It may sound odd, because the majority of you I have never met, but without being read, an author is just masturbating in the dark. I have tried to edit my words just enough to take off the sharp edges, but still allow my true self to come through. I wrote for many years, pieces that were intended to be letters, reams and reams of philosophical prose and missals on the scientific aspects of ecology and natural phenomena, but until i found ways to share that work, I felt like a solitary scream in the vastness of space. You have helped me to gain traction in the "real" world and begin to find my voice in the realm of others.
When I see readers from Romania, or Russia, Paraguay or Burkina-Faso, my heart leaps just a little bit higher. Knowing that my words have been read in France or the U.K., Sweden or Italy, where my ancestors came from allows me to complete a circle that had only been a vast and incomplete arc previously. When I was in college, I did a worldwide art piece that involved cutting my hair after fourteen years, and sending bits around the world to be spread on the Earth by helpful postmasters in twelve locations around the globe. My art has always been about reaching out, teaching about the cycles of life, learning about the regions of the planet and their unique relationship with the cultures that survive and thrive there. Each specific location has unique and specific things to teach humanity, if we can only learn to listen. In my part of the world, there are cultural relevancies that exist nowhere on the planet, unless I, or some other messenger from our region, share the nature of them with strangers to this place.
My own cultural history, the one I grew up with, was to spend Thanksgiving driving up to deer camp with all the trimmings. The hunters were responsible for firing up the Nesco roaster, and making the turkey (it was safely at home while they were hunting) and if we were lucky, they would already have deer hanging, that we could cut fresh steaks from. Venison and turkey remain my two favorite meats. I could give up all other meats, but those two would be hard to pass up if I ever got the chance to eat them. Perhaps the family ties at this particular time of the year influences my tastes year-round, or perhaps the unique nutrient content of the two foods is specific to my body in this environment. In either case, where I came from has inoculated me with specific visions of and desires for the future of this place we currently call Wisconsin. I would not want to share these parts of my own nature with just anybody, but those who are willing to read what I write are no ordinary people.
I know that it can be a struggle to put your perceptions on hold long enough to "get" where others are coming from and I am sure that I ask my readers to wait a little longer to get some of my points. I am truly sorry for that. Most of my readers must be at least partially aware that we are essentially back door friends across the many miles that separate us. If there were dirty dishes in the sink, and you came to visit, I would put you first. I seek to have no pretense and humbly submit my stories and observations for the betterment of us both. I have given, from my heart 437 posts to date. Each one a unique story or perspective upon which a relationship can be formed. When I began this blog, I considered it as a discipline, whose practice could only be rewarded by becoming a better writer. I never imagined that the process would be as difficult as it truly is, but neither did I guess that after five years I would have 20K views, or that so many folks from around the world would reach out to me and thank me for the writing.
I am blessed by so many things and my readers often brighten my days more than I can express. I am because you are. Ubuntu, as some Africans say it. When we confront the often hostile or cold hard world, it is well to remember that we are loved, we are valid as individuals and as members of a world-wide family. You, by reading my writing are helping me to face undue hardships in real time, as they occur. I remember When I got my first comment, all through the years and each one has been a window into a little more loving place, a place with slightly cleaner air, one where I feel that I can express myself more fully and more importantly share some of what makes my life more liveable, so that it might also do that for you.
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| This beautiful clay art was done by Nina, one of my best friends, who has remained far off for far too long. I like to believe that the photograph was taken in the side yard where morels used to grow. Nina influenced me in so many positive ways that I hope to help influence others to the same sorts of "greatness" that she inspired me to. |
When I see readers from Romania, or Russia, Paraguay or Burkina-Faso, my heart leaps just a little bit higher. Knowing that my words have been read in France or the U.K., Sweden or Italy, where my ancestors came from allows me to complete a circle that had only been a vast and incomplete arc previously. When I was in college, I did a worldwide art piece that involved cutting my hair after fourteen years, and sending bits around the world to be spread on the Earth by helpful postmasters in twelve locations around the globe. My art has always been about reaching out, teaching about the cycles of life, learning about the regions of the planet and their unique relationship with the cultures that survive and thrive there. Each specific location has unique and specific things to teach humanity, if we can only learn to listen. In my part of the world, there are cultural relevancies that exist nowhere on the planet, unless I, or some other messenger from our region, share the nature of them with strangers to this place.
My own cultural history, the one I grew up with, was to spend Thanksgiving driving up to deer camp with all the trimmings. The hunters were responsible for firing up the Nesco roaster, and making the turkey (it was safely at home while they were hunting) and if we were lucky, they would already have deer hanging, that we could cut fresh steaks from. Venison and turkey remain my two favorite meats. I could give up all other meats, but those two would be hard to pass up if I ever got the chance to eat them. Perhaps the family ties at this particular time of the year influences my tastes year-round, or perhaps the unique nutrient content of the two foods is specific to my body in this environment. In either case, where I came from has inoculated me with specific visions of and desires for the future of this place we currently call Wisconsin. I would not want to share these parts of my own nature with just anybody, but those who are willing to read what I write are no ordinary people.
I know that it can be a struggle to put your perceptions on hold long enough to "get" where others are coming from and I am sure that I ask my readers to wait a little longer to get some of my points. I am truly sorry for that. Most of my readers must be at least partially aware that we are essentially back door friends across the many miles that separate us. If there were dirty dishes in the sink, and you came to visit, I would put you first. I seek to have no pretense and humbly submit my stories and observations for the betterment of us both. I have given, from my heart 437 posts to date. Each one a unique story or perspective upon which a relationship can be formed. When I began this blog, I considered it as a discipline, whose practice could only be rewarded by becoming a better writer. I never imagined that the process would be as difficult as it truly is, but neither did I guess that after five years I would have 20K views, or that so many folks from around the world would reach out to me and thank me for the writing.
I am blessed by so many things and my readers often brighten my days more than I can express. I am because you are. Ubuntu, as some Africans say it. When we confront the often hostile or cold hard world, it is well to remember that we are loved, we are valid as individuals and as members of a world-wide family. You, by reading my writing are helping me to face undue hardships in real time, as they occur. I remember When I got my first comment, all through the years and each one has been a window into a little more loving place, a place with slightly cleaner air, one where I feel that I can express myself more fully and more importantly share some of what makes my life more liveable, so that it might also do that for you.
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