Going Inkless

     Mom's favourite colour is green.  It has been for as long as I can remember.  There was never a question about which colour to pick when choosing or making a gift for her or which sheet of construction paper to transform into her birthday card.  It was very helpful for us kids when we wanted to make something special even more so.  Grandma was more of a mystery.  When asked to declare it, she'd say her favourite was "sky blue-pink with purple polka dots."  Although that sounds a lot like lavender to someone learning to mix colours, I'm sure it was just her way of saying any colour we chose would be just right.  I still have no idea if she really preferred one colour over another or if, like me, she tended to love what suited the moment.  Then again, her car, the one she had for the 17 years I knew her, was a deep forest green.      Mom's love of green was sometimes puzzling to me as a child.  It seemed lik...

     Human beings are creatures of habit.  So are other creatures, as far as I have observed, but since most of the creatures who read this blog are humans, I'll focus on that angle.  We all develop routines.  We do things in the same way or at the same time over and over, day in and day out.  The patterns repeat without interference from our brains, and that's the point.  When you've worked out the mundane stuff and you can just follow the routine, your mind is free to work on more interesting things.      Even someone like me who appreciates random surprises will fall into habitual patterns.  I still wake up at the same time each morning.  It doesn't matter if it's a weekend or vacation except that on those days, I may get to roll over and take an immediate nap.  The internal alarm clock still rings at 6 each day.  Each morning, I follow the same steps to get ready for the day.  I drive the same route to...

Recently, I confessed to a pen pal that I had been struggling with a little depression a few letters back. I described to her the steps I had taken to shake it off and apologized if my mood had filtered into the letter. We correspond through audiotape, so I was particularly concerned about the infectious nature of vocal tone, and I also didn't want her worrying about me. The recording is just a point in time and not representative of the whole roundness of things as I've described in earlier posts. My friend responded with astonishment. "Your voice is always so cheerful and positive," she explained, "I didn't think you got depressed about many things." The truth is, everyone gets depressed. There is some comfort in that. We are all united in the experience. We can let go of any self-defeating feelings of inadequacy at our lack of perfect happiness because they're all based on illusion. Everyone feels sad or lonely or small. Everyone gets frustrated a...

Picture an artist. Is he painting? Does she dance? Does he write poetry, act, sing, sculpt? Is the one who sews a dress or builds a beautiful table an artist? Must the art be decorative, meaningful, concrete? Is there art in piecing together parts of others' work, or do we call it art only if it's 100% original? Is an artist still an artist if they never support themselves by selling their work? Are they less of an artist if they do? Is an artist still an artist when he's just watching TV, or sleeping, or eating his dinner? We all have different ideas of what constitutes art, and therefore, what makes an artist. Opinions on the topic are varied and changing. Most would say they would know art when they saw it, but few could define it with any sort of clarity. That's because art is an intangible magic, half the expression of the artist and half the perception of the viewer, listener or reader. It is a communication, an offering and acceptance. The artist can never know h...