Sensei and Sensibility

IN CELEBRATION OF THE CHINESE NEW YEAR

 

It was a week ago Monday that Ariel and I met for flower practice.  Each of us brought flowers for our arrangements in celebration of the Chinese New Year, the year of the water dragon.   Ariel brought magnolia branches.  My offering consisted of Star Gazer lilies and red alstroemeria. 

When we finished, I asked, "How did the dragon show up in the flowers today?"  

"The dragon appears gentle in his lair," we observed.  

Later, I discovered the Chinese view the dragon as a symbol of good fortune and a sign of intense power. The Oriental dragon is a divine beast, a deliverer of good fortune.  Unlike our fairy tales, the dragon is not something to slay.  How exciting to find our arrangements worked out just as they should!

Befitting the day, we had lemon cake with "dragon (red raspberry) sauce" for tea.

BEYOND MEMORIES, WHAT STORIES DO THESE TEA CUPS TELL?

Since the tea party, I have finished reading the novel, The Hare with the Amber Eyes, a wonderful read by Edmund de Waal.  The book is a history of objects, in this case, of netsuke, "hard explosions of exactitude," he calls them.  Edmund de Waal believes objects need biography and he has a strong sense of story-telling around how objects get passed on.  

Reading The Hare with Amber Eyes has encouraged me to think about the stories my mother's tea cups tell. I've brought out three of them for display and I expect to keep rotating them.  The cup and saucer on the book shelf in the library are stamped CHICKARAMACHI, Made in Japan.  The cup features a hand-painted rural scene of a windmill by the side of a river with a mountain in the background.  An empty landscape has been painted on the saucer.

As I handle the cup, I am struck by its light weight and the transparency of the bone china and I am reminded of how my parents and I used these cups--together.  When I visited,  I cut flowers from the garden, took down the teacups from their display and got out other "pretty things."  My visit and the presence of all these beautiful things created a sense of celebration. Collectively, they focused our attention and made us mindful of our time together as something prized and beautiful, like the tea cups.

Did my mother only use the tea cups when I visited?  I don't know.  I do know my mother loved dishes. The cups and saucers provided variety and, pragmatically, required less storage space than would be required for entire tea sets.  Many were received as gifts, perhaps all.  They represented bonds, then, a tie to people she loved and cared about.  Their function served time spent together with others in happy community and good talk.  All of this would have been gratifying to her, as it is to me. 

The sense of touch brings with it an awareness of boundary--of boundary against boundary; touching is separation and connection at once. Knowing this, I wonder what happens if I encounter these teacups as something unknown, unfamiliar, without recognition and memories?  This is next step, a space for future awakening.  Beginning with a question is, I believe, a great place to start in terms of the story of these objects.

WINTER TIME R & R

My winter-time visit to Bridgehampton was a real treat!  Since the weather outside was chilly, my friend and I were inclined to stay inside and experience just how peaceful and cozy her home is.  In ways quiet and charming, Judy's animals, Meli, Zoe and Cindy, contributed to the tranquil ambience.  

Though it was only an over night, it was perfect R & R for me.  I returned home ready for all that awaited me.

TALENT AND TEA PARTY

Last week I hosted a Talent and Tea party.  I used tea cups collected and passed on to me by my mother. She felt close at the tea, and I knew she would have loved to have been a participant in our merry making.

There were foods savory and sweet along with a variety of teas.  My friends would have been happy to spend all their time together in animated conversation; however, since I had promised "talent" as well as tea, I felt honor bound to make way for the talent.  (Friends had asked, "Who is the talent?" to which I replied, "You and I, we are the talent!")

One after another, we offered up our surprises. One friend read an article, from 40 years ago, about Thomas Edison.  (We talked about the "non-monument" Edison and exclaimed at the excellence of the writing.)   Another read aloud the book, Good Night, iPad (by Ann Droyd)!  Still another read a piece she had written entitled, "Rain."  When she finished, one of those present said, "I feel wet."  It was a feeling shared by all of us.   Someone else read a piece of doggerel written in the taxi on the way to tea.  Another friend cited her biscotti as her talent and all of us applauded.  Another identified stupefying articles from the day's newspaper, articles that left us a bit slack-jawed.  I recited a monologue, "Advice for Beginners," by Ellen Kort.  "Begin.  Keep on beginning.  Nibble on everything. . . ."

With all of it, there was lots of laughter and good cheer.  Later, someone described the tea as "sedate and fun" and another spoke of the "sheer inventiveness of the talent."  

Since the tea party, I have reflected on the importance of creating a space for the sharing of "talent" in a new and engaging manner.  The Talent and Tea party was still another way to celebrate and enjoy the many different--and splendid--facets of friends.  

 

MAURIZIO CATTELAN: ALL

Yesterday I went with a friend to visit the Maurizio Cattelan exhibit, "All," at the Guggenheim Museum. This was one of those "expand-your-world" kind of experiences.  For starters, the entire retrospective was hung from the ceiling--like laundry put out to dry!

The walls of the museum were bare.  All attention was focused on the central, open rotunda.  Sybil and I took the elevator to the sixth floor and then walked down the gently sloping and continuous ramp, looking all the while at the ever-changing installation.  

In an essay about the exhibition, Cattelan's work was described as veristic.  This was a word I needed to look up.  It means, I discovered, to use contemporary, everyday material in preference to "heroic or legendary" materials.  The word was aptly chosen. 

This is a site-specific installation, a perfect union of art and architecture.  It will not be passed on--to anywhere!

THOUGHTS ON MATTERS OF ENOUGH, PLENTY AND/OR TOO MUCH

In the last post, I wrote about making quiet time in my life, a day and a week at a time.  In a broader spirit of scaling back/simplifying, I'm looking to identify those areas where I have too many choices.  I know clothing is one.  A Harvard study found that too many choices delay decisions. That isn't my experience with clothing.  Faced with all my choices, I regularly settle on something "tried and true," something I wear "all the time."  Why not then pass on/re-purpose those things I no longer wear because they "are weary,"  no longer fit or no longer suit my style?

And what about social activities, food in the cupboard--and more?  How do I know when I have passed the line from enough or plenty to too much?  How does one know she has come to the tipping point?  

The tipping point is that critical threshold at which a tiny addition can qualitatively alter the state or development of that which is being examined. Malcolm Gladwell in his book, The Tipping Point, looks to e-mail as an example of "developing immunity."   "The more e-mail we get, the shorter and more selective and more delayed our responses become," he states.  The e-mails that delighted us when they were few become less satisfying as the number increases.  We develop immunity.

With clothing, I'm confident I have reached a state of "immunity."  With social activities, I'm not so sure. There I will continue to apply "the pleasure principle."  So long as the response is one of delight, inspiration and/or joy, I will continue as I've been doing, only in a context that includes more quiet time. 

THE CREATIVITY TUNE-UP CONTINUES ON TO QUIET TIME

"The Joy of Quiet," these words, glimpsed on the front page of the Sunday Review section of The New York Times, January 1, 2012, grabbed my attention. I glanced at the story only briefly enough to see it said, "The average office worker today enjoys no more than three minutes at a time at his or her desk without interruption."  Three minutes of quiet?   This was shocking to me, but it set me to thinking about how much quiet I desire/require and to ask myself what I was doing about it.  

I enjoyed a jam-packed holiday time; however, heading into January I want to change my ways.  I've asked myself:  What is enough (quiet time)?  Is 'enough' different from 'plenty'?  

After reflecting on these questions, I have designated six days in January as quiet days, these in addition to the quiet time I enjoy daily.  This has set me to wondering: What might my needs be for a year?   A very few of my friends have gone on silent retreats, getaways that last for a week.  For me, there is a direct correlation between my quiet time and having something useful to bring to others.  What might an extended quiet retreat yield?  I've resolved to investigate that possibility.

Given the quiet I'm carving out for myself, I am freeing up the resource of time, time for organizing, de-cluttering and simplifying my environment.  I feel this is a significant, yes, even essential, next step in my creativity tune-up.

Eventually, I expect to have days to do nothing.  Will that be a test, a treat, a surprise, what?  I look forward to finding out!  

 

 

SURPRISE IN HEARST CASTLE AT SAN SIMEON

On a recent visit to San Luis Obispo, named "the happiest city in America," my hosts took me to San Simeon to visit William Randolph Hearst's castle, Casa Grande, atop La Cuesta Encantada (The Enchanted Hill). The setting is magnificent, with the mountains in one direction and the Pacific Ocean in another.

The castle was decorated for Christmas.  I opted for the tour of the Grand Rooms which included the Assembly Room, the Refectory (the term for a monastery dining hall), the Billiard Room and the Theatre. The rooms were filled with Spanish and Italian antiquities and art.

Finding Del Monte catsup and French mustard on the table in the dining room was a major surprise!

 

BLISS

In Kyle's world, bliss looks like this!

CELEBRATION OF SOLSTICE IS CELEBRATION OF LIGHT & COLOR, THE HEART OF HUMAN LIFE

The family origins of our ritualistic observance of the coming of the Winter Solstice began more than forty years ago when my sister made candles with the children.  Having made the candles, they wanted to use them, of course.  How better than with an annal conflagration to welcome return of the sun!

Gifts of candles quickly assumed the place of sand-cased ones.  However, though the source of the candles changed the desire to use them did not.

All these years later, members of my family gather still to welcome the return of the sun.  Enthusiasm for this behavior has not waned; indeed, invitations are sought after and prized!

The menu doesn't change.  It consists always of spaghetti with meat sauce, dilled green beans, a salad and peppermint ice cream with Christmas cookies.  

On Christmas Eve, several of us attended a late-night church service in which a darkened church came "back to light," one candle at a time.  It was dramatic and moving.

I asked myself, What is it about light that has the capacity to stir us so?  Almost immediately I was reminded of Marianne Williamson's quote:  

"...as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

With light comes evidence of who we are along with liberation from fear; with light comes the reappearance of color.  The presence and experience of color is at the heart of human life.