Creativity prompt

I was never the class clown. I am not a troubled but devilishly handsome wastrel living on a trust fund. I’ve never beaten up anyone, have steadfastly not aspired to write like Raymond Carver, and have never played strip Scrabble with a junkie violinist on a leaky waterbed in a Key West penthouse. There are so many things I am not and will never be, and I’m glad I know about them. It helps me stay focused on exactly who I am. What about you? Who aren’t you? Fantasize about all the paths you will never take. Put it in writing. 

The above statement is from Rob Breszny’s Free Will Astrology page for Taurus this week. I don’t put too much faith in things like astrology, but Mr. Breszny’s site is amazingly inspiring. No matter what your “sign” may be, he has good advice for every person. ESPECIALLY if you are skeptical about these things like me, take a look at his site, read through the advice for different signs, and just try to be impossibly uninspired.

So, I wanted to share this prompt with all of you: write about what you aren’t, what you will never be, and be joyful that you are trekking a path nobody else can take.

For me, briefly, I am not a loud person, I don’t like to talk very much. I cannot make daily blog posts because I do not live with internet or TV at home and I hate being on the computer. I will never be an astronaut and a famous actress, like I fantasized when I was a kid. I have never lived outside of New Mexico, I have never partied in Juarez. I want to turn into a bird some days, and other days I want to turn into a cat, and still other days, I want to be a tree blowing in the wind. These things will never happen, so I’m obsessed with birds and cats and trees. I will never be a monsoon thunderstorm in the desert, dumping rain on dry land, calling out the frogs and weeds and flowers, bringing briefly some lushness to the seemingly drab desert. I will never cruise Mulholland Drive in a fancy car with my movie star husband and poodles, talking about last night’s cocktail shindig and what’s-her-names ugly dress and wondering whether I should wear my Ray-Bans or Maui Jims to this afternoons BBQ at some famous fuck’s house. I can’t even understand that kind of life. I will never be the waxing moon setting orange on the horizon, sinking fast, just like what I observed last night.

Thinking of all the things I’m not makes me so grateful for all the things I am. Happy Tuesday!

1984

The cops are dressed like Bane.

Them and us are nameless.

This is how Fascism begins.

The heroes are the villains in this new eclipse.

“Fighting drugs” means children slain, grenades, broken doors.

Free the radicals.

Keep throwing money down the drain.

The sky’s greatest gig is emptiness.

Huddling together, sitting in idling trucks, trying to drown the rain.

Like sheep?

In reality, sheep are a brave, clever collective.

Should we continue to be frogs, realizing it’s too hot when it’s already too late to jump away from the boiling point?

Should we carry on, feigning awareness through Facebook?

Should we keep living under the covers, obsessed with our damaged brains, ignoring the holocaust outside?

Or should we be like sheep—

Speak and breathe. Time is on the run.

The 21^st Century could be any color we like.

To evolve or devolve? The answer is up to us.

08/14/14

This is a poem I wrote yesterday. It’s a strange one and I could probably take some more time to edit it, but I felt the need to share these words while everyone’s talking about police brutality, bias and militarization. We all need to remember that we can change the way we treat each other and our world, but it takes action not inaction. I feel that humans have a choice in the 21st Century: we can all kill each other and destroy our Earth, or we can work together to make the world more beautiful. I write these words and paint pretty pictures in hopes that people will choose the latter. In this world that often feels exactly like the cruel Orwellian future we’ve all feared, it’s important that we get away from the depressing media circus and go outside, having face-to-face contact with other humans and creatures, remembering the whole time that the world is our beautiful home to take care of together.

Have a nice weekend: spread some love, pick up some trash, and give your enemies a hug.

If You Could Save Yourself (You’d Save Us All)

On a free ride home from the embassy, I saw the governor and his lover holding hands.

When I got to my place, I emptied my suitcase, and opened the windows wide.

If you could save yourself, you’d save us all! Is that what you called me for? Is that why you’re knocking on my door? The time I’ve spent working myself to death! Thought that’s what you wanted, I thought you needed my help to make it good again, to make us strong, to make you happy, to push you along! And gain some respect, to be thrown a crumb, I was on my knees, when you knocked me down!

The wheels fell off, the bottom dropped out.

The checks all bounced, I came in your mouth.

Your mother came calling but there was no one around.

The trash caught fire when the leaves turned brown.

The vultures were circling when the circus left town.

I left you a note but I wrote it in disappearing ink.

(Repeat chorus)

 

These are some of my favorite song lyrics to one my favorite songs by Ween. It is a great example of a fragment poem used in a song. The verses are full of short statements describing seemingly disparate things that, when put together, have richer meanings based on their context. I love this song because it’s extremely sad, yet, in typical Ween fashion, they manage to bring humor into it. Personally, I always struggled with bringing humor into my poetry until I embraced fragment poems. This allowed me to add humorous statements into a serious topic comfortably, and taught me that having humor in a sad story intensifies the overall effect.

One last thought on Ween and their songwriting: many people hear a few Ween songs and can’t get into it because on the surface, they seem too silly to be taken seriously. However, humor is how we deal with the toughest things in life. If you really listen to Ween’s songs, aside from being extremely talented musicians, their lyrics are very complex. You’ll find the things you’re laughing at in their songs are actually some very depressing and despondent human situations. Think about it: humanity’s despair is pretty hilarious.

 

Another fragment poem

This poem combines a few lines I wrote in July 2010 with a fragment poem I wrote on an envelope from September 26, 2011. My poems deal with a lot of dream imagery because I have very intense, recurring dreams. In fact, one of the reasons I travel so much is because I constantly travel in my dreams.

It’s funny, looking back on my old writings and realizing that I can remember why I wrote these poems, and can still relate to that person I was four years ago on some level. In fact, I did a lot of writing in 2010, but quit suddenly due to various changes in my personal life. I also stopped playing music during this time, so for about three years my only creative outlet was painting. Here I am, reading old poems, realizing that I kicked off 2014 by picking up the pieces of my abandoned writing and music. It feels so good to be back in the habit of writing and playing music every day while still keeping up with my painting.

 

Dead Weight

The sound of one hand clapping is the sound of your feet dragging across the floor.

Jackson Pollock says, “Everyone should do whatever the hell they wanna do.”

When can we stop walking on eggshells?

It’s late September, and I can already smell Christmas.

“Put away your corsets, put away your shoes.”

There are not enough towels to wipe up the floods we started.

A cigarette is the best cure for waiting.

I’d rather sleep alone for the rest of my life than share a bed with someone who refuses to touch me.

I am always flying to New York City, standing at Rockefeller Center and just looking up.

We’ll never know the weightlessness of swinging.

I’ve hated myself my whole life; why change now?

At the ocean, we play soccer and have painting classes. In the mountains, we pick apples and talk to sorcerers.

I don’t know what I’ll do when the hummingbirds go away.

September blues are no laughing matter.

 

 

Old September Blues, oil on canvas, ©2012 Meg G. Freyermuth

 

 

Fragments

The following is a revision of several fragment poems I wrote in the spring of 2010. I’ve been going through some old writings, and these sentences stood out at me. There are several quotes in this poem: they are from, respectively, Haruki Murakami, Devendra Banhart, and the film “All the Days Before Tomorrow.” Other influences on me at the time may or may not be obvious. At the bottom are two sketches I made along with the original poems.

Easter’s leftovers are scattered sweetly around my house.
Only the smells of spring can soothe while stabbing me in the chest.
“I have all the time in the world because time doesn’t exist.”
When I close my eyes, I see only blue-green fields speckled with forests from the End of the World, shrouded with a purple sky.
“I’ve never seen anything as wise as the sunrise.”
I’m glad thinking of your pain got me out of bed and on my front porch, drawing, wearing my grungiest jeans, the ones that fit again because my appetite died.
My lungs are charcoal hills.
This week, it’s oxen and rivers. Last week, it was sheep and snow. The moon is still missing.
“I don’t wanna lose what we have. I’m sorry I can’t offer you more…. In another life, maybe.”
We’ll eat cucumber sandwiches and discuss Pakistan, zen masters, the second law of thermodynamics, and stuffed turtles.
In spring, humans try to fuck like pigeons, but we could never be so dispassionate, brief, simple, empty. Right?
I’m moving to Iceland to join a convent.
“He saw himself in a different town, facing a momentary river.”
We’re still trying to get back to the dark side of the moon.
My tears are purple rain.
Again, it’s spring, and I watch my loved ones collect water from the rivers + clouds + dew, leaning out airplanes, cars and homes, begging for one more drop.
At least I’ve got my garden to smile at me each morning.

A Spokesperson for Nature

A quick follow-up to my last post on plein air painting:

I paint landscapes and nature not just because I love it, but also because I believe people who are passionate about nature need to speak up for it any way they can. Personally, I think nature does speak for itself: who’d want to destroy places like this??—

 

 

Yet, somehow, there are many people in the world who don’t give a shit about nature or protecting beautiful places like these. So, those of us who care need to constantly speak up for it. I feel that plein air painting is one of the more scientific endeavors an artist can make: studying one spot intently, making note of changes in weather and light. It’s difficult, and requires lots of focus and physical energy. Activities like this get me really excited about the connections between artists and scientists. It’s no wonder that most of the books I read are about science and environmental history: I am conducting my own scientific experiments every time I paint outside, and they inform the viewer on the importance of wild spaces.

 

Plein Air Painting

Painting my favorite mountain, Organ Peak in the Organ Mountains (now a national monument!), 08/08/2014

Painting en plein air, or “in the open air,” is an important activity for any painter to try, especially landscape painters. This activity became popular among artists in the 1870s primarily due to two innovations which eased the process of painting in nature: the paint tube and the box easel. The French Impressionists of this time period are known for regularly attempting this activity. Artists such as Claude Monet, Camille Pissarro, and Mary Cassatt would walk and hike all over, seeking out scenery to paint outside. Later, Vincent van Gogh also worked in this manner for most of the seven years he spent painting.

 Poplars, Claude Monet

Painting en plein air has been a popular activity among landscape painters since the 19th century. Today, in America, there are plein air societies and clubs and competitions all over the place. Unfortunately, for a poor, young artist like myself, getting into these clubs/societies is expensive &/or impossible due to my age & lack of fame. So I tend to look for competitions in the southwest to participate in to gain some exposure in this realm.

I’ve participated in two plein air competitions in my hometown. The first was in 2010, and took place on September 11. We had five hours to set up, complete a painting, clean up, and turn the painting in. I painted the view of Tortugas Mountain and the Organ Mountains behind it from some farmland in Mesilla. I had a blast, and by the end of it, I didn’t care if I’d win anything or not because I had spent the day doing what I love. The next day at the awards ceremony, I was shocked to hear I’d gotten second place in the professional category. I titled the painting “Freedom,” and decided painting outside was something I should continue doing.

Freedom, oil on canvas, Second Place in the First Annual Color Las Cruces Plein Air Competition ©2010 Meg G. Freyermuth

The next year, I participated again in the same event. There were about 40 artists involved, five or so more than the previous year. It was a similar group of people, and I once again found myself to be the youngest person in the group by 20-30 years. This time, we had seven hours to complete a painting in the spot of our choice, so I went to my friend’s farm in Mesilla to paint the farm’s old peach tree with the Organ Mountains in the background. Another change in the rules was a choice of size (the previous year, everyone had paint a 12″ x 16″ painting; in 2011, it could be any size under 20″ x 24″), so I painted on an 8″ x 10″ wood panel. It was the smallest painting in the competition, and once again, I couldn’t believe my ears when they called my name for first place in the professional category. As the youngest person in the group with the smallest painting, I felt a great sense of accomplishment and justification in my decision to be an artist.

La Mancha: The Peach Tree, oil on panel, First Place in the Second Annual Color Las Cruces Plein Air Competition ©2011 Meg G. Freyermuth

Although I don’t always paint outdoors (due to weather conditions, or the type of image I’m trying to create), being in nature is an essential part of my work. I first started painting en plein air in 2009, after graduating from college. (In school, I was usually working on very large paintings in the studio, which I’d use my own photos and sketches for; there will be future posts about these paintings.) It wasn’t until I participated in plein air competitions that I really had a concept of what it entails, and how to be prepared for long periods of painting outside. Whether I’m painting outside or in, nature is the number one influence on my work. And, as an American painter, I feel the urge every day to paint the beautiful landscapes we are lucky to have left in our country.

This September, I’ll be participating in the Escalante Canyons Art Festival‘s plein air competition, which is a week-long festival in three of southern Utah’s counties. The festival honors Everett Ruess, an artist, writer, and naturalist who disappeared in the Grand Staircase-Escalante area in 1934 at the age of 20. I couldn’t be more excited about spending a week painting one of my favorite places in the country in honor of a great American legend. It’s gonna be a great way to kick off the autumn season! In the meantime, I’m spending most of August outside, painting, drawing, and enjoying the beautiful neons of the desert this time of year.

 Organ Mountains, 08/04/2014

Co-ops On The Road: Boise Food Co-op

The capitol building in Boise. This is not the co-op.

On June 12, 2014, I visited the Boise Food Co-op in Boise, Idaho. I had just finished walking around downtown Boise, cruising the rose gardens at Julia Davis Park, and enjoying the history lessons at the Idaho Historical Museum. I was thirsty and hot, and walking into the cool co-op was refreshing. There were tons of plants (flowers and vegetables) surrounding the front doors to the co-op. I was pleased with the amount of plants they had for sale.

I must admit, this co-op reminds me a bit of a Whole Foods in that it is huge and beautiful and has a lot of products available. However, it’s friendlier and a thousand times more fun than a Whole Foods. Boise’s co-op has huge selections of cheese & dairy products, juice, smoothies, produce, alcohol, and everything else you’d want from a grocery store. What I was really impressed with was their deli: they have a huge deli where you can buy sandwiches, soups, juices, smoothies, salads and more, all made right in the store. You can order these at the deli counter OR you can find pre-packaged amounts of all of their deli items for sale in the store. It was the best deli/grab-n-go situation I’ve ever seen at a co-op.

Fortunately, I ran into my good friend Andy, who works at the Boise co-op. We chatted about the co-op; he informed me that they had recently gone through an audit with the NCGA (National Cooperative Grocer’s Association), so the store actually has less product than it had before, and was re-organized in a more inviting way. I was in awe; I thought the co-op was gorgeous and I loved the variety of products.

I ended up not buying anything here because my friend was getting off, and we decided to go have a beer at a local Basque restaurant/bar. But I am still looking forward to my next visit to Boise and getting one of the Boise Food Co-op’s delicious smoothies made by co-op angels. If you are ever in Boise, a stop here is definitely worth it!

Redwood bonsai stump

“Redwoods don’t die if they burn. A redwood can be burned to a blackened spar, and afterward it goes, ‘Wooah,’ and just grows back…. These trees can teach us how we can live. We can be hammered and burned, and we can come back and be more beautiful as we grow.” -Stephen Sillett, as quoted in Richard Preston’s The Wild Trees.

Breathing in the fog
Bonsai millionaires-or,
Giants of our time

July 2014, ink on paper, Meg G Freyermuth

We have so much to learn from the trees.

Open Wound

07/31/2014

Is it possible to rip my chest open, screaming,
so it can collect my tears?
Like the Rio Grande rift,
20 miles to the west,
Where the Earth splits itself open,
desperately gathering rain from the desert’s screeching clouds