Into The Sunset (March 27, 2009)

Today I visited “Into The Sunset: Photography’s Image of the American West” at the MoMA. I went with my friend Diana, an actress and playwright currently writing about a girl named Laura who longs to go west and take photographs. (This is just one of the many bizarre synchronicities which unite us). Diana just returned from Phoenix a few days ago and, like me, her heart is still rolling around out there like a tumbleweed. The exhibit seemed like the perfect setting to meet and catch up – for months I’ve been looking forward to what I assumed would be wall-sized sunsets, rock, and cacti. Perhaps Dorothea Lange’s “The Road West, New Mexico, 1938″ (above) best illustrates the endless calling in my heart – the limitless possibilities on the road to the sun.

I went to Central Park before meeting my friend, expecting to see some budding flowers on this gorgeous spring day. However, like most expectations, mine were disappointed. Aside from some forsythia things were still looking pretty brown. There’s no rushing the natural process, I guess. After enjoying the sunshine for a little while, I headed to the MoMA for a dose of color…

… and again, I was greeted by my expectations. The exhibit contains a wonderful collection of photographs from 1850 to present, both black and white and color, but very few were aligned with my romanticized view of the West. Some where downright painful. As Diana and I discussed our dwindling desire to be in New York – to escape the congestion and concrete for the mountains, endless horizons, and purity of the West – photographs of wasteland, housing developments, and freeways provided the backdrop. Sure, there were a few natural beauties to the exhibit, but most photographs didn’t directly support my fantasy, and therefore I had a difficult time absorbing them… in fact, as I write now, I feel like I haven’t even seen the exhibit. My preoccupation with what I thought “Into the Sunset” should look like blocked the actual images, like clouds blocking the sun. Interestingly, when I exited the museum it was no longer a sunny blue-skied day, but rather overcast and chilly.

And so I headed back underground, beneath the clouds of my expectations. The first step is to clear them away, and then repeat, repeat, repeat. They always return, like the rain – sometimes they drizzle and other times they downpour. But the light eventually burns through. This is why I revisit certain works of art again and again, inviting the pieces to gradually reveal themselves as I open to receive them, gradually revealing myself… Art is an intimate experience, like the blossoming of forsythia and sunlight on skin. And by art I mean life.

Have a nice weekend!

Into The Sunset (March 27, 2009)

Today I visited “Into The Sunset: Photography’s Image of the American West” at the MoMA. I went with my friend Diana, an actress and playwright currently writing about a girl named Laura who longs to go west and take photographs. (This is just one of the many bizarre synchronicities which unite us). Diana just returned from Phoenix a few days ago and, like me, her heart is still rolling around out there like a tumbleweed. The exhibit seemed like the perfect setting to meet and catch up – for months I’ve been looking forward to what I assumed would be wall-sized sunsets, rock, and cacti. Perhaps Dorothea Lange’s “The Road West, New Mexico, 1938″ (above) best illustrates the endless calling in my heart – the limitless possibilities on the road to the sun.

I went to Central Park before meeting my friend, expecting to see some budding flowers on this gorgeous spring day. However, like most expectations, mine were disappointed. Aside from some forsythia things were still looking pretty brown. There’s no rushing the natural process, I guess. After enjoying the sunshine for a little while, I headed to the MoMA for a dose of color…

… and again, I was greeted by my expectations. The exhibit contains a wonderful collection of photographs from 1850 to present, both black and white and color, but very few were aligned with my romanticized view of the West. Some where downright painful. As Diana and I discussed our dwindling desire to be in New York – to escape the congestion and concrete for the mountains, endless horizons, and purity of the West – photographs of wasteland, housing developments, and freeways provided the backdrop. Sure, there were a few natural beauties to the exhibit, but most photographs didn’t directly support my fantasy, and therefore I had a difficult time absorbing them… in fact, as I write now, I feel like I haven’t even seen the exhibit. My preoccupation with what I thought “Into the Sunset” should look like blocked the actual images, like clouds blocking the sun. Interestingly, when I exited the museum it was no longer a sunny blue-skied day, but rather overcast and chilly.

And so I headed back underground, beneath the clouds of my expectations. The first step is to clear them away, and then repeat, repeat, repeat. They always return, like the rain – sometimes they drizzle and other times they downpour. But the light eventually burns through. This is why I revisit certain works of art again and again, inviting the pieces to gradually reveal themselves as I open to receive them, gradually revealing myself… Art is an intimate experience, like the blossoming of forsythia and sunlight on skin. And by art I mean life.

Have a nice weekend!

Into The Sunset (March 27, 2009)

Today I visited “Into The Sunset: Photography’s Image of the American West” at the MoMA. I went with my friend Diana, an actress and playwright currently writing about a girl named Laura who longs to go west and take photographs. (This is just one of the many bizarre synchronicities which unite us). Diana just returned from Phoenix a few days ago and, like me, her heart is still rolling around out there like a tumbleweed. The exhibit seemed like the perfect setting to meet and catch up – for months I’ve been looking forward to what I assumed would be wall-sized sunsets, rock, and cacti. Perhaps Dorothea Lange’s “The Road West, New Mexico, 1938″ (above) best illustrates the endless calling in my heart – the limitless possibilities on the road to the sun.

I went to Central Park before meeting my friend, expecting to see some budding flowers on this gorgeous spring day. However, like most expectations, mine were disappointed. Aside from some forsythia things were still looking pretty brown. There’s no rushing the natural process, I guess. After enjoying the sunshine for a little while, I headed to the MoMA for a dose of color…

… and again, I was greeted by my expectations. The exhibit contains a wonderful collection of photographs from 1850 to present, both black and white and color, but very few were aligned with my romanticized view of the West. Some where downright painful. As Diana and I discussed our dwindling desire to be in New York – to escape the congestion and concrete for the mountains, endless horizons, and purity of the West – photographs of wasteland, housing developments, and freeways provided the backdrop. Sure, there were a few natural beauties to the exhibit, but most photographs didn’t directly support my fantasy, and therefore I had a difficult time absorbing them… in fact, as I write now, I feel like I haven’t even seen the exhibit. My preoccupation with what I thought “Into the Sunset” should look like blocked the actual images, like clouds blocking the sun. Interestingly, when I exited the museum it was no longer a sunny blue-skied day, but rather overcast and chilly.

And so I headed back underground, beneath the clouds of my expectations. The first step is to clear them away, and then repeat, repeat, repeat. They always return, like the rain – sometimes they drizzle and other times they downpour. But the light eventually burns through. This is why I revisit certain works of art again and again, inviting the pieces to gradually reveal themselves as I open to receive them, gradually revealing myself… Art is an intimate experience, like the blossoming of forsythia and sunlight on skin. And by art I mean life.

Have a nice weekend!

Neil Young – Light A Candle (March 21, 2009)

Neil Young – Light A Candle

Spring is here. Have a nice weekend.

Inspiration and the Creative Process (March 18, 2009)

I feel my power coming back. By power I mean “inspiration.” I don’t know if it’s the return of the sunshine or the exit of the flu or both or neither… I just feel really good today. Yesterday, too. March feels less lion and more lamb. Thank god. I couldn’t take the cold anymore. I’m feeling the eternal “yes.” (If you don’t know what I’m talking about you should watch the below clip – greatest movie of all time.)

… I started to write this blog 20 minutes ago and then my bowl of oatmeal was ready and in those 20 minutes I not only ate my bowl of oatmeal but I caught wind of a song and wrote it down in its entirety. There’s the eternal “yes” for you. I’ve never been a 9-5 songwriter – one who shows up to the table to consistently chip away at the marble. I go through my Hemingway phases, but I’m not a fan of “clocking in”… I don’t like to force it. Music is what I love, and it <span style=”font-style:italic;”>is</span> love, and you can’t force love. However I think I get away with never clocking in because I never clock out. I’m always tuned in – not like it’s a choice or anything. It’s not like the sun says, “I don’t feel like shining today.” Something’s always burning. Music is just the way I experience the world, and it is what allows me participate in the world: I think songs, I feel songs. I’m sure many of you can relate to that, whether it’s music or a sport or a person – one thing that you can see the whole universe in. Your portal to ______ – that which exists beyond words. Sometimes it’s torture, like love. It is labor – a labor of love. I think this clip best illustrates my creative process, and perhaps me, in general:

Somewhat tortured, distracted… in love and yet on another plane. Also, I’m kind of superstitious about the whole process. I don’t know if I’m superstitious or just cautious – I respect the mystery. I try to practice receiving, rather than just taking. And resting the soil, which is by far the most difficult for me. I had such a tremendous outpouring of creativity in late January that I got to a point where I was really empty. That can be a scary feeling if you don’t believe in yourself enough – if you don’t trust the earth beneath your feet. It should’ve been a joyful time, but I didn’t take the time to celebrate the harvest. If you just pile up your produce it’ll quickly turn slimey and moldy. You have to either eat it right away or make preserves – stash some in the root cellar, maybe. I was so hungry that I tried to work the land harder, rather than being grateful for what I had been given. I don’t approve of the way our culture has treated this planet, our home, and yet I caught myself doing the same thing. It can be hard to know when to stop if you become too attached to the process. And I was controlled by it – not sleeping, ink flowing constantly. Then for a couple weeks in February I was really depressed (okay, all of February), which turned into this cold-flu combo. It wasn’t until I accepted it that I started to move out of it. My good friend <a href=”www.myspace.com/laraherscovitch “>Lara Herscovitch</a> basically told me to just sleep and eat for a while – not to demand so much. There were weeks when basically all I did upon waking was shuffle over to the bathtub for a couple hours, sleep, eat, and lie down some more. And now here I am, finally coming around. The sight of a barren field can be unsettling to a young farmer, but I imagine the wiser ones trust the cycle and honor the deep restoration taking place underground, out of sight. Now I am rested and ready to enjoy these new songs and give them proper attention.

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Last night I played Banjo Jim’s “Off the Wagon” night with <a href=”http://www.myspace.com/ricksnyder”>Rick Snyder</a> and a whole bunch of great songwriters. I had a lot of fun playing my set and also catching up with <a href=”http://www.myspace.com/mattlenny”>Matt Lenny</a>, a serious guitar player. Listening to him play with <a href=”www.myspace.com/buckyhayes “>Bucky Hayes</a> I had the thought, “You never see someone that good without having to pay $100,” in which case I might owe Matt $100. Maybe he’d settle for a show plug – he’s playing tonight at <a href=”http://www.myspace.com/barfour”>Bar 4</a> at 10PM and you should definitely go check out his new songs. My fave right now is “Coming Home From the War.” Speaking of Matts – <a href=”http://www.myspace.com/mattjonesnyc “>Matt Jones</a> and I are playing this Friday – it’s my last show at Gizzi’s, where I’ve had a residency this winter, and my first show with the Blues Hawk! Woohoo! Or ca-caw? What sound does a hawk make? Come Friday and whoever does the best hawk call gets a free CD. And speaking of hawks makes me think of <a href=”http://www.myspace.com/theblackcrowes”>The Black Crowes</a> – I heard a recording of a new song yesterday about “love doesn’t live behind your eyes” or something like that – <span style=”font-style:italic;”>it blew me away</span>. I don’t think it’s coming out until this summer – does anyone know what I’m talking about? The performance was tremendous – really raw with some killer violin. Nice. Final words on inspiration: Life is short and we all want to be happy. What we love makes us happy. What we love inspires us. Find what you love and don’t look back.

Spring Cleaning (March 15, 2009)

Greetings from bed. I am really sick. I kind of feel like this picture… though less red jacket, more raw skin. All I can manage to do right now is lie down and listen to Vetiver’s Tight Knit, which has been in my stereo for about as long as I’ve spent my days in bed (three, four weeks?). I actually took the above picture two weeks ago as I was planning to write to you, but then I realized that most of my posts occur on laundry days and/or snow days, and as both were scheduled, I decided to give myself a pass. Instead I spent the day in the bathtub eating almond butter like pudding from the jar. Now that the winter’s almost over I’ve let myself unravel. I’m going to record an experimental album called “The Winter Without Heat” and layer the sound of dishes thrown against walls, hammers on pipes, screaming alley cats… jackhammers.

Would you believe that the above picture was taken two days after this one?

Spring has had some false starts this year. Not quite what the word conjures – boing! Rather spring has been a slow climb out of – and back to – bed. It’s just like being sick – one minute you think you’re feeling better and then you get up too fast and your vision goes black. That’s the strangest thing about this illness – I’ve been having these really scary dizzy spells. The first one happened on Thursday afternoon – I was standing in Think Coffee and all of a sudden I felt really dissociated, like I was going to pass out but also like I wasn’t in my body and I didn’t really know who I was. I’m kind of nervous to walk too far by myself for fear I’ll hit the pavement. Yesterday when I thought I was feeling better I met a friend and went to see Coraline 3D – wearing the 3D glasses was actually the only relief I’ve had from this dizziness. Maybe I have a 3D flu and I should keep wearing them. I really liked the movie, by the way.

I suppose my body is participating in spring cleaning. The snow is melting, my nose is running, the tears are flowing – it’s all the same process. A softening. What makes the transition to spring difficult is that we think of spring as the return of flowers and new life and increasing warmth, forgetting that the sun returns slowly, first shedding its light on what has accumulated in the darkness. There’s a lot of dead leaves to clear out and digest before the crocuses and daffodils emerge. It’s a time for planning, but also a time for surrendering and letting things unfold. For example, I played a show at the American Folk Art Museum Friday night, despite my gravely throat and vertigo. I did the best I could to prepare, taking various herbs throughout the day and resting, but ultimately when I got the show I said to the universe, “Okay, you’re driving.” I knew the performance was beyond my control. And I must say, it was one of the most enjoyable shows I’ve played in a while. I was in the moment, I had fun, and the crowd was into it. I suppose we’re never in control, and getting sick is just a friendly reminder to stop being such an obnoxious backseat-driver. When I was on tour and I had to play shows after all-night drives, I often had similar experiences of being really lucid and playing some of my best performances. My condition has steadily worsened since Friday, so I imagine Tuesday’s set at Banjo Jim’s is going to be positively transcendent

Speaking of tour – the turning of spring marks my final season in NYC. When I moved here in the summer I vowed that I would live in one place for an entire year, to see if (and to prove) I can do it. These eight months mark the longest I have lived in one place since high school and – more impressively – the longest I have stayed in one place in my entire life – I have not boarded an airplane since August, and any out-of-town gigs have been local, in NY or CT. So this is quite an accomplishment. However the road and I are looking forward to our reunion and things are going to start moving very quickly in the next few months. As you can see, I have a new traveling partner, too. But for now, this little seed is staying in bed.

P.S. Walking past Bergdorf Goodman after the show Friday night I saw this dress. Not sure what it has to do with the theme of spring cleaning and being sick, but I think looking at is making me feel better. You can meet the designer this Wednesday at 2pm.

Spring Cleaning (March 15, 2009)

Greetings from bed. I am really sick. I kind of feel like this picture… though less red jacket, more raw skin. All I can manage to do right now is lie down and listen to Vetiver’s Tight Knit, which has been in my stereo for about as long as I’ve spent my days in bed (three, four weeks?). I actually took the above picture two weeks ago as I was planning to write to you, but then I realized that most of my posts occur on laundry days and/or snow days, and as both were scheduled, I decided to give myself a pass. Instead I spent the day in the bathtub eating almond butter like pudding from the jar. Now that the winter’s almost over I’ve let myself unravel. I’m going to record an experimental album called “The Winter Without Heat” and layer the sound of dishes thrown against walls, hammers on pipes, screaming alley cats… jackhammers.

Would you believe that the above picture was taken two days after this one?

Spring has had some false starts this year. Not quite what the word conjures – boing! Rather spring has been a slow climb out of – and back to – bed. It’s just like being sick – one minute you think you’re feeling better and then you get up too fast and your vision goes black. That’s the strangest thing about this illness – I’ve been having these really scary dizzy spells. The first one happened on Thursday afternoon – I was standing in Think Coffee and all of a sudden I felt really dissociated, like I was going to pass out but also like I wasn’t in my body and I didn’t really know who I was. I’m kind of nervous to walk too far by myself for fear I’ll hit the pavement. Yesterday when I thought I was feeling better I met a friend and went to see Coraline 3D – wearing the 3D glasses was actually the only relief I’ve had from this dizziness. Maybe I have a 3D flu and I should keep wearing them. I really liked the movie, by the way.

I suppose my body is participating in spring cleaning. The snow is melting, my nose is running, the tears are flowing – it’s all the same process. A softening. What makes the transition to spring difficult is that we think of spring as the return of flowers and new life and increasing warmth, forgetting that the sun returns slowly, first shedding its light on what has accumulated in the darkness. There’s a lot of dead leaves to clear out and digest before the crocuses and daffodils emerge. It’s a time for planning, but also a time for surrendering and letting things unfold. For example, I played a show at the American Folk Art Museum Friday night, despite my gravely throat and vertigo. I did the best I could to prepare, taking various herbs throughout the day and resting, but ultimately when I got the show I said to the universe, “Okay, you’re driving.” I knew the performance was beyond my control. And I must say, it was one of the most enjoyable shows I’ve played in a while. I was in the moment, I had fun, and the crowd was into it. I suppose we’re never in control, and getting sick is just a friendly reminder to stop being such an obnoxious backseat-driver. When I was on tour and I had to play shows after all-night drives, I often had similar experiences of being really lucid and playing some of my best performances. My condition has steadily worsened since Friday, so I imagine Tuesday’s set at Banjo Jim’s is going to be positively transcendent

Speaking of tour – the turning of spring marks my final season in NYC. When I moved here in the summer I vowed that I would live in one place for an entire year, to see if (and to prove) I can do it. These eight months mark the longest I have lived in one place since high school and – more impressively – the longest I have stayed in one place in my entire life – I have not boarded an airplane since August, and any out-of-town gigs have been local, in NY or CT. So this is quite an accomplishment. However the road and I are looking forward to our reunion and things are going to start moving very quickly in the next few months. As you can see, I have a new traveling partner, too. But for now, this little seed is staying in bed.

P.S. Walking past Bergdorf Goodman after the show Friday night I saw this dress. Not sure what it has to do with the theme of spring cleaning and being sick, but I think looking at is making me feel better. You can meet the designer this Wednesday at 2pm.

Spring Cleaning (March 15, 2009)

Greetings from bed. I am really sick. I kind of feel like this picture… though less red jacket, more raw skin. All I can manage to do right now is lie down and listen to Vetiver’s Tight Knit, which has been in my stereo for about as long as I’ve spent my days in bed (three, four weeks?). I actually took the above picture two weeks ago as I was planning to write to you, but then I realized that most of my posts occur on laundry days and/or snow days, and as both were scheduled, I decided to give myself a pass. Instead I spent the day in the bathtub eating almond butter like pudding from the jar. Now that the winter’s almost over I’ve let myself unravel. I’m going to record an experimental album called “The Winter Without Heat” and layer the sound of dishes thrown against walls, hammers on pipes, screaming alley cats… jackhammers.

Would you believe that the above picture was taken two days after this one?

Spring has had some false starts this year. Not quite what the word conjures – boing! Rather spring has been a slow climb out of – and back to – bed. It’s just like being sick – one minute you think you’re feeling better and then you get up too fast and your vision goes black. That’s the strangest thing about this illness – I’ve been having these really scary dizzy spells. The first one happened on Thursday afternoon – I was standing in Think Coffee and all of a sudden I felt really dissociated, like I was going to pass out but also like I wasn’t in my body and I didn’t really know who I was. I’m kind of nervous to walk too far by myself for fear I’ll hit the pavement. Yesterday when I thought I was feeling better I met a friend and went to see Coraline 3D – wearing the 3D glasses was actually the only relief I’ve had from this dizziness. Maybe I have a 3D flu and I should keep wearing them. I really liked the movie, by the way.

I suppose my body is participating in spring cleaning. The snow is melting, my nose is running, the tears are flowing – it’s all the same process. A softening. What makes the transition to spring difficult is that we think of spring as the return of flowers and new life and increasing warmth, forgetting that the sun returns slowly, first shedding its light on what has accumulated in the darkness. There’s a lot of dead leaves to clear out and digest before the crocuses and daffodils emerge. It’s a time for planning, but also a time for surrendering and letting things unfold. For example, I played a show at the American Folk Art Museum Friday night, despite my gravely throat and vertigo. I did the best I could to prepare, taking various herbs throughout the day and resting, but ultimately when I got the show I said to the universe, “Okay, you’re driving.” I knew the performance was beyond my control. And I must say, it was one of the most enjoyable shows I’ve played in a while. I was in the moment, I had fun, and the crowd was into it. I suppose we’re never in control, and getting sick is just a friendly reminder to stop being such an obnoxious backseat-driver. When I was on tour and I had to play shows after all-night drives, I often had similar experiences of being really lucid and playing some of my best performances. My condition has steadily worsened since Friday, so I imagine Tuesday’s set at Banjo Jim’s is going to be positively transcendent

Speaking of tour – the turning of spring marks my final season in NYC. When I moved here in the summer I vowed that I would live in one place for an entire year, to see if (and to prove) I can do it. These eight months mark the longest I have lived in one place since high school and – more impressively – the longest I have stayed in one place in my entire life – I have not boarded an airplane since August, and any out-of-town gigs have been local, in NY or CT. So this is quite an accomplishment. However the road and I are looking forward to our reunion and things are going to start moving very quickly in the next few months. As you can see, I have a new traveling partner, too. But for now, this little seed is staying in bed.

P.S. Walking past Bergdorf Goodman after the show Friday night I saw this dress. Not sure what it has to do with the theme of spring cleaning and being sick, but I think looking at is making me feel better. You can meet the designer this Wednesday at 2pm.