whoa….we saw one on the des plaines river trail and stopped short. it looked like candy on the path, but on closer examination, we discovered it was a spider! an orange spider. it’s called a marbled orb-weaver. and it’s pretty intense. and, i suppose if you are not spider-phobic like me, it’s beautiful.
later that month, we were hiking at bristol woods, one of our favorite go-to places to hold staff meetings as we walk together. out of the corner of my eye i caught the glimpse of bright movement in the air…sure enough, it was one of those marbled orb-weavers (doesn’t that just slip off your tongue? lol!) it was dangling on a web-strand that was at least 5 stories high! whattheheck! this roly-poly little spider was bravely trying to reach a white mass that was a bit flattened (an egg cocoon with several hundred eggs, we read later) while being tossed about in the wind, up and down, sideways.
i could practically hear this spider whisper to itself, “gotta have sisu, gotta have sisu” as it climbed, bobbing, bobbing, up its long, high-above-the-ground web, finally reaching its cocoon and wrapping it close into its body.
wow. what we do for our babies, eh? amazing stuff. the stuff of sisu.
sisu. perseverance. fortitude. stamina. courage. determination. my grandmother mama dear used this finnish term all the time and passed it down to my sweet momma beaky who passed it down to me. a philosophy of life, a mantra, “you gotta have sisu!” mama dear would say. if up against the odds, if forging upstream, my sweet momma would say, “you gotta have sisu!” and so it was without a second thought when it was time to name my own company, the independent recording label that has been sisu music productions for the last 23 years. i can’t think of a better name for all the challenges that have risen – and continue to rise – as an independent artist.
any moment of fear, of uncertainty, brings me to draw on that sisu…digging in my heels and standing firmly in it. it’s kind of a blind faith and has everything to do with that. in the face of adversity, of the scales tilted not-in-your-favor, you just keep on. in the face of fear…everyone has their thing…the thing that makes them afraid…the thing that makes them white-knuckled…you just keep on. sisu.
i was flying back from telluride to denver a couple days ago – in a smaller plane. there was a big strapping guy all dressed in camouflage who got on the plane before me. he told the flight attendant he had been out in the middle of nowhere hunting (successfully) elk and mule deer. he was a rough and tumble kind of guy and ended up seated just across the aisle from me. when the plane hit turbulence, particularly over the front range, his face turned red and he looked over at me with a deer-in-the-headlights look and said, “i hate this part!!” i started talking to him then, trying to ease his obvious fear, talking about the wind currents and the mountains…how i could see the airport…we are almost there…just a teeny bit further…wheels are going to touch down any minute…. he was gripping the lock on the little tray table and finally relaxed his grip and smiled. everyone has their thing.
we can loan others the sisu we carry with us. we can bank on the sisu we carry with us. i often credit being-from-new-york for times i have just forged-ahead-anyway, but my sisu roots go way further back than that.
sisu. i stood back from the edge of a deep deep canyon the other day, my beautiful daughter on another boulder a few hundred yards away. i looked at the sky, the sunset playing over red rock. thought about that very moment in time, this moment i was sharing with the part of my heart known as kirsten…this moment that wouldn’t be repeated. and i heard the voice in my head, “you gotta have sisu.” i stepped to the very edge of the canyon, stretched out my arms and laughed aloud.
“4. silent days (4:33) the sad side of silence, the incredible loneliness of not connecting, the urgency of it all.”
i wrote these words for the jacket of this album in 1996. they are no less valid today. we are in an inexorable time of too-much-silence-too-much-noise. we stand perilously close to saying too much. we stand precariously near the abyss of not saying enough. a balancing act, it’s a lonely place, a place of silence. in our home, in our families, in our friendships, in our communities, in our world, silent days are devouring and saving relationships. both.
this is a time that has beckoned the meek to become strong, the quiet to speak the truth, the lonely to be heartened by having a voice, the invisible to become visible. we deliberate over our words, we speak, we boisterously challenge, we thoughtfully listen. we consider the consequences of not connecting. we steer away from noise just for the sake of noise.
and yes…there is urgency. for “there comes a time when silence is betrayal.” (martin luther king, jr.) and there is this line – a fine line indeed – but one which all who are human may straddle: “wise men speak because they have something to say; fools because they have to say something.” (plato)
to be quiet is one thing. unassuming. proactive in soft tones. to be silent is another.
speak your mind even though your voice shakes. (eleanor roosevelt)
download SILENT DAYS track 4 BLUEPRINT FOR MY SOUL on iTUNES or CDBaby
there are small pieces, corners, smidges of david’s paintings that stand out for me. a slice of color or pattern, the morsel, like THE SHADOW OF DIVISION, catches my eye. no less than the painting in its entirety, just differently.
earth interrupted IV and the words he penned on the canvas: let what you seek catch up to you…stand still, stand still… earth, suspended in the midst of a color palette.
the people of this good earth – ever-seekers…surrounded by color…choices…in a moving river…vulnerable…standing still…rotating, rotating. are we mindful?
this good earth – this fragile fragmented globe…its colors…its rivers…its steadiness…its rotation…its vulnerability. are we mindful?
we were in cedarburg and on our way out the door of one of our favorite shops there – leap of faith. i go way back with this shop; during the years that small boutiques sold cds they carried mine and i would, from time to time, play a live performance, hand in hand raising awareness about my music. the silver peace ring i wear at all times is from this shop. i have meandered many a time through this place, breathing a little easier as i peruse and read their cards, signs, gifts, positive messages all, open to all.
as we walked out, i spotted this small bowl of blue marbles and the words “take one”. a symbol for our planet. a prayer for peace. i didn’t need another invitation. the song lyrics accompanying this blue marble hummed in my head all the way home, even after wendy and i loudly sang “i believe the children are our future…”while striding down the sidewalk after hearing it in another shop.
our blue marble, our good earth, tiny in the vastness, might thrive. we might thrive. if not for us, then for the children. our children. they are our future.
on this day, election day in the united states, i cannot think of a better antidote… er…aspiration than to embrace the upcoming world kindness day wholeheartedly, emphatically, honestly.
the mission of the world kindness movement and world kindness day is to create a kinder world by inspiring individuals and nations towards greater kindness.
the goal of the non-profit organization is “making kindness a greater part of everyone’s daily lives and increasing the awareness of the positive benefits of kindness to health and the overall well-being of society.”
“this day (world kindness day) aims to increase the value of kindness in society as well as increase the amount of kind acts that take place nationwide, making kindness a greater part of day to day life.”
i cannot help but think of my sweet momma as i write this. she didn’t need a celebratory calendar-day to pledge to be kind. she just was. she would be disheartened by our current state of affairs, determined to make a difference one little moment at a time, one kindness at a time. for as i look around, that is what is lacking. basic kindness. what i see in its place is ugly; anger and passionate division, fear and volatility, rudeness and a combative disrespect for humanity.
“on this day, participants attempt to make the world a better place by celebrating and promoting good deeds and pledging acts of kindness, either as individuals or as organizations.”
wendy aka ben aka saul brought the movie so that we could watch it together. the musical the greatest showman was completely entertaining. there are so many quotes and moments in that movie that are worthy of repeating but the one that is on-screen at the conclusion is by far the umbrella quote. “the noblest art is that of making others happy.”(p.t. barnum)
so often, it is the arts that people turn to for a breather, for something beautiful, for something to relieve their stress. a person will listen to music, gaze at a painting, get lost in reading a book or watching a play, feel their breathing slow down during a ballet, sink into a poem. invaluable offerings of peace, of happiness, the arts give pause.
it is humbling when someone tells me that a piece of music has touched them, that a song has made them weep, that something i wrote made them stop a second and ponder. it is my job as an artist to do my best to reach out with my work. i can’t determine if it will resonate with anyone; i can only “put it out there” as they say.
it is more often lately that i bemoan the priceless value of the arts that coincides with the oft-price-less earnings of the arts. for what better work than to make others happy. what better work than to be part of what people turn to when they need to breathe, when they need beauty, when they need to de-stress.
it is noble work. however you achieve it. for at the end, will we remember anything other than what made us happy and, more importantly, how we made others happy?
in all the chicken-scratch-notes i have about this piece of music, i have written in the presence of a heartbeat. the pulse that spans the entire 6 minutes 14 seconds, this heartbeat starts the piece. it is throughout the piece. it ends the piece. it is no accident that this composition seems interminable, ever returning to the theme; figuring “it” out often seems that way, a curse of perseverating analysis paralysis, depending on what “it” is.
i just erased what i had next written about this. i couldn’t help but talk about my repeated use of a rising leading tone gesture in the theme, f# to g, f# to g, off the beaten major root path, but instead the path of starting on my ever-loved ninth in the e minor key, a key that resonates so often with people. then i thought, “blahblahblah!!” geeeesh. that’s way too much information. so i erased it. (yes…there were even more details before i erased it!)
i composed this at a time that was laden with things to sort, to figure out, to resolve. it is one of the longest pieces i have recorded. there are moments you can hear the almost-there-ness of it, but, like life, it reverts back to the initial themes, the initial questions. and then, punctuating it, from time to time, a firm melodic gesture (f#-g-f#-e) where you can hear the lyrics in your head, “figure it out.” much easier said than done, eh? but our hearts keep beating.
i can feel this painting. i recognize it. i have anxiously waited, looking out the window, babycat in lap, dogdog by my feet. leaning forward, i have peered outside…waiting for someone to arrive, waiting for the mail, waiting for the sun to come up, waiting for my mind to rest.
we are in a time…you can feel the nerve endings jittering. it is not a time of rest, nor is it a time of peace and unity. we lean forward, looking out the window at moments passing, hoping to catch a glimpse of tomorrow and see a calmer day, a day where we might find a spirit of cohesion, a respite from the storm of divisiveness.
THEY WAIT…a beautifully poignant painting honoring the ever-faithful companions by our side, quietly and patiently waiting. with no idea of why, with no questions asked, they steadfastly stay with us.
this tree. gnarly and twisted and wrinkly. it looks a little halloween-esque at dusk and could be downright scary in the dark of night. it’s seen so much life, so many decades and its lifeblood travels throughout the healthy tree, bringing and sharing nutrients. home to insects and small creatures, it provides shade for the vegetation beneath it. it’s not just an old tree and it’s not the picture of what we think of when we think of a beautiful tree. but it is. beautiful. you just can’t judge a book by its cover. my sweet momma always said that.
momma would look in the mirror and talk about the wrinkles on her face and how “old” she looked. in her wheelchair she could appear to be meek, wrestling with difficulties and just an old woman. but that was so not so. she had seen much life. she was home to my dad, me and my sister and brother, our families, extended members as it fanned out the branches of our family tree, her friends. she provided warm words and kindnesses to all around her, strangers among them. she was beautiful. every last gorgeous wrinkle. you just can’t judge a book by its cover.
we had a black lab years ago, one of a few in our family history, when The Girl and The Boy were little. his name was hughie and he had at least 47 allergies. he was treated for many of these and we tried to address the auto-immune disease he had as well, but he lost most of the hair on his body. he looked gnarly and rough and wrinkled. as a lab with little hair, he looked scary to those who did not know him. he struggled and, even in his discomfort, was gentle and sweet, a learning for The Girl and The Boy, who were his and, despite his outward appearance, knew what was inside. he was not the picture of what we think of when we think of a beautiful dog. but he was. beautiful. you just can’t judge a book by its cover.
inside. beautiful. how hard is it to always remember that? you just can’t judge a book by its cover.
reverse threading 