Nov 23, 2016

A reach artist

Here's a concept for you: A reach artist

When I met with Amy Sullivan in October we talked art and artists. She mentioned a couple of artists in a gallery, noting almost under her breath about one of them, "she's a reach artist."

When asked, Amy said a reach artist for her sets a benchmark. It's an artist she admires . . . and who she'd like to stand side by side with in accomplishment some day. 

She studies her reach artists more in depth. Not just what their doing artistically, but how they experiment, how they push themselves, the paths they take in their career, the galleries they exhibit in, the way they market. 

For Amy, a reach artist is an aspiration. One that is tangible and leaving clues on how she too can get there.

Do you have reach people? Those individuals who embody where you'd like to be in the near future?

Nov 22, 2016

Note: Brazen

Be brazen in your creating


Nov 20, 2016

It can't keep us from our purpose, unh uhn

But doesn’t everyone want to be happy? 
Maybe not. Life is too short to do what doesn’t matter, to waste your time on things that don’t amount to much. What we all want is to know our time on earth has meant something. 
We can distract ourselves with pleasure for only so long before beginning to wonder what the point is. This means if we want true satisfaction, we have to rise above the pettiness of our own desires and do what is required of us. 
A calling comes when we embrace the pain, not avoid it. Tragedies, unfortunately, are inevitable. Bad things happen to good people, whether we want them to or not. 
What determines our destiny, though, is not how successful we are at dodging hardship but what we do when it comes. 
Pain and suffering, though intimidating obstacles, are not strong enough to keep us from our purpose. In fact, they can sometimes be the very catalysts for such discoveries.

Nov 19, 2016

Note: It's coming for you too

Celebrate the success you see around you...

It's coming for you too


Nov 18, 2016

Crisis means to sift

What do you do when hit with colossal disappointment?

Here's a suggestion. Take a cue from Glennon Doyle Melton in Love Warrior, in which she says:
Crisis means to sift. What is left when you go through a crisis is what matters.
I'm reading a gobsmacking memoir by Jewel. Here's a post from her book Never Broken about gigging in bars with her dad from the age of 5.

Run out and buy Jewel's book. It is a hippy poetess adventure of a life lived in broken pieces . . . yet with some of the most haunting reporting you'll ever find from within the resurrection point. Points. She lives through a number of crises . . . and each time digs something new from within.

Jewel's family busts up, her car and guitar are stolen
 the one that she's living in  she lives on the streets of California. 

What you see Jewel do is go to ground zero. She retreats to paper and pen. She asks herself questions. She lets it all fly. Her fear, her distress, her angst, her bewilderment. She sifts.

She uses a technique her mother taught her. Of writing out what she wants . . . then ideas on how to get there . . . and then she chooses some and writes down actions to make those ideas work.

She sifts. 

What is left when you go through a crisis is what matters.

A crisis always means loss. Loss of love. Of a relationship. Of financial means. Of health. Something valuable is suddenly taken away 
 the car you live in, for Jewel; our business income, for us during the crash.

In a crisis you are given an eerie gift. The gift to find out what remains after the sifting.

There's no better way to your own resurgence than to go mano a mano with your most intimate self on the page. You and a pen and a piece of paper. Spilling out your loss . . .

. . . And then pivoting to wonder.

Pivoting to what's important. What matters so much to me that I'm going to hold on to it no matter how hard I'm shaken by life? That is what you're asking when everything feels broken.

And that's your gold. Your soul treasure. In each crisis there's something in you aching to be born. You can run from it and run from crisis to crisis. Or you can accept the gift.

Get present inside your crisis. Until you unearth a little seed of knowing. Some small almost insubstantial force that makes itself known to you. That feels like it's part of something vast and forevermaking.

Because it is.

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