Pixel Dance

Millie, our dalmatian, is going on 13 1/2. She’s a tough puppy. Two years ago, we had to remove her leg because of bone cancer. They said she had a small chance of living up to 2 years, (most likely it was 6 months) and if she lived longer than that, she would be a wonder dog.

Well, 2 years and 3 months later, we are still overjoyed to have our Super-Wonder-Lemon Dog with us. Here are some things I’ve learned:

Sometimes you do have to go to heck and back. Life can throw some pretty nasty stuff your way, and you have to find a way through it. You have to integrate it. You don’t get to stay there. The day Millie’s leg came off wasn’t the last day of her life. She learned to balance on three legs. She learned to find the routes without obstacles in the back yard. And she learned to bark for help when she couldn’t get up. Sometimes the only success in life is to take the next step.

It’s only bad if you act like it. Every day that dog acts like she has four legs. It rarely occurs to her that the fourth one isn’t there. And if it does, she patiently waits for one of us to figure out she needs a little assistance. She has created a runway for herself so she can make a running jump up onto the couch. And many mornings we find the couch pushed several feet out of place, an indication of the tenacity of a dog who doesn’t care what she doesn’t have, but presses into what she does have.

Love covers a multitude of pee. As I was cleaning up puppy urine at 3 am, I realized how much love really does change your attitude. I lifted Millie up, tucked my head in close to her ear, and said, “I will pick you up as many times as you fall, whenever it is, wherever you are.” Genuine love makes the disgusting into a beautiful moment. And you really come to find out who loves you when you are absolutely helpless.

Three legs can still spoon. Millie often tries to coax me to bring the laptop to the couch. And the routine is the same – as soon as she gets me settled, then she pushes me forward, wrapping herself around me. It’s as good as spooning with 4 legs. Love is love, and it’s good.

If it’s trouble, lop it off. It’s amazing what you can get by without. You can still give love and be beautiful, no matter what the circumstances bring you. In fact, most of the time you’re more beautiful with scars. Scars are life’s beauty marks, and we’d be wise to see how beautiful they are.

Sometimes I think I look a lot like Millie on the inside – a little scarred and struggling to keep my balance. But I’ve learned this: find a ramp to jump for what you want, pretend like you’re all there, and keep running with your ears flopping in the wind. Life is too exciting to focus on what’s not there.

Stop. What you’re doing. What you’re thinking. What you’re being. Stop. Take a deep breath. What do you hear? What’s around you? What’s happening in your body? Are you hungry? Do you feel sad? Frustrated? Can you hear the breath of the person nearest to you? Is it fast, short, syncopated? Is there laughter? Stop.

I am sitting here, listening to my furnace hum. My dog is breathing deeply, on the precipice of sleep. And my tiny portable printer is crankily spitting out smooth pages. The late autumn sun is streaming in the back window. I know it because I notice the angle of the sun, how it effects the blue of the sky, how it changes the shadows. I taste the bubbles of a diet drink I should have passed on. The tops of my fingers are cold, but the pads are warm against these metal keys. I have a sore stomach, and as I type this, my stress is coming down, as I breathe more purposefully, more slowly, more deeply.

I am quiet. Are you quiet? Maybe not yet. Maybe now. It’s not very often that we are quiet. That we are feeling and seeing only what’s happening now. Right now. Therapists will commonly tell patients to “stay in the moment.” It’s a reference to a coping mechanism that we often use to escape our pain. We’re not here. We’re in our past, trying to justify it, re-spin it, fix it. Or we’re in our future, planning ahead, evaluating a next move, hoping for something new, planning for one day. But now is often not so appealing. Now is bills, problems, lack of control. So we add noise. Distraction. Vicarious living. We jump out of the moment, and into the noise.

But think about quiet. Quiet, right here, right now.

Quiet is gratefulness. An inventory of what is, an acknowledgement of all. A point of view that sees past the noise that is clammering for attention. A look beyond what needs you right now, to see what you really have. A thankful knowledge of breathing, being, loving. Being loved.

Quiet is confidence. It is a sense that I don’t have to move. The opposite is anxiety. Hurry is anxiety. Unmet expectations. Not good enough. More. Quiet is fine right now. Unmoved. Unreactionary. Although noise and action might seem in control, I think when you are quiet, you are really most in control. Not acting out of defense mechanisms, and concocted manipulations. Quiet puts you in touch with who you really are deep within – the person who makes the right choices, with the right motives.

Quiet is honesty. Noise fools. Crowds drag you along with them, give you a large stick and a torch on the way to the uproar. Quiet decides knowingly, separately. Quiet listens to you, respects your opinion.

Quiet is reality. The way it is, with no dressings. No need to make it fancier. You are who you are, and the good and the bad live together, forging a soul, a spirit, an experience. A life. A precious, precious life. No matter what the noise says, you are to be commended. You’ve done well. And maybe you are to be corrected. But it’s welcome here. It’s right. There’s no fear, no disappointment. There is reality, and it is an independent voter.

Quiet is discovery. The things you secretly hope for. The things you know about yourself that you don’t let out into the open. The parts you forgot were there – the talents, the joys, the philosophies. The things you’re too old for, like dancing and coloring. But just stretch out your arm – it’s still there. It’s always been there.

Quiet is love. There’s no side to persuade you to. No hidden agendas, subversive intentions. Quiet waits to make you safe. To give you power. To let you decide. It holds your voice in its hand. It wants the best for you. Quiet is you spending time with you, getting to know you, believing the best about you. Giving you what you need.

Imagine if we all stopped. Right now. Got quiet. Lived life from here. I want to.

I hope you’ve been able to stop, to be quiet. Come back any time you need to. Quiet always waits for you.

Some of you know that I like to write songs. I write melody and lyrics, and then my uber-talented husband does the real composing and the producing. We do it for fun, as a way to keep sharp and collaborate, and frankly, because we both love it. It’s been very fun to be married to a man with a passion for music (plus he’s just cool and wonderful and funny and warm and . . . ). I can’t tell you how many times, in a low spot or a sad moment, that he will go get the guitar, and we will sing one of our songs. Sometimes we cry through it. Sometimes we laugh — like when he plays “Riders on the Range” (an ode to my Wyoming upbringing) — or when we laugh about my lyric that sounds like Meatloaf should sing it, or the song that sounds like juggling bears should come out of the woodwork. I didn’t say we always write good songs . . .

Okay, so, here’s my thing. I’m always thinking about the perfect lyric. I love lyrics. I love their progression, the way they infuse meaning with sound and melody and rhythm. I just think it’s cool. My favorite lyrical line of all time is “the shadows of misty yesteryears” from Paul Anka’s “Times of Your Life.” That line does the job in so many ways. It’s beautifully written, creates a wonderful picture, and connects with everyone. I thought it would be fun to hear your thoughts on favorite lyrics. What’s your favorite one line? What’s your favorite chorus? Song as a whole? What song do you always go back to? I can never get too far away from “Unchained Melody” or Pachelbel’s Canon in D. Do you have a pick-me-up song? Really, I am interested in it for discussion’s sake, but I’m really interested to know what moves people. And if you give me an idea, I just may make a song out it. Thanks for playing.

You can always feel a cold front coming through our area — it generally just blows your socks off. The other day, I heard the cold-front wind kick in, and decided to harvest the blooms from my roses before the petals ended up in Kansas. I was clipping away at stems, running through the yard form one rose to another like stops on a gameboard, snipping whoever was next. I started in the rose garden, and nabbed a handful of purple “Melody Parfumees.” I sheared the white climbers on the way to the english roses, where I grabbed a delicate, creamy rose with pink edges. These three roses are in different parts of the garden, so I never see them together. But in the palm of my hand, they were a lovely combination. What a complimentary and breathtaking bouquet they made.

The next day, I spent some really fun time with my dear friends, Kevin and Rachel. As we talked and laughed and played, I couldn’t help but think of that bouquet. Kevin and Rachel are designers, too, and we are a rare bunch. Which is why it’s so fun to be together with them. I feel the most authentic when I am with them — it’s as if they know where the good stuff is in me, and they know how to bring it out. And whenever I leave (which is usually late, because time evaporates when I’m with them), I leave feeling high on life. I feel like I’ve been enjoyed for who I am, and I’ve been given the chance to enjoy them for who they are. It’s darn fun.

So, the juxtaposition of this bouquet and my little friend-bouquet got me thinking. I have some other gorgeous roses in my yard, like a firecracker of a red-to-yellow rose named “Cherries Jubilee.” It’s just marvelous, but I’ve got to tell you, put it with my purple-toned bouquet, and it looks yucky. I don’t see it’s beauty. I just see it fighting to fit in a place where it doesn’t belong.

Confession time: for years I tried to fit everyone into my life. I felt the need to accept everyone, to accommodate their needs. I thought if I cared enough, we would all live happily together; if I put them first, they would fit into my bouquet. But now that I’m older and wiser (and a little more bruised), I see the beauty in allowing other people to look great in their own bouquets, where the vibrant orange or the stunning yellow can draw out the best in them. Because, really, some people will never enhance my bouquet, and I would never enhance theirs — no matter how hard I try to fit their palette. And some people, no matter how long you’ve known them, will just light you up, cast you in great light, and be the best thing near you in years.

So, I’m a little less friendly than before maybe, and definitely less inclined to change who I am so others feel more comfortable. I’m so grateful for my friends who let me shine just the way I am — who pick up on the highlights. And I’m really grateful for that thrown-together bunch of roses on a windy day.

I have a wonderful group of illustrator friends from working at Citizen. Mark Brewer’s style fits our magazine very well, and he’s great fun. I like his loose style and the alternate world he creates. Here’s his story:

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My first piece was printed in our local weekly newspaper when I was fifteen years old. It was an editorial cartoon. I drew an editorial cartoon at least once every week, sometimes as many as four, for the next ten years of my life. Drawing editorial cartoons taught me how to compose and write concise ideas in a single panel. Of course having friends who were professionals in the field helped a wee bit I’m sure. Prior to that I was selling a small line of my own hand made greeting cards to a local card shop in town. I always knew I would make art for a living, although I wasn’t sure exactly where I would fit in. That was no secret around my family and friends. No matter how many times I heard, “you need a back up plan in case the art thing doesn’t work”, I never considered a back up plan. Not sure whether that was recklessness or stubbornness since I display both of those traits. In the early part of my professional career I worked for Disney, Archie Comics, Warner Brothers and other publications that kept my mind open to an entirely different direction than editorial cartoons. Looking back now I was waiting for a particular “something” to grab me by the shirt collar and say, “this is what you’re going to do!” I knew I was just working for these companies to pay the bills and was lucky to have been able to do that when so many talented artists would kill for any opportunity. I still know how fortunate I am and not a day goes by that I don’t think of that. My last “real” job was at Pepperidge Farm food stores stocking the shelves in their walk in freezer. I was eighteen. It was cold in there but since I was by myself it gave me the chance to come up with ideas for pictures I could draw once I got home. It’s always been important for me to say something in my art. It’s not enough just to draw a “pretty picture” although there are some assignments that call for nothing more than that. I’ll compensate by noodle-ing in TONS of detail but the drawing never seems to work as well as an illustration that has an insightful thought behind it.
I’m not really sure where I am in my career. Or maybe a better answer is that I try real hard not to know where I’m at in fear of becoming complacent. There are many artists with more talent and even more to offer that I’m never certain my phone will ring tomorrow with another assignment. I need to try to keep going to wherever it is that I think I’m going to even though I haven’t figured that out yet.

I love Spontaneity. My work, mind and life are happening spontaneously and the color and line in my illustrations often reflect my mood at the time I’m working on the assignment. Artists have the opportunity to let down their guard in their art. People who know me can sometimes see right through my work. It’s a feeling one might have if they are ever made to run down the street naked. “Exposed” would be a good word to use. It’s that very feeling an artist can put out there in an illustration or a song that can make a connection with another human being that’s so special. For me personally, there are few things that stimulate, motivate and move me more than when I find an illustration that resonates with one of my own experiences.

For the last two years I’ve been drawing portraits of people I find interesting. Some I draw with an editorial twist and more are just “Brewerized” versions of how I see them. Obviously illustrators have been doing portraits for years, but this is a new and exciting chapter for me. We all bring something unique to the table so looking at it from that perspective, it’s something that has never been done before.

For life, I say be happy and follow your dreams. None of us are any more than the sums of our influences. Mix many influences together into your own illustrative concoction. If you do it long enough (years), your own creative agenda will show itself and you’ll be making art that you can truly put your own stamp on.

Something we all wish we would do yet few of us make the choice to do, is to follow our dreams. On the surface these words are full of magic, promise and are more colorful than the brightest flower. There’s a pot of gold waiting for us on the other side should we capture the dream. The road after is a red carpet paved with rose pedals we can walk on with our bare feet. Even the friendly conversations we have of the challenging tasks that lay ahead in pursuing these dreams seem to have a sweetness to them. I’ve been following my dream since that first cartoon was printed and I can tell you the road is dirt and it has no promises. It’s been sweet countless times but far more tart than one might imagine. The “pot of gold” has come but in forms I had not imagined. I believe the red carpet we roll out is man made (in China) and self-indulgent. The real magic happens when you find yourself naturally laying down a few rose pedals on that dirt path for a pair of young feet to follow their own dreams in pursuit of a life’s worth of rich experiences.

Remember that none of us are any more than the sums of our influences yet we all bring something unique to the table. I’m still amazed when I hear a professional artist say to me or another illustrator that our work looks like someone else’s. Most people mean well, however, the comment can seem insensitive coming from another professional. Perhaps they haven’t spent as much time on their own craft to realize what many of us have come to learn. You don’t spend seven to fifteen hours in your studio each day, six to seven days a week, trying to be anyone other than yourself. It’s almost impossible. Woody Guthrie heavily influenced the legendary Bob Dylan as much as Michael Bartolos’ was influenced by Jim Flora’s work. Illustration, music, photography etc. has been a communal and collective growth for thousands of years. That’s why artists are often asked the question,” who have been your greatest influences?” It’s an interesting question because everyone has their own unique set of mixed influences that make up their very own creative concoction. Artistically speaking, if you do anything long enough your own creative agenda will show itself and you’ll be making art that you can truly put your own stamp on.

–Mark Brewer, Illustrator

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That was fantastic, Mark. Thank you for your thoughts. You know, this is why I like having my friends on the blog. Encouraging each other, telling the truth, sharing what we know, this creates a community that I consider valuable. To me, hearing how artists especially overcome the urge to just “get a job, make a living, get a retirement. . . ” is inspiring. It helps me to think about the things I could do, and the things I might be overlooking that I could really love. So thank you, Mark. I appreciate you sharing with us.