September 18, 2014
In
appreciation, books, children's books, creativity, imagination, inspiration, philosophy, work and play
Why a Good Book is a Secret Door (TED Talks)
Pure joy. Watch, listen and smile…
June 12, 2014
In
appreciation, communication, creativity, design, inspiration, intelligence, life and the universe, philosophy, work and play
Earthly Pursuits
Thank heavens there are people like my really smart nephew with a passion for math and statistics; for people who strive to climb Mt. Everest and people who want to be dentists or race-car drivers. I’d be awful at these things (among others) and quite frankly, am grateful someone else has these bases covered.
When you get right down to it, we’re all creative beings. We’re in a constant state of creation, our atoms and molecules and who knows what other sub-this-or-that particles in perpetual motion. What we do with all that varies, of course, from person to person, just as it varies from flower to flower, bird to bird, bug to little bug. Even a winter tree, barren and cold, is feverishly feeding its roots, growing beneath the ground; each tree uniquely carrying out its creative urge. So there’s all this activity going on, a momentum of endless, ever-evolving, ingenious energy, all the time, day and night, year after year.
Okay, I’ve tired myself out thinking about all that! But, hold on, the good news is I don’t need to go any deeper with it; even if I could, I don’t need to fathom the inner workings of this amazing swirl of life we’re part of. All I have to do is my part. And you, yours.
And more good news – we can choose what we want that part to be. And within those options ~ a whole giant vat of them ~ there’s a leaning, a desire, a knack for certain things more than others. And I would venture that those leanings show up unbidden, no matter where we live or under what circumstances ~ our inner callings will find a way to emerge, and they usually show up when we’re little kids. We arrive in this world pre-packaged with a personal set of affinities. And they never leave.
But then we travel life’s twisting roads, and for one reason or another, may un-do some of those natural tendencies. Some are fortunate to retain the connection, some get lost. Maybe it’s strife, maybe it’s what we think others think we should do; a million detours and distractions, a million at-the-time good reasons that lead one away from that core, that essence. But it’s still there ~ I’m certain of it ~ and it’s never too late (or too soon) to revitalize.
If you’re wondering what that calling is, or if you even have one, ask “what lights you up?” Then tap in and get on with it!
April 25, 2014
In
appreciation, art, color, communication, creativity, design, drawing, fine art, illustration, imagination, inspiration, life and the universe, philosophy, skill, words and language, work and play
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”.
“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.
(see our ongoing Plethora of P’s here)
April 13, 2014
In
appreciation, art, creativity, fine art, imagination, inspiration, life and the universe, work and play
Searching for Buffalo
“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.
April 6, 2014
In
art, black and white, creativity, drawing, illustration, imagination, life and the universe, work and play
Here But Not Here
I escaped today. Courtesy of three little pigs, a pencil and, I suppose, either my inner child or a light-hearted muse. It’s part of a project I’m working on, but, as sometimes happens, it took a turn of its own accord, and I was amused. It’s good to be able to entertain oneself, after all. : ) To escape life’s more serious avenues and put your own smile on it.
So the turn made me smile, and also reminded me how the making of art is both an immersion and escape. It’s like plunging into the world, while fleeing from it at the same time. Engaged with the world, but not part of it. Maybe it’s the same for the art viewer ~ depending on the piece, a feeling of being somehow here but not here. The connection happens with the senses. Of course thought is involved at different points along the way, but if you start to think about it too much, some of the magic thins.
That said, there wasn’t too much thought involved in this one. The idea had lodged in my mind well before I picked up a pencil, and my job was to simply enjoy the drawing-it-up part, and within that process be transported, for a little while, to that familiar place that is here but not here.
March 27, 2014
In
appreciation, art, color, communication, creativity, design, illustration, imagination, inspiration, life and the universe, philosophy, words and language, work and play
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”.
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)
March 16, 2014
In
art, color, creativity, life and the universe, work and play
On Being Irish, Lucky and Green
Bear with me here, I’m trying to determine if I should be celebrating St. Patrick’s Day. I’m not Irish, you see, but I love potatoes, ballads and Liam Neeson’s accent, so maybe some of that counts a little towards, I dunno, something.
I’m not all that lucky either (at least not when it comes to things like winning at lotteries or blackjack ~ although being blessed with a good family was definitely fortunate in the lottery of life; I have to admit. that was big), except for the time my sister and I, on a whim, bored and restless after being cooped up in a very, very long car ride, went looking for four-leaf clovers on a remote North Carolina mountainside. To our complete surprise, we both found one. I’d never seen any but the 3-leafers in all my childhood days of looking (because what else do you do when you find yourself in a field of clover?), so this was very exciting. But then, we found more. And more. And more! And we then started finding 5-leaf clovers and I think we even found a couple of 6-leafers! This was magical, I’m telling you straight out. I’ve not seen a single four-leaf clover before or since (much less the five or sixers). So maybe I am lucky in some ways.
As for being green, well sure, it’s a great color (assuming we’re talking about color, not one’s environmental prowess nor bank balance nor being a beginner, and so – [phew!] – going with color, I’m personally partial to the off-greens, the khaki, the more brown- or yellow-leaning varieties, not so much the kelly), but I can’t say I’m fond of green beer. I do love green vegetables, though, so maybe that counts for something. Or maybe we should just leave the whole being green bit to Kermit.
Then of course, there’s the name. Are we sure, really sure, it’s all about St. Patrick? … or might there’ve been a wee slip of the pen when writing St. Patricia. Hmmmm. : )
And with all that heavy thought out of the way, it’s back to work ~ wearing a spot of green, feeling lucky, and dining on spuds with a whisper of an Irish blessing in my ear … whether any of it counts or not.
March 2, 2014
In
art, creativity, life and the universe, philosophy, photography, poetry, travel, words and language, work and play
Margaritaville and The Lost Island
While the planet continues to shift, rearranging the northeast into some kind of Arctic replica, I took some time away, letting my muse wander among talking dolphins, small dragons and lazy hammocks under a hot, shiny sun. Had a cheeseburger in paradise, looked for Jimmy Buffet’s lost shaker of salt (thought it might be in the old Hemingway home, but no). And I pondered which island on the horizon might be the one that my mother purchased years ago.
Yes, my mother bought an island. She would, not often, but on occasion, do things like that. Buy a convertible when a station wagon would be more sensible. Write a letter to the Queen of England. Buy an island. Maybe to defy an orderly life, to make dreams real, to remind herself during times of inevitable routine that she was more than laundry folded and meals on the table; to remind her four children that our dreams were also valid.
We never saw the island. I’m honestly not sure she ever saw the island. The island that might one day be a family gathering place, or an artist retreat, or a healing place, or who knows what ~ a dream without limits. It could well be that the island was no more than a single palm tree on a lump of earth bulging from the Gulf of Mexico. Or it could have been a small but bona fide piece of paradise. It was sold, so we’ll never know ~ but the idea of it ~ the loveliness, the throw-caution-to-the-wind of it, the hopefulness and cheer of it, lives on in me.
………………
An Island Lost
Stars like freshly polished gems,
Close enough to touch –
A sprinkling of stardust
Soundlessly rests on giant palms
And sweeps across the sea,
A silent chime,
The whisper of a song
With familiar, forgotten words from
The language of dreams.
How far the distance between then and now?
A heartbeat? A century? All of time?
A story unfinished, a vision unseen
Green and blue on sandy shores
Ripe with adventures not taken.
A red sail, a setting sun,
Flowers in our hair.
An island lost awaits
A barefoot waltz,
Promising secret treasures.
But instead, a more reliable path.
Feet on solid ground. And yet ~
And yet,
A cactus grows in winter, and
Mysteries breathe in hickory trees
Where cardinals, red and fit,
Watch from lofty branches.
A poem from the future,
And guiding stars
like freshly polished gems,
Close enough to touch –
Stardust falls on me,
On you,
Then, and now,
There, and here
Inside this sky
Where dreams wander
And Prometheus plays
And Shakespeare sings
And Copernicus soars
And hands are held
And laughter swells
And love is forever
And ever.
~ P. Saxton
December 13, 2013
In
appreciation, creativity, design, imagination, inspiration, intelligence, life and the universe, poetry, words and language, work and play
Poetry as Ruler of the World
“I say, ‘Get me some poets as managers.’ Poets are our original systems thinkers. They contemplate the world in which we live and feel obligated to interpret, and give expression to it in a way that makes the reader understand how that world runs. Poets, those unheralded systems thinkers, are our true digital thinkers. It is from their midst that I believe we will draw tomorrow’s new business leaders.” ~ Sidney Harman, CEO Multimillionaire of a stereo components company”
― Daniel H. Pink
I stumbled upon this quote this morning, and it reminded me that when I read Daniel Pink’s “A Whole New Mind” a few years back, I was (given what I do) thrilled at his theory that right-brainers will rule the future. There’s a place for the creative, the innovative, the out-of-the-box thinker ~ more than ever! And not just any place, but a valued place. And not just a “dusting off the weariness of life” kind of valuable (although that’s important!), but a place that moves, shakes and shapes our world.
Of course, we all have elements of both; right and left brains. And perhaps because of a genetic blend making me feel fairly balanced in that department, I dislike labeling ~ or assuming, for example, that if someone is logical they aren’t creative, or someone who’s creative can’t be logical, because that’s simply not true. We have tendencies towards one or the other, most definitely, whether innate or learned, but both aspects reside in most people’s brains to some degree, and I presume for good reason. (So when my very creative daughter complains about having to learn Math, I insist that she needs to exercise that part of her brain to stay healthy and wise and grounded, and not end up with both head and feet in the clouds. “Use it or lose it” has real meaning here.)
That said, and putting aside my own personal glee at the prospect of “right brains” leading the future, the theory does have merit, especially when you consider how many previously human-held jobs have been replaced by increasingly efficient, computerized functions – freeing up some of us to be more creative and others to flounder for their bearings.
And while I’m not completely convinced that poets should be managers, I am convinced that there’s enormous opportunity for unlocking the floodgates of our ingenuity when more menial tasks are automated. And I think most people perform better when they’re inspired, rather than watching a clock, regardless if they’re mathematically or artistically driven ~ both of which can be dry or highly creative functions, depending on any given person’s combination of atoms and molecules, environment, and spirit.
To do anything well, to grow, stretch boundaries, reach the moon ~ to live better ~ we need to think big and welcome a fusion of the intuitive with the intellect. And really, it’s always been so, when great things have been achieved, but maybe we’ll honor it more. Maybe poetry will change the world!
So why not change even today ~ open your mind to the galaxy, and get to work.
December 4, 2013
In
art, graphic design, history, life and the universe, work and play, writing
Wednesday
So, I have a bunch of essays lined up, in various states of completion. The way a story comes to mind, then you get distracted by life or laundry or something, and you quickly jot down some notes so you don’t forget your brilliance – and then a few more days go by of other this’s and that’s demanding your attention, and in that span of time more ideas, more thoughts, more inspirations happen, (that you do or don’t jot down), and the cycle repeats until you realize you just want to be still for a little bit. Mindless.
Of course, this is where I might normally spew the wonders of meditation, but I’ll resist the temptation to be meaningful just this once. I don’t know why exactly – could be a loosening of the grips of an innate need to be mindful, purposeful, responsible.
Instead I’m going to share something interesting but frivolous, in that it really serves no purpose except to tickle the brain. And because it’s Wednesday and I’ve always wondered why it’s spelled so oddly. And because it’s the curse of a writer not to write, so I must write something.
And this is as far as I’m allowing my brain to go for now. (Good thing I jotted down my more impassioned thoughts, though, right? … so they can come marching forth again in all their splendor when I’m back in the mood for them … and less tired. Which, for better or worse, probably won’t be long, once I’ve meditated and such. But I’m veering towards meaningful again, so I’ll stop here and get on with simple, frivolously interesting.)
Why is Wednesday Spelled so Oddly?
Wednesday comes from the Middle English Wednes dei, which originates from Old English Wēdnes dæg, meaning the day of the Germanic god Woden. Associated with both fury and poetic inspiration, Woden thrived as an Anglo-Saxton god in England until about the 7th century. He also had a career in curing horses and carrying off the dead, and Wednesday is his day. Woden’s day has had various spellings – Wodnesdaeg, Weodnesdei, Wenysday, Wonysday, Weddinsday – but even Shakespeare’s quite sensible spelling of “Wensday” didn’t last. So in the end it turns out that (perhaps born from fear of his Woden’s wrath, or loss of poetry) the “d” and the day remain. And now you know.