I found myself at Unity (up in Michigan) a …
Shaun Groves on Dominican Republic…:You’re right, Brad. And I have no idea why. …
I’ve added a poll section to the right under “Today’s Quote”. I’ll use it to pick your brain, get us thinking, answer my own questions or just amuse myself. Check it out. And find out what the other shloggers are thinking by viewing the results.
-Shaun
I paint. Well, not much anymore, but I began life as a visual artist and only migrated to melodies and poetry in an effort to woo women in high school. But I’ve always thought in pictures more than sounds. And my most content moments as a child were at the kitchen table, crayon or paintbrush in hand, glue under my nails, slivers of paper scattered around me, covered in the debris of the creative process. Created was my Ritalin. Still is. Before doctors and moms medicated the overly enthusiastic and manic my mother channelled my hyperactivity and intellect into pages and paint. And it’s still my drug of choice.
Today my work is songs and my hobby is painting pieces like this one. I made this last week when I needed a break from industry and wanted to fill a bare wall in my bedroom. Making it was the highlight of my week. The most peaceful and happy I’ve felt in a long time. My life is good right now, great even, but putting this image on canvas took me from content to downright euphoric.
I guess the thing I love so much about painting these days is how untainted the whole process is by the outside world, by the critic and the audience. It’s free. There’s nothing riding on how well my images are liked. There’s no mandate to be an upbeat, positive and safe for the whole family painter. There’s no testing done on my brushstrokes, no corporate voice changing my palette with the market, no chart to make, no tickets to sell, no trips to take and awards to aspire to.
When I smear color on canvas I’m a kid again, mesmerized and enthralled by being able to make something I like. And there’s not even the slightest desire to stand back to back to anyone else. There’s no assessment of value. No labeling it “art” or “good.”
Instead I just make. Make what I like. And while people sometimes comment on the honesty of my shows or songs I have to admit that my paintings, because they’re unscrutinized and unsold, are the most honest works I make these days. The rest is half honesty and half marketable commodity. Half joy and half necessary labor.
If only we artists could make a living making stuff for mom’s refrigerator and not the masses. If only I could write songs as unashamedly, freely and flippantly as I decorate a page. Maybe someday.
(Picture credits: 1:"People Watching Daddy Sing” by Gabriella Groves, 2:Untitled by Me, 3:"Mommy Loves Daddy” by Gabriella Groves)
Mandy Patinkin (aka Inigo Montoya of “The Princess Bride") thanked the woman profusely for saving his life as my wife and her sisters looked on from their nearby table yesterday. Apparently Mr.Patinkin had choked on his lunch at Louie’s in Manhattan and was snatched from the hands of Death by a five-fingered stranger familiar with Dr.Heimlich’s maneuver.
At first the compassionate good Samaritan struggled to dislodge the lunch special from Mr.Patinkin’s golden throat. Yet the stranger stayed calm, even smiling at times, causing Mr.Patinkin to ask, “Why are you smiling?”
“Because I know something you don’t know,” replied the hero,"I am not left handed.”
Switching to his right, the stranger effortlessly forced up Mandy’s meal to the applause of strangers throughout the eatery. Louie, the stranger and Mr.Patinkin were not available for comment.
Mr.Patinkin has given the world a handful of shlocky (not shloggy) CDs over the years but made up for it by first speaking the quotable one-liners “You keep using this word. I don’t think it means what you think it means” and “You killed my father. Prepare to die.” Mr.Patinkin, we’re glad you’re alive. Shalom.
O my soul, bless GOD!
GOD, my God, how great you are!
beautifully, gloriously robed,
Dressed up in sunshine,
and all heaven stretched out for your tent.
You built your palace on the ocean deeps,
made a chariot out of clouds and took off on wind--wings.
You commandeered winds as messengers,
appointed fire and flame as ambassadors.
You set earth on a firm foundation
so that nothing can shake it, ever.
You blanketed earth with ocean,
covered the mountains with deep waters;
Then you roared and the water ran away--
your thunder crash put it to flight.
Mountains pushed up, valleys spread out
in the places you assigned them.
You set boundaries between earth and sea;
never again will earth be flooded.
You started the springs and rivers,
sent them flowing among the hills.
All the wild animals now drink their fill,
wild donkeys quench their thirst.
Along the riverbanks the birds build nests,
ravens make their voices heard.
You water the mountains from your heavenly cisterns;
earth is supplied with plenty of water.
You make grass grow for the livestock,
hay for the animals that plow the ground.
Oh yes, God brings grain from the land,
wine to make people happy,
Their faces glowing with health,
a people well-fed and hearty.
GOD’s trees are well-watered--
the Lebanon cedars he planted.
Birds build their nests in those trees;
look--the stork at home in the treetop.
Mountain goats climb about the cliffs;
badgers burrow among the rocks.
The moon keeps track of the seasons,
the sun is in charge of each day.
When it’s dark and night takes over,
all the forest creatures come out.
The young lions roar for their prey,
clamoring to God for their supper.
When the sun comes up, they vanish,
lazily stretched out in their dens.
Meanwhile, men and women go out to work,
busy at their jobs until evening.
What a wildly wonderful world, GOD!
You made it all, with Wisdom at your side,
made earth overflow with your wonderful creations.
Oh, look--the deep, wide sea,
brimming with fish past counting,
sardines and sharks and salmon.
Ships plow those waters,
and Leviathan, your pet dragon, romps in them.
All the creatures look expectantly to you
to give them their meals on time.
You come, and they gather around;
you open your hand and they eat from it.
If you turned your back,
they’d die in a minute--
Take back your Spirit and they die,
revert to original mud;
Send out your Spirit and they spring to life--
the whole countryside in bloom and blossom.
The glory of GOD-let it last forever!
Let GOD enjoy his creation!
He takes one look at earth and triggers an earthquake,
points a finger at the mountains, and volcanoes erupt.
Oh, let me sing to GOD all my life long,
sing hymns to my God as long as I live!
Oh, let my song please him;
I’m so pleased to be singing to GOD.
But clear the ground of sinners--
no more godless men and women!
O my soul, bless GOD!
(From THE MESSAGE translation)
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My wife took the week off - from us, me and our two oldest kids. She lifted off two days ago to visit her sister in New York, eat anything she wants whenever she wants and sleep far more than anyone beyond college should. She’ll be chowing on Junior Mints at a movie for the first time in months and savoring leisurely conversations about nothing weighty without the threat of whining or diaper changing to break the pace. She’ll do no dishes, cook no meals, buy no groceries, declare no time-outs, clean no clothes and tidy no rooms. She’s free to do nothing or everything she wants. It’s Becky’s week of jubilee.
And I’m walking in her shoes while she’s away. Learning not to work. Learning how to be a kid again. My computer gets little face time. My cell phone isn’t charged. And my butt hasn’t hit a seat except to take in the usual episode of Sesame Street in the morning and Clifford The Big Red Dog in the afternoon.
I’m surprisingly good at being juvenile.
The kids and I (Gabriella 4, Gresham 2) rolled out of bed a little later than usual this morning. And instead of a healthy flack seed and raisin cereal from the whole-food store wetted with soy milk (blech!) we took a field trip to the Donut Palace to learn about how Daddy ate when he was a kid. We stuffed our faces with chocolate donuts, the ones with jumbo sprinkles on top, and chased them down with some sprite.
Of course a resourceful kid who’s good at her job can always find something to do with an unnecessary cereal bowl.
And after the sugar hit our bloodstream we needed somewhere to run around. So we put on clothes that didn’t match at all and headed to kid Heaven: Pump It Up. (Send free Pump It Up passes to POBox 680055, Franklin, TN 37068) This place takes the moonwalk blow-up box from the carnies of my youth, adds more color than a Toby Mac show and boosts it by a couple stories, creating the biggest softest easiest way to spend an hour with two kids in Nashville. And parents are allowed to play too.
Though most parents today stood in clusters complaining about their husbands or the job market. Too tethered to cell phones or their age to get on all fours and do the work of children. Truth is for most of us old folks play is the hardest work - work that’s avoided. But for now it’s work I can’t wait to wake up to.
Tomorrow Gabriella’s promised to paint my nails blue and silver before we hit the Zoo and maybe the mall’s carousel, with pretzels in hand of course. The next day maybe an art museum or a puppet show, or maybe we’ll just sit around in our underwear eating Cheetos and watching videos or playing with Gresham’s extensive collection of Matchbox cars. There’s no dress code with this job. And no need to act my age.
