‘Nowhere Boy’… a story of the misunderstood

I recently attended a showing of Nowhere Boy at the Strand in Rockland. I went into the showing not really knowing what to expect. A movie about the early life of John Lennon, I figured it could only be better than the last movie I saw regarding The Beatles, Across the Universe. Across the Universe was a rare flick with stars Jude and Lucy. I don’t know. I mean, I’ve always THOUGHT I had a semi-good sense of humor but, seriously? Well, needless to say, Nowhere Boy did more than exceed my expectations. I loved it. I think its because it really showed the true humanity of John Lennon. He, like Michael Jackson, will live forever as a legend. But, who was he before he was a legend? Who was he before he even learned how to play the banjo? He was John- a teenage boy who lived with his aunt because his mom was mentally unstable. He was a Liverpool schoolboy who appeared to be going nowhere… until he found Elvis; until he found Rock N’ Roll.

"Did you just use 'film' and 'cinematography' in the same sentence?"

Some parents sign their children up for cheerleading at the age of four or buy baseball cleats as a Christmas gift to prepare their barely walking child for t-ball season. I, on the other hand, grew up with a mother who's passion was beauty. Beauty was all around me and thanks to her, I had the eyes to see it. She used her eye for beauty in decorating our home, and translated her skill to me as she taught me how to draw horses out of ovals, and use grids to recreate reality on a sheet of paper. Whenever I visit my parents, my mom pulls out her portfolio and shows me all of her studies and watercolors she has done since I last saw her. She shares with me the irritations and struggles leading up to her finished product and shows me new techniques she picked up along the way. It's interesting to see art in progress and to understand that a finished product isn't (usually) the result of divine intervention. It is a growing and stretching of the mind and a bettering of ones self. It is growth and progress and it is just as beautiful as the finished product. It's like watching a baby struggle as it tries to take its first steps. They fall and sometimes start to cry but each attempt is a celebration. It is a mother calling the father at work just to say that the baby stood for a WHOLE minute... and then fell. It's about growth, practice and work and through the grueling process, being able to run across the room or frame a stunning watercolor.

There is a film that recently aired at The Strand called Cairo Time. In this film, noted for its incredible cinematography, a woman travels from New York to Cairo to visit her husband who works for the UN. While he is held up working at a refugee camp, she explores the beauty and culture of the great historic city of Cairo. At one point in the movie, Juliette (played by Patricia Clarkson) is walking through a garden with a huge canopy of trees. As she takes in the ornate beauty of the trees around her, her tour guide and friend remarks something to the effect of, 'look at these trees that get to live alongside their ancestors!' Old trees are something that we, as Americans, know little of. The size of the tree trunks were bigger than any I have seen and their mere size reflected of the history they have lived through. Though this scene wasn't even a prominent aspect of the movie, it stuck out to me more than most others. Though the scene only lasted a short moment, it sparked much thought as I considered ancestry and different people and accomplishments that have taken place in my family line.


Could you imagine living alongside your ancestors? I would have so many questions and I think I would have paid more attention in History class growing up if I had actually known people who lived through it all. I'd love to walk around the quarries of Vinal Haven with my Great Great Great Grandfather on my fathers side who migrated to Maine from Scotland to work in the quarry industry which provided streets to great cities like Boston. I'd want him to lead me around the island with his thick scottish accent and tell me about the oppression and starvation in Scotland which lead to his courageous move to the young country of America. I'd want to sit with my Great Great Great Grandmother as she gutted her catch of the day to prepare her cheap New England dinner. I'd want to sit with Harriett Beecher Stowe from my mothers side of the family and hear about her journey of writing Uncle Tom's Cabin. I'd admire her bravery and hope that maybe an ounce of her strength could be seen in me. Lastly, I think I'd want to sit down with my grandmother who died just a few years ago. Since moving to Maine, I have met people that knew her well. What saddens me is that I feel like many people here knew her better than I and have testified of her great charactor and skill on the piano. I would want to have tea with my Grandmother and hear her perspective on things having gone from daughter of a Philadelphia banker who barely felt the depression to marrying a baseball player from Clark Island, Maine.

Just think of all the wisdom that we could obtain! Instead, we are left with stories. With the way my family tells stories, I wonder if there is more truth than fabrication, but stories are the only thing we have to truly link us to our rich ancestry. We can only know what we have been told. There are a few little things that I've picked up. I have been told that my sisters and I laugh the same way that my grandmother would laugh with her sisters- loud and proud. I gain my musical flare from my father's mother and grandmother and thankfully, I have been given the wonder genes of humor and an eye for beauty from my mother.

It is easy to think that we create our own future. We are told from a young age that we can accomplish whatever we want as long as we set our mind to it. Though this may be true in part, it is important to remember where we came from and who has made it possible. Just think if Harriet Beecher Stowe had never revealed the harsh realities behind slavery or if the quarries of Maine had never been worked, establishing the foundation of one of Maine's most prominent industries. Where would we be today? Probably standing in dirt harboring racial anger. No thank you.

Unexpected Moments

These brisk fall days are getting darker and colder as the streets of mid-coast Maine dwindle down from the many visitors to those who hold it all together. It's strange to be here through the many phases that Maine culture takes you in a year. This past week has been a whirlwind of emotions for me and I have felt my heart pulled in all different directions. This morning was the grand finale as I sat in church, pen in hand and realized that I wasn't even thinking about anything at all. It is easy to have your mind wander, but my mind just shut off and I couldn't even process what was going on. I feel like if someone had looked me in the eyes, they would have seen two fuzzy tv's instead of eyeballs. I couldn't verbalize what was happening to me and after a short conversation with a friend, I realized that I didn't even have to use words. it truly was written all over my face.

I spent my Sunday afternoon at Rock City coffee and books, sitting on their newly aquired black faux leather coach. I observed the many different kinds of people around me and especially liked watching two couples, probably in their mid to late 40's, enjoy a board game together. They laughed and laughed and it just made me happy to see people enjoy such community in our little town coffee house. I broke in a box of pastels and watercolors and just made all sorts of shapes and designs. Through it, I was thinking about the fact that I never paint or use pastels. Why today? Well, it wasn't about the outcome. It wasn't even about copious amounts of inspiration. It was that I couldn't think of words and I knew that I just needed to take part in a process of creating something. When I had finished one of the pictures, I looked down and went 'eh...' but the truth is, I realized that it calmed my mind. I wasn't overwhelmed and I wasn't overanalyzing my life. I was just sitting and doing... and it was pleasant.

After sitting for a while, I went into my favorite Rockland Gallery. I like it because the building has beautiful architecture and they always play good music. I also like the art.... but the atmosphere really helps it out a lot. I've decided to share different artists with you throughout future posts, so I will start today with someone I hadn't heard of before today.

Joyce Tenneson

I think this portrait of Joyce really shows the essence of her work. She looks strong but at peace. From looking at this photograph of Joyce and observing her pieces, the word 'meek' comes to mind. There is an obvious inner strength but the soft lines and colors show the subjects soft character. Ah, soft character... something so foreign to me and my cut throat American culture... yet so desirable.









I hope you enjoy her! Check out her section of the Dowling Walsh Gallery website. I don't love the flowers... but her portraits are quite compelling. The relationship between her floral pieces and her portraiture kind of remind me of Anne Geddes... no thanks!

Even though boiled milk smells bad...

Today is the first true 'brisk' fall day as I experience my first New England Fall. As my favorite season, fall deserves a little recognition. It is for this reason that I have parked myself in a coffee house, sipping on some Darjeeling tea with milk, just peering out the window. OK fine, I came here to do homework, but honestly- I think I am cherishing this time much more just soaking in the atmosphere.

There is something to be said for coffee houses in the fall and winter. Yes, they are pleasant in the summer but when its cold outside, they seem to be the most comforting place around. Though I think that this current coffee house in the little village of Camden, ME over-steams their milk, thus creating a kind of wrong scent in the air, I really don't think I could enjoy this any more than I am. Secretly, even the scent is comforting because I am able to be silently self-righteous in regards to my superior steaming methods. Wow, who AM i? Pour milk, cap the milk with about half an inch of froth and then pump. Do not heat milk more than two times or else the milk curdles. ....next subject.

So what pulls us over and and over again into the doors of our favorite local coffee house? When researching for my Senior Integration Paper last year, I found this great little article about coffee house culture.

Take a gander:
http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_qn4156/is_20051120/ai_n15849335/?tag=content;col1


To restate what you may or may not choose to read, the article claims that people are drawn to coffee houses because they yearn for community and a sense of home. They go to the same coffee house, order the same thing and sit in the same place. This soon becomes 'their' coffee house, 'their' drink and 'their' table in the corner allowing them to observe both those in the coffee house and those walking by on the street.

When I look back on the many hours I have spent in coffee houses, I am reminded of:
1. working at Frederick Coffee Co. in Maryland. (MOSTLY good memories...)
2. going to Chattz in Chattanooga with Mary Elizabeth and ordering everything bagels with brie and a soy chai latte. I remember us sitting by the window while we sorted through her disney valentines while we decided which character would suit the many friends on her list that she found worthy of valentines.
3. I remember going to Rembrandts in Chattanooga with Carolann and our 6th grade girls small group one sunday morning. We all ordered hot chocolate and shared our lives together.
4. I remember the countless visits to Cafe Nola in Maryland with Emmy Baltic or Natalie Beall. Emmy and I used to go there to study when we were both taking classes at FCC. As for Natalie, I remember enjoying the bar and ordering my first legal cucumber mohito in celebration of my 21st birthday. We also seem to visit Nola every single time I am in Frederick and that alone, is valuable to me as a staple activity in our relationship.
5. I remember our family summer visits to Maine and spending a lot of time at Second Read (now called Rock City Coffee and Books) in Rockland. I would go with my Dad as he would need to do his mid-vacation email check and graze the used books. I would explore the books and order my favorite treat, the oatmeal raisin cookie. I am regularly reminded of my Dad when I think on the topic of coffee houses. He raised me and my siblings to 'always suport the underdog' and I continue that mentality in mainly two areas of my life: gas stations and coffee houses. Always support local. Yes, its vogue NOW... but only because of my Dad. The Ellis family has a way of setting trends.
6. And now, as I live in Maine, I value my loyalty to Zoot Coffee. I visited it the first weekend that I moved to Maine and every time I visit, I think of all the growing pains I have experienced, and for the most part, overcome, since I moved here about five and a half months ago.

Well, I think thats all for now.

Emily Schiffer's Cheyenne River

I recently attended a lecture with Photographer, Emily Schiffer. Emily has spent the last 5 years living in Dupree, South Dakota developing and teaching a photography program for local children. Upon moving to South Dakota, she notified many friends and colleagues and had people donate photography equipment to launch her ‘My Viewpoint’ program which is held at a local YMCA, which is essentially a small cabin in the middle of a valley region. She received about 70 cameras and a darkroom complete with supplies, chemicals and an enlarger.
Her exhibit, ‘Cheyenne River’, which is currently on exhibit at the Farnsworth Art Museum, depicts the children in the context of their play. Working at the museum, I have loved hearing people’s responses to the exhibit and was inspired by her passion for bringing art and education to underprivileged children. Prior to attending her talk, I knew that I admired her work. However, as I was sitting there, listening to her. I felt a connection with her as she got excited talking about the students and their work and progress. Emily is featured at the museum as part of her prize for winning the Arnold Newman award, which is given out annually by the Arnold and Augusta Newman foundation. Along with the exhibit, she was given $10,000 toward her program. What did she use her winnings for? She took her students on a trip to New York city. There, the students went to various museums, swam in the ocean for the first time, and even had their work exhibited at SEVEN, a Brooklyn gallery.
Listening to Emily, I was reminded of Zana Briski, a photographer who moved to Calcutta and taught children in the slums about photography as a way to document their life. Briski has also shown her students work in various galleries and even opened the door for a few of her students to received scholarships and receive an American college education. If your interested, take a look at ‘Born into Brothals’, her Academy award winning documentary.

Below are pieces from Emily’s presentation. Take a peak and enjoy a glimpse at childhood in rural South Dakota!






My favorite photo was this first photograph shown of a small girl also named Emily. Emily Schiffer recalled the context of the shot as all the children exploring an old barn. She then turned and saw little Emily kind of zoned out. She said to her, “Emily, you look very beautiful right now. May I take your picture?” Little Emily said yes and as the adjustments on the camera were made, a breeze blew by and the shirt fell off the shoulder. Between the lighting, movement with the breeze and surreal look in little Emily’s eyes, this priceless shot was able to be captured.

Living one day at a time; Enjoying one moment at a time; Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace

Since moving to Maine at the end of May, I have been faced with life questions that I had never encountered before. Some of these questions were anticipated with the natural transition from college life to ‘life after college’. Questions that would fit into this category would include:
1. Is pottery a hobby or career?
2. I also have a passion for urban community development? What does it look like to have such a passion while living in rural Maine?
3. How long do I want to stay in Maine? Who will I meet? What will my life look like here?
4. How do I plug into community?
5. What do I do when most of my free time is alone time?

These are all broad questions. These questions, mostly logical, have to do with my life professionally. Well, what about everything else? My time at Covenant taught me to think holistically. Instead of asking myself WHAT is missing, I want to ask myself WHY I feel like I’m missing something.
Thanks to a recent phone conversation with my sister, Niki, I am realizing that it is vital to view my life holistically and see how the various aspects of my life connect, in order to start answering these questions.
An example of this would be my current financial situation. I am working part time as an apprentice to a potter. Overall, I spend about 20-30 hours a week in the studio, doing anything from cleaning, to working with molds, to throwing pots. I do not get paid for all of these hours. The time that I spend making my own pieces and improving my skill is unpaid work, as it should be. I also work about 30 hours a week at the Farnsworth Art Museum Store. Anticipating my time in Maine, this is exactly what I was hoping for. I wanted to be completely entrenched in pottery, learning the in’s and out’s of the business, while also having the opportunity to improve my skill. I also wanted a small job on the site that would financially supplement my unpaid hours of pottery. Ok. So, I got what I wanted.

What’s my problem? What thoughts have lead to discontentment?

1. I feel discontent because I am struggling financially. I find myself wishing that I could live in a cute little house or apartment and be able to walk to the museum. I find myself wanting a garden and a cute little life. I want to have a small place to live that I can call my own and have people over for a meal. I want to be able to cook food that I like and that is both good for my taste buds and body. I want friends to be able to visit me and stay in my little home and not be a bother to anyone else.

Response: This is the first time that I have put those thoughts into words. When reading my above explanation of discontentment, I am slightly disgusted with myself. Yes, it is true- all of the above things are reasonable. They make sense for any employed adult to want those things. It sounds right because of the selfish culture that we live in today. We feel entitled to have things to call our OWN. We feel entitled to have THINGS. Is that what I really want for my life? Do I want to live alone with nothing but all the stuff that I have accumulated? I certainly can’t live that way and be an apprentice to a potter and a museum store employee! Does that mean that I would have to make sacrifices in order to live a comfortable life filled with stuff? What about being alone? I’ve never wanted to live alone. I have strong convictions toward living alone and I believe that we are creatures created for community and that communal living is the essence of that. So why am I being bent toward this ideal that a cute little place to call my own will satisfy? That leads me to my next point:

2. I feel discontent because I long for a sense of home: After my parents moving from Maryland to New Jersey, I made Chattanooga home. I spent my school year months there, and between my Junior and Senior year, I lived there and became involved in a great church community which deepened this desired sense of home. That sense of home was confirmed with close friends, a church that I loved and older people I look up to. Now, I am in Maine and I’m starting over. It takes time and I get restless. I just want to speed up the process and have everything in place.

It’s strange to me that I want a sense of home at this point in my life. I’ve had this just assumed plan that I would spend my few years after college living in various places, being exposed to new things. Why am I having this almost subconscious pull to have a home and a place and a sense of permanence? Is this feeling even directly correlated with my move and new environment or is that just a general human desire. We want to be fulfilled by this world. We want to be grounded and produce something. How humanistic of us. How selfish it is to live to please ourselves and pursue our own ideas of what will satisfy.

The following verses seem to be the only applicable response to my chaotic stream of thoughts.

James 4:13-17
“Come now, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit”- yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, “If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.” As it is, you boast in your arrogance. All such boasting is evil. So whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is sin.”

necklace? or....

I am a list maker. I think of things to make, often late at night when I can't sleep, write down my idea, and then- MAYBE... just maybe... a few months later, its done. The real downfall to this unhelpful pattern is that I often do a project in pieces. This necklace for example: I was doing some hemming and decided to go ahead and sew the basic shape of the necklace while all my sewing items were out. I attached the hooks and then left it for about a week. Then, today- I wasn't even feeling creative. I just got this overwhelming urge to get it done. It annoyed me to see a half finished project just sitting there. So, after a long day of work, when I am not only worn out but also that sticky sort of hot, I sit down to do something that should take a bit of planning. I didn't plan. I just plugged in the hot glue gun and went for it. Yes, this is the result of my 'just get it done mentality'.




Do we love it or do we love it? I think I like this hemp wall hanging because the negative shapes are just as prominant as the positive shapes. The eye is not just drawn to the subject as a whole... but to the lines and the relationship between lines. I've been wanting to make a necklace for a while now and thought this might just it. What if I could translate this idea into a necklace?

1. Find neutral fabric. Cut into desired shape. Cut it larger than desired, remembering that it will be sown inside out and then folded back to right side.


2. Here came my first problem. So, the above photo that gave me the idea for the necklace is made out of hemp. The store that I went to was out of hemp and only had jute.
Properties of jute that vary from hemp: lighter color. thicker. Not as tightly woven.
These are all things that need to be taken into account and will affect the process. In my opinion, the lighter color makes it look more homemade. It's thicker so it takes up more room. It is a more losely woven chord so it needs to be fastened more tightly and permanently.

Below, I thought that the jute could be easily sown on. Being lazy, I used the dark thread I had near me. Problem: It shows. A lot.... and it leaves the jute looking loose on the fabric.

Question. Necklace or Bib?

3. The answer to the thread catastrophe? Hot Glue Gun. Use with caution. It is easy to use too much and have the glue ooze from below the hemp. Below is the finished product... Enjoy.


Am I satisfied? I don't think so. Actually... I'm positive. I can know that I am not satisfied when I can look at the origin of my idea and still like it better than my own. I look at the hemp wall hanging above and think- "If I saw this wall hanging right next to the necklace, which one would I want more?" Answer: the wall hanging. True, it doesn't have a function and won't embellish an outfit, but it also doesn't look like a child made it. It also doesn't look like it could be a bib... or at least a very affective one!

Addressing the List.

Ha! I will not be addressing the list. I considered it, started typing and then started to feel like I was writing in a journal. Yeah, not exactly what I was going for. I could use elequent wording to make it sound more exciting than it really is, but hey- lets just save it and call it a day.

On a different note, I bought some supplies for our first venture. Let me show you!

Jute Wall Hanging



Ok, well as cool as this jute wall hanging is, I am actually making something different but 'inspired' by this concept. I will be making a necklace using this same method. However, the store was out of jute so I got a roll of hemp instead. I am already considering that I might run into some difficulties since hemp is a more loosely woven string and it could look sloppy, but I'll do what I can and be sure to inform you when hardships are faced. I will leave the rest to your imagination but will get to making this as soon as possible.

1,200 Miles Later.

First of all, I’d like to apologize for my lack of updates. This blog was designed to be a tool to stir creativity but instead, has begun to resemble much of my relationship with crafting: strong idea and start and no finish. However, I will not let that happen! I will follow through! And in doing so, I’d like to consider the old saying of ‘easy does it’. That’s right! I can just hear an old fisherman say it with a pipe hanging out of his mouth as his subordinates slowly drop the nets over the side of the boat: ‘easy does it, easy does it’. Much like this slightly unhelpful visual, I will attempt to actually stay on track and have a somewhat cohesive blog.

Many things have occurred since the onset of this blog. I have completed a move! This move began in Chattanooga, TN taking various pit stops in Maryland, New Jersey and as you read earlier, Philadelphia. Now the move has been completed and I find myself nestled in a small town on the coast of Maine. After a month of living out of my suitcase and the crates of clothes/shoes/misc. stored in the trunk of my car, I have unpacked and settled into a room that will be home for the next months as I engage in this new community. I left the land of fried okra and entered the land of lobsters and chowders. I have traded in my binders and textbooks for a mound of clay and a potter's wheel and am transitioning from the world of theory to application. Ahh, yes! How I've been waiting for this!

Though this blog is to be a place of ‘creative excursions’ and not another ‘day in the life of…’ blog, I’m realizing that this phase of my life is quite the creative excursion. Though I have not attacked the endless creative ‘to-do’s’, I have transported the list 9 states. That’s got to count for something!

Due to all the transition that the months of May and June have brought me, I’ve decided to post updates about my move and all the joys, discoveries and just plain “hmm’s…” I’ve encountered along the way.

I will address the following in upcoming posts:

1. How to visit your parents and NOT resort to the default maturity level which tends to rest between 11 and 14 years of age

2. What to look for when moving to a new area

3. Mission: Job and Housing… stop. BREATHE.

4. In all things, consider décor

5. Routine! Hello! How I’ve missed you!

Art and Community

My parents recently moved to the outskirts of Philadelphia. With this, came a new city to explore when in town for family visits! Philadelphia's Magic Gardens are more than just a mosaic. It is the vision of Isaiah Zagar who purchased property on South Street and began the 14 year project of transforming a storefront and empty lot space next door to a whimsical playground. As I walked through this maze of color, texture and pattern, the true scale of a project like this was the most breathtaking. In the late 1960's, when Zagar and his wife moved to South Street, it was an area of brokenness and neglect, home to some of America's urban poor stuck in a cycle of poverty that doesn't leave much opportunity for escape. Seeing this, Zagar chose this particular location in order to draw public attention to the neighborhood and draw the community together. When walking through, down and around this fairyland, it is difficult to not feel a personal connection with the work. This garden as well as Zagar's many murals around the city stress the importance of the imagination. His view on art and emphasis on community building were pivital in transforming the community of South Philly.



------- mural reads: "Art is the center of the real world."--------



"Art should not be segregated in museums;
it needs to live free among us." -Isaiah Zagar

a return to the darkroom

It seems that the art of darkroom photography is quickly becoming something of the past. Many photographs that we see in advertisements, in magazines or on gallery walls, are digital alterations of the perceived world. Though technology has dramatically changed the world of Photography and graphic design, I find it refreshing to return to the darkroom. In a photography class I had in college, a local photographer came and spoke in class. He had started off in darkroom photography and later moved to digital. He explained that, although his recent pieces have been more abstract and all done on the computer, he believed that the darkroom allows the artist to manipulate the photo more than a computer program. The more I study photography, the more I see all the options available in the darkroom. In my photo's below, I barely scratched the surface of all the possibilities of the darkroom. I used contrast filters in nearly all the photo's and dodged or burned where needed. In the third photo, instead of dipping the exposed paper in a tray of developer, I wet my fingers and splattered the paper. This brought a bit more to an otherwise drab photo.

Welcome.

This blog is the beginning of a personal project made public in order to stimulate others to test out various creative endeavors and share ideas. This is to be a place of creative encouragement as well as a tool for others to get out of their own creative niche and try new things. Welcome and I look forward to sharing thoughts, methods and projects with you as you pass on those of your own.