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How Young Are We?

08 Mar

When my phone rings I sometimes just stare at it wondering what I’m in for when I answer.

When my 21 year old daughter called me about a month ago and said she just had to go to Bali to find herself and she needed to go in this next week before her studies started again,  I knew what the next question would be.

“I need such and such before Tuesday” (3 days away) was the request.

I am always at the ready with a prepared statement that I have memorized for such times as this.

“Um, no, not today.”

It’s not that I don’t want to help but from EXPERIENCE when a request for money comes in that is needed TODAY many questions start formulating in my mind the first always being “why?”

Her argument was heartfelt and sincere. “I just have to go now, I don’t know why, I just feel I need to go and find myself“.

Why is that young people wait until the last millisecond to ask for help. Maybe it’s because I happen to be the last on the list. If all else fails call dad.

All the time in the back of my mind the “worried dad” syndrome is working overtime. My god travelling to Bali by yourself, how dangerous can that be, can’t you find someone to go with, can’t you find yourself someplace in this country, why do you have to find yourself today. Can’t you prepare accordingly to find yourself a little at a time?

I recovered and gave her the best advice I could give with out discouraging her.

“If you were meant to go then it will happen.” And I meant it but without my help. That would be too easy and what fun would there be in that.

Our discussion turned into a high-powered, intense verbal tennis match between two top mental athletes.

In all fairness I will call the match a draw, abandoned because I was too tired to go on.

Again I reiterated, “if you were meant to go it will happen” but without me I said again to myself.

Obviously it was meant to be because in a few days she was off to find herself in Bali. And find herself she did. When she returned she phoned me and we met for a bite to eat and listen to her dramatize what was to be the most exciting trip of her young life.

As I listened intently I saw myself in her at that same age. I had dropped everything including a job, apartment and secure life at 23  to hitch hike across Canada with my dog to “find myself”.

I was intrigued by her youthful exuberance that I once possessed myself. Her willingness to follow her gut feelings on doing something so terribly out of the ordinary, something that she never had done before, because she just knew she had to do it.

And that is the way life is at times. If we really want the best in life, we sometimes have to just do it at any cost because we know we have to, we know we want to and we know if we don’t we are going to miss out, even if we don’t know how the end result will find its way into our plans.

We can’t always wait until all the pieces of the puzzle fit snugly together in place to show us the over all picture before we are willing to venture out. In fact most of the time we only get a few pieces to the puzzle and we have to take some sort of action to find the next piece and the next.

She was jumping out of her skin as she related her journey with a blow-by-blow account not much different from a sports announcer calling a heavyweight title fight.

When all was said and there was nothing left in the tank, for both of us, we said our goodbyes when parting ways I was left to mull over our time together.

I thought what makes me any less youthful than my 21 year old daughter. My mind is still just as active and my desires are just as strong as any 21 year old. Have I convinced myself that my best years are behind, have I allowed myself to believe that I am too old to take some asserted action to find the next piece of the puzzle in my life.

Yes, I learned a good valuable lesson from my daughter that day. Not everything comes to you on a silver platter, sometimes they do but most of the time if its important enough, you just have to get out there and make it happen.

We are never to old to dream, we are never too old to follow our dreams and we are never too old to go out to do our part to make our dreams come true.

Have we stopped dreaming, have we made excuses for not following those  that we have and are we too comfortable to put in some effort to make way them  come true?

It’s a question I ask myself.

How about you?

 
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Posted by on March 8, 2012 in Faith

 

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I Am a Proud Dad

01 Mar

Never underestimate those seemingly insignificant moments that could very well define a persons life.

I have a 19-year-old son who goes to the local TAFE (Technical and Further Education).

He is one of those unusual teenagers who does not like getting up in the morning.

An alarm clock is out of the question as we can not afford to keep supplying his habit of breaking those we have given him to wake up on his own.

So I have been put in charge of waking him (as Rhonda leaves for work before I do) and getting him to the bus stop.

These are my only two responsibilities and I take them seriously.

I have come up with reasonable guidelines and we had the talk before embarking on my new job.

  • I will wake you ONE time only. This is non negotiable.
  • I will not drive you all the way to school if you miss the first bus. This is non negotiable.

So to avoid the possibility of misunderstanding and accusations of “but you didn’t wake me, its your fault I can’t get to school on time”, I not only wait for an audible reply such as “Yeah I hear you” but I record it for evidence.

With the first half of my forced responsibility was out-of-the-way, I knew that he had slept in and would no doubt miss the bus that would get him to school on time.

This day was unfolding like every other.

The temptation is to shun my guidelines and drag him out of bed but I knew once I had gone down that path I would had sealed my fate and any given help would be expected each day with out question.

My instincts told me that the language wafting down the hall and banging of doors indicated that the bear had come out of hibernation.

The maternal part of me tries to force its way out in times like this. What would mom do?  Rescue him of course. Help him find his shoes, odd sock, misplaced mobile phone and wallet, hunt down his backpack and make his lunch, put toothpaste on his toothbrush and iron his shirt.

No, a father has to stand strong. I have read that teenagers are quite capable of learning all the above on their own. I am not sure if its heresy or an old wives tale but I will stand by that statement.

On a more positive note, I am told that he is the frontrunner for the end of year coveted “most times late” award. Apparently he is on par to not only win the award but break the record of being the only student in the history of the school to be late each and every day.

I know this sounds like a lame award for a parent to be proud of but in this case a sense of pride wells up, not so much for the award but that our son because he is marked late tells us that he indeed  turned up to class.

In the midst of our future award-winning son creating havoc around the home trying frantically to get his act together so he will not miss the second bus I hear a cry for help.

” Dad! Do you have nail clippers”? was the shout from the far end of the house loud enough for ever DAD on the street to prick up his ears.

My heart surged, my boy needs me, he is crying out for help. I so wanted to jump into action and not only find the clippers for him but offer to clip his nails as we rush out the door working in tandem, a father and son team at its best.

But I held firm. He needed to work this out on his own.

I leaned over and retrieved the clippers from my top drawer and put them on my work desk I was sitting at.

“Yes” my voice boomed was all I was entitled to say.

Time seemed to slow as I continued to hear murmurs and expletives.

What seemed like an eternity another question filled the hall. “Where are they”?

“On my desk” I shouted back.

Finally ready to go and  face the world he raced into my room gathered the clippers up in one motion and barked orders to get the engines running. We were ready to launch.

As I made my way through morning rush hour traffic with one eye on the road and one on my son clipping his nails I knew then there was hope for a young man whose world did not yet match the world outside but he was making reasonable effort to find a way to synchronize.

Handing the clippers to me as I pulled up to the bus stop he opened the door and jumped out and took a moment to put his head through the open window and say, “thanks dad”.

A lump in my throat welled up not allowing any words to escape. I had to resort to a smile and nod of the head as the cars behind me were getting impatient.

On my way home I took the liberty to daydream. I saw my son standing at the podium after receiving his award for most late days in the history of the college.

Then I heard the words that every father dreams of.

“I would like to first of all thank my dad….”  he started with his acceptance speech.

The rest will be history.

I am a proud dad.

 
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Posted by on March 1, 2012 in Humour

 

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Am I There Yet?

25 Feb

Enjoy The Journey In Between 

Since my wife and I were a young couple we loved to travel. When we got our home on wheels, a fully fitted combi van big enough to sleep our small family of 5, when not travelling converted into a kitchen and dining room.

But it turned out I was a frustrating travel companion for my dear patient wife. She loved to smell the roses along the road from point A to point B.  She wanted to explore and learn and teach as she took every opportunity to take in all the world had to offer.

Thanks to me that rarely happened.

I wanted A & B to connect without anything in between. I was a “Am I there yet” type of person. I had my mind on doing what we needed to do when we got to where we were going and never really learned the importance of enjoying what was in between.

For the record I was quite happy albeit reluctant to pull over for potty stops and throwing up, if needed. I was forced by the hand of my dear wife to pull over for meals “or else”. I never did find out what the “or else” meant.

I just didn’t understand there was a fun way to do this.

We still love travelling but have had to put it on the back burner, by choice, for a time until we are ready to launch out once again and make our mark on the world.

While we wait until all the pieces of the puzzle fall in to place I have been making a conscious effort to enjoy the in between of my present  situation.

Each day is likened to travelling to my final destination and I have two choices as I see it. Get through it as fast as possible as I did in my early travel years or  enjoy the day to day activities no matter how mundane and monotonous they seem to be.

For the record.

I love all my would be, well-balanced, successful, full of life, determined and energetic and positive children who are so easy to live with and take to fatherly advice like water off a ducks back.

Who doesn’t love his dog that waits until she goes for her daily walk and leaves a love message on the neighbours lawn.

Lets not forget how enjoyable it can be not to worry about making your finances stretch like Silly Putty with all bills paid on time with plenty left over for the extras.

Sometimes my work day is a blur at the end of each day I was having so much fun.

Yet this has become an endless learning phase to prepare me for our next big travel experience.

Life is so much like travelling from one destination to another in that no matter how far and how tedious the trip appears be, learn to enjoy the in between.

Each night as I lay in bed reviewing all the wonderful events of the day I realize that it brings me one day closer to my final destination.

I feel my eyelids reluctantly closing its shutters for the day and smile as my last words uttered are, “am I there yet”?

 
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Posted by on February 25, 2012 in Travel

 

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My New Best Friend

18 Feb

I have had a variety of best friends over the years. Friends come and go. Some stay longer than others.

We grow older, move on, get married and a myriad of reasons why we move from friend to friend.

You can also have more than one best friend at a time. Many for that matter.

For instance, my dog is my canine best friend. I have an email best friend, a male best friend and female best friend. You can a job best friend, a work out and exercise best friend. You can have a going out and having a good time best friend.

My wife of course has been my best, best friend for a very long time.

I made a new best friend recently and that is me.

I went through a period in my life that spanned decades that I didn’t even like myself let alone call myself a friend. I was down on myself to say the least.

If it wasn’t for the fact that I had to look at myself every day in the mirror I would have successfully eliminated me from existence if that could be possible.

Many years ago I was forced to re-evaluate my relationship with myself. It wasn’t easy and there were times the thought confronting me virtually sent me to the toilet after wanting to push my fingers down my throat.

Yes our relationship was at an all time low and I secretly hated myself and as I wasn’t one for taking a backward step when facing myself in the mirror each morning letting me know in no uncertain terms that I wanted nothing to do with me.

There were many times when I tried to shave or brush my teeth with my eyes closed. It was bloody.  I was at war with myself.

We had effectively become enemies.

Something had to be done. As long as I had to live with this creep and he wasn’t going anywhere then I had to somehow make our co-habitation livable.

While this on going hatred for each other seemed to be getting worse as each day passed, a friend sent me a copy of Jack Canfield’s (co-author of Chicken Soup For the Soul series of books) seminar talk on various self-improvement topics.

My ears pricked up when he got to talking about facing yourself in the mirror each morning and learning to talk to yourself and get to know yourself better. Mirror talk. The end result…get to actually like yourself.

“Cuckoo” I thought as Jack is now prancing around the stage excited as a 4-year-old who just found his first chocolate at a treasure hunt.

Interest in the cuckoo talk was gaining momentum and by the time he was finished I was ready to run to the bathroom and confront my nemesis.

By following his guidelines and preparing myself, I knew that the whole point of this exercise is to learn to not only like oneself but enjoy being with him and the first step was to talk things through.

I decided on the next morning as my first face to face. Of course we bump into each other quite a few times a day but now it was time to have a ceasefire and look to resolve our differences.

I was cautiously optimistic that any good could come from this exercise.

As the next morning rolled around I decided to be as presentable as possible. I  tidied my self up. Had a cup of coffee and got mentally prepared. I took a deep breath and walked in the bathroom. I closed the door behind me, locked it, shut the window and let the shower run, just in case a shouting match ensued.

It felt like two kids brought to the principles office for fighting and made to say “sorry” but holding out as long as possible because there was more at stake here. A boy’s pride.

I looked up at me in the mirror and saw the hurt in my eyes. It was difficult to make eye contact at first as a flood of memories overwhelmed me. I had blamed myself for years for just about everything that had happened in my life or my family’s life that was bad. I took on the unofficial title of whipping boy, if something went wrong I took the blame and I have the unseen scars to prove it.

I walked out without saying a word barely able to keep our gaze long enough to understand each others hurt.

It was a start. At least we faced each other without the desire to break the mirror in a million pieces. It was never going to be easy as years of dislike were not going to easily be over come.

We kept at it and each day proved somewhat easier. We met at the same time every morning.

When we did start talking it felt silly and awkward. Persistence was the key and I kept at it. We had so much to work through and the barriers that we imposed on each other as the years passed seemed insurmountable.

Every meeting brought something new. A forgiveness, a smile, a laugh, some emotion, even a tear or two. We were getting to know each other and by default the barriers were dissipating without realizing what was happening.

Becoming a willing listener helped me to see that my friend had feelings too. Getting past all the negatives enabled us to finally concentrate on the positives.

We have started down the path of sharing our inner most secrets without fear of guilt or retaliation.

With past hurt now starting to dissolve rapidly we turned our attention to our future. I was surprised at how similar our dreams were.

I haven’t missed a day since starting our “talks” and our time together can be the highlight of the day.

Friends are forever. Or they should be. This friendship is proving to be so.

Yes, he still annoys the hell out of me and his habits are unbearable at times and my god can he get silly and frivolous but its a small price to pay to know that he will always be there to let me know that everything will always be OK.

Have you gone “cuckoo” recently?

How does it work out for you?

 
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Posted by on February 18, 2012 in Relationships

 

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Don’t Give Up On Yourself

14 Feb

If your having a rough day, feeling a little down, in need of a pick me up or just something to make you feel good enough to keep plugging away at life and its roller coaster rides then this is for you.

Meet Ted Williams, the man with the ‘Golden Voice’.

I am enclosing the whole news article to give some background if you haven’t heard this story along with a U tube update on what Ted is up to now.

In a nutshell? Don’t give up on yourself.

the-homeless-man-with-the-golden-voice-one-year-later.

 
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Posted by on February 14, 2012 in Humour

 

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Why This Photo Made Me Laugh

10 Feb

If you can’t read the fine print at the bottom of this photo, it says; “If you find something that looks odd, don’t say anything. Just click “like”and “share”.

I scanned the photo, over and over, as these things take time with me and I tend to be slow off the mark. When I finally found what it was that was ‘odd’ I laughed, hard.

To me what was so funny about it was not the “oddness” but because it wasn’t what I was expecting, it took me by surprise.

I wasn’t prepared for the “oddness” so it made me laugh. I am sure that others didn’t have the same reaction.

We are all different.

The point being, what difference does it make. I laughed and when I laugh I feel good. And because I came across this in the morning it lasted through out the day and prompted this post.

Everyone should love laughing. Why? Because it makes us feel good. Laughing momentarily takes our minds off our worries and stress.

Or the job that we hate when we have to drag ourselves out of bed in the morning to drive to work so we can experience bumper to bumper traffic. The red lights that seem to happen at every corner.

The rebellious teenagers that make you want to pull your hair out. Your sick child that breaks your heart. The argument you had with your partner that has lingered on too long. The bank balance that never seems to balance.

So when we have an opportunity to laugh, do it.

Unfortunately for many of us there is not many opportunities to laugh throughout the course of the day.

So when you have opportunity don’t hold back. If you are in a work meeting and something hits you that makes you want to laugh but you know you have to suppress it. Don’t

Excuse yourself. Find a place to be alone and then let it out. Let it all out until there is nothing left and then rejoin the boring meeting.

Why are sitcoms and comedy movies and stand up comics so popular. Because we want to laugh, we need to laugh and it is necessary for our mental health to laugh as often and as hard as we can.

So lets not get too analytical about why something makes us laugh and not another. Who cares, the end result is what really counts.

Laughing makes you feel good and that should be enough.

It’s enough for me.

Did the photo make you laugh?

 
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Posted by on February 10, 2012 in Humour

 

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Bringing Home Flowers

05 Feb

The man coming toward me with flowers in hand was a sad sight. One look at the sad sack look on his face I knew immediately where he was headed. I’ve been there a number of times and my heart reached out for him.

As he  was close enough to hear me I said, “doghouse?”

“You don’t know the half of it” was his reply.

“Good luck buddy”  I said patting his back as he passed me.

What more could be said. What is it with us men thinking that bringing home flowers when you have already been caught out and the judge is about rule on your sentence.

Men can be very understanding and compassionate when seeing another with flowers. The comments are short but sincere.

“Good luck pal”

“Chin up”

“I feel ya brother”

“Been there done that”

“You’ll be ok buddy”

But what we are really thinking is:

“Poor bastard”"

“I’m glad I’m not in your shoes”

“All the flowers in the world won’t help you now my friend”

And that last comment is the truth. By the time a man is about to be banished to the dog house is not the time to bring home flowers unless you are hoping she will beat you with them instead of a frying pan.

OK, I’ll admit, men are not the sharpest tools in the shed. We don’t have a clue how the female mind thinks. What makes it worse for all mankind is that we actually think that flowers will bring us some sort of peace-offering.

Yes its OK to bring home flowers on birthdays, mothers day, valentines day  and all holidays that are flowers appropriate.

And don’t fall into the trap of bringing home flowers when you blew it and you think she doesn’t know. If she didn’t she will. It’s a classic Men Are Stupid: 101 mistake.

For God’s sake don’t even think of bringing home flowers on a whim thinking it will be a nice gesture because you  love and appreciate her so much.

If you have been together for quite some time and it has not been in your DNA to bring home flowers just for the sake of a sincere loving gesture you could be in for a long night of interrogation. And giving good odds I will say that you will confess to something before dinner is even on the table regardless if you are guilty or not.

The only time it is safe to bring flowers home outside above mentioned days sanctioned by the women’s  international handbook is when she calls you to pick some up  on the way home from work.

When that happens be sure never to query the request. Just do it and take it as a warning that you are about to be blind sided. Go through everything in your life that you think could cause the dog to move from his house to yours and visa versa.

You many have to use your internal hard drive and go back as far as middle school to see if there is any buried  indiscretion that could have caused the unsuspecting phone call to bring home flowers.

Take nothing for granted. We are talking about your overall well-being here.

So you may be thinking that bringing home flowers is a no win situation.

Not necessarily but what I am trying to convey is this. Make sure you have all your bases covered and you think things through before bringing home flowers that could open a can of worms you will undoubtedly be sorry for, perhaps for the rest of your life.

Now I will let you in on a little secret of what works for me. But before I do and you decide to use this technique I need to let you know that if it doesn’t work and you find yourself in hot water I will not be held liable for your stupidity in the first place.

Here goes. I  phone her and say I was buying milk and next door was a florist. Would she like me to bring her some home.

I am already prepared for the silence at the other end of the line envisioning the suspicion going through her head.

To end the deafening silence I say that there are some nice roses ( or whatever you believe to be her favorite flowers) on sale that look in very good condition. Then give her the sale price mentioning that they were brought down to the savings of so and so. (of course your are paying full price)

My wife loves a saving so this has a nice ring to it. Then I  tell her I have the flowers in hand and I am waiting in line but if she would prefer something else just mention it.

Now if she replies right away with a “now that is really sweet”, then mission accomplished. If there is still silence then hang up and eat out that night and possibly book into a hotel. It will be safer than what awaits you at home.

If you are creative you never have to use the same scenario more than once. But don’t push it. It could be wiser to leave the buying of flowers to the sanctioned days already mentioned.

I think the men of the world need a special day set aside like an international bring home flowers day, no questions asked.

Or we could use our Father’s Day as a get out of jail free confession day card if accompanied by flowers.

Until then its every man for himself.

 
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Posted by on February 5, 2012 in Humour

 

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My Wife The Driver

01 Feb

Looking out of our bedroom window with my first morning cup of coffee I watch my wife with interest.

There are two men in our drive preparing to patch up our cars minor dents and scrapes.

Not one for missing an opportunity to present her case the men were ideally situated for a complete run down on how it all happened.

I can see her lips moving and I know exactly what she is saying because I have heard the story. A few times.

The two trucks parked in the parking bay on either side shouldn’t have been there she explains.

My question would be, “why were you parked between two trucks.”

I smile as I watch the two men work on our family car to get it looking presentable again.

I continue to smile as my mind wanders back to when my wife got her driver’s license. She was a late bloomer, only about 5 years ago was she jumping with joy when she showed me her new license to confirm that she is now an independent and free woman.

When she first got her learners permit my intention was to drive with her as the licensed driver as much as possible but I insisted that she get professional lessons from an instructor.

Her first instructor as far as I know  has changed professions and is mowing lawns for a living after being released from a health care institution.

The second instructor has turned off his phones and not answering emails.

I quit and handed in my resignation after just one riding experience with my dear wife using the excuse that “life is just too short.”

The day of her driving test came as she assured me she was ready. This practical test usually takes about 30 minutes. On this occasion she was back in the parking bay in less that five minutes. The instructor last seen fleeing from the car toward the mountains.

After 3 more tries she was given a passing grade. Apparently the instructor told her that against his better judgement he is passing her with the blessings of all instructors at the Motor Vehicle Transport if she promises never to step on the premises again.

I am grinning from ear to ear now.

The dent removers were hard at work and my wife continued to make her case. I was starting to chuckle now as more memories were creeping into my mind of my wifes short driving history.

She told me one time that she was outraged when stopped by the police for not having her seat belt buckled. She could not believe that the cop would have the audacity to give her a ticket after she explained that the reason she didn’t have her seat belt buckled was because she wasn’t going that far. That was $300 well spent.

She is working on a personal picture album of her and her many different poses from speed cameras placed around the city to help motorists to drive under the speed limit.

Her only query? “Why are the photos they send so expensive?”

I can remember her being stopped by police because they thought she was under age as her head is just barely  seen over the top of the steering wheel. They had a good laugh although they still checked her license to make sure she was of legal age.

On my second cup of coffee now and back to the show as the boys are starting to work at fever pitch to patch up old faithful while my dear wife is still in first gear with her captive audience.

My thoughts again drifted to my insistence that when we go out together that I drive.

I reluctantly allowed her to drive when I have had a few drinks over dinner or out with friends. I had hoped the effect of the alcohol would dull my senses.

I am now alcohol free.

The screeching of tires woke me out of my dreamy state as I saw the dent removers racing toward the highway as my wife waved goodbye.

I made my way out to inspect the job they did on our ever faithful family member wondering how much more punishment it could take.

“As good as new” she said smiling at me with those big blue eyes.

“Yes” I said, “As good a new”, kissing her on the top of her head as we made our way back into the house.

Disclaimer: I am putting myself on record as saying that this is not an indictment against women drivers. I know many who are good behind the wheel. I believe my wife to be an exception.

 
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Posted by on February 1, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

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I’ve Got Blog Block

28 Jan

After 25 posts I have hit a brick wall.

I think I have Blog Block.

I’ve struggled all week. I have plenty of ideas. I have started a number of posts but can’t even get past the first paragraph.

And so early in my budding career. I would have thought at least 50 published posts would be under my belt before I fell victim to the Blog Block.

So here I sit asking for help.

It reminds me of growing up in a sea-side town where I learned to swim in the Atlantic Ocean.

Many a time I was dragged out by the strong undercurrents. I always managed to make my way back. There was an art to it but when you start to panic it’s easy to  forget to let the current take you where it wants and wait for it to either pass or lose its power and then make your way back in to shore.

The ocean on this particular day was at its unpredictable best.

The day I am thinking of was hot and sticky and the beach packed with tourists and locals alike. The water was crowded and you couldn’t stretch out your arm without hitting someone.

Many enjoyed swimming out past the shallows to the deep including me. Before long we were in trouble. An undercurrent had pulled us farther out than we would have liked and we all started back to shore.

It was tough going and many who were not experienced ‘ocean’ swimmers were caught off guard and couldn’t get back in.

I’m not sure how the idea of putting your arm up in the air letting others know you are in trouble came about but it was standard procedure. Usually by that time a swimmer was on the verge of giving up.

When spotted and the authorities notified off went the lifeguards doing their thing.

Many arms went up this day and mine should have too but I refused. Teenagers are known for being stubborn. I was stubborn and stupid at the same time.

Those rescued got out of the boat and fell to the ground in what appeared to be gratefulness that they were still alive and a little bit embarrassed that they had to be rescued.

My entry to the shoreline under my own steam found me falling to the sandy beach from plain exhaustion and shaken up that I had almost drowned.

For days I have been struggling under my own steam  to get off  a blog post.

Don’t get me wrong I have plenty of ideas but my fingers, the keys to the computer along with my brain are not in sync.

As each day passed I found myself trying to write anything. I made myself a commitment to write at least one post a week preferably two. With D-day approaching I am starting to panic.

Post a picture, tell a joke, get something out there, anything, I told myself.

OK settle down it’s not as bad as it seems. Close your eyes, take a deep breath, relax. Feeling better? Good.

Now scream.

HELLLP…….

Can anybody hear me? Can you see my arm?

Send a life boat and I promise to get in this time.

Anybody?

 
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Posted by on January 28, 2012 in Humour

 

Can You See Yourself In The Picture

24 Jan

I am not an art lover by any stretch of the imagination but I can be quite the critic. I can either like something or not.I believe that makes me elgible to be an art critic.

A painting that makes me feel something I can say is a good painting. I can’t tell you what the artist was thinking at the time of his creation any more than I could tell you what he wanted to convey to its viewer.

I usually can’t read that far into something other than how does it make ME feel. After all I am the one going away with either a good feeling, not so good feeling, repulsed or indifferent. All a good basis for my own personal critique.

So what is it I look for in a painting or photograph?

Reading Jeff Goins post Great Art Is Transcendent got me thinking.

He said “This is how great art works. It does something to your soul, makes you feel like you’re actually there for a moment — not because of how it looks, but because of how it makes you feel.”

I can’t say there is an over abundance of art or photo work that I have seen that I can place myself in but when I have its special.

Who Decides What Art Is Great?

But great art is a matter of interpretation. Yes there is the Mona Lisa, I am not going to argue its “greatness” but there is also a piece of art that stands out in my mind that is just as great to me if not more because of the way it made me feel.

I can’t show you the piece I am talking about because I don’t have it but I will try my best to take you there.

Making my way down a busy street I noticed some paintings in the display window of a boutique clothing store.

My eyes were drawn to one in particular. Three young boys watching other kids surf.

In the foreground  were the backs of three young boys about 11 or 12 years old standing in shorts and t-shirts where a footpath and beach met.

They were looking over the beach to the water where you saw (in the background) surfers taking waves and others sitting waiting there turn for the right wave to appear.

Their body language from behind without seeing their faces said to me that they were mesmerized by what they were seeing.

Standing and looking at the back of the young boys heads I could feel myself being drawn into a conversation that they could very well have had.

I could feel that they were on the verge of running out into the water themselves because it looked so tantalizing.

I could feel them talk about how cool it looked that the surfers were able to take those waves in and how much fun it would be to be out there with them. I could almost feel a conversation that would have gone something like this;

Boy 1- Have you guys ever surfed?

Boy 2 & 3 – No

Boy 1 – We should learn it would be fun?

Boy 2- Yeah we should, why don’t we

Boy 1 – I’m in

Boy 2 – Me too

Boy 3 – I can’t swim

Silence

Boy 1 – Then we’ll just have to teach you as he giggled with delight.

Boy one and boy two grab boy three by each arm and drag him toward the water laughing and carrying on telling boy 3 not to worry that they will teach him to swim and then they will all learn to surf.

For A Moment In Time I Was There.

I was transported to that scene in that painting.

The artist did his job by making me feel apart of his imagination.

Was the artist thinking those thoughts when he did the work?

I don’t know and honestly I don’t care. All I know is that the artist for a moment in time made me feel apart of his world.

I give him a ten out of ten.

You ask, how was the artwork itself?

I couldn’t tell you, I’m not an art expert.

I went back sometime later to actually buy the painting but not only was the painting not in the window anymore but the store had completely changed over to something completely different altogether.

For all I know this particular piece of art is hidden away in the artists basement somewhere gathering dust.

It may never be on public display again but I know one thing for sure, this artist has one big fan.

Me.

 
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Posted by on January 24, 2012 in Humour

 

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