8 July 2017
I begin inspired by something that a very dear woman in my life said to me today. I knew it for truth when I heard it, and hearing it from her has given me some indefinable last permission needed to fly – a visa for Artistic, you know, the intangible Land where creativity thrives. This is hardly surprising. Arlene has been in my life since I was 8 and has been nothing short of a loving, devoted mother. She has stood by me through some rough seas, many violent storms not of my making and many that were. She has loved me unconditionally, and I her. And in so doing, she has birthed my spiritual self. She has given me artistic permission and license through her mother-self role-modeling. She gave me a lifetime and a moment of such “Mother” as to be a tremendously transformative person in my life.
This is as much a story of spirit and artistic cultivation as it is of “woman” and all aspects thereof (we are, truly, as deep as the ocean and as Broad as the sea). I have drunk the complicated but thirst quenching brew of some very defined and powerfully provocative women – good to a one and beautifully wrought – throughout my life. Like ripples in a pond ringed in green and bloomed color reflections, every one of them has had a powerful impact in forging me into the caliber of person I now know myself to be. The ripples that made it all the way to the center are a precious handful, but the well-spring is beginning to overflow due to newcomers. Running Arlene at the beginning of the story is a story of this moment. And she is all that, I’m here to tell you.
And I am writing in the time that Woman is rising. Our stories matter – our truth matters. Our issues are human-rights issues. “And yet, she persisted.” This is my perspective; this is how I cope with the avalanche of our current news cycle.
Anyway, to get back on track (off-track will happen and it’ll be bumpy at times while the wheels reconnect …).
My family is burgeoning with talented people and I apparently come to my inclinations through genetics. Nature. As for Nurture, I am fortunate to lead a life filled with and significantly enhanced by many wonderful, precious, creative friends so I’m in good company. And Arlene writes. When I read her stories recently self-published in Amazon, I could hear her voice as I read. The texture of her, the distinctive narrative like a favorite blanket wrapping around me.
So, here’s the deal. I am going to share this artistic endeavor – my fears of failure, fears of success, and all that will actually happen. I want express my truth, as it is in the moment; I will persist. I may butcher grammar, wreak havoc on punctuation and own up to the nickname my grandmother gave me, “Madame Malaprop.” I will post pictures of my baby-stepped successes. And my face-plant failures. Undoubtedly, the voices of historic editors who have until now shamed me to silence will speak up only to be ignored. I am exposing myself in the hopes that the fear will sculpt my craft, my expression. “And yet, she persisted.”
All of this puts my feet in the river, the flow. ATM it feels like I’m a novice kayaker who just found some rapids and is frantically paddling away wondering if I’ll see the rocks in time and miraculously figure out how to navigate. By the way, I’m splashing about in a Tapestry kayak, weaving my moves as I go, panicked over actual success. Flip-coined, I feel like I have come home, like I have found the bag to hold all of my scattered, multicolored and cracked marbles. I finally found where I can rest. Which is really ironic, because intuitively I have found the place where I can take off running, wherever the journey leads. No goal in mind, only whole-cloth exploration. Me, giving myself permission to simply show up is what Arlene has given birth to today. And beginning this blog is me simply appearing. Be gentle. I’m new here.