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
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.
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
The past few days have reminded me of my existential struggles of 25 years ago. As the time of my first therapy session moved closer, my mind began sifting through the important moments of my inner life. Painful memories buried deep under the shadows of many seasons resurfaced as I tried to make sense of my experiences under the new light of autism. All of the odd behaviors and inclinations and rueful experiences began to settle into a new and clearer reality. As if I was a scientist searching for years through random sequences of numbers, trying to find some kind of order and logic, and finally, by chance, the numbers fall into place, a pattern emerging.
In a way the whole thing makes me sad, as I see that all along I was destined for loneliness and isolation. Eventually I realized there was no use trying to break through a brick wall, so I turned away and accepted my fate, which allowed me to live in peace. Along the way I met a few people who I felt comfortable with, and who accepted me. For this I am blessed and lucky, for it could have instead been years of solitude and silence.
When I arrived at the therapy session the doctor asked one question and that set me off on an hour long ramble of spoken thoughts. While I usually don't subject people to that kind of monologue, I have to admit it felt good as it is the only time that my words have any meaning. I thought of a couple of people I used to work with at the Nature Center and laughed to myself that I should have been paying them by the hour because they would let me ramble on about things and were kind enough not to fall asleep on me.
I am not sure what the doctor thinks of me or my problem, but I can see the value is not so much what I say during the session, but all that goes on before and after - it is back to trying to understand my mind and how it relates to the world and the things which inhabit it - picking through memories of events and emotions and faces and things gone bad or good.
I sense that having the knowledge that I was born different than most is going to alter the way I think and act in the future. I used to believe I was just like everyone else, but now I know better. I can see myself in the future being reluctant to speak with words, avoiding unnecessary contact with people I don't feel comfortable with. It is the way it should be - I was born with a poison, but also, luckily, the antidote - a mind which is never bored, and which sees and senses immense beauty in every passing moment.
A couple of days ago I made the decision to schedule an appointment to see a therapist. If ever I was to see a therapist, now seems to be the least likely time. More appropriate would have been when I was 16, trying to figure out how to feel comfortable when surrounded by large groups of people. Or when 21, feeling isolated and lonely during my first year at the university. It wasn't until I was 23 that I began to feel a sense that everything was fine, that all I really had to do was just Be.
I cured myself, but of what I did not know. The years of silent struggle were known only to me, and this was made clear when one of my college friends once derisively said, “what have you ever had to struggle with?” I laughed and cried to myself when he uttered those ignorant words. I forgave him his ignorance, for how could he know what I had passed through – it all happened inside my mind, and I never spoke of it to anyone.
Today, at 44 years, my mind has mellowed and matured. Being recently confronted with a dissolving marriage caused only a ripple upon its alert, tranquil surface. My cure, found 21 years ago, remains solid and secure. But the root cause of my earlier troubles is still intact, intertwined with my life, and something which cannot be removed.
One day last year I sat down to read my favorite running blog, and began reading “The Autism Post”. The only thing I knew about autism, was, well, after finishing The Autism Post, I realized I knew nothing of it. But that day I learned that I very well could be afflicted with one of its variations. Many of the symptoms described in the post applied to me. What startled me most was discovering that I could possess such a condition since birth and not find out about it until I was 43 years old. It reminded me of the stories I had read of people on their deathbeds, realizing they had never done what they really wanted to do, and if only they had a chance to go back in time they would tell the people in the world to go fuck themselves, because now they were going to do what they wanted to do! - Alas, it is too late, and they take their last defeated breath in silent anguish.
While I felt a sense of relief at finding out about my possible condition, I was disappointed that knowledge of it had come so late. I had already worked through the most troubling symptoms, and maybe it was a good thing I had to do it on my own, but if I had known earlier it could have perhaps prevented some unnecessary grief.
The recent event which tipped the balance inside my mind was a retirement party at my place of employment. The familiar dread of having to attend a social function for 4 hours inside a small, brightly lit room packed with people began to creep its way into my consciousness, and as the day drew near I searched for excuses for nonattendance. With the event a few days away it occurred to me that the feelings which I felt about it were not logical of cause and effect - why would I choose to skip a work event, knowing that not attending would make me look bad and thus harm my reputation with people I see everyday? I was happy that I was cognizant of this fact, and is the only reason I attend the annual Christmas party and autumn retreat. It would not be an exaggeration to say that I would prefer to experience physical torments, e.g., spending 4 hours in a dental chair with a continuous intrusion of drills and needles, than to sit in a room filled with people whom I know, but do not understand. I questioned how something which appears so innocent could give me the impression that I was being asked to commit a great crime, such as murder or rape - attending was such an affront to my senses that it felt like a breach of personal ethics.
The odd thing is that no anxiety or fear accompanies this sense of dread. Indeed, one of the things which I discovered in my early 20's is that anxiety is useless, and fear one of the stupidest things a person can abuse themselves with. So if anxiety and fear of people is not the cause of my dread, what is?
Not being able to answer the above question, I decided it was the correct time to seek out a therapist who knows something of mind disorders, and to discover if I am afflicted with a type of autism. Never having been to a therapist I do not know what to expect, but I keep thinking back to my negative experiences with guitar teachers – one did not listen, the other listened with too much ego. I know that who I will be speaking with is a fallible person who possesses no absolute truth, but maybe hearing a dose of relative knowledge could help put into perspective what I have had to experience throughout my life. After 44 years of botched attempts at fitting in when forced to by external circumstance, I shout emphatically - uncle!
After meditating for an hour and cleaning the apt. I decided that rather than work in an isolated environment, it would be more enjoyable to be in a public place, so I packed up my drawing materials, laptop and a small thermos filled with green tea and walked 500 yards to the square. The corridor outside Common Ground is a pleasant area with little foot traffic, a nice place to spend a winter morning.
I pulled up the Wall Street image on the computer and began sketching in the drawing pad. While the dream had inspired me to work it into a large format, I thought it would be a good idea to make a more complete test drawing. Unlike the quick scribble I made a couple of days ago, I started with the hardest part, the side of the bank, followed by the figures.
Initially it was my idea to work in only the three main figures, but as I studied the image I decided that it would be best to include all the people because it seemed more true to the day.
I listened to music on my headphones, scratched down the lines, and soon got into a flow which made me remember my days spent in the darkroom. I could easily work 10-12 hours printing and yet it would feel like an hour. About half way through a young woman sat down next to me and it felt like I had re-entered the previous evening's dream.
Seven hours later I rose from my seat and stretched, too tired to put the finishing touches on the drawing. While I was able to complete the composition, I was unsure how to breathe more life into it. Usually when all the lines are put down the fun begins with the shading and erasing, but my mind was too beat to go any further. I am not sure if I will return to test sketch No. 2, as I plan to one day paint it.
I am currently working on my second drawing, from a negative exposed during my visit to Manhattan in 1992. I was searching for the spot where Paul Strand stood to make his famous photograph of Wall Street. I recognized the bank with the long, cavernous windows, and then walked up the steps of a building across the street. I sensed that Strand must have stood close by, so I lined up the angles of the building and aimed the camera. There were some elements of the composition I would have liked to erase, such as the bulky news stand and an ugly sign board. There were 3 people standing marvelously synchronized, but there were a few others who stood around looking out of place. I released the shutter and then listened to a black man preaching to a small crowd about racism. A large German man standing with his wife shouted to the black man about lies and the two shouted each other down.
Upon first glance the Wall street composition seems simple enough, so I decided to make a quick test sketch to accustom my mind with the main lines. As I began to scribble I found that the eye had fooled me – while the perspective is straight forward, there are numerous elements which the eye glosses over. I spent a few hours working out the difficult parts. The 3 figures will be challenging, as well as the part where the bank changes direction. I will be happy to leave out the news stand and the unneeded bystanders.
Wall Street, Test Sketch
******
One of the reasons I began this journal is to document the process of learning the guitar. More than my personal progress, I wanted to attempt to understand how a person of average ability goes about learning something complex. After 14 months of practice and progress, it is time to write a summary of the first phase.
The first thing needed was the inspiration to make the decision to practice and learn the guitar for a long period of time. Also helpful was the fact that I knew nothing of the instrument or music theory – I was going in blind, deaf, and dumb. Joseph from work provided the spark for me to buy an electric guitar, and in December, 2009 began the journey.
The next step was deciding how to proceed. Being ignorant left me feeling helpless and overwhelmed. Using the internet I sought out beginner's guides to guitar. I decided upon a site which offered a logical step by step approach. There were 11 chapters, and I am currently on Chapter 9. While being helpful and allowing me to take my first baby steps, what lacked was an overall universal plan which described how I could get to where I wanted to go.
The one thing I did know was where I wanted to be – possessing the knowledge and skill to sit with the guitar and produce sounds which reflected my emotions and ideas. However, I was walking the first mile of a thousand mile trip, and the only guide I had was a few lines drawn in the sand. What I yearned for was a detailed atlas clearly illustrating the traps, dangers, and dead ends which surely awaited me.
Not knowing of any guitar books written like an atlas, I decided a live teacher could show me the way. I chose one at random at the local guitar store, which was probably not the best way to go about finding a guitar sage - not only was I ignorant of the guitar, but also guitar teachers. I knew I had erred when, during the first lesson, the teacher put aside without reading the guitar goals I had taken the time to write out for him. Without knowing who I was and how my mind worked, how could a teacher get me to where I wanted to go?
I soon quit going to the teacher, and did a more diligent search for an appropriate master. I found a pleasant enough young man who was willing to listen to my ideas, goals and concerns, but within a few weeks time he decided he could no longer teach me due to my attitude of disrespect toward teachers in general. The only things I was learning from the master were things which could easily be found on the internet – chords, songs, how to hold the guitar correctly, etc. The purpose of the master was to inspire and make sure I did not lose the way. This second teacher was merely like all of the other teachers in other fields I had come across – a parrot which repeated things found in books.
I decided that while there were probably a few teachers in the world who could fit my idea of what a master should be, I was convinced that finding one would take as long as mastering the guitar. I therefore reluctantly returned to my step by step internet manual.
I was now wandering around in a thick forest, off of any clear pathway. Not wanting to stand still, I decided I had to move forward and used whatever sense I had to bushwhack my way to light and open space. There were times when I felt I wanted to give up, that the darkness which clouded my mind would be too difficult to remove. Yet I knew that these early struggles could be overcome if I just did not give up, so every day I entered the music studio and did what I could.
I continued searching for guides and teachers on the internet. I found a master named Claude who had created a software program which helped with learning patterns on the fretboard. This intrigued me and I began to use it. Claude sent me mass emails every couple of days, and I found his good humor and knowledge to be inspiring.
Soon after finding Claude I discovered a book called the Principles of Correct Guitar Practice. I had read a few of the author's online essays, and the Zen philosophy which flavored the ideas attracted me. I decided to buy the book, hoping it would be a partial atlas which could help guide me.
After reading through the book I was pleased with the direction it could take me. A few “simple” guitar exercises were the only physical things which I had to do. The majority of the book was aimed at creating the proper attitude in the student. I greedily took in these ideas of attitude change and began to practice two of the exercises.
The exercises are aimed at creating a relaxed, yet strong fretting hand, as well as a way to relax the entire body. The principles of Zen were once again evident – focus on the present, correctly breathe, relax the body, and at the proper time use the strength of muscle and mind. This philosophy of guitar is as close as I have come to finding the path which will lead me to where I want to go.
Summary of things learned after year 1 :
Important to spend time with the guitar as much as possible.
Fretting exercises should be done with the intent of creating finger strength, autonomy, and relaxation.
Use effort to learn basic music theory – notes, fret board patterns, scales.
Keep in mind where I want to go – use of the guitar as a way to express emotions and ideas.
Spend time playing along to music which interests me (blues, instrumental solos).
Glean information from as many sources as possible, and always be looking for a master teacher who fits my philosophy of learning.
Never give up!
