This First Day

Rainbow north, this first day.

one small stone in a riverbed of stones; day1

Seconds before sunset,

our ancient mother’s

 glowing smile;

 my doubts

 about this day

 dissolved.

::

Fragile

Fragile. color pencil sketch ~ Michael Douglas Jones

Glass ornaments,

fragile, forgotten,

break so easily,

carelessly left

clinging

to the Christmas Tree.

Children,

fragile, forgotten,

break so easily,

carelessly left

clinging

to the Family Tree.

I swept

the broken bits

beneath

the presents;

their presence

forgotten.

Wallpaper

Wallpaper. oil painting ~ Michael Douglas Jones

These walls were papered by the landlord, long before this was my room, and all the tenants here before me never questioned, or presumed, that they could ever change the patterns of the walls, or of the world.

They were held by their surroundings, as sure as if there was no door, for they accepted what was presented and never questioned their décor.

When we look a little closer at the walls surrounding us, we see the seam is slowly lifting, and behind,

 we find

 no wall at all.

Shift Happens

Passerines. mixed media from Eggs in Envelopes ~ Michael Douglas Jones

Day 19: Then and Now

What was your life like a decade ago? How has your life changed since then?

Often, in the last days of December, we look back at the crooked path we’ve worn in the ending year, using that same past to plan the future. Weighted down, but ready, we bring our bricks and baggage to pave a perfectly patterned road ahead. Then, as always, the earth shifts, cracks occur, and we start to stumble; yearly, wearily living along another winding path. Shift happens on this planet, I can’t plan it away. I can make scenarios, make contingencies, but I can’t make sure. There is simply no way to chart the changes that come along in a decade, so finally this year, I’m leaving my bricks behind, while I wander a bit. I still have much of my baggage, but I feel lighter already.

::

A decade ago, I had my first mixed media exhibit, Eggs in Envelopes, which developed out of one of those shifts; the sort that comes out of nowhere, right when you think your road is ready.  That story is here.

http://mjonesstudio.com/ENE%20Notes.htm

You Are What You Eat

Three Onions oil painting ~ Michael Douglas Jones

Reverb11 Day 17: Loathing - Who or what do you loathe and how have you expressed that in 2011?
I never use the word loathe; the sound of it just reminds me of comfort foods, like meat loaf with loaves of fresh baked bread. With that in mind, I present, for your consideration, a dessert tale. 

Coarsely chopped scorn

and wild white venom

simmered

in the black beast stew;

she baked a loathe

of whole pain bread

and hate it by herself.

Her husband came home

in his cups;

much too late for supper.

She met him

with the cake knife

to serve him just deserts.

Teaching Moment

Day 15. Teaching Moment - Sometimes we find teachers in the most unexpected places. Who surprised you as a teacher this year, and what did you learn?

As we reach the middle of December, I find this Reverb11 project to be a most surprising teacher. I was sure during this year that I was paying attention and being awake. An intense year of art and writing surely was a time of focus; still these questions, near the end of the year, find me without answers. I feel like Herman Cain saying, “No, that’s a different one….I gotta go back and see….I got a lot of stuff twirling around in my head.”  Well, actually, I never feel like Herman Cain, but I am surprised at how little I remember about this year. My focus was a spotlight on my work, when it should have been more of a floodlight on my life.

This is precisely what makes Reverb11 such an excellent exercise; it asks questions that we could be asking every day. I’ve never been one to make resolutions or keep a rolling record of my days, but that sort of attention to the detail of life completely wakes me up to what I am doing. It wakes me beyond what I thought I was; I thought I was awake, when I was sleepwalking.

Now, I’m going to do what I always say is future's futile hope; I’m going to make resolutions. I dislike even saying it, but you can hold me to it. I am going to carry my camera everywhere I go; I don’t mean my camera phone; I mean my real 35mm. There were so many moments, so many miracles, that I saw this year that I could have shared, like the day the praying mantis nest hatched. Have you ever seen that? Hundreds of tiny green twigs scurrying about, faster than light, eating each other; you have to separate them to various locations of the property or they might devour their kin; crazy, but an intense sensation, so much to learn about life.

I will keep a journal of days; the weather, the sounds, the stories of the bees, the comings and goings of the all-around-me.  Like you, I am at the center of the universe; that should be noticed, appreciated, repeated in your story, history, her story.

Sure, there are other solutions and resolutions I should reconsider, but attention is my daily deficit. My attention needs my attention more than my diet, my exercise, or my phobias. To paraphrase my old buddy, the Buddha, “When the student is ready, the teacher appears.”

I could wait until January first, the new year’s day, but I will start early, in the morning, tomorrow morning, Friday; no need to set an alarm; I will be awake.

Gratitude

Drawing by My Girl, 2009

Day 14: Gratitude - What five (5) things are you most grateful for from 2011? #reverb11

“An amateur artist is one who works all week at something else so he can paint on Saturday and Sunday.  A professional artist is one whose wife works so he can paint all the time.”  Ben Shahn, American artist 1898-1969

1.    Grateful for my wife

I have loved her since she first sat behind me in 12^th grade Science class. Our first date was Senior Prom. A year later, I had to go into the service; she married and divorced; I married and divorced. I made it my mission to find her once again. It took ten years; I will never let her go. She’s a tough critic of my art and writing; most of the time she thinks I would be more successful selling khakis at Kohl’s; still she leaves at 8 and returns at 8, so that I can be this.  She is the saint in my story.  

2.    Grateful for my girls

My art was my first love; it consumed me, satiated me, but it never jumped into my arms, or cried on my shoulder, full of fever. Art isn’t love like that.  I never had children of my own, yet here they are; 40, 35, 12, and 9. They were gifts received by circumstance. Grateful doesn’t begin to encompass what these girls give me. On Friday nights, when they all gather round, it is so loud, they can’t hear my heart, but I can. I act the curmudgeon, so don’t let them know how much I treasure the moments when they bound into the room.

3.    Grateful for my family

My mom lives with us in her own little apartment that the county calls a Registered Living Unit. Someday, I will tell you about the absurd law that regulates such an apartment in this county. Anyway, I count my mother as one of my girls, and I’m grateful for everything she does daily; she was the first one to insist that I should be an artist, no matter what others might say. She is my unconditional fan, so I must discount everything she says about my work. Sorry, mom.

My brothers, my cousins, my aunts and uncles, my in-laws; there are so many loving, supportive people in this family that could be saying, “Why doesn’t he get a real job?” They don’t; at least they don’t say that to me. They are always there for me.

4.    Grateful for my online friends

I have met more incredible artists, writers, and heroes this year than I could imagine. They give themselves to the arts and to others without fail; they set high standards that make me work harder, and better, than I thought possible. I am, daily, grateful for these souls I’ve never seen or spoken with, yet they move me in life to a place high above where I once walked.

5.    Grateful for my locals

From the local galleries to the local farms, there are those who advocate for artists, who advocate for a better world, who advance community when the world seems more isolated. I am reclusive, I am most comfortable at home, but this year my locals have pulled me out into the open air of community. A year ago, I would leave home with sunglasses on and hat pulled low; now I’ll stop and have a word with folks, because I feel welcome in a world where I once was worried.

I am grateful for much, but not for things. I am indebted to you; when you read, I am real. I am not an imaginary friend, I will be true.