No really...is it Art?

     I’ve never really considered myself an artist…for me to do so would be a classic denial of my chosen philosophy of not allowing myself to be attached to any one specific group or subset of culture.  I adamantly reject the notion that one must subject themselves to years of so-called ‘training’ and education to be considered among a more artistic peer group.  Living in Seattle, I had an association with a few of these artsy types…they had plotted and studied every single aspect of art.  It always seemed to me that some were incredibly busy trying to BE artists, and not just being artists.  I subscribe to the philosophy of self-realization.  It shares a bit of the same thinking as other paths such as Zen and Tao.   Tao teaches us the concept of ‘wu wei,’ which loosely translated means to ‘do without doing.’ 
     I’m still in the process of fitting it all together at this point, but I’ll be able to draw the connections between the wu wei and its relevance to modern Buddhism.  If I am to create, I can’t do it out of a desire to make a statement.  This creates the suffering that is spoken of in the first of the four noble truths in classic Buddhism.  So, I create out of no other necessity than to simply create.  Art for Art’s sake, but I still have to dodge that label.  I suppose if there were any desire I could come to think of, it would probably be the desire for space and a big pile of scrap from which to work.  Some tools would be nice.  But to create something to possibly display would be a small dream of mine.  For as long as I can remember though, I’ve always had this intense creative streak, which sometimes spills out into other areas of my life.  Almost everything I do has some sort of creative something in it somewhere, all you have to do is look for it.  It can possibly be the way that I word something in a sentence or the way I link or tie two objects together to create a mobile. 
     The devil is in the details, I say.  It’s one thing to appreciate a piece overall, to look at it and say, “this is nice” or whatever you think about it.  It’s another thing to pay attention to what makes up the piece.  The nuts, the bolts, how the glass is suspended by the wire; the way the spoons are bent and the way the rocks seem to balance in their bowls.  I like to create things that change with a silent and very fluid, very natural motion.  This is why I like creating mobiles.  On the whole, the physical makeup of the piece never changes.  But because it’s constantly moving around with the air currents in the wind, or just simple gravitational effects, they never appear to be the same at all.  They constantly change as they drift along on whatever breeze they happen to catch.  “Suspended Animation” I like to call it.  Another aspect of my work is that it’s multi dimensional.  You should be able to examine it from any angle you choose.  That’ll let you see what really went into the piece, and give you better access to the details.  If I were a genuine sculptor and could work in that media, I would be creating things that everyone could approach and climb upon and explore.

The Gettysbeer Address

(This was originally written as an oratory to be given at the Gitchee Gumee Brewfest in April 2004.)

Four Score and seven beers ago, my companions and I brought themselves forth on this continent a brew nation, conceived in innebrity and dedicated to the proposition that not all beers are created equal.  Now we are engaged in a great civil debate, testing which of these fine brews’ inebriation so conceived and so delicious can long endure.  We are met in the great Brewhouse of that debate.  We have come to dedicate a portion of this drink as a tribute to those who here gave us the means that this event might long live.  It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.  But in a larger sense we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this drink.  The brave men living and dead who have perfected and brewed it have consecrated it far above our power to add or detract.  The world will little note nor long remember what we drank here, but we can never forget that we came here to sip and sup with our fellow men.  It is for us the drunkards rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished ales, which were poured out for us, have thus far been so nobly advanced.  It is rather for us to be dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored men we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these beers shall not have been drank in vain, that this brew fest shall have a new birth of drunkenness and that the beer of the people, by the people, for the people shall not perish from the earth.

 

Falling Out

What do friends say
When they’re done being friends,
And their closeness
Has drifted like an ocean?

How many times must they
Meet at a party and
Deal
With that uncomfortable silence
That builds itself around them?

How much time passes until
Friends who aren’t
Friends anymore
Simply become
Acquaintances?

 Winter 2000 (circa)

Anatomy of a Rocket

Sturdy cro-moly steel road frame with braze-ons for linear pull brakes on seat stays and fork
13-15 tooth cog on a flip-flop hub (fixed gear and freewheel)
Double wall Sun Ringle’ or Mavic 26” rims with 26X1-1/4 “pizza cutter” tires pumped up to 120 psi.
32 tooth “Big Ring”
"Moustache" style handlebars mounted upside down with aero brake levers, all wrapped up in black cushion tape.
A comfortable seat.
Bearings, Grease, brake cable.
Shimano "Death Grip" SPD pedals on a three piece crankset with a sealed bottom bracket.

Ssssssscaryfassstttt!!!

Wanderlust pt. 1

     I had in my youth a great sense of longing to be someplace else.  Although I knew that I'd always be my Mother's Son, I had to seek, search and discover all of the things I had read about in books.  I spent a good deal of my time as a kid reading things like National Geographic and copious volumes of the World Book Encyclopedia series, in addition to numerous books on travel.  I would pull out the maps they send with the National Geographic magazines and study them for hours, memorizing names and places, roads and rivers.  When I got down to it, Texas in all its vastness just seemed to be just too small for my wanderlust and imagination to be appeased.  No one really expected me to stick around very long after I got out of High School, I don’t think. 
     I enlisted in the Navy shortly before graduation, and ended up getting called up early for boot camp in July instead of November as was planned.  I spent two months in the Chicago area going to basic training, and then another four months in Virginia going through technical school.  I took orders to go to an aircraft carrier out in Washington State after technical school, and reported aboard the U.S.S. Nimitz early on in 1990.  So began a most tumultuous adventure that’s still in progress.  I went rather blindly out into the world to begin figuring out what the hell I was supposed to do with my life.  According to some, in that mission I failed.  But failure depends on how you look at things, really.  I've always been a little skeptical of the notion that you absolutely must have a plan for your life so early on. 
     From the onset of puberty, and sometimes much earlier in life, we begin being programmed, mainly by our teachers and parents, to think that we must have some sort of plan for our lives, to know what we're supposed to do with the remainder of our time here on earth, however short.  Those who didn't would surely wind up flipping burgers in a fast food joint until death took them away from their dismal pointless life. 
     Back in my day and generations before, depending on how adamant parents are in the way of life decisions, a lot of people probably wind up doing something relatively close to what their folks had in mind for them.  It's not really the parent’s fault per se.  The reason being is that the drive to have our children somehow be as successful as or more so than we are.  Other times, some of us have an idea of what we'd like our lives to turn out to be like.  What happens then, if one day we wake up and realize that what we may be doing in life is completely wrong, or that our chosen or ordained "career" isn't as fulfilling as what it was made out to be?  Based on that question, I have resisted the resignation of my life to just one cause, one job, and one career.  Since I became aware of the world outside my doorstep, I have been pursuing the existence of experience, and gaining wisdom and enlightenment through that experience. 
     I felt that what I had to learn in life couldn’t be taught in books.  I can't explain it any simpler than to say that I wasn't really interested in being tied down to something any longer than I had to be.  I did exactly what was required of me with the least amount of effort as possible, namely graduating High School, and did my best to get out of town.  In retrospect, I think I was itchy to get started.  College had briefly crossed my mind at some point, and would have been a good thing I'm sure.  Though I really couldn't commit fully to the college routine, mainly out of fear of the requisite math courses, I did wind up doing some independent study and even attended a few lectures out West when I was there.  Still, it didn't really interest me.  It may well have saved me from the culture shock I got when I left home for good by staving off the inevitable thrust out into the world.  Be that as it may however, I don't feel that the path I chose is for everyone to follow.
Experience is the essence of life; it is what we are put here for.  Essentially, everything you put on top of that (your house, your car, or your career) is nothing more than baggage.  I am sometimes a little envious of young kids today in that their eyes seem to be a little more open to the world as it is.