Category Archives: Care of the Soul

A good day is a day without pain

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No connection to this post, but a preview of something I've been working on for a good long while—that's my dad visiting at last year's student show.

My latest bout of the blues was set off by a night spent fighting the bedclothes, and insomnia always leaves me feeling very sick the next day. So I took a “sick day” today and slept till I could sleep no more and feel better for it now. This means I missed my art class, but I don’t even feel badly about it, though I should, I guess. All I know is I didn’t want to be in the same room as that irritating woman. My bruises from last week have gone from blue to greenish-yellow and cover a good portion of my upper and lower right arm as graphic reminders of just how badly I handle stress. Continue reading →

On my mind today

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As much as I’m wanting to do all kinds of things today, I’m equally desirous of spending time with my books. I’m more conscious than ever that I’ll have to cut back some on bookish things starting about a month for now to make room for my art classes, and art in general, which I’ve been woefully neglecting along with everything else. My dad offered to pay for my classes this term, which is very generous of him, so I signed up for a class with my favourite teacher Elisabeth for another round of watercolours (she keeps it fresh and new and exciting all the time, what more can one ask for?). I’ll also be taking a day-long painting class during which everyone works on personal projects, which I thought was probably the smart thing to do since I’ve got maybe a dozen canvases at various stage of completion and could certainly use the feedback to get me moving on them. A regular three-hour class is just too short, and the full day is a little too long to be leaving Coco alone, so I’ll probably show up a bit later in the morning (big surprise, right?). Continue reading →

A Timely Reminder

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One of the reasons I haven’t been very communicative lately (other than frequent migraines) is that for several months now I’ve been feeling stuck in a slump with nothing much interesting happening in my life and in my head. Whether this is actually true or not doesn’t seem to make much of a difference when it comes to feelings. Every day I receive the DailyOm inspiring spiritual lesson of the day and most of the time I just stick it in a folder to read at some other time, since inspiration and spirituality are not high on the agenda these days. But this one caught my eye and really made me feel a whole lot better. Here is an excerpt for your reading pleasure:

No Going Back
Every Step is Forward

Periods of intense forward movement often give way to periods of what seems like stagnation.

There are times when we feel that we are spinning our wheels in the mud in terms of our spiritual progress. This can be especially true following a period of major growth in which we feel as if we’ve gained a lot of ground. In fact, this is the way growth goes—periods of intense forward movement give way to periods of what seems like stagnation. In those moments when we feel discouraged, it’s helpful to remember that we don’t ever really go backward. It may be that we are at a standstill because there is a new obstacle in our paths, or a new layer to get through, but the hard work we have done cannot be undone.

Every step on the path is meaningful, and even one that seems to take us backward is a forward step in the sense that it is what we must do to move to the next level. In addition, an intense growth spurt requires that we rest for a time in order to fully integrate the new energies that have been liberated by our hard work. When we feel we are not making progress, we can encourage ourselves to take a moment to rest. We can meditate more, feed ourselves well, and get extra sleep. Before we know it, we will be spurred on to work toward the next level of our development, and this rest will make sense then as something we needed in order to continue.

The Workshop Beckons

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Bowls

Bowls

I made this series of small bowls over this past year, during several visits to the workshop at the Allan Memorial institute. They’re rough and unsophisticated and may as well have been made by a child, but that’s what I like about them. The one on top left was the first one I made around this time last year while I was still attending the day program. I had fun playing around with the clay and just enjoying the process, which at the time felt like a whole new approach to making things, so I’m a little bit attached to it as it somehow represents a newfound freedom: one where the joy of making things isn’t hindered by the pressure of worrying whether the final result will be “up to par” or not.

I was very keen on this mold I used with the first one, and had visions of dozens and dozens of these bowls, each with it’s own particular quirks, in a rainbow of colour combinations. So of course I jumped at the chance when I was invited to spend some time at the workshop this spring to make a couple more. In fact, I enjoy the atmosphere of that workshop so much that I had talked about possibly volunteering there maybe once a week. It seems like the idea took and I will now be acting as the “artist in residence”, which is the title they concocted for me, the idea being that I’ll come in during workshop sessions on Wednesdays to share my passion for making things, along with whatever knowledge I can transmit, and encourage participants to try new things. Art has been the best kind of therapy for me and I’m all too happy to help others discover this for themselves.

This post is long overdue because it’s been my intention for many months to show these bowls so that my mum can choose one so I can send it to her in France as a now very belated birthday gift (if she wants one of course). So there you go mum. You choose, I send, with love.

Bowls & pics by Smiler

Necessary Changes (la suite)

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In Necessary Changes (Part 1), I addressed changes needed on a global scale. For part 2, I was going to segue into something along the lines of “but as we all know, true change always begins on an individual level” and then ramble on about all the changes I need to make in my personal life so I can become a better citizen of the world. Screw that. I can try to be a saint in the next life. For now, here are a just five changes to my current routine which may help me to start liking myself just a little bit more (because heaven can wait):

1. Listen to more music; silence may be golden, but music is better than some of the stupid thoughts that rattle around my brain night and day.

2. Get back into yoga; because NOT doing yoga makes things that much more difficult (even just 5 minutes counts).

3. Breathe (i.e. fill lungs to capacity) every day; tends to make everything that much easier.

4. Do fun stuff, possibly even slightly crazy stuff (but not too) as often as possible.

5. Count my blessings and don’t believe the voices that say I don’t deserve better (and when they start acting up, see 1-4).

On The Road

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I’ve had a pretty harrowing week so far. Now that I’ve had some time to reflect on what could have triggered the numerous meltdowns I had in the past few days I realize I’ve been reacting based on old scripts which of course have nothing to do with the here and now but have gotten so deeply entrenched over the years that “losing it” has become a knee-jerk reaction.

I read—more like devoured—Cormac McCarthy’s The Road in the past couple of days. It’s a Pulitzer prize-winning (and Oprah Book Club!) novel about a father and his son trudging through a post-apocalyptic American landscape, trying to survive on what morsels of food they can find and avoid being killed and eaten by the few remaining humans they come across. A harrowing story to be sure, and if it had been written by anyone else than McCarthy, I doubt I would have made it past the first few pages, but it’s the kind of book you can’t put down once you’ve started it and from the first, I was drawn in by the poignant relationship between father and son who have nothing left but each other and the great love and tenderness they share to keep going day after day.

As I was reading it, I was able to enjoy the writing and keep my emotions detached from the gruesome world McCarthy describes. But then when I finished it in the middle of the night, I exploded into bitter tears with the realization that for much of my life, I’ve been walking around feeling pretty much like these fictional characters did, more in tune with my own inner apocalypse than the actual living world around me.

Since I couldn’t go back to sleep, I read a book review in Vogue magazine about a successful book editor’s memoirs relating his descent into his own private hell of crack addiction. Now in his early 40’s, he’s managed to get sober and stay that way for the past five years and according to the interview, this book was the catharsis the author needed, helping him to honour the life he led even through the worst of times while also attaining some kind of closure. I was uplifted by this story and after that I fell into a long sleep and had the very rare experience of dreaming simple, almost pleasant dreams.

No big surprise then that this morning I had a story forming in my mind. It was writing itself out as I was going through my morning rituals of walking the dog, feeding the kidz, getting myself ready for my painting class starting today. So I pulled out one of the beautiful notebooks I collect for those moments of profound insight and inspiration, and I started telling the tale I’ve only told a handful of people about, one that should be long gone and buried by now but which has left me with unhealed scars. It’s time I make peace with the past, release the old hurtful memories, turn them into creative fodder and move back into the present.

A Timely Reminder

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Monthlies kicked in yesterday, and though I seemed to be doing better for a day or two, I’ve been thrown under the waves again, feeling very sick and in pain from head to toe. At least I know for sure this is only temporary. I thought my daily dose of wisdom from DailyOm was right on cue and well worth sharing:

Below the Surface
Finding Deep Strength

We have all have times in our lives when we think we don’t have the strength to carry on. You do, and you can.

We have all faced moments in our lives when the pressure mounts beyond what we feel we can handle, and we find ourselves thinking that we do not have the strength to carry on. Sometimes we have just gotten through a major obstacle or illness only to find another one waiting for us the moment we finally catch our breath. Sometimes we endure one loss after another, wondering when we will get a break from life’s travails. It does not seem fair or right that life should demand more of us when we feel we have given all we can, but sometimes this is the way life works.

When we look back on our lives, we see that we have survived many trials and surmounted many obstacles, often to our own amazement. In each of those instances, we had to break through our ideas about how much we can handle and go deeper into our hidden reserves. The thought that we do not have the strength to handle what is before us can be likened to the hard surface of a frozen lake. It appears to be an impenetrable fact, but when we break through it, we find that a deep well of energy and inspiration was trapped beneath that icy barrier the whole time. Sometimes we break through by cutting a hole into our resistance with our willpower, and sometimes we melt the ice with compassion for our predicament and ourselves. Either way, each time we break through, we reach a new understanding of the strength we store within ourselves.

When we find ourselves up against that frozen barrier of thinking we cannot handle our situation, we may find that the kindest choice is to love ourselves and our resistance too. We can simply accept that we are overwhelmed, exhausted, and stretched, and we can offer ourselves loving kindness and compassion. If we can extend to ourselves the unconditional warmth of a mother’s love, before we know it, the ice will begin to break.

The Cove

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I sign every petition they send my way. I leave comments pleading those who are in positions to do something to stop the killing. I donate money when I can. But until tonight I thought my involvement shouldn’t extend to actually viewing the documentary The Cove, because I knew it would upset me too much, but the truth is MORE people need to see it. Tonight I just watched the last half hour of it and I’m crying my eyes out. Seeing those waters crimson red with blood and those ignorant Japanese fishermen honestly believing they’re doing their country a service by ridding the waters of what they call a “predator”… because that’s what they’ve convinced their people that the dolphins and whales are—the International Whaling Commission says the fish are scarce because these whales and dolphins eat too many of them—NOT because there is overfishing in all the world’s seas and oceans, no. And because of this lie, they slaughter thousands of these creatures at a time in all impunity, entire communities of them just annihilated. Doesn’t make sense. I feel so powerless to stop the murdering. We murder animals the same way we eliminate human beings. Just because we can. Makes me ashamed to be from the same species. Because the truth is WE are the ultimate predators. Sometimes I think it won’t be soon enough before we extinguish ourselves. Because the sooner humanity leaves this planet, the better chances it, and the creatures who have just as much right to live on it, have any chances of surviving. I still hold on to a shred of hope that we’ll somehow evolve and realize the holocaust we keep perpetuating on the inhabitants of this planet must end for good, and actually take steps to make it so.

I think about these things much too often. Not very cheerful thought to go to sleep with. Don’t write about them much because I don’t want to sound preachy. But please, if you can do anything at all to help the cause, to help save ourselves and nature from our own ignorance, then do it. Every little bit helps. That’s what I keep telling myself to make it all more acceptable. Until I figure out what more I can do with my limited resources to actually make a difference.

Happiness

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Happiness has a name: Coco. Actually, to be fair, it has three names: Fritz (aka Ezra), Mimi and… yes, Coco. I feel lucky to be able to share their lives, and they even make bad days that much better. What more can I ask for? Well actually, wouldn’t mind getting back to my ideal weight now that I have to uncover myself to accommodate the heat, but that will come with all the walking and my soon to be renewed enthusiasm for exercise. Right Coco? :-)

Can Creativity Save Lives?

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If you’ve been reading me, then you must know I’ve been looking through various name listings lately. I’m looking at “old English names” “Author names” “Artist Names”, etc. for the precious bundle of joy due to arrive here in just 4 or 5 days. Imagine my surprise when I saw listed under “H” in artist names a certain Adolph Hitler. I do recall reading somewhere that he had considered studies in art and architecture. I had never delved too much into the personal history of the man because had never considered him as a human being before—just a scary monster who was best left along with the other underbed dwellers—so the following entry in About.com somehow chilled me to the bone:

Movement, Style, School or Type of Art:
Hitler described himself as a painter in the Academic tradition. Most everyone else who’s seen his work has described Hitler’s painting style as either “Bad” or “Extremely bad.”

Date and place of birth: April 20, 1889, Braunau am Inn, Austria

Life: Though he became convinced in his youth that he possessed great artistic talent, very few other people (besides his own mother) felt similarly about Adolf Hitler. He received an “excellent” mark in Art during his final year of formal schooling, but his failure to complete a Leaving Certificate in the U.S. equivalent of high school did him no favors when he first took the exam to enter the prestigious Akademie der bildenden Künste Wien (Academy of Fine Art in Vienna) in 1907. Ostensibly rejecting him for lack of academic skills, the Academy’s admissions department also commented on Hitler’s lack of understanding of human anatomy. Undaunted, Hitler again took the entrance exam in 1908, with similar results. He temporarily refocused on a future in architecture but this, too, did not come to pass due to lack of education. Regrettably, he then embarked upon a well-documented crooked path toward attempted world domination after this final artistic disappointment.

Important works: None of his own. The most important thing Hitler did for art was to spotlight the “Degenerates” – artists whose works were avant garde, or otherwise failed to meet National Socialist arts policies. Of course, he did this for the wrong reasons, wanting to ridicule and ruin talented artists’ careers. No one was more enraged than he when his plan backfired and the public flocked to Degenerate exhibitions.

Date and place of death: April 30, 1945, Berlin (Committed suicide in an underground bunker of the chancellery building.)

Art quotes by Adolph Hitler:

  • All my life I have wanted to be a great painter in oils … As soon as I have carried out my program for Germany, I shall take up painting. I feel that I have it in my soul to become one of the great artists of the age and that future historians will remember me not for what I have done for Germany, but for my art.
  • As for the degenerate artists, I forbid them to force their so-called experiences upon the public. If they do see fields blue, they are deranged, and should go to an asylum. If they only pretend to see them blue, they are criminals, and should go to prison. I will purge the nation of them.
  • My pictures, in the collections which I have bought in the course of years, have never been collected for private purposes, but only for the extension of a gallery in my home town of Linz on Donau. – from Hitler’s Last Will and Testament dated April 29, 1945.

Sources and Further Reading (see original article)

As you may know (or can easily find out by reading a bit more of this blog), I am on a journey of recovery and so far the most effective form of treatment to get me out of a debilitating clinical depression (the state I’m in by default if I’m not being manic) has been to make creativity and creative output the priority in my life, and wanting to share this experience led me to start createthreesixty5.com.

So far I’ve been very impressed with the quality of work our collaborators have submitted, and I do want to encourage almost all creative effort at all level of experience, perceived talent or skill. But I have asked myself the question “what if someone starts sending in truly horrible stuff? Will I want to have my name attached to that as an aesthete, as a Creative & Art Director?” So far I haven’t had to deal with this issue. But after reading the above, and especially the excellent New Yorker article called Hitler as Artist (the chilling conclusion addresses an issue I have struggled with for the better part of my life), I’m starting to think I have a strong ethical responsibility if I am to become any kind of authority on Creativity at any point in time.

The moral of the story? Better let people express themselves, however “badly” than brimming their creative impulses and risk them lashing out and becoming mass murderers on a universal scale instead. Sheesh.

Drawing by Adolph Hitler. As much as I hate to say it, I don’t find it so bad and would publish it on the other site if someone sent me something in a similar vein. A most troubling thought, all things considered.