Carlo Centeno

Pursuing Longevity

The British Medical Journal [BMJ] is a one of the world’s most respected and referenced publications on everything that deals with human health, wellness, disease and fields of medicine. Imre J. P. Loefler, MD [1929-1977] was a frequent contributor and an accomplished surgeon, conservationist and writer.

I came across one of his BMJ articles, “Is Longevity a Sustainable Goal?” archived in the U.S. National Library of Medicine [NLM]. The points he made in his article 22-years ago are as timely now as it was in 2002. But are they….?

Immortality and longevity are 2 distinct subjects, where the former is a philosophical if not spiritual notion that an individual has a soul that exists in perpetuity. It’s a construct that moves aside the real limitations of the physical self. Longevity is a span of time in one’s life or a specific span such as a career or avocation. You can draw parallels to both nouns, but longevity poses the question to many other things in our lives: how much longer will this car/fence/water heater/ roof last…? Assuming one’s in reasonably good health, there’s the question of, how much longer will I, or can I, live….?

In terms of our human life, common denominators hinge on several factors that can impact a decision. We understand the variability of culture, country, diet, healthcare among a myriad of other attributes and factors, which play roles in the longevity equation. And yet there are several things that gnaw into my own sense of self, and in the process posits this Jekyll-and-Hyde aspect that is very much entangled with our human existence. Results for the greater good, and bad ones created to our detriment. I’d like to think on the whole that we as living beings understand the moral zenith, which is all things living deserve to live out their lives. While we like to think that some things in life contain order and purpose, a much larger question is this: Is the quest to prolong one’s life a mission to extend life, or is it to ameliorate guilt and sadness expressed by friends, relatives, colleagues, etc. at a time when that life is so close to expiring? Who’s right? What are the “side effects” of prolonged life for family, society, resource utilization….the very survival of our planet?

Mayfly-ephemoroptera courtesy: Fly-fish Circle

From the brevity of a Mayfly [some adults have a 5-minute lifespan] to the Galapagos Turtle [100 plus years], Nature–for the most part–has the first right of refusal regarding the lifespan of all living things. We just don’t know when it expires. We do know that medical technology is finding ways to prolong life. As more and more discoveries point to the possibility of prolonging life, where is the end point?

Ultimately, prolonging life boils down to not only diet, sleep, exercise, preventive measures and so forth, but the details at the smallest and likely most complex of things microscopic. Think things at the cellular level and the knowledge we glean from things such as DNA and mRNA.

In 2020, French microbiologist Emmanuelle Charpentier, PhD and US biochemist Jennifer Doudna, PhD received the Nobel Prize in Chemistry for discovering the CRISPR/CAS 9 genetic scissors. They are the first women’s team to earn a Nobel prize. For us mortals, it means there is now an extremely precise way of changing the DNA in plants, animals and microorganisms. Taking that to the next level, it means near endless possibilities that can help those involved in the Life Sciences: research in potential cures for the most virulent and deadly of diseases can now be scrutinized by their genomes and subsequently altered.

Can you imagine the 2 most obvious yet divergent results from genetic modification? One modification for the greater good [cure for ALS, Alzheimer’s Disease, cancer, e.g.], the other for something wholly individualistic [changing genes for eye-color, height, e.g.]. And who determines areas or potential end-results as intractable?

I’ll let Dr. Loefler have the last word on this:

“Ultimately, the pursuit of longevity as a cultural goal lacks moral content and can be regarded as a form of hedonism. All great religions and all great philosophies would have agreed that the question of how long one lived was subordinate to the question of how one lived and what someone had done with his or her life. Nowadays, however, there seems to be one agreement only: that to live longer and longer is a good thing. Vouchsafing a long life for everyone seems to be the driving force of contemporary world culture. The consequences need to be pondered.“

Take it Outside.

“We love seeing your boards. They’re easy to read and understand. And they don’t have a lot of clutter.” Anecdotes are not reliable scientific measures, but word of mouth in this day and age does mean something to marketers and more specifically, consumers.
The number of drive by impressions depends on the location of your outdoor advertising and the message presented on that billboard. It helps further if your board stands next to a major route that’s regularly used all year long. By extension, we have a second board similar in concept, but unique in their message and brand positioning. So, we have 2 boards that run in rotation, that second board can be anywhere so as long as it’s on a major highway or road that allows for a reasonable “read.”

A lot of commuters, vacationers et al travel our interstates. Traveling north/south is straightforward from 95 in New Haven, CT then onto 91 right up to the Vermont border. The east/west channel has the Mass Pike [I-90] running from Boston all the way to eastern New York.
Springfield, MA’s DMA [Designated Market Area] is ranked 117 in the USA. A short 25 minutes south, is Hartford, CT, ranked 32.
We do get our share of leaf peekers, second home owners in Berkshire County, skiers, campers, fly-fishers, boaters, hikers and everything else in between.
Demographically speaking, there are key influencers and decision makers who receive multiple impressions from our messages.

But before any creative goes up, the content must deliver a quality that most viewers/drivers can identify with. As a brand, our firm is known for long-term strategies, growth, and a conservative though modern approach for reinforcing our values. And since our beginnings, we’ve positioned all our clients as the assets that matter; it dovetails with our commitment as fiduciaries: we work in the best interests of our clients.

We also partner with non-profits, either through co-branding or providing the space for however they’d like to use it. Any proposed artwork needs to go through our compliance & legal departments.

Travelling on the highway, you have less than 1/30 of second to glance at a board, any board. We make every effort to keep the content simple and relevant to our clients and prospects. There’s been no shortage of motifs to help develop content. For example, there’s been a growing interest with Artificial Intelligence [AI] and the world of autonomous electronics or in applications that can generate text that’s easy to read and perhaps follow. ChatGPT comes to mind. It’s not unusual in our digital world today where you could make it easier to create something that refines efficiency while reducing complexity. Robotics come to mind.

When I started here , I pushed for the use of white space because it adds, 1) a sense of calm & order, and 2) it delivers a focus that helps you think . David Ogilvy, the grandmaster of modern advertising and branding had a tenet that has stuck by me: “Keep it simple and do not talk down to your audience.” A lot of outdoor advertising is overloaded with info. It’s as if the strategy is to include as many benefits and attributes in the space. I refer to it as putting 10 lbs of “stuff” into a bag that holds only 5 lbs. Simple concepts are often better if only because they can be easier to remember.

As an advertiser, having the right message delivered in a relatable way means the viewer can identify with what’s being said. The short version of that is referred to as having “emotional ownership.”

When a message strikes a chord or brings forward a detail that sticks with you, then emotional ownership has taken hold.

Each Rider Matters

Those who play team sports understand the overall utility that is teamwork. No great mystery there. The many endeavors we encounter in Life often function better when we work in groups. From hobbies and clubs to those in line-work and the C-suite, we often rely on someone else to help complete a project or task.
Granted some tasks are regularly completed by one person, and such tasks can be specialized inasmuch that that one person is THE best person to do the job. Without her/him, the end result may not meet expectations.
To a great degree–individual efforts aside–you’re only as good as the people you work with.
^{A special thank you to David Schultz for his hospitality at Newport Polo.}

Some 2,000 Feet Up

The exhilaration of flying in a single-engine airplane does a number of things, the most obvious is that the ground looks so expansive. Terra firma goes on and on into the horizon. Scale and size play with my sense of proportion. What you see on the grounds looks small and yet other things seem larger than they should be. The length of highways, the relative size of cars, trucks and trains look as if they were sectioned off a sizeable display meant to be “an artist’s interpretation” of a grand project years in the making.

The Oxbow on the Connecticut River in Northampton, MA

Traveling 2,000 feet above ground at speeds between 65-80 [kn] knots, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed. There are places you know of, but from the air, they take on a different personality.

Somewhere not too far from the airport and still in MA.

Like a jig-saw puzzle on a larger-than-life scale, parcels and tracts of forested land interconnect. All appears as it should [at least through my eyes]. My friend and pilot, MP, knows more about the puzzle laid out below us. And he knows a helluva lot about flying. He’s been a pilot for well over 30 years. I don’t fly and know little of it, and it becomes more than obvious MP is very much in tune with all details pertinent to flying. Knowing weather conditions leading up to “GO” is de rigueur on his pre-flight checklist. It’s quite a checklist to say the least; I’d have to Google the majority of the terms on that lengthy list for obvious reasons.

The French King Bridge connecting Erving and Gill, Massachusetts.

On the ground, I have a better sense of familiar locations, most of which I’ve driven to many times already. From the air, that’s another story. Having a large river coursing across the county helps to some degree. For example, the French King Bridge is a familiar site on the road, even before actually seeing it, but from a small plane, the road looks slightly unfamiliar. Still, there’s no mistaking that beautiful cantilevered bridge.

The Seven Sisters of the Holyoke Range. There are 3 large “hill tops” in the center. Trace the left of the photo to the horizon, and you’ll see the other 4, the furthest one wrapped in a haze, but still visible.

As many of you know, the Seven Sisters are the 7 colleges located in the northeast USA. Since their founding, all are women’s colleges, but for one that went co-ed [The Harvard Annex–now Radcliffe College–is part of the Harvard Radcliffe Institute]. They remain highly regarded and very competitive schools to this day.
The 7 [in order founded] are:
o Mount Holyoke College 1837
o Vassar College 1861
o Wellesley College 1870
o Smith College 1871
o Radcliffe College 1879
o Bryn Mawr College 1885
o Barnard College 1889

Looking south to the towns of Deerfield and Sunderland, Massachusetts

That bridge is the same one in the photo above.
You can see Mt. Sugarloaf left of center.

Spending about 2 hours in the air was a terrific experience. Knowing MP and the way his plane is maintained, I felt confident and safe in his hands. It was a rare, bright day with a slight on-off breeze, perfect for just about anything. My time at 2,000 feet allowed for some R&R, plenty of “what-have-you-been-doing” conversations, a chance to take some photos and moments to appreciate all that is life, the good and not so good, the rote and the unpredictable.

Hope all your journeys are safe….

Ibid

Life Lessons

It’s been said that everything you needed to learn and know in order to get through a day was taught in kindergarten. That was the early-in-life primer, essentially a course in fundamentals: polite behavior, expressions of gratitude, common courtesy and common sense in all things you say and act upon.
Some life lessons around loyalty, unconditional love, patience, trust, kindness–among others–were influenced by my dog, Humphrey. Naturally, various experiences with family, teachers/professors and good friends added to that mix as well, as well it should.

Humphrey was a miniature cockapoo, but there was nothing small in his character or demeanor. Simply put, he acted like he was the biggest, baddest, dog east of the Mississippi. He possessed a radar that had a way of measuring and reading the nature of most grown ups, and of course other four-legged creatures [read: neighborhood dogs he didn’t quite like]. I’ve heard it said that the size of the dog doesn’t matter as much as the size of its heart. And that little guy had a huge heart.
Children were another story. He was comfortable around them. Humphrey was just as curious about kids, as the kids were with this little guy. Throughout his life, many thought Humphrey to be a puppy. In a sense he was that in many ways.

It makes sense to me that the weight and burden of grief that comes from the loss of a pet correlates to the amount and type of affection you gave the pet, and vice versa. Reciprocity at its finest. Quite frankly, that equation is the same for family, significant others and close friends. When you truly care about someone or something, you give it your all, certainly your heart and soul as a minimum.
MJ and I support each other in all of this. She did, indeed, have a big part in Humphrey’s life, as did our kids and grandkids. Those connections or bonds don’t disappear at death. Not surprisingly, we had thought about ways to extend Humphrey’s life, perhaps just a bit more care or special intervention would’ve helped, but time waits for no one.
Second thoughts arose wondering if any intervention for Humphrey could still help him. I think part of understanding what love is revolves around one’s willingness to let go. We’d like to think that as the end drew closer, that that pup knew he added so much to our days, and vice versa. Life lessons arrive from many points. From the smallest of vignettes to those large and complex, there’s something one can glean from experience and interaction.

Not surprisingly, other events or milestones reach out and overwhelm us, including one in particular. About a week after Humphrey died, one of our daughters and her husband added to the number of grandchildren. Their second child–and our fifth grandchild–was a welcome sight!

He was the salve to our sadness. The sounds and expressions of loss and affirmation differ. Death and grief are shadowed by life, not the other way around. That new baby dampened down some of the grief we’ve been carrying. The creation and arrival of a new life, affirms the reality that dying and being born are conditions each of us cannot deny. With one, comes the other.

Fate added another exclamation point to all of this. Just before the end of March, MJ’s sister suddenly passed away from heart failure made more complex by cancer. And just like that, death set us back yet again. Nostalgia, sadness, regret and second guessing returned in force. No sooner than when the new baby arrived home, MJ and I were thinking about an obituary and a funeral to attend in short order.

In all of this, I’m reminded of what MJ’s mom said about the passing away of loved ones: remember them on their birthdays, not just on the day they died. That notion has stuck by us for quite awhile now. With birthdays come celebrations, the gathering of family and friends, and an opportunity to reconnect with good times and the people who are and were a part of that. To auld lang syne, to “times that have gone by.” We can think of any number of experiences that raised a smile, a laugh, a few tears, but don’t mistake this as longing or living in the past. It’s really a time to be in the moment, a key one at that, to share recollections with those in attendance and in doing so, our connections to each other are again [or for the first time!] affirmed.

My take on all that’s happened is that our willingness to interact with each other can never be replaced with the efficiency of Facetime, Zoom Meetings, teleconferencing and any other present-day digital communication. The attributes of efficiency cannot separate us from emotions and empathy. There are lessons woven into experiences that can be shared, indeed as some should anyway. It’s what makes each of us a wholly unique, sentient being.

The peaks and valleys this past March, made clear that we need to nurture our connections to family and friends, to dogs and cats and pets, and to others outside our zones of comfort. Good or bad, joyful or sad, the confluence of your feelings shared with others enhances many of life’s lessons…

…and when that fog does lift…

Observation and interpretation of anything is very subjective though in commercial and advertising work, that which is deemed creative and acceptable are often determined by the art director, sometimes by the account supervisor on behalf of a client. Actually, the person who has the last word is often not the illustrator, photographer, videographer, writer–or in today’s parlance–the content editor. In my experience, the buck stops at the client’s desk….and oddly enough at a desk occupied by someone with a tangential connection to the project, perhaps rare, but it happens. “I think it’s clever, why don’t we run with it?’

Now, if the creators of verse and image are the clients, then the advent of blogs and vlogs have given these clients the control to post final versions of whatever is being created. To have complete creative control is nothing short of invigorating if not self-serving. Being both client and creator is double-edged; not surprisingly, creators can be the hardest of critics, at times being so critical of their own efforts and results that projects crawl to a stop. Paralysis-by-analysis, imposter syndrome, go figure.
So, when your creative fog lifts don’t meander thinking you’ll encounter an epiphany. Yes, at times that does happen when the creative block lifts, and you’re greeted by some nugget of an idea. If you’re the creator and the client, then it’s incumbent upon both personas to look at your product/content with equal scrutiny. Both minds, while driven by other factors, do have a common intersection. Think of 2 circles, one overlapping the other. In that small, shaded area is where the diaspora of sales, marketing, advertising and more are all blended together.

I think of that creative block, that fog, as a layer temporarily covering my creative line-of-sight. It does lift, so be ready.

Fog aka creative block

This is the view from my office. Because this window faces north, changes in weather often come this way, and today was no exception. A front was slowly moving through bringing with it some drizzle if not showers and a pinch of wet snow for good measure.
I go through some days feeling creatively barren, as if covered with a fog. My brain cannot keep focus of what’s important, nor can it generate a spark of an idea. I’d welcome a nugget of thought that morphs into a theme, a sentence, a paragraph and even a photograph.

When that kind of fog moves in, I used to double down on my brain as if I could purposefully, indeed consciously command by merely thinking, “I need something to work with here! Get it off the ground.” A couple mugs of green tea or coffee later, nothing appears on my creative radar.
And so I apply a way of thinking and visualizing to help reveal something/anything beneath that fog. I imagine what’s lying beneath not only my creative fog, but the cloak draped outside my window. Somehow the symbiosis of such processing helps clear my brain fog. It doesn’t reveal something monumental; it’s not a Eureka! moment at all. Some real right-brain elbow juice comes into play. I’m from the school that believes there’s no such thing as a “dumb idea or answer.” Possibilities abound depending on your attitude.

The transition time varies, sometimes in an hour, other times a day or 2 later. I suppose other efforts have probably taken longer to render that creative crumb-of-an idea or concept. If I knew how to sketch, perhaps it would be easier and at times faster to arrive at the idea. However, it’s just the way this person works. Not very exciting. The excitement–if you can call it that–is more a feeling of relief and satisfaction.

Whether I’m looking at a blank sheet of paper, a clean page in my journal or through a camera viewfinder [yes, very old school this guy], I sometimes think of Occam’s razor, a philosophy that states when troubled with competing solutions or ideas for a desired outcome, often the simplest version is the very solution that makes sense.

Photographic Somnabulism: second stanza

Give credit where credit is due. The fine-art book, Somnabulist created by photographer Ralph Gibson in 1970, was where I first saw the word, somnabulist. His fascination with discovery and the realm of things abstract made for different if not interesting images. My take was when reality is cojoined with one’s dreams, it’s a means to an end: achieving success, finding calm, reducing stress, maintaining good health, nurturing family and friends and so forth. The following images are dreamscapes of sorts. They’re a far cry from Mr. Gibson’s B&W prints.
As in life—that is in being “awake”—light, shadow, colors and the dark all have a role in both dreams and living. One is allegorical, the other experiential. Or even both?

Because the night belongs to….

WIT: Words, Ideas and Thinkers.

The inaugural 3-day, WIT Festival recently finished here in the Berkshires. Authors, journalists, novelists and playwrights gathered to engage participants in this year’s theme, Reimagining America. This was an opportunity to broaden one’s understanding of critical issues and concerns coursing through our current–and varied– socioeconomic and political points-of-view.
The festival is the brainchild of The Authors Guild Foundation, the largest organization of its kind in the USA that “educates, supports and protects American writers across the country.” It’s been noted that the Authors Guild Foundation is “the sole group of its kind dedicated to empowering all U.S. authors.”

*Ms. Lynn Boulger, executive director of the Authors Guild Foundation, welcoming authors, attendees, patrons and friends.*

Berkshire County lies in western Massachusetts. Its rectangular shape stretches north-south with New York state at its west border, Connecticut to the south, Vermont to the north and to the east it borders with Hampden, Hampshire and Franklin counties. For many, the Berkshires is more than a destination: it’s a way of life.

*Dan Brown*, author of best-selling novels The Da Vinci Code and Angels & Demons.

Presentations/discussions took place at Shakespeare & Company in Lenox. For the most part, the 3-day festival sold out, however a roster of those wanting to attend were placed on a list just in case of cancellations. I did not hear of any registrants calling to back out.

Ms. Nikki Maniscalco, associate development manager, The Authors Guild Foundation.

I think the salient detail I took away was in finding a connection with the speakers. Whether through their anecdotes and experiences or with discussions that were enlightening or instructive, discovering these connections became visceral. The connections answer to or affirm my own perceptions, creative risks and even the most profound sentiments I keep close to the proverbial vest. As effective podcasts can be, for me there’s a lot more to glean from such happenings when they’re done in person. There’s an intimacy about gatherings as you hear, see and feel more than just commentary. And in that collective presence, you may pick up emotions inferred or otherwise demonstrated in tone, expressions and body language.

Ms. Janet Dewart Bell, PhD–author, social justice advocate, executive coach & more!

One cannot dodge a glance or ignore a gesture, or miss a light-hearted remark to loosen up a room. As good as podcasts are—and they have an important place in communications and education—being there does make a difference.

David W. Blight–Pulitzer Prize-winning author.

The dinner, served at The Mount: Home of Edith Wharton, was cleverly engaging. Instead of table numbers, the names of authors took their place. Your seat was placed at a designated table which bears the name of the author at the bottom of your name tag [Jean Cocteau] Your actual seat is marked by a small piece of paper with your name handwritten on it.

Each table had a visiting author/writer or playwrite to serve as a moderator. Our discussion started with introductions which quickly morphed into an eclectic blend of reality’s “top stories.” It didn’t take long to connect the dots. To hear one’s writing experience through the years did have a common denominator: persistence. No doubt I’d wager that most of the writers in the room have had to deal with many types of rejection. The cacophony of conversations, the tinkling of flatware against plates and the the intermittent sound of laughter made it clear that many, if not all, enjoyed being in this festival.

If you happen to visit the area, make a point of stopping at The Mount. Bear in mind that Ms. Wharton lived in that home. I marveled at the scale of its history, its art, design and much, much more .

All in all, I appreciated even more, the permanence and accessibility of books. They are tangible, finite in its content and physical features, yet infinitely capable of challenging your imagination and expectations. Such is the attractive symbiosis of humankind and the inanimate. Both are needed to create and sustain history, the arts, the sciences, and the stories that take shape into something palpable.
A lot of my creative and professional work involves digital technologies. The past 2-years have made that more than obvious. Zoom meetings, laptops & desktops, flash drives and the always-on platforms in social media. We can access a myriad of things electronically, online of course, and the ease of that can make astringent our feeling and thinking from engaging in life that’s face-to-face. Books tend to provide the opposite for me. The pages in a novel can transport me to wherever. The sensory experience of turning and feeling pages are the toner that can spark my imagination and involvement in life. Recall Emily Dickinson’s poem, There is No Frigate Like a Book. To me it’s the leitmotif, that binds our imagination through the settings created by writers and authors. And I don’t need an app or device to open books.

As mentioned earlier, the Berkshires is more than a destination; for many, it’s a way of life.

There is no Frigate Like a Book
There is no Frigate like a Book
To take us Lands away,
Nor any Coursers like a Page
Of prancing Poetry –
This Traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of Toll –
How frugal is the Chariot
That bears a Human soul.
Emily Dickinson

Cold Light

I am an odd person out. I’m certain I shared this in a previous post, namely that winter, the shorter days, the snow and the cold don’t bother me the way I know it really bothers a lot of other people. However, when freezing rain, relentless winds from the north and sleet show up, doubts perk up about my relationship with winter.
My enjoyment of this season is greatly enhanced by a few other small details: no biting insects, most nasty smells are frozen in place, it’s easier to layer up to stay warm versus shedding attire to get cool. Fireplaces are invaluable for the way they comfort our weary minds and bodies.
And then there’s the light. By late October, shorter days manifest that longing for days that end at 9:30 in the evening, versus 4:15 in the afternoon. But for me on any given day, winter light can be nothing short of amazing [well, to my eyes anyway].

For those enamored with snow, it doesn’t matter how you enjoy it, just as long as you get out to enjoy it. Snowshoes. Boards. Skis [alpine and cross country]. Insulated tie-up boots [aka “moon boots”]. Building snow forts, a snowman/woman/sculpture. Tubes, sleds, and toboggans. They all generate smiles at one time or another.

Even the most ardent worshipper of other seasons can understand why winter can be a favorite. There’s a sense of solitude, even in the busiest of urban environments. Indeed most folks are rushing—as it’s often said—to get out of the cold, to get inside to warm up. And yet there are those who look to get out to be invigorated by the cold air. When it’s cold, it’s only natural that you move to stay warm: motion generates heat and heat consumes calories and the consumption of calories means soothing cups of hot coffee, hot chocolate, hot soup, hot tea among other choices awaiting your selection. Admittedly, it is bliss having such hot consumables balance out the chill at the end of a day. The yin-yang of warm & cold becomes apparent.

A cold drink can bookend a hot summer day just as a hot toddy can on a cold winter day. This radiating cocktail of hot water, lemon, honey and a bit of whiskey is also hydrating, indeed soothing since it’s a drink perfect for sipping.

Cold light, winter light, is especially sharp when it reaches across a landscape as far as you can see. The shadows are longer and details stand out like bas-relief etched into tree trunks. On ski trails, the tendrils left by carving skis add to that dimension of depth, or even height, as if lengths of dark thread randomly lie atop the snow.

Winter’s light—especially later in the day—can feel cathartic and the sun’s warmth enhances this catharsis. A cup of hot chocolate, a banana, a comfy, large Maine Adirondack chair and a pit fire are all good company.

Cleansing Breaths

A benefit of changing seasons is precisely that: change. Here in New England, the 4 seasons do more than adjust amounts of daylight, colors of sunrise and sunset, the appearance/disappearance of flora, the transitions of both diurnal and nocturnal activities, owing in part to the amount of daylight/nightlight available for particular pursuits from tennis to star gazing. The change in seasons are as much physical as they are metaphysical, philosophical and experiential. The seasons are what you make them to be.

Often my cleansing breaths are interpreted as sighs of disappointment, or relief, a reaction to someone or something that gives purchase to both feelings. Since the arrival of Covid, I’ve made a conscious effort to use more cleansing breaths. I’m reminding myself there are far worse things to be disappointed with, and using some calming behaviors can make a difference.

The benefits of regularly using cleansing breaths has a way of taking edges off of things [vis a vis, the stress produced by today’s level of uncertainty]. Deep breaths and exhales do have physical and mental benefits. Gentle stretches [another cleansing breath, please] coupled with a proactive mindset that focuses on out with the bad, and in with the good has a lasting effect on our overall demeanor.

By extension, whenever I see a changing sky—especially one with clouds or on windy days—I attribute these shifts of clouds and air to cleansing breaths. However these are done by Mother Nature on behalf of our troubled planet. Earth is having a hard time rejuvenating much of what humankind has taken for granted, even wasted or destroyed.

Whenever I’m out and about, feeling that need for solitude and distraction-free thinking, I load up on cleansing breaths and allow myself the chance to attain “groundedness” a term, I believe, coined by Stephen Hayes, Ph.D., professor of psychology at the University of Nevada. To avoid any confusion, I’ll merely say that attaining a semblance of groundedness means accepting and facing the here and now [however uncomfortable], and to make a commitment or shift of working on things that can mentally/emotionally help you.

The simplest example I can think of is this feeling or acceptance that one’s worklife/career is a dead end and wouldn’t be a dead end if the company your worked for was “better.” There are a myriad of other reasons to choose from. Instead of losing yourself and using up energy on this discontent, nurture a way to make yourself stand out. This isn’t about writing the great American novel or closing on a stupendous sale; it’s more in the line of working from your known strengths to optimize your “here-and-now” going forward.

Now, before you do anything else, take that cleansing breath….

Catskills

There are several places I always look forward to visiting. The Catskills is one of those places. Marketers have positioned it a number of ways, two which I can refer to: the first being that author Mr. Washington Irving created a mystical dimension about these mountains and valleys as demonstrated in two of his works, Rip Van Winkle and The Legend of Sleeping Hollow. The second is that these same mountains are the birth place of American fly-fishing, this, toward the end of the 19th century.

The eponymous short story tells the tale of Rip Van Winkle, who after accepting a drink or drinks from other Dutchmen, went into a deep slumber. A twenty year slumber at that. And to think that suspended animation had yet to be imagined. Like Irving’s other short story, The Legend of Sleeping Hollow, there’s no denying the intrigue and fascination with the dark arts as it were, an ethereal construct of feeling displaced, out of touch and powerless. The spells, debauchery and intrigue hold the reader captive, and the Catskills is both crucible and container to the kind of narrative that keeps young and old awake at night.

Along the roadways that weave up and down and around these mountains you’ll see places with names like The Washington Irving Inn, Sleepy Hollow Mercantile, Rip Van Winkle Golf, etc. etc. From eateries to where locals meet and catch up on recent news, to bed and breakfast attractions, there are many hints at Catskills history and folklore.

As for the fly-fishing, there’s enough rivers and streams to keep you occupied. Certainly there’s enough real estate to get you lost as well or put another way, give you solitude and quiet like no other in the northeast. I’m told that Mr. Theodore Gordon is the one credited for starting American fly-fishing in the 1890s. This feeling of where fly-fishing started in the USA is supported by a smattering of fly shops and other related businesses, several found close to the rivers. For many die-hard enthusiasts, these are sirens that are as strong as the waters and fish that beckon us to get our fly lines in the water.

Covid has altered some of our pursuits, but it hasn’t put a dent on my love or time in the outdoors. Factor in the openness and scale of outside and one can understand the fascination, the desire to get up and out of the house/office and do something for yourself or for perhaps someone else. It’s rare to see another person here in the Catskills or in other wooded areas I’ve been in. Social distancing is a non-issue. In our uncertain world, being wrapped in the outdoors is invigorating and yes, even fulfilling.

Social Distance 2.0

Not again. I can’t imagine the number of times I have thought of that remark let alone the times I’ve said it. I’ve been fortunate on many fronts and I’m more than grateful. The past 13-14 months or so, has been a journey of minor inconveniences compared to what others had to suffer through. I have no reason to complain. Then again with the Delta Variant on a rampage, I can’t help but wonder yet hope that common sense will prevail….

Two renaissance men: my son-in-law and his father.

I have a handful of avocations, each having one thing in common: I am comfortable when it’s me and myself involved. That sounds a bit self-absorbed, but it simply means I’m fine being alone. Being alone and lonely are two different things, obviously. Having alone time is important for one’s rejuvenation, at least for me.
Photography, journaling, letter writing, playing the piano and fly-fishing are welcome pursuits for me. Granted the first and last distractions can be shared and done with others. On several occasions my wife, daughters and other family members have kept me company on nearby waters. Our fly rods might look like conductor batons in a free-for-all, an ensemble of asynchronous metronomes, where each length of graphite is tuned to the individual holder.

On those days when I’m out with a camera, my wife keeps me company. In the city, she waits for me to catch up when I stop to take a photo. After awhile though, the distance and the time it takes to catch up get a tad longer. On jaunts through the woods, the converse is true: our pace is calmer, slower than the one we use in the urban environment. Time takes its time [read: less frenetic] in natural spaces; and for me that’s how it should be.

To see something in the wild is often fleeting: the songbird you hear only to take flight once you actually see it; the whitetail deer that suddenly, inexplicably pops out from the background in what feels like a whisper’s distance, only to bound away just as you look to acknowledge its presence.

And then I’m handed a “pause” button. Fly-fishing can put a slight pause in what you’re looking at before the moment disappears. Having a landing net is an appreciation multiplier. It allows an opportunity to add a few seconds to really appreciate what you’re seeing. The Eastern Brook Trout is a jewel among fish. I never tire of catching this wild* freshwater creature that can only live in a healthy river or stream. Healthy, as in cold, clear and running. The existence of wild trout means the habitat we’re visiting is good for the fish and everything else that’s dependent on the river and surrounding area.

Ours is a symbiotic relationship with the natural world. Unfortunately, that relationship is out of balance and all things wild and natural are being short-changed by humankind’s behaviors. I find the safest social distance in the outdoors and the time there prompts me to examine the symbiotic and personal relationships I hold dear.

*wild versus native: a wild trout is one that’s been born in the very water it lives in. Wild trout/fish reproduce naturally in their habitat and sustain their populations. A native fish are those that have lived and thrived in areas that have had no or very little human interaction. A stocked fish is from a hatchery that’s typically managed by the state’s wildlife management. Regardless, please make an effort to carefully release these fish [a fly-fishing practice called catch-and-release]. It’s good for the neighborhoods we visit.

The Pen is More Personal…

A few of us have been [hand] writing for as long as we can remember. More specifically, letters, postcards and greeting cards. Conceit aside, I’m one of those anachronisms [I use fountain pens & bottled ink] and I enjoy writing in all its archaic forms.

Because of the pandemic, there’s a renewed interest in writing, whether a letter, in a journal, even on a page or two of plain paper. I find it all encouraging as voiced in this recent article in The Critic. Writing a letter isn’t what it used to be, but a few of us still find satisfaction in such a personal construct of thought and emotion. A part of me is contained therein. Some days, the pen skims across the paper and other times, it’s hard to get out the first sentence or two.

Decades from now, no one will need an app to read its content. Sentimental as it is, perhaps some of my family and friends will keep them in a shoe box of sorts. Each envelope containing a capsule of time and place.

A journal can capture and hold—albeit brief—a particular sentiment, an observation, an epiphany perhaps more. And like letters, there is an enduring permanence to what’s put into and left on the paper. In a recent [April 13, 2021] issue of the Wall Street Journal, staff writer Ellen Byron wrote, “How Journaling Can Help You Live Your Best Life.” The Byron article reads more like a primer on the hows and whys of writing and using a journal.

Journal writing is cathartic and offers a number of ways to express practically anything. I write to an alter-ego, directly to myself and at times even address myself in the third person. When I move myself from the “I” to “he,” the dynamic changes. Writing in the third person creates a buffer of sorts, a moat if you will which separates the person in the moment from the person that offers perspective.

A large part of the catharsis revolves around time slowing to a less frenetic cadence. The efficiency or speed of the digital realm fosters an expectation of click-it-now, get-it-now. Letters and journals are the antithesis of such expectations.

Go ahead. Take a pen and some paper and write something, anything, that comes to mind. What matters is you’ve made a decision to place part of yourself right in front of you.

The Birdman

By all appearances, he patiently cares for his pigeons. While I cannot verify if he’s out regardless of weather, my sense is he’s devoted and committed to his feathered friends. I have this feeling he’s been at this for a long time. The 3 or 4 times I’ve seen him on the roof is a study in stoicism, or maybe a purposeful, self-administered state of calm and reflection which is part of his daily schedule. Click HERE to learn more about the hows and whys of raising pigeons.

On a cold March afternoon, I was surprised to see a large flock of birds flying closely together, first in one direction, then back toward the direction they came from. When they hovered and eventually landed, I noticed someone walking on a flat roof top, nothing more than his head and shoulders visible from the street below.

Having access to the roof of an apartment across the street, I made my way up and discovered the gentleman sitting on a bench, his back against a column of white-painted brick. His focus was on a rather large screened-in coop housing perhaps a hundred or more pigeons. Having nothing to compare this to, seeing it was impressive.

I only know of 3 reasons why someone would raise pigeons: some enthusiasts race them, another group trains them to return home to their roost and others rear them for special occasions. During some festivals, you might see a flock released from a specific area often during a program within that festival. Or you may witness a blur of white-feathered pigeons take flight moments after an officiant proclaims the union of two lovebirds [indeed, pun is intended].

It’s unwise to assume. Assumptions often miss their mark, but in this case, I believe the birds and their caretaker have a strong connection. It’s a reciprocal relationship.

For his efforts, the pigeons have shelter, food and water. He in turn relishes his role and acquires satisfaction knowing his handiwork allows him a unique form of social interaction.

The Erosion of Social Bridges

There are positive attributes to like-mindedness. It’s a way to find common ground and interests in practically all relationships be it personal, professional, philosophical and spiritual.

We understand that having similar interests can help solidify these relationships. We also know that different pursuits can develop into new perspectives, and these perspectives can present alternative ways of thought and action, perhaps some you haven’t thought of yet.

Unfortunately, the bridges which can connect the like-minded and those diverse in thought and action, are in danger. There is a level of social deconstruction affecting not only the infrastructure of social interactions and preferences, but our individual feelings of well-being [health] and significance [purpose].

Some may like it more than others, but various apps connect us both professionally and personally.

The relevance surrounding social engagement has been noted across many communication channels–magazine articles, academic papers, broadcast news, and more. The absence of in person, face-to-face interactions with colleagues, friends, family, business connections, neighbors, et al, has created varying levels of social isolation.

Some may miss the informal chatter when shuffling the hallways to and from meetings. There’s the interaction during lunch periods and conversations at the water cooler and copy room. I certainly miss some of the gatherings and conversations, either formal or informal. The taken-for-granted expressions of “good morning…good to see you…how’s your kid doing…you’re looking well, feeling better I hope….” and so on, chips away at our own self-perception and emotions borne by experiences. And this includes uncomfortable expressions and experiences as well. The good and not-so-good are inevitable in everyone’s life.

Before the pandemic, on two or more days during the workweek, a small group of us banter about life, kids, work pressures and current events. The time together in the lunchroom is not just small talk or attempts to fill in the question, “So, what’s new with you?” The time, albeit brief, permits a reciprocal exchange of ideas and feelings, or concerns and burdens, and even lighter moments, which on the whole, provide a brief respite from work. I miss deciphering the “Jumble” word game found in newspapers. Just about everyone at the table has had a go at the jumbled letters. Not surprisingly, others who saunter by have also added their own guesses.

Circa 2013. Interaction: Want to wear blue jeans on a Friday? Contribute to a charity.

Everyone has preferences though our personal constructs, expectations and beliefs can be as different and varied as the objects on our planet. And that’s what nurtures our face-to-face, in person interactions. We know there are differences, but I like to think that deep down, a lot of what matters between us are all too familiar.

Digital communications–Facetime, Instagram, zoom meetings, text messages and so forth have their place and their legions of supporters. Personally, I miss nuances of expression, of feeling connected and relevant in life whenever people are not physically present. Perhaps I’m just old fashioned but for me, being face-to-face validates our humanity.

Snow Dome

I was in a different bubble yesterday, away from the angst, the uncertainties, the frustration and disappointment of recent times. It was wonderfully quiet save the waterfall cascading over an edge some 20-yards away. That rushing sound had a soft, roundness to it, a barrier or suppressor of sorts that kept disheartening sentiments at bay.

I was in a snow dome.

With 4-inches already on the ground, a sudden burst of flakes quietly fell, quickly dusting tree limbs as well as foot prints left by other visitors: someone in a Sorel, perhaps a size 10 1/2 which lay opposite the basket imprints from a hiking staff. Only one set of human footprints was there, the other prints from a deer, a squirrel, a group of birds and others I wasn’t sure of or missed altogether.

This kind of place—where the simplest of what is before and around you—covers the burrs of unhealthy tensions and feelings. Indeed, a blanket comes to mind when snow covers a landscape. On some days—for me anyway—it’s more like a comforter. A comforter does not align with what snow feels like. Visually however, is a different matter. There is loft, an expanse of uniformity and balance that can remind one of a comforter. The solitude, the absence of man-made noise, reinforces that sense of comfort. Within my snow dome comes a particular calm that allows me to think and feel purposefully and openly. I consider possibilities beyond the familiar and rote. I dwell beyond the probable, but lie in the realm of things that are possible. As Martin Luther King, Jr. noted:

“Put yourself in a state of mind where you say to yourself, ‘here is an opportunity for me to celebrate like never before by my own power, my own ability to get myself to do what is necessary.'”

The saying, “this quiet, this silence is deafening…” runs contrary to my time in this snow dome. I feel reassured, positive, even happy. Embraced by such stillness, you can hear yourself think. You can engage all your senses with minimal distraction. You come face-to-face with who you are and in spite of yourself, you can choose to dwell in what should have happened—and thus remain predictably the same as always—or take a contrarian step, one that could make a difference. I’ll let Martin Luther King, Jr. have the last word. He has captured an enduring leitmotif of the human condition:

“The soft-minded man always fears change. He feels security in the status quo and has an almost morbid fear of the new. For him, the greatest pain is the pain of something new.”

Beginnings

“Happy New Beginnings!” doesn’t have the same cache as the tried and true, Happy New Year! Yet in many ways the first greeting has some weight behind it. There’s a strong inference to starting over, partially or completely. Everyone has a different take on “starting over.”

The action of a rising and setting sun, is starting over; the former begins a new day, the latter a new night. Starting over can literally be that: it’s an attempt to put in place what’s transpired with a second [or third, fourth, etc.] attempt to make something work.

This business of New Year’s resolutions—depending on whom you ask and why—is often predestined for failure. This is especially true with the “new and improved” ways to diet, to lose weight, to increase your brain power, your stamina and so on. For many it’s deja vu, a familiar redux from the year prior with the same if not similar results and attendant disappointments. Many successes become commercialized, specifically when a product is recognized as “effective.” On the one hand, you have the wannabes, individuals who for one reason or another did not accomplish their goal and likely through no fault of their own. So, the achievers draw the attention and accolades. No surprises there. Their testimonials reinforces product or program efficacy. Quite frankly, it’s marketing.

My notion behind beginnings [aren’t most beginnings new, BTW?] is that sometimes, we make a list that’s unreasonable: too many to pursue. It’s a big enough challenge to succeed with one, so why burden your good intentions with one or two, or even three. More than one is often simply one too many. Think about it.

There is a bigger challenge in starting over, in a willingness to start over with perhaps new or different tactics and strategies. Make goals more realistic. For me, to say I’ll master conversational french in 2021 is a real dream. I must’ve drank way too much wine on December 31st. And while I can read and write a good amount of francais, it’s quite another to hold a meaningful conversation [assuming I have someone I can converse with]. Indeed, make your goals lofty, but ensure beginnings are grounded.

My own journey contains many beginnings across many facets of life. For the most part, much of them are still a work in progress. Ultimately, something’s got to give. Endings contain their own nuances, good or bad, sad or happy. However, beginnings should always contain hope.

I see through a glass darkly…

It’s been noted in different ways, but anything that could be said about 2020 has already been said. There are new normals and our previous ways of living and working have undergone something more than a reboot. I wonder about the sustainability of our modifications to the changes we’ve been subjected to. At present, 2 things loom large for me in our modern ethos: the scale of loss [life, careers, homes, e.g.] and the contraction of education systems for students, Kindergarten through college.

The burden shouldered by first responders, caregivers, allied professionals, physicians, peace officers, firefighters, et al, is without precedent. Supporting them goes without saying. The COVID-19 story continues to unfold, though I hope the developing narrative produces more positive than negative outcomes. And yet I am still looking through a glass darkly.

Many conventions, routines and well-defined standards have been poured over with uncertainty. That change takes place, is to be expected, but the fog of what happens or what should happen clouds our view near and far. Supposition greets us through this dark glass of modern life. There’s the world before the new coronovirus, and the one hereafter.

All of this thinking takes me back to much younger days, days of academe, of discussion, of expository writing. This dark window we’re peering through—including windows like broadcast and online news, social media, Twitter, FB, e.g.—does shape our perceptions and expectations. Many are unclear, even misshapen or unrecognizable, perhaps even hinting at what was once familiar. Plato’s Allegory of the Cave posits we should question our assumptions. Thinking across and through assumptions helps nurture self-reliance and problem solving. I like to think of it in more practical terms: use your knowledge, experience and current life stage to shape your own conclusions versus being told what they should be.

None of this is new. Some of you probably realize that this post of mine references scripture.

Now, we see only an indistinct image in a mirror, but then we will be face to face.
Now what I know is incomplete, but then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known.
1 Corinthians 13:12

Eastern Standard Time

For a few days toward the end of October, there was some fuss about turning back our clocks one hour. The running complaint focused on days getting shorter even though we “gain” an hour of time. Early darkness just made things, well, darker, physically and qualitatively; it gets darker outside and for some, darker within one’s psyche.

I suppose I’m the odd person out; I shouldn’t “suppose” as I am an odd person with such things. Sunsets that announce evenings arriving earlier is not a big deal for me. Like some form of line dancing flitting across the horizon, once again daylight and night trade places, and time marches on without losing a single beat.

Whether it’s 4:30 in the afternoon or 8:30 at night, I don’t tire of sunsets. Some are dramatic in their intensity and expanse, others are less so, their palate of warm colors as soothing and inviting as those found in an impressionist painting.

There’s nothing standard about this light that quickly dissolves into shadows of dark blue and greys. The one constant I’ve felt through the years has been the brevity of the light which morphs an hour before and up to sunset. The times are few when I don’t have a camera by my side, yet on those days when I don’t, I sometimes forget about today’s most ubiquitous of cameras, the ones found in today’s smartphones. And they are amazing tools for photography, videography and more.

The photograph shown here was taken within that half-hour before sunset. The way the light and shadows shifted was a process all too short, perhaps as short as the traffic light that changed to green shortly after I took one photo. Figures. The one time I hoped for a few more seconds stopped at a red light just wasn’t there.

For the various times we use our phones to take a photo, we hope that one shot becomes the money shot. We want just one, a really good one, which connects with everything and anything that courses through our thinking and feeling. I relish the feeling of making this particular shot. The stoplight, the headlights, the reflections on the car hood, the gradations of orange and yellow, blue and grey are a surprising though welcome confluence of order.

A confluence of order. We can use some of that in the here and now regardless of whatever time or GMT standards we’re in.

Space

I am convinced that modern life has boxed us in more so than we’d like. It’s part of the contemporary territory which includes both our professional and personal lives. There’s a surfeit of information, misinformation as well as disinformation. We have data that’s important, partially accurate or altogether inaccurate, the latter done purposely in order to deceive and create confusion.

The spaces outside and within our mind are under siege. This coronavirus pandemic has produced a variety of empty spaces in the form of closed businesses, a void born from a lost loved one, an even larger, emptiness created by becoming unemployed and losing our face-to-face social connections with friends and family.
In addition we see meadows, forests and even arable acres, reshaped with new developments, new businesses, and right-of-way passages for utilities. These spaces, like others, will never resemble their former selves.

The modern mind is challenged with the illusory nature of augmented realities, misinterpreted online interactions, the CGI creations readily seen on the big and small screen and so on. I would wager that ruminating is a regular mental exercise for many, in ways that even the thinker didn’t think possible in the here and now.
It’s not that such spaces are wanting for content. Some of the content in our heads is twisted and distorted, an unattractive morass of schadenfreude and unforgiving defenestrations toward those with authority, power and privilege.

A lot of good space has been replaced with some nasty creations, tangible and intangible, palpable and even unreasonable.
We’re better than a lot of this, each of us capable of individual betterment. I remind myself in my own spaces of thinking and feeling that, at times it’s okay to be embarrassed in one’s journey to be genuine. I think it aids my ability to acknowledge what occupies my internal and external spaces other than what’s so obvious not only to myself, but to others.
As in marketing, perception is reality: it’s not what you’re getting, but what you think you’re getting.

Color

Autumn is my favorite season for a variety of reasons: the cooler, drier air is both invigorating and refreshing, the quality of light is remarkable, at times appearing clearer on even overcast days. Even time feels slower with a more gentle cadence though by mid-November, I wonder how it went by so quickly. Certainly it goes without saying that the foliage change can be magical, even personally restorative.

Many years ago, I attended a photojournalism workshop at what was then called The Maine Photographic Workshops in Camden, now known as Maine Media Workshop located in Rockport, a mere stone’s throw from Camden. Located half-way up the coast of Maine, the town of Camden sits next to Penobscot Bay. I haven’t been back since, so I hope it hasn’t lost its New England charm. It was quaint, quiet and photogenic to be sure.
You can glean techniques and technical knowledge from more places today than back then [now a surfeit of info sits on the web]. Convenience is nice, but for me, being engaged with a like-minded person is all the more rewarding. Levels of inspiration come to me when I visit an exhibition, a gallery or listen to or converse with a speaker whose work clearly validates that person’s passion for his/her choices.

I was fortunate to have heard and seen in person Jay Maisel, Ernst Haas and Dick Durrance. Titans of their craft, I learned more than just technique, but a whole lot more about this passion to see things in a new way, to transcend the connections of light, color, subject, interpretation and meaning. My brain needed to do some real lifting and learning, and was thus able to do so when my soul became the catalyst to assist with that lifting and learning.

I like to think of seasonal transitions as a form of recalibration. It’s more than a reset, because to reset anything is effectively returning to its default state. Recalibration is a nuance in alignment. If I’m not sure of what I’m feeling when I look through a viewfinder, I move a few or more steps to one side or another, as well as toward or away from my subject. Recalibrating.

There are similarities in writing, but they’re a bigger challenge for me to describe. I suppose the very title of this post lends itself to recalibrating: adjust the “color” of your words such as tone, passive versus active voice, even a tweak in aliteration to keep your narrative—and your thinking—interesting.

Autumn just doesn’t land here in the northeast; when it does arrive it’s akin to that sense of belonging, of knowing that your journey—in spite of personal hills and valleys—continues with the expected and as well as the unexpected. I like all the seasons, but fall is the one which captures the zeitgeist of the rest of the calendar. It’s a short period of time, that in its most fundamental form, feels like the comfort food that’s been sorely missing for more than half the year.

Connections

I love Cape Cod. The season doesn’t matter, but late summer is often a great time. There’s less traffic and a more laid back atmosphere. The beaches and wharfs hold less people, though there are those hearty souls who continue their routines swimming parallel to the shore.
I watch the few on the beaches, most in their chairs, some sitting or lying across a large towel. Others are involved in conversation or quietly engrossed with a book in hand.
You can always count on walkers tracing their steps first one way, then on their return trip to a starting point. The most jubilant are often a dog and its owner. They’ve waited for the moment when the beach was available to them and their joy is clearly displayed. This is the kind of connection that’s about as simple and straightforward as it can get: get out and spend time with good friends, family, your dog—even yourself.

The men enjoying their cocktails aboard a boat speaks of many types of connections: family, work colleague, college room mate, best friend, and so forth. Between the “remember when….did you hear….whatever happened to…” are those moments of hilarity, some brought on by something long past, others in more recent times. Nostalgia connects with the present.

I love the Cape, especially for the many connections its made for me.

The A Collection

I’ve come across a lot of A-words lately: amazing, atomic, artificial, augmented, abstract, auspicious, audacious, accountable, admirable, apathy, appreciation, affection, accomplished, alarming, Arctic, Antarctica, abysmal, appalling, anachronism and so forth.
Like a daisy chain made of paper, these words are linked and yet each easily broken free by the slightest of tension. And while some connections may not make a whole lot of sense, there are reasons however small, that connections take place. Anxiety, lack of focus, melancholy, fear, joy, anticipation, distraction, etc. etc., the Yin-Yang of this is that the very same attributes that prompted the connections can be the same to break them.
It depends on time and place. Context is everything.

Audacious. Approx. 35-degrees on a starboard bank.

The words come from various sources, anything and everything that shapes our life experience. With this exercise, the empirical nature of each word puts aside the rational, and instead embraces sentience, that ability to feel depth of things experienced.
It’s certain that others who feel existential—rightfully so in our fractured society—may feel embarrassed yet genuine. What could be more human than to feel concern about our current state of affairs [macro] and our relationships [micro]?

Anachronism. At the stable. The Mount: Edith Wharton’s summer residence.

I’m feeling abstract [visualize Cubism Art] and yet oddly auspicious because many things in life and living are not rational. We are prone to rely more on our senses, the very emotions that can either ruin or celebrate moments in our lives.
Yes, I’d rather feel embarrassed and genuine versus being stymied with self-serving, deductive reasoning. The former brings a sense of order, the latter a chance to improve our emotional intelligence and increase a capacity to further understand each other.

Abstract: The Slave Market & Disappearing Voltaire.

Life imitates Art, or is it Art imitates Life? Similarly in marketing, it’s not what you’re getting, but what you think you are getting. Perception is everything and even more so in the here and now. It’s a refrain that frequently echoes in my thinking.

There will be no “B” collection, existential-word-dump, involving any other letter, or a character for that matter. An exercise with one letter is enough for me, and probably for you as well.

In conversations, and things written, a question posed usually prompts us to reconsider a position we hold, maybe a perspective quite different from what’s already been established in our own thinking. This collage, this tapestry-of-a-post may not mean much to anyone, but it could be provocative enough to slightly encourage another perspective. Why not?

The seasons are moving quickly and as I get older my own temporal reality is based on just how fast time seems to go by. I lean towards the empirical and the sentient qualities of the here and now to help me keep it all together.

I never thought I´d grow up so fast so far.
To know yourself is to let yourself be loved.
Do you ever get me?
Shower me with affection and I’ll return in kind.
I have no hidden motive, I am blind.
Do you ever get me?

Edvard Munch

At the Clark Institute of Art, running through October 15, 2023, is a special exhibition, Edvard Munch: Trembling Earth. Munch’s [“Edward Moonk” Norwegian pronunciation] most recognizable, iconic painting is The Scream, and yet not many know of his other work which includes a number of self-portraits, prints, figure portraits and landscapes. The latter showed what he felt was a confluence of the natural world and humankind where nature provided a kind of salve that the urban environment could not deliver. The artist’s life contained the antagonists that shaped many of his creations: life and death; love and loss; loneliness and despair. And yet Munch as a protagonist, allowed us to see and feel the very antagonists that took hold of his deepest emotions.

I found the entire exhibit revealing if not eerily prescient. The power of art in all its forms allows us not to just see the obvious, but to measure if not ascertain a) what behooved the artist to produce his/her creation and b) what, if anything, draws your attention to the work?

While some of his paintings hint at Vincent van Gogh [1853-1890], there is a quality that makes Edvard Munch’s work stand apart: his apotheosis of anxiety, loneliness, longing and loss are indicated by the despair of his faceless human subjects. The hue of uncertainty and angst lay claim to troubled souls.

This is one of my favorite paintings, Woman with pumpkin. Its creation captures a sense of lost, and longing. The symbolism could be anything and everything. The pumpkin and the dark green color appear as if a person is holding the woman. Note the 3 “fingers” on the hip of the woman. In fact, the greenery next to the woman appears to be kneeling on its right knee, its “left leg” bent with a “foot” planted directly on the ground close to her back. Hence, the figure is resting its head on the woman’s right shoulder, the right arm suggesting a pillow.

Whatever you see and however you see it, Munch is a captivating study of conflict. You can feel it in most all of his works. The landscapes provide contrasts regarding our ability–and inability–to co-exist not only with the natural world, but with each other. Put another way, Munch is caught within an insatiable push-pull between the Id [our instincts], the Ego [reality] and the Superego [moral strength].

No artist lives a life of order and predictability. It’s contrarian to that world of creativity and expression. Munch’s self-portraits demonstrate a fortitude within his reality that dices with the likes of the Id and the Superego. Each of us deal with the instability created by our instincts and morality, our actions and reactions, our angst and distress. In a way Munch’s paintings brings form to what is often abstract yet palpable, even vicarious and visceral.

Lunden Center at Stone Hill

Gatherings

Margaret Keller, Executive Director, CATA.

The Community Access to the Arts [CATA] never ceases to amaze me. Meaning, “the creativity of the artists at CATA is as exemplary, as contemporary and modern as Art can be.”

The artistic abilities of the artists represent their thoughts, feelings, perspectives and perceptions that are as strong and perceptible as any artist could produce. From perfunctory to profound, energetic to calm and peaceful, there’s a lot being expressed on the gallery walls. Perhaps the most obvious being that these artists–with disabilities–clearly have a way to express themselves.

Margaret Keller with Gary Schiff, Managing Director, October Mountain Financial Advisors.

This opening recently took place at the Lichtenstein Art Center in Pittsfield, MA. Most all of the paintings are for sale and the artists receive a commission for their work. This show has much to offer, from small to very large using water color, oil, acrylic and ink painted onto wood, stretched canvas and other media.

Outside the gallery a boatload of rain just kept falling. It felt undeniably tropical; one moment a light rain, then clear, only to have everything overwhelmed by yet another heavy cloudburst accompanied by thunder and lightning. And yet the space was filled with friends, parents & guardians of some of the artists and loyal patrons and art lovers.

Kelly Galvins, CATA Program Director-Agency Programs

The success of any such gatherings depend a lot on those in charge of details. We all know that. I think of automatic watches, and how well they function. This organization [CATA] is akin to the dynamic of the workings of an automatic watch, self-winding [automatic] or hand winding only.

The sum of the parts is greater than the whole. Every component has a function, some specialized while others are a standard part to ensure the watch’s ultimate function.

Every person shaping an event matters. Just as an automatic watch requires springs, levers, meter wheels, escape & driver cannon pinions and so forth.

There needs to be synchronous relationships for many things to work: autos, machines, computers, watches and people. That quality of interaction relies on the functional capability of the part [or persons] involved.

Kara Smith, CATA Program Director [studios].

Meanwhile, there’s all this chatter about Artificial Intelligence [AI] with its potential and failings. Regulation? Monetization? Security? A bona fide threat to originality or something that can expand our ways of learning? In the end–and I do mean “The End”–nothing matters more than the people we love and care about, the interactions in gatherings familiar and new, and the way we contribute to being in the moment.

Without feeling, you short-change yourself from seeing.

A Spoiler Gift: You have to zoom in to see it, but in the first photograph, a red stop-light stands on the main road up the mountain.

Tell me, what do you really see…?

You can think of this post as part 2 of my previous one from about a week ago, Get Closer…but then again, what follows could be superfluous. Maybe. Each day our routines bring us across many familiar and common objects. Most of what we see barely catches our attention. A lot falls under the category of habitual repetition. However, if you put that aside, the what you see notion can change things.
Anyway, regardless of which direction you’d be walking, you can’t miss the humongous rock, pictured above, resting next to a dirt road.
On a 1:1 scale, the size of this layered wonder from the Ice Age is massive. Around it and along the road, various homes stand proud against the various inclines, each perhaps possessing an immunity to gravity. Most of these homes have been around for generations.

“Follow the road up to the top. The vista is spectacular and you’re likely to get some good photos. Look for Pebble Rock Hill Road and keep an eye out for an unusual pebble.” Pebble’s eponymous road invites travelers to head to the top. Of course while on route, I had to stop to examine that “pebble” leaning into the hill.
I’m reminded of Jonathan Swift’s timeless novel, Gulliver’s Travels. In his travels, our protagonist arrives at Lilliput where all its inhabitants–are quite small–whereas Gulliver is a giant. This timeless tome may not be a summer beach read, but the arc of the novel deals with the vagaries of politics, the human condition, scatological humor and so forth. BTW, the first and only time I heard the word “scatological” was during my high-school sophomore class in English Literature. Go figure, and go Google it. The novel was first published in 1726.

Yes, this large home has a “stream” running beneath it. A natural source for white-noise to help the household sleep, perhaps?

Close to 300 years later, I’m certain Mr. Swift would have asked the same question of us: tell me, what do you really see…? There are times when I’m so immersed with what’s in front of me that when the camera comes up, I’m [figuratively] within the frame, scanning everything in the viewfinder.
Where’s the photo? Why am I taking a photo? What do I feel? What do I see if anything other than the obvious? Is it worth it?

Back in the days of film, most of us were pretty frugal with the number of frames we took of any subject let alone everything else. There were no preview screens to check on what you and the camera were looking at. Polaroid cameras were the analog version of confirming a shot. Today, however, it seems that others have already introduced their own Polaroid type-instant films.
When I developed my B&W films, the process felt rote at times, but when the timer was close to the end, my feelings changed to ones of anticipation, expectation and doubt.
It’s different today, obviously, but waiting and expecting to see B&W negatives had an aura all its own. Time gained additional significance because each frame was but one slice of a moment.
Digital capture can take the same slice of time, but it also offers instantaneous validation and the opportunity to take a good a number of retakes, each being instantly accessible to view. Picture taking has certainly evolved; I know many who have a boatload of jpegs on their mobile phones and tablets. A lot.
There’s some truth about the way film cameras slow down the picture-taking process; and for a group of film devotees, you could say it does something similar to some of our behaviors.

Same location on the same day just minutes after the photo above….

Done for the day, Mother Liberty eyes the loading/unloading cranes at rest.

Sunsets and sunrises have been with us time immemorial. With or without a camera, they fascinate us. It’s all about the light and the way it changes–and rather quickly–to the familiar sunny or cloudy sky. The sky then becomes its usual self, an unevern canvas of grey or light grey with that hint of white. All of those visual details make it beautiful: a clear sky, dramatic skies, a storm or front already heading our way, along with whatever feelings that may surface to shape our visceral self.
Here’s to all our moments in our 24-hour lives, and to the details we discover that adds something to the way we see things.

Get Closer

It was home back in the day. Situated on 48 acres, the “cottage” contains 44 rooms.

Have you ever tried to look at something right in front of you and discern one particular detail. It could be anything: color, shape, texture, scale/size, any specific object and so forth. I’m referring to a single element that piques your attention, whether the element is large or small, plain looking or colorful, simple or complex by design.
Naumkeag offers history, a feast for your senses and options to indulge in a location that’s an antithesis to our present-day way of living. So, with an unhurried pace, walk the grounds, examine the gardens, enjoy the vistas and of course the house that was the summer home of prominent lawyer, Joseph Choate and his wife, Caroline. They referred to their residence in Stockbridge, MA as a “cottage.”
You don’t need to be a cognoscenti to appreciate landscape design, flowers, stonework, or architecture. No agenda, just a dose of quiet time in a locale that puts you in the Housatonic River Valley, a place in the Berkshires as pastoral as any you’ll find across New England.

Naumkeag is a cornucopia of details. You’re offered a buffet of elements that rightfully distract you from monitors, traffic, deadlines, meetings along with other indeterminate noises. Granted the elements–or distractions–are innocuous, there’s a realization that having these very details shrink the less important, stressful elements that occupy your mind. Well, at least in my mind.

Where’s my focus? Is it obvious to you? Can it as much be yours as it is mine?

You might say this is an exercise in discernment, a way of sharpening perceptions, a means to refocus on other details/elements that may lead you to another level of thinking. The process is still your own, but this time, you’ve given yourself the beginnings of a map that’s genuinely yours.

A benefit of these sorties is this sense of life copacetic; in spite of the routines and doldrums, there are moments that are the opposite of what ails us. In the world of art and the written word, we can see and feel just about anything. Having a sense of place, in this space and time, not in your past and where the future is not promised to any of us, the now matters. That’s it. Don’t waste it. Appreciate don’t pontificate.

The exercise of pulling a detail out and away from everything else pushes me to consider and associate with another perspective of whatever detail I look at. The reds and yellows in the tulips appear even more intense when surrounded by the middle greys in the photographs. The broadleaf in one corner of the greenhouse looks healthy, in large part because of the depth of its green color. Nothing has changed really, and neither have the proprieties of the object or the surroundings. What’s changed is the manner in which you deconstruct details.

Those with a proclivity to capture details can notice more than what meets the eye. Beyond colors, tendrils of an iron chair, the gradation of a solid color to one of a lesser though similar hue, I tend to go toward an object, experience or what have you, that’s relevant to my personal history. You might say it’s akin to a word association game, a yin-yang of opposites as well as things similar.
The associations can be personal, simple or complex, a source of light-heartedness or burdened echoes ruminating within your memory.

This is a modification of the immemorial saying, Stop and smell the roses [or tulips]. Instead, reframe your perspective: You can see the big picture, but details bring you closer to the value of the picture.