Love Your Little Paint & Word Kids

Night Sky

Mixed Media on Paper & Matte Board

8" x 8" matte, image size 3.75" x 4.5"

$25 including shipping in North America

This little piece pleases me.  Is that a shocking thing to say?  In our Western world it is regarded as prideful or worse to say you like something that is yours, perhaps especially something that you've created.  When you stop and think about that, it is somewhat weird.  You are permitted to sing the praises of anyone else but yourself.  Now I'm not talking about boasting or feeling superior, but just the simple expression of "liking" something that is yours, in a down to earth matter of fact way.  In a way it is acknowledging our own "Buddha nature", it is a point of honesty and a mature position of self respect.  We should be able to say yes, these are my strengths without puffing our chests out or inciting gasps of surprise from others.  Yet this seems very difficult for most  of us Westerners.  We stutter and stumble and do the "oh gosh" thing.

The Dalai Lama couldn't understand the concept of "self loathing" that exists in almost every Westerner.  It had to be explained to him and it saddened him to tears if I remember correctly.  It is important I think, to extend credit and kindness toward ourselves.  As with so many things we must start in our own little patch of self.  Can we really love anyone else well if we don't love ourselves?   And when I think about what is helpful and encouraging for others, I know that it is love and encouragement and respect, helping them see where they shine and building on that.  So why would that be any different when I interact with myself?   When I think about it, being kind to myself and acknowledging when I feel I have done something well or worthwhile or kind, makes me feel strong and energetic and positive.  I then have  energy to do and be more and radiate it out into the world.

So those were my thoughts as I wrote the first line that said "this little piece pleases me".  It seemed like something worth talking about.  And why do I like this little piece?  I like it because it is simple and sometimes I can get too complex and overwork things.  Sometimes I think more is more and often more just means a fast track to the garbage can!  With this piece I stopped.  It feels vaguely like a brush painting and I like that.  It is abstract and beyond the thinking mind and I like that.  It has circles that please me.  And most of all it has weird ethereal words from an old poetry book.  They hint at things, but what things.  "The sky crawled into me."  Don't you love that line?  and then there is "I made a choice"  And being an existentialist from way back, it is my belief that even the non-choice is a choice.  We have no choice but to choose.  Man I'm getting twisted.  Someone hit me with the shut-up stick.  Good.  Thank-you.  I needed that.  End of story.  Go out there and like yourself and your creations.

Creator & Critic Find Their Seats

Tatami Dream

Mixed media on matte board

8" x 8"  matte, image size 3.75" x 4.5"

$25 includes shipping in North America

This little abstract piece is done in neutral, serene shades I don't often work in.  I love the feel of these subdued colours of nature but find myself most often working in vibrant colours for reasons I don't really understand.  Art is like that.  A lot of the time you are doing things that are really beyond your understanding, working from somewhere deeper and more ethereal and intuitive.  The really difficult thing  is to not stand in judgement of what you have done.  I find my mind so often wants to rush to "I like, I don't like" and as we all know,  judgement it is not a very helpful companion.  In fact it's downright paralyzing and counter productive.  And yet it is such an habitual response, done in the blink of an eye, without a breath or a conscious thought.  It is not malicious, simply reflexive and lacking in wisdom. 

 The funny thing is you'd think I'd learn because some of the things I've wanted to fling out the window at some point, later become the things I like the best.  These are pieces that I often regard as beyond recovery at some point and yet when I keep on working they are transformed.  I push past the chaos and the ennui and come out the other end.  It is such good practice but always feels so hard at the time.  There I am with my little time manager hat on, wondering if I've wasted hours, wanting the problem resolved.  The sense of discomfort at walking into the unknown is palpable.  And there is no guarantee that it will always work out just because I persevere.  There is no formula, no equation that goes (many hours + perseverance + agitation = success). (This is as close as I get to math.)

What I do know about writing and art making is that there is a creative, intuitive aspect that needs to just be let loose, given free reign.  Sometimes it takes a long time for the creative furnace to warm up and sometimes you produce a lot of smoke and a little fizzle.  But you have to have faith and work without question.  Sometimes that furnace heats up and a spark ignites from somewhere beyond.  And that is when you truly connect with some special energy.  It's where all really great art comes from, the place where the spark catches and flames transmute the ordinary into something flaming and miraculous.  Sometimes (and you've heard artists say this) it hardly seems to have anything to do with them.  You can look at what you've created and be as surprised as a stranger and wonder "where did that come from?'

And there is a second part of the process, the evaluative part, where you do stand back and consider and edit the work.  "No it needs something else, no it looks a bit flat or yes it's good, just the way it is."  It might be the honesty to see that the first 5 (or 50)  pages of writing need to be chucked.   So the evaluator self has value and a place in creation but it seems that it's not good to get it mixed up with the creator, who just needs to move and flow and muck about.  This creator is interrupted by the evaluator, editor self.  They are two different parts of the process.  And I find sometimes there needs to be a good deal of space between the two.  There needs to be some distance before you change hats from creator to editor, otherwise the hats get tangled and you start to feel like the two headed monster from Sesame Street.  It's kind of like when your eyes need to adjust after being in the bright light.  If your inner eye is still in creator mode, the focus of the editor's eye is a bit blurry and unreliable.

Art is such good practice in many ways, so much of what operates as the truth in other parts of our life is there is small bite sized pieces waiting for us as we step through the studio door or sit down at the computer.  It is training in its own way, just waiting patiently for us to wake up.  As my Zen teacher always says, "the eternal can wait forever, how long can we wait?"

The Dharma of This & That

Wordless

Mixed Media on matte board

8" x 8" Black matte, image dimension 3.75" x 4 "

$25 includes shipping in North America

When I created this little piece I was thinking about how words can get in the way, how sometimes, for the most important things they are just inadequate.  I was thinking about how we spill so many of them out without a lot of attention and care.  I was thinking about the large gap between what I say and what you understand.  But that is not  to throw the dictionary, the thesaurus and all conversation out with the proverbial bath water.  Many wonderful words make the crossing from one human to another each day.  We hear the Dharma.  We share support and empathy, inspiration and creative energy through words.  Like everything else in this world there is the yin and yang of language.

The other thing that seemed so noticeable to me today was just the movement of life, how much life can flow by in a day, in it's various forms.  Some days are quiet and almost nothing of note seems to show up on the radar screen.  But today we talked to our daughter who has a new job in a raw food restaurant, a friend is patiently waiting for his daughter to give birth to her 3rd child, Bunny the cat's owner contacted me to say Bunny may be quite ill, possibly with cancer or heart disease.  She is still waiting to find out.  We made a whirlwind tour of some properties on this island where we hope to relocate.  The weather has changed from sun to rain.  We walked along the cool windswept beach and ate dinner in a little oceanside cafe.  

It was so easy to see the flow when so many things pass by.  Impermanence was wildly apparent, the up and down, ebb and flow of it all.  Of course there is the momentary feeling of being pleased for the new job, the sadness of hearing Bunny is sick.  And while I can feel these things, there was a sense of not tripping on them, of not wrapping my sticky little fingers around them and grasping on to what I might identify as good and what I might want to push away as undesirable.

So I could say a silent good for you, for my daughter who has first hand experienced the need to take a step rather than just think about it, and I can have faith that we will find a new home that suits us.   I can say a little prayer for Bunny and Jen and know that everything is just as it should be.  Not necessarily always as I want, but fine just the way it is.  As my Zen teacher would say, "something greater is always working itself out."

Finding Buddha Nature

Writing Lines

Mixed media on paper & matte board

8"x8" matted in black, image dimensions 3.75"x4.5"

$25 includes shipping in North America

Did you ever have to write lines when you were in school?  You know, things like I will not stick chewing gum on the bottom of the desk or whatever it was they made us write.  I can't remember the why's or the what's, only that occasionally this was something required.  In this little collage the lines being written are "I have Buddha nature" and of course the date is always "today".  I guess they wanted us to write lines so we would remember?  And what could be more important to remember than "I have Buddha nature." 

And what is Buddha nature anyway?  Let me give this a shot without referring to texts and definitions.  I think it refers to our "basic goodness", the fact that within each one of us we have all we need to become enlightened, our suffering, our wisdom, our faith.  No matter how "bad" someone seems (think Hitler, kids!) it is believed that we all have Buddha nature and that it is our confusion and greed and hatred that get in the way and cover up our "Buddha Nature", our potential to be "Buddhas".  We don't have to be different than we are or better than we are, we just have to uncover our "Buddha nature."

  

If we always remembered that we have Buddha nature it would deal with a lot of what ails us, I think.  Would we dislike ourselves and be so self critical if we always remembered we had Buddha nature?  Would we doubt our actions and second guess ourselves so much if we knew our choices came from our Buddha nature?  Would we find others superior to ourselves or feel defensive about their comments or sideways glances if we were sure of our Buddha nature?   Would we be so easily discouraged if we believed whole heartedly in our Buddha nature.  Would we look for distraction so often if we were conscious of our Buddha nature?

So maybe we should each buy ourselves one of these lovely little "practice books" and write a 100 times every day, "I have Buddha nature."  Do you think it would help?  Do you think it would sink in to that blood and bones level?  Do you think we would wake up with those words on our lips?  Do you think it would become a deep part of us that required no thought, like breathing?

And what would we learn about ourselves if we committed to write "I have Buddha nature" 100 times each day for the rest of our lives.  Would we meet our resistance and cynical self?  Would we meet our friends Sloth and Torpor in a back alley?  Would doubt and second guessing drop in for tea?

I wonder.   Are you up for writing lines?  No?  Does it seem silly and school teacherish or sniff slightly of new agey-ness?   How will you discover your Buddha nature?  Perhaps an essay " What I did to discover my Buddha nature on my summer holidays."   Sounds hopelessly boring?  Now I am counting on you to discover your Buddha nature.  Think of it as an experiment  (as is most of this life).  No test tubes or bunson burners required.  Class dismissed.

My Lemonade Stand

Salt Spring Island is bulging with artists and open studios.  Every crook & nanny here does art and every nook and cranny is crammed with art.  The Saturday market in Ganges is like Manhattan at rush hour (Okay so I've never been to Manhattan at rush hour or any other time)  but you're getting the picture.  I brought some art with me to the island from my bigger island that I live on and  poked and snooped around, thinking I might find a venue.  My work lay in walking the middle road of checking out possibilities but trying not to be attached to outcomes.  The market, because the traffic is so high, has as many rules as customers.  You have to live here for at least 6 mos and jump through hoops of fire to get a spot.  You can tell the old timers by their singed butts (no this is not really true, well maybe, but I never checked that closely).

But we did spend the morning at the market as customers, after parking far enough away that we had to pack a lunch to get there.  But there are fabulous local treasures and we wouldn't miss it .  We bought some locally made curry spices, some pea shoots and sunflower sprouts and a salad roll stuffed with sprouts from the sprout guy.  We had a shot of wheat grass juice from our friend Jim, at Rawsome Living Foods and tasted his awesome raw homous.  We bought some of his raw granola but snoozed too late to get any raw flax crackers.  We sampled some amazing pasta and pesto from a little shop with a serious Italian chef.  We bought handmade soap in little bargain mystery packs.  It was a quintessential summer market day.  Sun blazing, people everywhere, music and tasty smells wafting over everything.

After that we retired back to our lovely home exchange and I decided to put a sign out by the road and hang my art in the garden.  It was fun and in fact I love doing this.  I arranged my journals on a rustic old saw horse and put out a couple of lovely baskets, one with cards and the other with matted prints.  I put out some original collage work on a little black cafe table and we found some hooks that would hold a number of original canvases on the trellis deck railing.   I put out a lovely little bamboo dish of scrabble tile pendants, poured a cool drink and sat down in the shade.

I watered some plants, did a few on-line chores and then started to wonder where everyone was.  The mind always looking for action began it's chattering.   Len commented on how nice the colours of the paintings looked in the bright sunshine and took some pictures.  My mind on the other hand started to rumble, "not one person has driven down from the road".  I looked at the paintings and decided that was because they really weren't very nice.  And on and on. blah, blah, blah ....  We did our qi gong on the lawn in a the shade of a hawthorn tree.  And as my mind quieted  I caught it by it's tail and yanked away the banana it had been chewing on.  "Okay, that logic, well it defies logic ... How could people decide my art was crappy if they hadn't even seen it?"  I inquired.   Such is the nature of the mind.  It tells us stories that appear to be based on logic but are so fuzzy you can hardly recognize them for their furry coating.

And so we chuckled and said it's kind of like the lemonade stand you had when you were a kid.  You spent a lot of time setting it up in front of your house, making the lemonade and signs, finding chairs and change.  The process and preparation were exciting.  And then there was the sitting and the waiting ... and the minutes ... and the hours went by.  And after a while you got tired of it.  So you drank all the lemonade or gave it away to your friends.  But at the end of the day you were happy and at some point you did it all over again. 

Maybe my lemonade stand was quieter than the sound of  one hand clapping but we passed a lovely summer afternoon in a beautiful garden.  And I was reminded once again not to be too attached to outcomes  and to have faith.  It was an opportunity to think about what might work in the future.  And I was reminded that I had fun getting it set up and it wasn't really a problem unless I made it into one.  Always, we have the choice.  So there was the Dharma as usual waiting to show it's wise little face and offer some teaching, even on a sunny, summer afternoon, proving once again that the Dharma is always waiting patiently to offer us just what we need.  And if you're on Salt Spring Island tomorrow, you just might see my little sign by the red bicycle when you're driving down the road.

 

Empty Vessel

Empty Vessel in Green

Mono-print on hand stamped acrylic background

8" x  8" black matte, image dimension 3.75 " x 4.5"

$25 includes shipping in North America

Yesterday when we went to the Tibetan Retreat Centre on Mt. Tuam there was a "Transmission Ceremony".  There was some confusion over whether those of us who were only there for the opening were allowed to receive the transmission.  As our group was the last of the afternoon stragglers eating and chatting we were herded into the Shrine Room and assured it was fine.  I went along with the crowd in that way that your mother used to say to you when you were a teenager  "Now if everyone jumped off a bridge would you do that too?"

I recently bought a little used book by Chogyam Trungpa called "Journey Without A Goal".  Great title, yes?  I was curious to read about "transmission" in it as I couldn't fully wrap my pea brain around it.  Hmmm, transmission, sounds like something that happens around large metal towers involving copious quantities of electricity.  

Here's what Trungpa had to say about transmission:  "Transmission is like receiving a spiritual inheritance.  In order to inherit our spiritual discipline, in order to have a good inheritance, we should become worthy vessels."   Those words seemed a good match for this little mono-print of a bowl which of course is a vessel for the purpose of receiving things.  It's a great picture he's created,  students as empty vessels.  There is the Zen story about the professor that is asking so many questions to the master but not really listening to the answers.  When the master pours tea for his guest he keeps pouring until the professor shouts "the cup is full."  The Zen Master in his Zennish way simply nods.  So we can be empty or full vessels but most likely something in between. 

Trungpa  goes on to clarify  the qualities of a vessel that is ready to receive transmission: we should be humble, have the ability to question, be spiritually mature and open to the teachings.  Some hefty requirements there, but no one was checking at the door.  "No sorry you don't look quite ripe.  Or do I catch a whiff of pride here?"  There seemed to be a fairly casual approach to things, unlike my experience of ceremony in the Zen tradition I am familiar with.  I guess in my mind "transmission" is one of those esoteric things we can't really understand with our heads.  It has to do with unseen energies that abound whether we know about them or not.  And in many traditions this "transmission" happens between student and master.

Trungpa also makes the following, very clear comments about the process: "Transmission means the extension of spiritual wakefulness from one person to someone else.  Wakefulness is extended rather than transferred.  The teacher,  or the transmitter extends his own inspiration, rather than giving his own experience away to somebody else and becoming an empty balloon.  The teacher is generating wakefulness and inspiration constantly, without ever being depleted.  So for the student, receiving transmission is like being charged with electricity."  So there I was like a little battery, not quite sure if I was an interloper, guilty of pinching a charge or whether I was just a fortunate recipient of a lovely gift.

I'm In Buddhist Kindergarden

ABC Buddha

Mixed Media on Paper & Matte board

8" x 8" black matte, image dimension 3.75" x 4.5"

$25 includes shipping in North America

Remember those lined writing practice books?  Do they bring back memories?  Good, bad, otherwise?  I love text and images mixed together and there's something so nostalgic about the look of these pages.  And it reminds me of grade school which reminds me of beginner's mind, the idea of being new to it all, practice that is.  And seeing it with fresh unknowing eyes.

Today we had an experience that felt grade schoolish.  I think we felt some of the enthusiasm that small children feel when they go off to school for the first time.  Today we're on Salt Spring Island and we drove up a very rustic pot holed road to what seemed like the top of the world.  It is a Tibetan Retreat Centre in the Kagyu lineage of Kalu Rinpoche that was holding a reopening ceremony after being closed for some years.  It was like the first day of school because we had no idea what the Purification or Fire Ceremony would be, or who Mahakhala is  (the focus of the transmission and retreat that followed).

At the Puja Ceremony we re-experienced what it's like to be a small children.  We couldn't read the chants.  We were unfamiliar with the intonation and we depended on the good will and kindness of others as we manouvered (or should I say bumbled) our way through.  My great good fortune was to sit beside a seasoned practitioner who chanted flawlessy in the most wonderful sing songy voice. Like small children we enjoyed the rhythm of the drums and symbols and chanting.  It was a very basic and rudimentary level that we entered on.  

We liked the homemade noodles we had for lunch and the cake that followed the ceremony.  Like kids we looked around to see what other people were doing and followed suit.  We turned pages, mouthed the words, threw rice, held our hands in prayer and took off our shoes when everyone else did.  People were kind and friendly and the weather was superb.  The views were as if we sat on top of the world.  We were above the turkey vultures that circled out over the arbutus trees and the ocean.  The surrounding islands were like tiny models in the great blue ocean and we delighted in pointing out things we recognized, like little people saying the words we knew.  Dog, cat, moon. ... Look at the ferries and there is Cowichan Bay and San Juan Islands and the Olympic Mountains.

In good childlike fashion I sat down with the black cat in a shrine room and petted a mellow fur friend for a while.  We delighted in finding mother deer and spotted fawns hiding from the heat of day under the raised buildings.  We needed a few toys before we left.  We bought incense and a mala and a little book  we couldn't resist.

It was a wonderful exotic day of chanting we couldn't understand and rituals we were unfamiliar with.  We learned a little about Mahakhala, the protector of monasteries and the Dharma.  Mahakhala is black and associated with black animals (except black cats apparently).  He/she has either 2, 4 or 6 arms and is the wrathful counterpart of Chenrzig or Avalokiteshvara, the Bodhisattva of Compassion.  It was a wonderful day with friends and sun and a wild ride up a mountain side.  No wonder the little Buddha in the picture has a red star.  It was a most excellent day.