I have given the "college try" in the last three months to dedicating a chunk of my time to the "expansion of horizons." So, in valiant attempt, I stumbled across "Dylan's Visions of Sin" by Christopher Ricks. Here in lies the problem with "stumbling into expansion"...
Great book, well-written, didn't grip my soul. That's as easy as I can put it. I made a rule for myself long ago that if the first 100 pages of a book do not connect with me, do not encourage further investment, then I will set it aside until a time in my life when another effort appears worthy.
It was an interesting concept; it is a poetic, literary analysis of Dylan's song lyrics, looking at them through the coloring lenses of the 7 deadly sins, as wells as the 7 saving graces and heavenly virtues. Spiritual content... score! However, this read is truly what it appears to be: a hard-core, very intense analysis of a man's lyrical work for more than 40 years. And I think in his brilliance, author Ricks missed the truly most brilliant aspect of the Dylan mystique. There is simply a quality to all brilliant art that is not quantifiable, not tangible to the hand that writes or the word waiting to be written.
Again, I mean no harm on his wonderful work; had I been in a place in my life when I would have been up for it's studious nature, I think it would been an outstanding adventure of enlightenment and intellect. I "feel" smarter for having consumed the first 100 pages. And perhaps that quality I found lacking is there, but I missed it due to a lack of connection with the work. Regardless, it went back to the library today, where I hope it finds the comforting grip of one who is prepared for it's toil.
Back to the untangible quality that all great art has. I think this is the reason that as I grow deeper into being the artist that I want to be, I worry less about certain things that used to matter so much. I believe my soul is leading me away from conciously, and constantly, analyzing the trivial and immediate, towards a place where I can just "exist" with what's being created and deal with it in more sincere, humble terms.
Where I used to obsessively watch guitarists, trying to understand the depth of their art by the simple watching of how it's done, now I kind of just wonder, in a not-quite vacant state of mind, how and why they are doing what they are doing. Though I just overly simplified this all, in that frame of mind, I find I actually learn a lot more than I ever thought I could, by simply just enjoying and being enriched by the art of another. It is that feeling that I am slowly finding in my own playing. Note- I still obsessively listen to recordings of myself to better myself. I am finding that 'more' is necessary, but not often.
Because of this practice, I find myself doing what Ricks has done, and that's why I applaud the book though I have not finished it. I believe in bettering myself by the planned unraveling and repair of my intent in being an artist. What I mean is this: as an artist, we make many choices that do not serve the art we are creating. I play weird modal things in the middle of a slow blues because of muscle memory that plays familiar shapes, or because I conciously want to sound complex and accomplished, even though I couldn't admit that in the moment. So those ill-fit choices serve as educators to me, in that when I can unravel the reasons behind why I made the choice, then repair the intent or "cause", then I can 'program' myself to not make the same mistakes over and over.
Unraveling is a good verb for this act. I guess the heroes I've kept in adoration over the years all started with the same primary-colored balls of yarn. It's the rainbow they created with them, full of life, and vigor, and difference, that drew me to them. In reflection, I've got some good-looking panels on my patchwork quilt. To the needle and thread I return, thanking Ricks for the ride and hoping some day to finish the trip.
May 15, 2008
May 05, 2008
...Michelle Parker
Michelle, your name, in it's native Hebrew and French diaclects, meant "one who resembles God".
Michelle, your life, in it's native intricacies and delicacies, meant "one who resembles God."
In the passage of life, we are sometimes, though rarely, blessed with offers of shelter; shelter meaning compassion, or beauty, perhaps kindness. Those who would shelter us in the present moment have the wisdom to realize that they too will perhaps need shelter as they traverse these same steps in later days. And so it was that Michelle and I met.
I had briefly met Michelle through my wife, Tina, who had been good friends with Michelle throughout the years, including time spent together at First Federated Church where my wife had been Director of Worship, or a job title that fit that job description. My wife can describe her own feelings for Michelle, and she most definitely did at her own blog, Spaghetti for Breakfast. In remembrance, I decided to look back at three times we shared, hoping to divine some truth for you to discover about her.
My wife asked Ms. Parker to read at our wedding, 1-1-2005. She gladly and quickly accpeted the invitation, and arrived promptly for the pre-wedding rehersal in her characteristic readiness. I have read other recollections since her passing that describe this same "state"; she always seemed "on" because I believe being "off" didn't suit her. She read her piece with a resolute authority that was so honestly "her" that I find myself looking back on that moment just now and wondering how many more people like myself just took her for granted because of this. Honest consistency is a cursed blessing in so many ways; did Michelle feel its sting? Regardless, she wished us well and was on her way again, back into the worst day of weather we had that year. Half my family wouldn't make the date, but Michelle Parker did. Her cursed blessing in full-swing again.
Later that summer, I wrote a series of four narrations that were read by local luminous friends and colleagues at a "Giants of Jazz" performance. The "Giants of Jazz" series is part of Des Moines' 'Jazz in July' events, and this particular GOJ happened to be the first. The Alpha. My wife had just completed her second career run starring in "Ain't Misbehavin' ", a poignant revue of the life, times and music of Thomas "Fats" Waller. She had also served as musical director for this production, and thus parleyed her time and dedication to that production into this GOJ feature. At her request, which came at my arm-twisting, I prepared these four narrations to tell the story that the songs couldn't always provide.
Again, she arrived and just stepped up and delivered the "song" of his life with a measure of grace and dignity that so few understand, much less could breathe into a piece such as this. She was showing nothing more than the brilliance of the unspoken. Her narration was not painted with broad strokes of animation, for that would miss too much of the finer detail that gives our lives character. It also was not lost for the grand scale, for a life-force as big as Fats deserved a sendup...and a sendup he received! I believe she had another engagement, so she enjoyed herself until she was obliged to enjoy herself somewhere else.
The last time I saw Michelle was at a little concert venue here in town. The band was jamming and my wife, in the middle of such maelstrom, threw in a characteristic 'shout-out' to her girl Michelle. Maybe it was between songs...does it matter? Our paths were crossing over and we had journalistic royalty in the house! I didn't get much of a chance to speak with her, but I greeted her and sat for a moment before carrying on to someone else. Do I regret it? No. And I firmly mean that, because I didn't treat her any less warmly than if I had known what was coming. At least that's what the memory banks are telling me upon withdrawl.
We were there to say good-bye, sweet one who resembles God. Maybe you know, maybe that doesn't matter anymore. But know that you mattered. I believe the greatest trick in life is the one you can't pull yourself. And throughout the centuries, so many have desperately tried to trick history into remembering a legacy they did not deserve. That's the problem. Try too hard, and ambition gets in the way. Some don't bother at anything, and some ambition could only help. I believe you had the right ambition, Michelle. The ambition of the humble servant. The perfect way when trying to get to the heart and soul of something important. Serve it, and it will serve unto you, right?
A eulogy in her own words, a closing in her own truth...
"It don't take all that!"
________________
Wasn't sure what to link to, so please google "KCCI+Michelle+Parker" and you find a treasure of this Treasure.
News was her love, she was it's Queen. And now a thousand years, between....
Michelle, your life, in it's native intricacies and delicacies, meant "one who resembles God."
In the passage of life, we are sometimes, though rarely, blessed with offers of shelter; shelter meaning compassion, or beauty, perhaps kindness. Those who would shelter us in the present moment have the wisdom to realize that they too will perhaps need shelter as they traverse these same steps in later days. And so it was that Michelle and I met.
I had briefly met Michelle through my wife, Tina, who had been good friends with Michelle throughout the years, including time spent together at First Federated Church where my wife had been Director of Worship, or a job title that fit that job description. My wife can describe her own feelings for Michelle, and she most definitely did at her own blog, Spaghetti for Breakfast. In remembrance, I decided to look back at three times we shared, hoping to divine some truth for you to discover about her.
My wife asked Ms. Parker to read at our wedding, 1-1-2005. She gladly and quickly accpeted the invitation, and arrived promptly for the pre-wedding rehersal in her characteristic readiness. I have read other recollections since her passing that describe this same "state"; she always seemed "on" because I believe being "off" didn't suit her. She read her piece with a resolute authority that was so honestly "her" that I find myself looking back on that moment just now and wondering how many more people like myself just took her for granted because of this. Honest consistency is a cursed blessing in so many ways; did Michelle feel its sting? Regardless, she wished us well and was on her way again, back into the worst day of weather we had that year. Half my family wouldn't make the date, but Michelle Parker did. Her cursed blessing in full-swing again.
Later that summer, I wrote a series of four narrations that were read by local luminous friends and colleagues at a "Giants of Jazz" performance. The "Giants of Jazz" series is part of Des Moines' 'Jazz in July' events, and this particular GOJ happened to be the first. The Alpha. My wife had just completed her second career run starring in "Ain't Misbehavin' ", a poignant revue of the life, times and music of Thomas "Fats" Waller. She had also served as musical director for this production, and thus parleyed her time and dedication to that production into this GOJ feature. At her request, which came at my arm-twisting, I prepared these four narrations to tell the story that the songs couldn't always provide.
Again, she arrived and just stepped up and delivered the "song" of his life with a measure of grace and dignity that so few understand, much less could breathe into a piece such as this. She was showing nothing more than the brilliance of the unspoken. Her narration was not painted with broad strokes of animation, for that would miss too much of the finer detail that gives our lives character. It also was not lost for the grand scale, for a life-force as big as Fats deserved a sendup...and a sendup he received! I believe she had another engagement, so she enjoyed herself until she was obliged to enjoy herself somewhere else.
The last time I saw Michelle was at a little concert venue here in town. The band was jamming and my wife, in the middle of such maelstrom, threw in a characteristic 'shout-out' to her girl Michelle. Maybe it was between songs...does it matter? Our paths were crossing over and we had journalistic royalty in the house! I didn't get much of a chance to speak with her, but I greeted her and sat for a moment before carrying on to someone else. Do I regret it? No. And I firmly mean that, because I didn't treat her any less warmly than if I had known what was coming. At least that's what the memory banks are telling me upon withdrawl.
We were there to say good-bye, sweet one who resembles God. Maybe you know, maybe that doesn't matter anymore. But know that you mattered. I believe the greatest trick in life is the one you can't pull yourself. And throughout the centuries, so many have desperately tried to trick history into remembering a legacy they did not deserve. That's the problem. Try too hard, and ambition gets in the way. Some don't bother at anything, and some ambition could only help. I believe you had the right ambition, Michelle. The ambition of the humble servant. The perfect way when trying to get to the heart and soul of something important. Serve it, and it will serve unto you, right?
A eulogy in her own words, a closing in her own truth...
"It don't take all that!"
________________
Wasn't sure what to link to, so please google "KCCI+Michelle+Parker" and you find a treasure of this Treasure.
News was her love, she was it's Queen. And now a thousand years, between....
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