneself... there is then all one's others held in requisite communion... & love.

Faeries find organization in that consensual choice. We are not democratic. The larger portion cannot rule simply by size. All must be worked with so that the whole is healthy as possible. This can be immense struggle & very subtle work... within each self communing with all others. If those who say such wishes truly want to "save the family", I suspect something like this will be seen as one actually functional as well as logical way... which the father model seemingly cannot accomplish.

Faeries might take anything "organizational" with that sense of constructive skepticism, of askance, at whim. Any rule invites being met with creative breaking, just to prove the larger rule of historically evolutionary anarchy. ALL will ALWAYS break down, change... evolve... by atrophy, or recreation.

So one of the most important parts of every Faerie Gathering... or "Faeries' Gathering" as one friend, with more particularity to this point, calls them... is the Heart Circle, traditionally held in the morning at our Breitenbush gatherings. We sit together in the North Wing, the largest meeting space in the old traditionally timbered lodge, making ourselves comfortable & cozy on cushions with back-jacks to lean on. The circle breathes to expand & accommodate as more arrive... others leave at whim. This is no obligation. Some never attend, some of us are habitues, appreciating the energetics in this pulse.

At Breitenbush we might average some 30+ in number, gathering close enough to touch, perhaps holding hands in more, often snuggling or inviting newcomers to nestle into laps rather than to disturb the present & palpable connection... we try not to disturb attention while someone is speaking.

There are numerous variations on procedure. Some traditions pass a talisman, perhaps a "talking stick" to define the concentration toward the sharing, going around the circle to include everyone. In our gatherings, we allow those wishing to speak to take the center, putting no onus on those who might choose to remain quiet until such moment as they are ready.

We have long used a shawl as our usual talisman. Such a bit of "drag" seems to suit our sense of style. The one most currently used was made by a fae who created a richly patterned & subtly spangled triangle which is sturdy enough to stand up to being draped & dragged, played with in nervousness, tugged on & tossed while faeries speak with all the potential emotions, as well as to support a burgeoning collection of additional adornments accumulating to represent all the various gatherings at which it has been used. This shawl has traveled around the country & several times to Europe since its appearance five or six years ago. The Faeries meet regularly in half a dozen sanctuaries around the country. There are Eurofaeries & a new gathering developing in SE Asia as well.

There is also an "ancient" crocheted shawl which is now so weighted by years of feathers, bits of jewelry & patches & has become so frail, in spite of numerous repairs, that we do not actively use it. It has become curiously "hallowed" by so much energy... it has seen so many years of tears in joy or pain, so much stress of emotive anger & love, of holding the weight of processing such myriad matters of collective heart.

We gay, queer, two-spirited, bi & trans-gendering people have long been outcast, especially in patriarchal societies. We hold a powerful collective pain... we hold an equally powerful, but necessarily more subtle strength to survive. Prejudice again & again proves its ultimate weakness & insecurity although never without a struggle from those challenged. Much of the work done in Heart Circle has to do with healing the resultant wounds.

We are invited to speak from our heart & to bring such deeper energies to play by avoiding the foibles & the games of the mind. Courts & Senates abound... "logic" is how we've come to many of the difficulties in this world which we would now attempt to dissolve with the subtleties of love.

We tell our stories inside these circles. We witness our sister-brothers in the joys & travails of their lives. We choose names for the beings we more truly are... or wish to become. We rant. We grieve our losses in the deaths & other passages of family & friends. We ask for support. We bare our souls.

One tradition, although this, as everything else in our unstructured way, is only one option, is to bare our bodies as we speak, bringing our nakedness to be seen in that symbolic honesty, because our culture has made such a poor bargain with true beauty & with sex. This must be considered when the media show only certain, very limiting, body types as acceptable. Before you recoil at this notion you must be honest with yourself about the images with which you are constantly bombarded inside your television or magazines. Does your body meet those "standards"? Is it possible you might prefer to be able to stand bare, finding approval from your peers?... How might it feel actually receiving open appreciation for your size, color, shape & weight? Do your clothes & cosmetics in truth help you compensate for the supposed deficiencies our commercial culture constructs to put us all mostly down? Could we all reach through the sales gimmicks & find some actual confidence in our truth instead?

Faeries feel that pain with all who are marginalized. Further, as gay men we easily contain our own version of that culture which puts so many of us down by impossible standards of gym bunny beauty, which is a curious form of white male privilege known as internalized homophobia. Being overachievers to begin with, simply to survive, in our frustration we take the societal norms to new heights & are often cruel to each other in order to find something feeling temporarily like a step up.

Faeries work to change this cycle... & it is complicated work indeed! It takes this strong structure of the circle... this geometry without corners where which one might stuff one's shit or try hiding with pain. As we face ourselves & look into the mirror of other eyes, we likely first see our own fear. As we share that fear openly we more easily resolve into softening acceptance & appreciation. Without so much need to react by threatening back... we may rather begin finding strength to love more, if not all possible selves. Coming into that welcoming love we may begin more easily to see beauty in all its forms.

Nakedness is belittled by accusations of sexual "impropriety" when it really is more truthful than to accept such from some god of easily manipulated words selling a slavish lack of true logic... if any god created the infinite universe, why would he put only a few narrow-thinking white men in charge? That concept genuinely seems a comic sort of "logic"!

Circles were useful process long before churches. We continue to prove for ourselves in these circles the truth of that. This would seem more genuinely to be "that old time religion". Still, faeries would not wish to be limited as a religion... we are more about spirit than can fit inside such limited definition.

So I brought my round book to the faerie heart circles of this gathering & attempted to honor that spirit in my particular way. In the third day's circle I sat with a new blank set of pages, an open invitation for the mandalic process. The point of my mechanical pencil naturally arrived first at the center. While I rarely speak in circle I can speak here in my own manner. The hearts coming bodily to the center that morning were often telling of feeling off kilter or of searching to find direction & focus. That resonated with the laid lines of these particular pieces of paper, which were going at slightly "clashing" angles.

My book's round pages are cut on many angles & mostly are folded into the folios differently one half page to the other. This requires me to consider how these subtle furrows will ultimately affect my drawing, which will only bring them more & more strongly into visual play under the darker tonalities. I began to draw that skew as honoring something indeterminate... describing a hand for a clock out of time, perhaps... or the pointer of a compass searching between polarities. I felt more the book's calling... Its quiet turning as I crosshatched in innumerable angles allows, requires, mirrors & celebrates the circles within, the circles beyond. Wheels within discs within processes of quiet noise & meditation.

I've 90 or so more pages... seeming a life's work... which gratefully feels less daunting than before. I now rather look forward to the promising permutations possible in such a concentrated evolution. I am invited to find new circles in working play!