Not only does she draw outside the lines, my sister writes too. It's sort of funny that not only are we both artists, but we're both the black sheep of the family... never living up to our purported potential in the eyes of our parents or siblings. She moved off ages ago when she was just a teenager and I followed suit shortly thereafter. I never made it as far as she did, however... I only got about three blocks from home while she made it across the country.
My father only sneered when he asked what I wanted to do when I grew up and I told him: to write. For a long time I tried to please him... perhaps not consciously but nevertheless I found myself attempting to follow his path through life. Only where he never failed to succeed, I never failed to fail. A short time before he passed away he told me what a disappointment I'd been to him, maybe not in so many words but I got the gist of what he was saying. I have no doubt that he always did his best for me, but we were not only separated by generation but by spirit. He believed in hard work. He had fought a war and came home a winner. He had learned to hate the enemy so thoroughly that it still simmered fifty years after the fact. The stories he told us when we were children inspired me to want to be a Marine like he was. When I grew older I realized my nature wasn't suited for such a regimented life. He died a rich man but all his money couldn't buy him another minute on this good earth. I never got to talk to my father about it but I think the MOQ would say that money is a form of social quality. It has nothing to do with biological patterns other than to use them to its own advantage. The rich feed off the poor all the while rationalizing that they are the chosen few and so deserve more than anyone else. Money lends a sort of useless succor to our lives. It fools us into believing if we only have enough of it, we will be the comfortable and good citizens who drop a few dollars into the Salvation Army bucket at Christmas time. If we happen to see a street person approaching us, however, we become fearful and cross the street to avoid the confrontation of seeing the want arising in their eyes. Hard work only tires me out so I avoid it whenever possible. I work enough to get by and then I stop. Today, a homeless man stopped by the church where I work. The secretary and the priest turned him out empty-handed. As he was leaving I followed and called out to him. I gave him the money I had in my pocket and a lunch I had brought. I didn't do it on account of feeling sorry for him. I did it because I had at one time been that same person and someone had paid it forward with me. Is that why you stopped for that accident today? Did you see yourself trapped in that vehicle? Or were you just being a good citizen, doing what was expected of you? Everything changes in an instant. Most people never realize that when they leave for work in the morning, they might not return. They don't recognize themselves in the dirty bedraggled faces that haunt the shadows of the alleyways and crack houses that dot the underbellies of the cities where they live. Most people believe in forever. Others may face misfortune and death but not them. I think it shocks us to realize the slender thread that holds us in place can be snapped at any time so we tend to ignore that possibility. We believe if we are good and righteous that goodness and righteousness will follow us the rest of our days and we'll die comfortably in our sleep, old and worn out, with our loving family there beside us, not homeless and alone. Anyway... On Fri, Dec 20, 2013 at 11:11 PM, MarshaV <[email protected]> wrote: > > Hi Dan, > > While inspiring a collage of different experiences, I find 'Butterfly > Picnic' to be a little a gem. I really like it. *That the woman was > watching, but not seeing*. Such a familiar mystery! Your explanation is > also interesting from several different angles. - Drawing outside the > lines is an interesting metaphor. There is the dependence on the lines to > be able to experience the freedom of moving away from them. And didn't > your sister draw outside the line by taking you to the museum? > > Yesterday was an interesting day. It was very busy. My last stop was at > the grocery store to shop for food for the weekend. I live two miles from > the store and was driving home when I witnessed a very bad accident. The > oncoming driver was not killed, but it was very dramatic. I saw the car > lose control, hit many guard tails, take flight and twist through the air > over an embankment to land right-side up in a gulch. It was surreal. Of > course I stopped to help, but more experienced men arrived almost > immediately. There was only the driver who was conscious and talking, but > trapped in the car. Since I was one of two witnesses, I stayed to offer my > name and explanation to the police. What had I watched? What did I see? > The whole tenor of the day changed in a few moments, certainly for the > driver, but also for this witness. I am still shocked how quickly and > dramatically things seem to change. > > > Marsha > > > > On Dec 20, 2013, at 2:15 AM, Dan Glover <[email protected]> wrote: > > > > This is a good example of what the MOQ calls the Code of Art. If memory > > serves, I wrote this story after a day of fishing with my oldest son in a > > creek that ran past a town where we used to live. I don't use a hook on > my > > line lest I accidentally catch a fish but I did enjoy our time together > > immensely. I remember seeing clouds of butterflies dancing past us as we > > sat on the bank in the sunshine talking and watching the water flowing > past. > > I have no idea why the story was written from the point of view of a > woman. > > It just evolved that way. The finished story is a bit more risque than > the > > excerpt you offered but that's neither here nor there. I guess the point > > is, I had no intention of writing the story until it appeared on my > > monitor. I'm thinking that is what the Code of Art is all about... a > > mystery that once fathomed is no longer applicable to real and creative > art. > > I'm not sure any artist can intentionally set out to be creative. Take > > Vincent van Gogh as an example... I remember seeing a little painting of > > his hanging upon a wall in a northern California art museum. It was an > > iris, nothing more... a single flower. We've all seen them. What he did > > with the canvas and paints defies rationality, however. > > I am sure he set out to intentionally paint the iris, just as when I sit > > down in front of my computer I intend to write. What happens next is the > > mystery. A million artists have probably painted flowers just as a > million > > writers have written stories. What makes van Gogh's work unique is how he > > visualized the world from the point of view of a mad man. > > Now, when I say: mad man, I am not talking literally although we all know > > he was confined to an institution for a time before he committed suicide. > > In fact, it was said he painted that portrait while institutionalized. So > > technically he was mad, or perhaps I should say from the point of view > of a > > society that expects its members to conform rather than stand out, he was > > out of place and lost for most of his short life... except while he > painted. > > When I saw his work in person for the first time, I didn't understand > what > > I felt. I'd seen photographs of his paintings, sure, and I'd even ordered > > prints to hang on my wall. What I remember most was walking into a > > seemingly empty museum where my sister insisted we go. I was visiting her > > for the first time in decades and I thought we had better things to do > than > > drive to a shabby building that purported itself to be a museum of art. > > There was no one there. I wondered to myself why we came there. It > seemed a > > waste of time. There were various paintings hung upon the walls of > > nondescript artists who'd I never heard of before or since. She led me to > > the back room. I expected it to be empty too as I heard no voices nor any > > sounds at all. Instead, there was a crowd of maybe fifty people gathered > > around a spot on the farthest wall. > > I couldn't see what they were all looking at. My sister crooked her > finger > > at me to follow her so I did. By and by a few of the people in front > moved > > off and then a few more so gradually after an hour or so we made our way > to > > the front. > > I wasn't prepared for what I saw. I just know it made a sudden and > > everlasting impression upon me and when the nights are particularly dark > > and I am feeling sorry for myself and my lonesome plight on this whirling > > globe, I think back to that simple iris hanging in infinity. > > The Code of Art must mean something like getting it right, but how did > van > > Gogh know? How do storytellers know? What about the musicians and the > poets > > and the beauty they produce? Where does it come from? > > A Butterfly Picnic means much more to me than a story about a girl lying > > naked on a blanket in the sun and being ogled by a dirty old man. The > creek > > water flowing past, the butterflies dancing in the breeze, the food and > > drink, even the blanket... they all combine to lend an air of majesty to > > the mundane. That is perhaps what van Gogh meant by painting a simple > iris. > > He must have studied the iris, how it moved, how it grew, how it unfurled > > itself to the sun, and how it died. He must have become the iris in a > real > > sense. In the same way, by writing the stories that I write, I study the > > characters. I watch and learn how they walk and talk, how they interact > > with the world. I might write ten thousand words just learning who they > are > > and what they do. Finally, I become the characters. > > It is only then that I can attempt in my own small way to bring them to > > life the same way van Gogh brought that iris to life. He imbued it with a > > type of immortality... its beauty reaches across the years to enlighten > > others to the possibilities of madness and insanity. > > Now, I don't mean to imply I am anywhere close to the artist that van > Gogh > > was. I am an imposter. The Code of Art whispers its secrets to me and > > though I try to represent those mysteries the best I can, I am but a poor > > substitute for a real artist. I am like a child coloring with his crayons > > and doing his best to stay within the prescribed lines yet failing at > every > > effort to do so. > > Anyway... > > > > > > > >> On Thu, Dec 19, 2013 at 11:40 PM, MarshaV <[email protected]> wrote: > >> > >> > >> An amazing favorite from 2007: > >> > >> > >> > >> A Butterfly Picnic > >> > >> Clumps of small white butterflies with black eyeballs on their wings > dance > >> in spiraling circles along the creek. A woman is watching the > butterflies > >> play but she isn't seeing them. She sits on a green and white plaid > >> blanket. Along side her a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine poke up > out of > >> a brown woven basket. Sunshine tingles over her naked body. A breeze > >> rustles the cattails growing in shallow water beside the creek bank and > >> tickles the grass growing around her blanket. A long unused train > trestle > >> runs over the rippling water just a short distance away. Mottled-gray > >> stones at its base are crumbling. A man sits on the trestle on a ledge > near > >> the top close by a metal ladder driven into the weathered stone blocks. > The > >> woman takes the bread and breaks it, reveling in finding the soft > >> underneath through the crisp crust. She pours the wine. Raising the > glass > >> to her lips she looks up to see the man watching her. She starts but > >> quickly remembers that he has always been there. She watches the > >> butterflies play but she isn't seeing them. > >> > >> > >> > >> > >> > >>> On Dec 20, 2013, at 12:16 AM, Dan Glover <[email protected]> wrote: > >>> > >>> I don't know if my giving away a few books has anything to do with > >> emptying > >>> my teacup but perhaps. I got the idea from World Book Day where they > >> enlist > >>> others in an attempt to give away a million books. I thought, why not > >> give > >>> away a few of my own instead of those of other authors? > >>> > >>> I never much cared for the term 'flash fiction' as it seems to > accentuate > >>> speed over quality. I don't need writing prompts nor do I wait for > >>> inspiration to arise. I just write. > >>> > >>> Whether my stories are amazing or not, I don't know. I appreciate you > >>> saying so although the way you put it has me ensconced in the past. I > am > >>> still deeply involved with my writings on a daily basis. As always, I > am > >>> happy to send you (or anyone here) an e-copy of my latest work if you > so > >>> desire. > >>> > >>> People ask me where my ideas for my stories come from. I don't know. I > >> sit > >>> down in front of my computer to an empty screen and a blank mind and > in a > >>> little while it is full of words. Most of it is crap but sometimes I > >>> discover a few pearls amid the swill. > >>> > >>> Anyway... > >>> > >>> > >>> > >>> > >>>> On Thu, Dec 19, 2013 at 5:25 AM, MarshaV <[email protected]> wrote: > >>>> > >>>> > >>>> > >>>> Hi Dan & Ian and all, > >>>> > >>>> I can identify. Have you any idea how many paintings I've dropped > off > >> at > >>>> Goodwill hoping they'd find someone to appreciate them. Clean slate, > >>>> emptying teacup, or just plain making room for more. Cannot really > >>>> complain, though, I love every moment in my studio. So on to making > >> some > >>>> art journals. > >>>> > >>>> Knowing how frustrating these MD discussions can be, I miss you both. > >>>> Dan, your stories - flash fiction? - were always amazing. And, ian, I > >>>> thought Grayson Perry had some important things to discuss. AND for > >>>> goodness sake, isn't it about making art out of life??? > >>>> > >>>> Maybe to start the year discussing the code of art might be a good > >> thing. > >>>> > >>>> > >>>> Marsha > >>>> > >>>> > >>>>> On Dec 19, 2013, at 5:14 AM, Dan Glover <[email protected]> > wrote: > >>>>> > >>>>> Tear those books up, Marsha. Make 'em sad they were ever printed. > >>>>> > >>>>> Me, I ordered three dozen copies of my various books and gave them > out > >> to > >>>>> the owners, managers, salesmen, service writers, secretaries, > >> mechanics, > >>>>> and porters at the auto dealership where I sorta make a show of > working > >>>>> every now and then. Most times I just hang out in back and read books > >> on > >>>> my > >>>>> Android. > >>>>> > >>>>> Anyway, some of them were happy, some didn't give a crap, one > gorgeous > >>>>> little blonde gal who I'd really like to pork acted like a kid on > >>>> Christmas > >>>>> morning, and one guy told me he actually writes too... one of the > >> Mexican > >>>>> porters who details cars. > >>>>> > >>>>> Who'd a thunk it. > >>>>> > >>>>> I felt like I was handing out blankets to hobos. Maybe I was. > >>>>> > >>>>> > >>>>> > >>>>>> On Thu, Dec 19, 2013 at 3:14 AM, MarshaV <[email protected]> wrote: > >>>>>> > >>>>>> > >>>>>> Greetings, > >>>>>> > >>>>>> Just ordered a used library copy of zAmm to use the pages for > creating > >>>> art > >>>>>> journal. Being a bibliophile it is always painful to destroy a > book, > >>>> and I > >>>>>> have a great love for this book in particular, but what the heck!!! > >>>> Soooo > >>>>>> symbolic. Not as dramatic as tattooing a paragraph on my body, but > >> more > >>>>>> personal in so many ways. > >>>>>> > >>>>>> Btw, if you were to tattoo a paragraph, which would it be? And why? > >>>>>> > >>>>>> > >>>>>> Marsha > >>>>>> > >>>>>> > >>>>>> Moq_Discuss mailing list > >>>>>> Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. > >>>>>> http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org > >>>>>> Archives: > >>>>>> http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ > >>>>>> http://moq.org/md/archives.html > >>>>> > >>>>> > >>>>> > >>>>> -- > >>>>> http://www.danglover.com > >>>>> Moq_Discuss mailing list > >>>>> Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. > >>>>> http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org > >>>>> Archives: > >>>>> http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ > >>>>> http://moq.org/md/archives.html > >>>> Moq_Discuss mailing list > >>>> Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. > >>>> http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org > >>>> Archives: > >>>> http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ > >>>> http://moq.org/md/archives.html > >>> > >>> > >>> > >>> -- > >>> http://www.danglover.com > >>> Moq_Discuss mailing list > >>> Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. > >>> http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org > >>> Archives: > >>> http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ > >>> http://moq.org/md/archives.html > >> > >> > >> > >> ___ > >> > >> > >> Moq_Discuss mailing list > >> Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. > >> http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org > >> Archives: > >> http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ > >> http://moq.org/md/archives.html > > > > > > > > -- > > http://www.danglover.com > > Moq_Discuss mailing list > > Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. > > http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org > > Archives: > > http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ > > http://moq.org/md/archives.html > Moq_Discuss mailing list > Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. > http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org > Archives: > http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ > http://moq.org/md/archives.html > -- http://www.danglover.com Moq_Discuss mailing list Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org Archives: http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ http://moq.org/md/archives.html
