Saturday, October 13, 2012


Right now my toes are naked.  This very minute, as I type --- naked. They are sans polish. They don’t know a sock or a slipper. They have totally gone commando. I’m sitting here with naked toes, and I’m thinking that I might let this go on for a while.
Part of me says, “Take care of this! Polish those toes!” But part of me says, “not yet.”  Because being naked, whether literally, figuratively,  or metaphorically, can be a good thing that brings about new perspectives.  Being uncomfortable, feeling exposed, feeling like you’ve put yourself out there – these are all things that artists use to create something that transports them – and others -- beyond the experience.  
For me, being naked really means going beyond the fuss, the pageantry, the facades, the persona – anything that we put between us and the world – and reaching in and grabbing hold of something that is honest and real.  Then I try to weave those threads into the cloth that becomes a song. It is what makes writing so enjoyable. It’s what makes art so enjoyable, because my truth is not your truth, and your truth is not mine. I don’t have to know what you were thinking when you painted that beautiful picture, but deep within the fiber of it, the truth is still there.  
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that you can’t really be true to yourself if you don’t even know your own feet.  Can you? I wonder…


  1. Some prefer to contemplate the navel.
    A toe could work...I guess.

  2. What about those of us who can't see our toes? At least, not very clearly. I truly would like to know how long you can go without polishing your toes.

    Seriously, it often seems like good art requires taking some risks. Like the risk of being authentic. As authentic as an unvarnished toe.