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My Own Back Yard

October 19, 2016 Earnest Painter

Coffee on my back porch

Writer's Block. That's something that is written about, presumably by people who can't think of anything else to write. But, it's a real thing. I'm certain that there are ways to overcome it – to write through it, or take a vacation. How effective are these things? I suppose it depends on the reason for the block on the first place.

Under the instruction of the oh-so-inspiring Kristen Lamb, I am writing in my blog more frequently. Some days I post simply a picture, but I try to keep something new going on every few days. I don't want days of pictures in a row, though, so I do want to write something worth reading at least once a week. Back when I viewed my blog as simply a place to express myself and to practice writing I could go for weeks, months or even a year without posting anything. The plus side to that was that I only posted when something moved me to write, so there is more substance in what I've written there. Now that I'm trying to write more often, I sometimes get stuck. I can't think of anything interesting or moving, or I simply don't feel like writing. (This is not very different than my simply not wanting to go into work.) 

I watched an interview with Stevie Nicks once and she was talking about writer's block and her writing style. When she wrote a song, she said, she wanted to capture the emotion of a moment in her music, even if it was something as small as the look in a little girl's eye. She said that she didn't want to try to force writing, that if she didn't have that inspiration she'd rather not write at all, even if it meant ten years without creating a new song. But then, after ten years she might remember that little girl's look and it might inspire a song.

This has kind of been my approach to writing. The biggest difference is that Stevie Nicks is a hugely successful, internationally known superstar who's written God-only-knows how many songs that she and other people have sung. I've written a few blog posts. Looking at this comparison, I'm beginning to think that there might be something else I could do. I don't know exactly what would push me over the edge of success. I could keep at it the way I'm doing, but historically that has not brought me monetary reward.

One thing I could do, though, would be to get out more. I could go out into the world and see more things and then I'd have more to write about. Aside from occasional writer's block I also struggle with my weight, so this could be beneficial in more than one way. I would be walking around my town; through its streets and parks. I would not be sitting down as much and I'd be burning more calories than I consumed. On top of that, I'd have more to fodder for stories and essays.

One of my favorite contemporary writers is Tom Cox, who lives in southern England. He writes in his blog, and his books seem to be compilations of those blog posts, with a little extra for your trouble. He goes for long walks through the English countryside and wilderness, and a lot of what he writes about is that. He has the advantage of the historic English countryside with its stone walls, its castles and old houses that were around before a European ever set foot on this part of Texas. But, that's not to say that I can't get out and see what's around me. I can get to know the history of my town. I can walk the highways and roads through Lund and Kimbro and try to see where these towns were, back when the Swedish people settled them. (New Sweden is another town lost in that area.) As far as I can tell they are now just signs on a signpost, and a modern one at that – not the really cool fingerpost that Americans are convinced direct travelers through the small lanes leading from one English village to another.

I'm not sure why this table is planted (literally) in the back yard, but the tile that we put on it has become weathered in a very nice way.

With that in mind I was taking pictures in my back yard the other day. It's amazing what you can see if you look around you, particularly in an old house like this, on a couple of acres. Other people's ideas and projects sitting forgotten, falling apart. Flora that want to retake the land and require constant attention to keep it in check. Animals and evidence of them are everywhere. Textures, colors... an album full of photographs without having to walk off of my property. Stories of snakes in the woodpile and rodent skeletons. Perhaps our little house is more interesting than a lot of others in our neighborhood, but there are still things to see if I walk around. I believe that will be my focus.

Until later, I leave you with this.

One of the stray cats that lives in our back yard has a toy mouse. After a recent rain I found him under an esperanza plant, looking very much like a Velveteen Mouse.

Tags Back Yard, Writing, Writer's Block, Cats, Cats in the Sun, Cat Toys, Esperanza
4 Comments

Baubles in the Sun

October 17, 2016 Earnest Painter

Just got back from out of town. I was going to write, but this day has escaped me and I have no idea what I've done with it. So, in the meantime I'll leave you this picture that I took.

Lisa & Cecil McKenzie glasswork

In Art Tags Contemporary Art, art, Edom, Glass
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Haunted New Orleans

October 12, 2016 Earnest Painter

A few years ago I finally went to New Orleans. I had wanted to go for so long, and I don't know that there was a reason per se why I hadn't; I simply hadn't taken that step. But, I finally made the arrangements. We stayed in a mansion converted into a bed & breakfast. We drove in, parked the car and didn't use it again until we drove away.

One of the things that I had on my list of things to do (about the only thing) was the tour of the Garden District. The highlight of that tour was the cemetery. It is fascinating how they bury above the ground, and how they manage to get generations of families into the same tomb. The history of the city seems to be epitomized here – with the white marble, the weathered iron gate, the various stages of decomposure of the tombs themselves. Some had been renovated; some replaced and some were little more than piles of rubble. But, the names remain, the stories remain - those of the people and the city they inhabited. Somebody really had to think outside of the box to figure out a way to keep their dead from floating away in the inevitable flooding. They went against centuries of traditional European burials and created a way to keep their citizens safe from the diseases that could be brought about by corpses floating haphazardly through the streets. But, was it only that?

As we walked through the French Quarter we noticed that places for rent or sale all indicated –on the real estate signs – whether or not the building was haunted. I suppose that in New Orleans some people might insist on a genuine haunting before shelling over money for rent, just to get the full experience. I read that basically every hotel in the city has either claimed to be haunted or has had the claim made for it. I have to wonder if, aside from keeping the dead buried, the tombs were an attempt to keep the spirits and spectres in the graveyard and away from the residents. Looking through some of my pictures from that trip I think I discovered why so much of the city is haunted. 

Rows of tombs, with centuries of names written in marble.

They can't keep nature from encroaching on their structures, especially in such a tropical place as New Orleans, La

The weathered tombs were what I really came to New Orleans to see.

I'm beginning to see why there are so many ghosts in this very old city.

Is it really any surprise, after all?

They've basically left the door open for the spirits to come be with them in the streets.

It's too late to undo the damage done by allowing the their tombs to fall into disrepair. They may be able to make the city and its cemeteries more presentable with a concerted effort to fix them, but centuries of ghosts are already loose – wreaking havoc or simply reveling with the visitors. The ghosts are as much, or more, a part of New Orleans as the current residents, and they add a texture of their own to the spirit of the city, much like the architecture adds to the landscape. It's best to accept them, to incorporate them into the lore and the way of life. 

There are many other places I want to visit, but I need to visit New Orleans again. I need to see the old buildings, drink the coffee, eat the food. Mostly, I need to go be with the tombs. I need to see the crumbling bricks and weather-stained marble. I need to sit with the spirits and listen to their stories. It's a world so different than my own. One trip wasn't nearly enough. There's so much left to learn.

Tags New Orleans, Ghost, Haunted, Travel, Rather Earnest Painter, Earnie Painter, Tombs, Cemeteries
4 Comments

Random Photo Day

October 8, 2016 Earnest Painter

Stonewashed Ceramic Tiles

There is a round table planted into the ground in our back yard. Barry put some of his stonewashed ceramic tiles on it – to see how it would look if it were tiled. A couple of years later there is a new layer of genuine weathering.

 

 

A closer detail, from a slightly different angle

A closer detail from the original picture

In Random Photo Day Tags Random Photo Day, Ceramic Tiles, Stonewash, Weathering, Texture, Rather Earnest Painter, Earnie Painter
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A Partially Fictional Story of a Dragonfly

October 5, 2016 Earnest Painter

By: André Karwath
File: Sympetrum flaveolum - side

In some ways it's easier to communicate when you're alive. You have a voice, for instance. Hand gestures, facial expressions, these things lend themselves to relaying what you're trying to say, inasmuch as people are willing to listen.

There's the key. That's where you can really take advantage of having passed from human life. I always told everybody that I would come back as a dragonfly. Who knew that would really be an option? So, I make an appearance occasionally to remind the ones I love of who I am. This is SO much more effective. I could talk until I was blue in the face and my friends wouldn't listen. Let me die, and suddenly everything I say is golden. Why? Who knows? Who cares, really? I just take advantage of it.

At first it was ridiculous. For instance, I love Johnny Depp so they had to go rent every Pirates of the Caribbean movie ever produced. And, then cry. Who gives a rat's ass about that now?! Move on. I didn't even like them that much. Or if I did, I stopped once I crossed over. (Okay, maybe I liked Chocolat that much.)

A dear friend of mine has been struggling. I know it; he knows it. The world of fine arts has been turned on its ear and he couldn't navigate the new currents. The internet creeped into every aspect of the art world and suddenly anybody could be an artist at a minimal initial cost. We used to have to have several sets of slides created of our work, to send to galleries and festival promoters - professional slides. Nowadays, everything is submitted online, images are tweaked and the general expectation is much lower. The promoters are making money hand over fist on application fees alone with thousands of applicants. Why should they care any more about how the show runs? Suddenly, all loyalty to the artists who they had worked with for decades was gone, and a new generation of promoters and curators emerged. A somewhat colder, less involved group. We used to be a family of artists, all traveling on a circuit of festivals and galleries, running into each other periodically. Little by little my friends complained that they didn't know anybody any more; that the people they knew weren't there any more. I wasn't alive to see that shift happening; I could only watch from a distance.

I really wanted my dear friend to get in front of the change, though, and take advantage of the new opportunities. They were there, just in different places. The people who were familiar with the new world were the ones who would succeed. But, I had to start slow with him, at his level. He was at a street festival, so as a dragonfly I flew around his jewelry case, then popped out and landed on his foot. I sat there on his foot, slowly fanning my wings. He didn't seem startled or curious, even. He just watched me as I sat there. Eventually, he talked to me. He asked how I was doing, how I liked his art and his new designs. He gave me updates on some of our friends. Me talking to him was the challenge. I wanted to say, "I'm with you. We're going to make it through this together." Just to comfort him at first, then to kick him in the ass to get him moving.

Later, I had to move coins and such to get his attention. I would time my dragonfly appearances when I felt his thoughts were heading the right direction. Just, nudge him into facing the future - turn his head, little by little. Open up his mind to what he could do now, to the possibilities. For a long time he focused on what I had said before, back when we talked about the art world and how to make it. When I was alive, I would encourage him, but I would try to push him as well, to apply to more festivals and galleries. To pay the extra amount for the professional photography because that made all the difference. All of that may have been true then, but times have changed and it's not all true any more. It's difficult to make people change, to see things from a new perspective – especially when they've been doing something so long. In some ways it's easier for me now, though. (Now that I'm no longer among the physically alive.) Why the hell people listen to the dead more than the living is beyond me. I know that's the way it is though, so when I can communicate with him now, everything I say has that much more value.

I don't know how much longer I can do this. I've used twenty dragonflies to channel me so far. I'm a little tired – a spirit kind of tired, not a physical one. I feel like I need to stay around to see my friend through just a little more, but part of me feels like I need to move on. Like, maybe I'm the one who is trying to cling to the past. I keep getting the feeling that I've almost broken through, like I've almost made him hear me... and then I'm back to where I started. Maybe I'll try a wasp. To sting him. Just to take my frustrations out, and for no other reason. I might do that, but no, I won't go anywhere. I'm with him... still with him.

In Art Tags Dragonfly, Life After Death, Artist, Art, Earnie Painter, Rather Earnest Painter, friends, love
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