Breakthroughs

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Breakthroughs. Aren’t they great? Like clouds parting, the sun bursting through, we see with refreshing clarity, we understand what had been elusive, we discover something previously hidden, we step forward with renewed vision and vigor. The mire behind us. The mountain climbed! Ideas tumble crisp and clean. Insight sharp and heightened. Pieces fit with remarkable satisfaction.

Defined as “an act or instance of removing or surpassing an obstruction or restriction; the overcoming of a stalemate”, breakthroughs are typically associated with things like science and engineering, technology, negotiations and diplomacy, war and peace.

Einstein comes to mind. Thomas Edison, Marie Curie, Benjamin Franklin, Henry Ford, Jane Goodall, Amelia Earhart, Steve Jobs, Bill Gates, Walt Disney, Galileo Galilei, Alexander Flemming, Leonardo DaVinci, Charles Darwin, Isaac Newton, Mahatma Ghandi, Margaret Mead, … the list goes on. They’re all pioneers, masters of discovery and exploration who achieved life-changing breakthroughs.

But what of us mere mortals who haven’t found our way into the history books? Our “instances of surpassing an obstruction” are just as valid, even though on a personal level (which, of course, is where they all begin…). Our breakthroughs may not change the world; just ourselves ~ our way of thinking, our way of producing, our direction, our relationships, our world.

Yet as we break our barriers, we affect the world immediately around us, whether we know it or not!

That said, I can recall several breakthroughs in my artistic life, and it never occurred to me that anyone might be impacted but me, myself and I. And for the most part, I still hold onto that belief.

But, as any of us become more confident, or satisfied, or spiritually or skillfully elevated, it changes us ~ and that change is bound to show, in some way, in our outward demeanor, in our actions and behaviors, impacting those around us if only by sheer interaction. How much or little, we may never know, but it’s there.

In any event …  my own first memorable breakthrough came in first grade when swarmed by classmates asking me to draw pictures for them. Most requested, next to a clown, was a drawing I did of a girl’s face whose main attraction seemed to be her swirly-whirly hair-do. This was very neat stuff.

Later, at the ripe old age of 9, I entered a national poster contest. I remember working very hard on my drawing of a fawn, which I’d chosen to represent the prescribed theme of protecting our environment, and I remember my total surprise at winning, and I remember feeling really proud.

After that, while going about the business of regular growing up stuff, I basically honed my craft for a long time, enjoying the steps of refinement along the way.

It wasn’t until my early twenties when perhaps my biggest artistic breakthrough arrived ~ in the form of a self-portrait. This one caused great alarm among family members who were used to my straight-forward, more realistic pieces. They didn’t like it. At all. But I was ecstatic! It was a huge moment. Unforced, un-fussed over, and oh-so-liberating. It was no longer just skill, it was skill + expression; for me, a wide river crossed. And without a conscious intent beyond “doing a self-portrait because that’s what artists do”, the result was a near perfect expression of all that pent-up creativity rising colorfully to the surface.

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Since then, more new doors have popped open in the ever-evolving landscape of creative expression. More breakthroughs, some minor, some major, sprinkled like fairy dust along a path set in motion long ago, a seemingly natural course of events ~ with its own timing in place, I might add! You can even start to feel them coming after a while ~ in fact, I’m sensing one coming up here real soon…… so stay tuned!

But enough about me ~ you’ve surely experienced some of your own. Maybe after a long, deliberate, concentrated effort. Maybe they seemed to form out of thin air, when you were focused elsewhere. Your breakthroughs might be far and few between, or bunched together, firing away one right after another. But however they show up, come they will. They’re a culmination of your experience, and they help shape your future, your choices, and your way of being.

And when the moment arrives, it’s a notable shift. A mark of progress. Light and bright and “yessssss!”

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Art Love

Just a quick post to say I fell in love the other day. With another artist. More precisely, with his work. Yes, he was also charming and handsome, but it was his work that first caught my eye.

It happened at a recent “Mansion in May” event ~ where the rooms of old, immensely grand homes (usually no longer occupied) are dressed to the nines by a select slew of interior designers who are no doubt thrilled to have this kind of opportunity to showcase their work.

Andrew’s artwork was the first thing you saw when entering the lavish entranceway ~ and I have to say that after having visited room after room, eventually winding my way to the outdoor gardens and broad, beautiful views, his work had already stolen the show for me.

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I adore how he juxtaposed the old and new in his entranceway ceiling mural. Just brilliant. But he really took my heart away when I saw the monkeys in the study.

With all the fuss going on in so many of the rooms (granted, the designers, understandably, want to show off as much as they can during these rare and well-attended events ~ and what an extravagant, rich setting – a designer’s dream! ~ but more often than not it was way over the top for my taste ~ “less is more” was clearly not the overriding theme), his monkey paintings delightfully brightened the space with the right touch of unexpected whimsy.

And that was when I fell in love. It was all over. Hook, line and sinker.

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More of Andrew Tedesco’s outstanding work can be seen at http://www.andrewtedesco.com/ 

For more about the Mansion in May organization, visit http://www.mansioninmay.org

 

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The Gift of Maya

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I cried today. I’m not a particularly weepy person, but tears came unbidden and I thought, how odd ~ to not just feel sadness but to actually cry at the loss of someone I never knew.

Yes, I admired Maya Angelou ~ very much. Her words rang with truth. Her wisdom rich, humble, freeing. Her voice strong, her heart rugged and full of light. Her journey brave. She inspired countless lives. She was beautiful and completely remarkable. But when did it become so personal for me?

I think it may have been that as the daughter of a poet, and an unsung poet myself, I felt a kind of kinship. A sisterhood of prose. A “she’s one of us” feeling. I remember when I heard her speak in front of all the world, I imagined my mother applauding from heaven to see a modern day poet make such a profound mark in our world. I applauded right along. She did it. Ms. Angelou sang her song out loud and the world listened! I beamed for her ~ and I suppose I also beamed in that moment for poetry.

Famous people live for a time, larger than life it seems; through them we feel things, we learn things, sometimes deeply, sometimes in passing. And then they die, just like the rest of us. Flesh and bones, blood and breath.

But occasionally their presence is eternal. Injecting itself into our lives for untold generations. I imagine Maya Angelou’s spirit falling in that category. She was a gift to us all; her brilliance here to cherish and embrace as long as we so desire.

As much of the world mourns and honors this amazing lady, and as heaven welcomes a new angel, I send out my simple thank you, Maya, for touching my heart.

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Making Art & Making Time

A poster I made based on an Andy Warhol quote recently prompted some lively conversation in a Facebook thread.

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One friend commented that she knew many artists, writers and musicians who seem reticent to follow their artistic passion, for a whole bunch of reasons… and how she’d read something years ago that stayed with her ~ something to the effect that if you don’t let your creativity out it will beat you bloody inside.

I tend to agree. With both Warhol and my friend’s observation.

Actually, make that, I pretty much wholeheartedly agree. It’s something I’ve experienced first hand. Never expected to ~ because art, writing, etc was “just something I did”, I flowed merrily along. I took it for granted. But at a time when I became swallowed up in life’s other demands that didn’t allow room for all that stuff I “just did”, I thought I’d implode.

At first I didn’t realize the source of my misery. I didn’t know how inextricably tied my creativity was to my well-being. I even felt guilty when I sat down at a canvas after many months off ~ there were more responsible things I should, and could, be doing! But my spirit was suffocating; I finally understood what was meant when they say an artist is “driven”, that it’s something they “have to do”. And yet, I wasn’t giving myself permission. That awareness came in the unexpected form of an ex – in a rare, remarkable show of support at the time – who actually put it into words. He happened to stop by during that pivotal moment at the easel and said: “Don’t be stupid. Don’t feel guilty. You’re meant to do this. You have to.” It truly hadn’t dawned on me, in quite that way.

That all said, I’ve been fortunate to be able to incorporate a few forms of my creativity into a living all these years ~ but if it’s not part of your daily experience, I’m a huge advocate of doing what you can when you can! It does you no good, nor anyone else, to let creativity smolder and stew inside you. Ideas and inspirations are there to be used and expressed. So if you’re called to, or just want to – do make more art!

Make time. Find time. Carve it out of stone if you must. Maybe a kick in the rear is called for. According to a (rather wonderful) post by Elizabeth Gilbert, setting a timer for half an hour every day can do wonders for creating discipline. Maybe you set aside a whole day. Evenings. Something that’s “doable”.  Stick to it. 

And one more thing. You have to trust the process.

Maybe you set aside your half hour or half a day and wondrous things flow and you feel great! But, maybe, you stare at a blank page the whole time and feel awful. But guess what? ~ so what! That’s going to happen sometimes, and it’s okay. It really doesn’t mean a thing.

The process you have to trust is that there’s an ebb and flow to creativity just as in all things in nature. We don’t always have control (an understatement, right?!). Best laid plans and all that. The point is to keep going. Exercise the muscle.

You have something to express, and it’ll find its way ~ you just need to give it the time and space to breathe on out, so it doesn’t manifest as tension gone inward. Don’t think ~ “just get it done.” 

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A Plethora of P’s / #70: Pen (and Ink)

proactively punctuating life with the plausible, powerful possibilities of positive thought presented through a plethora of “P’s”.

saxton.P_penaandink“The pen is mightier than the sword.”

I’ve always liked this quote. It assumes the great power of words, language and intention, which are just a few of my favorite things, along with pens themselves, of course.

[Side note: I’d always assumed this was a line from Shakespeare. Sounds like it ought to be, right? But I was wrong. This is what learned: This line was quoted in 1839 from a play written by Britain’s Edward Bulwer-Lytton, both an Author and Politician of his day. No one remembers the play (Richelieu: or, the Conspiracy) but we’ve all heard the line. Apparently he’s also famous for the opening “It was a dark and stormy night”. I just love learning new things. 🙂 ]

In any event – back to P for pen. This is actually a guest P, created by a friend of mine and presented as a surprise, which truly delighted me. She’d taken a Zendangle course, and this was something she produced. Isn’t it great?! I adore it.

It’s also great because pens have always been an important positive in my own world. I am, in fact, most comfortable with a pen in hand ~ I just think better with a pen in hand. I’m also able to doodle if things are dull on the other side of the table or the other end of the phone, or in meetings, or just as an unconscious release of nervous energy. They’re great for making lists, and of course, for jotting down flashes of brilliance (that may or may not be brilliant on second look). My thoughts flow most easily when writing. As if the connection between mind and hand takes just enough longer than the one from mind to mouth, allowing for a richer expression, rather than a quick one.

Pens and I go way back. As a child I was always drawing and writing. My mother, a poet, was always writing. My parents had fallen in love through letter-writing. Pens were the natural order of things.

Then as my drawing skills developed, I got more and more courageous and soon stepped out of my comfort zone with pencils (which can be erased) to pen and ink (which cannot be erased). This is when I learned, sometimes the hard way, that mistakes a.) happen and b.) are not always remedied, but c.) can sometimes be made into something better. A life lesson from an unlikely source, but a good one I’ve carried with me.

So I, yes, am grateful for pens. And I do believe they are mighty. <3

Here are a few pen and inks from my archives.

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(see our ongoing Plethora of P’s here)

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Searching for Buffalo

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“Searching for Buffalo” / oil on canvas / Patricia Saxton

Several years ago I’d lost my way, so I ran away from one life, back to myself. Ten days turned into three weeks; three weeks turned into six months. It was probably the best gift I’d ever given myself ~ in essence, permission to do what I love; permission to follow my spirit.

It was a time before I became a mother, before I owned a home, before all the responsibility that comes with those kinds of major territories. I had my business, which I packed up (files, computers, printers) and took with me, along with my two cats, a heart that was tangled up in a very wrong place, and a strong desire to feel good, to spread my wings, to reach higher. It was the right time.

After my initial excitement, I will tell you this: panic set in. Friends had helped me drive across the country to the most magical part of the southwest, where I’d rented an incredible home owned by two artists situated on the edge of a national forest, and after I got settled in, and they left, there I was ~ face to face with nothing but myself, my dreams and the sound of coyote calls in the night. I was there to do something I’d often imagined ~ doing what I loved in a beautiful setting, unhampered by schedules, with no distractions, no blockades, no big worries, and with sudden, deep dread, I thought, “What if I fail?” “What if all this creative passion I’ve felt inside is just a cosmic lark? What if I freeze up, if inspiration doesn’t actually flow? What if I’m just kidding myself?” And the answer was, “Well, you’re about to find out.”

So I went to work doing what I set out to do. Following my instincts. Moving as the spirit moved. Every day I hiked, I swam, I painted, wrote and played the piano. I was a river overflowing. I could hardly keep up with all that ran through my veins, onto the canvas, the paper, the keys.

I made friends who introduced me to healing practices beyond measure, other friends who showed me the back roads. I became intimately engaged with the soft, red, craggy earth and rocks that loomed high above and all around. I ran with the open sky, I searched for buffalo, and I discovered a warrior inside.

There has never been any turning back from this experience. Bumps in the road, absolutely. Hard times, sure. All the stuff of life. But I can go back to this place in my mind at will. I can feel the warm rock beneath my back, the big sky above. I can recall the warrior. I can pull up the magic. And most importantly of all, I can know what’s possible if we give it permission.

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A Plethora of P’s / #69: Palette

proactively punctuating life with the plausible, powerful possibilities of positive thought presented through a plethora of “P’s”.

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Palette is defined as a range of colors, especially those typically used by an artist. But we all have what I think of as a personal palette. Our palette can reflect how we feel ~ or project how we wish to be perceived. What we wear, the colors in our home, foods arranged on a plate.

And surely our personalities have color too ~ the sunny, the brooding, the comic, the serious ~ the whole wide range. And within that, are the shades of our moods. And around all that, there are the colors in our aura. (Imagine, what a kaleidoscope of brilliance we all must make together!)

And beyond all that ~ beyond what they may represent, beyond their gift of making the world more, well, colorful ~ colors, in my opinion, in all their tones and hues and flavors, are essentially magical. They can calm and soothe, they can excite and energize. They can heal, and they can disrupt. They’re emotional. They tell stories. They’re loud or soft, subtle and sensitive, harsh, tender, generous; they’re unyielding, protective, submissive, lighthearted, stormy, hot, warm, cool. They are infinite and inexhaustibly interchangeable. There are worlds within worlds of just the color red alone. The whole spectrum of expression is unfathomable.

So, with all that possibility, you can mix your palette to your heart’s content ~ a dash here, a broad stroke there, a sprinkling of this, a spot of that. (Note: mixing with love and a generous pinch of harmony produces the best results.) However you please, there’s magic for the making, if not only a lift for the spirit.

(see our ongoing Plethora of P’s here)

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Peace & Love (Ah, Cupid…)

“Be of love a little more careful than of anything.”
 ~ E. E. Cummings

Week #24: 52 Weeks of Peace “Love Journal” / © Patricia Saxton

Ah, Cupid. Fickle, passionate, whose darting arrows don’t always hit the target … we celebrate you nonetheless.

I’ll admit that it’s not my favorite holiday, but I can count a few memorable, especially thoughtful, and even romantic, Valentine’s Day experiences. Unfortunately those went all wrong in the end (beware the man who writes you poetry, a friend once told me…), so I turn to the unscathed memories of shared Valentines from grammar school, or the hand-made kindergarten ones we gave to our parents, with big red construction paper hearts and white lace around the edges, filled with unabashed adoration. And those we give our own children marked with a thousand x’s and o’s.

But despite what might seem a dose of romantic cynicism, I am a true believer. In love. Love is everything. Every task we do, everyone word we utter, every hand we shake, is more meaningful if there’s love in it. Love is the root. Love is the cause. Love is the purpose. Love is all.

And so I welcome any reason to honor love,  and wish a “Happy Valentine’s Day” swarming with roses and chocolates to all husbands and wives, young lovers, old lovers, all who have ever felt the exultation ~ or the sting~ from Cupids’ arrows of desire, have felt their heart swell, their color blush, their energy soar and their selfishness cease.

And to everyone, with or without a “Valentine”, I say fill your hearts with love. Love for self, love for others, love for your pets, for your garden, for your books, for your bicycle, for your favorite chair. Even for the guy trying to make a left turn on a busy street. Raise up the heart quotient all around, and feel the peace that settles in when tension is replaced by unbridled love.

Your heart will be happy that you did.

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Friday Night Book Club: Confessions of a Book Lover

She had me hooked by the third paragraph. As it should be.

Page 1, The Signature of All Things / Elizabeth Gilbert

Page 1, The Signature of All Things / Elizabeth Gilbert

A friend of mine taught me the art of judging a book by its very first line. Of course, while that is very telling, we generally give it a little more time ~ at least a full page! Sometimes a lot more than that. But the truth is, I’ve become more discriminating over time. If I’m not adoring a book, I’m less apt to finish it than in years past, when I felt mysteriously honor-bound by some kind of self-imposed commitment to follow through. But no more. Fortunately, there’s no shortage of good books, so all this haughty discernment works in my favor.

And really, there’s nothing that compares to a settling in to a comfy chair (or the floor, which is often where I plop) with a cup of tea and an excellent book. Oh the places you go, the people you meet, the things you feel. The joy! For better or worse, I confess to often preferring a good book to live company. Depends on the company, naturally, and the timing. Sometimes the book outranks all.

But I have another confession. After years of tv drought (I’m really and truly not a tv person. I really and truly don’t know what’s current and cool to watch, and I have so much else to do! Who has time! But …), I discovered Netflix and Downton Abbey. Watched all 4 seasons in about a month. Then I discovered Breaking Bad. (WOW!) Again I watched all 5 years (or however long it was) in about a month’s time. Yes ~ I binged. I loved every minute. And instead of picking up a book, I watched. There, I’ve fessed up.

But here’s the flip side – there just aren’t nearly enough great shows as there are fabulous books, so reading is still king on my hit parade.

(Alright, so maybe this wasn’t such a dramatic confession, as the title lead you to believe. But it was a good title, wasn’t it! Go on, give me that. :  ) )

It did get me thinking, though, about what makes any of it worthwhile, whether words on a page or moving pictures on a screen. What draws me in to some and not to others? (keeping in mind that I’m highly fussy) It’s the same for each medium and it’s very simply, purely and only about great storytelling. That means brilliant writing. Personable, intriguing characters. Interesting plots, invisibly rich details/filming. You’re immersed. You’re engaged. You care.

You have to care. Or it’s not worthwhile.

And thankfully there’s a wealth of it out there, because it’d be a terrible thing to be bookless.

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For any book lovers out there, we gather on the first Friday of each month, if you want to read along virtually. So far we’ve read the outstanding And the Mountains Echoed (Khaled Hosseini), the fascinating The Reluctant Fundamentalist (Mohsin Hamid), the not-as-compelling The End of Your Life Book Club (Will Schwalbe) ~ and now it’s Elizabeth Gilbert’s The Signature of All Things… which as you probably figured out, had me hooked by the third paragraph.

I also have a list of books on my reading room page of this blog ~ as well as a GoodReads author page (also with a list) if anyone wants to connect over there.

Peace, love, happy reading.

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Winter Solace

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What beauty we’re privileged to know in this life. I, for one, find great solace knowing it’s there, in so many varied forms ~ and I also find that I’m able to take a fresh, renewing breath simply by seeing a scene like this.

I recall woods much like these, from my childhood, and I feel glad to have wandered its humbling, secret pathways, for its nurturing my imagination and deepening my appreciation for the world we all call home.

And while this is just a picture, I invite you to take a walk inside this enchanted forest, feel the crisp air on your face, hear the doves calling and deer scampering, watch snow tumbling from a bough. Nothing more, just be there for a little while and feel a bit of hushed, invigorating peace. Your regularly scheduled life will still be there, and you, perhaps, may feel refreshed.  ~ Patricia

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