Angel of Grief: A Missive Requiem

The title for today's blog entry came to mind this morning even with me not knowing exactly the meaning of the word "requiem" in the moment. Of course, as I render these drawings of Angels in Grief, I am mindful of my Mom's recent passing.  The word is also reminiscent to me of a musical song. One of her wishes was to not have a ceremony or funeral...a wish that was honored by the family. Upon research, a requiem is a service or ceremony in the Catholic or Anglican denomination offered for the repose of souls of one or more persons. We are neither denomination.

I guess the Catholic or Anglican liturgy would begin with "Grant them eternal rest, O Lord". The poetic rite would include further reference to the fearsome Day of Judgment and an appeal to mercy as it is found in Jesus Christ.

Another word that comes to my mind is "missive"...a written communication intended to be sent. These are thoughts just bubbling up in me from somewhere. He who has an ear to hear, let him listen and understand.

From the 1662 Anglican book of Common Prayer, these seven sentences, the first of which I was taught and sang in song and lyric as a child:

• I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. 
• I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth. And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God: whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another. 
• We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the Name of the Lord. 
• Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up, and is cut down, like a flower; he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay. 
• In the midst of life we are in death: of whom may we seek for succour, but of thee, O Lord, who for our sins art justly displeased? Yet, O Lord God most holy, O Lord most mighty, O holy and most merciful Saviour, deliver us not into the bitter pains of eternal death. 
• Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts; shut not thy merciful ears to our prayer; but spare us, Lord most holy, O God most mighty, O holy and merciful Saviour, thou most worthy judge eternal, suffer us not, at our last hour, for any pains of death, to fall from thee. 
• I heard a voice from heaven, saying unto me, Write, From henceforth blessed are the dead which die in the Lord: even so saith the Spirit: for they rest from their labours.

So these are my musings in the early morning as I offer another sketch of Angel in Grief. I anticipate that this rendition will be the first I render in oil paints. I have a sense in my mind's eye of the technique I wish to use for chiascuro effect and color.

Angel in Grief 02 - Internet Fair Use

Angels even of Grief are messengers of the Lord, so this is today's message that I share with you, dear Reader. My humble sketch. At this time, it speaks to me of Mom and of a friend's dream. It's all interconnected this morning. 

Copyright James E Martin 2014 Angel in Grief 02

Angel of Grief (1894): William Westmore Story (1819 - 1895)

In the continuing saga for the potential Dream series of paintings and with my Mom's recent passing in mind, I researched the keyword Grief. Early in the search, a wonderful depiction of cemetery statuary came up by sculptor William Wetmore Story.

William Wetmore Story - Sculptor - Internet Fair Use

Wetmore died in 1895 and is buried in Protestant Cemetery in Rome with his wife, Emelyn. The Angel of Grief statue is attributed to 1894 and marks their burial tomb.  It has been widely replicated as an icon.

Angel of Grief -William Wetmore Story - Internet Fair Use

I am investigating a primary character depiction for a story that depicts a Journey of Grief depicted in a friend's dream. As a warm-up preparation to what I wish to depict, I chose a classic view of his Angel to sketch and added the roses in hand.

Copyright James E. Martin 2014 Angel of Grief: William Wetmore Story

Thank you William Wetmore Story. It characterizes the feeling at this time. I enjoyed this exercise.

An Actionable Dream: Could This be Part of the Journey?

A co-worker friend and I were talking at length after business hours this week. We compared notes on our Daily Walk, things at work, and our career outlook. I guess we talked about some pretty important things to each of us. I was unsettled the next morning and wanted to take some specific action in my life to work through my dilemma and my gut feelings. My friend indicated that she had a dream that helped her decide what she needed to do. We had lunch the next day to share our revelations.

As she told me about her dream, I realized how it would make a great painting or series of paintings. I shared my observations with her and we discussed the concept in greater detail based on her dream, the content, the colors, and the feelings associated with the dream.

In my mind's eye, I believe it is a painting that would potentially have meaning for her throughout her life's Journey. Which is a prime motivation for her sharing the dream and for me to do this painting for her. To go through the project would also be a milestone in my Artistic Endeavor and Creative Pursuit. This may be a Beginning. So it may very well be that this project will become a part of my Daily Walk going forward. I can see how the things I have gone through thus far have prepared me, at least partially, for this. It has the potential to become part of an Original Idea. It might well pull together many of the stylistic approaches I have been dabbling with into an Eclectic Style. Mmmmm. Eclecticism. From the Greek, means "choosing the best" or "selecting out" and "picking". Can the component ideas and styles be pulled into a cohesive whole? Will the final solution be appealing, meaningful, have feeling, and depict the story effectively?

I know that I have some personal challenges. Self-discipline. Commitment to this project. Fortitude. Patience. Can my hands execute what is in my heart and my mind? Aaaaah. This is the creeping in of Self-Doubt that occurs in all things undertaken. A type of fear. An integral part of the Human Endeavor. And so I start this Journey of the JourneyMan. A focus of the Life Energy towards the Artistic Endeavor and the Creative Pursuit.

There is an amorphous fire that burns at the beginning. Life's energy, swirling, churning, bright.... This is only the seed-bulb that begins to grow out of the soil in the beginning of spring advent...like the first crocus peeking out of winter's discontent.....

Copyright James E. Martin 2014 The First Crocus After Winter's Discontent

A Swamp Yankee: THE Swamp Yankee

As I reflect further on my Mom's passing recently, I think about who I am and what I am about. As I mentioned yesterday, my Mom's maiden name was Rines and in years past I noted that here are pockets of the genealogy around upper central Maine.  I have been summering in the middle of Maine smack dab in the middle of three Rines genealogy tribes for over 30 years and was not aware of it for most of that time. My Mom's older brother, my Uncle Jim, did a lot of the family's Rines genealogy. He arrived at the conclusion over time that the Rines were New England "swamp yankees".

The term "swamp yankee" was descriptive of a rural, frugal, stubborn, common sense, old-fashioned, conservative, independent, self-reliant, opinionated, anti-authoritative, rebel-patriot found in the backwaters of New England. A swamp yankee was skeptical of progress, new progressive ideas, new fangled baubles, and persuasive politicking. A swamp yankee did not wish to participate in the mainstream maelstrom. There is an inference from critics of the swamp yankee type, that in some cases, a swamp yankee was an undesireable, former troublemaker or criminal, that retreated to the swamps to avoid detection from managing authorities. The standing government could neither identify, find, nor control the swamp yankees. In its most degrading usage, it was a derogatory term by those in positions of power and influence and society to point out and degrade and discount a crude, unfinished, uneducated, and ignorant "country bumpkin". Hah, hah! OK, Uncle Jim. Thanks for the heads-up.

I am named after my grandfather James P. Rines, Sr. born in 1892 in Jefferson, NH.  Jefferson NH was in the remote midst of the White Mountains.

Jefferson NH - Internet Fair Use

He had an education up to the fifth grade and was mostly self-taught throughout his lifetime. He was a simple, hardworking, Bible-believing family man. He raised a family of twelve children through the Depression years in New England. I can envision that amidst the rural upbringing and hardscrabble farming lifestyle though some hard winters, a swamp yankee's values could be formed in the old time, reality game of Survivor and Life.

Jefferson NH 1885 - Internet Fair Use

My grandfather's middle initial P stood for Pearly. A nickname of sorts for one who stood tall in honor, purity, and uprightness.  I mentioned yesterday that my favorite Aunt Gwen and my Mom were best friends throughout their years. Aunt Gwen was the youngest of my grandfather's daughters and would have been a blessing in older age among many blessings in a large family. I can see a connection, James the Pearly begat Gwendolyn the Fair and Blessed not just in name and meaning only!

The name James means builder, supplanter, or one who takes the place of.  I am also very like my grandfather and his son, my favorite Uncle Jim, JPR Jr., now deceased, who researched and figured out much of our New England Rines genealogy over the years in his summertime jaunts from being a North Carolina middle school principal. My Uncle Jim and my Mom were favorite and close older brother and younger sister throughout their lives. Jim's wife, Elaine, was my Mom's college roommate.

Uncle Jim said categorically and explicitly with pride that his dad, James P. Rines Sr., was not just a swamp yankee....he was THE Swamp Yankee! He defined the type in all its glorious and honorable attributes.

I tend to believe the family stories and the legacy.  And apples don't fall far from the tree.

What's in a Name? The Roots Run Deep in Names and Places

As I think of my Mom after her recent passing, I have taken some consolation in the daily presence and activity of my youngest daughter Rebekah. I surmise that Rebekah may be very much like my Mom was at seven years of age and that I have the privilege to gain that insight  into my heritage on a routine basis.

Rebekah, nicknamed Itsy Bit, means "a snare" and "a yoke". This could probably be interpreted numerous ways. It is a biblical name of Hebrew origin. Rebekah was the wife of Isaac and the mother of two sons, Esau and Jacob. By the way, a yoke is a harness-type device linking two animals so they work together and can pull a load in tandem.  It seems the dynamics between Esau and Jacob are tightly wound together. A colloquial use of the word "yoke" is to fool or deceive as in "the pickpockets yoked the target victim".

We were fairly sure that our Rebekah was the chosen name before she was born but we reserved the privilege of waiting her arrival before finally deciding. We had to meet her!! I also nicknamed my Rebekah as a "Peach" before she was born because I liked the connotation associated with a Victorian period historical nickname and I had reddish highlights in my blond hair and beard as a young man depending on the light. Although of pale complexion generally, I had some ruddiness to me particularly as I tanned in the sun.

Right out of the womb, my Itsy Bit of a Peach was a healthy tinge of pinkish peach with a high APGAR score.  She fit the nickname. And the family's world was definitely yoked and arranged in concert around the youngest child over time. She has been lots of fun, peachy keen, and is a focus of our lives. She was aptly named aforehand. 

Copyright James E. Martin 2007 Rebekah Peach

Since the biblical Esau was known to be "ruddy" in complexion, I like to think that the biblical Rebekah probably had fetching, reddish hair, a peachy complexion, and beauty that was visually ensnaring. Hence the nickname used by me for my own Rebekah.  Itsy Bit's two older sisters, Rachel and Anna, also had some ruddiness in their hair color at an early age. Fetching.

Copyright James E. Martin  1995 Rachel and Anna

The biblical Rebekah was a probably a snare in some shape or fashion. As were her children. And her children's children. In my opinion, the story of Jacob and Esau is a trap and a snare to many in the human endeavor throughout history even to this day. As brothers, their personal conflict was foreshadowed in the womb. Conflict was also to continue between their descendant nations throughout time foreshadowing current world events.

"Two nations are in thy womb, and two manner of people shall be separated from thy bowels; and the one people shall be stronger than the other people; and the elder shall serve the younger." - Genesis 25:23

Isaac favors Esau. Rebekah favors Jacob.  Esau, headstrong and of impulsive nature, relinquishes his birthright for a meal negotiated from Jacob. Jacob, deceptive and using forethought in his nature, receives the birthright through the negotiation with Esau and further deceives his father Isaac with Rebekah's assistance to ensure his obtaining the birthright for the blessings associated with God's covenant and the consequent founding of the Jewish people. 

Esau is enraged and vows to kill Jacob revealing his potentially passive-aggressive, rebellious, and murderous nature. Esau does not value his birthright nor the values surrounding it. Jacob escapes the threat of violence with Rebekah's assistance and leaves to a distant land away from the mainstream maelstrom within Isaac's realm. He leaves behind the worldly wealth of Isaac's inheritance in Esau's hands. He starts out with nothing, is initially deceived by Rebekah's brother Laban for the hand of Rachel, receiving the older Leah instead. Only later does he also earn Rachel's hand through extended servant labor. He is blessed eventually with great wealth and eventually returns with trepidation to his paternal family. Jacob reconciles with Esau after many years. These happenings and their importance catch or ensnare many even to this day for God declares "Jacob have I loved and Esau have I hated". The declaration goes against current prevalent thoughts and teachings. It is difficult to comprehend to most. The story portends of the future. 

Perhaps for biblical Rebekah, her beauty was a snare and an entrapment to the men around her.  I can see that being a part of the meaning.

Perhaps the manner in which she interacted with other's through dialog, people felt trapped or caught or limited during conversation. Their response would be to avoid the snare in the future. Perhaps she was very intelligent and was so erudite in her thinking that she could ensnare other's logic and arguments. Perhaps there is an element of being deceptive to accomplish her objectives. I have this sense of the meaning. I am mindful that all my daughter's are thinkers, superb debaters of the first order. Their arguments and rationale run wide and deep. They can be occasionally laughingly conniving and mysterious. Apples don't fall from the tree.

My Rebekah's middle name is derived with forethought and deliberate intent. My Mom's name is Doris. Mom was named after her Mom, Dora. And then there is my favorite Aunt Gwen. Itsy Bit's middle name is then derived after two names comprised of my maternal lineal heritage and my favorite aunt's name. Thus, it becomes Dora Gwendolyn. My Mom is Aunt Gwen's older sister. Two amazing women in whom I have admired their character and personalities over my lifetime. And the two of them were the best of friends, always "gallavanting" [a favorite family cliche] around New England, having the best of fun through the years.

Doris or Dori or Dora is Greek derived from a Peloponnesian tribe and means a gift or wealth from the sea. For me, Itsy Bit was a welcome, desired, suitable, and precious present from amidst the sea of humanity. Peloponnesia is in southern Greece and is a peninsula attached to the mainland through the Isthmus of Corinth. The Greek war of independence was fought there so the history depicts the attributes of the people. Based on my recent review of the history in the context of today's blog, I find it remarkable that, along with French expeditionary forces [I married a French girl so my daughters have the bloodline], the Peloponnese evicted the Turkish-Egyptian forces from the peninsula to establish the first independent Greek state. There is a sense of organized, independent, conquering, and then dominating political, governmental, and military leadership from the region's history. There is a sense of traditional and conservative aura in the ensuing heritage.

Gwen or Gwendolyn is English, Celtic or Welsh and means white-browed, fair, fair-headed, white, and blessed. In the meaning, there is a sense of feminine gentleness, innocence, graciousness, and purity with a perspective view of the heavenly, honored, and royal endowment of physical beauty of the head and smart sensibility of the mind in the meaning, I think. My favorite Aunt Gwen is fair and blessed. My Itsy Bit and her namesakes are all well-named.

My last name, Martin, by the way, is depicted after the god of war, Mars, and means warlike or martial in bearing. There's the rational, organizing, mission-oriented attributes in the persona. During the ensuing Roman period after the Greek war for independence, the Greek peninsula remained prosperous but became a provincial backwater based on it's physical isolation from mainstream Roman affairs. Our oldest daughter has a middle name Corinne, by the way, named after her maternal grandmother and meaning gentle, maiden. The original Greek derivation was latinized during the Roman period in the Gaul region and results in the presented French spelling for my daughter's use.

My wife's maiden name is LeCompte. Sounds like a french royal to me. The Count. Or alternatively, "one who takes care of the accounts" which is an disciplined and organizing attribute. We understand that both of our genealogies trace back in some branches to the people in the Alsace-Lorraine mountains in France on the German border. Again, I sense the mountain regions were protected from the mainstream human drama found in political, government, and military affairs.

Striking the way this all seems to work together.

As I look to my maternal roots, my Mom's maiden name was Rines presumably derived from the Germanic Rhine river area.

In Germany Along the Rhine  - Internet Fair Use

The family lineage in New England may be comprised of one to three genealogical branch-roots of the Rines bloodline and seems to have populated the early provincial backwaters of New England during and after the American revolution and war for independence. Particularly up and down the Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and Maine coastlines and mountains.

Based on my thoughts about what I am doing in my remaining years, these roots may portend who I am and what I am about and what my mission is in the near and lasting term.  That's part of the outlook. It fashions my world-view and influences my Creative Endeavor and Artistic Pursuit. I am becoming. My blog moniker does remind me that I am in the midst of a "remodeling and restoration". So what's in a name? A people. A goodly heritage. The roots may run even deeper than I depict. We are who are ancestors have been. It's amazing to me and all suitably interconnected and meaningful.

Tender Moments: Petals in the Wind After a Storm

My mom passed away on Sunday, June 22 of this year due to a sudden, unexpected cause. But it may have been associated in an oblique way with recent surgery over the last few months to remove a large growth causing some intestinal blockage. Mom was recovering from that surgery fairly well and seemingly gaining her strength back. She sounded good. Mom and I had several conversations routinely over the last few months to discuss the diagnosis, findings, treatments, care, and outlook for the future.

Immediate family members were on hand to surround her in her last days of care. As it should be. I was especially pleased to know after the fact from my Dad that my sister was on hand in the early morning when Mom asked for some help and was there with Mom in her final moments. As it should have been, beloved women caring for one another. I know that Mom was solidly at peace with her circumstances no matter what the potential outcomes.  And that has given me great comfort. There is a time and season for all things.

Copyright James E. Martin 2014 Doris Ernestine (Rines) Martin 2014

Perhaps the toughest part of the aftermath was for my wife and I to explain to our seven year-old daughter that her grandmother, "Nanny", had passed away.

Our daughter, "Itsy Bit", is surprisingly mature for a first grader. She is at that age where conversation with her sounds like I am reading a Junie B. Jones book. We thought this to be an important teachable moment. We made sure that we had a picture of Nanny so she would not confuse her two Grandma's inadvertently in the moment of emotional news delivery. We weren't sure how she would receive or react to the news, this being the first close family member to pass away that she knew and interacted with on a close, somewhat routine basis. And we reiterated for clarity that Nanny was my Mom....Daddy's Mom....so she might gain some understanding of the importance and significance of the event through the simple reminder. We were hoping that it would enable the contextual meaning of the situation. Perhaps as she compared and contrasted her feelings about her own Mom, what "loss" and "passing" might feel like in her own experience, she would sort out what her own thoughts and feelings were in her head and heart. Maybe she would work through the idea of how she might feel if and when she experiences her own Mom's similar future inevitable passing. Maybe we over-thought the seven year-old mind. At the kitchen table, she contemplated the news for a few quiet moments with her eyes downcast and then lifted her eyes to make eye contact with us and said "It happens". She didn't say too much more.

The rest of the day of Mom's passing, I spent in a corner garden of the yard, re-tilling and re-invigorating some established flowers and bulbs  in a bed that will come up each spring around a semi-circular stone wall and remind me of Mom. A nice way to think about Mom that day. She loved flowers. She gave me Rose of Sharon and Lily of the Valley from her garden. It was a quiet, sunlit Sunday and the local church bells were tolling in the neighborhood as I started my morning. Throughout the day, Itsy Bit would come to visit and bring me a water bottle occasionally. She asked me what I was doing and I advised her that I was fixing up the flower bed in memory of Nanny. She would then wander off to play in the yard and rock away on her swing set.

Later in the afternoon, she wandered over and handed me a note written on a pink index card with precocious content and feeling.

Copyright James E. Martin 2014 Mom Passed Away

Of course, the note made me smile because of her spelling and the double-meaning associated with it. And the two sad faces with elongated drawn down eyes and frowns for extra emphasis and sentiment. But the depth of knowledge and empathetic feeling that was ruminating in the child throughout the day as I had been watching her around her garden playhouse was so very caring and touching in this moment of heartfelt feeling and revelation. It was a tender moment for me. I looked at that note all week, carried it in my wallet, and used it as I told folks about my Mom.

Itsy Bit's middle name is Dora Gwendolyn after my Mom, Doris, and her younger sister, Gwendolyn. Since Itsy Bit has two older sisters removed in age, the naming model and references seemed appropriate for our youngest as we sought her name at birth. Two amazing women in whom I have admired their character and personalities over my lifetime. And the two of them were the best of friends, always "gallavanting" [a favorite family cliche] around New England, having the best of fun through the years. Mom's passing will affect my Aunt Gwen deeply.

To have Itsy Bit in my life each day is to have my Mom still alive and with me in great part. Itsy Bit is a lovely, lively, young lady with a cheerful, caring, giving, helpful persona. She even likes to scrub the walls and the appliances in the kitchen, wash the dishes, and do the chores. Just like Mom. The DNA runs true.

In early spring, I was completing some errands around town on the weekend. After a rain storm, some of the spring freshening petal blossoms had been knocked off the ornamental cherry trees by the wind and the rain. Arranged around a puddle, I was struck by the chiascaro effect of impressionistic color and randomness within the reflected and moistened background pattern. Cherry blossoms depict the meaning of renewal, promise, perseverance, and commitment. But of course, the peak beauty of the blossom is momentary and it's life is fragile and short. It's nice to be reminded that the blossoms return each spring season at the end of the winter's bleakness. There is a cherry tree I planted years ago near the corner garden. Petal Blossoms After the Storm is an eloquent reminder of what I am thinking of today and my associated feelings. Can you tell, dear reader, which way the wind is blowing? It blows in the same direction for us all.

Copyright James E. Martin 2014 Petal Blossoms after the Storm

I am a fortunate man to be surrounded by these women and to have such blessings and reminders of the intimate and fragile but enduring circle of life.

What is on the Horizon: A Contrast in Outlook

Was out later than usual last night. It wasn't planned. A long talk with a good friend. To some degree we were sharing notes about the change in weather and the change in seasons. We hadn't visited with each other for a while so it started out in a courteous inquiry. In a somewhat oblique but really not so oblique manner, we were checking each other's observations on what we were seeing in the changes around us. But I think we talked about some pretty deep and important things. It was a big part of my Daily Walk and it made me pause. I appreciated that.

On my drive home, I recalled the sense that we both felt like there may be storm front moving in.

Copyright James E. Martin 2014 Storm Front

Since January, I have taken many weather and season pictures in my Daily Walk. The SmartPhone helps since its always handy.

Copyright James E. Martin 2014 Smartphone Selfie

One day on my commute into the city, I took a route much less traveled by me. From previous jaunts out of the city, I knew there were apple orchards on this path. I left extra early to get the early morning light. I took the extra time to stop and contemplate the color and the contrast I was hoping for. I wanted rolling hills. I wanted the newest and freshest of blossoms. I wanted the chiascaro effect of dark and light contrast. I was seeking the impressionistic effect.

Copyright James E. Martin 2014 A Change in Season

Control Mechanisms: Set Aside to Increase the Flow of Energy and Value

In the human endeavor, there are all sorts of mechanisms we use to control energy. And life force too. We conceive or borrow a singular, original idea, and then adapt, design, build, deploy, adopt, and use the mechanism. All things that are built by mankind are intended to control and direct energy and life force to an intended use and purpose. There has been an incredible amount of energy and life focus in the historical human endeavor appropriated to conceive and contrive mechanisms for more centralized control. Many times in the name of a social good and betterment for more value.

Copyright James E. Martin 2014 A Gang of One

Since we don't always have the sole capacity and individual energy to accomplish all we wish to achieve, we adopt mechanisms to help us increase our leverage and to increase our personal force to control the energy and life force around us. We gain more direct control and can influence on a larger scale with our mechanisms. For better value.

Copyright James E. Martin 2014 Worm Drive

And sometimes we find that is still not enough. So we enjoin others and gang where together we can accomplish more than a lone individual. For better value.

Copyright James E. Martin 2014 The Gang of Two

And we find additional others through other contrivances to increase our strength to accomplish the objective if the need requires. For better value.

Copyright James E. Martin 2014 The Gang of Three

And sometimes we realize that the task is beyond the capabilities and limitations of sole human exertion. We invent other power sources and alternatives to increase our strength and influence on the world around us. There seems to be an inherent quest for a bigger, faster, better, cooler, more efficient power drive. For better value.

Copyright James E. Martin 2014 Flywheel Drive

We arrange mechanisms to transfer our limited energy in a new direction to accomplish the purpose we set out to perform. For better value.

Copyright James E. Martin 2014 Fly Drive and Bevel Gears

Copyright James E. Martin 2014 Gear Teeth

I can appreciate the type of beauty in the artifacts that mankind contrives in the Artistic Endeavor and Creative Pursuit. I listen to and investigate the intents, purposes, objectives, and missions expressed by the designers and practitioners of the artifacts. These are the Originators. As an engineering psychologist, my world-view is approached through the study, analysis, and application of how humans interact with the things they create. The Good. The Bad. The Ugly. There are lots of contrivances. Presumably for better value.

But amidst change and new ideas, our mechanisms may be re-factored. For any of a number of reasons, our investment in the original idea and the rationale that goes with it is set aside. Sometimes the setting aside of some things at the end of life is incidental to more important things. Sometimes the casting away or shedding of old things is deliberate because of a new, real or perceived need or want. Sometimes, the apparent imperatives in our lives are just overcome by events much beyond our control.

Perhaps we should take the time to consider re-factoring the mechanisms that we use to direct the energy and life force that is within our grasp. Usually the control mechanisms we contrive, redirect energy in a new form or direction, but they may impede the better value flow. And there may be inefficient losses and waste that are not purposeful. Perhaps we should set aside some of the mechanisms we have been using and consider it a better part of progress. There is a beauty in the old ways. But I think there is something to the point that, when we know our true selves in the context of bigger things, we become who we are meant to be. By directing and focusing our human energy on being Producers of Original Ideas rather than Consumers of ideas already conceived for control. And as a good Steward and Servant, to not bury the one Talent we may have been given but to allow our many Talents given to us to grow faithfully during the departure and absence of the Master but the gain to be accounted for and rewarded upon the Master's return. For better value.

And, for me, to humbly recognize my own human limitations. To acknowledge the Creator of all things. And to recognize my place in the Design. And to enjoy the refreshing rest by the still waters. And to live each day and hour deliberately. We live in the best of times, the best of places, and the best of history.

Copyright James E. Martin 2014 The Waterfall

Sometimes we might consider just letting the energy and life force flow in the direction and manner it was originally meant to go. What goes around, comes around. There is a time and season for things. There may be beauty to be found in the simplicity.

Just thinking on things.

Water Keeps Flowing Over the Dam; The Just and the Unjust

No matter the crazy things that happen to us in the human drama, water still flows over the dam. Today's introspection in a quiet way is that in the cacophony of daily living, the rain continues to fall on the just and the unjust. It is collected and flows to the sea. The moisture evaporates back into the clouds. The clouds of different types are carried about by every wind to a new place indicating different daily and hourly weather  formations. The rain falls again in a new place. That is the refreshing. In the human drama, we "know" what climate and weather to expect in each region based on the topography but not in enough detail to know precisely what it will look and feel like in each day and hour. Predictions are difficult and variances are evident in attempted prognostications. There are droughts and deluges. Cycles and seasons. Epic changes on a decade or 100 year basis. Nuances. And we do some things to control the flow. We are part of the flow. We survive on the flow. We are influenced by the flow allotted to us. But we don't have total control and each of us is one small part of a much larger interplay. I can only be mesmerized and humbled at the awesomeness.

I only just noticed after scrutinizing this photo....it looks to be a natural beaver-snapped log resting on this civil engineered dam.

Copyright James E. Martin 2014 Water Over the Dam

Run Over By A Truck: Honor and Integrity in Human Relations

Copyright James E. Martin 2014 "Run Over by a Truck 01"

To some degree, I was able to see it coming. I was in the midst of someone else's turmoil and lack of experience and lack of self-control and, I see now, there was immaturity at the core shrouded by a veneer of posed maturity. And there were secrets in the background that were veiled from the past. My expected commitment was to provide support and enable the team through a business transition. Mentor and coach. In selected moments, wrought full of sheer panic and fear during the last few weeks, the mentee tried to maintain balance under pressure. Came out of it alright. I did all the right things. Listened when required. Maintained professional distance. Supported. Cared. Stayed calm and collected. Didn't disclose to others. Advised to stay the course. Recommended alternatives. I waited. "This too shall pass". It did. I kept my commitments through a difficult time.

Copyright James E. Martin 2014 "Run over by a Truck 02"

But, in the calm after the storm, the mentee was rewarded and "promoted" [aka "moved aside" in a less important contributory role but given a more important title]. I somewhat expected and anticipated that organizational response since the person is a valued and connected employee and frankly I had seen it before. When one is "tapped", one can do no wrong. What I didn't expect at all is that perhaps Management concluded something awry about me. It's not conclusive yet. But when one is "touched", there is nothing one can do to earn merit. They shouldn't have known of my specific mentoring and coaching involvement at all. Maybe the trusted and confidential communications the mentee asked for didn't go in both directions? Maybe something was inadvertently and inappropriately disclosed during the panic state. I was told I am "on trial". That I should consider this "a warning". Those words were used. But not about what. Or for what. Or what needed to be remedied. There was a lack of constructive approach about how to correct. No interest in correcting the perceived course? Oh. So that's what the truck feels like as it rolls over you. OK. Interesting.  Again. Once touched, there is nothing one can do to earn merit. It's a form of bullying.

Not sure how formal the warning was. Poor communications. Tried to ask questions and clarify for effectiveness. Awkward, non-committal response. Dodging. The turmoil and disease of panic and fear may have just gone up one level.  A level I now serve. They use the words and instruments of force and coercion and power in an attempt to instill fear and following behavior. At least I can recognize the concept of sickness and not-sickness for what it is. This is part of servant leadership. It doesn't always go well or according to plan. I know I can rise above yesterday and do what is honorable today.

I find the dynamic interesting to say the least. But it tells me what I think I already knew about the organization. A working hypothesis with some evidence to support. 

I try to remain optimistic. And as long as they give me a paycheck, I owe each of them at the enterprise the right stuff. My best. My honor and integrity. I can still do that each day I remain. Each moment and event I contribute. There are people to hire to fill the needs. Let's emplace the best for the road forward. But the clock is now ticking down for me. It's time to leave. Everything has its season. It's also important for an artist to know when to stop the painting and call it finished. I have ruined a good effort before by playing too much and too long on a plastic art form.

No matter one's honorable intent, no matter one's extra effort, no matter one's efforts to maintain sanity or integrity, no matter about doing what is right for the "organization",  no matter the difficulty or extra emotional energy required, when interconnected with other people, one can get "run over by a truck" or "thrown under the bus" by another. I guess today was my turn.  Change is durable and constant in the landscape or portrait views.

So today is not a particularly happy, warm day but a sad and disappointing cloudy day...for me.  A bit gut-wrenching. A part of the human drama.

I am mindful that we must be careful what groups, businesses, enterprises we "join". Be wary of who to follow and with whom to fellowship. We are then destined to become like them. We get caught up in their ways. If there is dysfunction amongst the group, we become part of it despite our efforts to remain aloof from the chaos. We learn to adapt to and therefore align to the dysfunction. No organization is inoculated against it. When "team" is important, some members must make up for others. That's the benefit of being together. When one stumbles and falls, there is another to assist. And everything is not fair and equitable in group dynamics.

Being an artist can be a solitary endeavor of contribution. An idea. A thought. An assembly of precepts. A visual depiction. A feeling. A pattern. A personal focus of human energy towards an end. An individual artistic endeavor. A solitary creative pursuit. Is an audience required? Does one have to sell or distribute their art to be an artist? Is art a group activity or necessarily have a social requirement? Can I do my art where I am the audience? Do I need or want others? I enjoy the writing but what is my motivation for sharing on the blog? I enjoy mentoring and coaching but I do not see myself as an accomplished artist or a teacher of art in the least. And with that in mind....

Thesis. Antithesis. Synthesis. Useful in art. Today's exposition was a working out to maintain balance and focus amidst chaos. Can the reader detect the signal amidst the noise? Does a viewer of art always get the intended message? Or is there room and value in the world for many interpretations?

Nice guys do finish last. Under the truck. Hah! Below is the departing view. Come to think of it, isn't this the most popular view for the American Middle Class Vacation? There is more than one meaning and interpretation to the use of a visual image. I am taking the long view.

Copyright James E. Martin 2014 "Run over by a Truck 03"

Eagle Treat: Some Time in Upper Central Maine

Each year, we spend some time up at a lake camp in Maine just south of Moosehead Lake. Its fairly remote and promotes the feeling of getting away from it all. The economy hasn't been too kind to the region. Businesses that have been there for years closed up this year and last. Family-owned variety stores, family-owned bakeries, family-owned antique shops....seems like a theme.

Copyright James E. Martin 2014 A Still Dawn at the Lake

I get to wear all my hawaiian shirts from my small collection, a new one each day. Seven year old daughter, "Itsy Bit", gets to fish off one of the two lake docks. Catching small yellow perch within ten feet of shore at a rate of one every two minutes convinces her that she is the world's best fisher woman. It takes longer to bait the hook with a trout worm than to catch the fish! The bucket gets filled, the fish get counted, and they are returned to be caught another day. What fun! What memories!

Copyright James E. Martin 2014 Catching Lake Perch

The last few years, an eagle has nested at the lake. Our one year old poodle-bichon, Grace, has been closely guarded by family to ensure that she doesn't become an "expensive, beady-eyed, eagle treat". It wouldn't take much to carry her off into the wild blue yonder, for sure. But I thought that was an excellent nickname for her.

Copyright James E. Martin 2014 Eagle Treat

It was once again wonderful to connect with friends from the mid-west and talk about old times. Been doing it for 37 years. Love the tradition and the memories. I painted the three cabins this year but failed to take a picture of the artwork! I left them as a gift so perhaps I will remember to get a picture next year.

Climbing Trees: A Momentary View at the Top

Most boys growing up are adventurous up to the point of downright daring and risky. But we were fearless at that age not connecting potential consequences with our actions. The neural relationships in the brain that enable cause and effect realizations emerge in the middle school years. Eight to twelve year old tree climbers aren't there yet. I remember climbing trees avidly in the middle of the forest with no one around. If I had fallen and been injured, no one would have known where I was. But I remember the warm spring and summer days, clear skies, smell of pine straw needles baked by the sun, the sticky sap on my hands as I traversed the branches, evaluating the safe holds, testing the strong boughs for standing postures by sight and by progressive weight application, snaking through the tight spots, trading off the tactical approaches for going up this way or that, and the grand view from the top.

The beginning at the bottom was only an obstacle to be figured out on how to start, and whether I could begin. Ropes, shinny ups, a smaller dead pole tree leaned against the larger to gain the first branches, starting on a close tree and trying to move laterally to the goal tree....all were considerations in how to start the journey. Having few lower branches only presented a puzzle to be solved. In the absolute worst case, a ladder carried in on another day was an alternative solution for a truly magnanimous objective that couldn't be surmounted any other way. I always envied the telephone pole lineman who had waist belts and claw-like toe and heel spikes.

Copyright James E. Martin 2014 Climbing the Lower Pine

It was always the upward first view that offered a glimpse into the thrill of the climb and the portentous view from the top. Yesterday's walk through the arboretum sparked those early yearnings to climb and brought back the memories of New England days gone by.

                                                            Copyright James E. Martin 2014  The Opportunity View

Perched amongst the branches, resting in the clefts of the tree, blood pumping throughout heady considerations, always wondering whether I could complete the journey, higher and higher, looking downward to evaluate the risks of falling, checking myself to figure out what I would do if I slipped, evaluating the reaches required and minimizing the over-reaches that might result in a slip and fall.

                                                       Copyright James E. Martin 2014 The Grand Illumination

Some branches were suitable for my hands to grip and some were much larger where I could only lean against it or encircle it with my arms.

                                                              Copyright James E. Martin 2014 Considering the Endgame

The higher I go, the smaller the branches. The risk increases since they don't carry as much weight. The wind increases and the tree sways a bit more in the breeze. The endgame involves figuring out how high to go on each tree. What's the potential view? What is to be gained? Is it worth the effort? Is there still fun and adventure to be gained?

Some trees are better than others. Some trees after all the effort, are disappointing at the top. To experience the BEST tree climb of your life, you must climb lots of trees with potential. 

The absolute best climb of my life occurred in the middle of a pine forest at the top of a hill. No one with me. At least a half mile from the closest house. I couldn't see the top of the tree for the branches but the base of the pine was humongous and larger than I had ever seen. Perhaps a diameter of 4-5 feet? Or 6? I had never seen anything like it. Perhaps it had never been seen by man or touched in its remote standing. Never trimmed. Natural branches low enough to gain a start without much fanfare. 

It took me a long time to climb this tree. It was a heart throb. I got two thirds of the way up the tree and was surprised to see that I was at the tree tops of all the surrounding pines looking down on them. The rest of the climb was a clear view of the hilltop and the New England mountains to the west. I could see Mount Watatic in the distance. I continued to within about 6-8 feet of the top of the tree as high as I dared to go. I remember a bit of the wind and the sway and the sound of the breeze through the branches and clutching my arms around the limbs. 

As I rested and enjoyed the view of the mountains in the distance trying to figure out whether I was ready to begin the downward descent, a plane approached from the distant west. A HUGE military transport plane headed perhaps to Ft Devens...an active military base at the time but now defunct. Much to my surprise it headed right towards me! I realized the possibility that the tree I was in was about 30-40 feet above all the others, on a hilltop, was silhouetted against the horizon to the pilots, and was probably a milestone landmark being used by them for straight line visual reckoning. In any case, that grayish transport plane with four whirling props with yellow tips came to within about 100-200 feet of me in their flyby just north of me to my right hand side in a gigantic roar. You can imagine I was vigorously waving to the pilot and copilot with a huge grin. If they saw me, and I had the sense that they may have, they would have been as surprised to see a boy in a remote treetop in that moment as I was to see them. I felt the prop wash of the plane as it flew by. What a momentary opportunity! An experience that would never happen again to be sure. Even to this day I cannot believe the coming together of events in time resulting in that experience in time and space. But the moment and the exhilaration passed.

Climbing down a tree was always somewhat tougher than climbing up. There is a lot of decision-making on the way up and I recall a sense of only trying to remember the same path downward. But sometimes it was confusing and you would have to reconnoiter more than once to get down. There was always a sense of wanting to hurry and get it over with but knowing that an urgency to descend added risk. Patience was a virtue. And you were looking downward to the ground distance as well.  An increasing sense of confidence and safety as one gets closer to the ground.

Once on the ground, a flooding sense of relief that all is well and done. I don't recall even telling anyone of my adventure and special moment. Probably because I would have been admonished for the danger.

I never climbed that tree again. I don't really recall ever climbing a tree again although I must have.  Never one of that size or importance. Perhaps I moved on to other types of adventures. Years later, when I returned home from college across the country, I noticed that the forested hills had been clear cut of the big pines and the hardwoods and that smaller trees and brush were all that remained in the area. I took a hike to the hilltop looking for my gargantua but it was not to be found. Someone had the experience of cutting it down to be sure.

Today's walk with the dog and the smell of warm pine straw brought me back to that memory.

I can envision a painting around this tree-top memory in my mind's eye. Reminiscent of a chiascuro Winslow Homer. If I paint it numerous times in my head, am I an artist? Isn't that where a painting always starts anyway...with an observation and an idea?  Am I not an artist if I don't physically paint the picture? 

A Walkabout and a Checkout

Been awhile. Still taking lots of photos on a routine basis. Reading art history in books and online. Thinking about art. Buying some old art at flea markets and antique malls. Took our french poodle-bichon (poo-chon) dog, otherwise known as Grace, on a walk in the local cemetery this a.m..... which is also a turn of the century arboretum. When we go to Maine camp, she is also known as the "beady-eyed american eagle treat" because of her delectable sizing and attractiveness to carnivorous aerial predators.

Copyright James E. Martin, 2014, New England Solitaire

One of the small buildings in the cemetery was caught well in the morning sunlight against the dark forested background for chiascuro effect. Had to test the mobile device again for loading the blog.

I really should do this more often since I enjoy it so. The observing, the picture taking, the artistry, the writing, and the sharing.