My photography is featured in the July edition of Alive Magazine, as part of an article about Stephen Lewis and the AIDS crisis in Africa. It was an honour to share the page: Stephen is one of my heros for his articulate speech and tireless effort to bring attention and real progress in Africa.
Click here for a PDF of the first two pages of the article… or you can pick up a copy wherever health & wellness magazines are sold.
For those of you visiting this site in browsers other than Safari, I feel your pain. I recently viewed this site on another machine and much of the beauty is lost to some formatting glitches. I hope to have those fixed in the next while.
I’m happy with how often I seem to be drawn here to post. It comes and goes… but there are times this web canvas is an attractive forum for thought. When I’m in deeper trouble, I tend to be more introspective and less ends up here. I turn to my sketchpad, my personal thought-bucket. The thoughts trickle back into public places once I’ve had a “Eureka!” moment, or when I can’t hold it in any longer.
This is one of those times.
I am working out something within me that seems to nag whenever I reach a period of stability. Somehow, right now, I have more passion and creativity; but it’s stagnated, dirty water in a puddle: like I have words but nothing to say. I am more prepared than ever before to burst into what I want to do, but I’m creating less than any previous period. Why?
I feel trapped by stability.
For me, freedom is a Very Big Thing™. Keeping my options open falls above engagement in my subconscious reflexes. Options give me the illusion of control.
Bizarrely, and – this is where I’m wanting to understand myself – I pair aloofness with responsibility. I frequently bind myself to roles and ways of thinking that negatively cut down the emotional and creative side, in the name of duty – and in the name of power: power to keep my options open.
In the end I bind myself twice – to self-imposed responsibilities and exile from true engagement.
That’s why I turn to writing, sketching, drawing. Not usually here, public like this – but writing helps me work out my ideas, just like photography & music help me work out my emotions. I’ve been taught how to listen to my internal themes to avoid the siren call of distraction, and when something’s up my gut pulls me to express it so I can work things out.
And this writing, this expression is the art. It helps me remember: I am not bound to freedom. I am free so that I can live life fully – to create, engage, be broken and re-create. That, to be bound to things worth holding is not a cage.
Don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive and then go do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.
— Dr. Howard Thurman
[updated to work out the 3AM writing delirium]
From the brilliant mind of Joss Whedon, now presenting Dr. Horrible.
Just watched the first episode… I’ve never seen anything like it.
More here…
I myself find that I trust my own writing most, and others seem to trust it most, too, when I sound most like a person from Indianapolis, which is what I am. What alternatives do I have? The one most vehemently recommended by teachers has no doubt been pressed on you, as well: to write like cultivated Englishmen of a century or more ago.
- Find a subject you care about
- Do not ramble, though
- Keep it simple
- Have guts to cut
- Sound like yourself
- Say what you mean
- Pity the readers
— Kurt Vonnegut, “Palm Sunday”
The BBC reports on a breakthrough in curing malaria.
Malaria is preventable and curable … The disease kills more than a million people each year. Many of the victims are young children in sub-Saharan Africa.
Now this is the most pedestrian of posts… but it’s part of a prettier picture. And this poor little clean-up appliance never gets any attention, kind of like my recent big-screen buddy. It just trundles along in the background, cleaning up after my paper-reducing, psycho-recycling ways.
This show instantly reminded me of growing up in Prince George. The truckers that drive the Ice Road are a lot like the guys I grew up with, in their demeanour, their dress, and especially their accent. Click the link for a clip from Ice Road Truckers, on the History Channel.
Canada, Clean & Exposed
Last night I walked outside, the air was nice – warm, clean, with a breeze. I was headed to Safeway, a block away. I picked up some fresh blueberries, some cleaning supplies and a few other things, and bought a piece of pizza for dinner on my way home. I skipped a coffee – enough to eat already.
On the walk home, I started to relax. Not the little “this is nice” relax, but the big, “I’ve found a home” relax. The people on Commercial Drive are interesting. The guy at the pizza place was intriguing – didn’t know how to use a Visa machine, probably a recent immigrant, had a fire to him that I liked. The houses are small, interesting, not cookie cutter. The streets have lots of trees and plants, and there are nice views to the mountains. People are interested in each other. People I want to get to know.
I have a cool flat, that’s “me” in the furniture, the artwork, the messiness, the order, the little tricks that make a big difference, the one-of-a-kind layout, the air, the light. I have a few people in my life whom I love, who I want to be with… and they are there for me as well.
I’ve worked the edge off a lot of the angst and anger and frustration I’ve held, me vs. them, my dependant independence and lack of emotional IQ. I’m still me, quirky and weird and not good at a lot of things… just without the edge, the neediness, the fear and anger dissipated by growing up a little bit (or maybe growing younger :)
And I have a job. One that I like, that I’m good at. Filmmaking. Photography. Storytelling.
I’ve made it.
That was the feeling. I’ve achieved all the things I really wanted to have in my life. Not like it’s a task complete and I’m moving on. More like, I’ve moved into my neighbourhood. The things I want and like and am interested in are nearby, within my reach. I can see them… some I have. I can ask for others and get them if I want or need, through a friend or my own effort.
And I can’t help but be thankful. That I’m created. That I live in Canada. That I have friends and good things. That I’ve been cared for in big and small ways.
I rarely have days like this, so I’m revelling in the enjoyment of being at peace.