Archive for February, 2006

Naught but by this expenditure

Monday, February 6th, 2006

In Memoirs of a Geisha, the main character reflects on the advice of her mother, who taught that water, with time, can cut through the hardest rock, and, when blocked, will always find another way.

Why is it that everywhere I shift my attention, I’m reminded of the power of persistent, repetitive action? Is the universe using the method itself to make sure the concept gradually penetrates my stubborn personality?

When I look over the past dozen years or so, the most noticeable change I can recognize in myself is the transformation to high physical activity from a sedentary mode. It wasn’t initially inspired by a dream. Rather, it grew out of an apprehensive realization that I undoubtedly carried the same predisposition to heart disease that had claimed my father’s life. Out of weakness came strength—increment by increment, workout by workout, mile by mile.

So, there I have it. Out of my weakness to believe that I could achieve without grinding, habitual effort my dream—a dynamic life on the land, making art from a studio in the Knobs—can come a new practice and ritual which is the only course that will ever take me there. Yes, there will be obstacles and inner resistance. At times, the water will need to find an alternative path, but there is no alternative to the necessity of the “drill.” No other way than through the power of focused routine, and a life of productive habit.

Once again, I must read the words of Emerson and let them sink in—

In chemistry, the galvanic stream, slow, but continuous, is equal in power to the electric spark, and is, in our arts, a better agent. So in human action, against the spasm of energy, we offset the continuity of drill. We spread the same amount of force over much time, instead of condensing it into a moment.

Once more.

And again…

Knobbers unite

Sunday, February 5th, 2006

The overdue arrival of winter weather kept our annual Super Bowl Sunday mountain bike ride up in the air until midday. No additional precipitation and a sliver of blue sky tipped the balance, so we gathered in Forkland to face the four-knob challenge. Ben, Brian, and the other hard climbers took off in a fast pack. By contrast, the rest of us set out at a pace that gave us a shot at finishing the day in one piece. With a double layer of socks and running shoes, I wasn’t surprised that my toes still went numb at times, but I wasn’t expecting the wind chill to cut through my neoprene scuba-diving gloves (one of the best gifts Jerome ever gave me). Let’s just say it was brisk out there, but I never really found myself second-guessing the choice to go through with the ride. With great companionship, a stunning vista of remote, snow-clad woods, abundant running creeks and cascades, plus the opportunity to test the value of my recent gym workouts, it was an envigorating, worthwhile afternoon, and proves that cycling can be a rewarding fitness activity in Central Kentucky any time of the year.

Taking the step from knowing to doing

Saturday, February 4th, 2006

Twyla Tharp makes clear throughout her invaluable book that creative consistency can only be achieved when the artist pushes beyond talent and desire to infuse work with an ethic of ritual. Not even skill, imagination, research, or planning will compensate for the lack of a daily habit of constructive focus. Emerson calls it “drill.”

Both of them describe a level of disciplined concentration with which I have personal experience, but only for relatively brief spells in my life. I’ve always felt relieved to settle back into a more multi-dimensional frame of mind. I never understood how the focused state could be harnessed as a positive habit pattern because I wasn’t convinced there was any reason to do so. My self-image as a hard worker coexisted with a misplaced desire to indulge my aversion to structured, regimented, predictable behavior. I built an entire lifestyle around it, but, to be frank, I haven’t built much else.

I was talking to my brother James last night and when he asked what was going on with me, I replied without thinking, “You should read my blog.”

I knew it was lame as soon as I said it. His not unkind reply was that he just didn’t have the time. I wasn’t surprised, but I still carried a vague sense of disbelief for the rest of the night until I finished Emerson’s “Power” before bed.

The one prudence in life is concentration; the one evil is dissipation: and it makes no difference whether our dissipations are coarse or fine; property and its cares, friends, and a social habit, or politics, or music, or feasting. Everything is good which takes away one plaything and delusion more, and drives us home to add one stroke of faithful work.

The thinker likens the severe limiting of miscellaneous activity to an orchard-man’s pruning which “forces the sap of the tree into one or two vigorous limbs, instead of suffering it to spindle into a sheaf of twigs.”

It’s not too late for me to take the step from knowing to doing. Typically for me, it’ll be easier said than done. Twyla would stomp her foot and shout, “Begin!”

Now that I’ve convinced everyone to stop reading this blog, I’d better quit. Or perhaps I should revisit my own misgivings from my very first entry over a year ago.

“Enlarge not thy destiny,” said the oracle

Friday, February 3rd, 2006

This is one of those moments when I think that I didn’t begin to get a real education until after the age of 50, when I finally settled for me as a teacher.

Me said, “It’s not too late to learn how to think.” I answered, “Ok, Me. Let’s get started.”

Joan was kind enough to make some of Joe Wood’s books available, and there was one I accepted with particular seriousness—“The Conduct of Life,” a collection of essays by Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Perhaps true book-larnin’ doesn’t take place until one can center on an idea or theme after confronting it from multiple directions.

A good start, but there’s little chance a revelation will be internalized until put into actual practice.

Here is something I just read from the essay called “Power”—

When Michel Angelo was forced to paint the Sistine Chapel in fresco, of which art he knew nothing, he went down into the Pope’s gardens behind the Vatican, and with a shovel dug out ochres, red and yellow, mixed them with glue and water with his own hands, and having, after many trials, at last suited himself, climbed his ladders, and painted away, week after week, month after month, the sibyls and prophets. He surpassed his successors in rough vigor, as much as in purity of intellect and refinement. He was not crushed by his one picture left unfinished at last. Michel was wont to draw his figures first in skeleton, then to clothe them with flesh, and lastly to drape them. “Ah!” said a brave painter to me, thinking on these things, “if a man has failed, you will find he has dreamed instead of working. There is no way to success in our art, but to take off your coat, grind paint, and work like a digger on the railroad, all day and every day.”

Unconventional wisdom

Thursday, February 2nd, 2006

We are led to believe it’s not advisable to drink by yourself, but there are times when I think that if one is to ever drink at all, the best option is to do it alone—totally alone—Ulysses S. Grant upstairs in his room with the door locked alone.

Various & Sundry, part thirty-two

Wednesday, February 1st, 2006

— Month of January workout totals: Swim-5; Bike-2; Run-2; Lift-8; Yoga-13

— Most who know me are aware that I ran—this is where I always have to stop and clarify or say something like “traversed under my own power,” since “ran” is not appropriately descriptive nor entirely accurate—50 miles on my 50th birthday. Later that same year I finished the Chicago Marathon under five hours. That’s my experience with long-distance running. At times I wonder why I didn’t keep it up, but usually I just wonder why I still feel any need at all to stay in running, biking, and swimming condition to be within striking distance of performing a triathlon. Well, it’s important to cross-train, I tell myself, and besides, staying in triathlon shape is not extreme, it’s just what I consider the baseline of physical fitness. I used to think of extreme as my friend who completed over 80 marathon runs, including one in all 50 states and all 7 continents (yes, I know, Antarctica). Or maybe extreme could be defined as competing in “Ironman” triathlons—a 2.4-mile swim, followed by a 112-mile bike ride, and then a 26-mile marathon on top of it, all in one day. And then I heard about the Hardrock Hundred, a 100-mile race that takes place in the mountains of Colorado. Is that extreme or what? Actually there are those who don’t think that’s enough of a challenge, and push the idea of extreme out to the borderlands of madness—the World Championship Quintuple Iron Triathlon. Believe it or not, that’s a distance equivalent to five Ironmans. There’a guy from Louisville who did it. He finished seventh, with a time that set a new U.S. record. A 12-mile swim, 560-mile bike, and 131-mile run. After four days, nine hours, and 40 minutes, he hobbled across the finish line, his body well into the process of cannibalizing his own muscle tissue. Do you think that’s extreme? Now try this—next November there’s a race in Mexico that requires ten Ironmans in ten days, and the Iron Kentuckian is thinking about an attempt. When I heard that I thought about the Athenian warrior Phidippides, who ran what’s considered to be the first marathon in the year 490 BC. He expired. We’ll keep you posted.

— The previous blurb brings to mind a recent article in Money Magazine that one of our clients brought to our attention. Jason Zweig explains in “The Thrill is Wrong” that the new science of “neuroeconomics” is helping investors understand that brain metabolism may cause us to make bad money decisions in much the same way we make bad decisions about food, drink, drugs and sex. Maybe they should add exercise to that list.

— After delivering my finished exhibition print to the Carnegie Center, Dana and I had a nice carnitas dinner in Lexington and then settled down to watch a late screening of Memoirs of a Geisha. I knew I’d enjoy it—actually, much more than Marshall’s “Chicago,” even though it’s garnered less acclaim—as I knew I’d enjoy “The Last Samurai,” because I can easily overlook the flaws in a picture like this. When the production design for a Japan-based story is this awesome, I can never leave the theater disappointed. I must make a note to check out any movie with set decoration by Gretchen Rau. It bothered me that they cast the two female leads with Chinese and Malaysian stars, but I think I was bothered more by the idea of it, going into the theatre, than during the feature. Ziyi Zhang deserved an Oscar nomination. It’s a powerful story, probably a better book, and almost worth the outrageous ticket price. Ken Watanabe is excellent once again, and I always get a kick out of seeing Mako pop up with his trademark scowl, even for less than a minute of screen time.

V & S