Archive for the ‘careers’ Category
Chronicles in Ordinary Time 36: Still Odd
October 11, 2013
Chronicles in Ordinary Time 35: The Odd Life
October 6, 2013
I had a moment of elation last week. Those who know me area aware that ‘moments of elation’ are few and far between, in my life. Partially my melancholy temperament, partially a few decades of chronic pain. Over the last four years I’ve been dealing with a combination of idiopathic neuropathy and aging. Never sure where the lines are between the two.
I use several pairs of glasses; a lifetime of near-sightedness and astigmatism. Without correction, I can’t see sharp lines, sharp edges. Lines become blurry stripes. In recent months I haven’t been able to see. Not, as in blind, but an inability to see sharp edges and lines. I went to my optometrist last week, and was getting fitted for new glasses. At one point in the process I was looking through the lens machine and saw a line of tiny letters in sharp focus, and had a Moment of Elation…
So many other candidates in my life for ‘moments of elation,’ and it’s a line of print…
These folks could have qualified; a relatively large amount of money for a fairly short amount of time and energy.
These took a considerably longer amount of time, and so far hasn’t resulted in any income. One is due to recent billing; the other…
What an odd life, and an odd career.
And now my tailbone hurts…
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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 34: Urban vs. Rural
September 7, 2013
“Using publicly available Census data, Business Insider‘s Walter Hickey and Joe Weisenthal have deduced that over half of America’s population is localized to a mere 146 of the 3,144 U.S. counties and county-equivalents.”
http://io9.com/half-of-the-u-s-lives-in-these-146-counties-is-yours-1258718775
I live in one of those 146 counties, Multnomah County, in northwestern Oregon. Oregon also includes 2 of the 50 least-populated counties [14 are in Alaska].
For a couple of years we’ve done without cable TV; an expense that wasn’t needed. This isn’t entirely accurate- for most of that time, we were able to watch the two channels we most often watch, because they apparently were ‘unencrypted’ on our cable provider’s signal. That changed a few months ago, and I lived with DVDs for AV entertainment.
I’m a movie junkie. Back when dinosaurs ruled the earth, the early ’80s, I put our portable TV in the closet, or gave it to Goodwill, or something like that. One night I realized that I was choosing not to go visit potential customers on Thursday evening, so that I wouldn’t miss “Cheers” and “Hill Street Blues”. It dawned on me that NBC or CBS, whichever, wasn’t paying me to watch these shows. I was taking money out of my families mouth, so to speak, by not seeking out new work as a remodeling contractor; so that I wouldn’t miss a couple of TV shows… The TV had to go.
So, our kids mostly grew up without television, mostly because I’m a movie junkie. We’d occasionally borrow my parent’s portable TV for weekends. By the latter part of the 80s or early 90s, we allowed ‘the beast’ back in the house full-time. My sister was moving, and wasn’t taking her old, but very durable, color TV [yes, they used to be black & white, only] with her. It was Thanksgiving weekend, and none of the usual places were willing to take the TV. The deciding factor was the detachable power cord. The Beast went into the living room, and was covered with a blanket. Our kids got to watch TV by appointment, and I kept the power cord hidden. I was working for the City by this time, and my movie addiction was less injurious to our family income. My ‘two-week vacation’ came to be the time between Christmas and Martin Luther King Day. I could be gone from work for a period of time without it being too painful upon my return. Not a lot of construction takes place in Portland during the Oregon Winter. I spent most of my vacations watching movies and drawing.
Back to my point:
We have an antenna device now, and have more channels available to us than during the ‘brown out’. Antenna-television relies on a lot of stuff from my childhood. Late in the evening [early morning] when my DVDs has been run-through, I often switch to TV rather than dealing with the challenge of getting out of my recliner [legs are becoming problematic]. Antenna-TV brings back black&white memories–my childhood, and lives of my family. My parents had the American Legion and the Lions Club as ‘their church’. I was raised without a knowledge of God, beyond the word, which was usually the first word of a phrase. Life amidst the American Legion was very traditional.
The early 60s and before were ‘unsophisticated’ eras. The late 60s and early 70s were a time of ‘social consciousness’ [in addition to sex, drugs and rock&roll]. The US awakened to ideas that weren’t acceptable in earlier years. ‘Unacceptable’ due to this strange mix of religious, social, and traditional morality that makes up so much of the American Way of Life. A way of life that still exists in much of the US. Traditional Thinking that was neither moral nor true.
Over half of America’s population lives in 146 counties of the US; in total, a handful of blue dots on a much bigger landscape. Presumably, around half of the voters in America live in these 146 counties. My observations of Oregon rural life give me the impression that life in Rural America hasn’t changed all that much since I was a kid. Many technological changes, but the ideas around which rural society operates are still very much the same.
On road trips I pass by hundreds of tiny little towns; their extent can be seen through the side windows of the car. The bigger towns may take up the front and back windows as well. Passing by these window-sized towns, I wonder about the kids growing up in a tiny rural town: what is life here, like? I’ve lived in Portland nearly all of my life. I think the total time I’ve been outside of Metro Portland is less than 7 of my 61 years. I learned about rural life from my parents [my Dad was raised to be a wheat rancher; Life had other plans]; most of their friends shared a basically-rural mentality. Portland was a small enough city that a rural mentality could easily coexist with Urban thinking. I have no idea what it would be like to grow up in a town that I could easily bicycle across and back in a couple of hours.
I know that rural Oregon is usually upset by the fact that Multnomah County largely determines the outcomes of State elections. Some friends of ours live in a small community in southeastern Oregon; and the river that crosses their property is ‘environmentally-protected’. When the river floods their property in winter, they can’t legally do anything to change the course of the river. They can’t dump excess dirt into the river that crosses their property, to prevent flooding. People in the Willamette Valley, on the other side of the State, many of whom have never been to southeastern Oregon [it’s mostly flat wheat fields, small hills and rocks], determine such things as ‘environmentally-protected’ rivers.
I think that the encounter between ‘Urban thinking’ and ‘Rural thinking’ is the basis of most of the conflict and inability to make decisions that affects our government at this point in history. Liberal Democrats and Conservative Republicans can’t agree on many issues. I remember a Conservative lawmaker recently making a statement that “he would never compromise on his beliefs.” One of my favorite movies has the phrase, “Never compromise; compromise is the language of the devil”. I’ve lived most of my life among people who share that belief to some degree or other. Is this a Bad Idea? I can’t make that statement, but I understand the thinking of those who have this idea. At the same time, I’ve learned that “compromise” literally means, ‘with promise”. I believe compromise is necessary for progress to occur. I understand and empathize with Fundamentalists; and their thinking isn’t wrong. I think the Creator is larger than Fundamentalist thinking.
I think “life makes more sense” in the rural environment, and this environment has traditionally been the focus of American thinking. I think the ‘more sense’ has come from fewer options. There are more options available in the Urban environment. Not all of those options are good. Not all of those options are helpful. Not all of those options are easy for traditional thinking to accept. We won’t be going back, any time soon.
and then there’s Syria…
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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 33: The Way of War does not work
September 4, 2013Why do I keep getting into political arguments with a particular family member? I posted a photo of a “Love Thy Neighbor” T-shirt, with a listing of specific neighbors; a listing that many seem to not include in the definition of ‘neighbor.’ My relative pointed out a protest sign in the background I ignored; and took an entirely different view of the posting that I intended.
I know that my relative and I will probably never agree in these matters; we have entirely different viewpoints on the world, and how it should work. I am trying to suggest to the world [the limited world that gives a rip about my thoughts] that the Way of Jesus will bring us closer to a Way of Peace than a consistent application of the methods that have been used for the last century, that haven’t worked. My relative blames the problems of today’s world on “Liberal bias”; and longs for a reincarnation of Ronald Reagan for President [I wonder what he thought, back in the 80’s?].
As I write this PBS is covering Congress’ debate over whether or not we once again enter into a war. Somehow there are political leaders who believe we can ‘sort of’ enter into a war. A limited war. That somehow we can enter into a Civil War of another country, and not enter into a Civil War. We can kill people in another country indiscriminately with bombs, and somehow not enter into a war. We can bomb, but we won’t use troops on the ground. Sounds to me like the idea of sending ‘military advisers’ to Vietnam, the war that wasn’t really a war…
$200bn has been spent this week on ‘smart phones’ and cellular technology; and apparently there is a money problem in this country. I wonder how much in taxes has been paid in regard to the generation of that $200bn… $200bn invested in phones we want but do not really need, when half of the world is starving.
From Nadia Bolz Weber–
“When it comes down to it, we just do so much damn pretending. Pretending we don’t really rely a little too much on alcohol. Pretending that we are more confident than we really are. Pretending that we care more about people than we really do. Pretending we are not afraid. Sometimes we even overcompensate so much about the things we are trying to hide, that no one ever suspects the truth… and then we are left in the aloneness of not ever really being known.
“On some level, we are continually trying to pretend some things about us are not true and other things are…
“The 2000 film, Almost Famous tells the story of a young man who finds himself as a reporter on tour with a famous rock band. His conversation with an older writer at the end of the film captures this perfectly: “The only true currency in this bankrupt world is what we share with someone else when we’re uncool”
“IN the kingdom of God we need not cultivate a persona to hide or overcompensate for the lame, poor, blind and crippled parts of us. The unflattering photos. The parts which have nothing to offer, the parts of us which need help navigating our lives, the parts of us which must rely on others for help. In other words the uncool parts of ourselves are exactly that which Jesus invites around his table. As though the only true currency in this bankrupt world is what we share with God and each other when we are uncool, lame, blind, poor and crippled. And as uncomfortable as it might be to be seen in such a stark and uncompromising light, there is also just so much relief in it. You just don’t have to pretend, or over compensate or be shrewd. You can just be. And in just being you can, in the fierce and loving eyes of God be known, be whole and maybe even rest a little. Because keeping it all up is just exhausting.
The Way of War does not work. It only brings death.
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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 32: Why Do You Do What You Do?
July 28, 2013
Freelancing is an *Interesting* way to earn a living…
I do a lot of trolling on Craigslist, responding to ads from many parts of the country. Earlier in the week, I responded to an ad, which came back with a followup. The agent would put my art on display [somewhere in California–I’m in Oregon], and charge $200/week for space rental. For a print priced at $1000, she would receive $120 commission, and I would earn $80. I’m not really sure where the remaining $600 [after the first week] would go, but my guess it goes to ‘rental’. My response: “Seriously? Good luck with that.”
I responded to an ad for video editing; a gig that theoretically would provide $1000/month or more. For me, $12000+ per year is a fairly tempting gig. My impression is that most of the videos will be ads for herbal products that promise to produce longer sex lives and shorter waistlines. It appears that they would be posted on websites that scream, ‘TRASH’. I received a ‘short list’ email late last night requesting a 15 second video on The Gettysburg Address, in a style consistent with an herbal product ad. I sent back a question as to how soon they need this clip.
As is my norm with any new project that sparks my interest, I downloaded a bunch of material on the Gettysburg address, mostly videos to insert into this non-commercial, not-to-be-redistributed, clip. I have the video fairly clear in my brain, at least for the starting point. Most projects take off on their own, somewhere in the process.
I received a response: they would prefer to have the clip midday tomorrow.
Today is Sunday. While I’m not strict about Keeping the Sabbath Holy, I do understand the concept that The Creator was instructing a society that had been enslaved for hundreds of years, to take a day off each week to remember what is important. I sleep most of Sunday afternoon, after our church service, which starts about the time I normally wake up. Sunday afternoon/ evening I watch a movie; meaning I actually watch the movie without having it as background entertainment. Frequently it’s a foreign language movie where I need to read the subtitles. Today was “Lions for Lambs”– a very good film with an excellent cast: Redford, Streep, Cruise and Derek Luke. One of the themes of the film is ‘why do you do what you do?’
I have a house to design this week and a movie poster to draw. Plus whatever comes along during the week. Lincoln’s Address at Gettysburg was less than 3 minutes in length, following some politician’s speech that lasted two hours. I couldn’t do justice to the Address in less than 4 minutes, and for that four minutes I would probably spend much of the night working, to get it to the agent by midday tomorrow. Of course, it would only be 15 seconds worth of the 4 minute clip. Which 15 seconds of the Address is the most important?
Working all night on a clip that would never be seen, in order to get a gig where I would be creating ads I would NEVER watch. I hate commercials…
“Somebody has to do it.”
Why?
This is one of the reasons I do what I do:
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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 31: Do Overs
July 11, 2013My birthday. Technically it was yesterday, but I haven’t been to sleep yet, so it’s still today. My Mother-in-Law was 30 years and one day older than I; this would have been her 91st birthday…
An odd week. A member of our ‘adopted family’ died a couple days ago. I didn’t like her very much, but we’re the only ‘family’ she had in Oregon. My wife was a voluntary care-giver for her, and by the Grace of God grew to like her. She wasn’t a very likeable person; angry most of the time, and feeling sorry for her poor health, and the way people took advantage of her. In my honest moments, I realize that ‘there, but for the Grace of God, go I.’ It’s humbling.
Encouraging a person’s positive traits wasn’t normal procedure in my family, growing up. A lot of put-downs. When I got to college, and was finally out of my Dad’s influence, I was a real smart-ass. I enjoyed insulting people in such a way that they mostly didn’t realize they were getting insulted.
I found that people didn’t really enjoy my behavior. Being an Only, I desperately wanted people to like me, so I decided I needed to change my behavior. Didn’t really know how to make that happen. By the time I’d finished my 5th year, the Creator had come into my life, and I had become a different person.
I can’t say that I understand how this came about. I had no religious upbringing. The Creator became PRESENT for me in a tangible, but subjective way. No burning bushes, no getting thrown off my horse and blinded. But it feels like a similar experience. I became a very unwilling convert to a way of life I didn’t really realize that I had been looking for. I can’t NOT believe, even if I wanted to; I’d have to ignore too much that I’ve experienced.
In college I became torn between majoring in Art or majoring in Architecture. I wanted to major in Illustration, but had neglected to find a college that enabled me to do that sort of thing. The concept of majoring in “Starving Artist” seemed silly, so I decided I’d ‘draw houses’. Never wanted to be an architect. I became contractor, a building designer, a Building Plans Examiner, and then, 15 years ago, I opted for Starving Artist…when I’m not being an architectural consultant.
If I’d been given the opportunity of a Do Over, I would have chosen Starving Artist as a career much earlier on; and possibly changed my life forever. I might have not taken the road where my ‘burning bush’ was burning…There’s a very good chance that I would have become an angry, self-absorbed person, like our recently departed ‘family member’. I can see that kind of storyline in my family history…
Five years ago I gave myself a birthday present–a hand-tooled, custom-made leather belt, with the words, “Mercy Response NOLA 2008” to commemorate a trip to New Orleans with Medical Teams International, to help with Katrina Recovery. At the time I was giving some serious consideration to moving to N’Orlens for several months, in order to give the young couple directing Mercy Response a break. They were clearly exhausted, and as a former contractor, I realized that I was skilled in doing what was needed.
Life got in the way, and then the neuropathy hit. By the summer of 2009, it became very clear that working on houses was no longer going to be part of my life. It’s dangerous working with tools when you’ve lost the sense of touch and pain… Four years later, I’m wiped out by making dinner, or walking up our hill. I know I’m not going to use my shop full of tools, but I have trouble getting rid of them–an unwillingness to let go of a very important part of my past. So, I’m pleased when my kids borrow them and I have no need to have them returned.
When my doc tells me that aside from the neuropathy I’m in good health, and have a long life ahead of me, my inner response is, ‘oh shit. I don’t want to do this for a long time. Morning [my ‘morning’] sucks. Can’t I go Home?’ I want a Do Over, but I’m not sure what I would have done differently…
These two showed up in my life recently, and quite unexpectedly…
Writers often talk about how their characters often take on a ‘life of their own’ and end up writing their own stories.
I started illustrating a short story in 1996. I worked on it fairly steadily for a time, and over time it became less and less of a priority. The two main characters looked quite different:
Fifteen or so years later, I have trouble working at a drafting table, so I now draw in my recliner. My visual acuity sucks, so I have to draw at a much bigger scale. Since I never finished drawing the faces, I need to do all of the faces again, so that they’ll be consistent. Pleasantly surprised by the two people who showed up, I now have to keep working to make the rest of the faces of the same quality… I’m unused to having to keep doing them over and over.
As a freelancer, with typically short deadlines, I rarely have the opportunity for a Do Over. In all of the children’s books I’ve illustrated, the images went from first draft to finished drawing with very few changes. This doesn’t mean I hit my target every time; I simply didn’t have time to correct the mistakes. Consequently, all of my children’s books [‘all’ sounds like a large number, doesn’t it?] have a couple bad images–incorrect perspective, inconsistent appearances, FLK [Funny Looking Kid]…ones I’d really like to have done over. But it wasn’t an option.
Since the current book has been ‘cooking’ for nearly 20 years, several Do Overs really won’t be a problem. As long as I don’t lose any other parts of my body in the near future…
61 years…where did it go?
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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 30: The Strange World of the Future
June 14, 2013 
My gratitude to the folks at http://thrilling-tales.webomator.com/derange-o-lab/pulp-o-mizer/pulp-o-mizer.html for an enjoyable experience in creating pulp illustrations.
There is a seemingly never ending list of things I would like to explore, creatively, if I wasn’t concerned about earning a living. Finishing the illustrated stories I started 15-20 years ago; Steampunk, 3-D, special effects…. sigh
I grew up reading Tom Swift Jr. [Tom Swift Jr. and His Space Solartron], Tom Swift [my parent’s generation: Tom Swift and His Electric Locomotive], Tom Corbett, Space Cadet and Doc Savage [sort of a combination of Tarzan, Indiana Jones and Major Samantha Carter]. I used to have a large collection of all of the above; my guess is that they bought groceries in leaner times. Had I waited, or been better informed, they would have bought a lot more groceries… But I still have a few copies on the shelf. Heroes who used their brains more than muscles, and rarely fired lethal weapons. I still remember my favorite ‘toy soldiers’–curiously a mechanic and a ditch digger, one orange, one blue… I also grew up reading Robert Heinlein, Ray Bradbury and several others from ‘the Golden Age of Science Fiction’
When I thought about it, I wanted to create images like the above… The stick figure drawings that covered endless sheets of paper were drawings like the above, in my mind… and yet I haven’t really drawn many sci-images over the years. Not sure why. Too caught up with earning a living, I suppose, too caught up with the dramas in this time period to live in the future.
I’m recovering from my third ‘neuropathic episode’ in four years, almost exactly two years apart, which is really weird. This one wasn’t as dramatic–I didn’t lose as many sensory nerves as I’ve experienced in the past. Probably because there are fewer to lose. However, I had a day of a potential future I hadn’t seen before–one where changing the DVD was a major effort…drawing was out of the question– and the realization that I’m grateful for what I still have. So I’m re-calibrating myself to another ‘new normal’.
I’ve been drafting steadily for two months now; a very long time in my current life. Not getting paid a lot for it, but after nearly 50 years of drafting, I consider it as getting paid to watch DVDs. I’m on my second repetition of the Stargate chronicles, with a few other shows interspersed. I’ve always been a fan of ‘westerns in space’.
A couple of weeks ago we were in Fort Collins, Colorado, for the graduations of my daughter and my son-in-law: my daughter’s second Bachelor’s, my son-in-law’s first Associate’s. Amidst the celebration was a visit to the Holiday Twin Drive-in in Fort Collins, where we saw this:
…A digital re-creation; my little camera in the back of the pickup wasn’t of good enough quality to record the images in the dark. Watching Star Trek, under the Big Dipper, with shooting stars, was one of those amazing experiences that one can’t really comprehend. I do have to see the movie again–there were a few too many distractions…
I watched William Shatner’s “The Captains” this evening. A documentary about the 6 Captains in the Star Trek franchise. Classically trained actors, none of them type-cast, each of whom brought their own distinction to the role of “Captain”… and the tremendous cost that the casts paid during the 12-16 hour days of production for much of the years. I lapsed back into my ‘vulcan’ mode–[I immediately idolized Spock when he appeared on TV–the alien trapped among humans–I’ve always had trouble understanding human behavior]–watching thousands of fans at Star Trek conventions. I can’t imagine going to one, or why I would.
I think I may start drawing again this weekend. With a pencil. It’s been months. There’s a face on my drafting table that’s beckoning me, and I think my shoulder and neck muscles may be rested enough to draw again…
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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 29: The other days…
May 10, 2013
I don’t usually like to deal with my depression in public. Some mentors once told me that if the person you are talking to can’t do anything about the problem you’re having, then it’s somewhat pointless to tell them about it. Unless you are wanting to share your misery.
I’m not really wanting to share my misery, but other mentors have explained to me that shared pain can sometimes be helpful.
Of course, another part of the story is that the gentleman above was facing a hanging in the days ahead. True story. Late 1800s, photo by Edward Curtis. He was called Medicine Hat. His crime? His skin was the wrong color and he lived on land that American settlers wanted. The Westward Migration.
While in relative terms, my challenges are far less than those of Medicine Hat, nonetheless, I’m ‘calling in sick’ for a few hours; possibly the rest of my day. One of the challenges of self-employment is that I have no paid sick leave. I don’t necessarily lose my job, but I don’t get paid if I don’t produce. I’m supposed to be working on some house plans. They are weeks overdue. I’m working at an amazingly slow speed; apparently. I seem to be very busy, but don’t seem to be able to produce with any speed.
I’ve been burning my candle at both ends, and have started on the middle, and I’m not as resilient as I was in years past. If I ever really was. I think that perhaps I self-medicated, and pretended I was resilient.
Tonight I feel sick, sort of. One of the problems of idiopathic polyneuropathy is that I never really know what I’m ‘feeling’. I have a broken toe–the bone at the end separated at the joint– that I’m only am aware of the damage a few times a week, and only in the sense that I have a sensation in a toe that normally has no sensation. I ‘should’ have sciatica, but that nerve doesn’t function correctly either. After 30+ years of chronic pain, much of what I dealt with in the past was predictable. I still feel ‘shadows’ of being out of whack; but those things mostly don’t hurt.
What hurts now is ‘nerve-pain’ — pain that isn’t really associated with visible injury. Biopsies have determined that I have damaged nerves; no clue why. We have millions of nerve endings in our bodies. I’ve lost a few million nerve endings. I still have a couple million left. I’m learning to be thankful for what I have left–it’s more profitable than whining about what I’ve lost. I think I can guess what people with ‘phantom limb pain’ experience. My feet have little external sensation, but they ‘burn’, almost constantly. Particularly when they decide they are cold. Burning cold. Like a REALLY bad sunburn. Go figure.
Among other things, my gut changed 4 years ago, this month. I’ll spare you the messy details. Today it’s worse. My doc of 30 years retired about 2 years before the neuropathy started. I’m on my third doc since [not counting ‘specialists’]. A new doc has no history beyond what’s on paper. Since most of my symptoms are subjective, a new doc has nothing to compare with, and no particular reason to accept my assertion that my life was much different 4 years ago.
Four years plus a day or two ago, I begged my Creator to let me come Home. I was at my nephew’s wedding, and after a couple of hours filming with my pocket camera, my hands were shaking too much to shoot anymore, and I ached everywhere. I made a deal with the Creator, a couple of decades back, that I wouldn’t try to speed my progress Home. A few weeks from that wedding night, the neuropathy took over half of my body. Never make demands of the Creator–it’s extremely dangerous. That painful past, that I often complained about internally, was better than my ‘new normal’.
Most people are unaware of my physical challenges; I can fake ‘normal’ for a couple hours at a time. I prefer the ruse. I have some trusted friends that I share some of the challenges with; it lessens the burden. But the reality is that so far, no one has a clue as to how to address the slow decline. Since the people I’m normally around can’t help much, I try not to make a big deal about it.
Tonight I feel like whining. Maybe someone will understand that they aren’t alone.
Maybe the reason for the pain is so we would pray for strength
And maybe the reason for the strength is so that we would not lose hope
And maybe the reason for all hope is so that we could face the world
And the reason for the world is to make us long for Home
Well I know you’re past the point of broken, surrounded by your fear
I know your feet are tired and weary from the road that you walk down here
But just keep your eyes on Heaven and know that you are not alone
Remember the reason for the world
No ear has heard, No eye has seen, not even in your wildest dreams
A beauty that awaits beyond this world. When you look into the eyes of Grace
and hear the voice of mercy say, ‘Child, welcome to the reason for the world’
Matthew West
The hurt that broke your heart, and left you trembling in the dark, feeling lost and alone
Will tell you hope’s a lie
But what if every tear you cry will seed the ground where joy will grow
And nothing is wasted; Nothing is wasted
In the hands of our Redeemer
Nothing is wasted
It’s from the deepest wounds that beauty finds a place to bloom
And you will see before the end that every broken piece
is gathered in the heart of Jesus and what’s lost will be found again
And nothing is wasted; Nothing is wasted
In the hands of our Redeemer Nothing is wasted
From the ruins, from the ashes, beauty will rise
From the wreckage, from the darkness, Glory will shine.
Nothing is wasted
In the hands of our Redeemer Nothing is wasted
Jason Gray
A detail from an illustration for a book I never had the chance to finish.That’s Hiroshima in the background; the little girl is going to die in a few minutes from radiation poisoning. True story. Thousands of parent-less, home-less children wandered the ruins of Hiroshima and Nagasaki after the bombs were dropped, looking for family or friends. Most of them died horribly alone and in pain, hours and days after the destruction. A teacher returned home from an out of town trip, and went to search for her sibling’s children. All of the children she found wandering died in her arms. She survived, and published her diary.
We did that. The good guys, the God-fearing, freedom-loving, rights-preserving US of A. Supposedly we killed hundreds of thousands to prevent the killing of thousands that would result from an invasion of the Home Island of Japan. My gut feeling is that the issue was really the nationality of those thousands who were ‘spared.’
The rest of the world remembers Hiroshima and Nagasaki and views us as either hypocrites or really stupid. We blame it on the past, and other people. But the true horror is that there are still idiots in the world who consider nuclear weapons as viable alternatives. Some of them live very close to Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
The reality is that while we are no better than the rest of the world, we also are not that much worse.
Home would be good.
Time for another hero movie.
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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 28: Ending Eras
April 22, 2013
Walt Disney Animation Studios Lets Most of Hand Drawn Team Go
“So when Walt Disney Animation Studios says there will be no more hand drawn animated features, they mean it. Nine animators from the hand drawn team were let go yesterday. Sadly these are some of the most veteran animators on the team as well…”
The article above saddens me; there is also a small bit of ‘encouragement’ in a weird sense, to know that I’m not alone.
Nearly all of my work nowadays is digitally-manipulated hand-drawn graphite images. I do some entirely-digital work as well as photo-manipulation, but the work I’m most pleased with starts with a pencil and a piece of specifically-selected paper.
My experience so far is that my work isn’t that popular with those folks who buy illustrations for commercial use. I am immensely pleased with comments that I receive from people all over the world, who appreciate my work. I even have a couple of pieces in a museum… but, not a lot of ‘art buyers’ have any commercial interest in my work.
The image above was given to me by my paternal grandmother. I really don’t know who “Milt” is; I think the surname on the back is ‘Shafer’ but I can’t be sure. A vague memory tells me that Milt and I are somehow related, but I don’t recall ever hearing that surname in the family. I don’t know if it’s an ‘original Disney’ or simply a copy of a Disney concept. The calendar on the wall, to the right of Goofy, says ‘1937’ above the risque sketch of an apparently naked woman. Maybe it will end up on Antiques Roadshow some day, or History Detectives, and I’ll learn more about its history.
Back when I did school visits, one of the presentations I prepared was on the history of Illustration. At the beginning of the 20th Century, before photography had become part of the printing world, images that were published were created by engravers who worked in stone or very hard wood. Visual images were translated into intricate carvings, and prints were made from these carvings. The image below is a pen and ink copy of one of these carved images from the 1800s.
Photography entered the world of publishing. While it created new markets and opportunities, it also made engraving obsolete. The only place for engravers to work was basically in the jewelry and trophy industries. Disney animators have entered into the hallowed halls of the engravers.
I recently taught a couple of art classes for an after-school program at a local Middle School. A traditional drawing class, and a digital art class. I don’t anticipate doing that again. Two of the students in my drawing class were more talented in sketching than I ever have been. A couple didn’t really want to be there at all. I spent a lot of hours putting together handouts for them to work from; I don’t know that I had any positive effect.
The digital class didn’t go much better. The project I designed for the first one or two classes took the entire term to finish; in the process, the more talented kids got bored and the novices didn’t really retain much of the process.
I discovered that I’ve forgotten how much I’ve learned. I’ve been doing this for so long that I’ve forgotten what being a novice is, and what information is needed at the beginning. I think. Or maybe I’m just an ineffective teacher. At this point in my life, I don’t want to add those skills.
And standing for 3 hours, mostly on adrenaline, wiped me out for the rest of the day. Neuropathy sucks. Thankfully, I can still draw.
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Chronicles in Ordinary Time 26: Four Decades…
February 27, 2013
Today was my 40th Rebirth-day. Four decades in this walk of faith, a walk called Christian. My life has a soundtrack, as it is with many others. I think my life began in high school—Senior English—when ‘Captain Bob’ played for us the soundtrack to “Man of La Mancha:”
“I shall impersonate a man. His name is Alonso Quijana, a country squire no longer young. Being retired, he has much time for books. He studies them from morn till night and often through the night and morn again, and all he reads oppresses him; fills him with indignation at man’s murderous ways toward man. He ponders the problem of how to make better a world where evil brings profit and virtue none at all; where fraud and deceit are mingled with truth and sincerity. He broods and broods and broods and broods and finally his brains dry up. He lays down the melancholy burden of sanity and conceives the strangest project ever imagined – -to become a knight-errant, and sally forth into the world in search of adventures; to mount a crusade; to raise up the weak and those in need. No longer will he be plain Alonso Quijana, but a dauntless knight known as Don Quixote de La Mancha.”
Church and faith were never a part of my upbringing. My parents, according to legend, were active in the church until their early adulthood. I was told once that my Dad was a lay preacher at some point in his early adulthood. Something drove my parents away from The Church. I was in my twenties when I first walked into a church sanctuary.
Listening to the story of Don Quixote was my first real lesson in the concept that one could live for something beyond one’s own life. I found the album during my first months at Oregon State University, and listened to my bootleg recording for years. In those years I learned to spot Christians from great distances, and to avoid them. My only real knowledge of what they had to say was that they said too much. We had ‘coffee houses’ in college; they had little to do with coffee, and much to do with folk songs. I could always tell when the Christians were about to sing, because they always had to explain the meaning of their songs; as if the song were so poorly crafted that it could not tell its own story…
I remember lying on my bed, for hours in the dim, listening to the songs of Judy Collins, Rod McKuen, and so many others. Dreary songs that matched my newfound understanding of just how crappy the world has become. Rescued by the Draft Lottery from a possibly short life in Vietnam, I lived among war protesters, dopers and murder. A young girl who lived two floors below me, was murdered one night; as it turned out several months later, she was murdered by a high-school aged kid whose emotional development didn’t match his intellect. She was murdered because she wouldn’t have sex with him…
In my third year of college, having transferred to University of Oregon, I was introduced to the concept that the Creator of the Universe had entered life in the form of Jesus Christ. At some point I made the connection that this incarnation was similar to when I picked up a rock, and found a bunch of wriggly creatures trying to escape the light. Unpleasant little creatures; what would it take for me to love those creatures enough that I would give up my life as a human to become a wriggly creature, so that I could share what I knew about Life with them… Multiply this by Infinity, and one comes close to the story of Jesus.
February 26th marks my ‘official’ entrance into the Kingdom, but it’s really the date that I audibly accepted the concept that I was willing to accept the Creator’s presence in my life. The journey of my acceptance into Faith took years.
Having come to an understanding of the concept that one could be “so heavenly minded that they are no earthly good,” I decided I wouldn’t walk that path. Many believers walk the high road that parallels the ‘Valley of the Shadow.’ I decided to find a path along the wall of that valley. Similar, I suppose, to my scaling the banks of the Sandy River as a young boy, looking for the ‘right’ place to fish. I never fell; I came close many times. I was carried downstream by the current one time, because I had stepped further out into the river, again looking for that ‘right’ place; my grandfather running alongside the river, trying to reach me with his pole…
You know what I’ve put myself through
All those empty dreams I chased
And when my body lies in the ruins
Of the life that nearly ruined me
Will You pick up the pieces
That were pure and true
And breathe Your life into them
And set them free?
And when You start this world over
Again from scratch
Will You make me anew
Out of the stuff that lasts?
Stuff that’s purer than gold is
And clearer than glass could ever be
Can I be with You?
A slight paraphrase of the Rich Mullins song. This life has nearly ruined me. Thirty years of pain, once again increasing, as I battle neuropathy. My balance is shot, my endurance is shot, my hands are beginning to shake enough that more and more of my art has to be digital…I can hold onto a mouse, and move it with my wrist, when my fingers won’t hold still. The computer at the school where I teach a digital art class has a stationary mouse with a track ball; there are days when I have trouble convincing my fingers to locate the correct place to grab a file. Empty dreams I’ve chased…
I’ve learned that this life, this long and short time here, is merely an eyeblink in the timelessness of Eternity. I’ve learned that I’m not a body with a soul, but a soul with a body.
Maybe the reason for the pain
Is so we would pray for strength
And maybe the reason for the strength
Is so that we would not lose hope
And maybe the reason for all hope
Is so that we could face the world
And the reason for the world
Is to make us long for Home
Well I know you’re past the point of broken
Surrounded by your fear
I know your feet are tired and weary
from the road that you walked down here
But just keep your eyes on Heaven
and know that you are not alone
Remember the reason for the world
No ear has heard, No eye has seen
Not even in your wildest dreams
A beauty that awaits beyond this world
When you look into the eyes of grace
and hear the voice of mercy say
Child, welcome to the reason for the world
Thank you, Matthew West, for putting words together that I haven’t been able to…
Chronicles in Ordinary Time 