The next days were full of the new wonder of the adventure. On some days it was calm and peaceful, and on others the sea was rough and waves tumbled the boat all about.
04.08.2021
Clouds. That’s what I like about this drawing—the clouds. Finding shapes in the clouds has always been a fun thing for me to do, and best describes the way I have drawn for most of my life. Calling it doodling, I’ve mostly tried to let the pencil run across the page without controlling it at first, looking for what identifiable shapes might show up that correspond with what I was feeling or thinking about at the time. In this instance, though, the clouds are just clouds. Working on these drawings for the blog is a very new way of drawing for me. I am making many more direct decisions about what I am trying to put on the paper, and at the same time trying to stay relaxed. I am also trying to keep myself from judging what shows up. It has already opened me up to being more gracious with myself and I’ve found that I really like it when clouds also get to just be clouds.
As Jack sailed out of the familiar bay and into the more open waters of the sea, he was both nervous and excited. He kept his focus on the play of the sail as he moved away from the shore.
04.07.2021
I thought perhaps Jack’s launch would be a bit more dramatic, but here it is. When I look at this drawing, the two things that come to mind are cardboard boxes and staying present with the work in front of you. Both of these can feel commonplace and even somewhat dismal if I let myself continue thinking that way, but they hold a great deal of possibility in the way that they can be simple building blocks for new things to come.
I have grown to love cardboard as a surface for drawing and painting and as a medium for sculpting with. Soon after my daughter was born, I made an elephant costume out of cardboard that I could wear as I rode my bike down our street. On the last day of school, I led the loaded buses of students out of the parking lot with it. Cardboard is so often ready to be tossed out. It is one of my favorite things to try to get one more interesting use out of it before recycling.
Doing the work in front of me has been an important discipline for my creative, dreaming mind. So much of the time I would prefer to ruminate on things I’d like to do down the road, places I’d like to be, etc. Little by little, I’ve been getting better at doing the next small task, embracing the common movements of the day. As I do, I enjoy seeing how they all fit together to make more possibility. As Jack attends to the sailing at-hand, I’m excited to see what he might come across.
Jack worked hard over the next weeks, until he found himself making the final adjustments and finishing touches on the boat.
04.06.2021
All that work and good ol’ rabbit ingenuity is starting to pay off for Jack. What began as a dream and a few boards has shaped up and he can really start to imagine what it will be like to take his sailboat out on the water. The actual experience can’t be far off.
I once read a book called, The Mind of the Mnemonist, by neuropsychologist Alexander Luria. It was all about a man that Luria worked with named Simon Shereshevsky, who had a seemingly limitless memory and experienced fivefold synesthesia. Beyond the amazing accounts of how Shereshevsky went about remembering massive series of information, a part of the book that stayed with me was a range of observations that Luria made near the end of the book. He noticed that because of this man’s incredible imagination and his capacity to live out a great deal in his own mind, he often didn’t feel the need to experience as many things in actuality. I’m not sure what to say about that right now, but I find myself feeling thankful that Jack is near having a real sailboat and the chance to truly get out on the water.
And begin, he did! With Sebastian’s help, they started to build Jack’s dream vessel. With every measured line and each unplanned flourish, he knew that he was nearer the adventures he had always hoped for.
04.05.2021
“Wow, that kid is going to be an engineer.”—Words that were never spoken of me. I do hear it said a lot, though, of others these days. At school and among family and friends, as we all peer into the lives of the children around us, guessing at and wondering how they will grow and how their minds will transition from natural tendencies and interests to application in work and impact on the world around them. I don’t think I ever heard anyone say, “Wow, he’s NOT going to be an engineer”, either. My only memory of enjoying Legos from childhood is when my brothers and I had created barricades out of our mattresses and used a bucket of them as projectiles in a battle in our shared bedroom. I have another memory of gathering random wires, springs, and rubber bands from drawers around the house and arranging them into some kind of oriented mass that, although it looked wonderfully complex, did nothing at all in the way of function. I often enjoy the idea of the complexity of a machine. I am glad when they do the job they are supposed to do, but my curiosity starts to wane if I get too close to their inner workings. By contrast, I pay perhaps too much attention to what goes on with the thoughts and emotions of people. I am fascinated by the interior life of humans and am thankful when I get to take part in the healing process or the encouraging of someone.
This illustration shows my weighted focus on Jack’s inner dreams being expressed externally through a collection of lumber and a few tools. It feels like I am back at the drawers, pulling out rubber bands to wrap around paper clips. Whether I’m an engineer or not, I’m having a blast.
Jack’s fascination and longing for a sailing experience was inspired by a good friend of mine who feels the same passion. Growing up in El Paso, TX, and the desert environment surrounding the city, he once shared with me the sense of wonder that he has for bodies of water and the adventures to be had on them. My friend has spoken to me more about boats than any other person I have known and always with a sense of mystery, romance, and childlike perspective.
As Jack returned home from the day at the seaside, he was determined to make his own sailboat. He began to read up on how to go about it, until he finally felt that he was ready to begin.
04.02.2021
Jack begins to dedicate time to learning what it would take to be able to make the sailboat that he dreams of adventuring with. I have a lot of appreciation for that commitment right now, as I am in the early stages of exploring this blog as a way to share and practice creativity. Just cracking the book or taking the first step can be the most difficult part. Way to go, Jack.
Two items in this illustration are memory artifacts for me. One is the oval frame on the pink wall there, and the other is the sailboat hanging above Jack’s head in his room. As long as I can remember, my parents have had a similar wooden oval framed portrait on the wall in their house. The photograph is of my mom’s Great Aunt Ethel and Uncle “Commie” (Commodore). The photo has a blurred, green tint to it, and the frame has a natural wood striping of gold and brown.
The sailboat over Jack’s bed came from a trip my wife and I took through Quebec City, QC, just a bit before we found out we were to be expecting our daughter’s birth. We spent some time in the city both on our way further north into Quebec and also as we returned back to the U.S. We loved the time we spent there, and one of the amazing things we got to visit was the church of Notre-Dame-des-Victoires near the center of the old walled part of the city. Inside the stone church, there is a massive model sailboat hanging from the ceiling. I just think that is a wonderful idea, and it’s showing up here again for our friend, Jack.