The Lardner Report

Unleash your creative superpowers!

Which Wolf Are You Feeding?

by

(Pic #1) Digitally “defacing” the Modoc overpass in Santa Barbara. Photo by Josh Kaplan.

A Cherokee parable awakens the need to feed my soul.

Sometimes my husband makes me feel like a fraud. It’s one of the reasons I love him.  We went to visit friends in Santa Barbara last weekend, and on the way back we stopped at an overpass where I had noticed some cool graffiti. We took a few pictures, then I had this idea about digitally vandalizing one of the overpass supports. I posed with brush in hand, and later put in the words “Art is All.” (Pic #1)

Later, he asked me why I chose those words. I gave him a look that said “I married a moron.” But he pushed for an answer. I said, “It has a double meaning for me. Back to front, and front to back. I believe you can find art in anything (All is Art), and art is the thing that animates me, it’s even at times, my deity (Art is All). He liked that, and congratulated me on my world view. Then he added, that to be more accurate, shouldn’t it be, “Art is All — when I make the time for it, or when I’m not intimidated by it, or when I’m not busy doubting my artistic vision or skills?”  Then he asked me how long it had been since I had painted. A**hole.

It had been two weeks. Quite a big deal, considering I preach, lecture, stand up for, and maybe even proselytize about consistent creative output. Naturally I got defensive, reminded him that tending to my corporate duties was more important. He immediately apologized. I piled on with all the administrative work I’ve been doing for our non-profit. He threw up his hands and said he was sorry again. Game over, I win.

Except… later in the day he was talking about this Netflix Series called “Ozark,” which he told me about last week. (I’m up to Episode 7 and It’s a phenomenal series.) We talked about the twists and turns of the plot, and the amazing performances.  I awoke the next morning to see this in my inbox.  Double A**HOLE.

So now to the old parable, attributed to an old Cherokee grandfather….a sobering story that makes me firmly take sides:

Point taken. What my dear, immensely annoying husband was pointing out was that lately, I have been feeding the wrong wolf. So my somewhat tardy New Year’s resolution: feed the right wolf. For me that starts with picking up a paint brush — which, if you will excuse me, I am going to do right now.

The Art of “Great Neighboring”

by

(Pic #2) Piglet found, recovering from her 2-days M.I.A.

Lost: Deaf Black Cat / Found: Best Neighbors Ever

I call it a miracle, but in truth, it’s just the way life should be. Last Sunday our 14-year-old deaf, asthmatic, one-toothed cat got out after dark, and completely disappeared in a matter of minutes. We panicked, and began to search for her in the neighborhood with a flashlight. But being hearing impaired, it wasn’t as if we could call, “Here, kitty kitty.”  Our mission was oddly quiet. We searched up trees, down drains, and under cars.

Nothing. I began to cry, and Josh tried to keep me positive. But we had seen hungry coyotes lurking on our street before, and couldn’t help envisioning her quick demise.

Awakening the network

Desperate to get the word out as fast as we could, I remembered a friend had recommended a community website called, “Next Door.” It has a section for Lost and Found Pets, and apparently, people really read it. I uploaded a photo of “Piglet” and described our quest. “Lost: Deaf Black Cat — Very friendly, very loud.”

(Now when I say “loud” — I mean ear-piercing. This old cat meows so loud, that I’m pretty sure you’ve heard her, wherever you live. Even if it’s on the East coast. And it’s not a traditional cry, it’s more of a high-pitched Ethel Merman yowl.)

The next day, three people I’ve never met stopped by to offer their searching services, and one nearby animal-loving woman named “Bambi” offered to help tape posters up on telephone poles. I welcomed the reinforcements.

Two nights and two days go by. I had checked two animal shelters and a local vet. The cat was microchipped, so we had that going for us. But the the silence in our house was painful. Josh and I both heard phantom howls in our sleep, and I’d run outside in the middle of the night to check.

Bambi then called and suggested one last effort. She said delivering the flyers to neighbor mailboxes would catch the eye of people who don’t see the telephone poles. I thought it might be worth a try. Made 10 more copies, and slammed them hopelessly into nearby boxes. But that night I pretty much decided the game was over…. and I began looking on shelter websites to adopt another cat. I found quite a few candidates.

Then, 48 hours after her disappearance…as I drove home from the gym and began to turn into my driveway, I saw an animated crowd of people in front of our house. I saw that the sprinklers were blasting, and thought the neighbors were there to help with the what I believed to be a water emergency. Then I heard the magic words as I rolled down my car window: “We found your cat!”

I sat there in disbelief. Odds are, they found someone’s cat, but unlikely mine. But my new neighbor Tim (across a major street and two houses up the hill) emerged from the shadows holding the most beautiful little black face I’d ever seen. It was Piglet. I reached out to hold her head, and she started purring. I melted, parked the car and took her from Tim’s arms. The picture below is how we slept together that night: arm in arm.

(Pic #3) Nighty-night, Piglet.

It turns out, Tim and his wife had seen our flyer in their mailbox. They read that she had a loud meow, and heard her wail outside their window. It could not be ignored. When Tim spotted her, she wouldn’t come at first, but then he offered her a piece of ham. She had obviously gone some time without eating or drinking, and came out of the bushes to safety. The flyer photo was a perfect match. We suspect Piglet was chased by a larger critter, but we’ll never know for sure. She was skinny, had collected a wreath of leaves around her tail, but overall, was none the worse for wear.

So the lesson for me is this: Creative collaboration continues to convince me it is the best way to solve a problem. If you’re stuck, share the task. If you can share it with loving neighbors, all the better. Being open to others’ ideas can help break through the paralyzing fear, guilt, or sense of chaos we feel when faced with a heart-crushing loss.

Thank you, Bambi. Thank you, universe. Welcome home, Piglet.

This Year: Embrace Your Cracks and Quirks

by

The Japanese call it Kintsugi — “The Art of Precious Scars.”

I don’t want to get too “zen” on you this early in the year — but– If you are overly self-critical about your work or your art, imagine being freed from that judgment and actually celebrating the goofs and flaws that emerge out of what you make. OMG. Wouldn’t that be a total kick?

Kintsugi teaches that broken objects are not something to hide — but to display with pride. Typically, when a bowl or precious vase falls and breaks into a thousand pieces, we toss them out. But this practice offers an alternative. Kintsugi holds that the breaks and defects actually enhance the work — thus adding value to the broken object.

This ancient “art of mending” lets the repair become a beautiful part of an object’s history. It’s a traditional Japanese art that uses a precious metal – liquid gold, liquid silver or lacquer dusted with powdered gold – to connect the broken fragments. (Kintsugi translates to “golden joinery.”) Every repaired piece is unique, because of the randomness with which ceramics shatter. (Check out the video below.) Metaphorically, the practice relates to the Japanese philosophy of “wabi-sabi” which asks that we see beauty in the flawed or imperfect. According to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the repair method was also born from the Japanese feeling of “mottainai” which expresses regret when something is wasted.

History:

The practice dates back to the late 15th century, when according to legend, Japanese shogun Ashikaga Yoshimasa sent a cracked tea bowl back to China to undergo repairs. Upon its return, Yoshimasa was displeased to find that it had been mended with unsightly metal staples. This motivated contemporary craftsmen to find an alternative.

Personally, with the new year looming ahead, I am looking forward to incorporating this philosophy and practice into my daily life. I know I have plenty of quirks and cracks to share and appreciate, and who knows — this could be a great solution for my ever-deepening crow’s feet.