Today, the family and I took a trip to White House for two soccer games that we guessed would be cancelled due to storms. The forecast and radar showed every sign of the future, but we committed to going. The forty minute car trip ended with a light rain which gave way to thunder and lightening. Rain is ok for soccer, the other two cancel plans. So, the teams were not allowed on the field, and the start time was pushed back thirty minutes. After plenty more from Mother Nature, there was another delay. One look at the radar could have convinced any half wit to make the right call. But, this time, those in charge were witless. So, we waited…
I don’t know how much later it was, but I know I had to leave the dry security of the car to go investigate and get some answers. Some time later, the director of our soccer club had ushered in the final decision to not play, taking the kids safety into utmost consideration. The other coach and the refs were willing to play, but thunder was present, and then two close lightening strikes caught the attention of those in charge. The game was cancelled. Then, for just a moment, they debated whether or not to wait and see if we could play the second game… wiser minds prevailed. There would be no soccer today… just three hours that we can never get back.
Luckily, we were able to make the most of that time and have fun with the debacle. Also, we barely had enough players to even play the games. Seems like it’s time to reevaluate this season, though it’s hardly even started. Last week, nearly every day’s heat index led to cancelled practices. Mother Nature is in control.
Two out of the last three days, I have forgotten to post to the blog. I have made up for the lapses, but, nonetheless, I have “failed” to do what I have set out to do (of course, there weren’t rules to this, but…). At the end of the year, I will have a post for every day, but there will be some stretching of what that means. That being said, I hope to clear out (hiccup) whatever extra gas is running through my system and causing the disruption in the natural flow.
Currently, there is an overload of projects being processed through the days, and managing it all proves taxing. Daily, I’ll keep striving to compartmentalize and successfully address each individual opportunity… juggling flaming plastic toy chainsaws.
I came across this quote today while doing some research, and it struck a chord with me. I’m often quietly, mentally stuttering when I have to speak in particular depths. I am a painter: one picture = one thousand words.
“My speech is imperfect. Not because I want to shine with words, but out of the impossibility of finding those words, I speak in images. With nothing else to express the words from the depths.” – C.G. Jung
I’m definitely not sure that these are going to work at a larger scale, and that’s why I’m trying it. The “Portal Paintings” are successful on the intimate scale of 11″x9″… I have some that are 22″x18″, but the newest ones have made the leap to canvas and are 48″x36.” Spending time in discomfort is important, and it’s not a habit that I have held very long… probably shouldn’t even call it a habit. I’m a routine man, usually. I don’t like to think that I “play it safe,” and certainly, in some ways I’m not close to doing such. Anyways, the job calls for larger paintings, and I’m trying to find out what I’ve got.
The last two days have been energetic glitches. I can’t seem to get my mind to settle well enough to take it easy on me. The gutter of financial anxiety cleared a space for me, and I trudged right into it, and now, it’s sticky getting out of the muck. For all of the faculties I think I have, and usually use well, there are days where the long time frenemy sneaks up for a bear hug. Tomorrow will be a turning point, one way or another. I hope to put the strangle hold on this feeling, and make peace with what is.
I happened across an IG post from an acquaintance of mine the other day the nearly prompted a vicious comment, but I refrained. The person was on vacation somewhere beautiful, and the post read something like, “Life is too short to not be happy.” I thought that was about as silly a statement one person (over the age of eleven) could make. I’m not really sure that it’s worth writing any more about, but I needed to air my grievance. Life is so much more than happiness.
I am grateful to be working with the folks at Red Arrow Gallery again, and as of today, I have some works available on their ArtCloud platform. You’ll find some of the Haiku Paintings and some of the Reconstruction pieces. As an artist who has tried all sorts of ways to sell my own work, it is nice to have someone who believes in the work enough to work hard to get it in front of an audience. I have failed repeatedly at connecting collectors to my paintings. On a podcast today, I heard a lovely bit about Thomas Edison and the number of times that he failed…
Still, he kept returning to the Work, and accomplished enough. I do think about how history might view my efforts (if at all). I usually don’t get the sense that my work is on anyone’s radar in the contemporary art world. I think that I would prefer to be rejected instead of neglected… how about you?
: a surface appearance of something grown beautiful especially with age or use
The patina (beauty) that comes with living is the authentic beauty.
Last week, along with starting to write my first official business plan, I spent about seven hours cleaning mold/mildew off of items in the family storage unit. Apparently, the roof at the facility leaked sometime months ago, and we were not notified. The unit isn’t climate controlled, and the lovely summer heat created a perfect environment for spores. So, I took on the job to document the damage, clean the funk the best I could, and then treat all the effected wood with furniture oil. It was a sweaty, filthy, stinky task, and I found strange enjoyment in it. Today, I got some help from my brother in carrying the heavy stuff to the new, smaller, climate controlled unit. All done.
The idea of storage spaces freaks me out a bit. We began renting one when my grandmother passed away, and we inherited some beautiful antiques. Other odds and ends have found their way there over these last couple of years, but it’s not a ton of stuff. I don’t know what else to say about that right now.
I smoked a cigar with a friend last night, and it was good. Real conversation nourishes as much as a proper diet. Unfortunately, our culture is about as keen to that as it is to mindful eating. Anyways, Monday’s coming soon, and I’m hungry for it all.
Regularly seeking opportunities to spark joy in life, today delivered two. The kids and I enjoyed a couple of hours at the pool, which felt perfect, then I joined the Bubs at the Titans’ first home preseason game. Football weather is not meant to be ninety degrees with a blanket of humidity, but it was good to be back watching the Titans. It was a good day for joy.
Jim Tweel, my Giddo (Arabic for grandfather), was born on this day in 1915. He was twenty-three when he wanted to marry my Sittee, who told him to get a job, or she was moving on. So, he borrowed fifteen hundred dollars and purchased Kennedy’s Dairy Bar. They sold fifteen cent hamburgers and ten cent milkshakes (or, something like that… he said it a hundred times, but I don’t remember exactly). He fairly quickly expanded the business, and in the mid forties transitioned it to Jim’s Steak & Spaghetti House. He ran a tight ship, overseeing operations until the late nineties when my mom began to take over manager duties.
“Good food, good service, cleanliness, courtesy, and ambiance” were the guiding forces behind his success. He was a hard worker, kind, compassionate, and humble. Everyone was treated equally, and they were treated like family. His authentic warmth with customers and employees endeared him to everyone he met. The example that he lived out remains a beacon light on the path of living well. I am lucky to have descended from such a genuine gentle-man. My dream is that I can help expand his legacy by bringing Jim’s Spaghetti Sauce to the masses, starting in Nashville.
Happy Birthday, Giddo!