Naked

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…

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Shoes vs Art

I wouldn't describe myself as a materialistic person. And yet, there are some items that I must purchase and that I must have. Some of these items are not necessarily utilitarian, but they make me happy.

Shoes - new shoes - bring me joy. I don't know why I love 'em, I just do. And I require shoes. Call it addiction, a habit - call it what you want. In my head, I have already planned and plotted what my next pair will be. It's only a matter of time. And I don't just "need" one new pair. I need one in each of the categories I've created in my head.

Lately, I have had to hold off on the shoe buying, because I'm spending it all on recording - saving it all for the studio. So don't anyone try to tell me that I don't suffer for my art. I do. Oh, I do. And it's a worthy reason indeed. If I can just figure out how to record the right kind of song, I suspect that it would bring about some good shoe karma that would perhaps result in a my being inundated with new shoes. So that's the plan. That's the dream.

Yes, I Have Doubts

Daylight and coffee always make things look better.

I woke up at 1 am last night, filled with thoughts of doubt and reasons why I was obviously crazy for deciding to record my songs in a Nashville studio with strangers, no less. I mean, who just decides to go and do something like this? Who am I to think this is necessary? I'm taking time off of work, leaving my family,  and spending a lot of money to make this happen, all in the name of my "art."

In addition, I cut the tip of my pinkie finger yesterday with a big knife, and at the time it seemed like more of an annoyance than anything. But it bled profusely and I had to keep it bandaged pretty tightly all day. At 1 am, while I was assailed with doubts about my upcoming trip, that little sucker was throbbing. I found myself doing mental calculations about how I could fit in a trip to Urgent Care in the morning. A full-blown emergency room visit was definitely out - everyone knows it takes hours, and I would miss my flight. If I didn't have someone look at it, would the tip of my pinkie lose its connection with the rest of the finger and become gangrenous? Is "gangrenous" a word? When was my last tetanus shot? What if I went all the way to Nashville, assembled a studio full of musicians and then came down with lockjaw? Do people still get lockjaw? Is this an omen - a sign that what I am getting ready to do is just nuts?

I'm sporadically reading a book about following your creative path. The author says that doubts like this are just ways we put up blocks because we're afraid to go forward and -- take that leap. I have to say, at 1 am, that wisdom just doesn't fly.

Now it's morning, and this coffee is working magic - giving me the confidence I need to get on with it. The pinkie finger actually still hurts, but I've examined it in the light of day and I see no signs of abdication by the tip, so things are looking great. Onward to Nashville!