AB STRACTS: A Mini-Zine

 I needed to get out of my head a little, and since figuring out what to write in a zine is always the hardest part for me, I decided just to draw, paint, and color in one instead.

Here is a mini-zine I called "AB STRACTS". I'll include the title of each with the picture. Enjoy.

"Art and Time"

"Trying to Be a Circle"

"Blue and Yellow Make Green"

"Matt"

"Spicy/Abstracted Abstract"

My Youth In Perdition

spent my seminary in the bar

preacher pouring brimstone and hellfire

in a holy joke of whiskey blood and

pretzel flesh communion my cup running

over grinning brothers singing barstool hymns

sisters filling up with spirit giving

betrayal with cigarette kisses

bloodshot the windows the passages dim

pilgrimage homeward and lost as a coin

with a need to kneel before the throne

to retch a prayer in penance to atone

Paper Love

now like an origami swan

tell me how to fold for you

fragile as paper our love

i measure the overlap

careful creasing so we touch

cutting eyes across the table

pass through absently shredding

flicker with the television

my hands busy with the strips

not folding but a hopeful chain

for counting days to your return

January and February

that long dark January ride

watching through the window grime 

wishing light in the early night

then bag check and security line

and on to February’s gate

layover here with flight delays

out of joint these still dim days

a month of time again to wait

For The Birds

one great pleasure i know

is walking away from work midday

to spread birdseed on the snow

Dinner And A Show

tiptoe around the dinner table turning

dancing clenched with seething teeth

some suspicious leap remains unspoken

cut a rug and swept beneath

A Brief Ode to Caffeine

when i wake in a fog 

with the world at a slant

i fall to the ground

up seeds of a plant

which i boil and brew 

steam velvety soft

cloud of milk in the cup

unfolds like a cloth

to bathe my brain 

in warm wakefulness

slowly the haze slides away

with a kiss

replaced by a bitter-sweet

taste on my tongue

and a rhythm in my blood

from the sun like a drum

Strange Nature

if living is only taking

each waking moment 

uncountable consequences

some untold loss fomented

then our temporariness

gives respite to the world

or earth derived a death drive

some strange nature manifested

creators of its own end

which we are obsessed with

these weary worried thoughts inside

borne by silken darkness rise

then inside of me another me

looks out with alien eyes

Reflections In A Storm

the turbulent darkness

of rain molten sky

silhouette water cascading

night slips past diagonally

lightning smiling splits

thunder her extinguished voice

streetlight too lit laughing hours

cricket song not dashing noise

twilight stars her hair the clouds

a mellow field of soft green grass

which the solemn silence spun

sharp as shattered glass

and love only distantly

as obscured by rising haze

for some itself is nebulous 

and love only distantly

A Book Review: The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron

(Just a reminder that these are my opinions. You're entitled to your own.)

I started reading The Artist’s Way (hereinafter abbreviated as TAW) by Julia Cameron at the beginning of November last year (2023). It was my intention to take it seriously as a 12-week course, so I switched from being a consummate night-owl to someone who wakes every morning at 5 in the interest of committing fully to improving as an artist. And aside from a few missed mornings, I successfully completed the course last month.

Well, I say “completed”.

Morning Pages and Artist Dates

There are two elements to the course that Cameron emphasizes as being integral to getting the full benefit from TAW: “The Morning Pages” and "Artist Dates". 

Some quick background: 

I’m father to a 5-year-old and a 16-year-old, both of whom wake up very early for school. My wife is a school teacher with a long commute, so she’s usually up and out of the house by 7am. I work from home as a technical writer for a company, and am tied to my work laptop from about 8am to 5pm Monday through Friday.

For the reasons above (among others), I started getting up at 5am to make sure I had quiet, undisturbed time to write the required three longhand notebook pages (The Morning Pages) of stream of consciousness, and do the tasks at the end of each of the twelve chapters.

At first, “The Morning Pages” are just a way to write-vomit out baggage first thing in the morning when your brain is still close to the unconscious. You’re not supposed to show them to anyone and (until chapter 9, or so) you’re not supposed to reread them. This last part was frustrating for me because, as much of a chore as they seemed at times, those pages were often filled with creative and personal insights and breakthroughs that rival therapy. 

Artists Dates, however, were next to impossible for me. 

Once a week, students of TAW are supposed to take themselves out alone on a date for inspiration. These are meant to be miniature retreats of several hours. This was a part of TAW I only got to do twice. For me, there are just not enough hours in the week. For that reason, I can’t speak to how beneficial this part of the course would be. I can only say that the second outing resulted in a few pretty good poems mostly written in a diner over coffee.

Creativity as Spiritual Practice

If there is a weakness in TAW, it’s this. There is major emphasis on expressing creativity as a spiritual practice. “God” is mentioned throughout the book as a broad metaphysical entity who wants what’s best for our creativity. Cameron tells us that because God is a creator, creativity itself is holy. 

Nowhere does TAW approach sounding as cultish and as much of a spin-off of 12-step self-help programs out of the late 1970s than here.

I consider myself a spiritual person. I have my own beliefs spun from a bit of the Dao, a bit of Buddhism, and a healthy dollop of the Judeo-Christian beliefs I was raised with. But Cameron’s concept of God struggles with its own identity.  At once Cameron’s God is the creative impulse itself, an all-loving muse, and just an acronym for “good orderly direction”. 

I understand that Cameron’s trying to get everyone to suspend disbelief regardless of background, but God gets muddled in the mixture, and seemed pretty textually amorphous to me most of the time. 

So, I forged my own way of approaching this portion of the course. I wrote the recommended personal artist’s prayer (a task in one of the early chapters of the book), and incorporated creativity into my personal spiritual practice as a central tenet.

Takeaways

Did TAW creatively unblock me?

As a person who is suspicious of every self-help and personal improvement book I’ve ever heard of, stumbled upon, or been force-fed, begrudgingly I have to say yes. I do actually feel freer to explore my creativity through painting and writing than I ever have before. 

I used to be scared into submission by fear of failure, or get down on myself for being lazy. Now I find it easier to forgive myself when I need to step away from my canvas or computer and recharge my batteries. I also find it easier to push through fear. If I fail, so what? I start again.

I still do The Morning Pages, though my dedication to rising at 5am is less religious than it was while I was taking the course. I’ve kept a journal in some form since I was 10 years old, but my journaling method moving forward will be forever changed by this practice from TAW. I will, however, allow myself to go back through my entries and drag them for creative raw materials.

Also, if I ever get a chance to take the course again – perhaps in retirement, or if I ever become self-employed through my artistic pursuits – I will be sure to go on every possible artist date.

Recommendation?

If you’re a creative person with aspirations toward improving your output, or if you’re feeling stuck and unproductive in your creative practice, I recommend The Artist’s Way. You’ll get the most out of it if you actually treat it like a 12-week course and do as many of the exercises as you have time for. 

If you’re not a very spiritual person, I recommend you suspend disbelief if only to devote time to meditating on the source of your creative impulse. While Cameron’s message is a bit confusing at times in this regard, I just gave myself permission to be flexible with it and do what I wanted.

Ultimately, you pick a path that feels right for you and stick to it, and if you find it leads somewhere you didn’t want to go, don’t beat yourself up. There are a million more ways available to you. I think that’s what freely creative people are better equipped than most to see.

Home Safe

accursed dutiful consciousness this

is a last gasp against familiar fists

burning wielding recognition’s power

screaming wolf and waving flags for hour after hour

while any hope of change or progress stalls

control is born inside of four safe walls

Thinking of California

the rising inches reach alone

the fleeting flows are tied

deluge debris all deepening

smash over closures wide

heavy speaks the falling month 

as atmospheres convey

words into rivers wetting foot

the catastrophic day

We Mortals

this life in the all-hallowed cosmic night

is the flicking flame of Now seeing

our childlike choir of warm souls rapt

in the luminous singing of Being

Keeping Deep Time

effervescing time

that measure we will ape to the last 

with each searching minute gray

count in the bleeding thousand 

glowing windblown days bleating

mainlining radioactive decay

just breathing in hairless eternities

time again to get to know trees 

before the trees are done

locked and resting sun-side 

end it with a pointless ritual march

across the twilight barrier

to the clutch of ancient hollow tombs

standing stones a semicircle in a circle

while the world shades this last target

until the sun’s last swallow whole

Unconscious Coffee

any method that seeks to free

my unconscious mind

to make its own connections 

i find pretty sound

the hallway is so narrow 

to hallowed ground

and filters here will always catch

a larger grain or two

but i would rather be water

and get through to the brew

wouldn’t you

Bus Pan Soup

the diner rises predawn

closed sign soon spun open

slapping the silence

clock coffees clattering cups

cutting through brown blinds

day’s waves ripple

circadian synthesizer

after several escalations

trays filled and exhausted

this mass of sweat 

and kitchen stink

congeals and individuates

becoming another face 

lost in seething crowds 

on the babbling street