A Creative Love Letter to Boston

Make way for ducklings

I’m thinking about procrastination and why it is so hard to get started on projects sometimes. For instance, I haven’t posted to this blog in a while. It’s not that I haven’t felt creative, or haven’t had anything to say about the subject. I’ve just been too busy to combine heart and soul with words that seem to fit and inspire. Sometimes I don’t take time to do the things I truly love because I want to wait until I can give them the proper time or attention. Sometimes I am waiting for creative lightning to strike. Another side to creative procrastination can be delaying projects (think “homework”) until it is clear that there is not a lot of time left to complete them, and that the consequences of not completing them are undesirable. Then there is a scramble to finish on time and, surprisingly, the results are often better than imagined, despite the worry and hurry—as with my master’s thesis.

Back in the dinosaur age (i.e. “pre-computer”), I went to Boston University for two years and earned a Master of Fine Arts in Graphic Design. The degree program was for me a bit of a “finishing school” in the profession I had been working in for the four years after college. Prodding from family members convinced me that achieving this additional degree would be a feather in my cap and perhaps lead to a better-paying job. It also enabled me to teach at the college level. What it really did for me was to give me the focus on graphic design that I had not gained at the undergraduate level, having taken only one class in graphic design my last semester at the University of Kansas. I moved to Boston after graduation, interned at a magazine and the rest is history.

Looking west from Boston Common

During those two years at BU, I and my fellow graduate graphic designers designed a variety of projects from building signage to wine labels. We did not use computers—we used tracing paper or Letraset transfer letters to comp type, we drew detailed layouts with markers and pencil, we used stat cameras to create mechanicals from which we created finished products—very old school! My thesis consisted of a gallery showing of my chosen subject at a group exhibition. My subject was based on a lifelong love—color. My general focus was the emotional and physical effects of color—how we perceive it, how it affects us, and how we use it and why.

My instructor indicated to me that this was perhaps a little too broad a subject. He came to me the spring of the thesis exhibition to tell me he wasn’t convinced I could complete a presentation on time, and if I didn’t get started, I might not graduate. That was chilling, and the kick in the pants I needed. I sprang into action and spent the two weeks before the show in my cubicle frantically cutting out pieces of colored paper and getting lightheaded from the fumes of the rubber cement I used to adhere them to Fomecore board.

Ducks from the Boston Public Garden

In addition to displaying text panels and examples describing color theory, I used all that information to create a series of posters that combined things dear to my heart—photography and graphic design…and Boston.

I trudged all over Boston with my camera (remember, this is pre-digital) and took photos of all the things I loved about my adopted city. Tall buildings with a bit of blue sky peaking between them. Blurry green and yellow shots of the subway. The North End with colorful store fronts, and Christmas lights and flags decorating old brick buildings. The New England Aquarium. Fanueil Hall Marketplace. With inspiration from these photographs and others I created semi-abstract posters to show how color could evoke feelings of different areas of a city. I completed my work in time for the thesis exhibition, where I displayed both the posters and their inspirational photos.

There was another project during that time—I needed to create a slide presentation that told a story. I asked a fellow student to let me take photos of him as if he were running in the Boston Marathon and lifting his arms in elation as he “crossed” the finish line. I loved the marathon. I would often hang out with friends on Beacon Street the day of the marathon, cheering on every sweaty runner who went puffing by. I thought marathoners were rock stars, especially the ones that took five hours to finish.

The variety of Boston architecture

Those slower but hardy runners and their friends and families are the ones who were the victims of the horrific bombings this week on April 15 at the finish line of the Boston Marathon. The bombings are an unbelievably evil act that is hard to comprehend—people out for a fun day experience the kind of trauma found in war casualties. Three young people are killed just as their lives are beginning.

Those of us who love Boston—but now live far away—feel a bit helpless as to how to help the city that will always be a part of us. These sad events have made me think again of the place I called home for 23 years. I think back to a time when I used this wonderful city as a subject for the biggest personal creative project I ever had. I could have chosen any subject to demonstrate how one can use color, but in choosing Boston itself, I believe now that I was simply showing my love for the city without being aware of it. Sometimes we are not always aware of how much we love someone (or someplace) until something unexpectedly awful happens to them.

Flags on the Boston waterfront

Boston, I love you. I am thinking of your people who are injured or dead because of this unthinkable act of violence, and wish you and them peace and healing. I don’t know what to say or do, except to tell you that you are under my skin. Your colors, sights, and sounds live with me and bring me warm memories.

I truly believe that once you draw or photograph something that it becomes familiar to you and part of you. You have taken the time to notice it and be with it in the moment. You will always carry with you the intensity of the time you spent with your subject. You own it. It owns you. Boston owns me. And I like that.

I’m sorry that lightning did indeed have to strike for me to feel I had something to write about after four months of blogging silence. I do have another project hanging fire, but somehow sending a love note to Boston during its toughest week ever seems more important. We all have our own creative process and maybe it doesn’t matter how a project gets done. We do what we have to do and maybe find unexpected muses along the way—as Boston was for me.

Boston, you got me to the finish line so many years ago. Thanks for the time you spent with me to make me your own. You have colored who I am.

A Creative New Year Ahead

As with all weeks after Christmas, I am itching to play with all the new creative tools (OK, OK, “toys”) I received under the tree. Not the least of which was an IPad that I didn’t even ask for (but SOMEone was paying attention when I would drool over them at Best Buy while playing with the art apps on them). One of the first things I downloaded from the App Store was a nifty program called “ArtStudio”. Not bad for $4.99, and the greeting above is this morning’s effort, created while a cat nestles on my foot. With a cat asleep on my foot that means I can’t move anyway, so I might as well create. Thanks, Tom, I needed that impetus to play!

I have been so busy lately that I haven’t posted here in a while. That doesn’t mean I haven’t been creative or felt the itch to be, at least. It means I haven’t taken the TIME to write here or even implement my creative ideas as much as I wish (oh, K-cup wreath, you’ll have to wait for next Christmas). Why do we feel guilty to take time away from bills and chores to do something that feeds the very core of us? Sometimes we fill our time with visiting and performing and other wonderful things, but those louder voices push away the time for quieter, more internal endeavors. Even those of us who create for a living need to make ourselves the client now and then–it’s a different kind of mindset. I get so much peace out of time spent creating, yet somehow I forget that quiet joy when other things come knocking at the door.

Taking TIME to do what fills your soul and makes you who you are should not be considered a selfish act. It is a fearless act, however, as we often don’t know what form an act of creativity will take or what it will dredge up from our well of hidden hopes and dreams. We are afraid we will get lost in it and we will waste TIME when we could be doing things we think we SHOULD be doing. We know what to expect from chores and activity–we know what will happen if the bills aren’t paid and we know that seeing friends and singing in the choir give us intrinsic immediate joy. They are reliable and predictable results. We don’t always know what to expect from creativity and it can be a bit daunting to plunge into the unknown. We also get twice as much for our efforts–a finished product we can see, read, hear, or taste and also a raft of thoughts that rush to gallop alongside as we create. Always, always, I am enriched by an act of creativity. It opens a door through which insight may enter.

I’d like to be brave this year. I’d like to reach up and take TIME in both fists to see who I am inside. My wish for you this year is for you also to take TIME (don’t worry, I left you some) to do those things that really make you tick and connect you with the sleeping thoughts within. I know a lot of people are dealing with a tough year ahead, and taking time for themselves seems trivial. Au contraire! Taking time to observe and record and emote is so important. It’s scary, too, to slow down long enough to see what we are inside, to hear the inner voices of hope and fear without drowning them out. This “time for yourself” is healing and growth. It doesn’t matter what it looks like. It’s the process that’s important. I wish them and you some quiet amid the storm.

I’d like to add that meeting kindred souls is a wonderful thing. Sharing your creations and creative experiences and thoughts with others of similar interest can expand and inspire your creative world. My plunge into blogging has been validated by meeting the other wonderfully thoughtful and creative bloggers I have found here–people who love what they do and willingly share that product of inner connection.

Happy Creative New Year, everyone!

Jane

Do creative projects have a lifespan?

Statue made in college by my mother

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about whether or not to dispose of things that I have created. For that matter, even things that other people have created. I find myself inundated with a lifetime of graphic design projects, watercolors, photographs, craft projects, you name it, that languish in boxes and portfolios scattered throughout my home. I am hard pressed to let go, as if these items have lives for which I am responsible.

I was fortunate to be the daughter of a creative mother. She was an occupational therapist and artist and dollmaker and general expert craft enthusiast. She knew exactly what projects to give me to keep my little creative self occupied on a rainy day (or any day—it was hard to get me to do anything but read and be creative). And she rarely disposed of anything that she (or we) created. Sadly, she is gone, but many of her own projects live on in my home. She also added to my own pile of acidified art by saving my grade school efforts in crayon on construction paper. Yes, that is love.

Two events occurred recently that forced me to think about the impermanence of art, and gave me the opportunity to ponder on the lifespan of creative projects.

I returned to my hometown a lot in the last year to deal with settling my mother’s estate, and work with my brother to properly dispense of her possessions. One of the items he kept was a small statue that she had made in a college art class – an elegant wire-framed plaster sculpture with fluid Modigliani lines of a woman and a dog, the brown paint crackling in an interesting textural way to show the white plaster beneath.

All is but dust in the wind (yes, I’m from Kansas). My brother called to give me the bad news—the statue had been accidentally broken beyond repair and had to be discarded. We were both a bit wistful about this. Losing this item that she had made, and that we had grown up admiring, was like losing a piece of her—particularly since we knew how much love and care she put into everything she made.

Tibetan monk creating sand mandala

In another recent visit to my hometown, I visited the Spencer Museum of Art on the campus of Kansas University. I witnessed the installation of a sand mandala for world peace created by exiled Tibetan Buddhist monks from the Drepung Gomang Monastery. A few monks knelt on a marble floor, slowly filling a huge circle with sand to depict religious symbols and images from nature. Brightly colored sand was fed through a long metal cone to create tight detail, each grain released to the artwork by rubbing the tube with a stick. The room was quiet enough to hear a faint droning as the stick was rubbed against the cone, creating a meditative atmosphere. At the end of the day’s work, the monks sat in a semi-circle for a period of chanting—hauntingly led by a monk with a deep bass voice, the prayer rising from his throat like a leviathan slowly emerging from the depths of the sea. The next day, the entire beautifully and carefully created work of sand art was to be swept up and thrown in a pond on campus during a special ceremony. The entire process is available to view in a fascinating video, available at this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t7YkgSluGTc&feature=player_embedded

There are many types of creative acts, some of which are meant to be enjoyed in the moment, among them food, theater and music. Writing is a creative act that is not dependent on its physical form and may be translated into any number of modes, including audio. But visual art is often a single physical creation and exists to be kept and hopefully enjoyed until the basement floods or the cat knocks it over.

I was moved in witnessing the activity of the monks in creating a work of art that was never meant to be permanent. I considered such an activity to be an act of letting go of earthly bonds on their part, and I admired them for it. They were not the ones rushing around taking photos of their work, as many did that evening, but rather gave ceremony to the short-lived act and intent of their project.

We often do not willingly let go of things, or people, or memories. More often than not, we are forced to do so by physical forces beyond our control, such as the case with the broken statue. Things we don’t plan for happen. My mother died. My basement flooded last year. I think of my friends in New Jersey who may have lost so many personal belongings in Hurricane Sandy. I weep with them.

My lesson from these recent experiences has been to learn to embrace the “letting go”—not an easy task. I try to do so in a controlled fashion, but sometimes nature and decay help me along. I think at issue is the opportunity to say goodbye. A little ceremony and recognition of the creative act might be in order.

Have a glass of wine when you crumple up those early charcoal efforts from freshman life drawing class. Go into the next project with a sense of sharing and more attention paid to process than result. Say a prayer before, during and after. “Letting go” means that there will be room for other creative thoughts to enter. “Letting go” means that weight will be lifted that will enable you to soar higher.

I still have great respect for all creative projects (even the ones I don’t care for), whether I create them or other people do. Sure, keep them if they mean something to you and you have room. But I would like to think that less time archiving means more time to let the creative process flow. There is something bright within us that grows and learns with each new project. Give it room.

A Gift of Inspiration

A gift of fiery flowers for guest artist Christine Piatek!

While I work to whittle a lengthy draft down to a brief blog-appropriate post, I would like to share the inspirational musings of friend Christine Piatek, an intelligent and creative woman, and fellow choral-singing enthusiast.

Creative inspiration can be found in quiet and solitude, but I also need to interact with creative community from which I draw inspiration and find a home. I need both–to balance the necessary introspection with recess and lunch with the other creative kids. Thanks for letting me share this, Chris! Enjoy the bouquet!

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Christine Piatek!

Reflection on Creativity

Stop, linger a while
Listen to the sound
A song takes shape, if you listen
Deep in the recesses of your soul
That part of you not easily defined
Integral to your being, yet external, like an out of body experience

A transparent silhouette gazing back at you
That place where authenticity, originality blossom, brood
The yearning heart
Make no mistake
We all possess it
Creativity

Like the unformed potter’s clay, ready to take shape as we imagine it
Attend to it, nurture it.
The song takes shape, if you listen
Like a phoenix rising from the ash
Shape your life to it through your passions
Or, discover them, whatever they may be
A discerning eye for color and texture
The gentle touch of pianissimo
The quill of language
Storytelling, comedy
The elegance of table, Cuisine
The sweat of restoration, a mitered corner
Tending to roses, peonies, verbena
The tapestry of design
The warmth of wet clay
Observation, the splendor of a quotidian day.
Imagining character and personality
through the simple act of reading

Ansel Adams said the following: Millions of men have lived to fight, build palaces and boundaries, shape destinies and societies; but the compelling force of all times has been the force of originality and creation profoundly affecting the roots of human spirit.

We humans are at our best when inventing, creating.
Indeed, our lives depend on its practice.
Listen to the sound
A song takes shape, if you listen.
Embrace the stillness of the creative process
Connect to the spirituality of it
Its joyfulness; its playfulness
The world is our mural and we are the painters, blending colors
Bold and radiant, quiet as the setting sun

This poem by Emily Dickinson is about imagination, and it speaks of the power of creativity in every form:
There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll:
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul!

Our creativity warms and even heals our broken hearts.

The poet Rainer Maria Rilke wrote:
You must give birth to your images. They are the future waiting to be born. Fear not the strangeness you feel. The future enters you long before it happens. Just wait for the birth, for the hour of clarity.

Stop, linger a while
Listen to the sound
A song takes shape, if you listen
Your creative fire
Singing out loud.

 Christine’s words © 2011 Christine Piatek (excluding quoted items)

Play with your food

Creativity doesn’t need fancy new tools, although my stash of art supplies and computer software would make it seem I think otherwise. Certainly walking through the doors of the art supply store known as Pearl is to enter the cathedral of my craft, processing past row upon row of inspiration, breathing in the heady incense of paint, pencil, paper and possibility. OK, alliteration alert! Sorry, I’m intoxicated with the fumes of my brain firing all creative cylinders.

I have a few creative projects in the works. Yes, people actually pay me to procrastinate, er, I mean to do creative projects for them. Sometimes I do this for FREE, but don’t let that get around. On tap right now: a book cover, trade show booth design, a branding project (don’t worry, no cows hurt in the process), and a save-the-date postcard. If I forgot your project, don’t worry, I’m getting to it. Never mind my own creative projects. Where to start first? Drawing, photography, watercolor, scrapbooking, card making, writing? Oh, right, I’ve got other stuff to work on first. Yes, we of the creative stripe just don’t know when to say no, so we’re always overdone. But driven to create. Creativity begats creativity.

Finding it hard to get at those big projects? Maybe it’s time to let your mind play with a project that has less at stake. Prime the pump if you will and creativity may start to flow. My father always said you should start the day with a good breakfast that includes a good dose of protein. He was a doctor and a shrewd fellow. My husband and I went out for breakfast yesterday and before he could get at his bacon and eggs, I couldn’t resist the urge to play with his food. I couldn’t help myself, the plate of sunny-side-up was staring at me with two jaundiced eyes begging me to reposition the bacon into a unibrow and a handlebar mustache, the results of which I had to record for posterity (see photo). And perhaps once I had this chance to play, I was an ooch more productive that day.

Get it out of your system. Have some creative fun and you may feel less pinned down by your professional commitments. Don’t worry, be happy. Play with your food. Doctor’s orders.

First expressions

One of my earliest creative memories is of trying to amuse myself with the tools at hand while attending a day camp in a wooded area near my home. I was ferried off to this camp on a regular basis one summer to the point where I think it felt like my first job. Most likely it was only a week or two, but I took my appearance there every day very seriously. I even got up one rainy Saturday and wandered sleepily downstairs in my jeans and t-shirt and rainboots, ready for a day of damp outdoor activities, to find my parents and brother eating breakfast in the kitchen and telling me I had the day wrong and I didn’t have to go.

A little creek wandered through the trees and the prickly bushes and the tall grass at the camp. Who wouldn’t have been drawn to the water to splash and play and watch rivulets form between the mud on the bank and the shallows? I discovered I could mold things with the dirt, in much the same way I could with the sticks of clay at school (still love that red clay smell). I happily settled in to create something with my bare hands by mixing the rich Kansas soil with some murky water. “What are you making?” “I’m making a Jayhawk!” The Jayhawk, a fictitious red and blue bird with a yellow beak, is the mascot of the University of Kansas. If you were born in Lawrence, Kansas, as I was, Jayhawks were a part of your life from day one. I knew from memory what one looked like. My Jayhawk rose from the ground a solid dark brown mass with a somewhat unsettled proboscis.

I never got to finish my woodland golem. “Sunny!”, I heard someone cry. (Yes, my nickname at camp was “Sunny”. ) “You have to come see this!” I reluctantly left my growing lump of wet mud and ran off to see what on earth could be more important than my project at hand. “It’s a cow killer, a cow killer!” Apparently this is a type of insect which I had not heard of before and haven’t since, for that matter. Much high-pitched screaming by five-year-old girls ensued and after much running around to escape the dreaded scourge of bovine mammals, it was time to go home.

I couldn’t wait to get to camp the next day to finish my creation. It had rained that night, and when I rushed to the creek, all signs of my muddy sculpture had been washed away. I suppose if this was today and I rushed away from the computer to save my husband from a large insect, I would have hit “save” first and happily returned to Adobe Illustrator after throwing pillows at whatever was attacking Joseph.

My childhood attempt at sculpture may have been my first lesson in the impermanence of art installations (you can’t hit “save” in the woods), and also in the ability of creating art to keep one focused on one thing for a period of time. It was sheer delight creating something out of nothing and if I ever go somewhere without my sketchbook or my camera, I know I can still have fun making art with the help of Mother Nature’s Art Supply Emporium.

Hello world!

So, it all started because I wanted to reply to my sister-in-law’s post, and after much aggravation found myself getting a sign-in name to WordPress. Then I wanted to post to a garden blog, and found I couldn’t use that sign-in to leave a post. Then I am asked if I would like to create a blog, so I say “why not” and here I am. And shouldn’t a blog be a subject near to your heart? Which design or “love of the visual” is, whether I can control it or not. And now I am late for an appointment, which might give you a clue that my left-brained tendencies are possibly combined with undiagnosed ADD. Guess that just makes me the spontaneous, distractable, cluttered, chasing-after-butterflies being that I am. Welcome to my world, and who knows what will come of this.