Being creative for adults requires letting go of fears. Fears of not being “good enough”, being made fun of, or fears of “wasting time”. Recently, I read somewhere that fear is an emotion that one cannot fight with logic. One must resist fear with an equally strong emotion like joy.
Sunflowers By Annika
When Annika painted this sunflower, I doubt she had any worries at all. Looking at it makes me think of warm summer days and happiness. Whether a child is painting, drawing, writing silly rhymes, lego-ing, humming/singing or roll playing (acting), they are so overcome with joy, they don’t give a rat’s bum-bum about the end results. They become so totally lost in their creative process, real world concerns drift away to be replaced by a world full of possibilities.
Become like a child today for just thirty minutes. Drop what you are doing, play like a child and feel the power and joy of letting go of your adult preconceptions.
Here’s another article written by a watercolor artist. You could easily replace “painting” with any other creative pursuit.
When I was five or six years old, my family would catch me singing along with the radio. “Whole Lotta Love” by Led Zeppelin was one of my favorites at the time. As I grew up, I remember sitting in my bedroom, listening to my favorite songs, and singing along at the top of my lungs. My mother would often politely knock on my door, and ask me to turn the music down.
Flash forward some twenty years later, and imagine my huge surprise when a friend (Scott Murray) asked me to hang out with him during a practice session at studio Base Bin on St. Laurent Boulevard here in Montreal. I knew Scott from a folk band we played in, and I was surprised that he also played in a rock band. At the time they called themselves “The Merry Magdalens”, and eventually abbrieviated the name to ‘The Magdalens”. Without hesitation, I agreed to tag along.
A member of the band once described the musical style of The Magdalens as “a hybrid of the Foo Fighters, fronted by Barbara Streisand on lead vocals”. Strange as that sounds, it really worked. I found myself being invited back to these practices, as I figured out how to best fit in my Irish whistles, and backup vocals.
Rock and Roll Whistler
Frank, Nancy, Scott
Being in a rock band was the most exciting musical experience of my life. The Magdalens were actually writing their own songs, with contributions coming from multiple members. There was not a single cover we performed, it was all original material. Friday night practices became the highlight of my week. After work, I would head off to my favorite little restaurant called Pattati-Pattata, for a quick burger and poutine. Then I would cross the street to a bar called Domino, where we would meet for some beers and a post work-week venting session that always left us laughing. At seven o’clock we headed to the studio for a three-hour practice.
Personally, it was the practices I loved most, breaking into a musical sweat, and inventing new riffs. In fact, when some band members took their smoke breaks, which often stretched into long twenty-minute yik-yak sessions, those of us who truly loved our craft would switch up our instruments, and start playing whatever the heck we wanted. Sometimes, I would sit at the drums, while the drummer would grab the lead microphone, and we would crank out “London Calling” by the Clash, or some other classic. We figured the studio was expensive enough, why not take advantage of every single minute?
Of course, I did love performing in concerts: Being on stage is when I feel the least shackled by my physical limitations. I get to present what is inside of me, rather than worrying about what my unique exterior looks like. But to be honest, even at this entry level, being a rock and roller is not an easy life, especially when you have to maintain a day job. Despite the highs I experienced performing live, coming home at two in the morning can be quite hard on a middle aged dwarf who has more heavy metal in him than some electric guitars.
A fellow band member once said that “Putting a music band together is harder than herding cats”, and I could not agree more. Also, life being what it is, people get married, and people move on to what interests them more. Not long after we recorded some tracks for CHOM FM’s annual “L’Esprit” competition, I was informed by Scott that the band decided only our two leading ladies would sing from that point on, and that the men were no longer going to provide back-vocals. They still wanted me to play my whistles on some of the tracks, but in the end, that alone was not incentive enough to carry me through the more grueling aspects of our schedule.
I politely declined to stay on with the Magdalens, and wished Scott the best of luck. I think, (I hope), I did not give Scott too much grief at the time, but still we did drift apart after that. I regret this because Scott is a gifted songwriter, and a very nice person to be with. Scott recognized something within me that even I did not know was there. (Thank you Scott, to this day, I continue to hum and write songs for my daughter, based on the confidence I gained from my experiences with you and that whacky bunch.)
Ironically, the band broke up soon after, the lead singer deciding she wanted to pursue an acting career, if memory serves. I have no hard feelings towards any of my former bandmates. I will forever remember the weekly fun we had, sharing jokes during our pre-practice pub sessions, and the unbelievable excitement of practicing and performing with, the Merry Magdalens!
Here are some tracks from the Magdalens way back when:
Here is where you can read and hear what Scott Murray is up to these days:
Being creative is not something special, or only what “gifted people” do. Creativity is a muscle in your brain that can be exercised, expanded, and strengthened by the things you choose to do. Join me in this lovely pursuit of doodling, and share the results. (Lord knows, I don’t want to be the only person sharing the windshield splats of my imaginative mind.)
First, let me state, I’m no trained artist, I just know what pleases me. Colors make me happy, as does non-restrictive processes. I realize how oxymoronic “non-restrictive process” sounds, but, that is the best term I can come up with. In essence, most of my pieces are a kind of Frankschach inkblot, with a bit of refining afterwards.
For my watercolor works, I begin with a watercolor paper block like the following:
I lay my block down flat rather than propped up on an easel. Then, from my tubes of watercolor, I select the colors that appeal most to me at that very moment, and begin splotching colors wherever I feel like. Then, using my paint brushes, I splotch, speckle, slather and spatter plain water wherever it pleases me. Sometimes I will pull a water trail into a color patch and let the color bleed onto the water. Depending on how much water you use, you can also grab the block and tilt it to “encourage” the flow of water and colors to go where you want them to.
While the paints are still wet, you can then begin to disperse the paint where it is thickest, moving the brush in random directions, through other colors, or through watered areas, letting colors meld where they may. If you “see” an image in your mind’s eye as you go along, then, encourage those outlines with finer brushes.
Self-Portrait: Pain In My Neck
At this early “wet” stage, you can also use different tools to spread the paint, and not just brushes. Fine flat surfaces like an artists spatula or plain ruler can have interesting results. Sponges and rolled up paper towel corners can also create interesting textures. I find minimalist color choices work best at this stage, one to three colors at most, otherwise, images that might appear to you will be muddied.
Then, once I like what I see, I let the whole thing dry completely. After a day or so, I go back and decide if the painting needs another color or two laid down on top. Once I’ve laid down my additional colors, while they are still wet, I will wipe away parts of the top wet layer with q-tips, rolled up paper corners, in order to reveal the original layer beneath.
Let the whole thing dry again, and just look at it as you please. Sometimes, I will see images in the paint, and start highlighting them with black ink. If you are at all nervous about ruining your original water color, get a color copy of it printed up and doodle on that. Or, you can sketch in very light pencil, and once you are satisfied, ink over your pencil lines.
What The ?
As I’m doodling on top of my water colors, I’m just putting down what I see in my imagination. If what I see is a silly face, a balloon, or a scary monster, then, that’s what I draw. In the end, you are just trying to make yourself happy. Perhaps in the process you will find some surprises, and learn a bit about what makes you tick.
For my black and white drawings, I like to use various Pilot fine point pens, and, a Pentel “inkbrush”. I start with laying down random lines everywhere, and then laying down various patterns and other squiggles in-between, as I rotate my drawing pad. Mostly I’m just learning what my tools are capable of, but as I’m playing, I pause and look at the lines, letting images flow in my mind, and occasionally managing to capture one that pleases me.
Sharing can be hard sometimes, especially if we are not surrounded by like-minded and supportive people. Add to that, the fact that practicing any art can more often be a release for ourselves, and not necessarily something that wants to be shared.
Boy,s Cluttered Mind
When I was very young, I had two siblings who particularly loved to tease and make fun of me. To this day, I fight the effects of their almost constant and mocking laughter that echo in my mind, especially when I’m drawing.
Who You Looking At ?
With this first series of drawings, it took me a little while to realize that in many of them, you can see a little boy hiding somewhere in there, just having a little fun. Particularly if you download them, zooming in, and/or rotating them, you will find some surprises here and there. I hope you all enjoy!
My wonderful wife Bonnie and I have been together now since 1998. Early in our relationship, she noticed that some people stare at me when we go out in public. For me, such things are like water off a duck’s back: One gets used to being a rare visual occurrence in the lives of people that have never had the pleasure of encountering a dwarf. Bonnie, the love of my life, did not like it one bit, and I don’t blame her. It is a rude thing to stare at anyone, never mind if they stare at you with their jaw dropping to the ground, and eyes fairly popping out of their heads.
In our first summer together, we attended the jazz festival, and the gazing goons were out in fool force, whoops, so sorry, I mean, full force. At one point, the staring got to be so ridiculous, I can’t remember who suggested it, but one of us decided “Fudge it, they want something to stare at, we’ll give them something so stare at!”
The night was so beautiful, and the music so great, we just got up and danced. Of course, you could hear multiple thumps, as even more jaws hit the ground, but eventually, those people got the hint. We were just two people, obviously in love, and enjoying ourselves. Nothing to stare at, move along please.
And even better, there were other couples dancing together and having a wonderful time, and they looked at us too, but in a much more polite manner. Their discreet smiles and brief glances said to us, “Yeah, right on, be yourselves, have fun, and let the gawkers hurt their jaws”.
We had not yet moved in together so that night when I went home afterwards, I sat in my living room, fairly humming from the positive vibes Bonnie and I had generated. I then went to my dulcimer and started playing, and a song magically appeared out of the blue. The words are still a work in progress nearly sixteen years later, partly because our story is still in progress, and partly because, I can be so very strangely shy when it comes to sharing.
But still I will share the refrain written that evening, as well as the basic song recorded long ago on my dulcimer.
Supporters and members of the Parti Québécois get angry when you call them fascists. Looking at the definition of fascism, the Oxford dictionary states:
“The term Fascism was first used of the totalitarian right-wing nationalist regime of Mussolini in Italy (1922–43); the regimes of the Nazis in Germany and Franco in Spain were also Fascist. Fascism tends to include a belief in the supremacy of one national or ethnic group, a contempt for democracy, an insistence on obedience to a powerful leader, and a strong demagogic approach.”
Although the PQ appears to be more left leaning, I’d say, they are much more FASCIST leaning. They clearly display at least 3 of the major points above:
#1) Belief in the supremacy of one national or ethnic group (Français Pure Laine, hostie!)
#2) Contempt for democracy. (The recent denial of many student’s voting rights, and the rigging of the last referendum being just two examples)
#3) Strong demagogic approach (appealing to popular desires and prejudices rather than by using rational argument)
Also, what else can one say, when you have citizen-spies working voluntarily for the “language police”, reporting instances of non-french usage between working class free citizens? (I’m referring to the case where two co-workers at the Jewish General hospital were reported on by some anonymous tipster to the OQLF for speaking Creole amongst themselves while they were working.)
I understand the right to be served in French whilst in Quebec, but if you are not the person being spoken to, who cares if people are speaking in Latin, Swahili, or Esperanto, IT AIN’T NOBODY’S BUSINESS! And if you do feel that what they are talking about is your business, then just ask. I’m a Francophone by birth, and yet, I feel like a dog with an electronic collar, waiting for some stranger to zap me if I misbehave by daring to speak English.
More and more, living in Quebec feels like being trapped in a nightmarish combination of “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” and George Orwell’s “1984″. Any minute now, some linguistic alien-zombie will point at me and screech. At which point, an OQLF SWAT team will surround me, and I will then be carted off to the Ministry of Love, for some Language Re-Education.
My father-in-law recently bought a Proscan PLT-1066 tablet for our daughter Annika. Reading the user guide feels like you are taking dance lessons for the first time, where you sort of understand some of the steps being shown to you by an instructor who is South American, and has a very thick accent. Once in a while, you do a double take, wondering if you heard correctly, as you try to replicate the dance instructions and hoping you don’t wind up looking like a pretzel, or injuring yourself during an impossible maneuver.
Only instead, you are reading a technical manual about an electronic device, and it is your mind that winds up in a pretzel. There were oh so many examples of bad writing in this tablet manual, but here are my top three pics in reverse order.
# 3: You can set up the font size according to individual’s favorite, there were respectively: small, ordinary, big, huge.
My smartass comment: “there were” different font sizes, but most of them are gone now. The only size we have left is huge.
# 2: Storage capacity that dishonest nominal for android system occupies about hundreds of MB storage capacity, also in order to install the software needs, the system must lay off certain storage capacity, so the actual usable space and nominal space have deviation.
My smartass comment: You just can’t trust those dishonest nominals anymore, let alone understand just what the heck they are! I also love how precise they are NOT being when they say how much storage the operating system needs: HUNREDS of MB. Since when is guestimating that wildly acceptable in the profession of electronics engineering? (This might not be totally the fault of the technical writer. If the engineers gave that estimate, then how can the writer argue with them?)
# 1: When CPU in high-speed operation, especially in 3D games or in long time playback high-definition video, the fuselage will have the phenomenon of fever.
My smartass comment: Is this a jet plane, or is it a tablet? Also, I can hear it now:
“My tablet’s fuselage has a fever!” said the end user.
“No worries, take two virus checkers, and call me in the morning” replied the technical support specialist.
Considering how much money was spent developing and manufacturing this tablet, you’d think they could afford a few writers who know how to actually WRITE. I know, I know, there I go being unreasonable and unrealistic again. I think I’ll go work out my frustrations on an unsuspecting dishonest nominal.
(Author’s note: This song is meant to be for young kids, from about the ages of 2-6. From my experience, the kids really love to act out the last two lines of every verse. Especially if you play this for some kids, post any comments and kids reactions right here on this blog. THANKS!)
Wish I were a bumble bee,
Flying ‘round an apple tree.
Drinking nectar all day long,
Singing my sweet bumble song.
Buzz, buzz , a buzz buzz buzz,
A buzzy buzz-buzz, buzz buzz buzz!
Wish I were a kitty cat
Curled up in a great big hat.
Lying in the nice warm sun
That would be so very fun.
Purr, purr, a purr purr purr,
A purry purr-purr, purr purr purr!
Wish I were a little duck
That would really be such luck.
Fluffing feathers on my back
Swimming fast and saying quack!
Quack, quack, a quack quack quack,
A quacky quack-quack, quack quack quack!
Wish I were a little bird
Tweeting songs you’ve never heard
Soaring in the sky so blue
That’s what I would love to do.
Tweet, tweet, a tweet tweet tweet
A tweety tweet-tweet, tweet tweet tweet!
Wish I were a puppy dog
Chasing squirrels and a frog.
Playing fetch with my good friend
And cuddling with them at the end.
Woof, woof, a woof woof woof
A woofy woof-woof, woof woof woof!
Wish I were a shiny fish
Swimming ‘round and going splish.
Soaking in a lake so cool,
Like it was my swimming pool.
Splish, splish a splish splish splish,
A splishy splish-splish, splish splish splish.
Wish I were a butterfly,
Floating in the summer sky.
I would gently glide along,
Wont you help me sing this song?
Glide, glide, glide glide glide,
A glidy glide-glide, glide glide glide.
(At this point the song slows a bit).
Wish I were the moon above
Watching people fall in love
Shining there so big and bright
Lighting up the darkest night.
Shine, shine, shine shine shine shine,
A shiny shine-shine, shine shine shine.
I am a francophone who in his youth, was raised in the United States for ten years. Back in 1965, when I was one year old, my parents left Sherbrooke, Quebec, and moved to the city of Pawtucket, Rhode Island. At that time, nobody in our family spoke English, but we all became bilingual in very little time. Throughout those ten years, by and large, the Americans we met were warm and welcoming. When we moved back to Quebec in 1975, it was with great sadness because we left so many friends behind.
During our ten years in the United States, as a francophone learning English, I was never teased no matter what language I spoke, whether it was French, or my broken English. Furthermore, there were certain people that liked the fact I spoke French, and even asked me to do so. By contrast, when I moved back to Quebec, I was called nasty names like “Frog” by Anglophones, or “square head” by Francophones. I cannot even begin to imagine what immigrants experience, especially ever since the infamous Charter of Quebec Values was proposed by the Parti Quebecois.
I am proud of my bilingualism, but I’ve never hidden the fact that I’m against separation, and the PQ. I am also against the OQLF, when everyone is afraid to speak their language of choice with friends or clients, whether they are at work or not. As long as employees are able to communicate with their clients, the heck with what the government says. Even here in Quebec, we are all protected by the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, it is time that we force the Quebec Government to respect this fact.
Imagine if the OQLF continues to expand their mandate, and requires all merchants to no longer say “Hi” to their potential customers. Do you really want to pay more and more taxes to allow the OQLF to monitor us all so rigorously? Or would you prefer that the government improve our economy? Especially if we want to attract companies and tourists to our beautiful province, do you really believe that we can do this using only the French language?
I do not want my beautiful little girl to live in the paranoiac world the PQ have created, and proposes to intensify. I want Quebec to become a welcoming place for all people, of all religions. As a family, with love and respect towards all our unique members, that is the only way we can rebuild our economy.