The Greatest Poem Ever Written
There once was a lady of station.
"I love man" was her sole exclamation.
When men cried, "You flatter!"
She replied, "Oh! no matter.
'Isle of Man' is the true explanation."
(Happy April Fool's Day! This is NOT the greatest poem ever written. But limericks are fun, and so is April 1st. See you tomorrow.)
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Flying by the Seat of Her Vision
She enters the Japanese restaurant briskly. It is an extremely cold wintry evening in Cleveland’s Coventry neighborhood, and much snow is falling on an already deep blanket of white and city-street gray.
She is dressed in a long, black, puffy-quilted coat. She wears leather and rubber winter boots and a duck-brimmed, plaid wool cap with ear flaps, which looks not unlike the hat that L.L. Bean wore one hundred years ago on his outdoor excursions that inspired a company of clothing and that made northern winters more endurable. For acquiescing to the need to bundle—for daring, actually, to be warm despite the Cleveland freeze and tendency here to under-bundle—she commands, dressed like this, some sort of quirky respect.
She greets her friend at the table while beginning her outerwear peel. Underneath her coat she wears a polka dot and striped scarf that in no way, shape, or form in anyone’s fashion book could ever match the plaid of her hat, or the patterning of her thick winter sweater, even if fashion irony were the goal, and in her case, for she is far from ironic, it is not. From her mis-matched ensemble, one gets the sense she selected her clothing based on the warmth factor and the warmth factor only. She piles these warming winners—her coat, scarf, gloves, and finally hat—on a spare chair at the table, atop her friend’s outer gear.
Based on her bundling, one might peg our friend as a practical woman. And one would be right, to a degree. She has a government job, so, obviously, she sees both the upside and downside to bureaucracies, wanting security but no bull, weighing the drawbacks and their saturation points perpetually against her career trajectory. In this day and age, she still carries a paper calendar (insists on the low-tech, low-cost originate of the PDA). She is married, owns a home, and keeps to a stringent budget. Her hair is no-nonsense, long and simply cut, and if she wears make-up, one would not know it by looking at her.
But our friend is much more than just practical. She plays flute and is a music theory whiz, holding dual music master’s degrees. She is a gifted photographer, having recently had her own show. She is a jewelry maker with eclectic taste. And she aspires at times to want to make her living entirely as an artist.
*
‘Did I tell you this?’ and ‘did I tell you that?’ Over hot water with lemon and miso soup, she and her dinner companion converse, typical talk for friends who haven’t sat one-to-one in some time. They update one another on all details of daily living: jobs, houses, finances, friends, families, vacation, diet, exercise, crises, and worries. Snow continues to fall as the women run through their daily life tales.
And then, as is always the case when they’re together, a shift occurs.
*
They sit back and delve now, after almost an hour of talk, for this is the point in the conversation they both fought the elements to make. This is the point in their dinner where their laughter increases, they lean toward each other more, their certainty rises, and their gestures grow emphatic. Their eyes lock more in collegial understanding than in woman-friend understanding, for this is the point in their conversation when the conversation turns to art.
There is something more to the woman artist, the woman who has more to express and who has more at stake for expressing it. And there is something more that two artistic women sitting together in a Japanese restaurant on a cold snowy night need to tend to beyond the day-to-day. Discussing sashimi is one thing. Discussing how one is making a sashimi-inspired necklace is another.
For conversation beyond the mundane is crucial in the development and well-being of a woman artist. After all, it is in these moments of deeper inquiry and verbal musings with friends and trusted colleagues when food for thought might become energy for a new project, or conviction becomes a promise revisit an old one. Women artists talking together is life giving us more, and, in reciprocity, asking more of us.
They discuss an idea for a book. They talk about collaboration. They tangentially discuss the value of art for and by needy children and both know after a few minutes the topic is too large and will require a separate meeting. They comment, as the snowfall outside slows, that this might be the year for an art undertaking involving yoga. They are inspired. They sigh and sip their soup and eat sushi.
*
And then our friend hears from her dinner mate how wonderful she found her recent photography show and how of all the great things in the world, it would be the greatest right now if she could afford the newest version of her photo editing software, for it is clear her work is unique, and her editing talents endless. Our friend says thank you, and, yes, it’d be great to get more training in digital editing, and that she does a pretty good job with what she has, that being an old, clunky version. She hears her friend say, “Hm. You do a REALLY great job, given that.”
Our friend says thank you again and reaches for her hat atop the mound of winter wear, for the bill has been paid, and it is time to go. She says, putting on her duck-billed hat, “I would really like that, to learn more technique. Instead of flying by the seat of my vision.” They share a smile. The women rise, get re-bundled, leave the restaurant, and say their goodbyes.
Our friend’s friend walks to her car and imagines color in the sky, shapes, fabrics, photography, words on paper, paint on canvas. Flags. Children dancing to song in the sunlight. Birds. When will it be spring? Our friend’s friend walks—the snow has stopped but the freeze pervades—grateful for those who dare share their day-to-day AND their deepest realms, grateful for those who despite common housekeeping encumbrances and life practicalities go ahead and fly regardless.
Flying by the seat of one’s vision. She thinks she might know this much: There is nothing greater one could do in life. Everything else is just the mitten that warms the hand, the soup that fills the belly. Take care of those things for all, yes. Then get down to the business of beauty.
She is dressed in a long, black, puffy-quilted coat. She wears leather and rubber winter boots and a duck-brimmed, plaid wool cap with ear flaps, which looks not unlike the hat that L.L. Bean wore one hundred years ago on his outdoor excursions that inspired a company of clothing and that made northern winters more endurable. For acquiescing to the need to bundle—for daring, actually, to be warm despite the Cleveland freeze and tendency here to under-bundle—she commands, dressed like this, some sort of quirky respect.
She greets her friend at the table while beginning her outerwear peel. Underneath her coat she wears a polka dot and striped scarf that in no way, shape, or form in anyone’s fashion book could ever match the plaid of her hat, or the patterning of her thick winter sweater, even if fashion irony were the goal, and in her case, for she is far from ironic, it is not. From her mis-matched ensemble, one gets the sense she selected her clothing based on the warmth factor and the warmth factor only. She piles these warming winners—her coat, scarf, gloves, and finally hat—on a spare chair at the table, atop her friend’s outer gear.
Based on her bundling, one might peg our friend as a practical woman. And one would be right, to a degree. She has a government job, so, obviously, she sees both the upside and downside to bureaucracies, wanting security but no bull, weighing the drawbacks and their saturation points perpetually against her career trajectory. In this day and age, she still carries a paper calendar (insists on the low-tech, low-cost originate of the PDA). She is married, owns a home, and keeps to a stringent budget. Her hair is no-nonsense, long and simply cut, and if she wears make-up, one would not know it by looking at her.
But our friend is much more than just practical. She plays flute and is a music theory whiz, holding dual music master’s degrees. She is a gifted photographer, having recently had her own show. She is a jewelry maker with eclectic taste. And she aspires at times to want to make her living entirely as an artist.
*
‘Did I tell you this?’ and ‘did I tell you that?’ Over hot water with lemon and miso soup, she and her dinner companion converse, typical talk for friends who haven’t sat one-to-one in some time. They update one another on all details of daily living: jobs, houses, finances, friends, families, vacation, diet, exercise, crises, and worries. Snow continues to fall as the women run through their daily life tales.
And then, as is always the case when they’re together, a shift occurs.
*
They sit back and delve now, after almost an hour of talk, for this is the point in the conversation they both fought the elements to make. This is the point in their dinner where their laughter increases, they lean toward each other more, their certainty rises, and their gestures grow emphatic. Their eyes lock more in collegial understanding than in woman-friend understanding, for this is the point in their conversation when the conversation turns to art.
There is something more to the woman artist, the woman who has more to express and who has more at stake for expressing it. And there is something more that two artistic women sitting together in a Japanese restaurant on a cold snowy night need to tend to beyond the day-to-day. Discussing sashimi is one thing. Discussing how one is making a sashimi-inspired necklace is another.
For conversation beyond the mundane is crucial in the development and well-being of a woman artist. After all, it is in these moments of deeper inquiry and verbal musings with friends and trusted colleagues when food for thought might become energy for a new project, or conviction becomes a promise revisit an old one. Women artists talking together is life giving us more, and, in reciprocity, asking more of us.
They discuss an idea for a book. They talk about collaboration. They tangentially discuss the value of art for and by needy children and both know after a few minutes the topic is too large and will require a separate meeting. They comment, as the snowfall outside slows, that this might be the year for an art undertaking involving yoga. They are inspired. They sigh and sip their soup and eat sushi.
*
And then our friend hears from her dinner mate how wonderful she found her recent photography show and how of all the great things in the world, it would be the greatest right now if she could afford the newest version of her photo editing software, for it is clear her work is unique, and her editing talents endless. Our friend says thank you, and, yes, it’d be great to get more training in digital editing, and that she does a pretty good job with what she has, that being an old, clunky version. She hears her friend say, “Hm. You do a REALLY great job, given that.”
Our friend says thank you again and reaches for her hat atop the mound of winter wear, for the bill has been paid, and it is time to go. She says, putting on her duck-billed hat, “I would really like that, to learn more technique. Instead of flying by the seat of my vision.” They share a smile. The women rise, get re-bundled, leave the restaurant, and say their goodbyes.
Our friend’s friend walks to her car and imagines color in the sky, shapes, fabrics, photography, words on paper, paint on canvas. Flags. Children dancing to song in the sunlight. Birds. When will it be spring? Our friend’s friend walks—the snow has stopped but the freeze pervades—grateful for those who dare share their day-to-day AND their deepest realms, grateful for those who despite common housekeeping encumbrances and life practicalities go ahead and fly regardless.
Flying by the seat of one’s vision. She thinks she might know this much: There is nothing greater one could do in life. Everything else is just the mitten that warms the hand, the soup that fills the belly. Take care of those things for all, yes. Then get down to the business of beauty.
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