I borrowed this title from the first two lines of a Zen meal gatha Iearned years ago while studying at San Francisco Zen Center. It begins: “... 72 laborers brought us this food; we should know how it comes to us.” (The entire gatha follows below.)
We, both my wife Marilyn and I, were sent to San Francisco from Boulder, Colorado, by Chogyam Trungpa, Rinpoche (from Tibet; now deceased) to study meditation technique. Trungpa is credited with bringing Tibetan vajrayana Buddhism to the West and to America and established a meditation center in Boulder. I was instructed by him in art also as, a master, he taught spatial arrangement at the University of Colorado where I was enrolled, studying advanced color theory after graduating from the art academy.
At Zen Center in San Francisco, we sat zazen and shared meals and conversation with the initiates—some monks wearing their popular black and grey robes—and participated in rituals (of which I was not particularly fond) while renting a small flat nearby. These first two lines of the gatha have stayed with me down through the years and capsulize my growing interest in farming technology, farm workers and communities.
This interest sprang from many years’ living in California, exploring and observing at a distance the natural work rhythms of fieldhands and farm workers that dot the countryside. Their dance-like movements exude a charisma that expresses to me a poise and grace that is ages old, the liveliness of which I attempt to capture in paint before their presence is lost in the mechanization of farming and urbanization of our contemporary cultures.
Coalescing with that, this same, time-worn gatha finds its way into my thoughts as I work, and brings with it smells of wet earth, the tramping of feet, and sights of stacked boxes and farm equipment, all which populate my panels.
As an American and one of the many and growing millions that prefer a life of freedom and democracy, I feel that to remain independent we must become acutely aware of our delicate balance with nature and bring our technological focus to bear on the conservation and preservation of our greatest natural assets—sustainable good air, fresh water, abundant food chain and renewable energy resources. It is good that we, in our passion for independence, consider how our food comes to us—by whose hands that is; by increasing our consciousness of not only who it is among us that is providing our food, but as important, that we remain capable of feeding ourselves and not become dependent upon but able to share with other peoples.
My desire is to extend this thought outward with a 72 Laborers Series of studies.
MEAL GATHA
First, seventy-two laborers brought us this food,
We should know how it comes to us.
Second, as we receive this offering, we should consider
Whether our virtue and practice deserve it.
Third, as we desire the natural order of mind, to be free from
clinging, We must be free of greed.
Fourth, to support our life, we take this food.
Fifth, to attain our way we take this food.
First, this food is for the Three Treasures.
Second, it is for our teachers, parents, nation, and all sentient beings.
Third, it is for all beings in the three worlds.
Thus, we eat this food with everyone,
We eat to stop all evil, to practice good, to save all sentient beings,
And to accomplish the Buddha way.
(Oryoki is the word for a formal Zen meal eaten in the zendo, or, meditation hall. This gatha however, extends to all meals.)
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
ART & THE NATURE OF CREATION
In the past few years a cadre of insights regarding existence and the nature of Creation has brought about in me a new sense of awareness and I've been moved to paint, and write, to share my experience as an artist, in the hope that what I have seen will be as much of a value to others as it has been to me.
For me then, a textbook or academic understanding of inspiration never could replace the experience of working creatively, while earnestly studying and working independent of what I learned in the academy has brought about a keener perception of life and especially, its hidden characteristics.
In painting (and poetry), I encounter opportunities to bring these unobservable matters to the senses, and as I grow as an artist I find my senses are not the obstruction to spirituality I once felt, and are not only to be appreciated and enjoyed, but are a means to spiritual insight. And the more daily existence becomes sensationalized, engagement in creating art assumes the leading role of magnifying and perfecting this.
Seemingly, art has the propensity to cultivate the seeds of perfection that exist in each of us, and as I work I become aware that remaining independent of the influences of convention allows unobstructed growth for each of us and our exceptional potentials. One such sprig of awareness that has appeared to me is a certain similarity, that, as a soul resides within each of us, within Creation too, resides a significance that extends far beyond the observable, and exists to reveal a grander meaning.
Take for example, during the course of daily practice, material objects start to reveal their hidden meanings and become, to the artist and poet, a source or a means to the transformation from a linear, natural state of mind to a divine state of mind. For instance, spirals, or better yet, let's take waves (it's common knowledge that our natural universe consists as a massive oscillation of electromagnetic waves), with our eyes we observe from the entire spectrum (Maxwell's rainbow) only a very narrow band, as light refracts and colors meet our visual cortex to create form and give us vision. Silent or, inert objects within our vision appear virtually static and solid, but they are not. They are waves of color. And photon particles.
Changing waves and memory simulate the illusion of motion to create objects that translate pleasingly into the artists' syntax. With dance, for instance, change becomes—expressions of life. Or catch a mime sometime and be held captive in an experience of timelessness. Some might say watching dance can be hypnotic, as we seem spellbound by the moment and by the motion of dance while interpreting movements; but I think seeing then is seeing more clearly and beyond the cloudy filters of our intellect, and, watching externally rather than 'understanding' internally, we give in to a better way of seeing, through art.
So, by dance, by art, we experience a timeless state and are transformed, if just momentarily, to a new state of awareness, which is an eternal moment always beginning, irrespective of the previous one and having no end, and is thereby—endlessly new. (Contrary to natural laws of entropy.)
If it seems I've suggested life is comprised of something like string theory appearing as a wave of uncertain change, then yes, I am saying something like that. And as bewildering as this might seem, and frightening, nature is all the while bound by steadfast laws and principles of which we, for a large part, seem ignorant of or choose to ignore in favor of more apparent sciences.
Within this deep fountain we are infused, both as distinct and indistinct parts of Creation. Yet, our minds are inextricably joined to the universal order, and from these we derive reason and create thoughtforms. Yet we go about, oblivious to almost all but the obvious but illusory input from our sensory systems as we continue in our far-flung ideas of life on this BB-sized planet, as being solid, inert, with some things wandering or orbiting in motion, but mostly separated by space and linked to a chronology of events. All the while, we are unable even to detect without instruments and almost unbeknownst to us, radio (RF) waves and neutrinos that pass silently through our being.
What appears almost in sympathy but ultimately in love, we inherit from time to time moments of pure genius that reveal Creation's deeper laws, with visions of innocence, beauty and truth for our individual and collective (social) edification and perhaps even our species' survival. At the very least, the survival of civilization. Of these the most enduring insights are expressed in our art.
Much of our ancestral insight was handed down generation-to-generation in song and myth, pottery and cave drawings (ref: Hawai’i; petroglyphics, chant, hula) to be later codified and celebrated as cogent ritual and/or literature (art). What we all seem to be seeking, and have been since 'Eve', are enough tangible pieces of truth to solve a puzzle that has engaged mankind for eons: ‘what is the nature of Creation?’
And by genius, interlocking pieces of the puzzle appear daily and throughout history, as insights with the power to transform, emerging from within our most creative experience. The ensuing artworks are said to be its containers—and they are. However, it's neither man nor the artworks but that which shines through that is genius. The subsequent artwork is a mere record of the event. Or, expression.
As is, likewise, Creation a record of divine genius and nature, the divine made manifest (of which we are a part), is art on a grand scale. The ability to clearly perceive this is instrumental to the creation of great art.
Simply said then, making art is making the hidden to be seen, as insights into Creation are revealed to exceptional individuals—artists, poets, oracles and prophets—"seers" (ref: 1Samuel 9:9, kjv) and are made manifest for all to see.
“The only way into nature is to enact our best insight. Instantly we are higher poets, and can speak a deeper law.” Ralph Waldo Emerson
In the stillness of a moment emerges the cosmos in an eternal state of creation; in it, as in our spiralling galaxy, on our small planet, and in every culture, abounds art. And in art we find the liveliness, clarity and truth that speaks to us of the nature of Creation.
* * *
ARTSPEED Arts Collective
Copyright 2011 Michael Earl Anderson; All rights reserved.
For me then, a textbook or academic understanding of inspiration never could replace the experience of working creatively, while earnestly studying and working independent of what I learned in the academy has brought about a keener perception of life and especially, its hidden characteristics.
In painting (and poetry), I encounter opportunities to bring these unobservable matters to the senses, and as I grow as an artist I find my senses are not the obstruction to spirituality I once felt, and are not only to be appreciated and enjoyed, but are a means to spiritual insight. And the more daily existence becomes sensationalized, engagement in creating art assumes the leading role of magnifying and perfecting this.
Seemingly, art has the propensity to cultivate the seeds of perfection that exist in each of us, and as I work I become aware that remaining independent of the influences of convention allows unobstructed growth for each of us and our exceptional potentials. One such sprig of awareness that has appeared to me is a certain similarity, that, as a soul resides within each of us, within Creation too, resides a significance that extends far beyond the observable, and exists to reveal a grander meaning.
Take for example, during the course of daily practice, material objects start to reveal their hidden meanings and become, to the artist and poet, a source or a means to the transformation from a linear, natural state of mind to a divine state of mind. For instance, spirals, or better yet, let's take waves (it's common knowledge that our natural universe consists as a massive oscillation of electromagnetic waves), with our eyes we observe from the entire spectrum (Maxwell's rainbow) only a very narrow band, as light refracts and colors meet our visual cortex to create form and give us vision. Silent or, inert objects within our vision appear virtually static and solid, but they are not. They are waves of color. And photon particles.
Changing waves and memory simulate the illusion of motion to create objects that translate pleasingly into the artists' syntax. With dance, for instance, change becomes—expressions of life. Or catch a mime sometime and be held captive in an experience of timelessness. Some might say watching dance can be hypnotic, as we seem spellbound by the moment and by the motion of dance while interpreting movements; but I think seeing then is seeing more clearly and beyond the cloudy filters of our intellect, and, watching externally rather than 'understanding' internally, we give in to a better way of seeing, through art.
So, by dance, by art, we experience a timeless state and are transformed, if just momentarily, to a new state of awareness, which is an eternal moment always beginning, irrespective of the previous one and having no end, and is thereby—endlessly new. (Contrary to natural laws of entropy.)
If it seems I've suggested life is comprised of something like string theory appearing as a wave of uncertain change, then yes, I am saying something like that. And as bewildering as this might seem, and frightening, nature is all the while bound by steadfast laws and principles of which we, for a large part, seem ignorant of or choose to ignore in favor of more apparent sciences.
Within this deep fountain we are infused, both as distinct and indistinct parts of Creation. Yet, our minds are inextricably joined to the universal order, and from these we derive reason and create thoughtforms. Yet we go about, oblivious to almost all but the obvious but illusory input from our sensory systems as we continue in our far-flung ideas of life on this BB-sized planet, as being solid, inert, with some things wandering or orbiting in motion, but mostly separated by space and linked to a chronology of events. All the while, we are unable even to detect without instruments and almost unbeknownst to us, radio (RF) waves and neutrinos that pass silently through our being.
What appears almost in sympathy but ultimately in love, we inherit from time to time moments of pure genius that reveal Creation's deeper laws, with visions of innocence, beauty and truth for our individual and collective (social) edification and perhaps even our species' survival. At the very least, the survival of civilization. Of these the most enduring insights are expressed in our art.
Much of our ancestral insight was handed down generation-to-generation in song and myth, pottery and cave drawings (ref: Hawai’i; petroglyphics, chant, hula) to be later codified and celebrated as cogent ritual and/or literature (art). What we all seem to be seeking, and have been since 'Eve', are enough tangible pieces of truth to solve a puzzle that has engaged mankind for eons: ‘what is the nature of Creation?’
And by genius, interlocking pieces of the puzzle appear daily and throughout history, as insights with the power to transform, emerging from within our most creative experience. The ensuing artworks are said to be its containers—and they are. However, it's neither man nor the artworks but that which shines through that is genius. The subsequent artwork is a mere record of the event. Or, expression.
As is, likewise, Creation a record of divine genius and nature, the divine made manifest (of which we are a part), is art on a grand scale. The ability to clearly perceive this is instrumental to the creation of great art.
Simply said then, making art is making the hidden to be seen, as insights into Creation are revealed to exceptional individuals—artists, poets, oracles and prophets—"seers" (ref: 1Samuel 9:9, kjv) and are made manifest for all to see.
“The only way into nature is to enact our best insight. Instantly we are higher poets, and can speak a deeper law.” Ralph Waldo Emerson
In the stillness of a moment emerges the cosmos in an eternal state of creation; in it, as in our spiralling galaxy, on our small planet, and in every culture, abounds art. And in art we find the liveliness, clarity and truth that speaks to us of the nature of Creation.
* * *
ARTSPEED Arts Collective
Copyright 2011 Michael Earl Anderson; All rights reserved.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
O'Whyhee
O'Whyhee is how ships' captains entered into their logs, pre-1820s visits to the chain of newly discovered paradise-like islands found in the vast Pacific Ocean (see: Grapes of Canaan; Albertine Loomis).
Born in Michigan, I grew up traveling extensively in Europe, Asia and the Pacific.
At the age of seven and during my first Island visit, Hawai'i made a lasting impression on me. Later, while serving in the military my appreciation for tropical beauty and the diversity of Pacific Island cultures deepened and remained with me as I returned to civilian life, the mainland, and my education in the arts.
After completing my formal training, and with a wife and small child, I was on a spiritual quest and by a chance meeting with an exceptional individual, drawn once again to Island life. While steeped in Hawai'i's beauty and culture, I experimented with various media to depict Island people, eventually choosing oil paints to articulate my perceptions of tropical form and color. After several years—and the birth of a second child—I was featured by Aloha Magazine as guest artist.
I feel it is the nearness of native culture that ignites in each of us a raw and life affirming nerve, extending outwards to the beauty of its natural surroundings that overwhelm the senses. Or perhaps, for me, it is the proximity of a fellow indigenous people. My mother's family is from northern Finland, where the population is comprised of many indigenous Saami people. The Saami are the native tribes that migrated along the Arctic colds to follow or herd reindeer along the northernmost stretches of Norway, Sweden and Finland, and throughout Russia. These are not the early Finda, the forest people that extended as far south as Moscow. My cousins still reside inside the Arctic Circle, where I visited once, there, and in Oulu and eastward, toward the now-Russian border with Finland. The word in Finnish for Finland is Suomi, an obvious derivative of Saami.
My art is transfigurative. In my rendering of native Islanders I employ a direct, live painting style that evokes the deep, pervasive spirituality (often mixed with superstition, as was my Finnish grandmother) of the Islands and join it with the honesty of figurative realism expressed between artist and model. In my treatment of the female figure I try to strike a seductive balance between naturalism and classicism, while male figuratives exude energy and a lack of self-consciousness. I attempt to suspend time in my paintings by a careful selection of visual cues. These efforts combine to reflect the nobility of spirit I find in native Islanders and other agrarian cultures.
While the expressiveness of figures is central to my work I explore further, investigating how surface color and form can create deeper dimensions. By gently merging planar elements within my representational art, I instinctively pursue qualities that exist beyond the observable ... while fieldhands, fishermen, musicians and dancers provide the viewer with the timelessness of human experience and classical ideals.
Born in Michigan, I grew up traveling extensively in Europe, Asia and the Pacific.
At the age of seven and during my first Island visit, Hawai'i made a lasting impression on me. Later, while serving in the military my appreciation for tropical beauty and the diversity of Pacific Island cultures deepened and remained with me as I returned to civilian life, the mainland, and my education in the arts.
After completing my formal training, and with a wife and small child, I was on a spiritual quest and by a chance meeting with an exceptional individual, drawn once again to Island life. While steeped in Hawai'i's beauty and culture, I experimented with various media to depict Island people, eventually choosing oil paints to articulate my perceptions of tropical form and color. After several years—and the birth of a second child—I was featured by Aloha Magazine as guest artist.
I feel it is the nearness of native culture that ignites in each of us a raw and life affirming nerve, extending outwards to the beauty of its natural surroundings that overwhelm the senses. Or perhaps, for me, it is the proximity of a fellow indigenous people. My mother's family is from northern Finland, where the population is comprised of many indigenous Saami people. The Saami are the native tribes that migrated along the Arctic colds to follow or herd reindeer along the northernmost stretches of Norway, Sweden and Finland, and throughout Russia. These are not the early Finda, the forest people that extended as far south as Moscow. My cousins still reside inside the Arctic Circle, where I visited once, there, and in Oulu and eastward, toward the now-Russian border with Finland. The word in Finnish for Finland is Suomi, an obvious derivative of Saami.
My art is transfigurative. In my rendering of native Islanders I employ a direct, live painting style that evokes the deep, pervasive spirituality (often mixed with superstition, as was my Finnish grandmother) of the Islands and join it with the honesty of figurative realism expressed between artist and model. In my treatment of the female figure I try to strike a seductive balance between naturalism and classicism, while male figuratives exude energy and a lack of self-consciousness. I attempt to suspend time in my paintings by a careful selection of visual cues. These efforts combine to reflect the nobility of spirit I find in native Islanders and other agrarian cultures.
While the expressiveness of figures is central to my work I explore further, investigating how surface color and form can create deeper dimensions. By gently merging planar elements within my representational art, I instinctively pursue qualities that exist beyond the observable ... while fieldhands, fishermen, musicians and dancers provide the viewer with the timelessness of human experience and classical ideals.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)