Summer Houseguests, Inspiration & Cake

Some new work, some older work

The last scent of summer has been washed away by some much needed sky water followed by a gentle helping of fog. This meteorological menu has sent me rummaging through saved magazine bits looking for squash and kale recipes. It's fall, there must be sweaters and soup. On Saturday I gathered the last of the zucchini, some sugar pumpkins and a generous bouquet of sunflowers from the roadside stands to welcome fall to my kitchen.

I am trying to remember what I do in a season that is not summer; one where I can't spend most of my day outside. Transitions: they throw us a bit. We pause at their gate but that's not a bad a thing; the pausing. 

Travelling By Hindsight 12"x12"

The days of summer are tiny wisps of memory now. I have no interest in the story of "I went here, I did this." I am more interested in the inner landscape (though the outer offers it's own deliciousness). You don't need to know that I was stung by wasps and the bottom of my purse now harbours an epi pen, that's another story. 

On my excellent inner adventures (with a nod to Bill & Ted) doubt became my summer houseguest and I decided to get to know it a little better. I mean it's not that doubt (the prankster) hasn't always been lurking, it's just that this summer I invited him out of the attic because he's made such hidden trouble up there. He made an overbearing sort of houseguest, you know the kind that talks too much, knows everything and makes you feel awful and worn out by bedtime. He wrecks stuff and leaves a general trail of shrapnel and dirty towels behind him. I wouldn't recommend him on trip advisor (but you know about him already, I'm thinking). One of his most annoying traits is that he masquerades as wisdom and intelligence but really he's just scared things aren't going to work out and that's his cover-up. He is a spoiler, a bit like mold on the wind or maybe more like leprosy, eating away at the strength of the bone.

Night Walk

I tried to just be there with his shenanigans, sensing how they felt. When I could do this whole heartedly, doubt got a bit bored with me as audience and went off looking for more enthusiastic hosts.

I rediscovered the work of David R. Hawkins this summer by a chance encounter and it tied in with my exploration of doubt. I'd read him years ago and at that time I'd hated his levels of consciousness idea. It seemed too much like a rating system. It felt different this time round. He reminds us how powerful our minds are, how we are connected to a greater consciousness and how we're not really in charge of this personal little boat. He encourages us to explore our beliefs and work with ones that don't serve us well. Do I want to believe in doubt or do I want to believe in willingness and love and possibility

First Snow at Berg Lake

So as we dip our toes gingerly into the upcoming season of hibernation I wish you happy travels. I see you wrapped in a cozy sweater, near a toasty fire, sipping something warm, exploring the wealth of human imagination that surrounds us on crisp paper pages or glowing screens (this is a modern fairytale). And if you hunger for the perfect taste of fall, here's an apple cake recipe that even I could execute. Invite your tribe over to ooo and aw over your awesome culinary skills.

Dharma Porridge, Ingredients: Hurt, Rejection & Self Doubt

Yesterday I arrived home after an all day sit at the intensely beautiful Stowel Lake Farm to find a somewhat unpleasant phone message, at least one I didn't appreciate. I won't go into the details but it revolved around a request to hang some of my work. After several trips and some preparation on my part, the person had changed their mind. Now what came up very quickly was not the work I'd done or the time I'd put in to prepare the pieces but the instant arising of the feelings of rejection.

If you write or display art, you are familiar with some level of rejection but sometimes it's the particular circumstances that bring it up more strongly. In this case, having been here, done this before, I wanted to try another way than feeling angry, rejected, and spiraling down the rabbit hole of doubting my own competence (Alice, are you there?).

Yes those things arose (and what is anger, but hurt?) I know this one well. And so while these things arose and I squirmed and looked for a cookie, a cup of coffee, something to ease the sting, I did stay with the sticky, heavy sense, just hanging out with it. But I did another thing. I asked myself a couple of questions. Why do I feel this way? What would I be like if I didn't feel hurt?

The answers were interesting, helpful and strangely comforting. I answered that if I felt confident about myself and my work, I would not take this change of heart in the person as a personal affront. I would simply see it as her changing her mind (for some reasons that I could actually agree with). I could see this as a simple truth, like if you catch your jacket on a nail and it tears. You might not be happy but you see what happened. Humans being slightly more complicated than nails, I can never really know all the reasons.

What this reminded me of was the old Dharma lesson, that if we pin our feelings, our responses, our state of mind, our self worth, our lives on outside circumstances, we will be blown about like a dandelion seed head. There will always be some little breeze pushing us around. I was reminded (not in an ego sort of way) but in a "be a pillar" sort of way, to have confidence, to not throw myself into a vat of doubt, because someone had simply changed their mind. I know this spinning off into doubt intimately, I own a very large loom, built specifically for this purpose. In fact if I didn't know better, I'd think I invented this particular loom (rhymes with doom and gloom).

It was a wonderful Dharma lesson and I must say I moved in and out of darkness for the evening, this being a long standing habitual response for me; me, oh lover of approval. But this morning I could pick up my art work, have a chat about why it didn't work for the recipient and give her a hug before I left. (She has her own set of troubles). It felt good and it was all over. No karmic residue, no dark cloud following me around. And this is truly why I practice the Dharma. So I can live a slightly saner life, with a little less suffering.

Zen Bean Counting

I've been thinking about "comparisons" today.  I watched as I worked myself into a bit of a funk a couple of days ago and it was all the result of comparing myself to others.  It's a no win game (worse than a lottery ticket) and one we play all the time.  It's unpleasant little fingers start in one place and reach out quietly into all sort of mischievous places.

The trouble started after I visited a few artists websites whose work I love, one in particular, Martha Marshall whose work I find to have a wonderful sense of spontaneity, life and joy.  I love her use of colour and form.  Then comes the thought.  I wish my paintings looked like that.  I wish my work had more of a sense of freedom and spontaneity  and blah, blah, blah.

Comparison seemed to be the order of the day.  A conversation with a senior Zen student left me feeling not very wise.  He was filled with compassion and understanding and wisdom in a quiet non judgmental way.  His stories were wonderful and he always seemed to know the right thing to say. And then came the thought.  I wish I were more like that, I wish I were more wise.  And then an internal feeling that was less than pleasant.  Just that felt sense of you know.... yukiness, you've been there.

And then I went off to my studio to paint.  So guess what?  How do you think that little painting session went?  If you guessed , less than stellar, you'd be taking home some money.  Nothing seemed to go right.  I didn't like anything I did and things seemed to lurch from bad to worse.  I could see the lack of confidence in the way I applied the paint, the tenuous strokes, the way I mucked it about, then wiped it off, applied it again and wiped it off again.  And then the light went as the afternoon burned itself out and it was time to clean up

What did I learn?  Well I learned that I've been here before, down this well trod road of self comparison.  I could see that there is nothing wrong in admiring another persons work or spiritual training, its what you do with it.  Do I use it to beat myself up or as a source of inspiration?  How would my painting afternoon have gone if these encounters would have made me feel invigorated and inspired?  

 But when I see something I love and start the mental bean counting I am in trouble.  If I assign the most beans to them I feel bad and my work (or day) responds accordingly.  If I win the pile of beans this time,  I feel the dry tickle of mean spiritedness and  lack of generosity stick in my throat.  So comparison is like a buttered crazy carpet, it heads downhill fast.  But we do it all the time, slip into it, like a comfortable old sweater.  It may be torn at the elbow, covered in pills but it is what we reach for.

And when I looked deeper and said "what's this all about?"  I could see it was just another manifestation of the human predicament of  "I am not good enough,"   one of the five hindrances in Buddhism, self doubt.  We all spend our time with this one if we're willing to be truthful with ourselves.  And what is the antidote?  Well I guess first it is to see with clear eyes what I'm getting up to and feel its destructive power. And then I think there are creative options. Maybe I can remind  myself that I could compose a different ending to the same story, or  I could just let go of the story altogether.  See the paintings, beautiful, hear  the Zen stories, wonderful, do my painting, wash the brushes.