Wandering

After making the decision to resign from my job on 11/11/11, the next step was to decide upon a destination. I have no great desire to be anywhere in particular, so I wrote down the things which were important to me. Inexpensive, warm, somewhat safe and clean, were things which came to mind. That knocked out half of the world and I was left with the continents in the tropics. It came down to Central/South America and SE Asia. Once I made a choice the ball would begin to roll, so I picked Thailand as my initial point of arrival.

The next step in planning is to acquire knowledge of the country, its laws, culture, popular towns and areas. I also need to plan the logistics of the trip. Airline tickets, visas, what type of backpack to bring, what to put into the backpack, how to manage the initial 30 day period, border runs, departures to other countries. It is a bit overwhelming.

I will make an outline of the things which need to be studied and decided upon, and then work down the list, taking my time. I imagine it is a bit like planning a battle in a large scale war -something misunderstood, or entirely missed, could bring defeat.

11:11

I was walking through the park last week and in a moment of clarity decided to choose November 11 as the date of my departure. While leaving before the arrival of winter is pleasant to ponder, the mystical 11:11 is what drew me to that month and day. Since childhood, whenever I have seen 11:11 (mainly on digital clocks) my mind becomes reflective and somewhat shaken - the number acts as a trigger for a memory of something which has not yet happened.

Having chosen the date, the next task is deciding upon the initial place of arrival. I have a world map laid out on the kitchen drawing table, and every day I study it, hoping for an insight or inspiration which will lead me to the correct and logical choice. With four months remaining I appear to be on schedule for making an important change in my surroundings and circumstances.

At times I have the idea to stay put and believe that the odd desire to leave all that I know is an effect of a restless mind. But this sentiment is soon overruled by a strong emotion which I recognize as my inner compass. It is this voice which has led me to the place where I now sit, and the important choices which I have made in the past have followed it faithfully. Long ago I decided that I would follow this voice over all others, and if it brought me to ruin so be it. One of the main purposes of my life is to use it to test ideas of spirit and integrity. Money, career, stability, things which seem on the surface to be good and worthy, are trappings which destroy that purpose, the reason being that to obtain these things I would need to do work which is dead to my heart - when the heart is dead, the voice is silent.

My guitar quest is moving steadily along. The past few weeks there has been more improvement, along with new ideas and practice methods. Since implementing the idea to forgo vibrato book technique, and learn it instead through trial and error, I have been liking the direction, and made a breakthrough a few days ago. My stamina and finger strength now allow me to practice for longer periods and I am using this new found endurance to play along to live Cream songs which last from 12-16 minutes each. Jamming to Spoonful for 16 minutes is an incredible experience, I follow the bass and drums as if the band were in my living room, using the rhythms to create improvisational leads. I can have long runs where everything flows smoothly before the finger patterns break down. I have also been playing to Canned Heat's first album. I have reached a point where I can create notes which sound like the blues, but I am still a number of years away from achieving the level I would like to be at - with each passing session the confidence that I will reach this higher level grows stronger.

D-Day

I have been living on my own for the past six months, and during that time I have taken the time to reflect upon the future course of my life's journey. I was hoping by this time to have a somewhat firm idea of it, but thus far it still appears shrouded in a gray fogginess. At times I can glance the main lines and colors, but am blind to the details.

I am not too surprised by my indecisiveness because in the past I have had some lengthy waits before things became clear enough for me to choose a destination and plan of how to arrive there. I trust my intuition and inner compass, but sometimes my will has to be prodded if the circumstances are not dire. I enjoy routine and being intimate with a place, so it is difficult to slash the familiar and comfortable and replace it with the risk of the unknown. Perhaps if humans lived 200 years I wouldn't mind staying the course in Urbana for a while, but I don't have many years left, and so am constantly pondering what I would like to do.

Being in a transition phase of my life, I have been noticing that it is easy to forget all of the good things which I have accomplished in past years due to my being finished with them - enduring the hardships of manual labor in my teens and early 20's; learning to write from the heart while in college; finding my calling (photography), and making a solemn decision to work my ass off for 10 years to see what comes of it, and then extending the work until year 18; last year deciding to study guitar, with a focus being upon the learning process. On days when I am wandering around town, or lazing in bed observing the late afternoon sun paint the room in glowing yellows and pinks, I get the sense that I have done very little, but the memories of the past slowly sink into my vision and I breathe a little easier.

Today while at work I had an idea which may push my will into action concerning the style and content of my remaining days. I scribbled on a yellow post it - "set an expiration date to my life, as if I had been given the exact date of my final day on earth." Since I do not know the time and day that senor death will arrive upon the scene, I tend to forget that he is lurking out there somewhere, that his eventual arrival cannot be avoided, and this lapse of remembrance puts my sense of danger to sleep. By writing down a chosen date for senor death's arrival, I am hoping that my sense of ease will be shaken, thus inspiring my mind and will to become more courageous and imaginative. There are so many different ways to live, and having found one which is warm and comforting does not mean others just as meaningful and pleasant do not exist.

Later in the day I began thinking of Winston Churchill, and his six volume history of WWII. The sense of urgency and danger which the Germans heaped upon the English, while difficult and terrifying, allowed the English to experience "their finest hour". In the later stages of war, the American/British military knew the only way to defeat Germany was to invade the soil of Europe. Decisive action was needed, and to achieve this goal detailed planning went on for over a year. The study of maps, battle strategy and tactics, the organization of men and material, was necessary in order for the invasion to take place. Inspiration alone would not lead to success.

With Senor Death playing the part of Nazi, I must set to work on choosing a destination, studying maps, planning the tactics and strategies of the wanderer, and finally, setting the date : D-Day.

Long

I sit before you,

the beauty I lusted for

no longer reflected against my eyes.

We hold each others gaze

for a long while,

reconciling time,

but no matter how I add the moments

they don't equal the empty death

which now bows before me.

You take it so well,

being still,

your faded yellows and

dried lines

out of tune with the

rotation of the sun.

I'd like to believe that my time

and yours,

are not of the same color and type -

that what you sense and remember is

just as rich and eventful....

and long -

with some ancient thing,

sitting still

beneath a flurry of stars,

believing the same of me.

I See the Buddha, The Buddha Sees Me....

Stone

Stone

Opening my eyes

I see a stem, two yellow flowers, and a red spider

which is small -

so small it fits

through the eye of a golden needle.

The red spider hops, glides

across the sensuous, curving petals,

and stops upon a

line of fur,

which is smooth as moss.

It darts off,

always on the move,

looking for food, a friend,

or something.

The flower is still and empty,

a universe of color and warmth

bundled tightly in its silken folds,

with death held back

for at least a moment more.

My eyes darken and

turning upon themselves

an open hand meets the dreamy gaze,

a bird upon a stone.

Desire

Connection

The More I Learn, The Less I Know

Walking to Work, Spring

Thinking about the continued progress I am making with guitar has inspired me to reflect upon the learning process. As I have previously written, one of the things which interest me about guitar is its foreignness and complexity - not having any prior knowledge or experience with it or music makes it a perfect activity for gaining knowledge of my own personal learning process.

At the current point of my development a picture of the steps required when beginning the guitar is coming into focus. I see that I was making progress during the difficult beginning months, but was blinded to most of it because I was unable to make pleasing sounds. One thing which intrigues me about the guitar is a person of average intelligence has to work hard for an extended period of time before anything resembling music can be created - it is a test of patience, will, and desire. When I see/hear an accomplished guitarist I have a high regard for their accomplishment because I have a sense of the trials they went through. An exception to this is the prodigy who displays unusual focus and clarity, unraveling complex problems quickly and with great insight. While I admire this quality, knowing the prodigy did not endure the hardships of the average person means that I look upon their achievement as something done by a power higher than human.

One of the qualities of my mind is its ability to break down a complex activity into simple steps. While it cannot do this quickly, with continued practice and reflection it gets ever closer to the goal. I have learned during this journey that it is better to work out technical/mechanical problems on my own. Reading an article about vibrato does not do me much good because the description of how to do it may make logical sense, but without practice it means nothing. Even the steps and insights provided are for the most part useless because each person's mind/body is unique. While there may be similarities in vibrato technique for all good players, I believe that each of those players went about it in their own way before ending up in the same place.

Rather than reading about vibrato, what I need to do is hear the sound of the vibrato in my head, and then try to recreate it with the guitar. When I finally am able to achieve the sound, the technique will have been established.

Breakthrough

Spring Visits a Parking Lot

During the week when I pick up the guitar I focus upon the mechanical aspects of playing. Repetitive finger movements dominate a session - the ladder, chromatic scale, pentatonic scale, bending, vibrato, chords and sliding bar chords. Sometimes I will play along to a jam track to learn rhythm. When Sunday arrives I wait for the sun to descend into the trees, the sky becoming pink/orange/red/silver - it is then that I feel the need to focus upon my emotions, allowing the state of my spirit to dictate what kind of music I will create with the guitar.

Yesterday when I began to play there were extended moments when the mechanics were forgotten, allowing me to concentrate upon the sounds flowing into the room. My fingers became tiny birds weaving into a complicated pattern of tree shapes - any hesitation or doubt resulting in disgrace - I therefore left doubt behind and became one with the guitar. It was the first time I created music which reflected the white burn living inside my heart, and this led to a few beautiful moments when the body shivers with recognition upon hearing the truth.

Today is balmy and summer like, the sun going low into the green roundness of things - repetition, repetition, repetition....

Sunday

Morning Walk, Spring

Sunday

A small room eaten slowly by the night -

piece by piece dissolving

until the only thing left

is sleep.

Spring Dream

On my walks to work I have been carrying the camera, the days have been a mixture of seasons, so many peculiar things to see....

Scissors

Scissors

I went to the library yesterday and got a few Lonely Planet travel guides for various places around the globe which seem interesting, and perhaps cheaper than the USA - Belize, Guatemala, Laos, Sri Lanka, Panama. In Chicago I worked with a guy named Mo from Sri Lanka who had just graduated from the Art Institute. One time on break we walked up to the 8th floor storage area and found a few original art pieces by famous artists such as Ed Paschke and Diane Arbus. Mo was unimpressed, and we discussed what makes a good piece of art. I happened to have my camera with me and snapped a picture of him smoking a cigarette.

Mo eventually returned to Sri Lanka and is now an internationally famous artist. I recall him telling me that I should go to Sri Lanka because it is more beautiful than the USA. If I do consider living in Sri Lanka for an extended period I should perhaps contact Mo and ask him for suggestions on where to live and if he knows of any cheap apartments for rent. Having at least one contact in a foreign country would be helpful.

Mo on the 8th Floor

Future Plans

With my lease soon coming to an end, I need to decide if I want to remain in Urbana. I have various thoughts and desires about living elsewhere, but having ended my marriage and moved into an apartment only four months ago, I feel it is best that I remain in the apartment until next July. Part of the reason is because in just a few days I will be returning to the 40 hour work week. This depresses the hell out of me, as I have enjoyed working 20 hours a week for the past four years. In January I began working 30 hours a week, which isn't too bad because I work from 6:00am-noon, or 7:00-1:00, depending on when I wake up in the morning. My eight hour schedule will be 6:00-2:30 (a 30 minute lunch is required by law), which is as good as it gets for an eight hour day. The thing that will drag me down is working in the same place eight hours a day, day after day after day. I know I will get the old feelings of restlessness, fatigue, and the nauseous thought of "anyplace but here".

The positive side is I will be making enough money to save $500 a month, so that by the time my lease is up I should have an extra $6000-7000 in the bank (barring an unexpected medical emergency). That thought alone should give me the energy to wake up in the mornings and slog another dreary day in the office. With my current savings at $10,000, and with Rachel owing me $9700 for my portion of the house, that puts me at $26,000. When I quit my job I will have $7000-8000 being added to my savings, which puts me around $33,000. To be safe I can round down and expect to have $30,000 in my savings by next July. Living in the midwest USA I can survive comfortably (with no car) for $1000 per month, giving me 2 1/2 years of freedom from having to work for others.

Considering that the USA is a relatively expensive place to live, what if I could find a place somewhere in the world where I could live comfortably for $500 a month? I would then have unlimited freedom and solitude for 5 years. By the end of the 5 years I will be 50 years old, and most likely old enough to no longer care about jobs and careers, etc, or maybe I will no longer be alive, thus cheating a future employer of cheap labor.

I am reminded of the Hermann Hesse story Klein and Wagner, where Klein, a civil servant, aged 40, robs his employer and rides a train south to Italy. He falls in love with a young woman, has a few adventures, and then drowns himself. Another story, whose name and author escape me, is of a man who quits his job and moves to a cheap foreign land which is pleasing and artful. A few years later the man's savings are depleted and he goes insane and dies. These stories give me pause in my desire to move out of the country and live off of my savings...

We're Going Wrong & the Big Dream in the Sky

Yesterday I made more progress with the guitar. I have been listening to a lot of Cream songs and put We're Going Wrong on repeat and riffed to it for 40 minutes. My picking speed and accuracy was better than usual, and I gained some depth in my knowledge of the pentatonic scale. I discovered that I can add a non-pent note when riffing to certain songs, such as We're Going Wrong, and it totally fits, kind of like the blue note, but with a different feel. I forgot to check what the note was, so I just now walked over to the guitar and picked it up, but forgot which two strings I was moving into when using it. I am starting to find my own style with vibrato, I have trouble turning my wrist back and forth, so have assimilated my classical vibrato with a bit of the turn, it sounds pretty good. I am sure a guitar teacher would disapprove, but it works for now.

Now that I am moving slowly toward my goal of playing the blues, I find I am practicing longer and harder, seeing that it may just be possible to get to where I want to be. I have set a high standard for myself, as I want to be able to express the music inside of me, which will require the skill of an Eric Clapton or Buddy Guy - it's fun to dream....

I brought my digital camera on my morning walk today :

Morning Walk I

Morning Walk II

Morning Walk III

Morning Walk IV

Sophia Sleeps

Detail #1

Detail #2

Somewhere

Somewhere, looking up,

beyond the night mist,

is a brightness

waiting patiently

for me to lose my grip.

Within me are golden memories,

each one more precious than the last,

but an ache swims through and across me,

searching for one which is lost.

Somewhere, I know,

you are waiting for me,

your infinite beauty

beyond the sight of the ashen faces

on the great, green earth.

I know you are there,

your moist breath

spinning the world,

awaiting the grasp of my closing eyes.

Gray Spring

Gray spring

wind dripping,

at rest upon an empty street.

Heavy time

pregnant with hope,

creeping through wet grass,

a red tulip bending low.

A thousand creatures

move to and fro

readying for emergence,

my lonely room awaits the knock.

Tipping Point

Spring Morning

Last night I practiced guitar for a couple of hours. My normal practice routine is to start with slow finger movements, such as the "walking" exercise set out in the Andreas Principles book. This exercise is the crux of my current practice routine. Once learned, the student has a set of finger skills which can be used for playing any style of music. However, it is not an easy thing to master, as I have been working with it for 6 months and am still far from obtaining the required speed and accuracy. But the more I work with it the stronger my fingers become, which allows my practice in other areas to become more productive.

After 30 minutes of the walking exercise and a few minutes spent on sliding bar chords, regular chord changes, and the chromatic scale, I played along to an A minor blues jam track for 1 hour. I put the track on repeat, each new time around finding a nuance in note selection, vibrato, string bending, or picking style.

During this session it occurred to me that I had reached one of the tipping points in my guitar quest. One of the reasons I write in this journal is to examine how I go about learning something from the beginning. I have already made note of the 1st year struggles, and how it is important to have faith that the mind and body will discover a way to overcome the many obstacles which prevent the beginning student from playing well. My current learning phase is in the refining of basic skills, allowing for added confidence and momentum, which in turn fuels the desire to practice more. This extended practice and enthusiasm leads to a further gain in skills, which in turn fuels greater momentum. Having reached this stage, learning and progress becomes quicker and easier.

There is another interesting thing to note - the perception that one has put in hundreds of hours of practice. Thinking back on the struggle and the will to continue and push forward, the thought arises as to how many beginning guitar students have put in as much work as I have? The people who have are undoubtedly already proficient in guitar play, but I believe that my Asperger tendency to focus intensely on a subject puts me ahead of a person who believes one hour a day of practice is a lot. On the other hand, my paltry 2-3 hour sessions look pale in comparison to a virtuoso who plays 8-10 hours a day. The lesson here is that the more one plays, the better one gets - practice, practice, practice!

Sophia's Dream

Sophia's Dream, Detail

On the Road Again

This past week I have put in a couple of 2-3 hour practice sessions with the guitar. Since playing with Joseph a month ago one of the things I have been working at is sliding bar chords. Yesterday I was listening to a couple of Canned Heat blues songs (Going Up the Country and On the Road Again), and decided to learn the chords and play along. I found that Going Up the Country required a sliding bar chord going from fret 6 to 11, then down to fret 1. Normally the hardest place to play are the frets near the nut (frets 1-3), but I found placing the fingers in the cramped space of fret 11 to be challenging. To play On the Road Again I was especially satisfied when I was able to create the blues boogie pattern. I had always wanted to play that kind of rambling/rolling blues rhythm, and guessed it would take playing a combination of exotic, hard to finger chords. So I was surprised to find that it was a familiar pattern that I practice everyday - E/G/A. The tricky part is in the timing and strumming, but I quickly picked it up and was jamming along without much problem. This experience taught me that with a few simple chords many different styles of music can be created through timing variations.

The Magpie

Detail from The Magpie

A few weeks ago I began a correspondence with a young woman from Sweden named Sophia. Her letters contain a life bending poetry which leave indelible images in my head, reminding me of dreams I have had of paintings. Sensing the pictures in my mind inspire me to transfer them to paper. The drawing I posted earlier entitled Fur Elise was my first attempt, and tonight I made a second drawing. I have an idea for a third, and if we continue to correspond I hope to make a series of drawings based on Sophia's poetic letters.

Drawing #2 from the Sophia Series

Found Art

This winter I took it easy with my running mojo and let days pass before lacing up the cross country shoes. I just don't like running in cold weather, and even though I numbed myself to it during my 16 month running streak, it wasn't exactly my cup of tea. So it is no surprise that I am woefully out of shape and overweight as the spring season arrives. The long rest period, however, has energized my overworked legs, and this week, with the warm weather arriving in spades, I have run for 5 consecutive days, knocking off the winter rust and a couple of pounds.

After my run on Thursday I was walking back on my usual route, and when I finished crossing the sushi restaurant parking lot on University Avenue I passed a dumpster adjacent the railroad tracks. I had a nice flow going in my head, thinking about Oregon, guitar, Zen, and drawing, when I noticed the edge of a matted picture sticking out of said dumpster. Normally this dumpster is filled with construction refuse, so seeing a colorful picture next to rotted planks and musty cardboard jolted me out of my reveries. I walked over to the blue steel container and gently pulled the picture out, being careful not to rub it against anything rough and dirty. The artwork was large, and placed in an 18"x22" white mat. I was impressed with the subject matter and the execution. As I looked closer I saw that the image was printed on textured watercolor paper, and the backing board behind the mat had a gallery stamp with handwriting, "Altman, 1986". Inscribed on the front left of the picture was "Printed in France by Mourlot", and on the right "Altman".

Looking around and seeing nobody, I decided that the picture was indeed discarded, and carried if off using both hands. I thought of a scene from the film Bobby G Can't Swim, when Bobby has to throw a $20,000 brick of cocaine into a New York City trash can to avoid getting busted by the cops. When he returns to the trash can to retrieve the brick he is unable to find it, and this is the beginning of the end for Bobby G. When I arrived at the Square I stopped at the frame shop and asked how much a basic frame would cost, and agreed to pay $38.

Before picking up the frame today I did some internet research on Altman and discovered he was a prolific lithographic artist. I also found information on the picture, which is entitled "Reflections". I hung the picture in my living room, and it reminds me that I still have some luck left in this life.

Reflections

Fur Elise

Fur Elise

Flowers on the Wall

Evening Walk II

Guitar practice is moving steadily along. A couple of days ago I was barring the 10th fret and discovered a haunting melody, it then occurred to me to use a capo so that I could use all four fingers. It was the first time I used the capo, which I bought when I started playing guitar 15 months ago. After clamping it down I was startled at the unusual beauty of the sound. Since then I have been using the capo at different frets, discovering the convenience of being able to play in any key while still using familiar chord patterns.

Yesterday I was inspired to practice three times throughout the day and night, finally putting the guitar down at 1:00am. The more I learn, the more I want to practice. Each day I feel more comfortable, the fingers becoming not only stronger, but more relaxed and coordinated. I am not sure where all of this is leading but I have a confident feeling that I will continue to improve.

Last week I joined an artist cooperative in downtown Urbana. After paying the monthly fee I carried numerous drawings, paintings, and photographs to the gallery. I talked with one of the resident artists, Mehta. He was loquacious and friendly, sharing ideas on the creative process and even showing me his small studio room where he makes his art pieces. I doubt anything of mine will sell, but it is a good opportunity to exhibit a few things. Before leaving the gallery I bought a large oil painting of flowers for $40, which I hung in my bedroom when I got home.

Wolf 09