The Galleries: Three Stops...

(I'm happy to report that dialogue is blossoming on Persist: The Blog. The question sent out via various social media was this: "If you're a creative person, how do you define 'success'?" If interested, check it out, join in...! Tweet me! Or Facebook me! You'll be glad you did...)

My friend Jeff Koegel designed the cover for Persist, the book. You can hardly have missed the image on The Buddha Diaries or in one of the tireless (I hope not tiresome!) blasts I've been putting out to spread the word. Now Jeff has a solo show in Los Angeles, and Ellie and I made his show at Merry Karnowsky Gallery our first stop.

I was amazed, immediately, by the sheer volume of work that Jeff has produced in a relatively short time. These are all "new paintings," and there are a lot of them to look at. They're an interesting study in contrasts--between bold swaths of black and white, and areas of bright color; wide paths tracked, often edge to edge, and delicate connecting lines, like spiders' webs, that lead the eye from image to image, shape to shape; elements that suggest landscape, others that are severely structural, architectural; abstract form and representational image; organizational design and lyrical asides...

The paintings read something like those Japanese scroll works, hung in close proximity. They suggest narratives that the viewer can explore, following the path of his or her own eye. The recurrent theme is the relationship between man and the natural environment, a continuing adventure that is dominated by the passage of time and the inevitable process of entrop

y that accompanies it. I happen to love, particularly, Jeff's birds--direct descendants of the dinosaurs, of course, who seem to regard us human beings with beady bemusement, and who can be seen at once as creatures of sublime beauty and ominous harbingers of death. (For images, you'll have to go to Jeff's website, where you can get a much fuller sense of his work. Apologies to him for purloining this little one--I don't think he'll mind.)

Our next stop was at Edward Cella's Art + Architecture gallery, a new space, recently relocated from Santa Barbara, where we were graciously greeted by the owner himself. It's a nicely-designed, clean space--as you'd expect of a gallery devoted to the intersection between art and architecture. And the current show, Frederick Fisher's Thinking by Hand is a wonderful example of what this means. I have know Fred's architectural work for decades, and have written about it in the past, so I was delighted to have the chance to, as it were, watch his mind at work in this exhibition which combines imaginary projects for art museums with, in an adjacent gallery, a host of small watercolor "drawings" in which the architect explores the ideas for these projects.

I loved the presentation of the projects themselves--long digital prints hung as scroll paintings, with crisp images of architectural drawings, finely imagined exteriors and interiors, and a few whimsical asides. And the unassuming, gentle watercolors...

... defy the inherent arrogance of architecture and imagine instead the solidity of architectural forms in delicate blocks of color and assemblages of form, small visual treats that excite the eye and provide, even in their delicacy, a profound kind of pleasure and satisfaction. Their intimacy invites playful interaction, and brings the hard edge of architecture down to a softer, human scale. Very lovely.

The last stop I'll mention was at Acme Gallery, still installing at the time of our visit with three shows. I was attracted particularly by the work of Lisa Borgnes, a fellow blogger, by the way, who works on large-scale "samplers" stitched with wry, sardonic lyrics of her own creation. Go to the gallery site for images--well worth the side trip! Her play is on the domesticity that was expected of women back in the nineteenth century, who were taught to create those often pious objects jusat as they were taught "their place" in society; on feminism and its dicta; and on the current (highly commercialized) worship of youth and beauty. She makes cheerful mockery of the whole mess, and asserts an independence, both as a woman and an artist, that is at once irresistibly funny and seductive. I'll be adding her blog, A Bloomsbury Life, to my blogroll, and hope that readers of The Buddha Diaries will join me in delighting in her musings.

Oh, and don't forget to go see her show.

Drill, Baby, Drill...

Yeah. Thanks. Get thee to a dentist, Sarah Palin! And here's hoping the Big O will take note of this event.

The Shadow Knows

I sat last night in my circle of men for the first time in several weeks. It's always an opportunity for each of us to take a hard look at our lives, and to explore those parts that are not working for us as they might. These are the parts we are eager, in normal circumstances, to hide, repress or deny, because it is usually more comfortable to ignore them than to pay attention to them. Still, unattended, they persist in causing us pain, and in standing between us and those around us; and all too often they block the flow of our efforts to achieve. It's a place to be authentic, to acknowledge the bullshit that we tell ourselves and others, to get back in touch with our integrity. I have been missing it...

So I had the opportunity, last night, to look at a conflict I had been aware of only as a vague feeling of discomfort and frustration. I have been noticing it particularly in the past few days--a familiar feeling that I'm so busy being busy that the real work, the writing, gets short shrift. And looking a bit closer at those feelings, I rediscovered the inner contradiction that is at the heart of "Persist"--the contradiction between the part of me that genuinely want to disattach from outcomes, and the part I'm less likely to acknowledge, the one that's ambitious, hungry for recognition and even, yes, financial reward. The part--I blush, but this is the point of getting past the bullshit--that takes guilty delight in counting the money after a good night's sales!

It's this kind of exploration of the shadow side that makes the work we do in our circle so important and so valuable. When the shadow is behind me, it's capable of controlling me in ways that provoke suffering and anger. When it's out in front where I can shine the light on it, it loses some of its power. I may be unable to get rid of entirely, but at least I'm less subject to its whims. The circle is a great way to make this happen. In the first place, I have other men to hold me accountable; I'm confident that they will recognize my bullshit, and hold my feet to the fire when necessary. And then, too, the work of self-accountability becomes more powerful when it's realized in the presence of others, and not simply in the comfortably private arena of my own mind. The commitments are less easy to make and less easy to break when other men are listening.

So I'm grateful for having discovered this work, now nearly eighteen years ago; and for having embraced it in the years since then. It's a benefit I would wish for every man--especially for those whose misplaced masculine energies contribute so greatly to the troubles of this world.

Down in "The Muck"

Please read this post at today's entry in Persist: The Blog.

But before you do... here's the tail end of a dream that puzzles me:

I'm at a meeting or workshop of some kind at a sea-front hotel. All the participants are men. The only part I remember is a process where we walk around this big room, confronting other men with a slap on both cheeks. I am not sure whether I am supposed to slap my own cheeks first, then his, or vice versa. It's also unclear how hard the slap is supposed to be: hard enough, I think, to be something of a jolt, but not hard enough to actually hurt.

I find myself looking out of the window at the ocean. The sky is darkening, the horizon line between sea and sky clearly defined, but subtle. Now I notice the arrival of water spouts, dozens of them, white, dancing toward the shore across the surface of the ocean. It's an amazing spectacle. Children are still playing at the beach, people are swimming and water-sporting in the surf, but they seem unperturbed; and indeed, when the waterspouts approach the shore, they change into little, harmless puffs of smoke.

I'm so enchanted by this scene, I call on the others, behind me, to come to the window and take a look, but they are slow in responding, and I'm annoyed that they will miss this beautiful scene I have to share with them...

Does all this, I wonder, have to do with last night's event at the Muckenthaler? What do you think?

Huh?

This morning we had the interesting spectacle of Senator Carl Levin asking questions of a Goldman Sachs executive and getting a bit testy because the man was not answering his questions. The fact is, the two were on different planets, if not in different universes. It would have been funny, were it not so dreadfully revealing of the culture we have created.

The questions--really only one of them, repeated in different forms at least a half dozen times--seemed clear enough: Goldman Sachs, if I have this right, was asked by a client how they managed to feel comfortable with a financial arrangement that was evidently going to turn out badly. They felt comfortable, it appears, because they had a financial interest in the deal going sour--and yet they did not share this information with the inquiring client. Did they not, the senator kept asking, have an obligation to acknowledge what their interest was? After hearing numerous explanations of the issue rather than an answer to his question, the senator gave up, concluding that the executive was simply refusing to respond.

I saw it a little differently--not that the guy was refusing to answer the question, but rather that the question itself came from some other universe than the one that he naturally inhabits. The question came from the sphere of ethics. Truly disturbing was that it ran right past this undoubtedly smart, undoubtedly well-informed, perhaps even well-intentioned businessman, whose head was firmly planted in the world of business. He wanted to give a business answer to an ethical question, and simply could not see that in doing so he was missing the whole point of the question.

I was talking only a little later to a man who for many years has guided our own financial decisions, and who is well-versed in the world of finance. Without, he said, wanting to defend Goldman Sachs, he saw the issue differently. Essentially, as he saw it, GS was in this instance no more than an intermediary in a business deal, with obligations to both parties--the party that wanted to sell the "product" and the party that was willing to buy it. The product was essentially a bet between willing parties, and each side was responsible for acquiring the information needed to make their bet a sound one. The client, my friend argued, in this case, was not your aging grandmother, but a player who should accept responsibility for his own mistakes. (As I understand it--and I admit my understanding is extremely limited--GS was not only the intermediary, but also the creator and seller of the "product.")

My friend further argued, in the same vein, that in the mortgage crisis there were no innocents, that those who took out loans they could not afford were as guilty as those who let them have the money; and that the rot of greed pervaded the system, top to bottom. Okay, I hear that argument. But venality at low end of the financial markets does not excuse the even greater venality at the high end. And what's truly disturbing is not just that venality exists--I'd be surprised, really, if it didn't--but that there are so many in our society, like the executive under questioning from Senator Levin, who simply can't see or recognize it as venality. This was the man who insisted, high-mindedly and with apparent sincerity, in his opening statement, on his personal integrity and that of the firm for which he worked.

The tragedy is that we have created an alternate universe, in which we live our lives and pursue our interests in denial of truths that used to be self-evident. We have come a long way indeed since that "Wonderful Life." We used to be able to believe that the world of business and the world of ethics coincided, in most important respects. Now, though, it seems they have shifted to different, non-communicating universes.

Sangha

What a pleasure it was to be sitting in sangha again yesterday, for the first time in several weeks. We have been kept away by the family visit, obligations in Los Angeles, our recent Santa Barbara trip... and on at least one occasion, as I recall, by sheer fatigue and the need to spend a Sunday morning at home in bed!

The sangha, of course, along with the Buddha and the dharma, is one of the three refuges, and it sure felt like one yesterday. Just the ritual of taking off the shoes and entering the room felt like a release from everything that's going on in our lives in the world out here. It was a small group, yesterday, but the greeting, after our lengthy absence, was warm and welcoming--a home-coming of sorts. Then the bell rang, three times, and we sat in silence for an hour. For a moment, I was going to write "blissful silence," but that not quite the right word. For me, true, there were moments of bliss, when I managed to lose the thoughts and get fully focused on the breath; but for much of the time it required the usual effort of persistence, to keep bringing the mind back to where I wanted it to be.

It has been a while since I sat for the full hour. In the interim, I have managed to sit pretty much every morning--with perhaps one or two exceptions--for at least twenty minutes, and usually half an hour. Our discussion after the sit centered on the inner conflict between the sense of social (and, yes, political) responsibility that most of us share, and the attachment to it that can easily form and, when it does, inevitably brings suffering. It's a topic I sometimes raised with our teacher, Thanissaro Bhikkhu, in the days when I was writing my first blog, "The Bush Diaries" and was much involved in what I judged to be the national disaster of the Bush presidency. His response was always some version of "do what you can." And not get attached, as I understood it, to achieving those things that were beyond my power.

What the meditation practice offers, by way of help for those of us who find ourselves in this predicament, is two kinds of comfort. The first is the daily practice of metta, which requires us to send out compassion and goodwill first to ourselves and those we love, then to those we know less well or not at all; and, in ever-widening circles, to all living beings--including those we don't like or with whom we disagree. It is a healthy thing, for me, in this political climate, to send out compassion to the Tea-baggers, let alone those nay-saying Republicans in Congress. To do so, I need to surrender, for the length of at least a few breaths, that angry part of me that condemns them for what they believe and how they act--a part that is only toxic to myself and does nothing to change their minds.

The second comfort, clearly related to the first, is that of equanimity. In learning, every so slowly, to simply observe the thought processes as I meditate and to let them go, I learn the benefits of detachment. Same with physical sensations and feelings. They come and go. I learn to watch myself getting hooked on them and, when that happens, to acknowledge their presence and let them drift away--as they inevitably will do. This ability to observe without attachment, this equanimity, serves me well when I find myself getting too riled up about the health care bill or financial reform. It's not that I don't care. I do. It's rather the understanding that if I get attached to the outcome of any given situation, I succeed only in creating added suffering. So I revert to simply doing what I can--and acknowledging that there are many things I can't.

Does this absolve me of social and political responsibility? It doesn't feel that way to me. When I succeed in getting past those attachments--and believe me, it doesn't happen all the time; far from it--I remain committed to the cause of improving the lives of those beings with whom I share this planet. I am absolved, though, from the compulsion to do those things I am neither qualified to do, nor in a place where I could achieve them. It occurs to me that this might be the difference between struggling and striving. Without striving, I fall into inertia and my spirit dies. To struggle, though, only makes me suffer.

Breakfast.... and Home

Yesterday, Thursday, was the last day of our Santa Barbara jaunt. After packing our bags and checking out, we headed north and up the San Marcos Pass to join the very beautiful, very narrow, steeply winding road...

...that leads to the delightful aerie...

... where Seyburn Zorthian and her husband, Mark, roost. Seyburn, attentive readers might remember, is the artist whose friendly encouragements were instrumental to bringing me to Santa Barbara, and in particular to the Contemporary Arts Forum. Here's one of her paintings, nicely installed in the living room of their home...

As you can tell, she works in the area of color abstraction that seems to have been our major focus in the past few days. She prepared a marvelous breakfast for us...

... along with a fellow artist, her neighbor, and a friend of his visiting from Amsterdam--convivial company and an excellent scramble of (again!) fresh-laid eggs, a treat for city slickers like ourselves. We have been greeted with this kind of generous hospitality everywhere in Santa Barbara, and it was with some reluctance that, after breakfast, we wound our way back down the mountainside and headed for home.

Once back in the office, I made the dreadful mistake of getting right back to work, with the kind of results I could have anticipated: inattention, irritation, mistakes... and a frustrating sense of incompetence. I should have left well enough alone, put my feet up, taken a nice nap. But no. I was impelled by what I saw to be the need to immediately catch up. And this morning, notice, I'm still splitting infinitives. Or maybe you don't care.

Two Studios, One Museum, Another Speaking Gig...

A lazy start to the day--no exercise this morning, not even our usual walk. But we did treat ourselves to a cup of hotel coffee, before heading up to top of State Street and around a couple of corners to visit our new friend Hugh Margerum's studio...

... where we were impressed by his colorful abstractions, which combine organic with suggestively biomorphic forms in canvases of varying sizes--and in a plethora of drawings that have a whimsical energy and charm. It seems that everyone around here has, or had, or is associated with a vineyard of some kind, and the Margerum family is no exception. We made a note to try their wines. We enjoyed, no less than the studio, Hugh's lovely garden, where chickens roam, hunting and pecking for food amongst the flowers and vegetables; and the fresh-laid eggs that he cooked up for breakfast. What a treat.

After breakfast, we headed back down State Street to the Santa Barbara Museum of Art where we stopped in to see two excellent current shows: Delacroix to Manet, a selection from the distinguished Walters collection from Baltimore, including some first-rate paintings by Turner and a number of 19th century French painters other than those referred to in the title; and Colorscope: Abstract Painting 1960-1979--a fine survey of expressionist, hard edge and op art from that period. It was of special interest to me because at least half of the names were previously unknown to me--a useful reminder of one of the topics of my book, that there are many artists whose work is of museum quality who do not necessarily acquire the fame we too often associate with success. A useful starting point for my lecture in the evening.

The museum also has its own reputable collection of historical and contemporary work. I noted particularly a pair of huge paintings by Matt Mullican, hung nicely across from each other in a high-ceilinged hallway; and, a new acquisition, a painting by the Los Angeles based artist Lari Pittman, about both of whom I have written in the past. Then, too, in neighboring galleries, there are a couple of those wonderful atmospheric paintings by Monet, a terrific early Stuart Davies landscape, and more... Much to enjoy, then, and much to learn from, in a museum whose scale I find especially pleasing--the kind of museum where you can spend just an hour and still have a satisfying experience.

On the recommendation of a friend of a friend (we're acquiring a number of them in Santa Barbara!) we stopped for lunch at Jane's--a bowl of soup, on a remarkably cold and gusty day--after which I dropped in on the local Starbucks for a cup of coffee and spent a while preparing for my evening talk at the Contemporary Arts Forum (CAF), while Ellie did some further exploration of the State Street shopping scene. Fortunately, there was still time to put our feet up for a few minutes in our hotel room before heading south to our second studio for the day--this one belonging to Ann Diener, whose work readers may remember from our visit to the University Art Museum yesterday.

Ann has a beautiful studio, adjacent to her home by the shore, a few miles south of Santa Barbara...

As you might imagine from yesterday's images, including a detail showing her intricate work with graphite, Ann has a love affair with pencils. I have never, anywhere, seen so many of them. Here's a fine bowlful of stubs...

Having followed the work for some years now, it was a delight to spend time in the studio, surrounded by works in various stages of completion, and to have the opportunity to catch up with Ann's progress in getting word out. She has been fortunate in many respects, but still deserves the attention and support of a first rate gallery in Los Angeles or New York. I'm confident that her work would stand up well to that challenge.

We spent a few minutes in the lovely living environment that Ann and her husband have created for themselves, with its spectacular view out over the ocean. Then drove back to the city in time for my speaking engagement at CAF. I was pleased to find that, once again, a good crowd showed up, and that my talk received an enthusiastic response--plenty of questions, and a gratifying line of book buyers at the end. It's an indication, I think, of the hunger for a discussion of the issues that I raise about the contemporary art world and the cultural environment at large.

We finished late, and found a number of the restaurants already closed, so we decided to make it simple for ourselves and returned to the place we had so much enjoyed the previous night--the Wine Cask. We sat, the two of us, quietly, after a hectic day, and enjoyed a peaceful meal, preceded, in my case, by a deliciously cold glass of ginger-infused vodka, and accompanied by a good glass of wine...

A Walk, a Hard Rain, a Lecture...

Up in time for an early walk along the harbor before the rains came in. A cool morning of low clouds and gathering winds...

... but beautiful along the shore front nonetheless. Walking past the marina, we headed out along the breakwater, pausing only to watch the harbor patrol bring in a large boat for winching up out of the water...

... for inspection? For repair? We did not hang out for long enough to find out. Out along the breakwater, we admired a lingering egret… and a giant starfish, attached to a rock by the water line… and continued out to the end before turning back to return to the hotel, where we enjoyed a perfectly adequate “complimentary” Continental Breakfast—a cup of coffee, a toasted English muffin, a hard-boiled egg.

By the time we were ready to leave, the rain had started in earnest. Parts of the parking lot outside our room, indeed, were inches deep in water—a condition that existed too, we discovered, on the main streets of Santa Barbara. State Street, in places, was a river rushing down toward the ocean. Our progress was hampered by one of those tiny electric scooters for the handicapped proceeding at a snail's pace in the dead middle of the road--understandably, since the rise at the center made this the shallowest path. We did, though, find a parking place near where Ellie needed to go shopping, and I retreated to a local coffee shop with my notes to prepare for the afternoon's lecture--a preparation somewhat hampered by a very loud-voiced and opinionated neighbor at the next table, hectoring his companion about matters on which he was, according to himself, extremely well-informed.

I was rescued from this dire situation by Ellie in an hour or so. The rain had stopped, and we walked up to the Arts & Letters Cafe, across from the museum, where we had been told we could get a good lunch. Which proved to be the case, after an unpromising start that included the spillage of an entire glass of water by Ellie and a surprisingly long wait, despite the small numbers of lunchers, for attention. I had what was surely among the best hamburgers I have ever eaten. We paused in Arts & Letters gallery, after lunch, to admire the ceramic work of an artist with whose name we were unfamiliar, working much in the tradition of the Natzlers and Beatrice Wood.

From lunch, we emerged into... sunshine! And walked back to the car for the drive back to our hotel, and a brief rest before heading out to the university in god time, we hoped, to see our friend Ann Diener's show at the university's art museum. Parking, however, proved an unexpected challenge, as was the task of finding the location for my lecture and, from there, the way to the museum. We arrived, finally, a little breathless, in time to spend about ten minutes with the curator, who was gracious enough to open the gallery for us in off-hours. Ann's wall drawing is quite spectacular...

... a towering, exuberant display that includes a shower of collage elements along with the line drawing. A complex, restless work that excites the eye (here's a detail):

... and that required a lot more time than we were able to give it.

My talk was scheduled in one of those large university lecture halls with seats arranged, amphitheater-style, in rising tiers--a new circumstance for one used to talking in more intimate circumstances. A generous introduction by an old friend, Colin Gardner, now chair of the host department, a fellow Brit and Cantabrian (as we who graduated from Cambridge University are traditionally called...), and I launched into my musings about the culture in which we artists, writers, and creative people of all kinds find ourselves, and about the power of the mind of help us to persist in the work we're given to do...

Hard to gauge this large audience, and I was distracted by a young Asian man, dead center, who slept peacefully through the entire presentation. But by the end, I was happy to get a good number of questions and comments--a good sign that my audience has been listening and engaged. And the response from those who came up afterwards to buy a book was gratifying.

Later, with evening approaching fast, we headed back into the city to meet up with Colin and his wife, Louise... for wine and dinner at The Wine Cask. A memorable evening of lively talk, including an earful from Colin about the demands of a chairmanship in an educational system gone mad with the explosion of media and information systems--a nightmare I'm happy to have avoided, having withdrawn from academia now nearly twenty-five years ago. I can hardly imagine what it must be like to be available, as an administrator, to students, faculty, and the administration at large via email and cell phone twenty-four hours a day. Let alone to fulfill those other academic requirements, to make a showing in one's own field of interest.

To Santa Barbara

An eventful day, yesterday. Our new assistant, Emily arrived in good time to say hello to George, who will be in her charge for the next three days, while we are in Santa Barbara. We left the pair of them on good terms, and drove up through relatively easy traffic, first to Ojai, where our friend Peter Sims lives now with his wife, Yvonne. Peter is a faithful member of our artists' group, and we were impressed, as we completed the one and a half hour drive, that he manages to make it nearly every month down to Los Angeles to join us. The couple live in a small but pleasantly spacious-feeling house just outside of Ojai, with an expansive property that includes not only Yvonne's studio and a salt-water swimming pool, but also a boules court, a citrus orchard, and a beautiful garden that is still a work-in-progress.

Yvonne works in mosaic, using fragments of glass and ceramic objects that she collects, seemingly in bulk, from local junk shops. This studio shot will give you some idea...

Her work is both large-scale...

... here a gazebo beside the swimming pool, and a detail...

... showing the fine quality of the work; and small...

... like this whimsical, free-standing sculptural object. Yvonne manages, enchantingly, to transform kitsch into art, re-contextualizing what once was utilitarian or cheesy decorative stuff into surprising and elegant arrangements. The garden is slowly turning into a single aesthetic environment, something akin to Simon Rodia's Watts Towers in Los Angeles or Grandma Prisbey's Bottle Village. Perhaps, one day, this too will be a pilgrimage destination!

Lunch with Peter and Yvonne at a pleasant restaurant in Ojai, then back on the road to Santa Barbara. Peter directed us on a back road from Ojai to Carpinteria, avoiding the busy 101 that leads along the coast. This back road took us around the spectacular Lake Casitas and through miles avocado orchards lining the inland hillsides--a beautiful drive in a California landscape that we entirely new to us. A special treat.

Once in Santa Barbara, we found our hotel--the Inn by the Harbor, which I have to say truthfully us neither an inn nor by the harbor, but which provides us nonetheless with perfectly adequate accommodation for our three-night stay. After unpacking, we decided on a long-ish walk up State Street to the Japanese restaurant, Arigato Sushi, where we had arranged to meet our friend Seyburn and a small gathering of her friends for dinner.

A memorable evening. Excellent food and conversation, a nice bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from Seyburn's family vineyard (Buttonwood. Check it out!) a good deal of merriment, and a chance to make new friends. What could be better?

In a Nutshell

My obsession this morning? What to say to 260 undergraduate students that they don't already know, or aren't already learning from what I am sure is a fine faculty of teachers? As I mentioned Saturday, I'm headed up the coast to Santa Barbara today, to speak to those undergraduates--and perhaps a few graduate students and faculty--at the College of Creative Studies. It's a larger audience than I'm used to, and an audience of a different kind, younger, doubtless extremely smart and well-informed, otherwise they would not have even got past the admissions standards for the University of California.

So I found it harder than usual, in the course of my sit this morning, to practice that "Not now" with which I have been taught to discourage the brain from processing its thoughts. It was busy preparing for this different challenge, wanting to get it right. What will these students need, other than what they are already being taught, in order to find happiness and self-fulfillment out here in a world that is not always as welcoming to your creative newcomers as they would like to believe? The most important tool I myself have acquired along the way is the mind. I will have done something useful, I think, if I can convey the necessity of a tough, resilient, open, infinitely curious mind--a mind that is tough enough to withstand the buffeting of the often unfriendly winds of contingency they will meet, and to "persist" even at the most discouraging of times.

Is such a thing possible to acquire? I want them to know that it is. To understand that mind differs from the brain that is properly fed by their classes, that it is more expansive, encompassing every aspect of the human experience--thoughts, feelings, sensations within and beyond the body. That, undisciplined, it is capable of directing our lives without our knowledge or permission--sometimes in counter-productive if not outright destructive ways. So it's important to know that I have one--a fact that I sometimes forget, along with the vast majority of my fellow humans: we do easily "lose our minds"! It's important to know what it looks like and how it behaves, to be able to watch it in action.

And important to know how to train it. First of all, to know that it can, indeed, be trained, like the proverbial puppy-dog, to do those things we want it to do and refrain from doing those things it would happily do of its own accord: run off an play, dash across the street in front of oncoming traffic, piss on the carpet... Having discovered, for myself, that meditation is one well tested way in which the mind can be trained, this is something I can offer to those students, not as the one and only approach, but has one that has been proven successful over centuries of practice.

And, yes, I can share with them my understanding that practice is not only the key to meditation, but also a perfect model for the creative process--to show up, as I like to say; to sit down; to get focused and concentrated; and to persist. The mind, clearly, when properly used, is the most powerful of all creative tools. If I can get this idea across, I will have served my own purpose, and hopefully that of my listeners tomorrow.

I'm Back in the Saddle...

... again. As the old song says. I felt a bit rusty last night, speaking for the first time in a few weeks at a gathering of, mostly, artists in a Beverly Hills studio. Luckily for me, there were plenty of glasses of wine passed around before I spoke, and the atmosphere was friendly and well-disposed! This afternoon, I speak to a group in a former hanger at the Santa Monica Airport which has been converted to accommodate a good number of artists' studios; and next week, I head for Santa Barbara, with engagements at UCSB's College of Creative Studies on Tuesday and, on Wednesday, at the Contemporary Arts Forum. So, if you happen to be in one of those locations, I'd be happy if you were to consider stopping by...

This is really the first time in my relatively long publishing career that I have devoted so much energy to the post-publication work in connection with a book. I have, true enough, done readings before, from my early books of poems; and book-signing tours, largely local, for my two novels. I discovered long ago that the writing is the easy part of being a writer. That the hard part comes afterwards, in finding the agent, the editor, the publisher...; and then, after the book is published, to bring it to the attention of potential readers, because even the large publishing houses do little for their authors--unless they happen to have a prior track record of financial return, like John Grisham, or celebrity, like Sarah Palin. If there are profits involved, that's a different story. For most of their "mid-list" publications, however, it's a matter of throwing them all up against the wall, to see what sticks.

So it's commonly understood, these days, that the author is largely responsible for his or her baby, after birth. And it seems that this particular baby, Persist, is close to my heart--otherwise why would I be so persistent in working at its promotion? Why this book, among others? Because it says so much about who I am, and how I have chosen to live my life. Because it describes those places in which I feel closest to other writers, other artists, who share a common predicament and must each find a way to face it, in their own way, if they are to remain authentic to the person they know themselves to be. Because my journey, as a writer, has led me through so many byways and so many obstacles, and persistence has often come hard.

Perhaps, too, it's because the response I have begun to sense feels so heartfelt and genuine. Creative people of all kinds know exactly what I'm talking about--people in all media, of all ages, at many different stages along their own path. They see something of themselves in what I have written, and respond with recognition and appreciation. That's truly gratifying, to feel that I'm speaking to people who really want to hear what I have to say. What could be better, for a writer?

So here I am, doing everything I can think of to help the book along. Put simply, I believe in it. And it's great to feel its momentum, to know that it's going well.

Normally....

... on a Friday, we would be headed down to Laguna Beach--if indeed we were not already there, since we often choose to drive down on a Thursday. This is one of those weekends we'll be staying in Los Angeles: I have two speaking events, one tonight, one tomorrow afternoon, ad we plan to take the opportunity to do some gallery rounds.

George, I'm happy to report, is doing much better. We took him for a follow-up visit yesterday, which our trusted Laguna Beach had told us, Monday, was important. It has been some time since we found a vet in Los Angeles that we really like and trust, so Ellie did some of her usual due diligence this week, asking around among friends to find one who came highly recommended. Her work paid off. The new vet proved attentive, gentle, knowledgeable, and generous with her time. If anyone needs a recommendation in the Los Feliz-Glendale area, they have only to ask.

It was clear, even to the naked eye, that the ulcer in George's eye had shrunk considerably since Monday, when it was first examined. The antibiotic eye drops are doing their work. His eyesight is still severely impaired, but the eye is less droopy than it has been, and George is recovering some of his old spirits. Down in the garden, I have even managed to get him a little bit interested in his ball again. He has a hard time tracking it over any distance, but if I throw it low and close, he seems able to follow it--though with less than his usual excitement and verve.

We do tend to patronize our animals, don't we, humans, as lesser species than our wonderfully intelligent selves? And we are wrong to do it. I have come to realize that they are in many ways much wiser and much saner than what we pride ourselves to be. Their faults are less glaring than our own, their capacity for compassion for themselves and others--at least when we speak of dogs--is often much greater. They know a lot that we will never know, and have some physical capacities that far exceed our own. They "know their place" in the world, in what I perceive to be a good way, never expecting more than is their due.

It's interesting to note that our own species has grown more open to ideas beyond the scientific rationalism that has dominated human thought for at least two centuries; our consciousness is, I believe, expanding, even as we rush toward self-extinction and the ruination of our planet. It's a curious and deeply troubling paradox. The question is, which of our dual propensities will win out first: our generosity of mind, or our selfish need to exploit? Our love, curiosity, and imagination, or our suspicion and distrust of anything we can't prove? Our compassion, or our need to dominate? The next century will be crucial for the human species, I feel sure. But I'm equally sure that I won't be around to know the answers to these dire questions.

Have a good weekend!

Today's Entry...

... will be found at a new site, as yet still under construction Persist: The Blog. I plan for the foreseeable future to spend my time between the two. As you'll see, it's intended as a collaborative venture--one in which I very much hope that readers of The Buddha Diaries will join me. Give me a couple more days to get it set up, and I'll be soliciting contributions.

Good Boy: A Fine Teaching

Today I have a story and some thoughts about one of my greatest teachers, George.

George is not well. For some time, we have been noticing a change in his ability to track and chase a tennis ball--his favorite occupation. When we're down in Laguna Beach, we take him up to a park where he can run to his heart's content off-leash, and we can throw the ball a good distance for him to fetch. Up here in LA, we're fortunate to have a long garden where he can do much the same. He has a specific time of day, later morning and mid-afternoon, when he has come to expect this opportunity to stretch his legs and romp about a bit.

It was a few weeks ago that we first noticed that he was no longer tracking the ball as well. He would start out following in the direction it was thrown, then losing it and circling around time and again until he finally found it. Then, while the family were here, the problem seemed to aggravate, and he seemed at times disoriented--something we attributed to the trauma of having so many people around and so much happening...

Sunday, though, I noticed he started actually bumping into things, and taking fright when coming upon obstacles unexpectedly. A curb, for example, which he would normally see in advance, seemed to loom suddenly in his vision and scare him. Clearly, there was something seriously wrong with his eyesight, and a visit to the doctor was in order. We called first thing yesterday morning for an appointment with our Laguna Beach vet on our way back to the city.

The doctor's examination revealed what he called a "central corneal ulcer"--a wound in the center of the eye that could have been caused by chasing into the bushes after a mis-thrown ball. George suffered nobly through the indignities of the examination, including a series of drops to expose the extent of the wound--and hopefully to begin the healing. We came home with two small bottles from which to administer eye drops several times a day.

It's distressing to see George in such a state. Yesterday, he was virtually blind. He clearly does not like having the drops put in his eyes...

After each administration, he gets a reward in the form of a piece of dog biscuit, and he appreciates the treat; he sits like a good dog and holds his nose up in eager anticipation...

... but it's clear that he doesn't see the cookie even when it's held right in front of him. Move it left and right and his head doesn't move.

Poor George! He has to visit a new vet here in Los Angeles tomorrow for what we're told is an important follow-up examination, one that can't wait until we're next down in Laguna. I'm just keeping my fingers crossed and hoping that the damage is not permanent. He does seem a little better this morning...

In all this suffering, he maintains a kind of nobility from which we could all learn. The vet tells us that the ulcer is very painful, and we have noticed how George has been batting at his eye with a paw or rubbing it against the carpet in the attempt, presumably, to relieve the irritation. But he doesn't complain, and does not appear to feel sorry for himself. Is this only because he lacks the words with which we humans would likely be moaning and groaning about our misery and indulging in self-pity? I don't know. But I think George is a better Buddhist than I am in his ability to maintain equanimity and to refrain from attaching to the suffering. I'm actually more attached to it than he is! George just breathes, and sleeps, and waits for things to improve. And responds to loving attention with his usual return of love for love. An admirable creature!

There's surely no nobility in suffering, per se. The nobility, I think, is in knowing how to suffer with equanimity.

A Bridge to Nowhere?

I think it unlikely that I'll read "The Bridge," the latest biography of Barack Obama by David Remnick. I did read the review in yesterday's New York Times and it sounded like a good read, but it's really a matter of time at the moment. The main thesis of the book, as I understood it, is suggested in the title: that the dominant trait of Obama's character is his drive to build bridges, to conciliate--a trait we have witnessed in abundance this past year. I gather that Remnick traces it back to the childhood wound of parental separation, which makes sense to me; and the reviewer suggests that this characteristic has not served Obama--or the country--well in the first year of his presidency.

Many would agree with this assessment. That famous "bridge to nowhere" seems like a sadly appropriate analogy. We have seen the President repeatedly attempt to reach out to "the other side," only to be contemptuously spurned by those who seek to take advantage of his desire to reach middle ground. If you build a bridge, you need to have terra firma on the other side of the water--something that has been consistently denied him. I understand and sympathize with those who are impatient with his patience, and who consider it an exercise in futility; though none can say he presented a different picture of himself during his presidential campaign. He has been nothing if not consistent in his insistence on both the philosophy and the strategy of conciliation.

And I myself do not find this an undesirable quality, even though some less patient part of me agrees with Bill Maher, for example, when he faults Obama for not having enough Bush in him--enough, I suppose, of the aggressive, willful bully who will do anything to have his way. There are many, myself included, who hunger for more radical change in this toxic social and political environment. Amongst the things I'm for, that are not happening fast enough, count the much-needed regulation of the financial establishment; a fairer and saner policy on immigration; a robust health care system with a genuine public option--or Medicare for all; jobs for all who want them; the repeal of "don't ask, don't tell" and the full implementation of rights for gays and lesbians; a green energy policy to protect the future of the planet; an end to our wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Oh, and the prosecution of those responsible for the lies that led us into war, and those responsible for approving the use of torture. Yes.

There's a lot of this that we're not getting at all, and a lot that we're not getting fast enough for my taste. And yet... In Obama's modus operandi I recognize something of the Buddha's Middle Way, a respect even for those with whom he disagrees. I notice my own tendency to impute ignorance or evil motives to those who see things differently from me, but if I'm to listen to the dharma, I must allow--however ruefully!--that My Way is not the only or necessarily the Right Way. And I'm to believe in the dharma as a true guide to the proper way to live my life, I must believe in the politics it implies even when they seem distasteful or ineffectual to me. I must work on the assumption that even the Tea-Baggers are looking, passionately, in their own way, for their happiness in life, just as I am looking for mine; and it's far healthier for me to think of them with compassion than to vent my anger at them. In clinging to my rightness, I do nothing to alleviate their suffering and only increase my own.

These are not easy things to say. There is that intellectual part of me that regards such attitudes as naive at best, at worst a cop-out. And even whilst I myself admire the "cool"--read, "equanimity"--for which Obama is so often criticized, I am happy that he has his critics, even those most bitterly and vocally disappointed. I believe that they created their own expectations and projected them upon this man in the form of hope, but nonetheless they do us all a service in affirming that other side of the Middle Way and, in a sense, in keeping Obama honest. The essential ingredient in the quality of conciliation, after all, is the ability to listen to the criticism of one's friends with as much careful attention as to that of one's opponents.

Taxes

This week I have the not-small matter of getting re-focused on all those things I put aside for the two weeks of the family visit. I had almost forgotten about "Persist." I have four speaking gigs lined up in the next ten days, and will need to rediscover the head-space in which those can happen with fluency and ease. I need to get back in gear with my other promotion efforts; aside from my plan to expand the reach of my speaking engagements, I want to do what I can to get the book onto bookstore shelves and promote online orders. There's much more that can be done.

Today, however--I'm thinking of this as my "first day back to work"--I have a visit to the CPA on my schedule, to get our taxes filed. I am usually prepared for this well in advance, but the job has been delayed this year by other commitments and the April 15 deadline looms. For me--perhaps because I grew up in a country where taxes took a much bigger bite out of income--it's not so much paying the taxes that's the annoyance, it's the work involved in preparing to pay them. It has always puzzled me that people in my country of adoption make such a fuss about paying their fair share and at the same time take all the benefits of government for granted. Would we all be happier, as libertarians seem to suggest, without the services that government alone can provide? Things like, you know, clean streets and trash disposal, highways and functioning transportation systems, education, police and fire departments, social security and now, finally, the beginnings of a health care system?

This all amounts, I suppose, to--gasp!--socialism, though we may not speak the word. The irony is that in America, we have come to expect the services of a socialist state without having to pay for them. Speaking for myself, I'm just surprised that I don't have to pay more. I would, indeed, be perfectly willing to do so, especially here in California, if it would only help improve our decaying education system. More education, it seems to me, would result in more capacity for critical thought, analysis, and understanding of the problems that we face. For now, we have nothing but denial.

Them's my thoughts on the matter. Even so, it is certainly a nuisance to have to put together all the financial records for the past twelve months and get them organized into some kind of meaningful order to present to the CPA. I am told that it's easier, these days, with such online aids as TurboTax, to do the work oneself; but I confess that I have never done it, and would not know where to start. I am meticulous in adding up the income--such as it is, and has been, in my days as a free-lancer!--and the work-related expenses; and because I have been lazy about it in the course of the year, I am confronted with a whole year's worth of stubs, credit card statements, and check book registers. I always promise myself that, next year, I'll do this right, and keep the records as the months go by, but I have never once kept that promise to myself, and end up in this familiar, unwelcome predicament. Next year, perhaps... Though it has already started badly.

I hope that my meeting later today will put the matter to rest, and that the resultant bill will not be too burdensome. After which... back to "Persist"!

Goodbye...

Well, the day finally arrived for us to send our family back to England, and we both shed a few tears when the door closed behind them and the limo took them off to the airport. But first...

... we all went out for breakfast at Home, and took a few last pictures of the grandchildren. Here's Joe the Movie Star...

... and Georgia the Movie Star...

... and Georgia and Alice, both Movie Stars...

... and Mum and Dad. Movie stars? (Dad looks a trifle worried...)

... and the whole gang of us, before we ordered...

After breakfast, we all took a walk in Silver Lake, up in the hills through the residential streets and back alongside the reservoir, where I pointed out a couple of herons' nests up in the eucalyptus trees (I always thought herons nested in the reeds, but here in the city, it seems, they nest in trees...) No pictures, I regret. We left the camera in the car. Then Ellie and Diane left with Alice on a final shopping spree at the new Americana plaza in Glendale, while Matthew and the twins and I opted wisely to stay out of it and spend the time at home. The twins embarked on a major planning project for Halloween (!), creating an elaborate drawing and narrative on a long butcher paper scroll that Ellie had given them.

When the girls returned with their loot (Alice's, I think, mostly) they put the final touches on the packing (four huge suitcases, plus backpacks and side bags!) and were ready to leave a little earlier than planned. We loaded up the limo and said our fond goodbyes...

... with a last hug for the plane ride home...

And a bonus memory of the twins, asleep in Joshua Tree!

At the end of it all, early evening, Ellie and I stopped off to visit briefly with her sister, Susie, who is relocating this weekend from Los Angeles to San Diego, and her son, Ellie's nephew, Danny, who flew in from New York to help his mother with the move; and finally drove back down to Laguna Beach, more than slightly exhausted, but so happy to have had the chance to spend these wonderful days with family.

Tourists

Yesterday we were tourists in our own town, taking the family out to see some of the sights of Los Angeles. First stop…

... Grauman’s Chinese! It must be a quarter of a century, at least, since we ventured to this end of Hollywood Boulevard. When Matthew was about Alice’s age and Jason not much more than Georgia’s and Joe’s, we’d come down here for dinner out at the Hamburger Hamlet and maybe see a movie. I’m thinking we saw “Star Wars” here many years ago.

How much the area has changed. What used to be pretty much a single, free-standing theater has become a huge complex that includes the Kodak Theater and dozens of tourist shops and fast-food stops. The underground parking is a maze, with escalators leading to the plaza; and above-ground, a multitude of what I took to be out-of-work actors pose as Batman, Superman, Marilyn, Yoda...

...to have their pictures taken for a couple of dollars with the tourists and their kids… The most popular, it seemed, was Michael Jackson, hovering near his star on the Walk of Fame. And then there was Mickey Mouse's star...

... and something to interest Alice...

We escaped from there with minimal damage to the wallet and the psyche, and drove on to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, where we walked the children through the galleries to the new contemporary area in the Ahmanson wing to see the big de Kooning painting from Ellie’s parents’ home—looking so small in its new location beside a massive painting by Clifford Still. In the same galleries there are several other art works donated by her parents to the museum—some of which, truth to tell, we would happily have hanging on the walls of our own home!

Lunch in the museum cafeteria, followed by a visit to the Japanese Pavilion. Matthew and Diane lived in Tokyo for many years, and enjoyed the many gorgeous prints by Hiroshige currently on display on the top floor, and some beautiful ceramic work...

... along with the scroll paintings hung, protectively in very low light, along the ramp that leads down through the other two floors to the basement—an architectural feature that allowed the children an unseemly romp. A final stop in the room devoted to the art of the netsuke, a beautifully installed display of hundreds of these tiny, fascinating objects...

Matthew had been talking about his wish to take the kids on a nostalgic (for him!) tour of the La Brea Tar Pits since even before their arrival in Los Angeles, and we all enjoyed a visit to Pit #91, still an active and richly rewarding paleontological dig through layers of tar and asphalt; and a tour of the Page Museum...

... where the results of years of patient excavation and research are on display. It’s a stunning collection of exhibits, and one that never fails to entrance the younger generation—combing the appeal of fossils and the bones of exotic creatures from the ancient world.

From the La Brea area, it was a short drive up to the Farmers’ Market, also much changed since our last visit there many years ago. Here. “progress” has seen the expansion of the original market into a vast complex of walking streets and shops, and what was once free parking has become an expensive lot where it’s now a watch-wait-and pounce game to find a parking spot. Our energy flagging somewhat from the day’s exertions, we made an ice-cream stop in the central market area...

... and wandered around for a while before deciding—at my urging, chiefly, I confess—that enough was enough, and—at Ellie’s—that a drive through Beverly Hills might provide a different view of the city.

We headed off in that direction in our caravan of two cars, only to realize that we had lost Matthew and family along the way. We discovered that, in a moment of distraction, Matthew had followed the wrong silver Prius, turning off in completely the wrong direction and ending up way south of where he was supposed to be. Thank God for cell phones, which do turn out to have their uses! We talked him back on the right track, and all met up again in time for a pleasant walk through a few residential streets, which took us past the once charming, modest house where Ellie grew up—a place that has now been gussied up by its new owners to include the obligatory swimming pool and a pretentious front entry with columns and steps...

... and along “Little Santa Monica”, where we found her father’s old tobacco shop—Mrs. Kramer’s—still open for business with the original owner’s son-in-law on hand to sell me a couple of cigars. We were delighted, too, to find her father’s name, Michael Blankfort, still memorialized...

... on the directory of the old Writers’ and Artists’ building where he had his office, alongside the likes of Ray Bradbury and Billy Wilder.

From memory lane, then, we drove back east along Sunset Boulevard, passing through the Strip and pointing out the Chateau Marmont, which Diane had expressed the desire to see—though we no longer had time enough to visit. To end the day, we picked up Sarah from work and drove down to the Cliff’s Edge, on Sunset, where Ed joined us a little later; and enjoyed a decent meal in the very pleasant outdoor ambience of tables under the trees in the warm evening air. Back home, we unearthed a bottle of pear brandy, with a large pear mysteriously intact within, and opened it for celebrate the family’s last LA evening with a nightcap.