Somerset Studio March 2011
Somerset Studio March/April 2011 The latest from Across the Globe ~ an inspiring story about artist Gus Harper and his involvement with Project 131, an “organization with the purpose of collecting new and reusable art supplies and distributing them throughout the 131 impoverished nations of the world.”
Wondrous
The way the dewdrops fly up into the air, sparkling in the sunlight, when Tilda chases a toy in the morning.
The way tiny fluttering bugs dip and hover in the sun’s rays later in the day as Tilda bounds around the yard chasing bees.
Fresh pineapple.
An evening with two lovely souls, when I get to sit in between them, hold their hands, and laugh until I cry.
Seeing my best friend embark upon a lifelong dream come true.
A deep breath.
The bills paid. The laundry done. The bed made.
The smell of jasmine catching me off guard in the early evening ~ a sign that spring is coming.
The shock of an unexpected loss, the kind that inspires longer hugs, hands held closer, and an extra prayer of gratitude.
Everyone in the family safe and sound.
This day. This moment. This breath.
Head in the Clouds
Although they can be slightly claustrophobic, too hot, too cold, a bit cramped, and sometimes even nauseating, I have a strange appreciation for long flights. During those journeys that take me across continents, oceans, and time zones, I am forced to sit still and be alone with my thoughts. Which is why, even though I am prone to mild chitchat as I go about my usual day-to-day routines on the ground, once I board an airplane my goal is to tacitly let the world know I want to be left alone. I keep to myself, attention focused out the window, headphones on as soon as I’m allowed. Armed with crossword puzzles, podcasts, a few magazines, and, now, my husband’s Kindle, I settle in for a long stretch of hours when I am immune to phone calls and emails, not to mention Tilda.
One thing that usually happens on these flights is my creative ideas morph and multiply. With free reign to flit and flutter wherever they want, these ideas go in all sorts of directions, filling my brain with visions of magical weekend workshops, art installations, books, trips, tea parties, and performances on stage. I make a lot of lists on these flights, and I take some of those ideas as far as I think they might go in my mind. I daydream. I visualize. I let any and all sparks of inspiration run wild.
I always come to the same conclusion as my plane touches the ground, which is that it is a maddening, magnificently beautiful gift to want to do so much. It is not humanly possible for me to pursue all the ideas I come up with on any given week (or flight), which is why another tendency I have is to throw ideas out to the world and dive right into them too quickly. My ambitions usually far exceed what I can realistically pull off, and one repeating cycle in my life is to bite off more than I can chew, wear myself out, collapse in a heap of tears, and then start all over again. I’m getting better, but I doubt I’ll ever completely escape that routine, and I’m actually OK with that.
I had lunch with a friend last week, a date that had been on our calendars for weeks, yet we both came within inches of canceling, each of us already pushed to the limits time-wise with work, home, life, and impending travel. Immediately we both admitted we weren’t “at our best”, weren’t feeling especially great about how frazzled we let ourselves become, but determined not to let the noise of our lives prevent us from sitting down and sharing a meal. And that time was so precious for so many reasons, not the least of which is that we both reminded one another that this is the life we have chosen and created, this life of endless creative ideas, a wide circle of friends and family, and a profound determination to devour life in every way possible.
Most of the ideas I outlined in my journal on yesterday’s flight probably won’t see the light of day. The majority of the visions that filled my head with glitter and joy won’t go any further than that. But that is OK. I can’t do it all, but I can do a lot. And for all the ideas that I’m not able to make real in the here and now of the world, there’s always the next flight, when I can let them fly freely in the wide open skies of my wild imagination.
Tidbits
I’m headed back east tomorrow through next week. In the meantime, I have a new feature in the current issue of Somerset Studio, and I’m also interviewed in Somerset Apprentice!
Have a great weekend!
Art Saves
| ART SAVES: Stories, Inspiration and Prompts Sharing the Power of Art | |
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{Contributor} by Jenny Doh See how, through our various artistic releases, you can connect with a deeper part of yourself, escape from the challenges and pressures of life and connect with those in need. Inside Art Saves, be inspired by 20 artists who have used their talent and passion to elevate and infuse their lives with beauty and meaning. In addition to reading the various artists’ stories and discovering the beautiful photos in this book, you will also be walked step-by-step through a project from each artist and also find tips on how they can use art in their own lives. |
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Refusing to Give Up
The other night the LA Chamber Orchestra performed Beethoven’s 2nd Symphony in D major. Before the performance, a speaker took the stage and read his Heiligenstadt Testament, written when he was just 28 years old and deep in the throes of devastating hearing loss. He finished his famed 9th Symphony 21 years later, and “…there is a well-attested story that, at the end of the premiere of this symphony, he had to be turned around to see the tumultuous applause of the audience; hearing nothing, he wept.” (source: Wikipedia)
The Testament is not an easy read, and, as you can see, it is long. But I felt compelled to share it here for two reasons. One, because he was working on his 2nd Symphony at the same time he wrote this Testament, and it is joyful, lyrical composition. I am hardly a classical music expert ~ that title belongs to my husband ~ but to get a small glimpse into his suffering and then hear the music he created despite that suffering was inspiring to say the least. He was losing the sense he needed most of all, but as an artist, he still had music to write ~ joyful, beautiful music ~ and he kept working. Even when his hearing went away completely, he kept working. He worked his entire life.
The second reason I wanted to share it is because there were parts of the Testament that spoke to his feeling of wanting to be of service to the world, and being unable to give up his life and work “until (he) had brought forth all that (he) felt was within (him).” He wrote that within him “dwells the love of mankind and the desire to do good“, and when I heard those particular passages, I thought about the connections that exist between people across decades, centuries, continents, and languages. And I wondered if that wasn’t perhaps the strongest connection of all ~ the experience of finding our greatest passions and callings, the ones that are so fierce and undeniable that we have no choice but to go forth and DO ~ to act, work, sing, create, build, organize, lead, follow, plant, nurture, play, compose, teach, write, help, lift, listen, guide, and invent. Just to find these sparks within us sometimes seems miraculous, but then to fully commit our hearts and souls to them no matter what roadblocks, twists, and turns try derail the journey we’ve mapped out for ourselves ~ well that is another story entirely, and usually the more interesting one.
This Testament isn’t the happiest of documents ~ it speaks more of Beethoven’s suffering, as a man and an artist. But I still find it rather magnificent and hopeful considering he continued to create music for another 25 years after it was written, even after his hearing was completely lost. His is a heartbreaking story, that is not to be denied, but a powerful one as well. Despite enduring the most devastating loss possible, he did not give up his art, and did not give up on the world.
“This is the mark of a really admirable man: steadfastness in the face of trouble.” ~ Ludwig van Beethoven
For my brothers Carl and [Johann] Beethoven
Oh you men who think or say that I am malevolent, stubborn, or misanthropic, how greatly do you wrong me? You do not know the secret cause which makes me seem that way to you. From childhood on, me heart and soul have been full of the tender feeling of goodwill, and I was ever inclined to accomplish great things. But, think that for six years now I have been hopelessly afflicted, made worse by senseless physicians, from year to year deceived with hopes of improvement, finally compelled to face the prospect of a lasting malady (whose cure will take years or, perhaps, be impossible). Though born with a fiery, active temperament, even susceptible to the diversions of society, I was soon compelled to withdraw myself, to live life alone. If at times I tried to forget all this, oh how harshly I was I flung back by the doubly sad experience of my bad hearing. Yet it was impossible for me to say to people, “Speak louder, shout, for I am deaf.” Ah, how could I possibly admit an infirmity in the one sense which ought to be more perfect in me than others, a sense which I once possessed in the highest perfection, a perfection such as few in my profession enjoy or ever have enjoyed.–Oh I cannot do it; therefore forgive me when you see me draw back when I would have gladly mingled with you.
My misfortune is doubly painful to me because I am bound to be misunderstood; for me there can be no relaxation with my fellow men, no refined conversations, no mutual exchange of ideas. I must live almost alone, like one who has been banished; I can mix with society only as much as true necessity demands. If I approach near to people a hot terror seizes upon me, and I fear being exposed to the danger that my condition might be noticed. Thus it has been during the last six months which I have spent in the country. By ordering me to spare my hearing as much as possible, my intelligent doctor almost fell in with my own present frame of mind, though sometimes I ran counter to it by yielding to my desire for companionship. But what a humiliation for me when someone standing next to me heard a flute in the distance and I heard nothing, or someone standing next to me heard a flute in the distance and I heard nothing, or someone heard a shepherd singing and again I heard nothing. Such incidents drove me almost to despair; a little more of that and I would have ended me life — it was only my art that held me back. Ah, it seemed to me impossible to leave the world until I had brought forth all that I felt was within me. So I endured this wretched existence — truly wretched for so susceptible a body, which can be thrown by a sudden change from the best condition to the very worst. — Patience, they say, is what I must now choose for my guide, and I have done so — I hope my determination will remain firm to endure until it pleases the inexorable Parcae to break the thread. Perhaps I shall get better, perhaps not; I am ready. — Forced to become a philosopher already in my twenty-eighth year, oh it is not easy, and for the artist much more difficult than for anyone else. ‘Divine one, thou seest me inmost soul thou knowest that therein dwells the love of mankind and the desire to do good’. Oh fellow men, when at some point you read this, consider then that you have done me an injustice; someone who has had misfortune man console himself to find a similar case to his, who despite all the limitations of Nature nevertheless did everything within his powers to become accepted among worthy artists and men. ‘You, my brothers Carl and [Johann], as soon as I am dead, if Dr. Schmidt is still alive, ask him in my name to describe my malady, and attach this written documentation to his account of my illness so that so far as it possible at least the world may become reconciled to me after my death”.
At the same time, I declare you two to be the heirs to my small fortune (if so it can be called); divide it fairly; bear with and help each other. What injury you have done me you know was long ago forgiven. To you, brother Carl, I give special thanks for the attachment you have shown me of late. It is my wish that you may have a better and freer life than I have had. Recommend virtue to your children; it alone, not money, can make them happy. I speak from experience; this was what upheld me in time of misery. Thanks to it and to my art, I did not end my life by suicide — Farewell and love each other — I thank all my friends, particularly Prince Lichnowsky’s and Professor Schmidt — I would like the instruments from Prince L. to be preserved by one of you, but not to be the cause of strife between you, and as soon as they can serve you a better purpose, then sell them. How happy I shall be if can still be helpful to you in my grave — so be it. — With joy I hasten to meed death. — If it comes before I have had the chance to develop all my artistic capacities, it will still be coming too soon despite my harsh fate, and I should probably wish it later — yet even so I should be happy, for would it not free me from a state of endless suffering? — Come when thou wilt, I shall meed thee bravely. — Farewell and do not wholly forget me when I am dead; I deserve this from you, for during my lifetime I was thinking of you often and of ways to make you happy — please be so –
Ludwig van Beethoven
Heiligenstadt,
October 6th, 1802
