Fire for the Frozen Heart

By Pam Hadder

Winter and introspection go hand in hand - as a visual artist, I have often thought of the pure white snow as canvas; a place where blue and grey shadows create new images each day, shapes and patterns that dance, shift and inspire with the changing light.  This winter has been especially magical, but it is more than the beauty of winter that has me inspired!

I am blissfully "between opportunities" - my prior employment contract ended in mid-October, and I have been applying my energies to finding new employment and to expressive arts therapy studies (ExAT). You may wonder how can looking for work and studying be blissful?  Well, curiously enough, unemployment has been a great blessing in my life, and has opened doors of opportunity that were closed to me while I was working. The change has allowed personal time for me to reflect, envision, engage and learn, and to seriously consider my life passions. I am so grateful each morning when I awaken, and I find myself re-energized, curious, eager to embrace the day, and open to possibilities. I have also learned to graciously accept help. Fiercely independent and accustomed to filling my day in support of others, I have had to learn to take time for myself, my needs and my desires.  I have been deeply encouraged by the positive regard of others and their incredible generosity and kindness toward me.

The study of expressive arts therapy has some wonderful side effects - one of our professors, the amazing Dr. Kate Donohue, often says, "we are all wounded healers," and I just LOVE that statement.  Students of ExAT need to engage in self-reflection, and fine tune understanding of personal trauma and healing before extending healing modalities to others. Through engaging all of the senses, some amazing things begin to occur - personal transformation, including physical and emotional healing are typical byproducts for students of ExAT. There is also a natural extension of internal and external resourcing which unfolds in a unique way for each individual, at their time and pace, allowing for growth of personal resilience with increased awareness.

And to think that I almost did not enrol in the course - due to the extreme demands and low supports in my prior work life, I thought I would not be able to engage fully in the coursework. My enthusiasm for expressive arts' potential for helping others was not understood or appreciated by my employer - I was so excited by the neurobiological evidence, but had no receptive ears or hearts to receive the message.  Fortunately, two supportive friends encouraged me - although I was worried about being able to make ends meet and having enough time and energy for all of life's demands, I took a giant leap of faith, and  I nervously followed my muse. I have no regrets! I am thankful for those two friends that really saw my heart of hearts - those two who said, "You have to do this," "You would be so great at this!"

I have had a typical human life thus far - with my share of ups and downs. I acknowledge my privilege as a white, university educated, middle class North American woman of mixed European settler heritage. I never acknowledged my personal trauma, however. Most of us know what it is like to lose a loved one to accident, illness or violence. As women, we know what it means to be sexualized and marginalized, even in the most wealthy and privileged of world nations. Most of us deal with illness and injury - our own, and that of loved ones. And many of us have weathered less-than-ideal relationships, whether in the family home, in personal relationships, or in the workplace. 

However, through my engagement in the expressive arts as therapy, I soon understood that I had experienced both classic and complex trauma. From early childhood years, I had naturally gravitated toward music, writing, visual art and performance to understand, express and heal from life's woundings. I began to open my mind, body and spirit to the healing dynamic within the expressive arts, and to trust in my innate ability to both heal and to help others.  A further benefit of this learning process has been a surge in my own creative output - not for glory, fame, but for the pure delight, expression and wellness of my soul. Since October 2017 I have written five or six songs for guitar - an amount equal to my writing efforts of the last four years!  ExAT has not only helped me to feel better, but it has unleashed my creativity.

Expressive art therapy pioneer, Natalie Rogers, coined the term "creative connection" in the 1980s. Creative connection was Rogers' way to describe the productive synergies that result when moving between expressive arts modalities: music, movement, dance, vocalizing, visual art and the written word. Although, I have always been drawn to visual art, movement, music and creative writing, since enrolling in the ExAT program, I have experienced the power of the expressive arts like never before.  We often hear about music as the universal language, and that visual art can capture emotions, and we may feel a stirring in our hearts when we participate or witness any combination or single performance of expressive arts.  But we aren't typically encouraged to express by movement how we feel about a painting, or to vocalize how dance made us feel. Creative endeavors have been commodified, edified and placed on a lofty cultural pedestal accessible only by a elite few. Creative outputs are judged, critiqued and limitations and standards applied to exclude and to demean those who might venture beyond those structures. A rare few manage to avoid or break the bonds and succeed while being true to their spirit. Expressive Arts Therapy disrupts this falsehood - creativity is fundamental to every human being, and it is cross-cultural, it is how we communicate as humans, and it is what set us apart on the evolutionary journey.

And so, friends, this is where you find me - I am blissfully between opportunities - centred and joyful, perfectly imperfect, a life-long student of living.

Another Way?

I recently had an accident and broke my left wrist. It sounds clichéd, but for those of us who have had these experiences we know it’s the truth: a split second and life can be diverted along a completely new trajectory.  Naturally, I am overwhelmingly grateful that the outcome was not worse – broken bones, a bruised bottom, and pulled ligaments are minor in the larger scope of things; the pain is manageable and bones and tissues heal. I also believe these things occur to push us toward places and experiences we are meant to be.  Although, when I said I was overdue for a break from work, this was not what I had in mind!

I have only wept once during this situation, and it was not about pain or the inconveniences of my new one-handedness; it was because I miss playing guitar so much. My lovely girls, Pearl and Badessa, sit mute in their hard cases. They don’t miss my touch, but you should know I love and appreciate them so much that I kiss them after every session!  They are my confidantes, my collaborators, my oases from all of the pressures and stress of making a living and making my way in this complex world. With the girls in mind, I asked the doctor, deftly shaping my temporary cast, if moving my fingers would harm the fractures in my wrist. Happily the answer was “no.” As soon as that back slab was in place, I began gingerly forming air chords and scales with my injured hand, longing for what was temporarily impossible.

As I was leaving the hospital, the doctor ushered me to a computer station and showed me my x-rays. I felt a warm flush of thankfulness. My bones had not been displaced by my sudden, hard fall; they were healthy and strong. The doctor allowed iPhone photos of the screens; later I marveled at the smooth white structures on my x-rays, particularly the intricate bones of the hand. We are fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14).

At home and evaluating the repercussions of my injuries, another cause for concern surfaced – my dear Mother has been counting on me for the past few months.  She’s had eye surgery and cannot drive, so once a week we arrange an outing, and I take her to run errands, grocery shop and so forth.  It is never a hardship; it has been a nice opportunity for us to bond and share more than a few laughs. I knew Mom appreciated my willingness and patience, and I recognized how fortunate I was to have a loving mother.  Mom is very healthy, but she’s getting up in years, and she has given so much of her time and energy to her seven children. I wanted to do everything and anything possible for her; so, I worried about my Mom, feeling frustrated that our activities had been curtailed.  I texted my son, my adult daughters, my work contacts and called my Mom.

Yesterday evening Mom called me out of the blue – it was 9:30 p.m. and she had been thinking about me all day:  was I in pain, was I able to sleep; how was I managing. Touched by her concern, I assured her the pain was not too bad – it only hurt when I “forgot” about my broken bones and tried to use my left hand “normally.”  I told Mom that I had finally broke down and took some pain medication – just over-the-counter stuff; because I had refused any prescription pain killers at the hospital. My main reason for succumbing to pain meds was the pulled muscles and ligaments in my right leg which had given me an instant pirate swagger - that might look funny in the movies, but it is no fun in reality. I knew I needed to address that inflammation and keep my body moving. At bedtime I self-administered reiki healing; I had been doing so a few times throughout the day since the incident. I closed my eyes and focused on the pulsing sensation and heat, as directed energy passed over the areas of injury.  I imagined the bones knitting together, glowing with white light. Afterwards I was calm and sleepy – momentarily drained of mental and physical energy.  I reflected with gratitude on my Mom's concern for me and I remembered Mom telling me about a man in her small town when she was a child – he had healing hands, and a gift for setting bones.  Supported by a cloud-like network of cushions and pillows, I drifted into peaceful, comfortable sleep and dreamed of a blue cat and playing guitar.

Midnight, day two, I lay awake – more realities and practicalities were settling in.  I pondered being limited to clothes that would accommodate the bulk of a cast and which allowed for toileting – there would be no help with pants, buttons and zippers at work. What if there was an emergency at work (I work for a women’s crisis centre with limited staffing) – my right leg buckled from time to time, and my left arm was limited in range of motion and ability. I wondered if the doctor would allow me to drive to work – my return trip commute is about two hours each day; I had not considered I might not be able to legally drive with my injuries.

Morning, day three, bathing was a drawn out ritual – like trying to scrub a floor with a feather.  I still feared the shower where I slipped and fell, and so I opted for a bird bath using the sink basin, soap and washcloths. I celebrated being able to grasp my deodorant stick, only to plummet to despair when I found I could not apply adequate pressure to adequately glaze my right underarm with the product.  I satisfied myself with several feeble applications over the same area.  I thought about how hard Mom always worked and how nice she always smelled.  As a kid, I knew when she was going out somewhere special – the scent of Cover Girl face powder, hairspray and a hint of floral cologne. I awkwardly applied a little guava and peach body crème; coaxing two able fingers from my injured hand to pull their weight in the process, and taking care to massage the ligaments and muscles of my right leg. I was temporarily house-bound, but Mom would approve – I was training to "get back out there" as soon as I am able, a butterfly beating its wings against hard glass.

Eyes On

By Pam Hadder

The eyes have it, eyes are the windows to the soul, keep your eyes on the prize, for your eyes only, eye spy, getting an eye full – there are so many eye-centric phrases within North American culture.  They roll off our tongues and into our communications without too much evaluation of true meaning or clarity.  A reality check may come our way when interacting with those to whom English is a second language.  Their refreshing perspectives can reveal that some of these glib phrases are filling space versus creating meaning or providing valid analogies. What are we really trying to say?

This summer, while visiting New Zealand, I was deeply engaged by encounters with Maori culture.  Traditional carvings similar to Canada’s west coast totems are inlaid with paua (pah-OO-ah) shell, and in particular the paua eyes of these majestic figures translate great energy and stimulate powerful responses.  The paua is incredibly beautiful – variegated blues, greens, purples and greys commonly intermingle.  Additionally, because of its smooth, reflective surface, the shell allows eyes to blaze in the sunshine and to emit an impressive glow in low light.  In Hamilton Gardens, Hamilton, New Zealand, I had the unique pleasure and honour to stand in a garden replicating a traditional Maori village. To be among these vibrant, powerful forms with dark storm clouds as a backdrop was breathtaking and deeply moving.

The traditional Maori carvings served to remind me that sometimes, visual media clearly communicates what our words cannot. Experiencing these incredible, significant cultural forms in person opens pathways allowing for additional layers of personal interpretation.  When defining learning within academic contexts, it is often described as "meaning making" – and it is known and understood that there are many access points to learning beyond written and oral communication; including via our encounters and interactions with visual forms.

Personally, the prominence of eyes and eye-centric phraseology in North American culture reminds me of the importance of observation and witness.  Modern use of eye-centred phrases and expressions, the focus on the eyes in creative expression and in marketing imagery mirrors the majestic forms created by ancestor cultures - we have followed the forms, but have we kept close contact with the meanings?  What if a bit more care was taken with our words and expression instead of recycling what we've heard before?  Why choose pat sayings and eschew possibilities for deeper personal connection and meaning?  Have we lost our ability to enjoy in-person human closeness and reverence, or can we shed the faceless mask of verbal oblivion and open our eyes to the possibilities of profound and personal communications?

Blue Tiger, Purple Moon

By Pam Hadder

Do you remember your dreams?  I find that if I consciously commit details to memory when I first awaken, they stay with me.  But most times I jump out of bed and rush into the various tasks necessary to tackle the working day – and the vivid images and experiences of my sleeping mind quickly vaporize like mist burning off in the sun.

I have heard a theory that when we sleep our soul is free to travel – that might explain why some mornings I feel like I have run three back-to-back marathons!  (I call those my “busy” dreams!) But aside from epic action and adventure scenarios, the most compelling dreams are those where I am given a gift – typically a creative idea or alternate viewpoint.  

Lately I have been taking these more seriously – I actually dreamed about a children’s book idea and title, for example – it was so realistic and specific that I could not brush it off.  When I awoke I recalled how Sir Paul McCartney once woke with a melody in his head.  He played it on the piano and eventually set lyrics to it.  But he wasn’t sure if the melody was unique, or if he was just playing some other composer’s work from memory.  He played the song for years, but just for those close to him – not in performance.  Finally he was satisfied that the melody was indeed his own!  This song became the mega hit, “Yesterday.”

Back to my dream book title - I researched it later in the same day.  There was another book similarly titled, but only ever so slightly.  Interestingly, the names of the book's characters also came to me in my dream, and these have been similarly noted for later use - I even saw the cover illustration; a finished book.  On a roll, I also researched a term that had come to me in an earlier dream – it had seemed like nonsense, but I began to wonder if it was from another language, and like Goldilocks I couldn't resist exploring.  I found a similar word that is the name of a Japanese manga character.  I’m not into heavy Japanese pop culture, so it’s unlikely that I would have encountered that name – so my mystery word has also been entered into my notes for future reference; unsolved but an item of interest. 

These are just two small examples of how our dreams can affect and inspire our waking lives.  Of course, most of us will not establish the global fame of Sir Paul, and we may not even aspire to attempt it. But we all have inborn potential and creativity – our dreams stimulate and inspire – in our dreams things can be both/and; we can work outside of the laws of physics, we can have  blue tigers, purple moons, and super-human abilities.  Thus, we expand beyond the common place, we defy the naysayers who have told us from childhood all of the things we cannot do or become. Dreams are a place to play, to discover, to test, to learn – we are truly “beautifully and fearfully made.” (The Holy Bible, Psalm 139:14)

I am also reminded of the 2006 documentary film “10 Questions for the Dalai Lama” where an American journalist travels for two years in India, patiently hoping to meet the Dalai Lama for a brief interview. Good fortune prevails, and the journalist is able to interview His Holiness. The Dalai Lama responds to one of the questions in a particularly unexpected manner – it is when he is asked what is the most important thing people can do to promote peace.  Without hesitation, His Holiness responds “critical thinking.”  This response showed great wisdom. Consider that with critical thinking, as with dreaming, we remove biases and boundaries; we examine, explore and compare with dispassionate objectivity. Critical thinking allows us to sift through filler and fodder to the crux of things – and what we typically find is commonality and also new discoveries; new ways of thinking, seeing and being. Perhaps our dream state is an inborn tool to nudge us toward a sublime state of enrichment and creative harmony?

Friends, the Emperor and Yoga

By Pam Hadder

I have decided to make a conscious effort to connect in real time with real folks – personally and professionally, every fibre of who I am is rejecting virtual falsehoods.   It’s like seeing someone you love eating crap, doing drugs or otherwise making unhealthy decisions – it’s a living lie and an overall “downer.” Don’t get me wrong – I love technology – I value and rely on the ease of applications and software to make my livelihood, and I have made a few meaningful personal and professional connections via social media and other online connections.  But let’s call the bluff – you know it’s true – you have to sift through a lot of detritus to find those diamonds in the dust! Time is precious, time is money, and I don’t want to pour out any more of my energy; nor do I wish to waste moments that could be funneled into real time, hands-on experiences – in my case, time outdoors, guitar/drums/dulcimer, fine art/painting/illustration, friends/family/loved ones.  

I am blessed to have full working use of my six senses, and I no longer want to limit their use to the virtual! Let me explain my path... when social media was gaining steam from a marketing perspective, I HAD to be engaged in it and  was obliged to try things – so that I could understand any benefits it could have for my clients.  To ignore the social media trend was like wearing an “I am old and obsolete” nametag!  So in short order my personal accounts became my guinea pigs, crash test dummies etc., and the rest is history!   Clients were insecure about being out of the loop (tech dinosaur syndrome) and had to have social media added to their websites – and in our industry (advertising and marketing), where insecurities are leveraged for gain, we were doubly doused in the frenzy – scrambling to understand, engage and stay ahead of the game.  And it is indeed a big game.

As I have stated, it has not been a complete loss, but I recognize that I am weary of the falsehood, I can’t play dumb, and thus the time has come for me to disassociate my vibrant, 3-D self from the virtual.  I am fully enjoying letting my feet feel the sensation of gravity: concrete, grass and earth; and real in-person human connection!  It reminds me of when I broke my leg in 1990 and how I felt when they took off the cast – scary but very real; magick! I should also point out that I was an “early bloomer” on Facebook.  We had a work group back in the day – three hundred of us found ourselves out of work when our employer sold the business and this “new, free networking thing” called Facebook was a way for us to share support, legal information, job leads etc.  So Facebook was my initiation into what was first called “new media” and which became “social media,” and it served the purpose.  So when social media started to push into the business realm, I was already familiar with it; it was “comfortable.”

Don’t get me wrong, I am not bailing on all of my “friends” and “followers” but I am disengaging from any falseness that I can detect.  Remember when it was all about the number of friends you had on Facebook?   Or can you remember the thrill of launching your first Twitter account, and within seconds you had new connections? Anyone could do it – even little kids could do it! It was a big ego gratifier and due to the ease of access it allowed many voiceless underdogs to shape a public persona that had power, esteem and meaning – virtually.  In my working context, social media was initially seen as a good “free” tool for all sizes and types of organizations to gain general awareness or for product and event-specific promotion.  I say “free” because marketers like myself soon caught on that there was a massive time investment with social media – content needed to be meaningful and you needed a lot of it.  Consider that the life of a tweet is (at best!) three hours, and you do the math from there!  Meaningful and relevant content that was also timely (i.e. strategic process) – this was and is seldom seen or achieved, and to date, no reputable academic studies have been able to prove that high numbers of followers, web site hits, etc. directly correlate to increased revenues for business.  Social media is making some people rich, but it’s not the business or personal account users, it is the developers who are raking in the cash!

To make matters worse, along the way people have lost their sense of reality, and along with it quality and integrity.  Because almost anyone can access the platforms, there has been overwhelming saturation of information and a dumbing down of quality. Therefore you will find that in the virtual world it’s quite easy to shape a persona or brand identity and make it look appealing and cool – but what is the real-time, in-person experience?  When you get to the nitty-gritty of things, is it just a virtual ego game, or does the person or the business have any real value? When was the last time you had really good after-care service? When was the last time someone really anticipated your needs and delivered on time?  When was the last time you felt that true warmth of connection?  The BIG factor, is that at some point, for legitimate personal and business pursuits, you need to connect in the realm of reality.

What makes or breaks your day?  Do you really care who unfollows you on Twitter or unfriends you on Facebook or what some random person says on your Instagram account?  Are you paying for groups of followers so that you look more appealing for “real” followers?  Do you waste aimless hours eating visual eye candy on Pinterest? Do you automate social media to free up valuable time?  Do you ever ask yourself – what the hell am I actually achieving?

Three final words:  friends, the emperor and yoga. 
1) FRIENDS:  my Dad, who was often disappointed by fickle, back-stabbing, small-minded colleagues (he worked for government – imagine your favourite Dilbert cartoon, complete with Pointy-Haired Boss) –  Dad always said if you were lucky you would have two or three true friends in your life.  You know the ones – you can call them anytime, ask them anything, they tell you they love you; they don’t try and change you – AND they build you up; they celebrate when you succeed!

2) THE EMPEROR:  have you ever read the story, “The Emperor’s New Clothes?” – if you haven’t you should.  It’s a kids’ story and the moral of the story is about deception – truth and reality.  Social media is our modern day “emperor’s new clothes!”   Once you get it, you can’t live the lie –even if everyone else is; you can’t un-see the truth, you can’t un-learn what you know is factual.

3) YOGA:  why this huge popularity with yoga these days? Based in traditional Ayurvedic medicine, yoga is about wellness of the body and mind – it requires real-time connection and physical and mental awareness.  Human minds and bodies are trying to disconnect from the false and reconnect to what matters.  It may not mean yoga for you, but it might. Over and Oooohhhmmmm ...

So Many Reasons

By Pam Hadder

What is it about certain numbers – why do we find some numbers to be significant, and we allow others to escape our notice?  A 25^th anniversary, the seven-year itch, five-year plans –and what of lucky numbers?  Personally I don’t believe in luck; nor do I support the celebration of life in pre-determined, generic increments.  All we have is this moment, this breath, this heartbeat, and why shouldn't every action and word be considered through that lens of precarious glory?

We are beautifully and remarkably made, we have such amazing potential – we are each comprised of incredible, immortal energy captured for a fleeting moment in human form.  It is a very big deal; exceptional and precious – yet all the while, we are herded, prodded into preoccupations of daily survival, of the mundane, of the expected.  We become disconnected from our glorious nature; our inextricable connection to the divine; the sublime.

This year a beloved, influential person in my life is having a "milestone birthday," which has made me think long and hard about human preoccupation with numbers, the order of things, labeling, organizing, and other trivial categorizations of splendid human potential.   My beautiful friend is having mixed feelings about the pending occasion, and doesn't want any fuss.  I get that, however, I want to celebrate the moment to its fullest extent – not because I am bound to tradition or societal expectations, but because I recognize and wish to acknowledge the importance of her unique spirit’s arrival in this physical realm. On a spring day, a number of years past, she was born into this life and embarked on a journey that eventually intersected with (and super-charged!) my own modest meanderings.  By her unique influence, she has made my life richer, brighter, more beautiful and deeply joyous – she is richly blessed with wisdom, humour, spontaneity, passion for life and charismatic presence. She possesses an intriguing, intoxicating effervescence that cannot be cultivated, but she presents these extraordinary gifts with remarkable humility and selflessness.

And so, dearest FC, for you alone – if numbers must prevail and hold significance – then let it be that with each passing minute, hour, week, month and year, that we recognize another aspect of our earthly self that is to be honoured and cherished.  I know it’s pretty easy to think of thirty or forty reasons that I adore you, my dearest, sweet, kind friend!

Queer Divine Satisfaction

By Pam Hadder

There is vitality, a life force, energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is nor how valuable nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You have to keep yourself open and aware to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open…No artist is pleased. [There is] no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.” 

– Martha Graham

The more I experience in life and the more I learn and open myself to expression, the more I recognize how truly remarkable the moments of true connection are.  Through music, academic study, visual art and the written word, I am working to understand my place, my identity, my gifts – and I recognize that this all is part of a profound yearning to connect with my personal purpose. I have always been independent – I made the choices I made based on my internal cues, and resisted external pressures, peer pressures.  As a result of non-conformity, I have been an outsider; including within my own life – a voiceless and formless observer, lonely in crowded places, and ever-searching.I have also been malleable, naïve; constrained and framed by pre-existing external and environmental structures which (constantly, consistently, persistently) told me who I was, who I could be, what was good and bad, what was right and wrong – although I resisted internally, and also externally at times, I cannot deny that I was shaped and guided by these forces. The result was a construct, a false “self” which housed/contained/imprisoned the authentic person.

At this moment I am working on a paintings and sculpture series for a course in colonizing/decolonizing art and visual culture. Through this work, combined with other coursework I have been able to emerge from the false self – reborn into understanding, awareness, while breaking free of colonized controls.  And so, I am a very young child with new, inquiring eyes and hands; finding my way, playing, trying new things.  I find myself looking at spaces and places that seem unfamiliar.  Everything is new, curious, re-framed – the good and the bad, what it means to love, what it means to be “woman.”  And my art waits patiently, endures and forgives, while I work intuitively to express with layers of paint, with melted bits of recycled water bottles, with words strung together –haphazard ebullience.

What surprises me the most is not the level and complexity of emotions elicited by this journey, but how it has enhanced my feelings of “being without space or place” and “being out of sync with time.”  I followed this path seeking affirmation, knowledge, yes, but a comforting kind of “yes, Darling.”  I never banked on this upheaval, this brilliance, this revelation, this beauty, this sorrow, this exhaustion, this exhilaration. My spirit blazes, blinding white, tireless and spontaneous, but my mature adult physiology is at odds with that inner reality.  I now understand why I am driven toward learning new languages: music, academic/feminist, artistic/visual, cultural – my spirit has reached this critical mass of tolerance.  It is weary of being suppressed, its incarceration has been served – it pleads, it shouts “let me speak!”  Most often I am half-terrified, thrust out of my cell, my virtual and actual life prison, and sometimes I want to scream - “Hello, hello, can anybody hear me in here; out there?” But I tell myself – “keep going; fight the good fight; it’s all related somewhere, there is an ending place, a place of intersection, a crossroads where all will be realized.”  And on the other hand, I rationalize, that learning has no end, it only expands one’s field of vision, one’s reference and reveals  more bread crumbs of unknowing.

So at this moment, I struggle, I am thankful, I doubt myself, I weep, I laugh, I question, I am silent – it’s all about trying to communicate with my authentic self.  There is an awful lot of failing, failing, failing – there is no room for an over-stuffed ego.  And sleep holds no escape; I have nightmares about Tinkerbell and other free-flowing odd themes – the spirited child bucks and rollicks in a woman’s body and mind, a wild maestro of sorts assembling and commanding the unforeseen, the unimagined – I mean, good God; what am I?   When my mind is numb from thinking and stimulation, and when my body is absolutely fatigued, I tire of disappointment, I tire of trying to connect, I tire of trying to make the best out of whatever scraps the wheel of life throws my way.  I am my comfort and my playmate – a woman, being led along an uncertain path by a precocious, dancing child – slightly out of step, and definitely in the wrong space and time.  Such as it is, this is my authentic space and time; this is my authentic self.

The Way I Roll

by Pam Hadder

It's that time of year.  March is this pot hole in the road of life; a seriously deep axle breaker on a seemingly endless stretch of rough, blah, bleak and ugh.  At least that's the case here in the heart of Canada! And if you live here, or have visited Winnipeg in the spring, your teeth and bones will ache at the memory of our pitted and pocked streets and roads!

My dearest FC calls March "high recall time. "Why "high recall?"  Well, it seems like this is the time of year when a lot of people pass on.  Personally, I lost both my Dad and my young niece in March, and it seems appropriate somehow, that this month is devoid of beauty - a sullen, slow-moving lunk, it lurks and sulks, unable to express any joy and threatening to steal our moments of happiness. This year March has been marked by the death of Canadian folk music icon, Stompin' Tom Connors - his honesty and kindness and patriotism always touched my heart.  He was like this uncle, a favourite that could always make you see the bright side of things, and who would steer you toward what really mattered in life.  A good man.

A dreamer, I  get through March by over-compensating, by stoking the brilliant coloured fires of my fantasy world. I am restless, yet drowsy; thirsty for the outdoors, and yet languid; lounging like I am hospitalized.  Bright colour, new tastes and textures; the sensory and the sensual - these are my cure; my self-prescribed course of treatment.  My senses are all set on high to filter every molecule of goodness and beauty out of the stark, cold, grey landscape of mourning. My mind is jumping, antsy, sparking -I am building, making plans; analyzing - I can close my eyes and smell the snow melting and I hear the first rain storm rumbling in the distance.  I have wings, I am rising, I am dancing on the ashes of March - bright brush strokes of azure, pink, violet.

Seeing Spots

By Pam Hadder

It's that time of the year - winter is encroaching, cramping my style. I feel myself fading and drifting off, like a dry leaf on a river current.

I came across this vintage photo online this week, and was entranced.  The glamorous woman with a pet cheetah - over-the-top, curious...staged for a vintage ad, or real??? Imagine the folly, the sheer irresponsibility of keeping this magnificent cat as an urban "pet" - crazy stuff.  So why did this image draw me in? It had such strong appeal and I wondered why.  The more I thought about it, I realized that I saw myself reflected in both the woman and the tethered cheetah.  

Like that poor cat, these days I feel trapped by circumstance and the weather. I want to get loose and run for the hills - warm hills, that is!  And like the woman in this photo, I find myself zoning out, shopping, tidying, arranging, procrastinating - disconnected and dreaming of the summer months that seem too far away; will they ever arrive? Escapism, internalized emotion, longing for a different reality. It's too quiet, too claustrophobic and I want to scream at the top of my lungs just to know that I still have a voice and some passion - a wild feline yowl complete with flashing green eyes and bristling fur! I wonder how that spectacular tantrum would go over in most spaces? Likely not too terribly well, but it makes me smile inside to think about it (see, there I go again, hiding out within - a sullen child making a blanket fort with clothes and furniture).

One positive sign - albeit rather surreal, considering the raw, face-ripping temperatures... I saw a robin at the university this week.  I honestly had to do a double take.  It was Valentine's Day, and I joked with the dude sitting beside me that perhaps it was a sparrow wearing red for his sweetheart :) 

It's great that I have my coursework to push my mind and energies outside of its selfish, snow-drifted, ice-packed February pathways. It forces me to generate a little friction with my mental muscle when all I want to do is pack it in, cover myself in polar fleece and bed clothes and hunker indoors until it is spring.

Today when I played guitar, I closed my eyes and let my mind drift forward into the future. I just enjoyed the sound of my instrument and the way the strings felt as I plucked, strummed, cajoled - and suddenly there it was, a cool breeze swirling around my bare feet. I could hear the wind chimes wildly clanging outside on the patio - was that the smell of hail in the air; a spring storm?

No, it was too cold - frigid, meat locker-esque; I felt my sad little dream bubble burst.  I placed Pearl carefully on her stand and followed the cold trail, wishing I'd put on my moccasins.  Had the blizzard ripped the roof off my little house?  

Aha...mystery solved... my son left his bedroom window open!  OMG... with -30 Celsius temperatures and howling winds - he opened his bedroom window wide, and went outside to play with his pals.

Tonight when I am burrito-wrapped in my heated bed, perhaps I will dream of the cheetah. I'll break free of my leash and run in sun-burnished fields, pausing to lap sweet water from glassy pools, and soaking up the natural glory of the day. 

A Full Moon

By Pam Hadder

The moon was full a few nights ago - I was driving down the highway and it lay ahead of me, resting on the dusky horizon like an immense, glowing, orange egg.  Gazing at it with wonder and humility, and feeling particularly small and yet honored by this audience, I half-expected something supernatural to happen - like a giant cosmic butterfly emerging from that glorious pod, or a crackling of meteorite fireworks across the sky vault!  That spectacular sight has defined my final hours of 2012 - I am thankful that I can replay the video clip in my mind, because my iPhone camera certainly had no hope of capturing the moon's incredible beauty.  I didn't even try - it was crazy, amazing; gorgeous - a living dream.

The moon was still large and silver-bright this morning when my dual-alarms woke me from a heavy sleep - albeit with some wear on her right cheek, like some amorous giant besmirched  her flawless beauty with clumsy maneuvering.  In the midst of great busy-ness and commotion that makes up a typical day, I have been meditating upon that great and glorious pearl in the sky and wondering about 2013 and what this new year will bring.

Typically, as the year wraps up, a word comes to me that serves as my guide, my mantra, my focus for the year ahead.  This year has been so full, so over-run with words, emotion, art, activity, and I find myself serene, hovering in the centre of a maelstrom, but without a word of my own.  Perhaps the message is in the sky, in the moon, in her strength and unparalleled beauty. She who we take for granted, grows full, wanes and rises anew with new brilliance - She who pulls the great oceans of the Earth, mastering the tides and affecting the patterns of life.

Ah, there it is - the word, hidden in the shadow of a moonbeam - ATTUNEMENT. The meaning is immediately understood.  Attunement is about stopping to break away from man-made patterns and connecting to the natural rhythmic ways which we take for granted but which are essential to our lives.

Here at midday, I feel the cool white slip of the moon across my skin; up my shoulder, to my face - the gentle, guiding touch of a Mother's soft hand.  She is affirming my choice as I look skyward to the arrival of the new year.

Learning Curves

By Pam Hadder


Like one tiny puff of cloud in an otherwise empty sky, our ideas and dreams are born, and we witness them grow and change, or perhaps dissipate,  unacknowledged.  With music, sometimes there is a riff that comes to us and ingratiates itself -- hinting or even demanding that we give it some attention. As with any creative gift, we need to pay heed or risk losing the opportunity.

Poetry, lyrics, painting, and even work-based solutions all can be experienced in this way - have you ever sat in a brain storming session of any kind and it felt was impossible; a complete waste of time - coffee growing colder; you can hear the stomach gurgles and eyelid blinks?

Although I have always known that creativity can't be forced -- my life repeatedly affirms this theory! Humankind imagines that it is very clever, and, granted, we are all moderately so.  But what I have learned, and what continues to be reinforced for me, is that these tiny inspirations and seemingly silly notions are a great gift.  Our task is to attune ourselves to them, and take them and apply them - the universe is nudging us to write our prose, capture the imagery or add lyrics to the melody.  And... this is not hard work or torture - we need only submit ourselves with openness to the possibilities; it's as natural to us all as breathing.

Of course, there are so many things we can't control - and that can be a scary thought.  However, what we can control is our environment and how we respond to it - the climate for productivity differs for each of us, and we need to explore and be comfortable with our own unique situation.  Have you known people who can never be alone or in complete silence?  There is nothing wrong with that; perhaps it's torture for them!  Or those that need complete silence to "think" - every pin-drop is like a ogre's heavy foot step?  Most of us are likely somewhere in between; or we vacillate between needs for stimulation and repose.

Most of all, regardless of our ideals for living, we need to be open - open to newness, to previously unseen possibilities, to learning; to stepping outside our carefully constructed boundaries.

Why not take those little clouds and shape them with your time and talent.

Flying!

Feels so damn good to commit words to a page simply for the love of expression, connection and sharing!  


Winter was a blur - business, academic, and personal demands: the overwhelming vibe was one of being slightly sedated and rolling awkwardly in slo mo, head over heels; mouth agape in wonder -- except for those powerful earth-bound moments when I was able to touch and be touched, to smile into the eyes of an understanding soul, and to explore the ephemeral continent of the spirit we call creativity. My champions, my angels -- gratitude is too small a word to capture your influence!


And quite frankly... well I wouldn't change a thing -- it was time for the push, it was time for pressure.  Sedated, rolling, floating -- whatever!  I survived, I am surviving; I have arrived and I am arriving. 


Life, like live music, occurs in real time - there is no opportunity to roll back and edit. It requires acceptance, but also provides the extraordinary boundless vista for us to create, establish; to thrive on our optimal terms. Like it or not, we are all flying by the seat of our pants, doing the best we can in this one moment we are given, and if we are lucky (or perhaps not lucky???), we will be renewed to experience another moment, and another.


I am officially taking the summer "off" from my studies (I have this in quotes, because, my ever-curious mind is never off duty!), but I am excited to have the privilege to focus on my physical health goals and also on my love of music. 

And oh, those rows of new canvasses stacked up at the studio...  I am painting them in my mind - plotting, assessing; loving their infantile purity; metaphysical secrets are hovering above their stark surfaces like wind over the grass, and will be realized in paint when the moment is right.

To Thine Own Self

The past two years have been very hectic - not without joy, delight or accomplishment, but with little room just to be, just to exist. I think creative folks just need that down time - the mind and body seldom rest from purposeful processes and analyses.

My Mom used to say that once you have kids the fast forward switch goes on - one day you look in the mirror and the lines and grey hairs are there and you just think, what the...???

I often wonder if there is something scientific behind my Mom's prediction ? As my kids grow and become increasingly independent, I keep expecting to be able to draw on a little more of that precious life-affirming juice, aka "down-time", but it seems like the reverse is true! Am I overly conscientious? Do I need to be more assertive at home and in the work world? Where is the time going (really; truly) - I feel too busy, to involved to really take stock and the self-bank of me-ness is running low and lower!

Recently, I asked a group of adult learners to list their top ten strengths - referring, of course, to personal attributes that they could draw upon for the creation of a resume and during job interviews. Most could only list three to five, and this dismal response and disconnection from self awareness and potential was just so discouraging. Then I remembered a pearl of wisdom I once heard - that we are frustrated most by shortcomings we also share.

Although I am not in the market for a new career, I also began to think that maybe I was losing touch with my own strengths - I always maintain that a person should keep an up-to-date CV, cover letter template and references at hand, as a way of remembering all you are and all that you have to offer the world. It is so easy to become lost in the busy-ness of daily life and to forget the intricate richness with which we are each blessed.

I began the list and it flowed fast and easily...

COMPASSIONATE
ANALYTICAL
CREATIVE
ETHICAL
PASSIONATE
ARTISTIC
MUSICAL
ARTICULATE
LOVING
POSITIVE
ATHLETIC
APPRECIATIVE
HUMOUROUS
FORGIVING
LOYAL
HARD-WORKING
RESULTS -ORIENTED
JOYFUL
KIND
RESOURCEFUL
CARING
RESPONSIVE
ACCURATE
LIFE-LONG LEARNER
COMMITTED
VISIONARY
BIG-PICTURE THINKER
HUMANITARIAN
MENTOR
VOLUNTEER
LEADER
TEAM MEMBER
CAREFUL

Last week I also entered four of my colour photos in a National Geographic photo contest - a small thing, yes, but significant to me. Although I majored in photography in university, my recent years have consisted of mostly "Mom shots" of my three kids. Of the four images chosen, my favourite is featured in this entry - the dragonfly photo that I call "Backyard Angel".

I remember how that dragonfly patiently posed for me on the weathered fence boards. I was fascinated by the blues and greens of his steely armoured plates, and how, up close, the delicate wings looked like ornate wrought iron railings. I think also, that at my best, I relate to the dragonfly - buzzing purposefully, efficient and sturdy; a profound asset in my chosen environment.

But at times, when my fuel tank feels low and I lose sight of my talent and abilities, I envy the dragonfly's freedom - it's time to dust off, time to use my wings; time to soar... I was made to soar.

Four Strings

When most people think of banjo and they think BLUEGRASS - well there's much more to it. Until the electric guitar became such a big part of ensemble music, the four-string tenor banjo's rich tones were integral to jazz music.

My thrill of the week (maybe the month, the year???) was having my friend un-case her banjo (yes, four-string tenor) yesterday and play a few licks. Ain't She Sweet and Bye Bye Blues - sweet indeed and blue no longer - OMG!

The kicker... I got to add a little paint to her 70s banjo case - complete with Hang Ten style feet and daisies, I kept her young girl art intact and touched up a bit of the colour, adding in a few more flowers. Love when music, art and summer all meld together - heaven piercing thru the mundane day to let us know what really matters xo! BTW... Photos are details of a visual journal portrait I did for The Bird - play on, Girl, your talent is a spectacular gift.

Mission Possible

Sometimes life has a way of knocking the stuffing out of a person - I know what it means to feel small, insignificant; powerless. But then sometimes people or events remind me that I have a purpose, that I have value, and that I can achieve many things through persistence and effort.

Yesterday I was reminded of the fragility and beauty of life - I am thankful for the nudge. I thought I would be at a gallery show opening, but I spent several hours at a hospital with friends instead, saying good bye to a gravely ill family member. Funny, how tight the curve can be some days - whipping us around and setting in motion a completely different turn of events! And although I could never have imagined my day unfolding as it did, I am absolutely certain that is where I was intended to be, for reasons known and unknown.

Humble, grateful; joyful at the altar
I sip the bitter nectar of this hour.
Wedded to thee, soul to soul
Tethered to eternal light
Amid the sweetness of
Spring blossoms.

Comfort Me

The first time I tasted bread with olive oil, balsamic vinegar and herbs I was visiting Restaurant Pellegrino with my Mom - the owners had my drawings framed and decorating the dining room and wanted me to see the result. (The owner's wife, Paulina, had modelled for me at University).

They treated us to a lovely lunch and I experienced the Italian tradition - took to it like a duck to water, btw... Travelling to Toscana last year, and having the local ingredients at my disposal was just a fantastic upgrade! I can still smell the moist, clean air and feel the beauty transforming my thoughts and dreams.

What is cool, is that we can get wonderful balsamic from Modena and great fresh breads here at home, but I have yet to find a oil that rivals what I tasted in Italia. I didn't buy anything fancy either - just the local Co-op brands and it topped anything I had ever sampled in Canada. Paired with some wonderful wine, well that's magnifico! Unpretentious, accessible luxury for the six senses.

So, it's a rainy holiday Monday and I am relaxing and remembering driving through Tuscany - the weather changing rapidly from sun to cloud to rain and back to sun again, as we drove through that magical countryside - like a fairy tale come to life. It's such a treat to have those memories to play back like favourite movie clips - comfort for the soul and inspiration to nudge it forward.

Red, White, Green

Last March I was travelling through Tuscany with my son and my best friend - it was Spring Break for my little guy, and we all had an amazing adventure. This year, I am sticking close to home, but Italy has been on my mind! I used to really hate March because, not only is the weather miserable and fickle (is spring coming or not???), but I also lost my Father (1999) and my niece (2004) in March, so there was always this association with loss, grief and emptiness. Having visited Toscana and experienced the warmth of the people, the surreal beauty of the landscape and unmatched flavours, textures and colours that only that region can provide, I am finding that my memories of that magical time have cancelled out the muddy, cold patch that was my March experience.

Breathing the cool air and face to the sunshine, I recall my bare feet on the terra cotta floors of our villa, making Cafe Vergnano in the little kitchen that opened to a private terrace. The succulent blood oranges, dreamy yogurt, incredible prosciutto and cheese, and just the scent of the air -- I can replay the experience with complete, vivid recall.

I feel fortunate to have experienced such beauty and goodness, and that my son also enjoyed and remembers fondly our time together in Italy. It is such a gift to have memories of sorrow replaced by ones of creativity, engagement of the six senses and rejuvenation of the spirit.

Until we can return, Toscana, I will recreate little pieces of you in my daily life: wrapped in my moss-green cashmere cape, walking in the sunshine and cool air, and looking for beauty in the ordinary things around me.

Tranquility

White Light
For an artist, a white canvas is both a challenge and an opportunity - you can do anything you want, limited only by your imagination. It is very much like stepping out into the winter air and being the first to make an impression in the newly fallen snow.

Right now I have several canvases and objects awaiting my painterly touch - it's like the stark winter landscape is sneaking into my studio as winter hangs on into March. I don't want to go out, so it is coming to find me.

Seeing that I am beginning to fade away, my employer has ordered me to take a creative day this coming week - starting to get excited, but that day (although greatly appreciated) is never quite enough; I could lose myself in my studio (or find myself?) for days on end.

Snow Drifts
By this time of the year, I admit that I am tired of the blanched landscapes of my homeland -- post-blizzard this a.m. the view was almost blinding; even with my transitions glasses perched on my nose! But there is purity and introspection and inspiration in that whiteness -- and yes, great beauty. The bride awaits and I have assumed the role of her suitor.