Monday, June 30, 2008

Fortuitous Encounters


























No doubt my favorite living contemporary painter is Alyce Frank. She lives near Taos NM in a small town with her husband and produces paintings that reach out and touch me ever so deeply. I believe one of her favorite painters and source of inspiration is Vincent van Gogh. Alyce is represented in several galleries. I had read a little about her but had never met her, seen her, nor seen a photo of her, nor had I actually seen one of her paintings *in person*--I had viewed them first on postcards I found in Abiquiu NM near to where I lived for nearly a year a few miles beyond the village of Canones, then in books and online. I knew she loved to paint plein air especially in NM. A couple of years ago my partner and I took a driving trip out West, heading for California. One day while touring Yosemite Park in one of those large tour buses we made yet another stop to take in the breath taking scenery. I noticed a couple of painters parked in an old station wagon with large easels set up by the side of the road. Something stirred in me and told me that I just HAD to go over and say hello and introduce myself. I walked away from the group and headed over to the painters some little distance away. I walked right up to them and introduced myself and then blurted out "Are you by any chance Alyce Frank?" To which she replied, yes, I am, and this is my painting partner Barbara Zaring. I was both in awe and shock at this so called *coincidence*, and it turns out Ms. Frank also got quite a little thrill from the whole event. She was the artist in residence at Yosemite and I had no idea of any of this. Wow, what magical things can happen, especially when we take that risk and move right through our nervousness and doubts and fears and follow those inner urgings. A few weeks later I received a call from the owner of the Fenix Gallery in Taos who informed me that Alyce Frank was so impressed by the encounter that she wanted me to have one of her paintings!!! I simply couldn't believe it--her paintings typically sell anywhere from $4000 to $10,000 and more. Well that part proved to be just a bit too good to be true as I learned that what was meant was that Ms. Frank was offering me a painting for less than half price, plus shipping and handling. In that case I kindly asked if I could chose a different painting than the one she had set aside for me and she indeed approved my request. Now I have an original Alyce Frank oil painting hanging in my living room titled El Salto. I love it, and I love how I came to be the owner of such a beautiful piece of art by my most revered contemporary painter in the whole world!!



Another fortuitous encounter happened one day at a support group meeting I was attending weekly at the Austin Men's Center (Co-dependence anonymous). What a great group of guys! We came together weekly and shared our stories without judgment, offering one another support, care, and love, and many of us coming to the knowledge that we are not alone in this world with our problems , issues, and suffering. It was my plan to make a trip to the bank and retrieve some documents from the safety deposit box after the meeting. I had placed the safety deposit key in my bag. The key itself is tucked away bright red little envelope. It was cold outside and so before getting in my car I decided to get the key out of my bag and put it in my pocket so it would be readily available when I got to the bank. I searched and searched in my bag and could not find it. Eventually I removed every single item from my bag, sorted through everything, placing everything on the floor, then carefully sorting through everything again and slowly putting everything back into my bag (a small backpack) but the key was NOWHERE to be found. Suddenly I heard someone in the adjacent room crying and I went to see what was going on. One guy, who was needing to leave to get to work was listening to another guy who appeared to be in deep pain about something, and his sobbing was intense. I went into the room and sat down and held him while he cried, and cried, and cried, then told me his problem. Later, when he had recovered his composure for the time being we exchanged names and phone numbers and he became one of my best friends in my life. He taught me to paint, something that I had never done before. I had a deeply ingrained belief that I had absolutely no artistic ability whatsoever and therefore had never taken an art course, not even an art history course. My first piece of art that I brought home from first grade and proudly showed to my mother turned out to be the object of unintentional, but very hurtful ridicule. My mother told me and everyone else who came to the house that I had brought home the ugliest piece of art she had ever seen in her life. She repeatedly displayed this artwork of mine and had many laughs at it's ugliness. She told me I had no talent whatsoever. Hence, I had avoided the visual arts my entire life up until I was 39 years old. But that was soon to change. This beautiful man I met that day was a gifted artist and he taught me to paint. He encouraged me, he praised me, he inspired me.



After our meeting that day I got into my car to head for the bank, realizing that I had been unable to find the safety deposit key, something that had kept me there at the center longer than was normal as I had searched my backpack extensively, which had allowed me to meet my new friend. I just KNEW I had put that key in my bag before leaving home so sitting there in my car, I opened my bag to again begin yet another search for the elusive key and there it was, sitting right on top of the contents of my bag, in plain view.



I have learned the hard way (naturally) to look at such mysterious events with complete openness and try not figure out the meaning. Conjecture, theories, interpretations that may lead to certain actions on my part have proven to be not the best course of action, not the best way to understand these things. Rather I've learned, and still learn, to be still and watch and go slowly and be introspective but without coming to all sorts of self misguided conclusions, because when one does that, it removes the mystery, it removes the element of the mystical, it seeks to concretize that which may very well need to remain ethereal.



Note: the first painting above is El Salto by Alyce Frank as are the next two; the fourth painting was done by me.

Blessings to Open New Doors













I drove Zachary to Beeville yesterday. Dale went with me. Oftentimes it's a bit strange going back to my home town, sometimes I'm flooded with memories--both pleasant and not so pleasant--and other times I feel as though many lifetimes have passed since I once lived here. There is one feeling that's consistent and that's that I'm glad I no longer live here in this depressing place. When my friend from High School Brian moved back to Beeville from NYC a few years ago, I began going down there quite often, but it was different. Brian lives in the country outside Beeville on 75 acres in a large, beautiful house built by his parents. It's totally private and secluded and Beeville seems worlds away, most of the time. Brian put in a pool with a large deck and upgraded the outdoor half-bath in the carport area. We've had so many fun times by the pool, so many parties. One weekend about this time last summer I drove down for a visit. On the way there I caught a momentary glance out of the corner of my eye of Buck and Meg (two horses) in the pasture adjacent to the highway. Buck was standing over Meg who was laying on the ground, something horses enjoy doing, rolling in the dirt. Later while lounging by the pool I noticed that neither Buck nor Meg had made an appearance. Usually they show up when we are out by the pool and I always love to walk down to the fence and pet them, and Brian usually gathers a bucket of grain pellets to feed them. I asked Brian where they were and we all puzzled over why they hadn't yet shown up. They never did. Something in my gut was troubled. Something in the back of my mind felt uneasy, but I couldn't figure it out. The image of Buck standing over Meg while she rolled in the dirt kept coming to mind. Did I actually see her rolling in the dirt? The next morning Brian got a call from a friend, who had driven by on the highway, with dire news--"you have a dead horse in your pasture." The sheriff was called, Brian's brother came out and it wasn't long before news filtered up to the house that someone had driven by and shot Meg in the head with 22 caliber rifle, and she was dead. While they dug a deep hole in the field for burial, I watched over Buck who had been coaxed into a corral near the house. He was so upset, running about trying to get to Meg, almost busting through the fence, whinnying over and over again. I spent hours with him that morning, calming him, soothing him as best as I could. Obviously he had witnessed the murder of his companion, the beautiful mare Meg. He was afraid of me at first, then slowly moved closer and closer until finally I was rubbing the entire side of his long neck, and I could see he was calming down and feeling soothed.


Immediately after returning to Austin I went to a yoga class and Keith read the following poem aloud which totally blew me away:



A Blessing


By James Wright


Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
They have come gladly out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day, alone.
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
That we have come.
They bow shyly as wet swans.
They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
At home once more,
They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.
I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,
For she has walked over to me
And nuzzled my left hand.
She is black and white,
Her mane falls wild on her forehead,
And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl’s wrist.
Suddenly I realize that if I stepped out of my body
I would break
Into blossom.




I was haunted by this for a long while. I was confused about a recent (and ongoing) *infatuation* that had me torn apart and weeping daily for weeks on end, which eventually turned into months. I stayed with it all and worked hard at processing it, understanding it, going to the core of the issues that were coming up for me. This is not easy work. The next month I attended a retreat at Bodhi Zen Center in Jemez Springs NM, A Gathering of Men, sponsored by Spirit Journeys. It was a profound experience. Just totally profound. The next month I traveled throughout Tuscany for several weeks, then a few months later I found myself on a yoga retreat in Bali. Doors had opened and blessings bestowed. I worked with a wonderful therapist and joined a group-therapy-group. It was all so very rich and rewarding and such hard f***ing work!
Staying with our pain and feeling it fully without trying to suppress it is the way of the heart, it's the way to healing, understanding, growth. So many doors open to us when we stay the course of our heart, listen deeply to what our best self is telling us, often heard through the words of others, passages in books, poems, dreams (including nightmares). Archaeological digs into our deeper pits, no matter how dark, will reveal many truths.
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