Trista Hill

What Do You Believe?

2011-12-29T23:35:00.000-05:00

"Do you believe what they say about 2012?" she asked suddenly, in not quite a whisper. She had just finished playing through a familiar tune on the piano we had learned together only minutes before.

"What do they say?" I ask. I can halfway sense what's in her head and heart.

"That... it's the end of the world?"

I search her small face -- no trace of fear there, only tiny glittering ghost-wisp question marks. "Hmm, I've heard of that," I say. "What do you think?"

"Well, I don't think so. I saw a movie..." and she describes all the natural disasters the film so vividly paints. The scenes etched in her memory are poignant and meaningful given what I know she's already endured in her young life. "But no," she concludes, "I don't think it's the end."

I believe her decision to not believe.

Extra flexibility is required to fully pivot for a good view of all the ways my own beliefs have been challenged, my stories tested, this past year.

Across the sea of retrospect, I spy: The various literal and figurative dimly lit stages that threw my thoughts and feelings about celebrity and self-worth directly into spotlight glare. My multicolored-snake-rope thoughts about creativity and relationship and their ability to intertwine without strangling each other. How much bigger movement, more nourishing fuel, and increasingly voluminous light my aging body, mind and spirit need to thrive.

My re-drawing boundaries when they are again unwittingly crossed and building them out of a different medium or neatly packing them up to take with me when I exit. Walking the crunchy undulating sandy path of truth alongside heavy discomfort and volatility, and seeing what small air-starved naked creature toddles out from between.

How I've brilliantly re-colored the magnetic energy of money and funneled it both toward and away. Questioning why I questioned whether I really need a vibrant, beautiful calendar / house in which to hold all my crucial appointments and to birth-chart my life work.

And in what direction my heart pulls hard and how it matters less if that trajectory is logical, practical, and sustainable. What and where my wild childhood abandon was, when it left, and my semi-shock at it's insistent return. What is spewed and what is left unsaid. How continual digging only leaves scars.

What expectations I've dramatically thrown into artificial and pure-true light, and how they've either grown into both high-arching beyond-control jungles or lay dormant in desiccated white picket plots.

I actually celebrate the human capacity to fabricate, in the name of both growth and resistance of, a thoroughly complex and elaborate everyday life around a simple but fully-believed story.

The extent to which we manipulate our surroundings, the lengths we go to convince ourselves and others of our reality, and the way we invent patterns of thought and behavior that support this story scream of our immense and innate creative potential.

What do we choose to do with what we believe? An amazing amount of time, energy, and power goes into building the world (s)he / you / I live in -- just look at this incredible system, this intricate protective framework all spindly and giant and spread-eagled over the itty buried sleeping treasure whose name, color, texture, and makeup we forgot long ago!

"I don't know how..."
"I can't..."
"It's impossible to..."
"It doesn't work..."
"I've already tried..."
"I could never..."

Such powerful building blocks, clobbery concrete foundation squares upon which we build a precariously leaning tower that we're incessantly scrambling to prop up.

How rich the deconstruction can be, how powerful to step aside as it topples, how sudden and frantic the manic digging to uncover the small kernel of truth singing out for a bit of warmth and light.

She leaned in a little closer to hear me say, "I believe that you and I have a lot of important and special things to do, and be, in the coming year." She nods. I briefly mention my affection for even-numbered years. "I was born in 2000," she beams.

Later, at the door, I exclaim in my sincerely exuberant way, "I'm SO excited to see you again -- next year!"

"And it's even-numbered," she smiles.

I believe in a Happy Healthy Blooming Unfurling 2012, for you.
And in the words of Maurice Sendak: "... live your life, live your life, live your life."

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Another imperfect post, accompanied by:
The exploding-bubble Surgeon and the scissor-soaring Cruel (St. Vincent)

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The year's popular posts (wait, do you have one that's not listed below? Post it in the comments!):
Maybe You're a Harpist All Over the Beastie Boys
Dear Creative Work
Sense of Place
A Night in the Life
What IS Performance?

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Trista's newsletter -- read the current edition here
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Coaching Opportunities

What IS Performance?

2011-12-02T20:18:00.001-05:00

**For an entire month this Fall (2011), Deborah Henson-Conant and I threw ourselves into a joint traveling adventure of performances, workshops, and the ongoing development / implementation of fantastical ideas and dreams.**

And so, what IS performance, really? We'll peer into the window of my own experience, conveniently captured in this hardly-vampy video.

Here's the setup: It's the last performance of the DHC Fall Tour 2011. For an entire month (or more) we had been talking about playing on stage together and disagreeing about the reasons why it wasn't happening. In classic uncomfortable 180-degree style, rebelling against our own resistance, we threw this not-quite-duet together just minutes before the show was scheduled to start. DHC showed me the form, the parts she wanted me to play, and areas open for improvisation.

We are wearing outfits that I don't normally choose for myself and that DHC chooses for herself all the time -- about which she commented a few weeks earlier, "Good thing we don't get tired of seeing each other in the same thing every night..."

We are tired and had just finished building our own sound system out of equipment we had in the over-packed van, due to miscommunication about what the venue could provide. I had spent many tens of minutes behind the video camera documenting this process and wondering whether it was for learning purposes or because we were gathering evidence for a Just-in-Case we might file down the road. I had yet to slam together / sacrilegiously transform a sacred platform into our product table in all its glittery well-organized glory. In short, in many ways I was completely unprepared to do this. This is my least favorite way to perform, or really, do anything.

In high boots and tights that I now see aren't true black, I'm crouching at the harp stand because I frankly had never officially played an electric harp before, and playing it at an uncomfortable height was less of a liability than my actually wearing it. Both string tension and the "voice" of the electric harp are unlike that of a pedal harp -- this requires in-the-moment readjustment of technique and reevaluation of engagement with the instrument (think of an acoustic vs. an electric guitar). All this is to say, I had no idea what I was doing, feeling very vulnerable, on an instrument foreign to me, playing music that just barely made sense, as the closing piece for someone else's show.

Explaining the setup is not to sell you on why you should see this as a remarkable performance. Because in many ways it's not, and while I treasure honesty -- Exhibit A, the last post -- whether it is or isn't is beside the point.

The point is that it happened, because we grabbed at and stepped into the opportunity to try a Big Something. We could either let that slip by, or seize it in a myriad of semi-reluctant ways. The mere act of doing it became more important than how. That's not to say the "how" didn't in some way matter -- witness the video edit punches where both DHC and I cut out parts we declared were uninteresting or unacceptable and didn't want the rest of the world to have access to indefinitely.

This was imperfect action. Messy, uncomfortable, and also oddly enlightening, liberating. Two tired harpists unsure of an outcome and going for it anyway.

This was living out exactly what we were presenting in workshops during the tour: Navigating the treacherous and oft-visited waters of Perfection and recognizing the futility of expecting, waiting, and striving for it. Exploring how structure frees rather than limits you, musically and beyond. Letting your life experiences show up on stage and disabling the old and out-of-date stories that can otherwise sabotage your experience. Living in the moment and having that be enough. Committing to your authentic self when you feel anything but -- "don't do more, hide less" (Karen Montanaro quote, from the Barn experience).

Would we have done that performance differently? Yes! And! No! The point is we do not even know what Yes and No are until we step into the experience. Live it, in the moment, imperfectly.

And what happened after? We splayed all the travel food on the table we had thus far hoarded to replicate a massive congratulatory feast, then quickly tired of that and went on a slow search for frozen Snickers bars. DHC edited out parts of the video we didn't like as we randomly commented and cursed about what was and wasn't happening in it. We sat through late night tension about whose computer housed what and the proper way to affix receipts to larger pieces of paper. We wrestled with illogically designed alarm clocks. Real life. The stuff that happens before, after, and during a performance.

Performance is not about editing life / reality OUT. It's about letting it IN.

DHC will be in Atlanta on Sunday, December 4 to share with you both the broader and more detailed elements of what we experienced above, using the Blues. I will be there a day later, but that's fodder for another post. Will you step up and into the unknown, to learn about parts of yourself you didn't know were there, and other parts you know damn well you are both aching for, and hiding from? Click here to learn more and register for the Atlanta workshop.

Congratulations for the brave yes-and-no way you will choose to hide less today.
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Another imperfect post, accompanied by:
Joy to the World (Pink Martini)
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Trista's newsletter
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Calendar of December 2011 performances
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Other tour posts (in non-chronological order):
Prepared or Paranoid?
Firsts -- How the Tour Began
Sense of Place

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Opportunities to explore who you are, with your music, unconventionally, using principles above, with me -- visit the website / email.

A Night in the Life

2011-11-20T19:26:00.001-05:00

She is booking it quickly quickly quickly through the aisles of the grocery store in her high pink plastic boots and grey baggy pants she is hoping no one will notice are pajamas. Her puffy white coat is hot but it's doing a great job of covering up parts she doesn't want seen, wait are people staring do they notice no makeup behind the hair do they see parts of her losing the gravity war? Hurry hurry hurry avoid lingering looks but they keep looking all that's needed is some foil some parchment paper a toothbrush to replace the one in her frenzy she mistakenly used to clean the bathroom and there is no way she'll make that mistake again due to the neon selection only available to her now.

How did she work herself up to this? Days upon days of being unable to make a decision, so far away from her heart now, all in her head, there is no right or wrong, it's complicated. She is afraid one way means she's not stepping up and that the other way just spells trouble and that doing neither means a constant folding up like endless origami or the Chinese whatever folded paper fortune teller game that incessantly moved like a chomping mouth but never said anything at all. Eating even more of that vegan peanut butter cheesecake with brownie crust isn't helping because this decision has grown bigger and more weighted and more important and she's almost convinced herself that if she can't make this happen she is flawed and failing and destined to flail this way forever.

At home it looks like again someone has ripped the corner gutter off the house and tossed it five feet away, why would someone keep doing that how ridiculous is it to reattach gutters in the rain doesn't this just fit okay okay it all flows and we just direct it that's what they keep saying keep creating the way to direct the flow show it where and how. Again.

Inside she hates the foil box because it rips at her hands but she's got to cover these holiday items at least that decision is made the ripping foil makes a glorious musical noise. The oven fires up like an opening line and the boom box designed to look ancient launches into its otherworldly soundscape she responds like a fluid Howard Schatz photograph work this out in the body maybe it moves up into the mind and blows wide open her heart and soul will feel the way. It's a really big boat in thick deep blue fog and it's aching to change direction but it is slow to change this monster, she's already alienated some with small decisions and losing them overboard as they willingly go not running but simply blind-stepping off the edge. Somehow it's hard to notice the people coming on board running at her with arms wide open because they are so light and beautiful and not in the heavy cloak of need she's used to.

She is thrashing in her grey baggy pi's and it's dark and rainy and cold and she knows that if she just keeps focusing on beauty and the escalation of her own universal spirit she'll feel connected and homeward and warm again like tears moving flowing not stuck and there is light somewhere and the heated rhythmic drums the high arching echoing guitar line the aching voice -- what's it all saying where is it going? Follow.

Music = real life = music = real life = music = = life = = = light = = = = choose = = = = be = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
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Another imperfect post, accompanied by:
Achtung Baby! (U2)
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Coaching opportunities using music for when you feel exactly like the above -- visit the website / email.

Traveling

2011-11-13T21:25:00.001-05:00

Sometimes you just get in the car -- even a rental -- and go.

will.i.am says in a video (Visionaries: Inside the Creative Mind -- Music as Medicine -- Deleted Scenes), "Touring is the best thing in the world. You get to see... perspective... where you come from, from a distance. Because you really can't understand where you come from when you're always in it."

Dream while here (DHC's friend's contemporary barn in Efland, NC during the Fall 2011 Tour):

Or here (the beautiful Twin Turrets Inn in Boyertown, PA):

Or here (The Victorian Loft in Clearfield, PA -- see an informal video here).

And home, in its unfinished-flooredness, half-paintedness, lacking door-edness -- I have a deeper appreciation for it.

This going and coming, this transportation outside of self, and in again, and out, and in -- this stretching into the person you envision yourself to be, out there -- bridging, always, between -- here, and there.

I put on a pair of black boots and link arms with a forever friend and absorb the second act in the smoky library auditorium of someone else's pictures and feel completely, utterly, at home.

The home page of the library link above reads: "Reinvention is the only option."

Sometimes you just get in the car -- even a rental -- and go.

Then, go get more.

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Another imperfect post, accompanied by:
Hospital (Andrew Bird) -- free download here -- from the Norman movie soundtrack
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Are you looking for Deborah Henson-Conant 2011 tour posts? Click here.

Dear Nagging Little Voices

2011-11-06T21:26:00.001-05:00

I'm not completely sure of your purpose, except to highlight the very pieces of life that are in need of clarity and light.

So I listen to you, but only so far. And then I thank you as I push you off the edge (earlier than you think).

I know you don't want me to change, you want me to stay my small boxed little self, so you can feel comfortable and not have to move nor get out of the way.

Nuh-uh.

Either you die, or I do. I'm a Phoenix, and you remain ashes.

Changes announced soon. It's all good.
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Another imperfect post, accompanied by:
These Are My Twisted Words (Radiohead)
Bad / Wide Awake (U2)
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Are you looking for Deborah Henson-Conant 2011 tour posts? Click here.

Tour Documentaries -- Take 1

2011-11-03T21:59:00.001-04:00

**For an entire month this Fall (2011), Deborah Henson-Conant and I threw ourselves into a joint traveling adventure of performances, workshops, and the ongoing development / implementation of fantastical ideas and dreams.**

Imagine...
(actually, you don't have to, since you'll see it all below in the video -- it's only 2.5 minutes long and the end is very important!)

... you're tired and attempting to work after a civilized-for-a-second meal at an Italian restaurant...

... a certain someone is narrating her wandering rambling pre-bath journey around your new-to-you abode, the Victorian Loft Bed and Breakfast (more on this awesome place and its incredible owner, soon)....

Taken with one of our many recording devices -- this is classic TH/DHC on tour, folks.

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Another imperfect post, accompanied by:
Question (Moody Blues)
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Sign-ups:
Trista's newsletter
DHC's site with links to newsletter and blog
Get notified of posts to this blog

Other tour posts (in non-chronological order):
Prepared or Paranoid?
Firsts -- How the Tour Began
Sense of Place

Prepared or Paranoid?

2011-10-30T22:39:00.000-04:00

This wasn't a surprise -- I was prepared for this outdoor wedding, unlike the other one. It's why a huge heater was set up on the covered bridge and I had the prized seat right next to it. And it's why my hands were cloaked in awesome fingerless gloves (thank you Tammy of Red Panty -- yeah, that's what I said!), and why I donned my big black coat over my dress clothes. It's why the harp was tuned to itself and not to the digital perfection of a formal mechanism.

Prepared vs. panicking. There is a fine line between being ready to meet head-on whatever might be thrown at you, and having so many "just in case" resources available you're literally drowning in them.

Purge vs. pile. I won't say what was which & when during the tour, I'll just lay out the facts. The van was stuffed with possibility -- interpret that as you like. We lost many items in it, and gleefully and repeatedly "found" others. We unexpectedly "gifted" items in random places. When we sold out of product *twice* at the same show, raking in more $$ than ever thought possible, high-speed high-heeled black boot sprinting after intermission yielded quickly-replenished stock. When a venue's sound system wound up being unable to handle a Camac 32-string "DHC" electric harp accompanied by looping and distortion pedals, we had a thoroughly road-tested Fishman "Loudbox" amplifier and Fishman SA220 (Solo Professional system) we could set up in minutes that more than fit the bill.

We had bags of food supplies, including dozens of containers in which to store what we didn't throw out (fermenting bananas and apples, anyone?). We left one back seat in the van for napping, but never had time nor the space to use it that way; instead, it became the home of the SKB. At the beginning of the tour, we were overwhelmed. By the end of the tour, we had a system and a process. We had both mess and perfection.

That isn't to say we didn't occasionally slide into terror over what was (not) happening. Why do each of our fifty thousand maps tell us to go a completely different way? Why are all the doors we so crucially need to pass through right now hopelessly locked? Where is the pre-prepared promised food when we're famished? Why, when tired and halfway hungry at the foot of the mountains, the very last peach yogurt we saved tastes "like a blanket"?

Sometimes, you have no choice to go in trusting you will have exactly what you need, at exactly the right time. You find the apple knife. You locate the third hand-held recorder and there's room on it for another brief but imperative documentary. You are stuck on the floor and Trista both gets it on video AND helps you up.

Sometimes, the "Do Not Enter" is exactly the place you must go.

You go in cold. You come out warmed by knowing, hey, that was a temporary hell, but it all worked out. Again.

Other tour posts (in non-chronological order):
Firsts -- How the Tour Began
Sense of Place

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When will I write here again? Click HERE and you'll know

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Another imperfect post, this time accompanied by:
Vampire Weekend's "Giving Up the Gun"

Firsts -- How the Tour Began

2011-10-27T22:03:00.000-04:00

For an entire month this Fall (2011), Deborah Henson-Conant and I threw ourselves into a joint traveling adventure of performances, workshops, and the ongoing development / implementation of fantastical ideas and dreams.

Very early on an uncloudy day, I was dropped off at the airport to catch a flight to Boston. I was to play with Deborah Henson-Conant and Katya Hermann at the Regent Theater that afternoon, as a sort of kick-off to the month-long fall tour that DHC and I were embarking on together.

And then I got stuck in the airport for over twelve hours under clear unfettered skies.

I chose a sunny window spot to camp out with my new Mac laptop, my snacks (almonds, raw raisin oatmeal cookies, chocolate), and my journal. Fine, I thought, I'll use this time to catch up on all I said I would do but conveniently haven't.

I dove in with zeal, not accounting for eye strain as a result of staring at the computer too long, nor for feeling sick after eating only said snacks, nor for being just plain frustrated that there had been so much anxious preparatory buildup to this tour and I still hadn't even left the ground.

And then, slowly, it became a day of Firsts.

It was the first 25th of September in many years I didn't feel a painful simmering anniversary ache.

It was the first official mention of being "a harpist on tour" and it yielded me complimentary cabfare from the Boston airport to DHC's.

It was the first tour veggie sandwich I admitted I needed, which became the signature staple go-to meal for both DHC and I for the next 30 days.

It was the first time of many on the tour that I held the contradictory -- or dichotomous? -- thought that my current situation was incredibly insane and perfectly fine.

It was the first time I consciously and clear-headedly asked for help and support. I composed a message to everyone I knew and invited them to sign up for my newsletter, and provided ways they could contribute to this adventure if it felt right. Stepping out into the belief that I was not alone, that people might be interested in what I was doing, especially while stuck for hours on end by myself in the airport, felt both bold and stupid. And worth trying.

And people responded. They sent me notes, they sent me money, they sent me pictures, they sent me blessings. They bought my handmade items, they signed up for something I wasn't sure I could follow through with, they shared my postings, they held the light while I stood on the shadowy shifting edge of the Unknown.

And I hadn't even left the ground yet. (Thank you).

How will you step up and out today?

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Another imperfect post, this time accompanied by:

Reverie, the new deliciously gritty basement-produced album by Joe Henry. Link to NPR interview here -- "and... this person who feels very alone starts imagining the expanse of the world outside of his small little encampment."

Sense of Place

2011-10-04T12:18:00.000-04:00

One thing I love about staying in five different places in one week is discovering how the morning sun shines in.

For as long as I can remember, my first step in visiting anywhere new was to venture out and explore the territory. Place is everything to me -- where am I? What is around me? Where am I in it?

I keep any space where I am neat and tidy, especially on the road. It's an outward expression of claiming sanity and order amidst chaos and confusion. When we moved to Ohio decades ago, I was convinced that there would be pockets of quicksand on our new-to-us six-acre property. Understanding that we were moving to a humid, high-foliage deciduous valley, I navigated the property to ensure my baby brother or father wouldn't accidentally fall into a pit of mire and be lost forever (apparently it was a male-only concern). By looking for quicksand, I found precious getaway spots I'd use for years to reclaim inner peace -- the playhouse, the streambed, the downed tree across the shale gnome house.

We moved to Ohio from Colorado, where I never found any quicksand, either. It's where I've spent the past five or so days and yesterday, Deborah Henson-Conant and I -- after our 3-day Kolacny Music (thank you, Dave and Debbie!) "residency" in Denver, Colorado -- drove through Franktown, where I had spent some very formative years.

I wasn't prepared for the flood of memories. There is Franktown Elementary School, brand new when we attended. There is the nondescript bus stop at the junction of Huckleberry and Ponderosa. There's where I attended a weird Halloween party where I felt the dark side of possibility. And there is where that boy lived that told me about.... yeah. There is where that snarling vicious German Shepherd was fenced-in. And there is that other person's house that had a small stream or pond and a tree in the middle of it, now a brick red with bright green trim. There are the pair of pine climbing trees that my sister and I claimed as our vertical escape hatches from the menagerie of daily childhood unfairness -- they were giants when we lived there, and now they are now only a hammock's width apart.

There is our house! Our HOUSE! Right there!

There are the dirt roads that we treacherously meandered down on our green and white girl bikes in an exhilarating rush of risk and speed. Together with our neighborhood friends we monopolized that space under the wide open blue sky. We claimed our voices and our bodies and our relationships with wild and reckless abandon. We sported a bravery in a pocket of Colorado that moved us beyond our years and Douglas county.

Oh that bursting of my heart! All the cold tears for how physical space and my relationship to it infuses who I am today. Oh that rushing of awareness that I created a new story when I moved from this space, one that I still wear in all its age and tatteredness. And the richest part of all -- the realization that parts of that story are no longer true, and other parts are so true they ring out as clear crystal gonging bells in my soul. Those are what I'm listening to now.

Today we travel to Liberal, Kansas for Deborah's show tonight. Travel + music + inner work = outer bliss.

Another imperfect post, this time accompanied by:
Heart of the Sunrise (Yes)
Wild Horses (Gino Vannelli)

Dear Creative Work

2011-09-18T23:38:00.002-04:00

You have me up late and early. What day is it?

It's because of you that I both lose track of time and am more than painfully aware of it. I am sitting sitting sitting thinking thinking thinking and Steve Winwood and Andrew Bird are singing at high volume.

But it's coming together. I think that's what you're trying to tell me through all this stripping back / falling away. Been a long time since I've worked in this push-pull, suspended in interwoven intensity and numbness -- I can't remember again, what are we doing and why?

Wait, here it is, the back end, the fire, incinerating the excess so I can spiral UP.

I am hungry in different ways, but still think in Food. More chocolate? I need greens with roasted potato, onion, garlic and zucchini, tomatoes from Mom, olives, a small amount of feta, a splatter of tahini. An exchange of dark slow stillness for vibrant colorful havoc.

Hours logged on Skype, numerous computers hold all the words and pictures of what we've created and recreated, tools ravaged and discarded, new ones built. Money -- who cares? It's not a break you need, just more time in your heart, less in your head.

Get up and MOVE. The energy can't stay in one place or it hurts. Forget the mad scrambling spasms -- be the proactive intense laser movement you were built for. I feel the difference -- give me lean muscle, cut the fat.

We can only say the simplest things by pushing out the mess first. You, Creative Work, remind me of the tendency to sabotage when I'm poised on the brink of Breakthrough.

Is everything ready? Of course not. Get used to that -- it happens anyway. Stand in it.

Push it out. Open up. Begin. End. Maybe never. Maybe now.

You'd have me believing this is what life is really about.

I think / feel / see / hear / touch / embody that you're right.

***
What Deborah Henson-Conant and I are living / breathing / believing in / taking on the road:
Fireworks for the Creative Spirit -- including the Matchbox Version
http://www.hipharp.com/events/fireworks.htm

Wouldn't you love working with us to offer it near you?
http://www.hipharp.com/events/host-fireworks.htm

Subscribe to this blog at the upper right of this page.

Another imperfect post, this time accompanied by:
Arc of a Diver
Not a Robot, but a Ghost

Maybe You're a Harpist All Over the Beastie Boys

2011-05-26T22:00:00.010-04:00

Maybe you're a vagabond social media master politico.

Maybe you're a chain smoker who sets other feet firmly on the healthiest life path they've ever been.

Maybe you're a vegan who loves the smell of a good barbecue.

Maybe you're a hip hop gangsta master gardener.

Maybe you wear the finest silk with dimestore fishnet.

Maybe you're a millionaire at the pub donning habitual humility.

Maybe you love both the softspoken waif and the violent musclebound.

Bill Withers, when asked by Tavis Smiley how he holds the note so long in the song Lovely Day, responded: "Did you watch the Olympics when this tall guy from Jamaica…(Usain Bolt)... came flying out of there. And what we thought was the world’s record was gone, man. He obliterated that stuff. And do you know why he did that? He was just running, man, because he could. That was him. So that was just me."

Maybe it's taken you 50 years. Or 5.

DON'T STOP.

Listening to: HotSauce Committee PartTwo -- Say It -- Too Many Rappers -- The Lisa Lisa

Your sprout and its dirt

2011-05-19T12:00:00.004-04:00

Windowsills are perfect for seedlings. This one was given to me by Sunday school kids just a few weeks back, and several days ago it bravely broke ground.

It's a mystery plant at the moment, but looks suspiciously like it belongs to the morning glory family. No matter what it is, it will have a solid home here, either inside with the harp and cat and piano, or outside in the rambling expanse of the haphazard yard.

The crystal was given to me to my brother many many years ago, and its home has been the kitchen windowsill of every house I've lived in. It keeps me company when I am lost in thought, experimenting with food.

Checking this sprout daily reminded me of what others have talked about regarding change and beginnings: “When you plant a new seed in the soil, the first thing that comes up is not the new shoot. The first thing that comes up is a little dirt.”

That dirt! These is a critical moment. All the Stuff, the obstacles, the excuses, the reasons, the stories -- all are unearthed. You either keep reaching for the light -- growth! -- or revert back underground from where you are emerging.

What seed gives up on itself?!

Take care of yourself during this precious time, whether you're starting music lessons as an adult, changing your lifestyle and/or health habits, preparing for a big performance, examining your relationships, planning a wedding, searching for a new career, getting through school.

Nurture, listen, protect, check in.

The reward is going to be gorgeous, fulfilling, miraculous, and every single day -- absolutely, beautifully, and ironically -- new in its own unique way.

Harp + the Outdoors, Part 1 -- What Works

2011-05-11T21:23:00.000-04:00

Outdoor wedding season is here, though wedding season started, for me, back in January. Here's what it looks like when the weather is right! Doesn't it look warm and luscious outside?

The wedding took place at the Darby House, one of my favorite places to play in central Ohio -- more photos here.

The fantastic Ely Brothers are responsible for the harp photo, and the officiant for this wedding, Damian King, shared it with me through a post on his elegant blog. Damian's blog is not only packed with very helpful information for those planning a wedding, but also serves as an inspiring source about relationships and beauty.

Is that my real arm or a fantastic camera angle? Honestly, experimenting with how to be in the best shape for this work is an adventure.

Strength, balance, and stamina are necessary to transport all the necessary tools of the trade, AND, when the body naturally knows what real support feels like, the better the playing and attention to detail while keeping an eye on all the beautiful people and what they are (not) doing.

In addition to weddings these next few weekends, I'm also playing some public events -- Market District Kingsdale (upstairs cafe) in Upper Arlington, and Krysty Designs Fine Jewelry in Powell (outside, weather permitting!) -- see my News / Calendar page for times and directions. I would love to meet you there! And you can see firsthand if I'm maintaining composure -- er, posture.

Here is what an outdoor wedding looks like when the weather is not great. Threat of rain and 51 degrees, folks -- nuh-uh.

The harp is affected by temperature and humidity, to be short and sweet; they influence the harp's ability to stay in tune and how the music is executed.

It is why special weather clauses in contracts exist, and why some harpists elect to never play outdoors. But with clear communication prior to the wedding or other special event, contracts that summarize that information -- including backup plans and other what-to-do-if's -- actually make for very happy clients.

What must be in place for you to do your best work?

Leave it, Take it

2011-01-09T20:20:00.008-05:00

Where did the last minutes of 2010 find you?

I found myself at one of my favorite spots just before midnight, at the apex of a rushing creek. It was balmy out, perfect for taking very deep breaths. In... out... in... it's where the water is both rushing at you, and also away, just like 2010.

Clearly not midnight

Soon after, the neighborhood exploded in fireworks and firecrackers, and the speeding cars made it unsafe to linger where the road meets ravine. All done now, leaving.

I don't do New Year's resolutions, but I love the idea of having a guiding word (or three) for the year, a la Chris Brogan and Christine Kane. I chose my three, and they're helping to clarify where I am and where I hope to go / be. So suddenly the water-damaged table needs hit with SoyGel (no, not an affiliate link), and the pile of nearly-dessicated kitchen lemons -- organic, even! -- long ago incapable of flavoring food or becoming part of an environmentally-friendly cleaner, are very obviously just yellow-brown, compact, nodular bombs that have to go. NOW.

Armed with a few words, it is easier to purge. Often I take stuff to Goodwill, but more often I leave stuff for the Take-It Faeries. In this neck of the woods, you leave what you don't want at the end of your driveway with a big FREE sign slapped on it, and sometimes within hours, it disappears. But the TIFs were picky today, only taking one item and leaving the other three.

Last week a student was attempting to play through a section that was giving her trouble, again. Suddenly, with wide eyes, she turned to me and exclaimed, "OHMYGOSH, what am I doing?!?" and then turned back to her work with a severity and determination to nail it this time. And she did.

What are you just taking / tolerating; what needs to leave?

Bonne Nuit et Merci, 2010

2010-12-31T20:35:00.020-05:00

On my mind recently is this: What IS giving, and how am I doing my part?

Due to being short on a lot of resources this year, part of my Christmas gifts involved braid breads -- specifically, Swedish Cardamom Bread. They were very easy to make (vegan) and good; I didn't sprinkle them with sugar, but did add raisins to one loaf and chocolate chips to the other. The loaves pictured here are replicas and include ground up oats because I ran out of whole wheat pastry flour. I often make-do.

Handmade crocheted items -- a large pink blanket, a nubbly soft brown scarf, and another pink and cream scarf -- and three packages of markers went to Nationwide Children's Hospital. If I had a child, and that child were sick, I would want them to feel warm and safe and still able to create while in the care of top professionals. Our local Andyman-a-thon raised over $70,000 (!) this year to benefit childrens' charities, which includes Children's Hospital, and in this small way I also pay tribute to Andyman, who passed away unexpectedly earlier this year yet still inspires massive giving here in Columbus.

I'm supporting Cold Antler by being a part of its wool CSA this year -- Jenna purchased her own farm and the wool I receive comes straight from the first sheep she's ever owned. I even know what they look like thanks to frequent pictures on her fantastic blog -- meet them here, including the new Blackface ewes. This is a solo endeavor on her part, and I love reading about her daily demonstration of independence and guts.

Making Memories grants wishes for metastatic breast cancer patients whose insurance has run out or are facing financial hardship, and often for whom a cure is too late. For a variety of very important reasons, my wedding dress went to this foundation.

Heartmade Blessings is getting a chunk of my yarn stash so that its volunteers can crochet squares that are then made into one large afghan to give to those suffering a loss, tragedy, or simply going through a rough time. The Bearghans are sent to an infant or small child in a similar situation. I just love this.

Tracks of harp music -- solo and in collaboration with other musicians -- are part of a CD recorded to benefit the United Way. Details coming soon.

I accompanied my mother for her first ever solo, a true gift to me. Yes, it brought tears to my eyes while we were rehearsing, though that's not exactly what is going on here!

In the midst of my mind-racing, I am grateful. Not just for finally getting the washer to work, for being able to end this warm day with a ride on the bike, or for the chance to sit here quietly in the last minutes of 2010 with a cup of delicious tea even while my neighbors are setting off several rounds of firecrackers. I am grateful for this past year and the people I've met and the experiences I've had that have encouraged me to grow in ways I did not expect.

What 2010 gifts are you grateful for?

Guggenheim: Andrew Bird and Ian Schneller

2010-08-11T00:50:00.008-04:00

So last week I packed up and drove to New York City to experience firsthand the Sonic Arboretum, the collaborative work of Andrew Bird and Ian Schneller at the Guggenheim.

I'm not going to repeat what is already out there in reviews, video, and photos of the August 5th sold-out show (links below). There was no question I would attend -- Ian and I had discussed this concept not long after my last visit, and I was eager to witness this stage of its unfolding.

Nevermind that I had never been to New York City. I can tell you the 1357-mile trip was perfectly punctuated by a Pittsburgh visit with a dear college friend and her beautiful family. I can tell you how driving through downtown Manhattan in rush hour is similar to driving in Paris but with far less horn-blaring, vocalizing and tailgating. Miraculous was my unceremonious introduction to unspoken Harlem pedestrian rules, as was how I got away with many unintentional traffic violations. "You'll be all right," were the surviving words after a staredown outside the Harlem Flophouse and I never encountered another soul there for the remainder of my stay. Panicked re-parking attempts at 2 AM were worth the hassle; I would have loved to stay longer in the eerie quiet and safety of the gorgeous room I now miss.

Perfect was the Cozy Cole in the Harlem Flophouse,
though my first preference was the Corky Hale

I can tell you how to pay $45 to park your car in the wrong garage that doesn't honor parking ticket museum validation, and anyone who knows me would instantly see the irony of my having shown fellow concert-goers how to drink. After briefly touring the art exhibit, I sincerely asked permission to hedge in on a prime viewing location and wound up flanked by the individuals who most frequently appear in the online photos of the event.

What I really want to tell you is that the sight of those transfixed in a backlit upward spiral of white, immersed in the sound of layered strings and ethereal voice emanating through 53 Victrola-type horn speakers, can make you cry.

Click here or on the YouTube logo to watch in HD

And that despite wanting to pick up the Guggenheim and its contents and nestle it in a more accessible, softer and cleaner environment, it was worth the insane life-bending efforts to be there, in that moment, as is.

Dazed and seeming not to care? Put down your reporter's pencil after having scrawled numerous inaccurate details and try this on.

Imagine you are solely responsible for creating a soundscape of precise and focused layers -- neither background music nor a full-blown concert -- without having any time to fully experiment with the unusual amplification equipment arranged in three separate pod groups on the main floor.

Imagine 1400 pairs of eyes in above-and-below 360-degree rounds belonging to human sponges and reflectors that are inadvertently altering every-direction sonic projection. Imagine being surrounded by several instruments and at least twice as many effects and looping pedals, as well as by a few dozen photographers and videographers contorting over walls and each other for the perfect shot of your perpetual split-second situation assessments.

Imagine feeling a shift in the room as soon as you start to play -- while engulfed by your own sound you wonder if this space is truly vast enough to accommodate what is spilling from your mouth, your hands, your feet. Tonight is a night of constant adjustment in response to mood, acoustics, and expectations, and you will need to make this appear intentional, authentic, and seamless.

Quickly and efficiently decide where and on what your focus will be, and hold that focus while also allowing the sparkling spontaneous nature of your music to soulfully unfurl.

For almost two hours. Include new music. End with a planned piece and drastically alter it after re-reading the crowd and your own energy. Exit the only way possible by backing up and sliding over the wall behind you. Repeat.

Right.

There is a fine line between playing to the space / crowd and exposing what naturally rises up and out of each moment. Or, as with Andrew Bird, there is no line like this at all.

I can't wait to see what happens now.

Live Show Review: Andrew Bird and Ian Schneller's Sonic Arboretum, Guggenheim Rotunda, NYC
Andrew Bird, Ian Schneller & a whole bunch of horn speakers @ the Guggenheim
About Last Night: Andrew Bird at the Guggenheim
We Were There: Andrew Bird at the Guggenheim
Andrew Bird live at The Guggenheim as part of the museum's "Dark Sounds" series

What?!

2010-08-04T12:49:00.006-04:00

Enough of the snow pictures already.

One of my favorite places to play -- The Darby House

It's August, and it's a month of adventures and risk-taking.

Jake's doll -- sewed him up while visiting with my beautiful niece & nephews

Starting NOW.

Slightly slow

2010-04-15T21:16:00.000-04:00

I have a cold weather mode and a warm weather mode; I'm happy to be in the latter.

The post below, however, is a cold mode leftover-- important once, but passed its prime -- or a cold mode hangover, a dream whose details are gratefully difficult to recall, and the best that can be hoped for is remotely good decisions were made while in the thick of it.

Warm mode, and it's onset, has brought on a slew of absurdities, maybe a lot like what you've experienced; it's only that the how hasn't yet caught up with the what. A little slow.

***

January is a geyser for the wedding industry and for marketing gurus determined to help creative entrepreneurs get their dreams off the ground. The internet and Inbox are bombarded with offers of trade shows and teleclasses, tempting you with alterations in calendar and content, yanking out from under you any time or sanity left unguarded.

February brings a slew of random gigs -- including playing the world premier of Stan Smith's piece at Capital's NOW Festival and Valentine's dinner at Barcelona -- that somehow happen around all the snowstorms. Photos of the mountains of white that line either side of the driveway are now so the norm they are no longer interesting.

When it gets to be too much, it doesn't matter anymore whether it's smart to go running out into the night, donning the faded coat that matches the heavy fog nestling over the land of just-melted snow, the same coat that, over fifteen years ago, your friend who came with you to the discount store queried, "Black? Again? And four sizes too large?" This is the coat now that is donned for dirty work, like wrestling with firewood, taking out compost, shoveling Volvos out of the driveway.

Or getting the mail. That's really all you intended, not to go crashing past the mailbox with old zippers and torn elastic flailing, clambering down the shimmering strip of grey that is the road, stopped only momentarily by the unmistakable wail of the pack of coyotes just two fields over, who cry early on this night, probably in the exact spot you were just yesterday.

You prefer to be in the fields and woods, but something keeps you on the road and you stop again for another sound -- the rushing of the water. The driveway piles of white you unceremoniously kicked to oblivion to further expedite their melting have transformed here to foam and fervor, smashing past fallen trees and stones. This is how you grew up: Watch the water. There is movement here. Obstructions don't exist here.

You needed this reminder. You don't have any more answers than you did yesterday, even though you handed over half your questions.

You're not crying, nor laughing, nor fearful, nor pained -- or maybe you are all of it at once. It's a flood. You are a portal, after all, channeling what you didn't have a choice in downloading. The waves crash and clamor through and past -- no obstructions.

As a kid, you studied the patterns of the water and cleared out the leaves just to watch it gain momentum. You marveled at how the crayfish could stand the cold. The stones and water, polishing each other clean for years, met for the first time the alterations created by your innocent and curious hands, the same hands that within a few hours pushed ketchup & mustard & cheddar cheese on bread into the gargantuan microwave to melt.

The trees along the side of the road whose midsections were barbarically removed to make way for power lines are fantastic dark angels, silent sentinels. Their wings reach out and up, spread for flight. Their heads are bowed into the wind, into the night, ready -- no obstructions.

No going back.

It's the Big Little Things

2010-01-10T20:00:00.023-05:00

There is a popular NPR program that ends with "Keep the faith!"

When the fish dies -- as they do here at the edge of a big end / beginning -- and the bowl breaks during washing and the very next day a Freecycle post offers two glass giants with just the right accessories, you don't question it, you just go get them.

And the very same day, when you round the corner at Goodwill during a statewide pre-storm panic and find the only and brand new set of fireplace tools for $3, you pick them up.

And then it snows. You wait for the big answers. Sometimes they hit you in the middle of a crochet stitch, or when nursing a firewood wound, or when inhaling newborn skin as he sinks into soft sleep in your arms, or when you discover the spot in the snow where the canine tracks reveal the start of a highspeed chase.

Take action.

You gun it out of the driveway in reverse because it's the only way to prevent the car-made-in-snowy-Sweden from getting stuck. You visit friends on another planet and book your next gig on the way out. You overhaul some online music because what was there suddenly no longer represents who you are or what you do. Despite looming monsters like the next IRS and everything-else payment, you commit to the big purchase for really no logical reason at all.

"Yes," he says, "I am so happy to do that for you."

Sweeping driveway snow in pink boots from a former life that were made for mud puddles and not single digit cold, you realize that after eight years you don't know where the edges are. That must be why that bush was planted there, the plant with purpose that has so often to you looked out of place and alone.

You already responsibly recycled yourself out of some necessary supplies, but at the end of the driveway, in hard-to-miss orange plastic, you find exactly what you need to start the next roaring fire.

Tomorrow there are more decisions to make, but maybe it's as simple as showing up, maybe with homemade black bean soup and perfectly popped stovetop popcorn and dark chocolate covered almonds and more fire, with an open mind and heart. Keep the faith.

Listening to:

Yes, Time and a Word -- lush and clamoring

Wrap Up

2010-01-03T20:18:00.031-05:00

So maybe you jump in a puce-colored car that isn't yours and in one day drive over 350 miles to see these.

But not just these. You choose the boring terrain route because research reveals that at the halfway mark you can fill up at a Kroger gas station using a hefty gift card someone sent you anonymously last year for Christmas.*

Miles and miles of angelic and ghostly wind turbines wave you past. Their spinning, each at its own speed or not at all, stirs up hope. Something is happening here, evidence of effort, simple movement, working with what is. Even on the drive back, their slow blinking red lights are beacons of solace.

You aren't excited at all about the trip until you drive past the skyscrapers on the left and the lake on the right and haphazardly turn onto an unknown street. Happiness hits you head-on and you are caught off guard. You've arrived at Christmas, or rather, at a child-like glee you haven't felt in decades -- nothing can go wrong, you know to your core you are exactly where you should be, and everything prior to this moment is irrelevant. You are in the NOW and it is so RIGHT.

You drop your bags in the hotel room and can't wait to run around the city. While taking this picture of Fourth Presbyterian, where you will experience magic in less than an hour, a woman shuffles closer. "Say, can I tell you a story?" You answer yes without looking away from the camera. Her story may be bunk but you give her $5, the total amount you tucked in your pocket before racing giddily past the doorman, and it is worth it to have her look you dead in the eyes and say, "Thank you for listening. It is rare that people listen."

After having washed off travel, you realize it's probably open seating at the church and your tardiness could be disastrous. But there, in the third row, you spot a moveable aisle seat, which means when darkness descends, you scoot out nearly into the middle of the aisle for the best view.

And you're looking at this. Except you're pretty sure photos aren't allowed so you don't take the time to ensure you've got the best shot. Ethereal lighting, incredible sound through horn speakers and no PA, and a tenderness and honesty you haven't seen in a very, very long time.**

You are struck with the thought over and over, "So this is what it's like..."

Magic. Bliss.

And when it's over, you go back to the hotel unsure of what to do. The blaring TV in the next room makes it hard to think, let alone sleep, and you don't want to lose these moments. You don't want to leave the hotel room that used to, long ago, belong to someone, a home.

The next day you drive around many parts of the city you probably shouldn't as you left your GPS system a few states away. You park on a side street and pat yourself on the back for thinking to lock your belongings in the puce car trunk out of sight until you realize you also tossed in the car keys. After anxious and almost pointless phone calls for help you retrieve them but then decide you probably shouldn't park there anyway, and will risk parking directly in front of the building where the first photo was taken, right next to a now-obvious "Guest Parking" sign.

By now you are late and learn that the annual Christmas party is their reason for closing early. But they give you time to yourself with the Silhouette and the 2000 Electroacoustic. But given your past experience as well as the previous night's sonic delight, these instruments are even more achingly mechanical and bright despite countless efforts to create the warmth and depth you need. You feel validated a hundred times over as you realize what you've been doing, all these years, on your own, but unnerved by the thought that it might not fit here. You leave almost relieved that you don't feel so compelled anymore to drop thousands of dollars to acquire one of these fantastic instruments.

Earlier that morning you realized YOU ARE IN CHICAGO so instead of merely wondering about an important matter you could actually just go experience it. So after Lyon & Healy you seek out Specimen Products. A chord strikes deep within; this is such a welcome change from the factory, and you are so amazed at the technology and the offers / offerings that you are very eager to drop thousands on the spot.

You have a lot to think about so you head north without directions and finally are in the vicinity of your last stop. Except you don't stop. You drive past the address countless times before realizing you're in the right place. You hope no one noticed the puce car driving in circles and hesitatingly head out of town. It doesn't feel like it should end. You realize you need experiences like this more than you thought and must build them into the very near future. You just don't know how.

You face the holidays, the financial strains and binds, the coming of a new year and you've lost the giddiness. Your entire purpose now is TO GET IT BACK. Something about it is very right, and it's given you a direction of some sort, and now the trick is to not forget, despite your million worries and doubts.

You light a fire in your fireplace, take advantage of wireless internet to which you've only very recently discovered you've had access, look around again for what to remove in order to get ahead, and marvel at having released the final symbol of your biggest life failure by finally admitting you failed. And you let go. And it's not The End.

*Dear Anonymous Gift Card Sender -- for a long time I turned the gorgeous stationery with the return address of Bun's Restaurant over and over in my hands as I tried in vain to decipher your 2008 handwriting. This, right here, is my only was of thanking you; what you made possible is priceless.

** Other write-ups and reviews of Andrew Bird's Gezelligheid December 2009 concerts:

Andrew Bird Goes to Church
Andrew Bird's Gezelligheid Show at the Fourth Presbyterian Church
Can Andrew Bird Get an Amen?

Andrew Bird Warms Up Chicago's Fourth Presbyterian Church (12/16)

Listening to:
Monika Stadler, Between Earth, Sea & Sky
Thom Yorke, "All For the Best"

Done deals

2009-12-16T14:16:00.014-05:00

After weeks of work, last month I finally sent this 9 x 6 foot handpainted floorcloth to it's home in California. There was no other way to paint it than to kneel, and those calluses have finally softened. The color palette was tailored to suit the client's home decor and overall was based on an older design. To see a project like this installed in the place it was intended is my favorite part!

Still settling in the client's home after having
been rolled and tubed for cross-country shipment

In the wee hours of many nights, the internal argument about realism vs. design raged; tulips as we know them simply do not exist as perfect egg-shaped bulbous blooms, floating in a sea of white, surrounded by atypical foliage folding in upon itself.

Tulips from another dimension

But I'm proud of it. Even when photos don't quite capture the details and true color.

The staircase project, a precursor to installing the desperately needed floors, went from "fugly" (official contractor term) to fabulous thanks to more than double the time and money estimated. I agonized over this.

Before -- pointless wall, unnecessarily steep fiberboard steps

After -- unfortunately all this trim really is necessary.
Wall removal, extra step and proper grade on this set
as well as the second, veering up to the left.
Asparagus fern in a blue pot makes it all better.

.
Yes, there were some unexpected issues that arose, like discovering part of the upper level floor was connected to a beam that had been mysteriously sawed off and closed up in the lower level ceiling. The upper railing had to be moved a foot or more over to the corner of the wall to assure enough head clearance -- for others taller than me -- for the first set of stairs below. The result is the multi-color masterpiece you see here.

B the cat could care less.
Poinsettia banner is maybe one of three Christmas decorations up
while the rest await in the kitchen just beyond the new pass-through.

I have no problem paying for a job well done, but it's difficult to budget with incredibly inaccurate information.

For now, the stairs are covered in cardboard except for the bare spots the cat requires to navigate them. Nothing in this house is square; I was told there was only one cut in the entire project that could be. I believe it.

My computer is burdened by pictures from multiple projects that are far from perfect but are finally done. The paperwhites are blooming and the amaryllis is trying. Onward and upward.

Let's not even talk about what I need to do to the fireplace.
Happy Holidays.

2009-11-05T11:34:00.000-05:00

Work

2009-10-11T13:00:00.007-04:00

At exactly 10 am today, I heard my battery-operated clock explode off the bedroom wall -- I found it face up on the edge of a prized pillow where it had stopped working.

Work, inner and outer, lots of it. Picture time, which captures approximately 1/4 of recent goings-on.

The harp needs no amplification
in the monster space of First Congregational

I'm playing differently as a result of this year's workshop in Maine. This is extremely important though I'm unsure where this is headed. More on this later.

One of the highlights here included getting stuck
with my harp in their tiny and ancient elevator

Big projects are in the works. And they keep coming... or going.

Before

After

Tree removal and shingle removal / replacement that took way too long. Yes, that's right, the roof is now WHITE.

Before and after gigs and teaching and yet another meeting I try to remember what day it is and crochet a few more rows and bake focaccia or orange bundt cake with chocolate ganache and don't exactly follow recipes. And then dive into working on the massive commissioned floorcloth that required tearing up the art room while listening for what Pandora deems similar to my entries of Radiohead and Nick Drake.

Floorcloth clampdown hem-gluing and
blue blob of a kneeling towel -- highly technical

And if the sun shines through the turning maple outside, the workroom is washed with a nearly perfect ethereal hue that for as long as I can remember has inspired me to keep going.

B gets tired of all this and curls up quiet
when I pull her bed up next to me while I work

What's your work?

How to catch a falling harp

2009-09-28T22:29:00.009-04:00

1. Let go of everything that does not matter.

2. Throw yourself completely, unequivocally, under it.

3. Repeat 1 & 2, without hesitation, for all that is precious.

Writings / Sitings

2009-08-03T22:55:00.009-04:00

A friend asked me to contribute an article to the July-August 2009 edition of Journey Magazin e; the topic was "Old Wisdom, New Age" to coincide with a feature on Don Miguel Ruiz, author of The Four Agreements. Follow the links below to the online pdf version of the magazine to read how my submissions turned out.

Bio s of Contributors -- page 5.
(Yeah, would have chosen a different photo here, given the chance.)

The Wisdom of Remembering We Are Enough -- page 10.

Somewhere between Summertime and Stairway to Heaven
at the last concert. Thanks BD -- better than the other photo
of my elastic face at the harp. Looks like a squint, eh?

I was also recently quoted in the Party & Special Events Planner 2009 (June) of the Ohio Jewish Chronicle. This article, "Professionals Are Gold: Don't Be 'Penny Wise and Pound Foolish'", addresses the benefits of hiring professional musicians to play for wedding ceremonies and receptions. And because I can't find an online version, below is what appears in the publication, page 5:

"Local harpist Trista Hill agrees that using professional musicians for weddings is important. 'A lot of times someone will get a brother or friend who plays in a band and they have no idea about adjusting the timing or tempo as the wedding party processes,' she says. 'Music is most often what pulls all the "actions" of a special event together. A professional musician knows the importance of timing and transitions, and demonstrates a level of musical skill that enables her to also pay very close attention and adjust to what is happening around her. Being present in this way is crucial in creating a seamless musical experience, and can make even the unplanned parts of an event appear intentional!"

Thanks TC and PS for the opportunity to contribute to your publications.

How often do you, as a writer / musician / creator, want to completely redo your work after the world sees it?

Spillage

2009-07-29T21:30:00.020-04:00

Every gig lately has involved successively more sky spillage.

Even if the harp did fit under the umbrella, this is no protection in a deluge.

I happen to love rain. I just don't enjoy getting caught in it, nor solitarily moving gear after gowns and heels and tuxes and leather have run for cover. Harp and bench and stand and amp and DI do not move quickly, especially when there is mud in which to slip, yellow-jacket-infested electric boxes from which to unplug, and the only real cover -- the car -- is a good half mile away.

But I love the rushing of the river after a good rain, the way the mist rolls in over field and fence, the renewed ethereal intensity of nature's palette, and the way music floats more readily over dampened landscapes -- chamber piano and horn and strings from the looking-glass home on the river, Freebird and other guitar solos from the rock band rehearsing somewhere in the woods, violins readying for this weekend's Dublin Irish Festival in the white farmhouse squatting roadside.

When certain news hits out of nowhere, and it's difficult to discern if it was better not to know at all, what remains is to notice the rush of what comes up and either edit or allow the flood.

Maybe it results in pulling out harp versions of a bluesy Janis Joplin "Summertime" and a free-form "Stairway to Heaven" at a church concert when the audience least expects it, even when the tunes need a lot more work. Maybe pushing them out unpolished is worth the surprise and joy they elicit from fellow musicians who have a certain affinity for music from that era.

Maybe it results in excessive talking when it's obvious there can't possibly be anything left to lose.

Maybe it's diminishing the haunting by finding new homes for possessions that quite suddenly no longer have weight or meaning.

Maybe it's trusting that you will know exactly what to do at exactly the right time.

Where and how do you safely spill?

Listening to: Imogen Heap, Canvas (perfect lyrics and video), and the gripping Hide and Seek

Lemon Chocolate

2009-07-12T22:05:00.011-04:00

This weekend I played at one of Columbus' most beautiful venues, the Southern Theater! And irritatingly, my camera crapped out and died just as I was trying for the first shot with my harp. So, no pictures (yet).

I love this place and am eager to play there again -- the staff was so helpful and knew how to move the harp, i.e. not grab it out from underneath causing me to lurch into some subhuman twist to keep it from falling. Of course the acoustics are amazing so amplification for solo harp was unnecessary. This greatly affected how I played the harp and confirmed two Very Important Things that I may (not) expound upon later.

Some of my favorite artists have played at the Southern -- out of necessity and because time is always an issue, I quickly located and made use of the restroom just off the stage that probably many artists have occupied for various reasons before their performances. I have no idea if this decision broke rules. In that space I was reminded that no matter what we do and at what level, we are all simply human with similar needs. And oh yes, I played on the birthday of a certain Mister Andrew Bird, who was the last person I saw there and am eager to see again in October.

Playing a wedding on July 4 inevitably entails fireworks. Just over this hill at the Longaberger Golf Club (yes, just a few miles past the basket building), and after the kiss, an immense amount were launched. Because it wasn't yet dark, the goal was to create a lot of noise and vast amounts of colored smoke. Almost too-predictable comments followed about the power of that kiss.

I occasionally write about food and exercise here because they greatly influence how I show up for, execute, and recover from performances. A friend says that as musicians we are also athletes. This was put to the test at the wedding that immediately followed my playing the Southern this weekend. Rain, wind, intense sun, distance walking in dress shoes, moving the harp without a dolly (lifting!), complete setup and tear-down in two different areas, and smiling professionally (captured forever by photographers!) despite looking like a drowned river rat in black -- oh, and did I mention prettily playing unconventional music I transcribed specifically for harp? -- in a matter of two hours at the second gig of the day would leave me grim, silent, and in pain. I don't hurt today, aside from still having "Endless Love" playing in my head (truly it was endless). It also didn't hurt that I was able to play Radiohead's Fake Plastic Trees for part of the ceremony. The lyrics are entirely inappropriate but I wasn't singing and it was... Radiohead. On harp.

I have put running on hold. Pain in the left knee, hip and back aren't subsiding -- the fantastic gripping spasm that seized my middle back during a run last week had me hobbling home for several miles and rethinking the necessity of sprints. So it's back to walking and biking. My new shoes arrived and perhaps they will make a difference. Today I rode the bike earlier in the day and thus the scent from the grove of pine trees on my route that carries me back to Colorado wasn't as intense. But I had a delivery to make (no, not on the bike).

Today is my parents' fortieth wedding anniversary. FORTY years. I made chocolate and lemon (lemon added to this recipe) cupcakes, no eggs or dairy (= vegan) since I haven't had those ingredients in the house for quite some time. The chocolate are topped with a simple ganache and the lemon with a glaze that may or may have not turned into a type of lemon jelly. I wouldn't really know, because I didn't sample. It's hard to sample cupcakes when you are making one dozen. Eleven just looks suspicious. In case it's not obvious, one likes lemon and the other adores chocolate, and combining the two flavors in one cupcake would be something maybe only I'd enjoy. Symbolic cliches about this combo abound -- a long marriage requires a balance of sweet and sour, bitter and sweet, two very different entities coexisting in one happy piece of tupperware...

I am perfecting my artisan bread recipe. I'm getting closer to the bubbly pockets and crisp crust I crave. There is nothing like hot organic whole wheat bread fresh out of the oven. There is also nothing like breaking your best largest bowl that used to be your mother's as evidenced by its glowing orange color and hilarious 70's flower print. While it wasn't an heirloom, it was a relic from childhood that I'll actually miss. I guess they call these pieces "vintage" now. *SIGH*

Continuing my computer / internet fast means that if there is more happening in the world on which to comment, I don't yet know about it.

Summer light

2009-06-28T21:42:00.019-04:00

One of my most enjoyable recent harp gigs was the Stone Academy Bicentennial in Zanesville. The group there was so appreciative and the acoustics were perfect. My photo of the performance space was less than stellar.

So I'll also include a picture from a May wedding held in a remote and obscure area of Delaware that had me severely testing the extent of my vehicle's gas tank emptiness.

Also less than stellar are this year's administrative gig dilemmas. Let's just say I exuberantly appreciate being paid the correct amount, on time.

I love summer -- light lingers until 9:30 at night, and if it weren't for the mosquitoes, I'd linger longer with the fireflies. Light this late conjures of memories of sitting on the shores of Saint-Malo, France (and one my favorite places, Mont Saint-Michel) at 10:30 pm, watching the sun go down.

But I'm not in France, I'm in Ohio, still working on the house. Er, outside the house. Whatever, it all needs work.

I know damn well this isn't done right. No gravel, sand (except for between pavers), or edging were used for this square-paver extension of the front sidewalk, despite my knowing exactly how much and what kind of materials are necessary to ensure it doesn't heave with the ground as the seasons change. The clayish soil on which they rest -- under all that topsoil -- might save it from this demise. Ha. A gigantic crack in the original sidewalk demands the whole thing be replaced. But for now when the road and the... um, property next door aren't too loud, this makes a nice space for students / parents to wait during lessons, or for me to eat a colorful meal, especially after the plants I added today (not pictured) fill in. Oh yeah, and it uses up some of the bunk from the hell hole that is my back / side yard.

The other and more logical spot to eat a fresh meal has become irritating. This tree will probably have to go this year. I am not attached to it -- in fact, I've grown to hate it. There are dead spots and I've spotted bagworms. Any movement by wind or bird or other creature triggers a downpour of brown needles.

I picked these cherries from a tree in my (overgrown) yard! However, most of them already had a small white occupant holing up inside. Those that didn't were tossed in with a few organic peaches to make a fantastic compote.

My current fast from media delayed my hearing of the passing of Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett. Is there any graceful way to die when the entire world knows who you are?

I can't remember what to do with summer, except be outside as much as possible, running or walking or biking. Yeah, on that bike. I'd like to add more *fun* before the season slips away.

Flotation Walls CD Release

2009-06-11T21:17:00.011-04:00

It's been fifty days and nineteen performances -- including wedding ceremonies, wedding and award receptions, church services, cafe events, and more -- since my last post. Hmm.

Not included in that nineteen were the rehearsals for the Flotation Walls CD Release show at Skully's in early June. What a blast this was! One of three rehearsal videos is below -- the others are here and here:

For the CD release show, at least fifteen performers packed on one stage and plowed through intricate tunes on violins, cello, viola, flute, keyboard, accordion, trumpet, tuba, french horn, trombone, harp, drums, electric and acoustic guitar and bass, and vocals.

Thanks to Jess Miller, you can view more pictures of the show here. Thanks also to Brainbow and The Receiver for their sets before us that night.

This recording is seven years in the making, and the band of four members is now on tour. You can purchase the CD "NATURE" here, and listen to tracks on the Flotation Walls MySpace page. Harp appears on the opening track "Sperm & Egg" as well as "I've Seen Death and His Tremendous Pink Eyes."

Harp appeared in every tune at the show, and was the featured accompaniment for "Timmy Twofingers" (see rehearsal video above). My notes for this tune are below, the basic chords of which were handwritten by Carlos himself! This is exactly what I am looking at in this video. For all tunes, the band graciously left the doors wide open for me to create and insert my own parts.

The place that night was packed, perfect for this high-energy band that draws out a consistent and inspiring level of audience interaction. I'm ecstatic for their success and so grateful to have been a part of this experience -- it very much informs and shapes the next steps for my own work.

Flight not form

2009-04-21T01:03:00.002-04:00

This past weekend's outdoor wedding was beautiful because the sun shone here in unpredictable Ohio, the temperature hovered around seventy degrees, and the harp stayed relatively (!) in tune.

This is quite possibly the worst harp photo I've ever taken; however, the wedding photographer was my good friend from Comfort Photography and I look forward to seeing all her perfect pictures. This was an especially precious wedding, many years in the making.

At today's annual breakfast gig, S told the group that this was my seventh year playing harp for it. Seventh year. Each time she gives me photos she took of my playing the previous year's event. I am not posting what she gave me today because to me, last year's photos reveal how much I was dreading a frightening surgery scheduled for the next day. I am in such a better place so I (not you) can look at them now, with a healthy kind of dismissal.

I finally met the owner of Tehku Tea House and am excited about our future collaborations. Being involved in a Productive Obsession project guided by Eric Maisel will undoubtedly reveal and perhaps start to disintegrate Those Barriers. I had some big wake-up calls regarding social networking this past week -- it is NOT a trend, but a definitive and immense reality. I'm determined to make the best use of it; I'm still stumbling through Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter, and even in finding my true voice for this blog.

I made these cookies again, and attempted baba ganoush (not bad). Future blog posts will probably include more culinary information since food is, and always has been, such an important part of my life. I've gone vegan for a variety of reasons, which wasn't hard to do as I've been vegetarian consuming very little dairy / eggs for the better part of my life. I'm not punk about it, though I follow a lot of punk vegan blogs. In my impressionable past, what I ate was regarded with eagle-eye scrutiny, and residual crap from that has affected what I share about my dietary choices. But cooking / baking is a creative act and therefore earns a right to appear here.

Writing a blog post is exactly what I should not be doing right now; I have projects like arranging and recording a song that a vocalist and I will be performing for an upcoming wedding. But my mind is whirring and maybe if I "write" I will stop eating the remainder of my vegan birthday cake (...too late).

With the passing of the aforementioned birthday and the tax deadline, I am in the same place I always find myself: It's time to really do all those things I said I was going to do. One of them is getting in the Best Shape of My Life. I think I was there once, but it was so long ago. And to get back to that place it occurred to me I'll have to start running.

I really hate running. Or, I think I do... I'm not sure where this came from because when I was younger I was a sprinter and loved it. Someone along the line mentioned I had good form, or no form -- whatever it was, it made me self-conscious. I also hate how it feels; all this, shall we say, bodily material flapping on the bones, which I guess is the industry's reason for creating skin-tight apparel. My current walking / running garb consists of twenty-year-old-overwashed-tapered-leg-hand-me-down dress pants. Yeah.

What came to my running mind was a years-old photo of me when I ran track in school. I resisted digging it out of the Photo Vat of Every Life Stage, but with a half-hearted amount of rifling, I found it in minutes.

Okay.

This picture is evidence that it was never about running. It was about intention, with a clear and simple purpose -- NOW. Entwined in that was the effortlessness that comes with finding a rhythm. No labored breathing (mouth closed here as I head to the finish line ahead of the pack!), no pounding, no pain. I forgot. It is the same feeling when I am immersed in my art or music, when I create.

THAT is the goal. I waste too much time worrying about doing it right.

And movement has always pulled out my most creative thoughts and ideas.

So, now my already daily four-mile walk is punctuated with sprints. That jogging stuff -- forget it. I know the rhythm when I reach it -- everything loosens, there is no ache, no real bodily awareness, no thought of form. There is NO FORM, just flight. If I startle the herons on the river maybe we end up flying together.

Something's burning

2009-04-08T21:34:00.022-04:00

It could be the stray crumbs of the homemade olive oil and rosemary bread in the oven that set off all the smoke alarms, or the lack of coolant in the car due to a failing hose between resevoir and radiator, or the firepit yard debris hurling skyward in orange plumes. But perhaps also it is my joints from yoga, my savings in preparation to pay 2008 taxes, and the midnight oil as I contemplate the next steps to More.

I recently had the pleasure of playing harp for a very intimate wedding ceremony and reception at the Ohio Historical Society's chapel and American House Hotel. When weddings are scheduled here, the little village is not open to the public and therefore resembles the abandoned ghost town re-creations from my Colorado childhood.

The chapel has unbelievable acoustics and thus is one of my favorite places to play. A small stained glass window above the door to the left of the harp...

hints at the chapel being made for this instrument, don't you think?

The following day I was invited to perform at the Mansfield Richland County Library. Breathing a sigh of relief in the elevator that I made it despite a smoking car (see above), the doors open *ding!* to an atrium of silent seated patrons. What was supposed to be a background music gig suddenly turns into a full-blown interactive performance presentation peppered with question-and-answer segments. Two harpists were in the audience -- I told the group I would pretend to not be intimidated by their presence. I ran out of business cards at its conclusion.

This year's Lifeline of Ohio ceremony at the Fawcett Center involved my playing pre-program harp music and again during a photo slideshow of organ / tissue donors and recipients. Those whose lives were improved or saved and those who lost loved ones shared their heartbreaking stories. I managed to not completely fall apart on stage during this experience; opting to be a donor has more meaning for me now.

The Flotation Walls are a fresh band that records in lush layers, similar, but not quite, to the Arcade Fire, so I was ecstatic when they asked me to lay down some harp tracks at Relay Recording (formerly Snaps-n-Taps! MB brought me there to play years ago) for their new release, Nature. We experimented with several "voices" of the harp and finally settled on bits that had me laughing; can't wait to hear the final product.

My mother celebrated a Very Important Birthday last month, and family came over to celebrate. Turns out the unfinished particle board floors were perfect for toy wars. Just don't let them fall through the hole in the floor that Aunt Trista brilliantly put a chair leg through, ripping out the outlet box that had been mounted underneath. I made vegan treats.

Pictured above; lemon (very) tart with toasted almond crust boasting a topping of lemon curd and candied lemons -- yes, we love our lemons (Yo Sweet J!) -- vegan strawberry shortcake with cashew cream, and vegan chocolate chip cookies. And that towering mound of white in the center? Real whipped cream. Yeah, not vegan.

And now, even more randomness...

My biggest hurdle in the tax struggle is the 7.5% of Adjusted Gross Income rule. I have squelched and pinned it to the ground several times over, all to no avail. It refuses to decrease or disappear -- it just stares back, deaf and dumb.

I again met really wonderful people during the Spring Fund Drive for the local NPR station, WCBE. Those of us volunteering are also often listeners, and it seems to me we are united in a way by isolation; that is, we listen while engaged in our solitary work. So coming into the station we can collectively marvel at how close / far our mental portraits of announcers and testimonialists are from the real thing and simultaneously learn more about fellow members of this quiet community.

Seared in my memory is the Andrew Bird concert in Cleveland last week. It's impossible for me to get enough, so I'm grateful to relive moments here (scroll down for video) and here. My friend E and I made a nice trip of it -- ridiculously, I didn't get pictures. On this tour Andrew has three other musicians with him; I'm familiar enough with his music to recognize when he is trying out a new approach, or how he comes out of a seemingly wrong turn, or what parts he gave away to the other musicians to clear him for what he wants to do next. Fourth (or third??) row seats were perfect for viewing how he communicates nonverbally and musically with Dosh, on drums. This is the communication I want with whom I play -- it's what makes the music. It wouldn't hurt at all if this communication occurred with Mr. Bird himself.

Great Blue Herons have again been spotted on my river route. I read somewhere that they are territorial, which means I am probably seeing the same herons each time, and this entitles me to claim them as mine. I am not impressed by the other waterfowl -- my only fondness for Canadian Geese is the flawless imitation my sister can render of their calls. My other favorites are back, too -- they are either Red-Tailed Hawks or Prairie Falcons. Last fall, one stood at the side of the road as if waiting for me to walk past. Just a few yards from each other, with heavy gazes, we took the other in until the spell was broken by a passing car. When I watch them soar, I want to spontaneously burst into flames just to join them.

Molly Gordon wrote a great piece: How to Get Organized Without Dowsing Your Creative Fire

It's the Full Moon -- that explains everything.

Making room

2009-03-10T21:06:00.009-04:00

Last week's harp performance at the Ohio Statehouse ended with my accompanying a wonderful gentleman who asked me to play on his CD when he finally records. Please record -- you have a gorgeous voice! And I think it's wonderful to have met someone among the circular red and blue flashing name tags who so relishes music and waited all night to connect.

Regrettably, I did not run into Governor Strickland -- I already took care of that at his inauguration two years ago when I unwittingly walked in with his private entourage. It's an involved story but the two most important points: I didn't know it was Strickland, and I stomped all over that building and not one of the million security officers questioned who I was or where I was going.

A week or so before that, I had the wonderful opportunity to play for a Black History Month celebration. I followed rousing presentations by Columbus City Councilwoman Priscilla Tyson and Sojourner Truth (aka thespian Annette Jefferson) who painted beautiful examples of African American women who pushed boundaries to make a difference. I was inspired to mention Dorothy Ashby and Alice Coltrane and their fantastic contributions to the harp world before I played "At Last."

As the weather warms here (and tonight cools again), I am reaping the benefits of feeling lighter on every level. UPS gladly took the massive amounts of packing material that had been taking up a corner of the garage. Another load of miscellany went to Goodwill. Yard supplies are exiting this property via Freecycle. And the big adventure of the day = the BMV.

This year requires a driver's license renewal, and I was looking forward to taking care of that in addition to acquiring new tags and making a long overdue name change -- yet one more step in my shedding what no longer fits.

The license was the only place the name change was reflected. At the time I had the necessary documentation for that name change, though I was changing it for all the wrong reasons. Today I had the necessary documentation to return the name to its previous incarnation by removing a hyphenated ending. The BMV folks were confused.

"We can't make this name change because nowhere in your paperwork does it say that's what you want to do."

Clearly the nature of this paperwork and my verbal explanation indicated I absolutely want this name change! I calmly said that there was no reason to state that in the paperwork as the name didn't officially change in the first place. Several calls were made and I was told I needed to go to Probate Court.

Marching up the hill to Probate Court, I decided this counted as part of my daily 4-mile walk I found myself sacrificing to take care of this before student lessons this afternoon.

Probate Court said the only way I could make the change was to fill out a one-page petition for a complete name change. That would be $84. They would then schedule a hearing in eight weeks, at which point the change would be official. But in order to schedule the hearing, I would need to submit this change to the local paper. That would be $32. And why to the paper? She couldn't exactly explain. I said my driver's license would expire before a hearing could be scheduled and my intent was to renew my license. Maybe, she offered, they could schedule the hearing six weeks from now if I filed the paperwork today.

I don't think so.

I tramped back down the hill and called my attorney. She said that this was a first and was ridiculous. There wasn't any additional documentation she could provide and she was sorry. She recommended that I just renew the license and avoid hassles by not making the name change.

I don't think so.

The word "ridiculous" was enough ammunition to drive to the other BMV, step up to the counter and announce, "I need to renew my license, get new tags, and remove this name from my license. Here is the documentation." She smiled, looked over the papers, and then muttered that it would be no problem.

My license photo sports a small smirk.

At the risk of sounding ultra-feminist and bitter -- which I am not -- I will refrain from sharing all that I feel about societal norms that involve a woman having to pay several hundred dollars and waiting two months to make room on her license and in her life.

When I turned sixteen and got my license, I sang all the way home, "I got my license -- yeah, yeah, yeah!" I sang it today, too. My eyesight may be poorer, my weight neither here nor there, and the color of my eyes and hair questionable, but I'm clearer than ever, making room for better.

Pairs

2009-02-25T21:36:00.005-05:00

Recent performance pictures were either too dark or were somehow not taken at all, so Fish #1 (out of 3) offered his environment as a stand-in.

The Big Pink and Red is gratefully over. I can't think of a better place to spend V-Day than with the harp at Barcelona Restaurant. They were slammed -- still taking reservations even after the five hours I had been there. Though I still need to work out a few kinks, I am really happy with my new Phil Jones Flightcase amp that I used on this gig. The sound is clean and I don't throw out my back or shoulders hauling it from car to venue and back again.

The other weekend performances were with Chris Becker from New York City. Chris assembled a group of musicians to improvise live to a series of silent short films by Maya Deren, Molly Schwartz, Noe Kidder, Ariane Anthony, Aurora Nealand, Ruby Quincunx, and Tom & Marta. The two out of three performances I had the privilege of contributing to were vastly different from each other -- one at Capital University for the NOW Festival, the other at Carabar. Imagine harp, two guitars, bass, trumpet, saxophone, flutes, and digital loops on laptop on one stage with a huge screen of stunning images behind them! Becker's blog entry summarizes the weekend of performances.

For me, a certain hyper-awareness is required to perform this way, which is perfect because that is a state where I tend to reside. Every moment is a new choice, influenced by what you see, hear, and feel. Being very present -- this is what the arts are all about. I am looking forward to future collaborations and more intense listening.

One of my favorite pairs.

Look for it

2009-02-03T12:38:00.002-05:00

Flowers do not disappoint.

What lies beneath

2009-01-14T21:17:00.008-05:00

Snow like this is a guilt remover. It's quiet (except for the snowblowers) and soft (except for the four-wheelers) and peaceful (except for the salt trucks) and everything sleeps (except for me).

December 2008 holiday celebration at The Vault

Last week's live NPR interview with Andrew Bird was an exercise in patience. It took me too long to realize that the majority of questions posed to Mr. Bird were taken from the rapidly scrolling chat room view window. Even more maddening was that chat room participants were more interested in talking among themselves rather than to the musician being interviewed. Common sense says you close the window to obliterate this immense distraction and just listen to the very grounded but profoundly interesting Andrew Bird talk about his music and the process of creating.

But around 1:35 pm I finally enter the chat because I really want my questions answered, as the Comments section where I originally posted them has been long forgotten. And at 1:45 and 1:46 I give up and comment on the song that is playing, Not a Robot but a Ghost, the one I relate to most and was most intrigued to hear the story behind. One of the moderators actually responds to my blip. And suddenly I get why these chats work -- addictively clicking "post" is a maniacal maneuver to get instant feedback no matter how idiotic your typed contribution.

"Ask him about his favorite snack!" the chat room screamed.

What?!?

This of course means that I just need to see him in person to get my questions answered.

Andrew's latest blog post at the NY Times "Measure for Measure" and this very recent NY Times article reveal much about the man. And again, here you can hear the entire album, and here the accompanying instrumental album. Listening to musician interviews solidifies a lot of my own thoughts about music and what I want to create.

I also went to see Azur & Asmar at the Wexner this weekend. It's been out for a few years but an English version finally arrived in the States. The phenomenal animation employed three different techniques; flat color for bodies as typical of most cartoons, incredibly detailed shading and depth in character faces, and computer graphics for a lot of the light play. Steeped in beauty and intense symbology, and accompanied by a Gabriel Yared soundtrack, it touched on many massive issues our world faces today.

Movies like that stir the creatrix within. Now if only I would put together the art room that last week I tore apart.

Wrap it up

2009-01-05T22:37:00.005-05:00

My way of coping with news of the current economic situation was to plow through more than twenty gigs in December, only three of which I managed to get photos. YES, that purple spotlight (!) remained on the harp for the duration of my playing for a holiday celebration at the Crowne Plaza Columbus North (formerly Columbus Marriott -- wish they had changed the sign prior to my sliding past on that slippery, snowy night).

This was my busiest December ever, averaging four to six gigs per week in addition to a full teaching schedule and all the best-intentioned holiday obligations. How perfect that the harp sounds like a brand new instrument and I now have an extremely trustworthy source for repair if something goes terribly awry.

Looking back on 2008 I see that I've met both named and subconscious goals, many in the last month of the year. There is something to intentional goal-setting, but the only way I can stomach the process is to use symbolic descriptive phrases and visuals.

So, last year is faded crushed blood-red velvet, heavy careless folds disguising slight hard-labor stench and disfigurement. This new year is pale blue silk, simple clean lines revealing natural curves and undulations... soft, supple and forgiving.

Listening to: Andrew Bird's new release Noble Beast streaming on NPR -- specifically "Not a Robot, but a Ghost."

What voice

2008-12-01T22:52:00.009-05:00

Occasionally I play harp for church services -- this is from the most recent at Unity of Delaware. M, the singer I accompanied, did a fantastic job of capturing a great angle and wonderful light.

In another photo, purposely not posted here as a favor to you, he caught me semi-snickering at my own playing and looking impossibly uncomfortable in the outfit specifically chosen for comfort's sake.

We did a fine job of creating a seamless backdrop of music for the congregation despite our not having worked together before. This setup was more successful than when I accompanied myself on harp a time or two before, where my strange decision to use a small thin voice was born out of the shock that yes I can sing and play simultaneously and the expectation that any moment the congregation would enthusiastically join in. Turns out a strong male voice may better encourage group participation than a weak female one -- or were they just being kind then and not wanting to disturb my obvious effort?!

It's not that I don't know how to sing -- in my chaotic catastrophe that was college, my myriad of scheduling conflicts mandated I take individual voice lessons instead of group voice for non-majors. Taking lessons meant performing in front of the voice faculty at the end of the quarter for a grade based on the delivery of the German and English and some other language piece accompanied by the major instrument that for once this soprano wasn't playing, while fighting the inner scream about what a fantastic waste of time this was for all involved including the opposite wall through which a hole was bored in embarrassed concentration to hit the high notes.

But I am starting to wonder if the human voice would better capture some of what I want to convey through my own music. Rawness, hunger, pain, elation -- what voice?

Of course this would be the moment to go to the harp and find this out, but the harp isn't here. The positive spin on this is that it will come back better than ever but the other side is that I never want to be without my instrument this long again. Early in the morning I drive north again retrieve the harp from very capable but probably very frustrated hands and in them place a piece of paper on which will be scrawled "$" followed by a heart-stoppingly long little row of numbers. And I will come home and put it in its place and teach and play and again wonder -- what voice?

The other night I was listening to Ani DiFranco's bold story-telling and gut-wrenching lyrics and suddenly between the songs she spoke to me:

Detroit Annie, hitchhiking
by Judy Grahn

Her words pour out as if her throat were a broken
artery and her mind were cut-glass, carelessly handled.
You imagine her in a huge velvet hat with great
dangling black feathers,
but she shaves her head instead
and goes for three-day midnight walks.
Sometimes she goes down to the dock and dances
off the end of it, simply to prove her belief
that people who cannot walk on water
are phonies, or dead.
When she is cruel, she is very, very
cool and when she is kind she is lavish.
Fisherman think perhaps she's a fish, but they're all
fools. She figured out that the only way
to keep from being frozen was to
stay in motion, and long ago converted
most of her flesh into liquid. Now when she
smells danger, she spills herself all over,
like gasoline, and lights it.
She leaves the taste of salt and iron
under your tongue, but you don't mind.
The common woman is as common
as the reddest wine

Music prowling

2008-11-26T22:49:00.014-05:00

Because it's Thanksgiving Eve and food is important, it's pretty critical that the food turns out right. And when it doesn't, you default to music prowling. After hours of this you hope your return to the kitchen yields the food looking better than when you left it.

The new David Byrne / Brian Eno compilation Everything That Happens Will Happen Today can be heard in its entirety by clicking here. It includes a synopsis by the two artists of how the music came to be.

When I listen to music, I hear the rhythm and melody and shape first. I don't listen to lyrics. So Strange Overtones was instantly interesting because of the pairing of punctuated rhythm and Byrne's sailing voice. After several listens I finally read the lyrics and concluded the song is damn near perfect. It's available as a free mp3 download here.

Andrew Bird is releasing his next work Noble Beast in several formats. The Deluxe Edition features two discs, one of which is purely instrumental titled Useless Creatures. Purely instrumental! I know! One track from each disc can be heard by clicking here.

Bird's lyrics are always fantastic swirls of wordplay. He has admitted to approaching words / lyrics in an unconventional way and not caring for instrumental music. I'm anxious to see how he came to terms with each in this new release, which you can pre-order here; the formal U.S. release date is January 20.

And finally, in his aching multi-loop and perfect-pitch glory, using only violin but wearing the guitar just in case, Bird during a soon-to-air appearance on "From the Basement."

Update: The food looks better... and tastes amazing. Happy Thanksgiving.

Art space

2008-11-25T20:44:00.010-05:00

Over the years I have struggled with whether to devote my time to art or music. But trying to choose between -- or among, as other art forms have been added to the mix since then -- is time wasted; they are inseparable, all part of the same voice.

I've finally created an online shop through Etsy after getting over the idea that I don't have enough similar items to put in it. Though not excited about the fees, they are minimal compared to other online shops. Etsy visits have exploded as we value others' skills and abilities and turn again to handmade and unique creations. So though I prefer to be contacted directly for anything I have to sell (!), without Etsy many wouldn't know I exist. It's a true joy to browse through the Etsy website and see what so many are creating!

The above advent calendar was a fun challenge due to the size of canvas I chose to use. The original idea came from a felt and velcro version I made while attending a Waldorf grade school. This version should last longer than that one! See the Etsy store for a more detailed description and additional pictures. A larger version of the advent calendar (sold) also appears here, though it's an example of an older painting style. For fun, also check out my Floorcloth Design Gallery for pet mats and other items -- amazing what you find on your own website when you go looking!!

This heather grey afghan sold immediately. Another in light tan / caramel / camel (how to adequately convey color over the internet?) is available, and another in rich garnet red is coming soon. Working on these is the perfect way to while away the dark hours listening to music while keeping warm. The pattern results in a blanket with good heft and the pattern is classic and timeless!

It will be interesting to see decisions around giving / buying this holiday season. Predicting is pointless -- I have more harp jobs this season than I expected. It's a time of hope and joy and thinking more creatively than ever.

October's Luceys Maze Trio

2008-11-24T20:26:00.010-05:00

A few weeks ago the Luceys Maze Trio / Luceys Maze Acoustic performed at Espresso Yourself Music Cafe in Powell.

My eyes are glued on Michelle to ensure I literally don't miss a beat -- too bad the camera caught it. Michelle Lucey, vocals and keyboard; Tammy Wallace, vocals.

This photo and others are posted in the scrolling album on our MySpace page, as are some of the pieces we performed that evening. Of the six listed on MySpace, four are the trio; Moonlight (featuring Tammy, joined by Cathy Wicks and Michelle), Polar Bears, Garden Song, and Evolution. Moonlight is the newest tune -- Michelle and I are now working on pieces for just piano and harp.

Working on my own material has continued to involve incorporating jazz theory into my performances. I am very interested in what BW is doing over on her blog -- she designated November as a month to compose at least 8 bars of music each day and post them no matter how they turned out. BW and I were at the first Deborah Henson-Conant workshop and I love how committed she is to what we were exposed.

Typealyzer offers a way to determine your blog's Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI). The idea is to determine whether your blog and personality are the same MBTI. How seriously do I take Myers-Briggs anything? I have a very good friend who, because of her massive position as one of the top Human Resources gurus in the nation, takes this test frequently. Her MBTI often differs from the previous time she took the test. My MBTI (determined years ago) is an INFJ, and my Typealyzer results for my blog is an ISFP. The Typealyzer revealed this MBTI after picking up this post. Prior to this post, my blog was an ISTP. Um, yeah. For the Typealyzer to work, your blog address must be the main web address.

Today was cold and rainy and dark, so while I didn't have time for it given my teaching schedule, it was the perfect day to curl up with my new favorite Yogi tea, a blanket, and a good book.

Diving in

2008-11-16T22:52:00.007-05:00

The holidays are approaching fast -- playing harp for weddings is giving way to the tide of seasonal celebration performances. The (possibly) last wedding of this year took place in this room of the relatively new Creekside Conference and Event Center in Gahanna, Ohio. The reception was held in an adjoining room so guests never had to leave the building prior to vaguely wondering how to safely get home.

Diving headlong into any live or recorded performance is now unavoidable despite a myriad of distractions. Below -- undeniably, irrevocably, achingly relatable.

My vote

2008-11-03T20:23:00.014-05:00

One of my favorite places to play harp is the Darby House in Galloway / Columbus, Ohio. This is a great location for all parts of a wedding ceremony, even when the ceremony moves indoors due to cooler temperatures and the boatman can't.

The Crystal Ballroom in Newark is another all-inclusive site -- get married on stage, step down and greet guests sitting at their tables, several of whom will have already acquired food.

My vote is that we obliterate the time change. We actually enforce earlier descending darkness?

After several stressful weeks -- I won't even go into Halloween, it's over, but wait... election day tomorrow -- it's time to act. I requested an absentee ballot so I could sit with my decisions in the comfort of my own home vs. in the discomforts of a Polling P(a)lace. This morning was the day I predicted I would finally know what oval to fill in for President.

Delivering the ballot entailed driving into town before this morning's lessons. Of course the Board of Elections is in the new building across town, the one with the all-glass atrium and escalator and shiny new everything, and not the older building in the middle of town I first visited whose pay-for parking lot is a block away. Within minutes of entering the double doors of the correct building, I'm typically yet inexplicably fielding questions. A woman politely demands a clipboard with a sheet of paper to fill out because everyone before her and after her seems to have one. A man asks if he was supposed to bring the documents with him that contain errors in need of correction. The woman in front of me, a newborn snuggling under her chin and another beautiful small child at her side, explains she is in line because she has to see someone in person to correct the last name on her ballot. It was beyond misspelled, a different name entirely. What kind of system requires a mother with no childcare to stand in line for this?

Why did she wait until today to take care of it? I don't know, why did any of us wait until today, or even tomorrow? Maybe we were all still hanging onto the unrealistic hope that we could chuck the entire current system and start over.

Ohio, and in many cases Columbus specifically, has been touted as THE place to watch on several national news broadcasts. Can I be okay with myself if the candidate I support less than the other wins because I cast my vote for a party that comparatively speaking gets no press/money, no matter how in line that party is with my true ideals? How ridiculous is it that I make my decision this way?

And, really, we vote like this??

Risking ridicule for stepping out of line, I hold out my sealed envelope to the man directing citizens to what he hopes is the right place. The envelope reflects, for various reasons, an incorrect last name that matches other incorrect last-name documents, all of which I can finally alter after election day without creating an identity stir. The man steps back, refusing to touch the envelope, pointing to a blue box. I throw it in, turn and join other voters exiting the buildling looking stricken. That's it??

To further my attempts at self-empowerment, I go to the bank to deposit and move money. Having worked in a bank in my former life, at the drive-thru (wait, no drive-thru voting?) I throw several tickets at the teller and wonder if the process I'm using is out of date. No, but cheerily I'm informed that my account with the smallest amount went dormant.

Dormant? To reactivate it, I must come in and fill out some papers. Papers? Or close it.

But I'm very attached to this account! It's the very first one I ever opened, the one I used to squirrel away earnings from jobs that had nothing to do with my college degrees. The pot where I collected enough so I could move out on my own, purchase my car, my harp, my own house, and run my business. I have the account number memorized. We've been through everything together. It doesn't earn any interest at this point, doesn't serve me in any possible way, I've outgrown it. Money is sitting there that would serve me better if I moved it. I can't close this account!

From which space do I make this decision -- practical or emotional? If it's not serving me where it is, and is many ways now inaccessible, why elect to keep it there? One morning I will wake up and know.

On the way home, I drive the road along the river. I stop to walk out on a stone slab I can now access because the water is so low; I'm in the middle of the river, where I can see clearly upstream, or down. The water simply flows past. That's where I want to be.

But I go home and ready my studio for students, one of the rooms awaiting a flooring decision.

My students tell me how the election causes racial fears in their school. Upperclassmen elected to sell candidate-name headbands to raise money for prom. But the student body is afraid to purchase them for fear they'll be jumped after school for being racist.

Times are chaotic -- can we afford to settle?

Yeah

2008-10-24T17:25:00.001-04:00

Andrew Bird and Yo Yo Ma

The Edge

2008-09-30T23:09:00.002-04:00

On the edge
of spring and fall
bated breath
feather waiting

Just outside
the swirl and spin
opal silence
pearled poise

ascending
luminous
angel
arc

one

more

step

Ashes

2008-09-11T23:14:00.010-04:00

Last weekend's wedding was a gorgeous outdoor ceremony at a new residence. The bride was in a shade of white, but so were all the groomsmen, and the mothers, and the candles, and the chairs.

The harpist was in her traditional black garb meant to fade into the formal background of any wedding, but in this case did anything but in this beautifully pale setup.

September 11th has always been a difficult day, for each of the past seven years. Seven years ago a just-left love phoned to check in as a soon-to-be new love did the same. Now that new love is also an old love gone. So many feel this deeply today.

The journal hasn't yet been visited and so thoughts around this day spontaneously appeared in a uninhibited email to a friend:

"Today and maybe the entire week or even month is pregnant with loss. The music community lost BC this week, a close friend of the LM band and its members, and a formidable force in the local jazz and other-genre world. He was my age and though I didn't know him personally, the void he left creates a sorrow so palpable it's impossible not to cry. His calling hours were today.

"This morning I played a 9/11 memorial service -- it was me, the minister, and two other people. Very very quiet harp. This is always a little unnerving because the harp sounds best when it can really resonate, and I depend upon its resonance to help me resonate with my surroundings... playing quietly can make the instrument sound dull and ironically playing this way takes a lot of effort. But the season and reason this time was reflection and hope and peace so quiet harp accompanying a crying minister was the only thing appropriate.

"And then I walked the labyrinth in the church, this strange turning and twisting walk that visually is completely symmetrical and straightforward...

"I came home thinking that loss is so prevalent and my efforts to stop it are pointless. This doesn't apply to my getting rid of things. It applies to things exiting without warning, or exiting with warning and no logic, or worse yet with warning and an obliteration of all that was meaningful just prior to exiting.

"I didn't figure out until afterward that emptying the firepit of the mound of ash today was so very symbolic of my attempting to transform loss and obliteration into growth and regeneration. The ash went into flower beds and around plants in an attempt to nourish them. If they all don't die soon, this was a very good move.

"And the spreading of the ash was my tribute to B and all those lost in 9/11. I just didn't know it until after the fact. A very small whisper of an answer to the voice that is screaming, 'What are you doing with your life??!?' Instead of calling hours, instead of trying to mend a botched rehearsal attempt, instead of reading thousands of names.... I know fire well and why not use the outcome of that, fire as my link to both life and death. Ugly ash that hopefully calls forth more life and less death.

".. diminishing the ash pile (is necessary) so that said plywood has the room to breathe to burn. Because the loss of... trust / friendship / love / intimacy / security... ultimately demands, in some twisted and serene way, room to breathe, in order to burn..."

Peace, love, light to all, today and in all ways.

End-week-end

2008-09-06T21:11:00.018-04:00

Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other gold.
-- Unknown, but very known, from an old friend

I've unintentionally been posting weekend weddings and other happenings one week after they occur. So, illogically, look for the wedding I played today one week from now.

The Franklin Park Conservatory wedding found me performing from a vantage point I don't usually take -- behind the guests.

From this position I could watch the mothers and wedding party tentatively make their way down the curving staircase, then steadily wobble past me and down the aisle to the "altar."

Navigating through the Conservatory is much easier now! That is, when the doors to which Security directed me are unlocked, I don't leave my keys in the car in my haste to get in the building after locked-door-delay, and the plants intending to deter passerby from heading outside aren't placed exactly where I need to make my exit.

The Taylor Mansion boasts an aging patio in the front of the building; a hedge of sorts separates this spot from busy Broad Street. Setting up on one side of the fountain seemed appropriate.

But then I moved to the other side after realizing I needed a better view of the wedding party as they entered, and equally important, to keep a wary eye on the western sky. A waterfall of rain through which the sun oddly blazed graced the wedding site just as I got the harp in the car after the ceremony.

Last weekend's two weddings were capped off with the first gathering at my house in a very long while. Really good fresh food, great people, and a bonfire for purging items / thoughts that no longer fit in our lives conjoined under clear skies. The house actually felt good despite its various states of construction -- turns out plywood floors are a hit -- and preparing for this was a healthy way to complete projects in and around the house. There is nothing better than being amidst the glowing positive energy of new and old friends.

The work I've been doing to step up with the harp is paying off bigger and sooner than I anticipated, creating a strange amalgamation of distress and wonder. Balancing attempts --> planning another get-together, listening to a diverse array of music, chopping off a good amount of hair, experimenting with limited-ingredient vegan cooking, and eating dark chocolate. Oh, and consuming chocolate-covered strawberries -- the instructions specifcally say they must be eaten within 48 hours of delivery and I'm behind.

Simple complication

2008-08-28T00:06:00.002-04:00

If all of your peers understand what you have done, you are not creative.
-- Henry J. Heimlich, M.D., Heimlich Maneuver® fame

Making the simple complicated is commonplace; making the complicated simple, awesomely simple, that’s creativity.
-- Charles Mingus

The Franklin Park Conservatory has undergone significant renovations, and I can't wait to get inside to play harp for one of this weekend's weddings to see what has changed. Maybe I won't have to haul equipment through the myriad of fifty thousand doors and tunnels to get to the Palm House. In the meantime, last weekend I played outside on the patio and the client was lovely for providing an umbrella to shield the instrument and its player from the hot midday sun.

At last weekend's Main Street Delaware wine-tasting event, attendees recognized me from playing brunch at the now defunct Eckel's Lake and other events, and several new connections were made. This experience somehow shocked me into realizing what I've been doing over the past several years and where I now want to go. I put several of those ideas into action already but today -- perhaps because it is rainy and cooler and fall-ish -- some of the vim is gone. In the meantime, I continue to work on clearing out what I don't need or want from the house.

This stack of pavers is the first of many that I'll be moving off my property by hand accompanied by a stream of expletives. For now, this stack has merely moved to the side of the house in the new configuration of a simple temporary barricade. It is very unsightly and wonky and I don't plan to keep it there, but once these 82 pavers are gone, a nicer barricade will emerge. Perhaps it will be the ever-evolving barricade until all the bunk material vacates the premises.

Tonight I was listening to a special on minimalism in music. As they played a familiar piece from Philip Glass' Glassworks, I realized how much I needed this music during my studies. Others detested it while I was very much drawn to it. Peripheral listening leads to the assumption that nothing is happening, that it's the same thing over and over again, a very irritating style of music. Listening more closely, you see it's changing all the time. Listen more closely still, and you see exactly how it's changing in a very simple way. On the surface it sounds like a barricade of repeated complication, but in essence it's a network of simple shifts that yield it exquisitely beautiful.

One of my piano students, the founder and CEO of a major pizza chain who sold his business to an international mega-gazillion giant and then BOUGHT IT BACK, is no stranger to success and goal-achievement. But tactics he used to propel him forward in his business aren't effective in piano study. We're running up against definitions of success that make the entire piano experience feel insurmountably complicated. It's time to re-define. J's goofy pun today: I am helping this student "think outside the pizza box." Heh.

Simplifying the complicated starts with rethinking boxed-in definitions.

Grand Valley Dale Ballroom

2008-08-10T14:07:00.010-04:00

...One hundred days
One hundred nights
To know a man's heart...
And a little more before
he knows his own.

-- Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings, 100 Days 100 Nights

One hundred days / nights would be, what, three months? Ha.

The Grand Valley Dale Ballroom is one of my new favorite places to play harp.

Entire weddings -- ceremony, cocktails, and reception -- can all be easily housed here.

I don't need amplification for this setting!

You would never guess the regal interior belongs to this exterior.

This is the fourth wedding in two months where Premium Catering and I have worked the same event -- really wonderful people.

As Is

2008-07-20T22:43:00.010-04:00

What bugs me
Is that you believe what you're saying
What bothers me
Is that you don't know how you feel
What scares me
Is that while you're telling me stories
You actually believe that they are real

-- Ani DiFranco, As Is

Unacceptable truth #1 -- I have a stack of unread copies of my favorite magazine (and I have many subscriptions) -- Paste. It comes each month with a CD of tunes from artists of all genres. This publication perfectly offsets the Complete Frustration of the Everyday. I'm now listening to John Scofield's "The Low Road" from one sampler; it followed The Innocence Mission's "Into Brooklyn..."

Unacceptable truth #2 -- all my CDs remain packed up in bags and boxes since last year's renovation. Citing a lack of an appropriate storage unit is lame, as anything is better than where they currently reside.

Callie the Bengal cat enjoys the year-old subfloor,
not questioning when she'll see the real thing.
She's just grateful she no longer has to worry about
falling through to the basement.

Unacceptable truth #3 -- I did not attend Deborah Henson-Conant's workshop this year, the same one I ate up last year. Flat out, straight up, unacceptable.

I cannot get enough of Sirius Radio Channel 16 -- The Vault. "Deeper Classic Rock" means old Genesis, Yes, Led Zep, Cream, Pink Floyd, Bowie, Hendrix, etc. that terrestrial radio didn't play. These were my first examples of improvisation.

I cannot get on top of my yard. The current prevailing weed is Queen Anne's Lace, taller than I. Pretty in the picture, isn't it? It's carrot scent doesn't redeem it's overwhelming presence in my beds.

They were right when they said that at the three-month post-surgery mark you will finally start feeling like yourself. I have big plans in the works.

A billion weddings since the last post. This was one of my favorites -- thanks to J & S for the opportunity to share their special day at the Park of Roses.

It goes to show

2008-06-14T11:18:00.020-04:00

Gig #1 of the weekend -- the Home Show. Every year a neighborhood is carved out of an existing natural habitat in the general Columbus vicinity and put on display just long enough so that the installed-now landscaping looks fresh and weeds haven't yet had a chance to populate anywhere but in the mud between designer home sites.

One of the builders this year hired me to play for Preview Night, which is just like any of the other tour days except slightly less crowded due to the higher price tag, and food like crab cakes and a lot of drink are actually permitted beyond the designer home thresholds.

To set up in the corner of a designer home next to the remote-controlled fireplace and play solo selections of your choice while actually being heard and having already been paid your going-rate fee is a very good gig.

It's a very good gig even when transporting all your gear will require at least three trips through a half mile myriad of tents, tripping hazards, and speeding golf carts, and it’s the closest you can pull up to the gig site because you are proudly sporting your special worker’s pass and parking permit.

Not every event requires amplification. But when it does, the pre-gig loading experience becomes atypical. The bench must make way for the amp, which means the bench must wait until the last minute to be loaded via the passenger-side back door. This is a perfect setup for the trying-to-be-on-time driver to close the garage door and leave the bench in the garage where she put it down and not realize this until 3/4 of the way to the gig.

Fortunately, the Home Show coordinators locate a chair whose seat is fashioned to accommodate human anatomy. It's actually the perfect chair as chairs go, but because playing the harp defies all aspects of human anatomy and ergonomics, the interplay between the non-cushioned seat and the ischium of the performer becomes an all-out war. Poising on the edge of the seat requires concentration and generates discomfort but is the only way to keep from sliding down the plastic void-of-cushion surface to a place that renders pedal-changing footwork impossible.

Aside from seating issues, it's comfy and cozy in a designer home playing in an air-conditioned corner while thunderstorms barrel overhead; retrieving the car in dress clothes, however, from a parking pit where all that rain has fallen, is not. Mud-caked shoe removal was required to retrieve the harp from the designer home and bump the harp down the steps to the white-painted-floor garage. If bumping the harp on the cart down the steps doesn’t isn’t attention-gripping enough, hunkering down and positioning the harp at a precarious angle to clear the doorframe in what looks like bare feet certainly is.

Onlookers mistakenly assume pushing the harp around on the cart is more problematic than carrying the 38.4-pound amplifier any distance. The harp is truly the only piece of equipment that passerby should not touch, especially at an event where a lot of drink is involved. A golf cart was available at the beginning of the gig for amp transport, but was not at the end as tent flaps had fallen thereby making golf cart access out of the question (as explained by golf cart driver). How do you carry a bulky "perfect for any event!" amp that distance? By balancing it on one thigh and then the other and straining-smiling-out-of-breath for the third time at the cop sitting comfortably at the exit who's placidly explaining to those who don’t get it that they cannot leave with open containers.

Some might sweetly suggest that it might be a good idea to bring a helper to such an event. But really, what would the helper do for the entire three hours that I'm playing and stupidly not taking breaks? A tan, skinny blonde with 8-inch stilettos and a short sleeveless dress with sparkly stuff around the bosom had no problem -- see, there she is talking to an older tropical-shirt man who is telling her about himself as if they've just met and she is listening with rapt attention while sipping her drink as they quickly head to the nearest exit...

Seeing a harp in an unexpected place evokes childlike glee. I actually do understand what’s really being said despite my knee-jerk unedited silent sarcastic responses.

"Wow!! That's a real person at the harp!"
No, it's a fake person at the harp.
Translation: “This is live music and not recorded!” Often this is one of the highest compliments one can pay to a working musician.

"Do you hire/rent yourself out?"
Meaning.... ?
Translation: Um… unfortunately you cannot assume men who ask you this are seriously considering having you play for their next upscale gathering at their place of business or formal high-end residence. Especially when such a question is followed by, "Here, I'll be your pimp -- we'll put your business cards out here." This is when you immediately turn your attention to the person who is now holding his head and screaming,

"WHOAH -- I had no idea you could run a HARP through an AMP!!"
Of course, especially if I expect to be heard in an environment fraught with speaking volumes such as what you just used!
Translation: “My only experience is with guitars!” I actually love explaining how my harp is amplifed, and happier still if they're interested in the nitty-gritty specifics.

“There goes an angel, with her harp!”
What I’m thinking right now is anything but angelic, and I and the harp are wearing nothing but black.
Translation: “My only concept of harp is this age-old stereotype!” Luckily, this person can keep holding onto this image and never have to know what you have to do, say, and be to actually earn a living this way.

“Are you okay / can you get that?”
Of course I can, I do it all the time. I can’t tell -- are you offering to help?!?
Translation: “I am sincerely concerned about your well-being – that looks heavy and cumbersome and I have no idea what you are doing.” A harp is an unusual sight, and watching a solitary female transport it is overly perplexing to some. You can shove an amp in their arms and go through the time-consuming effort of explaining what is happening / needs to happen, or, just assure them that you’re fine and get on with MAKING IT HAPPEN.

There is so much to watch and learn on a solo gig... so much so that it isn't necessarily a solo gig, is it?

I wanna play with...

2008-06-12T10:08:00.006-04:00

First, go here and here and here to read entries by one of my heroes, Andrew Bird, about the process of songwriting. His entries are found along with those of Suzanne Vega, Rosanne Cash, and Darrell Brown in the New York Times blog "Measure for Measure" -- link at right.

I wanna -- er, WILL -- play harp with:

Radiohead
Explosions in the Sky
The Arcade Fire
Deborah Henson-Conant -- (again)
Beastie Boys
Andrew Bird (MySpace page)

Absolutely, unquestionably, harp fits perfectly with all of them.

Yep

2008-06-09T20:50:00.017-04:00

It was a gig-full weekend. Day One = Columbus Arts Festival with Nova Madrugada. The Club Stage was positioned perfectly in a sun-drenched wind tunnel. Foolishly, I did not get any photos, though unfoolishly, if I had, they would have captured my music blowing off the stand and my chasing after it when I could sacrifice my harp part due to bandmate volume. After over a decade of playing outdoor weddings this was a lesson learned -- People Who Play Festivals place a large piece of plexiglass over their music on the music stand. I've been surviving on office clips because on windy days I open and tack down my music to the most important piece and improvise the rest.

Lemon sorbet from Graeter's eased some of this humiliation, as did settling in for a night of Maggie Green and Canto Poetico -- she was on FIRE debuting her own tune.

Day two = wedding on the green of a small county golf club. Aside from playing the typical wedding fare -- the most important piece tacked down with office clips -- it was my job to drown out the generator that ironically was powering the equipment used to amplify the harp. Though I was booked to play longer, at the end of the ceremony the groom affirmed I successfully distracted the guests from the roaring equipment but should "prob'ly quit cuz dat's 'bout gonna run outta gas."

Day three = church service at the Columbus Center for Spiritual Living. J was recently hired as interim musical director to provide radically different music from one week to the next. The topic of the day was Mystery. Did his recently-composed piece Tristery -- a title combining my name and "mystery" -- have anything to do with why I was contacted for this? We mysteriously improvised with harp and piano and later I performed a snippet of Crimson (go here to hear). It was not a mystery that we found we can play together well, especially on the fly -- set a key and see what happens.

A mysterious weekend? It's a mystery that one day I figured I could find a way to get my car out if on a freak day my garage door opener died, and the very next day that is exactly what happened. It's a mystery that in the middle of the night I couldn't sleep and *PING* heard a harp string break downstairs, and once it was replaced as it needed to stretch to be in tune for an early gig the next day, fell asleep immediately. It's a mystery that I happened to be in the gardening section of a store and spotted just one super-on-sale plant I haven't been able to find anywhere else to complete a section of my always-needing-weeding landscape. It's a mystery that on the day after I run out of dark chocolate, I'm asked to share a bar of the darkest I've had yet -- this is high-octane Extreme at 88%, my friends. It's a mystery that one week I fret about being able to continue to make my living teaching and playing, and the next week am contacted about lessons and gigs.

Or is it?

Listening to: World Cafe on WCBE, the local NPR station -- the nightly two-hour slots are back!

Back in the...

2008-06-02T22:40:00.010-04:00

It's been a little over one month since surgery, which I struggled to fit between previously-scheduled gigs. I actually played a wedding and Luceys Maze gig two weeks post-surgery and performing felt worlds better than sitting at home facing all that I could not do. Moving-the-harp muscles are different than affected-by-surgery muscles, a discovery of course made through simple trial and error.

Courtyard at COSI

Breaking and replacing a big fat 5th octave A string ten minutes before I was scheduled to play the wedding prelude this past weekend was an adrenaline rush, to say the least.

This is a strange time of year for the self-employed performer and teacher. For those outside the field, it's filled with excitement and anticipation over the schoolyear ending, increased energy from warmer weather, and vacation inclination thinking. But with students that take a "summer break" from lessons, a huge yard to clean- up / maintain and house still under renovation, somewhat slower than expected recuperation, a colleague (?) playing and securing gigs for 1/3 the going rate, and a tight budget to create due to increased and additional bills of all sorts, this time of year can feel downright frightening.

So it's back to consciously deciding (every minute) not to panic, and instead focus on intention and trajectory of the creative work I've committed to do, hoping the details become clear. Real life = hazy fertile middleground between heaven and hell.

Not dead yet

2008-05-08T23:15:00.001-04:00

You are not dead yet, it's not too late
to open your depths by plunging into them
and drink in the life that reveals itself quietly there.
- Rilke

Out

2008-04-28T23:33:00.005-04:00

I have spent hours
maybe days
definitely nights
curled up tight
protecting you.

The irony
How many times
have I heard
Let me in?
And I did.

Too far, too deep
buried something(s).

Tight little fists
enmeshed in battle
can't stop
endless bloodshed.

Tomorrow out.

Solace

2008-04-14T00:26:00.003-04:00

The words of Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl, describing a long march in the dead of winter through the death camps of Auschwitz:

'A thought transfixed me: for the first time in my life I saw the truth as it is set into song by so many poets, proclaimed as the final wisdom by so many thinkers. The truth - that love is the ultimate and the highest goal to which man can aspire. Then I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: The salvation of man is through love and in love.

I understood how a man who has nothing left in this world may still know bliss, be it only for a brief moment, in the contemplation of his beloved. In a position of utter desolation, when a man cannot express himself in positive action, when his only achievement may consist in enduring his sufferings in the right way - an honorable way - in such a position man can, through loving contemplation of the image he carries of his beloved, achieve fulfillment. For the first time in my life, I was able to understand the words, "The angels are lost in perpetual contemplation of an infinite glory.'

Unmoored

2008-04-01T22:10:00.003-04:00

Today I want something different
maybe really good pizza
or a very deep sleep
or a warm rushing water walk.
I am unmoored
searching the horizon
but the horizon is busy, overpopulated.

From the assinine sterile beeping bed
she searches my eyes
looking for an anchor
afraid she is making waves.
Afraid she is painting
a picture of pain
that I will buy.

I want to tell her: Don't think.
just breathe, breathe deep
there is nothing else to do.
You can't protect me from reality
I'm already here, by choice
by habit.

Close your eyes, just breathe
and feel
You've always been good
at not denying pain.
Our roles are reversed again
I'll navigate and steer
over the waves of fear and pain
while you absorb the quiet.

Bare Bones Breathing

2008-02-17T21:30:00.001-05:00

Desert stumbling
Tattered pale frail
Lonely tripping
Chasm ache

That quicksand quagmire
This endless bright hot dust

They're circling
Darker meaner tighter
Wide-eyed salivating
Blood heat

Careless shred slash gnash
Ravaged flurried white

Is it enough
Bare bones breathing

Eric Maisel YouTube interview

2008-01-28T20:39:00.001-05:00

THE VAN GOGH BLUES; an interview with Eric Maisel

2008-01-16T01:50:00.000-05:00

It's winter in the Midwest of the United States, and that can mean bleak, endless gray days that cast a lot of us into some form of depression. But according to Eric Maisel, PhD, the author of the book The Van Gogh Blues, actively making and maintaining meaning is the "creative person's path through depression" regardless of the time of year.

Below is an interview with the author, a San Francisco-based creativity coach who is the leading expert about the creative life and make-up of the creative person. The following interview is part of the "blog tour" for the paperback version of the book that just came out (click here for the interview about his last work, Ten Zen Seconds). See the tour schedule to read other interviews about The Van Gogh Blues -- some questions are repeated from interview to interview while others are unique to the blog on which they are posted.

Please tell us what The Van Gogh Blues is about.

For more than 25 years I’ve been looking at the realities of the creative life and the make-up of the creative person in books like Fearless Creating, Creativity for Life, Coaching the Artist Within, and lots of others. A certain theme or idea began to emerge: that creative people are people who stand in relation to life in a certain way—they see themselves as active meaning-makers rather than as passive folks with no stake in the world and no inner potential to realize. This orientation makes meaning a certain kind of problem for them—if, in their own estimation, they aren’t making sufficient meaning, they get down. I began to see that this “simple” dynamic helped explain why so many creative people—I would say all of us at one time or another time—get the blues.

To say this more crisply, it seemed to me that the depression that we see in creative people was best conceptualized as existential depression, rather than as biological, psychological, or social depression. This meant that the treatment had to be existential in nature. You could medicate a depressed artist but you probably weren’t really getting at what was bothering him, namely that the meaning had leaked out of his life and that, as a result, he was just going through the motions, paralyzed by his meaning crisis.

Are you saying that whenever a creative person is depressed, we are looking at existential depression? Or might that person be depressed in “some other way”?

When you’re depressed, especially if you are severely depressed, if the depression won’t go away, or if it comes back regularly, you owe it to yourself to get a medical work-up, because the cause might be biological and antidepressants might prove valuable. You also owe it to yourself to do some psychological work (hopefully with a sensible, talented, and effective therapist), as there may be psychological issues at play. But you ALSO owe it to yourself to explore whether the depression might be existential in nature and to see if your “treatment plan” should revolve around some key existential actions like reaffirming that your efforts matter and reinvesting meaning in your art and your life.

So you’re saying that a person who decides, for whatever reason, that she is going to be a “meaning maker,” is more likely to get depressed by virtue of that very decision. In addition to telling herself that she matters and that her creative work matters, what else should she do to “keep meaning afloat” in her life? What else helps?

I think it is a great help just to have a “vocabulary of meaning” and to have language to use so that you know what is going on in your life. If you can’t accurately name a thing, it is very hard to think about that thing. That’s why I present a whole vocabulary of meaning in The Van Gogh Blues and introduce ideas and phrases like “meaning effort,” “meaning drain,” “meaning container,” and many others. When we get a rejection letter, we want to be able to say, “Oh, this is a meaning threat to my life as a novelist” and instantly reinvest meaning in our decision to write novels, because if we don’t think that way and speak that way, it is terribly easy to let that rejection letter precipitate a meaning crisis and get us seriously blue. By reminding ourselves that is our job not only to make meaning but also to maintain meaning when it is threatened, we get in the habit of remembering that we and we alone are in charge of keeping meaning afloat—no one else will do that for us. Having a vocabulary of meaning available to talk about these matters is a crucial part of the process.

A main strategy to averting debilitating depression is simply to become aware of the concept that meaning does not exist until you make it and that it does not stay afloat unless you actively maintain it.

You mention that intimacy and personal relationships are as important to alleviating depression as are individual accomplishments. What is the link between the two and are they forged in similar ways?

It is important that we create and it is also important that we relate. Many artists have discovered that even though their creating feels supremely meaningful to them, creating alone does not alleviate depression. If it did, we would predict that productive and prolific creators would be spared depression, but we know that they have not been spared. More than creating is needed to fend off depression, because we have other meaning needs as well as the need to actualize our potential via creating. We also have the meaning need for human warmth, love, and intimacy: we find loving meaningful. Therefore we work on treating our existential depression in at least these two ways: by reminding ourselves that our creating matters and that therefore we must actively create; and by reminding ourselves that our relationships also matters, and that therefore we must actively relate.

Depression has many negative connotations. How might depression help bring to light issues that other more positive states of being may not?

It isn’t so much that depression brings to light these other states. It is rather that, at least at this point in the evolution of our species, to don the mantle of personal meaning maker, which is the righteous and proper thing to do, means that you look life squarely in the eye and do what it takes to manifest your potential and act as the hero of your own story—and by accepting all this you open the door for depression, since it can be depressing to see the truth about reality and depressing to struggle so hard to bring forth beauty and good works. The depression isn’t any kind of blessing or positive state, but it may be an inevitable by-product of our decision to live honorably.

Based on the premise that creative people inevitably will experience depression because they regularly experience doubts about the meaningfulness of their work, how might having a strong religious/spiritual faith both benefit and hinder the struggle to find and make meaning?

This is a tricky question for me because I am both an atheist and an anti-religionist who believes that god-talk is a betrayal of our common humanity. As soon as you inject that a god has told you something, you have trumped any rational discussion of a subject. Naturally, a believer may find it easier to avoid feelings of meaninglessness because he can take comfort in his beliefs and in this sense he may have an easier time maintaining meaning. To my mind, to make meaning is to accept that you are the sole arbiter of what is going to count as righteous and meaningful in your life.

How does The Van Gogh Blues tie in with other books that you’ve written?

I’m interested in everything that makes a creative person creative and I’m also interested in every challenge that we creative people face. I believe that we have special anxiety issues and I spelled those out in Fearless Creating. I believe that we have a special relationship to addiction (and addictive tendencies) and with Dr. Susan Raeburn, an addiction professional, I’ve just finished a book called Creative Recovery, which spells out the first complete recovery program for creative people. That’ll appear from Shambhala late in 2008. I’m fascinated by our special relationship to obsessions and compulsions and am currently working on a book about that. Everything that we are and do interests me—that’s my “meaning agenda”!

What might a person interested in these issues do to keep abreast of your work?

They might subscribe to my two podcast shows, The Joy of Living Creatively and Your Purpose-Centered Life, both on the Personal Life Media Network. You can find a show list for The Joy of Living Creatively here and one for Your Purpose-Centered Life here. They might also follow this tour, since each host on the tour will be asking his or her own special questions. Here is the complete tour schedule. If they are writers, they might be interested in my new book, A Writer’s Space, which appears this spring and in which I look at many existential issues in the lives of writers. They might also want to subscribe to my free newsletter, in which I preview a lot of the material that ends up in my books (and also keep folks abreast of my workshops and trainings). But of the course the most important thing is that they get their hands on The Van Gogh Blues!—since it is really likely to help them.

She said...

2008-01-11T12:51:00.000-05:00

To make your unknown known — that's the important thing.
Georgia O'Keefe

You See I Want a Lot

2008-01-10T10:41:00.000-05:00

You see, I want a lot.
Perhaps I want everything:
the darkness that comes with every infinite fall
and the shivering blaze of every step up.

So many live on and want nothing,
and are raised to the rank of prince
by the slippery ease of their light judgments.

But what you love to see are faces
that do work and feel thirst.
You love most of all those who need you
as they need a crowbar or a hoe.

You have not grown old, and it's not too late
to dive into your increasing depths
where life calmly gives out its own secret.

Rainer Maria Rilke, translated by Robert Bly

New Slate

2008-01-02T19:33:00.000-05:00

New year, new slate -- I didn't wipe the one from 2007 clean, I demolished it. Bring on 2008!

I've needed a place to post some of these links from the workshop mentioned below -- this blog is it.

This sound clip was sent to me in July -- scroll down to "Who Will Sing for the Nightingale." I first listened to it today; Deborah Henson-Conant is a genuis of a musician but also a phenomenal storyteller. Amazing how violence shapes our lives and sad how many of us can relate.

The video below was shot by L during one of our workshop sessions. I get chills every time I hear it. The riff is repeated over and over to facilitate focusing on embodying the riff as you play it. B is on violin -- and those high voices!! Probably Deborah and one or both of the Irish ladies. I'm on the natural finish harp near the end of the video.

I am distressed to learn that this year's workshop dates conflict with a wedding I'm scheduled to play on the night of the workshop's final performance -- the most important part!

A, one of the Irish ladies, performs a piece by Richard Thompson. Is there anything more beautiful?

And he said...

2007-12-13T23:22:00.000-05:00

A musician must make music, an artist must paint, a poet must write -- if he is to be ultimately at peace with himself. What one can be, one must be.
Abraham Maslow

He said...

2007-12-03T22:33:00.000-05:00

Music is the mediator between the spiritual and the sensual life.
Ludwig van Beethoven

Smaller big dreams

2007-11-20T23:06:00.000-05:00

This simple photo has become a gauge for measuring personal growth over a period of months. Thanks, W, for capturing it for me. It's just starting to make sense how some of this year's experiences have perfectly positioned me for where I am now.

The quest for "my people" brought me to Maine earlier this summer to study with Deborah Henson-Conant (far right), a break-the-barriers harpist I have been following for over a decade. The workshop was intensely introspective, digging deep into how you want to show up as a performer, your relationship with the audience, and the nature of the work you want to bring to the world. Though very painful work at times (on so many levels!), it spurred the beginnings of a launch pad -- a foundation -- from (for me) virtually nothing. All the workshop participants, from all walks of life, became buoys for each other.

On my left (your right) in the hat is C -- I had the privelege of watching her receive an award at Lyon & Healy's Harpfest several weeks later in Utah for a performance she began crafting while we were in Maine. She showed up as her creative, authentic self -- she is a shining example of how great are the rewards when you expose your soul.

On my right (your left) is S -- we met in Maine and picked up and expanded upon our relationship in Utah. We consistently stayed up late discussing the details of the Jazz Harp Foundation that she and B had been formulating for months. At the official launch of the program at Harpfest, they announced their decision of my being the first member on the board of affiliates. We are working on expanding the foundation whose really beautiful tagline reads: "enriching the harp world with jazz and the jazz world with harp." More news soon on the very important work we are doing.

It was in Maine that I first exposed some compositions that I have been working on. There is nothing more terrifying than pushing out personal work into the world when any or all factors are present; 1) your personal / emotional world is a swirling chaotic nightmare, 2) you're in the company of other very accomplished musicians who know your instrument inside and out, 3) you're in the company of one whose work you have admired for years. Nevertheless, I received the validation I've desperately needed and never before experienced as I muddled through my presentation.

I have always wanted to perform with Deborah Henson-Conant --
pulling together final performance details.

Nova Madrugada -- 11/02/07 performance

2007-11-05T12:19:00.000-05:00

November 2, 2007 Nova Madrugada performance at the Columbus Music Hall.

Columbus hosted the Percussive Arts Society International Conference (PASIC) the weekend of our performance, so we were blessed with the opportunity to have a number of attendees sit in with us. Two of them are pictured in the left of the photo, next to Columbus' own Debra Tucker, an amazing singer.

The remaining five, from left to right, are the regulars in our group, minus our saxophone player Mark Donavan -- Ron Hope (percussion) in the back, Roger Hines (bass), Stan Smith (guitar), me (harp), and Dan Thress (drums). Thanks to all who came out!

Sparks will fly

2007-10-23T09:17:00.000-04:00

Earlier this year the shop had to replace a good part of my car's exhaust system, and they were kind enough to reuse what they could... which of course included the catalytic converter that just last week decided to go bad. From my perch in the shop I watched as they worked to undo what they had carefully crafted just months before. A young man lit up the torch and tore into it. No goggles, no gloves, no mask, no headgear, no chainmail, no body armour. Did the bits of fire inches from his face and arms inflict any damage? Apparently not -- he stepped into the shop office moments later perfectly intact, able to have the necessary conversation with the visiting insurance agent about health coverage.

What looked precarious to me was perfectly safe to him -- he knew his limits. Digging in with vigor and certainty.

This past weekend my brother turned 30. I am curious about who might feel older as a result of this -- he or I. As an older sister I marvel at all he has accomplished; married with a house, a job in research secured quickly aftering acquiring his PhD, tearing out and now finishing a garage he built from the ground up -- all this just in the past year and a half. He has a thousand goals and goes after them with incredible energy and focus.

He's returning to music to balance his daily massive intellectual output. In honor of that, his wife and I carved and decorated a guitar cake from two 9 x 13" chocolate cakes, and she bestowed upon him all the equipment and resources necessary for getting back into the game. A guitar on fire -- greatly symbolic for my brother, I think. Look out.

The wedding I played that day was anything but fire. The minister said separately to both bride and groom, "S___, I think since the day you were born your heart was on tiptoe, whispering, where's S____?" (Yes, each had the first intials of "S"). There was no rush in this ceremony, no hurry, just perfect reverence for the experience they've waited a lifetime for. And candles. Thus the dark picture.

The barrage of harp pictures in this blog is part of a bigger project to overhaul my website. The vision remains in my head, waiting to be extracted. Just like the artwork whose deadline is this weekend. This Friday is our Nova Madrugada performance. Look out.

A little night music

2007-10-14T20:16:00.000-04:00

I used to live in a room full of mirrors;
all I could see was me.
I take my spirit and I crash my mirrors,
now the whole world is here for me to see.
Jimi Hendrix

The new Radiohead is out via download only. Listening to it makes one feel that by simply raising one's arms and heart, flying is entirely possible (especially Reckoner).

All wrapped up in one weekend, or rather, one night:
Maggie Green's CD release party
Elisa Nicolas' CD release party
A discussion about the future of Nova Madrugada
Brasiliera at Dick's Den
Running into G at Dick's after working together as volunteers for the WCBE NPR fund drive
Running into the folks from Limestone Vale
Running into the owner of Espresso Yourself Music Cafe
Talking real life with R

A night wedding at Franklin Park Conservatory -- starry lights and candles and jazz harp.

Yes, this is really happening

2007-10-06T21:21:00.000-04:00

Today marks the last of my outdoor wedding harp jobs until next spring. This time of year in Ohio means the temperature could be... anything. I always prefer warm over cold, and today was a hot one with record temperatures. Finding shade to play in is not an act of luxury, it's a necessity for both the instrument and the performer. The first wedding was on the OSU campus -- can you tell by the picture? It was a scarlet and gray wedding, complete with the OSU marching band practicing somewhere in the distance and another sport's happenings being announced across the road. The music on the stand is opened to "Carmen Ohio."

The second wedding had an amazing sound system setup... positioned right over my shoulder. The dog in this ceremony behaved himself nicely. Oh the stories of ceremonies I've played!

In between weddings I had a Rice Dream Chocolate Pie.

Last night I attended a concert by Christine Kane, thanks to tickets I won from WCBE, our outstanding local NPR station. As soon as she started to play you forgot it was just Christine and her guitar. Since she has different tunings for each song, she uses the time between each to tune and talk about life. The audience was captivated. Why? Because she is real.

Somewhere in the middle of the concert I felt incredibly validated as a woman, as a performer, and as a creative, sensitive soul. In her presence, our life struggles don't look like struggles at all -- they are experiences loaded with opportunities to grow if you keep your eyes wide open. I get this in theory, but remembering it is another story. This is simply how it is. There is not "what am I supposed to be doing?" You are already doing it.

Christine also leads workshops (the ways I relate to this woman are seemingly endless). I visited the website of where they are held. Smack on the home page was... a blue heron.

Exploring her website further, I found this:
I am discerning and care-full about how I eat. It is a top priority for me, even when I’m on the road. For your average person, this is just too much trouble. For someone who has had an eating disorder, this is just routine. I keep up a regimen of regular health care, regular exercise, and I take more time than most people to prepare great meals and eat them in a relaxed environment.

There is a lot about this for me. Maybe for another post. An area I'm curious about -- Christine gives some very compelling personal arguments for giving up dairy.

And this:
I will probably continue other practices no matter what. I pay out of pocket for acupuncture. I pay higher prices for organic locally grown food. I take extra time for meals. In our speed and efficiency-driven society with all of its social expectations, this is not a popular route. So be it. I spent way too many years trying to keep up with all of this stuff and contort myself to fit society’s values. Once I created my own and stuck with them - miracle of miracles - I found happiness.

YES. There are so many places to go from here. I continue to have such revealing conversations with other women about finding our place in the world.

And all this ON TOP OF her incredible music!!

Mystic without a monastery

2007-10-04T11:22:00.000-04:00

From today's newsletter by Caroline Myss:

"I believe that to be a 'mystic without a monastery' is a new 'soul's calling', in the same way that people were once called to the new spiritual path of Buddhism and Christianity. We've had fifty years of exploring this new age human consciousness movement, and it's not new anymore. It's middle-aged and needs to mature into a stronger and more dynamic spiritual and social force on this planet. Instead of making people withdraw from the world, to constantly seek their quiet little cabins in the woods and focus on their own healing endlessly, it's time for the generation of mature souls to emerge who can live in both worlds simultaneously - who can be of service to humanity and maintain their contemplative, private life."

Blue Heron

2007-10-03T21:52:00.000-04:00

Every day I try to take an hour walk on the country roads around where I live -- it is the best remedy to qualm the anxiety caused by too many spinning thoughts and ideas and desires. In the middle of my walk, I am on a road that runs along the river, and I have finally achieved some sort of clarity about what's on my mind. I look up, though never at the same spot on the river. Almost always, standing straight and tall in the middle of it is a Great Blue Heron.

It's not as if the heron is a vivid blue, or is doing something to catch my attention. It is just THERE, right where I look, almost waiting for me, looking regal and tall and strong.

(Borrowed picture as I never have my camera with me on the walk).

Valid or not, this bird has become a sort of symbol of reassurance and confirmation. When I stop to gaze at it, for a moment we are both frozen there, and then it lifts it's giant wings and takes flight. The grace and power with which it does this is breathtaking.

Today I was driving home from errands and took another river road. Another perplexing thought was on my mind. I happened to glance over to the river and to my surprise I instantly picked out a blue heron, flying effortlessly in the same direction at the same speed I was driving. You can bet I am going to take action on what was on my mind at the time.

Spinning (again)

2007-10-02T21:52:00.000-04:00

So much is happening so fast. I'm just hoping I'm absorbing it all.

I am mesmerized by the music of Bat for Lashes. I cannot believe I didn't go to the show last night. This woman lives her dreams every day (listen to "Horse and I") -- every haunting, moving, aching dream...

I'm reading the excellent book The Not So Big Life by Sarah Susanka (see blog link under "Other Blogs"). Susanka is an architect who writes about home as a sacred place, a location and space for personal expression, pared down to the essentials where every aspect of your surroundings is deeply meaningful. This book is rife with ideas about living authentically.

Today I had a conversation with CG about sorting through the amazing opportunities that life presents on a daily basis -- right now they are coming at me fast and furious. Am I making the right choices? She mentioned the work of Andrew Harvey, who suggests waking at 3 am and asking what makes your heart bleed, makes every part of you ache, what makes you angry -- this is where your life purpose lies. His idea of spiritual activism entails taking action now as the times almost demand it -- really do something versus, for example, meditating about it. We are so often told to go after the things that make you happy, your wonderful joyous dreams. We are taught to turn away from what touches the most tender part of ourselves.

Susanka includes a quote from Rumi in her book: "There is one thing in this world you must never forget to do. Human beings come into this world to do particular work. That work is their purpose, and each is specific to the person. If you forget everything else and not this, there's nothing to worry about. If you remember everything else and forget your true work, then you will have done nothing with your life."

Moonflowers

2007-09-26T10:38:00.001-04:00

My experiment with moonflowers is paying off; these night blooms are a remarkable sight and I've not smelled anything like them. They sit right outside the bedroom window. They started like this --

And this is what they look like now -- I plan to plant a lot more next year.

Reignite

2007-09-14T12:03:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I attended a Greenbuilding Expo here in Columbus. It didn't take long to realize this event was geared toward contractors and commercial projects vs. homeowners and residential projects like mine. Nevertheless, what I really wanted to do was to see and touch the products I am considering for flooring for the entire lower level of my home, now that the subfloor is laid and everything is level.

The toss-up is between bamboo and cork; the holdup on the decision is of course price, but also durability and quality of product. Reading so much on the internet does not help clarify. The other factor is whether to carry the same flooring from the teaching studio / great room and into the kitchen.

The three samples on the left are cork, the other six are bamboo. For now, yes, that really is the color of all the trim and baseboards in the house.

Luckily, I ran across a local green building supplier at the expo -- Greenovate. They are building a green home just down the road. I'm so excited they are so close and carry all the products I've been researching. I was able to see firsthand another product I've been reading about -- Marmoleum Click, a natural linoleum in a variety of colors. (Sigh). Yet another consideration.

A visit with L two days ago help me realize how I've started to stall out, and not just on the house. She recently returned from her first trip to Italy and is on fire with ideas on what next steps to take in her life. I am so grateful that she is sharing her fire with me -- I needed a spark to reignite my own.

Nova Madrugada

2007-09-13T10:13:00.001-04:00

Last Friday night's performance was another liberating exchange of fiery energy. The location this time was the Columbus Music Hall, a refurbished firehouse near downtown Columbus. Musicians on the roster; Roger Hines on bass, Stan Smith on guitar, Dan Thress on drums, Ron Hope on percussion, Mark Donavan on sax, and Matt Adams on sax. Adams and I were in the same music classes at Capital years ago, and this was the first time we've seen each other and musically conversed since then. Scott Woods recited his amazing poetry, backed by any one of us he felt was appropriate for the poem's theme; he chose harp for a love poem -- ha.

These photos were taken from a phone -- all the other players are off to the right. Our playlist consisted of original compositions and a myriad of spontaneous inventions.

I love the surprise and pleasure the harp seems to bring both listener and fellow musician/artist.

Treasure unearthed

2007-09-11T22:28:00.000-04:00

Who would have known, right down the road. Literally two miles away, over the river.

Limestone Vale is the home of the Lucey's, a vibrant creative family who owns a house I've long admired on a stretch of historic highway. It wasn't until yesterday that I learned they invite the public to congregate around a campfire and under the stars, as musicians play from an open barn on a stage equipped with an incredible sound system. Wine from a local winery, cheese and crackers and fruit, s'mores made on the spot...

Tonight's performance featured two musicians from the California Guitar Trio, Bert Lams (guitar) and Tom Griesgraber (Chapman stick). They performed their own compositions as well as stunning arrangements of Bach, Chopin, and yes, Bob Dylan.

Where is my camera when I need it??

A day like this can be so heavy with grief and fear. This night for me, spent this way, reminds me that life is beautiful and evolving.

A bat comes rocketing out of the barn -- it's trajectory appears careless and aimless. In reality it is guided by an innate knowing, an unfailing trust. In this gorgeous place I feel suspended in time and space -- what a gift it is to be among others so deeply in love with life.

Alfredo Rolando Ortiz workshop

2007-09-10T14:53:00.001-04:00

This past Saturday, Alfredo Rolando Ortiz came through Columbus and offered a workshop and concert for local harpists. Our most gracious host offered up her fabulous home and delicious food, both of which were just perfect for this intimate gathering. Thank you, Kate!

Ortiz always does an excellent job of conveying the importance of a relaxed technique when you play the repetitive rhythms and bass lines of South American music on harp. Paraguayan harps have such a full sound, in part due to less tension on the strings; his technique allows the instrument's rich tones to fully resonate. He challenged us to look at our own technique but was careful to add that he's not advocating we change it. I love that he is all about efficiency of movement with the least amount of tension, and to be conscious at all times of what we are doing and how we are doing it.

A picture of our group -- a few attendees had left before it was taken.

I am just thrilled

2007-09-04T21:53:00.000-04:00

BEFORE (see "before" shot of inside the house below).

AFTER (trim is coming)

Let there be (more) light

2007-08-30T20:00:00.000-04:00

I got the windows yesterday. They're currently stacked in the back of my Volvo. This is a major step in my whatever-phase of home renovation, which is going surprisingly well. When you are in whatever-phase, though, you probably haven't defined what it means to be "finished," so the end isn't exactly near.

The window factory was about two hours away. You would think that driving for quite some time on a gray ribbon of a highway in 92 degrees would render me relieved to find myself on desolate, twisting, winding, roller coaster back roads. Surely the window factory is not out among the river people in their unique puzzle-piece shacks. Driving by these abodes it's impossible not to wonder why exactly is it that I need new windows when these places seem to need new.... everything. And then there is the window factory, right along the seemingly not-moving milk chocolate Muskingum River (the name of which I had to come home to look up). Armed with my windows, I drive past the river houses again, wondering who I would be if I lived here.

I've absolutely never been fond of roller coasters. I realized that is precisely the term that I've been using to describe my overall experience this summer -- er, year. At the crest, it is brilliant, clear, dry, obvious. At each turn, in every direction, other hills and crests recede in shades of greenish-blue, just past the even ordered rows of farmland. In the valley, it is damp, swampy, eerie, black. In these valleys the light is dappled, the growth is dense and jungle-like, and the scent of decaying earth is heavy. But it's here is where the real, uninhibited growth occurs, where all is fertile and things begin, wild and unhampered.

This is the room where the windows will be installed. It's my teaching studio, and I have been here for six years. This is a south-facing wall -- mirrors currently grace the exact space on either side of the mysterious chimney-ish outcropping where the windows will go. Once installed, the windows that have travelled over the river and through the woods will allow dappled light into a room and house to caress the places of breakdown and decay, ensuring fertile, uninhibited growth.

Belief

2007-08-13T08:28:00.001-04:00

Your vision will become clear only
when you can look into your own heart.
Who looks outside, dreams.
Who looks inside, awakens.

Carl Jung

Entitled

2007-06-30T15:56:00.000-04:00

O flailing one
You suck
The light
I will always
Flip the switch
ON

New or old

2007-06-03T00:14:00.000-04:00

I am embarking on a new project a la Gabrielle Swain. She is a brave and wonderful artist and I think she is on to something with her latest commitment to self-exploration.

In keeping with this theme I am finally pulling together the list of seven that my dear friend J tagged me for weeks ago. I adore her 100 things post. The list of seven merely requires sharing seven random facts/habits about yourself on your blog, and then tagging seven other people to do the same. I have not yet tagged seven people -- watch out, you're on my list.

1. In middle school I went out for track because my good friend J was in it. Because she was throwing discus and shotput, that's what I did. Hilarious! I was not built for that -- she was. My niche was running at high speeds for short distances.

2. I was born with "trigger finger" in my pinky fingers, which meant my fingers would curl up tight due to inflammation of the tendon flexor sheath. I could straighten them with much snap, crackle, and pop, but it was painful, and they almost immediately returned to their curled up position. Not good for playing the piano. I had to wait until a certain age for surgery. My scars run along the heart line on each hand.

3. In my pre-teen and teen years I religiously listened to the radio; I gravitated to classic rock stations vs. the top 40. Soon I had my favorites and patiently waited until they came on so I could punch the record button on the tape player and preserve them for all eternity (ha). When I finally learned the titles and artists, it turned out what I was most excited about were Led Zeppelin tunes and I had no inkling who they were. Later in high school, classic rock was all that was played in the art room where my creativity was honed and nurtured by my all-time favorite teacher and mentor.

4. I learned to play the harp in college when I witnessed a woman playing one at an art gallery opening I was required to attend. I was majoring in both art and music at the time, and piano was my primary instrument. The conservatory agreed to set me up with harp lessons once they pulled their one and only harp from a professor's office where it was being used as a coat rack.

5. I became a vegetarian in high school when it was so not cool. Finding healthy, whole, organic foods was not as easy then as it is today. Even though my focus was on healthy eating (the only family member at the time devoted to it), I was the dessert-maker at home and I relished that role. As a young girl my very favorite food -- what I requested for birthday dinners -- was a big steak. Today my favorite foods are organic dry roasted salted cashews, Organic Valley feta cheese, and as-dark-as-possible organic chocolate.

6. I have kept journals for as long as I can remember. I am currently on journal #31, and I don't think this counts the Strawberry Shortcake journal with the special lock and key, or the ones made of ruled paper sandwiched between marker-decorated construction paper and stapled together. I have hand painted the covers of the last ten journals, abhor lined paper, and write very small. I have relied on these journals as reference guides to what really happened when my memory (consciously or subconsciously?) slips.

7. I was a painfully shy child, almost mute in the presence of others. I attended a private school where my class had a whopping number of eight classmates, which was way too many for me. In middle and high school I had experiences that brought mortality up close and personal, and delved into what now looks like a torrent of attempts to establish an identity. The result: sophomore homecoming attendant, senior homecoming attendant, newspaper write-ups for school murals, class VP, Student Council, secretary of NHS, Valedictorian. Just what was I trying to prove?

Interview with Eric Maisel - Ten Zen Seconds

2007-05-18T09:02:00.000-04:00

San Francisco-based creativity coach and author Eric Maisel has been working with creative and performing artists for more than twenty years and has written over thirty books, many of which address the ups and downs of the artist's life.

His recent book, Ten Zen Seconds; Twelve Incantations for Power, Purpose, and Calm, explores techniques for reducing stress, centering, and remembering how you want to live your life.

Eric is engaged in an extensive blog book tour, and I'm excited to be a part of it! My interest in his work is personal; I've used his creativity coaching services and own several of his other books, including Fearless Creating, Van Gogh Blues, and Coaching the Artist Within. My interview questions explore only a facet of how this program works. Please visit the Ten Zen Second website for other blogs and interviews with Eric; more information about Eric Maisel follows the interview.

TH: How might TZS help to organize/prioritize the many ideas and actions that arise each day for a creative person?

EM: The Ten Zen Seconds technique is part of a program for increasing daily mindfulness and helping people learn how to create “islands of mindfulness” in their busy day. By practicing this program you begin to prioritize around meaning and learn how to put your most meaningful work and your cherished obligations higher up on your to-do list, rather than being continually yanked about by deadlines, crises, and day job/money-making responsibilities.

(View the twelve incantations of this program here).

TH: As artists, feedback from the outside world is crucial. How might those who are learning to not be completely dependent on outside sources for validation use it?

EM: The most important incantation in this regard is “I trust my resources,” which in this case you would interpret to mean “I trust my own judgments about my creative work and my creative life and I trust my ability to know what to do next and how to do it.”

The second most important incantation in this regard is “I make my meaning,” which reminds you that you must take responsibility for your choices, your work, and the way you live your life, irrespective of what others say or what others, by their silence, imply. We need others to buy our books, come to our concerts, buy our paintings, and so on, and so our audience must be cultivated—but they do not validate us. That we do for ourselves.

TH: How might TZS help artists remain authentic to themselves and not forego their own identity in order to please the outside world? Or, how might TZS help an artist maintain a grip on her own reality, vs. buying into that of someone else?

EM: The idea embedded in the incantation “I am doing my work” is that I have a solid sense of what I want to do with my life—or, if not with my life, at least with this next hour and this current day—and that it is incumbent upon me, in order for me to respect myself and earn my sense of heroism, to do the things I know that I ought to be doing.

We may not actually feel equal to this challenge by using incantations like “I do my work,” “I am taking action,” and “I an equal to this challenge,” but we begin to put the habit in place of honoring our vision for ourselves and maintaining a grip on the reality we want for ourselves.

TH: When engaging in meaning-making, sometimes artists find that the environment in which they were working may not have been healthy, and in some cases, toxic. How might TZS help an artist continue to create in this type of environment?

EM: First, by identifying which aspects of that environment, if any, can be changed and by then finding the courage to stand up and make those changes (which often means confronting others, including loved ones).

Conversely, if, say, you are working with a rude editor whom you need and whom you know can’t be changed, then you let go of the idea of changing your environment and move to incantation 2, “I expect nothing,” with real eagerness, learning how to detach from the toxicity of the interaction with that editor while still engaging with her.

To expect her to change when you know that she won’t is a common but profound mistake: instead, we detach from that need and, by detaching, reduce our experience of pain in our dealings with her.

TH: On the flip side, how might TZS help these artists find / build a supportive community that will contribute to their growth?

EM: Incantation 5, “I feel supported,” along with incantation 9, “I am open to joy,” can really help in this regard. If you know that you want community and better connections in the art marketplace but also know that trying to make those connections makes you anxious, then using those two incantations to promote an attitude shift and some anxiety management can prove really useful.

You want to change your mind about other people and begin to hold them as potentially valuable, rather than as dangerous, and as potentially on your side, rather than indifferent or hostile. Many of the incantations, among them “I am free of the past” (especially if past interactions now make you wary of future interactions), can help to build this new habit.

TH: There is a lot of talk about the Law of Attraction ("The Secret"), which focuses on visualization and outcomes. What is the difference between the Law of Attraction and TZS?

EM: I actually don’t know what “the secret” and the “law of attraction” are all about, but I doubt them on the face of it. We don’t attract earthquakes, military dictatorships, or the sun setting for all time—the idea that we can attract things (probably wealth, I would guess) strikes me as absurd as inventing gods who look like men.

I suspect it is a version of the oldest con game, namely one person telling another person that they can have something for free, with no effort, if only they will believe and fork over some money for the book, video, and the training program. But, as I say, I don’t know what these hot, new things are, so I can’t say how TZS differs from them. My hunch is that TZS, by promoting hard work, personal responsibility, and the letting go of outcomes, probably stands in opposition to any law of attraction.

TH: What might a TZS plan look like for someone attempting to come out of a creative rut?

EM: The first step is always recovering the belief that what you do matters, at least to you. You want to recover the sense that you are committed to your creative life and that you are willing to take responsibility for your creative life. To help encourage these feelings to return, you might try incantation 12, “I return with strength,” as renewed strength is one of the key ingredients to starting back up with something as arduous as “real creating.”

Another piece of the puzzle is reminding yourself that there is no perfect time to begin, that you are always in the middle of something, and that beginning is the thing to do, an attitude supported by several of the incantations, among them “I am equal to this challenge,” “I am taking action,” and “I embrace this moment.”

TH: Have you noticed any trends about who uses what incantations across gender, age, or creative path?

EM: The one constant is that women are much more likely to adopt self-help mindfulness practices than men, perhaps in the ratio of 10 to 1. It is not at all unusual for me to run a workshop that has 18 women in it and 2 men. In fact, this past weekend I facilitated a small Coaching the Writer Within workshop that 9 women and 1 man attended.

As to age, I think that cuts across the board, as does creative path, both in terms of creative discipline and accomplishment. Of course, I believe that these methods are great for everyone, including adolescents and older children—and men, too, if only they wouldn’t stubbornly cling to their refusal to ask for directions when they are lost!

TH: How might TZS work in conjunction with journaling, counseling/therapy, or other forms of self-introspection?

EM: In a seamless way, I think. Other methods of self-awareness, growth, healing and introspection have their important place in a person’s life but they are not typically available as a tool or strategy when you are driving along and want to center, are in a meeting and want to reduce your stress, have fifteen minutes at your disposal and want to work on your novel for a bit, and so on.

Most other methods and systems are not designed to promote mindfulness quickly and “in real time,” whereas that is the main function—and strength—of the Ten Zen Seconds method.

****
Ten Zen Seconds can be purchased through Amazon. To learn more about Eric's new projects as well as his creativity coaching services, visit www.ericmaisel.com.

Fire and light

2007-05-06T23:23:00.000-04:00

I am not unlike the fire I lit in the firepit today where I attempted to burn away the bank statements and fallen branches and dead leaves from last year and weeds that have no other place to be. I love fire. But the pit smoldered and sputtered and smoke pillared and billowed and infiltrated the neighbors' yards. Layers of material needing to disappear only suffocated under each other, stifled pathetic little flames and sent out white gray warning smoke signals for hours making the pile virtually impossible to get near.

Next time I will burn quick and high and hot.

I removed the hateful humming flourescent light from the kitchen. There was nothing technically wrong with the 50" x 18" box of dreadful dead light for the one room where the most time is spent. But when it's on you can hear the humming upstairs, sometimes and indicator of whether or not someone is home yet, or whether someone is watching TV in the dark or passed out, or whether you accidentally left it on when you finally crawled into bed. There is nothing to put in its place, but there is a lightness in knowing the hum will never be heard again for any reason.

Listening to:
Radiohead -- You, Nude, High & Dry, Videotape, 15 Step, All I Need

Fullness

2007-05-02T22:46:00.000-04:00

Tonight is the full moon. My favorite. I am creating a space outside for moonflowers to climb underneath my window. Moonflowers bloom at night and are known for giving off an intoxicating scent. If all goes well, I will post pictures.

One of my best friends in the world had her first baby at the end of March. She grew so large and full, and now there is this extension of her, outside of her, and I love the idea that this little boy will know and so unconditionally love the wonderful woman that I am so grateful to have known since college.

Usually I send a crocheted blanket, but I'm pretty sure I had already sent them one a few years back, so baby Ethan got a handmade doll, fashioned in the Waldorf style. About 6" x 6" of squishable softness. Some Waldorf dolls don't have facial features, presumably so the children to whom they belong can use their imaginations about how they look at any given time. Because the Waldorf / Rudolph Steiner school I attended for only a few years in grade school shaped a lot of who I am and what I hold dear today, there will inevitably be more references made to it throughout this blog.

Start over

2007-05-01T23:24:00.000-04:00

There is a thunderstorm blowing through right now. Which probably means I shouldn't be on the computer.

This is a real thunderstorm -- "real" means true bright bluish bolts of touch-down lightning followed by the sound of the sky shattering. It reminds me of when I was a girl living in Colorado, where the prevalent thunderstorms always felt like opportunities to start over. The driving rain would wash new gulleys in the driveway, or wash out the dirt roads altogether; the lightning might splinter a tree, or cause one to completely explode. If possible, I would park myself outside somewhere to watch; if my aunt was in town, she would join me.

Always, the intoxicating fresh and clean scent of sage hung in the air after the clouds and the lightning and the rain blew by. The storms wouldn't hang around in Colorado like they do in Ohio. The billowing purple monsters forged through the sky and the sun would come out again, and inevitably, UNFAILINGLY, the rainbow.

Full color, sometimes double, arching over the mountains, or over the house... run run run through the neighborhood to get the best view, over pitted dirt driveways and through scrub oak and sage.... we're clean again, shining with new(er) promise and hope -- see? There's the rainbow. Now we can start over.

Andrew Bird -

2007-04-30T22:56:00.001-04:00