breath

rising and falling,

with the fullness of time,
is what makes the song
sing

following breath,
living is easy

breath of heaven,
blowing on the head,
            in the heart,
            through the lips,
in the fullness of song,
            of life
            and being

fill me now,
and always

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Free the Arts

A few weekends ago, Cal Performances offered a Sunday "Free For All" of music, dance and performance art, at venues all over the UC Berkeley campus. It was a beautifully warm afternoon, and I was one of the many people scheduled to perform that day.

My husband drove the family to the campus, dropping me off near the venue, so that I could make the call time before the concert. He then parked and took the kids to wander about, seeing and hearing other performances before getting in line to see my concert. They got in line 20 minutes before concert time. When concert time came, they were among the more than 200 people who were turned away.

This was not an isolated incident. Hundreds of people were turned away from many performances. There were thousands of people milling through the campus on that warm summer day. All of them wanting to hear music, see dance, people watch, picnic or any number of other possible activities.

What does this say?

Living, as we do, in the wake of free-market free fall, perhaps the only affordable art experience for the average person is the free experience.

But, here is the rub: art has its costs. Being a singer and a writer, I know this all too well. Everyone involved in art personally invests so much more time (and even money), than any professional person with a 9-5 job could ever understand, to the art. Seasoned professionals are expected to continue "paying their dues" by donating their time to give free performances or showings all the time. The cliche argument is: "for the love of your art." The people who use that cliche don't really know what that actually means for the person who participates in a life of art, what is truly sacrificed. And, no, that kind of thing really isn't useful on your resume.

Once we realize we (and what we do) are commodities in a world that only understands buying and selling and value judgement, the love of our art shifts in imperceptible ways. The public desires an endless stream of entertainment to dull the blunt horrors of wage slavery. And so, there it is, an endless, even mindless, stream of entertainment sent out to meet the endless needs of the public. Some of this entertainment does entertain; much of it does not. Think about the hundreds of television channels that deliver 24 hours of dubious content, when the technology is capable of delivering on-demand content, tailored to the taste of the client. This endless stream of noise is very difficult to compete with, and who wants to?

What am I trying to say? There is a lot of money being spent to produce a lot of crap content, forcing "art" to be all about buying and selling products, most of which are not necessary for living a good life, many of which will be soon added to the pile of junk that, in many ways, looms over the future health of our planet.

But the minute a musician, actor, dancer, artist wants to receive professional recognition in the form of a decent paycheck and benefits, the buck stops. I find this interesting, psychologically and philosophically. To some extent, I find this to be evidence of a sick society.

People really cannot do without art in their lives. Art is what keeps us sane in a world crusted by layers and layers of political illogic and common denominator frustration, from which no reasonable sense of order can be derived. So many people are not or , at least, do not believe themselves capable of opening themselves up to creating their own artistic experience; this is why artistic individuals are so special and so necessary. The creative thought behind art has done as much to develop industry and technology as mathematics and science.

Singers, dancers, instrumentalists, thespians invest their bodies and psyches in the stream of artistic continuity in a way that no other set of professionals can. Fine artists and writers often sacrifice a social existence in order to have the time and solitude required to develop their art. Yes, time spent in this way is personally rewarding and edifying, but it comes at great personal cost, that even a steady paycheck can never truly repay. The personal angst (and even attendant therapy) that frequently informs an artist's work provides someone else a therapeutic experience. "Poetic Justice" would allow this exchange to have full circle closure back to the artist(s) in the form of remunerative therapy.

This leads me to my radical thought for today: The only way to truly Free the Arts is for society to earnestly invest in them. If a fraction of the money spent on crap commercial product junk were invested in arts organizations to the extent that artists could earn a decent living wage, we might be able to deliver more of what we love to do to a public that is obviously starving for it, as well as open the artistic frontier to explore and evolve beyond the mainstream of public consciousness.

Obviously, there is so much more to say. Discussion, anyone?

Pleasure

       Water laPs at my feet,
       sand s Lips through my toes,
sun-sparks evEntually dazzle
  these eyes Against all shadows
that might caSt themselves across
       this l Uxurious moment,
  one of shee R, unadulterated
         cont Entment.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Bananas for dessert, anyone?

My friend Shirley passed this concoction on to me, and it is delicious, as well as kid friendly. What the dessert is called, I don't know but here is the recipe:

bananas, sliced as you would to put over cereal (one, two, or more)
shredded coconut, about 1/4 cup per banana
lime juice, 1 to 2  tablespoons
cilantro, about 1/3 bunch per banana, chopped

Gently toss that together and serve it up.

Sounds crazy, but it is delicious! Great after a spicy dinner!

Indications

Water runs over rocks;
moss clings.

Feet wade in water;
light ripples.

Body crouching low;
shadows cast clarity’s net.

Beak claps like chopsticks;
expectation speaks.

Flicker in the mirror;
opportune moment.

Beak parts water;
fish protests…

Silence follows swallow;
a worthy lunch.

from Brief Encounters With Fluidity

© 2008 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

This arose from the observation of a gorgeous heron, fishing in a saltwater pond near Bay Farm Island. This bird was not shy of being watched, even with kids tossing pebbles into the water to see the resulting water ripples. The strangest thing was hearing the heron clap its beak in anticipation, or perhaps to get the fish to dart out of a hiding place in the rocks. Somehow, it seemed like the bird version of a watering mouth…

And, with that, I depart for a luncheon date with a friend! 

The First Day of the Last...

Today is the First Day of the Last Year of My First Half Century.

And, it is Sunday. So I was in church. But not my own.

I spent this Sunday over at St. John's Presbyterian Church, on College Avenue in Berkeley. By invitation, I was singing a Jazz Mass, composed by Todd Jolly, the music director there. I've worked with Todd for several years now, while a member of the San Francisco Renaissance Voices, of which he is musical director. Today's service music was from Todd's Mazz, plus a few companion anthems that he also composed. This wonderful piece is somewhat of a precis of the history of jazz.


I had a great time! Can't think of a better way to spend the morning of my birthday! Doing something I had never done before. Todd had written the piece about ten years ago, and bits of it had been done, but not the piece in its entirety. So, this day was culmination for Todd and his work. And, there we were, jamming with a fabulous combo on the dais at St. John's, sharing in the gift of creation.


It was a full circle, with an awakening to something new.


I had lived in Elmwood during my childhood years. The church, new back then, was a community center for us; my Brownies and Girl Scouts troops met there. I went to Emerson School, up the street, and lived around the block on Derby. Years later, I would rehearse on Monday nights with the Pacific Mozart Ensemble. Today, things are much the same, though different and older, in this neighborhood. Yesterday, I had lunch at the Elmwood Cafe, with one of my colleagues, and was thrilled that the old fountain counter was still there, though they no longer serve up burgers and shakes, and though the Elmwood Pharmacy that the fountain had been a part of has been gone for the longest time. After lunch, I ambled up and down the street a bit. The boutiques were all buzzing with shoppers, and people were jay walking to get from here to there. There was the general bustle of life happening. That is the part that hasn't changed or aged.


Although I have sung some jazz before, and even jazz oratorios, I had never sung a complete jazz mass. I loved it. The experience was one of life happening.

I am no preacherwoman, but one non-scriptural line pops into my head that seems as perspicacious to theology as any text from the bible. This line is from Auntie Mame (the 1955 novel by Patrick Dennis). Mame Dennis says to Agnes Gooch:

Live! Life's a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death!

This is it, isn't it? This is the essence. All the sages and prophets say this same thing, though differently. Life is already a banquet. Just wake up and be there, in the flow of things, where life is happening.

And that is what this morning was like for me, on the first morning of the last year of my first half century.

Awakening to something new.

Joining the feast.

Being where life is happening.

Sweet!

Weltanschauung

Hear,
O, Dears,
hear what Is Real:
wave and particle
at some time,
before time,
merged,
inner and outer,
upper and lower,
all opposites
joined together,
harmonious!

And from this music
emerges
One Impulse,
urging us forward
omni-directionally.

I believe in One:
that I am One,
and equally You are One,
and that One is for all,
and all for One,
each unique,
together plural,
growing steadily
in Beauty,
as Father,
as Mother,
as Sister
as Brother,
all friends and
children
of Creation,
begotten unique,
not made in any mold,
nor destined for any fold,
but solely for that exploration of
the whole wide Creation,
in its manifold
possibility
for expression.

Because of this miracle,
we are all blessed,
we are all blessing,
purposed, as we are,
to love one another
in fullness,
goodness
and joy.

And, for all this,
I perpetually
give thanks.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen