Where Is Your Trust?

8"x10" acrylic on canvas board

“If I was asked to get rid of the Zen aesthetic and just keep one quality necessary to create art, I would say it’s trust. When you learn to trust yourself implicitly, you no longer need to prove something through your art. You simply allow it to come out, to be as it is. This is when creating art becomes effortless. It happens just as you grow your hair. It grows.”  -John Daido Loori from "The Zen of Creativity"


I have come across two pieces of writing on "trust" this morning and I don't believe in coincidence. I need to hear this.  I think our understanding is like some moveable puzzle and we always need certain pieces at certain times, to help us with our understanding of truth, the universe and our place in it. My puzzle needed the "trust" piece right now.  Lots of lovely pieces have been moving into place but there was a gaping whole where trust should be.


I think we need trust everywhere in our lives, even Loori"s reference is specifically to art. Trust, when we wear it well, can be like a shimmering veil that, flows over everything, making  us graceful, patient and wise.

studio bits (charcoal & newsprint on card)

Marcus over at Wake Up & Laugh wrote a lovely post about "entrusting" which was the second finger pointing toward "trust". He tells a story of a family's trip to Disneyland in which the little girl becomes so excited that she runs toward something and gets lost. On finding her the father says, "if you get lost again, remain calm and wait where you are. I will find you." Later she needs to call on these wise words and the father finds her calmly sitting in one place waiting for him.  This is his example of "entrusting".  The child trusted her father to find her.


We might use this story for a metaphor for how to conduct our own lives, keep calm and if you feel lost, wait where you are until you have an experience of being found. That experience may be an event or simply some internal sense of how to proceed, an inkling, a hunch, but it won't come from your thinking mind.


But for me the story was instructive about how to use trust in our lives.  We don't throw out our thinking mind and just trust blindly or wildly, that can get us in a lot of trouble. There are situations that do not deserve our trust.  Often we have little "niggles" about who or what not to trust and sometimes we ignore them. Our desire can easily get in the way of clear seeing. Then we learn by hindsight. But as long as we learn we train ourselves in how to use trust next time.

 more studio bits (6"x6" acrylic & charcoal on canvas paper)

It comes back to the Zen idea of "we do our part."  The child used the rational part of her mind, remembering to stay where she was.  As a bonus she stayed calm!  But that wasn't hugely necessary. She just needed to stay put to be found. Weeping would have been fine, she'd still have been found.  But she did save herself a little suffering by remaining calm. Perhaps her calmness mirrored the depth of her trust?  Or perhaps pointed toward her temperament? But she knew where to use "trust".  If she hadn't believed she'd be found by staying put she might have done other things.  And so it is for us.  The hard part often comes in knowing when and what action to take and when to "trust".  I think we do the best we can and learn from that. After all what is life if not our own little experiment in living a human life?


Trust. I need to remind myself of this valuable quality over and over. How do you use trust in your life?
                                                       

Alchemical Cartographers of Art & Spirit

I am having a great time bathing in my own frustration ( could someone turn the hot water off?) and trying out my authentic voice in the metaphorical shower. That is to say, along with some other artists I am participating in a workshop called "Seeking Authentic Voice" offered by artist, coach and blogger, Leslie Avon Miller. We are exploring and mining some deep veins of artistic importance (hard hats are required, along with steel toed boots). In addition to my new work as a miner (no asbestos hazards here) I have dived into a new Dharma pool of brilliant sea green waters and refreshing Sangha breezes. This is a perfect combo pak, filled with richness and excitement and new things. New neural pathways are being forged and old trails through despair are growing over from disuse.

Over the past year I have moved twice, spent time on the road, done renos to the house I am living in now. It wasn't until I looked at this with new, kinder eyes that I realized why I haven't spent a lot of concentrated time in the studio. A lot of creative time has gone into re-visioning the home I am living in now, a creative process in itself. But until stopping to have a good look at this I created a lot of angst around the art making process. Art making needs space. Like any Dharma practice it needs room to breath and space to allow things to lazily and playfully percolate to the surface. So in thinking about my frustration, which I am now acknowledging as part of the process (gasp) I was drawn to the following quote: "The greatest opportunities for creative transformation are often lodged in our discontents. Art is an alchemical process that feeds on emotional energy. When we realize that a perfect equilibrium in our lives might not be the best basis for making art, then we can begin to re-vision our stress points. So rather than try to rid your life of tension, consider doing something more creative with it."

"Don't underestimate frustration and discontent. They are eternal wellsprings for artistic expression. After sustained periods of being stuck, your impatience with the situation might unloose a new phase of creation. You might boldly paint over the picture you have been fussing over for weeks and discover the basis for an original composition in your burst of emotion." I love the idea of finding opportunity in our difficulties, of reframing things (though I don't always get this right away!). It's like nothing is ever wasted (it's the ultimate in recycling, right?) we use even adversity. from "Trust the Process : An Artist's Guide to Letting Go" by Shaun Mcniff. It's a lot like any aspect of the Dharma really. We embrace everything, the ups, the downs. We become "a bigger container" as Joko Beck puts it. So riding the horse of frustration is a necessary part of the process, even if it's not much fun. Perhaps we can come to regard it as fun??

Another idea we've been exploring in the mine shaft is the role of creator/ editor in the process. In thinking about this I referred to an old friend, "The Zen of Creativity." The late John Daido Loori offers this commentary on the act of creating art: "In the creative process, as long as the energy is strong, the process continues. It may take minutes or hours. As long as you feel chi peaking and flowing, let it run its course. It's important to allow this flow and expression, without attempting to edit what is happening - without trying to name, judge, analyze, or understand it. The time for editing is later. The time for uninhibited flow of expression is now."

... "The editing process begins with reconnecting with the feeling, the resonance, that was present during the creation of the work of art. Then we slowly and deliberately remove the unnecessary elements, without disturbing the feeling of resonance. If the resonance weakens, we've gone too far."

"... Attending to chi and resonance can facilitate the process considerably, particularly if the mind is empty and you trust your intuition. ... Ultimately, all of the elements, ... muse, hara, chi, resonance, expression, editing - are really nothing but the self. It is important to trust this and to trust the process. Trust yourself. Your way of experiencing the world is unique. And what you're trying to do is give voice to this unique experience. Criticism in art is certainly valuable, but the creative process and developing your creative abilities is not the place for it. It is important, in engaging the creative process, to be able to work freely, without hindrance or judgment." These are important suggestions to work with I think, to make them your own. I find there is always a period of understanding and then adjustment as we work them into our own process.

So it is a rich and on-going exploration. I have decided I want to get lost in the "process" of creating. I want to forget about the end product. Considering outcomes is counter productive and stifling in the act of creation. As in the work of the Dharma and awareness we just want to be present to what we are doing, not constantly catapulting ourselves into the future.

I have decided that as part of the creation process I will conjure up an inner guide (I acknowledge the need for help) to offer positive direction and guidance. I need a road map through the creative wilderness. It is easy to get lost, to get off track. The automobile association towing service apparently doesn't service this area. I need an alchemical, cartographer type in my court, failing the service of a spiritual tow truck. Do you think I could advertise for her on Craigslist? I will know her when she answers my advert. When she comes for her interview she will be slightly eccentric, graceful, yet awkward, unusual, and bookish, homely, yet intensely attractive. If you were to peak into my studio you would see her there, a tall woman with dishevelled dark hair in a long blue skirt, wearing blundstone boots and a lacey shawl. She would be telling me some funny story and doing an impersonation of someone that would have me rolling on the ground. Of course I would hire her on the spot. The only fee she would charge is gingerbread cake and strong black tea sometime in the late afternoon. And as needed she would put on her dark rimmed glasses and turn her razor sharp sense of inquiry toward the canvas and ask me just the question I need to put me back to work. If you see her, tell her I'm looking for her.

Hearing The Still Small Voice

In an email exchange with a friend the topic of "intuition" came up. It ties in deeply with the things I have been trying to capture in my studio lately (eek, capture, that sounds a bit like I'm chasing a fly around the house). As part of a project on "seeking authentic voice" I have been turning my attention to "listening" and patience during my studio time. I have had mixed success with both. Given I'm not a particularly patient person (who, moi, as Miss Piggy would say) I expected patience and listening to happen right away! I learned these are skills that, well, get this, take patience to develop. (Duh, as Homer Simpson would say) Where do these guys come from??

But when my friend talked about intuition, I began to revisit the "listening" aspect of practice. Gasp, I learned I'm not the greatest listener! I recognized that cultivation of that "still small voice" requires the willingness to just sit and be with the canvas in the same way you would be with a friend who is telling you some story from their life, something important and arresting. If the voice is still and small, it requires quiet and attention, right? Otherwise in my busyness, my need to get on with things, get something done, exert my wants, I drown out that voice.

I think we have to be willing, willing to do what needs to be done to hear this voice, willing to clear a space for it, willing to be available, willing to explore and be quirky and creative in that exploration, and ultimately, willing to receive. I think of myself as this little short wave radio set, just tuning in to see what's out there. And then of course having faith once I find a channel that's not all static, to believe that this is a channel that I am supposed to be listening to. John Daidoo Loori talks alot about this receptive state in his wonderful book, "The Zen of Creativity"

Here's what Jisho Perry of the Order of Buddhist Contemplatives has to say on listening for that still small voice:

"Most of the time we are not quiet enough to hear anything other

than the noisy demands of our greeds, angers, worries,

fears, frustrations and the "busyness" of our everyday lives.

Our culture encourages a constant input of noise: the music

in elevators, or while waiting on the phone, car radios, car

phones, television, radios, headsets to wear while exercising.

We have a difficult task to find a quiet time when there is

not a major input of external noise. Even when we have

established a time in our day for meditation, when we can

listen to the silence, it is usually anything but silent. It still

takes time to let go of the internal noises we generate for

ourselves. If we establish a regular practice of meditation we

create a situation where the noise and busy mental

processes can settle."

So I am heading into the studio with my headset on and my magic decoder ring. I'll send you a picture. I am really going for it. I will strap a pair of those old rabbit ears onto my head. You know those ones we used to put on the TV. Remember those. And when the reception was particularly difficult we'd put some tinfoil on the round tips at the ends. Pass the tinfoil, please.

How To Make Art

I am thinking some more about the process of making art. I have returned to a favourite book of mine "The Zen of Creativity, Cultivating Your Artistic Life" by John Daido Loori.

I'd just like offer up one of the many underlined paragraphs in a much thumbed chapter called "Enlarging the Universe". Here's what Loori has to say about process: "Before engaging the creative process it is helpful to understand some of the basic elements that are functioning in it.

The first of these elements is the muse, a sense of inspiration that initiates the process of creation. The second is the hara, a place within us that is still and grounded. Then there is chi, the energy contained both in us and in the subject. Out of chi emerges resonance, a feeling of recognition between the artist and subject. Finally, there is the act of expression itself, where the expression is allowed to flow unhindered from the artist to the creation. The artist steps out of the way and lets the art happen by itself."

Go forth and create!

Pink Buddha Peels An Onion

I was thinking that the lattice grid in this mixed media piece I recently finished was bamboo fencing.  It was pointed out to me that in fact it looks more like the Buddha in jail.  I agreed and symbolically and metaphorically it is kind of appropriate.  Really we are all Buddhas imprisoned by our attachments, our habitual tendencies and whatever else obscures our Buddha nature.  So maybe this image came from somewhere deeper than my conscious awareness.

In Buddhism they often use the analogy of peeling the layers of an onion for the work we do in practice.  And I am working away at another layer, tugging way at it like some little sharp toothed creature in the compost bin.  It looks a lot like some previous layers (onions are like that).  (They also make you cry sometimes.)  I am seeing how deeply my "wanting" of things colours my vision.  I am seeing it in an "Oh yeah, I'm getting that now," bang-yourself-on-the side- of the- head kind of way.  

In this specific instance (booking back to back weekends with art shows)  (and my Zen teacher always says it's individual situations that count, generalizations just don't work for practice)  I came to see the domino effect of "wanting": wanting to generate some activity, wanting to make something happen, wanting to sell some art, wanting to take control.  Was I trying to escape boredom?  Was I trying to create the life I imagined others to be living?  Did I belief that some success or outcome in the world would make me happy?  Yes, yes, and yes.  Also let me qualify here that this action that was not right for me might be fine for someone else.  For me it fed into an deeply ingrained habitual tendency.

This wanting tipped a domino that rippled perfectly down the line, as dominoes do, and caused some suffering(ouch those dominoes are harder than you think!).  As I looked back at what I'd done (hindsight can be a wonderful teacher when we're willing to sit in his class) I could see not only what I'd done on this occasion (not choose carefully, not think about timing, imagine how things should go) but see the pattern stretching back in other situations in my life.  It was sobering and instructive.  

What I was really reminded of was the best way to live my life.  It seems a little clearer, a little less confusing from this side of the domino pile.  It consists of living from my true self, my inner knowing.  How do I do this?  Well it requires some patience which is not always a strong point of mine.  It requires me to really contemplate the question "what is it good to do?"  and then not act until I feel clear about it.  As I thought about the whole process what life was really asking of me was that I go into my studio and paint, not worry so much about results and sales, just trust a little.  

In a way it is about being true to who you are, instead of listening to all the clamouring that goes on out in the world.  A phrase that has often come to me is "what is yours will come to you."  I hope that doesn't sound like magical thinking or new agey or "secretey" because it isn't meant to.  It's about letting go.  And ultimately letting go is about faith and trust.  It's about doing what needs to be done.  It's about acknowledging that ultimately this little me is not in control.  I've probably said all this before.  So if it seems like I'm repeating myself it's because I need to hear it again.  And of course it never stands against appropriate action.  It doesn't mean we should hide ourselves away in our studios and never do any marketing and promotion.  It means we should contemplate these activities as deeply as we would other aspects of our lives.  And here I use the word contemplate as opposed to "think" because it implies that deep inner knowing, the "sitting with" the question until it becomes clear.  It is not something generated by pure logic but comes from a deeper place and is a deeper way of knowing.  When we can truly connect with this place then we don't act out of desperation or wanting or fear.

I will end with a quote from John Daido Loori that appeared in the most recent issue of Shambhala Sun:  "None of the antidotes to stress -- numbing ourselves, running away, the various therapies -- will ever really get to the root of it.  We actually hold on to our stress.  It is a way of holding on to our positons, our beliefs, our sense of being right -- our self.    In that tightness and rigidity, the body cannot deal with it and the mind cannot deal with it.  We suffer because we will not let go."

Enlarging The Universe

I'm thinking about creativity today because I was really inspired this morning when I looked around my cyber neighbour- hood and found even more people out there doing creative things.  One of my big inspirations for the day came courtesy of Gallery Juana.  She was writing about her washing machine as suggested by Keri Smith (100 Ideas), a virtual tornado of creativity.  I'd seen her name mentioned before but this was the tipping point for me.  I had to go check her out. She has just published the cutest little book called "How To Be An Explorer Of Your Own World"

As I read the excerpted parts she posted on her website I was struck by how Buddhist it seemed and secondly what good common sense advice  (both her advice and Buddhist practice) for living whether you do art or not.  I think we are all artists ultimately (and this is a conclusion Smith draws)  and that we are our own original works of art, always works in progress. How we live our lives becomes our medium, paint, ink, blood, clay.   I've always thought collage was a good little metaphor for how I create myself, drawing a little bit from here and there and assembling it in new and different ways.

Explore, pay attention to detail Smith suggests.  Well there it is, awareness, mindfulness, whatever you want to call it, a primary tenet of Buddhist practice.  This paying attention reminds us how rich life is with delicious details.  "Everything is interesting," she says.  Paying attention serves to pull us away from our lazy habit of sliding over things, getting caught up in the little soap opera going on in our heads.  Gather things, collect bits.   In her list of 100 Ideas she says "draw your dinner" or " illustrate your shopping list".  It's creative, it's fun and it helps direct the mind to paying attention.  We only get to live this life once, we might as well wake up and appreciate it, the sorrows, the joys.

She also suggests we lighten up which in my mind is an important aspect of Zen training.  We often take ourselves and our little lives way too seriously, mooning, moping and worrying about so many little things.  Someone once told me a story of telling their troubles to a Zen master and he just kept saying, "it doesn't matter".  How much stress do we create for ourselves worrying about things that are beyond our control or really "don't matter" when it all gets thrown into the cosmic soup pot.

"Be open to what you don't know"  Smith encourages and this reminds me that we are always standing on the edge of the unknown.  It also reminds me that we have more options than we think, something my Zen teacher likes to point out to students when we feel boxed into a corner.  If we're open we can see possibilities that otherwise remain in the shadows for us.  Sometimes just saying "I don't know" opens up a world of possibilities.  It's humbling too and that is always a good thing.

"Be a detective" Smith urges.  And Buddhism always suggests we examine Buddhist ideas for ourselves.  See if they are true for us, make them our own.  Does attachment really lead to suffering? Explore that in your life and see if it is true for you.  Examine your daily behaviour, do some of your actions lead to suffering?  What might you do differently?  Think about things like right speech.  How do you feel after you say something unpleasant to someone or about someone?  And all the while remembering not to beat yourself up with the answers you get, that's the hard part sometimes.

As I walk out into this creative and interesting evening I feel grateful to be exploring this wonderful creative online world.  So many wonderful inspiring ideas are flying around and filling my head.  I am encouraged to keep that sketch book active and alive and create little bits of experimental art here and there.  I encourage you to open up to your own awesome creative possibilities.

I will let John Daido Loori have the closing words (from "The Zen of Creativity")  "Through our art we bring into existence something that did not previously exist.  We enlarge the universe."

Knowing Too Much, Too Soon

A couple of days ago over at the Humble Yogini's blog she said "The lecture made me realize that I know nothing.  Not in a bad way!  This is a good thing.  And it's an even better thing to be able to admit this because it means there is room for more learning."  It reminded me of the story where the Zen master is pouring tea for a visiting professor who talks continuously.  The master continues to fill the cup to overflowing.  "Stop, the cup is full," shouts the professor.  The master simply nods in agreement.

This got me thinking about "knowing too much, too soon." a comment that comes from some teaching but I'm not sure where.  But  this idea has popped up a couple of times this week, so it's probably time to sit up and pay a little more attention to it.

In his book on creativity, John Daido Loori says, "Once you have located a subject that reflects your feeling, it's important not to rush into the process of expression.  Wait in the presence of the subject until your presence has been acknowledged and you feel that a bond has been created.  Whether its a visual object or a sound, subjects change with time.  They reveal different aspects of themselves if you're able to be patient and allow this revelation to unfold.  On occasion I have sat for hours with a subject, waiting to release the shutter."

When I go into my studio to work I often want to get started, get the paint out and work.  Sometimes I am late and concerned over the fading light or have an alloted time to spend.  Sometimes I am just impatient me. I am not always comfortable with the waiting and trusting that Daido Loori talks about.  Wait an hour, wow, I can't really imagine it. My approach makes me think of  the "knowing too soon", the painting too soon, instead of waiting for the well to fill up or  trusting that the muse will appear.  It reminds me that I am imposing my will and  I see  that I quickly become frustrated with what happens.   The work produced from this place often turns out to be either  tentative or muddy, ready for the bin or in need of serious reworking.  If I can wait, without expectation or need, in that state of not knowing and faith, then I am more likely to find strong brush strokes and confident gestures.  It happens sometimes!  

I remember my teacher saying we are usually not aware of when we're enlightened but it's easy to know when we're not!  I can learn from the paint, from paying attention to the what the bits of paper have to say.  But this requires more restraint on my part, more presence of mind and the willingness to not know, to be able to learn.  I am becoming more and more aware of how important it is to come from this place.  Intention is everything.  "If our first step is false we will immediately stumble"  That's Dogen, and if my memory serves me right it's from the "Rules for Meditation" recited daily in many Soto Zen temples.

I had another example of "knowing too much, too soon" as I chatted with a friend over what she might do to improve her small business that she was worried about.  I threw out a few ideas but they were all met with, "I've done that, I know that."  My first feeling was "how will she ever find a solution if she doesn't want to play with any ideas?"  I could see how I've been in this place myself, one of fear and need and thinking I know.  It closes off so much opportunity, the opportunity to sometimes learn from the wacky, crazy idea, that makes you laugh in it's first incarnation.  It reminds me that the inventor of velcro came up with this idea while looking at "burrs" stuck on his pants after a walk outdoors.  We can learn from everything if we are not too full, if we are empty like the tea cup.

So it's anywhere and everywhere, our impulse to know too much too soon, to be full of knowledge and answers.  And it's becoming my little red light when I see or hear myself doing this, to simply pour out that stale tea and sit with an empty cup.