Pixel Dance

The forecast for our area had freezing fog last night. What that means to the photographers salivating over the forecast is that in the morning, at the earliest breath of dawn, every tree and plant will be coated with an other-worldly layer of icy frosting. So I was up very early, hoping to beat the sun to some great photos. And I am pleased with the crop. Many a twig and rosehip gave me just what I was looking for. But this photo I didn’t expect. A perfectly frosted spider web.

I’ve always thought spider webs are one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. And it impresses me how God knows how to make things which are both beautiful and useful. To a spider, that web is useful — to me, it’s incredibly beautiful. Then, add a frosty morning, and look at how much more intricate and lovely the design is. Bravo, little spider. And bravo, God. I’m glad I got up early.

Listen my children and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.

This is the first stanza of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s “Paul Revere’s Ride.” When I was a child, instead of reading bedtime stories, my dad would read me this poem. His warm, professorial voice would ride the words, just as Revere galloped along the route to Lexington and Concord. The story, in its cadence, felt powerful, full of weight and meaning. He would rise with the tension, let off on “Middlesex village and farm.” It was hard to fall asleep, because I wanted to know what happened, even though I had heard it time after time.

Every 18th of April is a holiday to me. It’s the day I remember the covert operations of a few farmers and small businessmen who valued their freedom over anything else. I applaud the men of our Revolution, who staked their lives on liberty, and followed through with their threats.

Some of you know that I am part of the family of President John Adams. Paul Revere rode that night to warn John Hancock and Samuel Adams (yes, relation) that the British were coming to capture them, to seize Patriot ammunition, to put down the uprising that was coming to a head. The Sons of Liberty (Hancock, the Adams boys, Patrick Henry, and many others) had formed in the 1760s to oppose first the Stamp Tax, then other taxes and, by 1773 (The Tea Tax), their zeal for freedom from Britain brought them to Boston Harbor. It was the beginning of real revolution. Then, two years later, the Patriots received word from spies that the British were done with the rebels, and were sending men to silence the uprising. A call to arms rang throughout the land.

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse’s side,
Now he gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry tower of the Old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry’s height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns.

Paul Revere eyed the top of the Old North Church, waiting for one light, waiting for two. Ready to ride! Without him, Hancock and Adams would have been captured at a house in Lexington. Who knows if the uprising would have lost its steam in that cold April morning. Would liberty have lost its footing? Such men — such moments.

So now here we are, 233 years away from great escapades of audaciously patriotic men. Let’s not forget who they were. And let’s not forget who we are. We are the Patriots of today. Now is our time. We stand guard for liberty. She is ours to keep, to protect, to fight for with our full breath. Let us watch the horizon, stay ready to ride.

The Founding Fathers set in motion a set of ideals that continuing generations have fiercely protected. Valiant men have fought and died for the principles that we hold dear. They pass a torch of trust that is firmly in our grip. May we understand its power.

In this election, our voice still resounds with a chorus of tenacious patriots who would not let tax, war, terrorism or depression diminish freedom. Do not underestimate the cause, or the calling. Centuries of human beings have longed for the flame which is lit in our hands. It is sacred. It is priceless. It is worth our everything. And we honor those who have given their everything for its sake.

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.

As a lucky 15-year-old, I got the chance to visit Spain with my foreign language class. The experience was incredible — to stand in 16th century castles, to dip my feet in the Mediterranean, to experience history and culture that was beyond my horizons — left an indelible mark. Spain is a marvelous place, and I have always loved the culture and language. It is filled with passion and beauty. One of the best moments for me was our visit to El Museo Del Prado, really one of the premier art museums in the world. I don’t think I even realized what I had my hands on (figuratively) at the time, staring at Goya and El Greco, and even Picasso (his have since moved on). But the one painting that is still teaching me today is “Las Meninas.”

“Las Meninas” is a 10-foot canvas painted in 1646 by Diego Velázquez. It is a portrait of the King’s daughter, but in a way, it’s not. It’s a portrait of the King and Queen. But it a way, it’s not. It’s a self-portrait of Velázquez, but . . . it’s not. It’s brilliant in that on the surface, it looks like a portrait of a little girl. But as you look closer, the child is really in front of the real subjects — the King and Queen, as they are reflected in the mirror at the back of the painting. But then you realize that they are probably being reflected back from the canvas that is being painted by Velázquez himself. Which means that everyone in the painting is actually looking at you, the viewer. You are the now-noticed fly-on-the-wall as the King and Queen sit for a portrait, and their child, along with her maidservants, help pass the time.

The layers, the depth, the layout (almost like a stage), the story, the questions. It draws the viewer into the story, lets them finish the lines, fill in the blanks, be a part of the experience of the moment. As a 15-year-old, staring at the canvas, trying to decipher the whole story, I couldn’t see the way the artist used perspective, repetition, shade and lighting, focal point, diagonals, contrast . . . to tell a story. And I still don’t think I could pick it all out, it’s so thorough. I just know I felt as if I had walked into the painting, happening around me; as if I was sitting with the King and Queen, and they were reflecting back at me from the mirror. As if I was reflecting back at me.

You know, it’s a privilege to be a part of the design community. As designers, but especially the fine artists in our midst, we tell the story of our age. With our layers, our perspective, we draw the world into our story. We tell them what it’s like to be on our stage in this moment. The accountants don’t do that. The football players don’t do that. Only the artists leave the snapshot of this moment in history, for the ages to come and interpret. Who were we? What did we reflect back? What will they say about who we were in 400 years? It’s our job to develop the layers, the focal points, the story — to focus our viewer’s attention on what mattered here.

My hope for us is that our story isn’t flat. That our lines are full of dimension, and that our story takes years to investigate. And that it’s worth the attention of some 15-year-old in the future, who is looking to learn the lessons of life. I hope we, as a generation, can tell the story right, and that we tell the right story. Not of outward beauty, or trite, one-dimensional trivialities. I hope for it to be rich in wonder, making the viewer come back, find something else, and long to put themselves in the picture. I hope our beauty is lasting, and rich and deep. And remarkable.

I’d love to hear your posts on what you see, what you appreciate, and what your thoughts are on “Las Meninas.” I think it’s worth the discussion, and I’d love to hear from those of you who make creativity your living. What moves and motivates you? To see “Las Meninas,” and read the story, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Las_Meninas#Victuallers is a great place to start. I look forward to the discussion.

Art. Life. Love.