Palm Song Nocturne P. Crockett

Just fascinates me.  Always has.

It might not be obvious at first, but a dark background can make the colors flung upon it really “pop.”  I first really learned that doing the painting below, Night Garden.  It was such fun, laying on the blue and deep purple and then splashing it lightly with water “flicked” from my fingers.  (My hosts were less pleased than I, it seems, with the blue mess all over their patio floor the next morning, and asked me to clean it up.  I was fine with that, so long as I didn't have to mess with my canvas!)

The "a-HA" moment I describe came to me when I started outlining the trees opposite the pool in light blue, over doxanine purple.  The brush danced as of its own accord, and what was coming to life took my breath away.  No, that's not really it; the experience resists the imprisonment of clunky words.  I had an experience, and it carried the inviting scent of Grace just as the breezes along the shore deliver the smell of sea and salt along with their coolness.  I was so "in the picture," I was out of it.  I hope you will "read between the lines," here.

One can never know when or if such moments may be coming, but such glimpses of that Great Mystery have saved me.  I disappear into the painting, as easy as each breath, and shed the existence I know for one much greater.  Who cares if it's temporary?  No one ever said an experience must have durability to matter.   To paraphrase Robert Frost, "I have become as one acquainted with the colors of night."

Night Garden P. Crockett

When I recall such moments, simple and sweet, I cannot doubt that I have been blessed.  And the way that works, is: if you have been blessed, you are blessed.   (Remember that in the realm of Spirit, as in that of quantum physics, there is no time.)

That is a promise, but an interesting one.  It may be so, no matter what.  But it only matters if you allow the possibility, and dare claim such memories as your very own, and perhaps  bring them along with you as your journey leads you ever  forward.

Moon Dance, Miami Shores P. Crockett

More later.

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Moonlight Symphony (Miami Summer) P. Crockett

I have always loved this poem. So it occurred to me to send it to Katy.  And also (quite likely to her horror) to you. I have changed the gender in the final paragraph, by the way, figuring that not even the poet would really mind.

Photographs Taken in the Florida Everglades by Katy Raits.

LIFE is easy for no one, if you are following the growth path that is yours alone.  That has always been so, yet never more true than now, as the world we have always known continues to unravel.  Countless deaths large and small are happening all around (each additional lay-off, for example, adding another casualty), and have been for what seems forever.  We stand benumbed, waiting upon the promise of rebirth.

Many dear to me are struggling.  And so, this one is for you.

FOR CONSTANTINE CAVAFY

Reading your book

I see you now

again in your Alexandria,

leaning

toward the window of a shop

where the light

catches the dust and touches

the features of a young man within.

Watching,

you catch sight of your reflection

mottled in the glass,

and move away,

last words of a poem

rising to your mind:

“Later, in a happier time,a man just like me

will appear, and act freely.”

Sometimes,

remembering my silences,

my lost moments,

the line of burnt-out candles,

I despair with you, Cavafy.

And then, sometimes,

I think: this is that happy time;

I am the woman.

-- Ian Young

NO struggle for growth, of any sort, is ever for naught, and neither is it unending.

If you take heart, then so will I.

Thank you.

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WHEN the annual Coconut Grove Arts Festival lifts up off the ground this year starting this coming Saturday, February 13, for its 47th journey in Space, Art, and Time, I will be one of the artists aboard that fine aeroplane!!

Paul Paints Paul Collection of Richard C. Milstein

How wonderful it would be if you were able to come say Hi. The view should be incredible--

Hidden Garden P. Crockett

I know exactly what you’re thinking: What is he, NUTS??!!  Does he think we haven’t BEEN to that mob-scene of an event?

And I understand.  Really.  It can be awfully crowded, and confusing: That’s why I’m going to make it easier for you and give you an easy map to find Paul Hampton Crockett’s (not so) hidden art treasure!

Here you go:

Whoops! How embarrassing.  Come to think of it, I guess that one’s not really all that much help, unless you have temporarily left the planet. (All right, look: I never professed to be any kind of whiz kid, map-wise. But I can paint!)

But Hey!  Things happen…. So my point is, all is forgiven, even if you’ve left Earth.  Please come home!!

___________________________________________

OK, for the more literal-minded among you, who actually set out to find a destination by reference to a map, here is a more literal interpretation, courtesy of my friend Google (My booth is the sort-of stupid looking (but well-intentioned) star-thingy):

Tell you what: to make things even easier, here is a ready-made close-up revealing my exact location (God willing):

I am in the “red bar” above (the one being eaten by the blue amoeba), presumably, since my booth number is 212.

The Festival will be happening on Saturday, Sunday, and Monday, Feb. 13-15, 2010, between the hours of  10 AM to 6 PM.  Some practical challenges: first, don’t leave parking to chance.  It is unbelievable; you could become lost forever!  Second, there is an admission charge of $10.  If it helps ease the pain, tickets can be purchased online at

http://www.coconutgroveartsfest.com/about_the_festival/artists.php

It's not like I haven’t done shows before, but it has been a while, and to be quite honest I am both truly excited and a nervous WRECK!

I have never done a three-day event before, and put my (admittedly considerable) glamour to such an unseemly test of endurance!  So: if anybody out there might have any time at all to volunteer and help me out just a little, I just might survive this one intact!  I’d be most grateful.  Drop me a line at crockettartworks@gmail.com

AS always, it is awfully nice to know that you are out there.  May you be blessed, as you bless.

Thanks!

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 I see skies of blue and clouds of white
 The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
 And I think to myself, what a wonderful world

 The colours of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky
 Are also on the faces of people going by
 I see friends shakin' hands, sayin' "How do you do?"
 They're really saying "I love you"

--What a Wonderful World, Performed by Louis Armstong

Return to Wainwright P. Crockett

EXACTLY now, on an evening somehow just like this one, seems the right time to finally begin working into some form (any form!) my simple “Holiday greetings.”  Why?  For one, as the din and haste of yet another  mad holiday season once again recedes into memory, I can hear myself think!

And just now, within that welcomed and welcoming silence, I feel a need arising to just reach out to so many people I care a great deal for, but have not seen for too long, and ask ”How do you do?” I want you to know that I care.

Some of you might have little idea how much you mean to me, or how much richer my life has been because of your place in it.  William Blake wrote, “Kindness is the milk of the Human spirit.”  True enough, because life can be brutal and hit us head on, full force.

In which Man learns the tragic (but important) lesson of the return of a hurricane’s eye wall.  Miami Beach, 1926.

IT occurs to me that it is your kindness I want to celebrate, in this brief greeting.  To say:  I am grateful for the ways you have touched me.  And as well,  to offer up a reminder that no genuine act of kindness, however small, is ever wasted.  Or, even forgotten. (“Reality check” that idea in terms of your own experience.  It holds, for me.)  I have grown to realize that it is absolutely impossible to bestow a blessing on another without  as a result receiving some other, in full, like measure.

How, exactly?  And when?  And why would this be so?

I cannot say; don't really know.  But I don't need to fully understand, or be able to logically analyze.  I know what I know, and part of the known seems likely as not to remain always in the province of  mystery.  It is no problem to be solved; it is a gift.

This particular question partakes especially of mystery, because it is not always ours to see what we might be giving or receiving, nor  to or from whom.  Often, the exact opposite of what I believed to be true was in fact transpiring, to vastly greater effect.

Once I saw that one had posted in an online profile a quotation to the effect that "the true measure of a man is how he treats one who can do nothing for him."  I sent on a note commenting that I could see his point, but pointing out that in deeper truth, none of us ever have any real way of ascertaining who might or might not be in a position to help us.  Assumptions tend to inflict devastating damage in the greater field of open possibility, and often do.

And so: though I cannot articulate the applicable laws of interrelation or metaphysics that might offer substantiation or explanation, I have zero doubt that the thought is the deepest kind of true.

We seem to generally miscomprehend the extent of our logical understanding concerning matters of the heart, and grant our clownish notions a solemn dignity that ill-fits them, as polka-dotted diapers might a (blushing) baby elephant.

Our conscious musings generally plod along at a fair distance behind the real “action”— by the time it arrives upon the scene the souls might already have always known one another for all of eternity, for in that realm there is no time.  Or there might have been some great show with sparks cascading like fireworks and even current arcing, yet the quicksilver dance will have been  completed and its restless energy already moved on.  Its ebb and flow is both ancient and vastly subtle, relating to the unfolding needs of the soul.  None can presume to chart it, or fathom its depths.  It is sufficient to completely experience.

In the processes of our inner growth and becoming, so often facilitated in the mirror of relationship with others,  the rational mind indeed plays a critical role.  Yet it is only one part of the picture.  And quite possibly a lesser player, at that.  One part of us hates that idea, and the other even half breathes a deep sigh of relief, Thank God!

The things that we think we know about matters of the heart might bear no more causative relation to its actual kinetic unfoldings, than our awareness of our breathing and the the beating of our hearts initiate or govern either process.

This is why it makes sense to give beyond reason, as we may be called, or feel led.  In a sense it is our only way of keeping anything worth having.

THESE are hard, truly awful times for many.  Yet even so, strangely, it occurs to me to put this idea upon the table:

If you want to receive the best others have to give, then give others your own.  Do it first, and do not waver.  Come on, what choice do you have anyway, really?

And, if you’d actually see yourself in a position to receive blessings, and are truly ready,  then start first by applying your creative intelligence to focus upon what it might be that you have to give.  Ascertain whatever it is that you, and you alone, have to offer up to this big hurtin' world.  I am warning you: if you see it at all (for we are often blind to our own true inner gold), you might think it either foolish, or laughable. But I am telling you: it is there. And it might point the way toward your salvation.

(By which I mean, the satisfaction of your deepest needs.  Your personal epiphany.  A sudden "click of miracle" that is your own.)

Personally, I take heart in Oscar Wilde’s observation that “only the shallow know themselves.”

Along the Way P. Crockett

The good news in this whole scenario, as we trudge forward in this canyon of epic paradox: there are not really any wrong answers.  Life may be a schoolroom for the Spirit, but it is not a test.  From one perspective, certainly, none who really try, who gives it their all, fail.

And we are not here simply to compete with one another until our last, clinching, tight-assed breath!

THE theme to which I keep returning in this "non-Hallmark Greeting," I suppose, is a reassurance, flowing from the deep conviction that we are none of us truly alone.  That remains true, no matter what in the HELL might be going on in your life!  Even if (or perhaps especially if), for example, your mess of a financial situation and “Home Sweet 'Upside-Down' Home" have you feeling something like this,

At least you can be glad that you put on  festive shoes that morning!

I like the idea of reaching out on this day precisely because it is “ordinary.”  This “Holy day” (a Monday, yet!) is marked out on no public calendar as  “different,” and accorded no special significance in observation of any historical event or tradition, or prevailing custom, expression of political bombast, etc.

It's simply a gay-day, man! Yet another jewel upon the mysterious and golden chain that somehow takes form, and knows no end.  That makes up a life.

La Paz Garden P. Crockett   Collection Eric Raits

IT is not special because of the date on the calendar, or tomorrow’s.

More so, because the sun rose this morning and completed its arc across the sky, leaving us once again  to the moon above, and  the stars.

Solar System Quilt, 1876.

Because the children played,

inviting a contemplation of innocence.

And because we enjoyed the supreme luxury of taking for granted the company of our loved ones and of our pets, exactly as if we’d have them forever.

My longtime next-door neighbor and friend Vivian Howard, ever the soul of grace.  She is here 9, with her brother and her sister Sibyl.  She had essentially (and suddenly) become a mother to them both after their mother’s death in childbirth only months before.  If she ever felt “put upon,” or for that matter anything other than blessed, I was never shown the first clue of it.

Because it may be so that we will always have an opportunity to touch those we love and simply say, in words or through actions, “I love you…”

My father's parents, Bruce and Annelise, enjoying easy “lawn time” together in the front yard of their home on SW 26th Road, always a block away from ours,   I love this picture.  He adored her so.

but the sharing may be  more rewarding while they are still here with us.  Today.

My parents, Anne and Jerry, back in the swingin' sixties.  This August, God willing, will mark 57 years of sacred partnership together. They have attended well to the only lesson that really matters-- how to love—and  done their level best to pass it on, as had been their truest legacy.

The gracious and truly one-of-a-kind Betty Langdon: Alan’s Mom.  It is she, I am quite certain, who taught her son that differences can indeed be festive, and wove color all around her beloved boy, free as air.

Certain lessons never quite die.  Below: a glimpse of Alan’s kaleidoscopic inner sanctum.

TODAY seems the day because it is of threads exactly like that added on this day, for better or for worse, that over the course of a lifetime the tapestries of our lives are interwoven.

And so: though it may well be that dreams are dying all around us,

New American Gothic Illustration: P Crockett

Why not then make it a special point not only to keep ours alive (itself, no small feat!),

but to go for the biggest and most brilliant we can imagine?   To one day hold its promise as our very own, inside of our hearts?

Dreams need no reason, but we need our dreams!

If nothing else, why should we not set our sights on the prospect of having an epic dream?  So many have been orphaned…

Big Blue, Scott Gillen  Collection of George Fishman

James Deering, who actually worked very hard and well to help build the family business, is here seen outside of  Deering Works in Chicago, just taking a moment to indulge in some outlandish dream.

ALONG the course of your journey, may you be well accompanied,

and allow  yourself the luxury of time to see and to savor and to share the beauty all  around.

Bear Cut, Key Biscayne

Jade Vine, Next Door

MAY  you be sustained and blessed, until you have at last found your way home.

So there you have it, my simple “New Year’s Greetings,” from the heart.

THANK YOU for coming along on my journey.

Thank you for being.

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