at night, if the weather is clear, with the backdrop of waves lapping at the shore, we look up and see the milky way in the night sky. it makes us feel tiny. tiny in a vast world.
we string happy lights about our home, inside and out. they are the simplest of holiday light strands, eensy white lights on green or white cords and we use them year-round. one white light alone barely lights a space, but together, a constellation of tiny bulbs, the illumination is magical. one alone. all together. it makes a big difference.
we are working in a place that is divided. the division is deeply rooted and exacerbated by stubborn attitudes and time. we must “string the stars together” to bring hope; we must “sing light in common song” to move forward. community must prevail over a schism of proportion. no place can truly be beautiful without stringing together. we have our work cut out for us.
fair isle books is one of the sweetest spots on this island. a breath of fresh air with warm ambience and overtones of the joy of learning, this little shop is owned by deb, whose heart is gigantic. outside her shop is this plaque, a snippet of a poem ‘constellation’ by wisconsin poet laureate bruce dethlefsen, a presenter at the washington island literary festival in 2013.
how fortuitous that this poet should capture in a mere 33 words the work that is to be done. we are not alone, each of us on this tiny-planet-in-the-vastness. though seemingly individually strong, we are indeed actually weak. we must link arms, act in community, string together, work collaboratively.
division doesn’t create more for each on the sides of the chasm. it creates less.
collectively, we can create boundlessly. our constellation -together- creates hope.
the lake is glistening out the window right now, diamonds in the sun on a sea awash in blues and teals. we just listened to this track SCATTERED and i am taken back to when i composed and recorded this, a time i felt scattered. yet, this is the right piece of music for today.
how we arrived together at this place at this time – all scattered puzzle pieces. rearrange one piece and everything changes. somehow, the pieces all fit, snug tabs and blanks forming a picture.
right now, coincidentally the album title, we are in a new time of life at a new place doing a new thing. our job is to respectfully, mindfully, keenly watch. we will listen and study and learn the branches of our little island, the unique challenges of the work here. as we develop relationship with the island, the people, the places, our littlehouse, our work here, the scattered tabs and blanks will come together. not without intention or purpose, not without dreaming or planning, not without knowledge or the wisdom of experience, not without experimentation or failure, but they will come together…as they will. it just feels a bit scattered right now, as every jigsaw puzzle fresh out of the box.
this came across my desk last week. “maturity in season of life.” part of a minister of music job description, i was struck by the unguarded language, the bow to what only time and experience can teach. i have never seen this written as such before. it was bracing in every GOOD way. it was appreciatory. it was a breath of fresh air.
in a society that seeks to remain youthful and puts less emphasis on maturity in season of life than on staying young, we need remember there’s a place for everyone. some places require youth, fresh and breathing hard from the sprint. other places recognize the need for the steadfast wisdom of the ages, a decision-maker-doer who brings a lifetime of positive and negative experiences and knows how to differentiate between them, has an intuition built on time and the ever-growing wealth of lessons. the seesaw has room for both; the fulcrum can only balance with both.
as two artists living together, we are more than aware of the challenge of ageism, the challenge of time spent in our artistry and how that relates to value. more than a thousand times we have each been admonished for thinking we need to be paid when we should be grateful for the “exposure” we are being “granted”. more than a thousand times we have each been in a place where we have had to explain why our artistry needs to be financially rewarded just like anyone else’s work.
indeed, pay scales have been built to reflect time spent and job descriptions use verbiage like “pay is commensurate with experience.” experience. maturity: “the ability to respond to the environment in an appropriate manner. being aware of the correct time and location to behave and knowing when to act, according to the circumstances and the culture of the society (read: job) one lives in (read: one works in).”
i recently was having a written messaging chat with a hard-working young adult whose job is in the arts. with these challenges facing him every day, he said that people do not realize that “they’re paying me to know what to do if things don’t go well.” intuition. working on the fly based on training, knowledge and an ever-building bank of experiences. he will continue to face that challenge; it will only deepen. how is that maturity measured? how will he be paid for that maturity, for that which he cannot describe and for which others cannot fathom? for some reason, in this society, it is easier to answer that question if you are doing a numbers job, something seemingly more concrete, more measurable, more quantifiable.
but maturity in season of life touches others as well and we have dear friends who have been ‘let go’ from their jobs simply because of their age. now, their companies would never testify to that and are careful to avoid such language – for that would set them up for all kinds of legal problems – but it has been clear to our friends, struggling to find a new way in later days of their lives. few and far between are those who are able to benefit by pointing out the error of their ways to the company that is undervaluing a later human-on-this-earth season. other friends are fortunate enough to be working somewhere that has deeply valued the long time they have spent in their work and these friends have retired with spoken words of gratitude and wishes of continued good living. where is the fulcrum?
in this particular document that came across my desk, the whole phrase read, “maturity in season of life and maturity in ministry experience.” shockingly, they are seeking this as a qualifier and they are willing to pay for it. speaking directly to that qualifier that beautifully honors the wisdom of the ages, there are things that, as a minister of music at 19 i did not know. there are things that, as a minister of music at 32 i did not know. likewise, as a 30-years-as-a-minister-of-music at days-away-from-60, of course there are things i do not know.
what i DO know is that every experience i have had as a minister of music has built upon the last. instead of a chasm where learnings have dropped rapid-fire into an abyss, i have learned what the important stuff is and how to attempt to keep those things foremost.
like anyone in any job, mastery is commensurate with time spent, with growth in that work, and yes, without exception, with maturity in season of life.
“take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.” (desiderata)
we really never know what it takes to do someone else’s job. we don’t know all the tools used, the research done, how training and experience play into it, how someone perceives their own work. we can only guess and, often, fall desperately and even arrogantly off the mark.
walking into d’s studio my eye is drawn to the easel standing in the far corner. closer to me, though, is an old cart with an old wooden box holding paints and brushes. there is another cart and on that is this palette – layers upon layers of color and texture, clay pots of water standing next to this widely-understood symbol of “artist”, often associated with the beginning of the process of painting.
now, i’ve painted a few paintings in my life. i bought very large prepared canvases and dug around in the basement for leftover acrylic house paint to use on my creations. without a palette, i brushed and re-brushed and threw paint until i knew each painting was done. and then i hung them on the walls. in one case, i painted right on the wall and put a clearance frame around the section of wall that i painted – a nod to a painting without the cost of canvas.
all of this, however, does not make me capable of really understanding how d paints. for i do not know all the tools, i do not know the process of mixing color or the technique of stretching canvas he uses, i do not know the tricks of the trade he has accumulated over decades of honing his expertise. nor do i know the knowledge base he brings about other artists, other painters and paintings, the use of light and dark space, the way the viewer’s eye sees, the very technical details and the very heart-based intuitions he has learned through many, many years of study and practice. i can’t understand or even try to predict the amount of time it takes or doesn’t take for him to conceptualize, to explore, to create, to review, to assess, to adjust, to re-create. i can respond to his work but i cannot define it, nor would it be meritorious for me to even try to do so. out of respect for his work, something that is one of the very things that defines him, i know that i really have no idea. what i can do is appreciate his talent and every last thing that he has done to bring him to this place where he paints beautiful paintings and it seems to take no effort whatsoever.
with regard to anyone and the work that they do, i would hope we could each remember – with humble respect – that we really have no idea. we can just be grateful that we are each a spoke in the wheel on this good earth. our palettes, the places from which we begin, are different. and we can’t do it alone.
we were canoeing and it was quiet. the only thing you could hear were a few birds, a loon from time to time and the sound of the paddle hitting the water. we went through the channel and above us we saw it.
the young bald eagle was taking its first flight and we had the great fortune of witnessing it. i knew i wanted to write at least a few words about how lucky we were to see it, watch and quietly be a part of it. as this beautiful creature soared over us, it seemed to relish its newfound freedom, its new ability to fly. even as we watched it struggle a bit with the landing, we could see its determination to its flight. we talked about how the eagle was representative of this country we live in. in the late 1700s it was chosen as the emblem of the united states…based on its long life and great strength, it is majestic, bold and faithful, independent and a symbol of freedom. such hopeful words, such a powerful emblem of a nation that has lost its center.
after some time, we continued on. we talked about writing. we talked about why. why do we write each day. why do i compose. why does d paint. what words could you wrap around what we do, why we share what we share, why we fly in this artistic-world, the place we are at home. is it important? why?
we are merely instruments. we can watch and quietly be a part. we can simply start the ripple. that’s all that is really possible. that is our job. to be instruments. like pebbles dropped in water. our emblem would be just that. tightly-starting-ever-widening-circles of ripples, repercussions, the effects moving, ever-moving. what we choose in the center counts. if we choose peace and kindness, then we can start the concentric circles outward of peace and kindness.
when we were designing our website, the dalai lama quote ““Just as ripples spread out when a single pebble is dropped into water, the actions of individuals can have far-reaching effects” needed to be present. the ripples of water on the front page of our site are not graphically brilliant or even singularly creative. but they are an emblem, so to speak, of the reason we do what we do. the meaning behind that emblem is the reason we keep trying. it is the reason we yearn to make it possible to live as two artist-ripples, to make a living and pay the bills and do what we can to be instruments of peace. we hold tight to the center. and like that young eagle, we are determined.
“Lord, make me an instrument of your peace; where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is discord, union; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; and where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console; to be understood, as to understand; to be loved, as to love; for it is in giving that we receive, it is in pardoning that we are pardoned, and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.” (the prayer of st. francis of assissi)
