July Alive List

Many returns: to land and to the artist-self

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It’s been a moment since I’ve busted one of these joy-centered missives, so here I am, standing before you, with a bunch of cicadas blasting in the background, fingertips at the ready. Reporting to you live, from Independence, Missouri – my stable and shelter before the big move back to home-home, in Lawrence, Kansas.

And while this move was a slow one (and a tough one), I’m ready to share with you all the things that have made me smile, think, feel, and most importantly, feel alive since my return.

The Artist’s Way

I thrive on routine, so it is no surprise that the structure of The Artist Way – a reorienting and semi-sacred text amongst artists is something I can cling to. The thing that TAW is best known for is its Morning Pages, a freeform exercise to be done first thing in the morning. I’ve been leaning on Morning Pages to give my days structure and rhythm, and the effort hasn’t failed me. Sometimes Morning Pages become Evening Pages, but the root of the exercise remains the same: we have upwards of 50,000-70,000 thoughts a day – unconscious or conscious, and what the Morning Pages does is exorcize some of the most banal ones to free you up for art-making and imagination.

There are also weekly exercises like going on a solo artist date. Week one focuses on the naysaying voices that charge through artists like an unrepentant brat. We get to examine where discomfort with wholly committing oneself to art comes from – our parents, teachers, friends, society? Alongside that we also see where our champions live. I must admit, I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time tangling with the critical voices of my artistic life versus the celebratory ones, but having the time to tease the two out has been helpful.

Peripatetic Therapy

One of many portals found on the Little Blue Trace Trail

Walking is a thing I’ve done a lot of. Being carless in Portland, Oregon will do that for you. And while that was an activity borne out of necessity, I’m now walking for fun, for clarity, and to commune with newish-to-me nature. As I make my temporary summer home in Independence, Missouri I’ve become hungry for time outside. The Little Blue Trace Trail, which abuts the Little Blue River is a jewel of the Independence area and while walking it, I’ve seen all manner of flora and fauna.

Some of which include:

1. 10 or 12 point buck

2. A doe

3. Several eastern bluebirds

4. Several cardinals

5. Widow skimmer dragonflies

6. Cup plants – which resemble small sunflowers with leaves that form cups for water

7. Thistle

8. Honeysuckle

A wise and sweet woman I know (who may be reading this) introduced me to the sacred art of talking to oneself. She’d mutter and putter about the house, with conversations over chopped pears or avocados and layered sandwiches, a twitch of her pen and an outloud reminder as she penned out a to-do list.

So I’ve taken to talking to myself on the trail. Outdoor spaces are much less populated here than they are in the Northwest, but I still have to be aware of talking to myself too loudly lest I look like an unhinged and lost weirdo in a pink hat.

Some of the conversations have been hard. I have to wrestle with my decisions – have they been right, true? Have they brought me, or others peace? Did my decisions hurt people? Sometimes I’ll talk to my ancestors – thanking them for carrying certain traits on in me, for working hard. Or I’ll wonder aloud at how I can heal the parts that need healing. The sentence that I repeat to myself, and that does this healing justice right now is “I’m here. I’m here for you.”

The Kaw Valley Almanac

I liked a lot of things about Spokane. I like my job and the wonderful people I work with. I love the people I befriended over my 8 years there. I love the stability and sense of closeness I had in my home. With all that said, there is a layer of living that is felt almost unconsciously, one of true belonging, inspiration and clarity. For me, that feeling fits best – in my bones and my spirit in the Midwest. The best way I can describe it is that my nervous system feels at peace here.

Strangely enough, I like the humidity. I like thunderstorms and lightning. I like the mesmerism of Cicadas. I like the limestone homes – blocky remnants of a once oceanic past. It is these elements that make me want to learn more, and I get to do that; I get to pay closer attention to the life around me via tools like the Kaw Valley Almanac.

Almanacs are some of the oldest texts on earth. They describe weather and agricultural patterns, somewhat mundane facts, but the Kaw Valley Almanac is different. In it I see a poetry of the Plains. I see its author as a veil-holder – one who pins back the divide between the seen and unseen. It is both a work of dedication, but also of art. Here are a few examples:

I look forward to seeing how the land changes before me: not just with my senses as I observe, but through these weekly notes from Ken Lassman of the Kaw Valley Almanac.