Creative Arts Trifecta

As one of the early computer users, I have been surfing the internet since it's very beginning.  I have watched its evolution.  I have watched it blossom and grow, and have watched it morph over and over--as if each time it was trying to find a foothold or a reason for its existence.  It has grown from a simple place where businesses would pay some tech-savvy person to put up websites that were little more than a picture or two and contact information.  Personal sites were mainly available to only the nerds of the time, and represented things like clubs, associations, and hobbyists.  The internet--in its infancy--was made up of very few fonts or colors.  It was very boring.  We were limited by the web browser software, the internet connection speeds, and the computer hardware itself.  But we didn't know we were hobbled because at that time it was brand new in every way.

When the Google era came into existence, it was an "awakening" of sorts.  Suddenly, there were free platforms at our disposal--things that the common man could use freely without much difficulty. Some people (such as myself) placed themselves out there for the world to see in the form of blogs.  Many of us were probably not really sure why we did it.  I know I really didn't.  I guess we did it because we could.  We were looking for something. We didn't know what.  It was a new, exciting place and people were the new explorers.

The internet has become a potentially dangerous place.  In the blink of an eye the unwary traveler can find him or herself in a dark alley filled with badness that can steal your identity, infect your computer, or bombard you with undesirable email.  The wonder of the internet is gone.  Seldom am I ever surprised or pleased by what I find on the internet.  It has become a ubiquitous resource and a tool.  It has become a place where too much information is shared, and and a place where we know too much about each other.  In the beginning of the internet there was no interaction.  Now there is too much interaction.  It has lost its original luster.  We have become shallow people living for the moment.  We have lost our depth.  We have lost our culture.

Or so I thought.  It's refreshing to find that in the right hands, the internet can also a wonderful place.

As I've aged I've become more of a lover of the arts.  Whether it's traditional art like painting, drawing, or sculpting, or something like movies, books, music, or anything else that falls into the creative arts, I love them all.  Recent history has led me down multiple paths that all converged in one place:

The Creative Arts Trifecta.

Like any Trifecta, it's made up of three parts.  In my case, it's music, literature, and visual arts.

Music:  Radio Paradise.  Since I first discovered this online radio station several years ago, it has always been near and dear to me.  It is playing almost constantly when I'm home.  It gets substantially more play time than my TV does.  What makes them so good?  The same thing that makes all the winners of my Trifecta shine: they go above and beyond just being "good enough."  They don't just slap music onto an online play list and let it run, they take pains to put songs together that flow nearly seamlessly from one to another.  Sometimes it's the sound, tempo, or instrument and that provide the link between the songs, and other times it may be the song meaning or the vocal style.  It's not possible to please everyone 100% of the time when it comes to music, but when they hit their groove on a relaxing evening there's nothing finer than that moment.  What's more, they do it all with no commercials.  It's not unusual to hear something unique, something new, or something rare when you're listening.

Literature:  Brain Pickings.  This is a relatively new find to me.  I'm constantly amazed at the things that are carefully researched and posted by Maria Popova, the person behind this great site.  Her love for books becomes apparent when you read what she has assembled every week.  It's comprised of book content, illustrations (she loves the artwork as much as I do!), and stories about the authors themselves.  I have been inspired to find many of the books she has featured on there and have not been disappointed.  My favorites have been books about writing, written by the writers themselves.  Very interesting stuff.  I recommend you sign up for her newsletter.  If you do you'll get a very interesting compilation that she personally created, delivered to your email inbox every Sunday morning at 8am.  Well, it's 8am Pacific anyway...  While it's a free site, I can easily see myself becoming a subscriber very soon.  As I said, her love for books shines in her work.

Visual Arts:  Colossal.  This is the newest find of my Trifecta.  It never ceases to amaze me.  It might be the work of a unique artist, amazing photography, street art, unusual products, or anything visually pleasing or striking in some way.  All of the things on the site are presented in great detail--at the very least with great pictures, but many times with moving GIF files or movies (don't miss the movies!) as well.  When you spend some time on this site it shows you just how creative humans can be.  The talents and the ideas that come from people is sometimes nothing short of amazing.

Turn off your Facebook, turn on Radio Paradise, close your eyes, and get lost.  Think about things.  When you feel like opening your eyes, visit Colossal.  When your mind has been juiced with inspiring art, slow it down with a visit to Brain Pickings and get lost all over again.

You won't be sorry.

My Mind's Room

I wish I could see darkness in the distant corners. Truth is, I'd be happy just to be able to make out the walls.

When I sit and stare out the window as I often do, my mind starts wandering. I find myself formulating analogies, making comparisons, coming up with descriptions, and all kinds other ways of explaining my shortcomings and idiosyncrasies. I am my own psychologist. One of things I have come to grips with is the fact that I have a bad memory. I would so dearly love to write about my entire childhood and be able to recollect every nit-picking detail about it! But can anybody really? Sometimes I'm under the impression that people can because I read things that they have written that can only be explained by an above-average memory.  Well, either that or they are just good a spinnin' a yarn. What if, even though it appears to be a complete memory to me (the reader), the person that wrote it is feeling the same sense of incompleteness and frustration that I feel? But as the reader I would never know that would I?  After all, how can you feel badly about missing out on a particular item at a yard sale if you never knew that item was there in the first place?

It frustrates me because I feel the desire to get my words down, but I just can't remember quite enough detail.  I can't quite recollect enough about the particular slice of my life that's on my mind to be able to tell how much of it's fact and how much is fiction. I just can't remember it. Why wasn't I paying more attention?  Why didn't I take notes?  Why didn't I keep a journal?  I know why:  Neither of my parents were literary people.  I had no role model.

I sometimes feel like my mind is a dark, dusty, cavernous room with one naked, cobweb-draped light bulb hanging in the middle of it. There is an old piece of string hanging from the pull chain, but I can't find it until I wave my arms blindly around me and I feel it brush my hand. With a slow tug on the string, the long, mechanical 'click' sends yellow light from the naked filament almost reluctantly, as if I've bothered it somehow by awakening it from its slumber. I look around the room, but it doesn't illuminate much. I can dimly see a few artifacts of my life scattered about--each one dragging a dull bit of a distant memory into the light where I can see it better.  I can't see all the corners of my mind's room. I can make out a wall here and a wall there, but I can't even make out how big the room really is. I can't see everything in it. I'm afraid to leave the safety of the dull, yellow light--knowing that if I shuffle away from it my body will block what little light there is and keep me from seeing anything in that direction. I take cautious steps away from it, craning my eyes, trying--hoping--to see more. I want to see everything.

But it's no use. The light bulb is dim. It won't show me the reaches of my memory. I can't see enough to know if I've seen all there is to see in that direction. I would be happy to be able to see more experiences in the distance or be able to see farther than I can see. I would love to be able to see all the walls.

I tell myself: "It's no use. You will never see the corners. The light bulb in your mind is not replaceable with a brighter one. The best you can hope for is to clean some of the dust off of it and make it brighter. Or, maybe if you stand long enough you will accustom yourself to the dimness and be able to see a little farther." No--it's no use--the details just aren't there.

I'll just continue to feel my way along the floor of my mind, purposefully shuffling so I don't inadvertently step on anything of importance, collecting things I find as I go.

At least my mind's room is not completely empty.