30 April

When Imagination Fails. Armaggedon, Dystopia and Carol’s Pink Bicycle.

by Jon Katz
Carol's Bike. When Imagination Fails

I began to understand my own experience of fear when I started to see chronic anxiety, anger and intimations of Armageddon and the Dystopian world as a failure of  imagination, the draining of the creative spirit. Young and wealthy mothers complain of a dangerous world, and are afraid to bring their children into the earth. Everywhere we go, we are drowning in warnings and alarms, preparing for cancer, the end of things,  told not to eat lettuce or pet the dogs who are sniffing our bags and bodies.

The brightest and strongest among us are stockpiling fresh vegetables in their basements and getting ready to slaughter their own animals in their own backyards. Maybe so maybe not, but not the stuff of dreams.  Dystopian visions and Armageddon mindsets – like bad news and cable TV arguments –  are selling like mad, and the producers and publishers in the Corporate Nation cannot crank them out fast enough, in heavy competition with doctors and pharmaceutical companies urging us to have those friendly chats with our doctors. We can hardly wait to get to the theater and see how brave and determined kids butcher one another.

For me, this is not creativity and imagination, not the nourishment of the artistic soul, but the very opposite of it, a surrender to despair and a one-dimensional, even shallow,  way of looking at the world.

If the young are busy giving up on the future, the old are deeply engaged in structuring their lives around doctors, tests and pills so that they can stay alive forever and at all costs, no matter how or in what form. Our political leaders fall behind Maginot lines, popping their heads up to shoot at one another or get their heads blown off. Our true national pastime seems to be the hardening of our positions, the judging of one another, telling everyone else how to live and feel, the sharing of pity and struggle stories. Pity instead the poor pilgrims in the middle, trying to live their lives and make their way.

For me this is a disease of the imagination, not of the world which, if you read much history, is in pretty good shape, as stunning an idea as this is. A few years ago, drowning in fear, I began to imagine a different way.  To seek love. To think differently. To take photos, write different kinds of books, live a different kind of life. I rejected fear and pity and struggle as a medical challenge, or even as a therapeutic one. It became a creative challenge for me, I had to think my way out of it and create my way out of it. Mostly, I imagined a brighter and better life for myself. I thought of this this morning when I came across a wondrous message on my Facebook Page from Carol Devine of Boston. She was replying to a posting of mine, “What Are You Waiting For: Kill Fear.” She had cancer, she said, and has had one surgery and is scheduled for another in June, one what is expected to have a long recovery.

“What have I done? Gone out and ordered a bicycle and I will ride it as long as I can before surgery, then keep it in my bedroom to inspire me to get well and ride it again. Some people think this is weird,” she wrote. “Ooh, you should just sit on the couch and rest. Ha, ha,ha. I don’t think so.” A friend of hers quickly posted a message below hers, adding “oh, yeah, the bike is pink, of course!”

I was touched by the tone and content of this message, in awe of it. Here is a woman who actually does have cancer, who faces a notion of genuine Armageddon, yet is suffused with creativity, with the creative spark. A pink bicycle is a pretty creative solution to surgery and speaks to the power of imagination to imagine the life Carol wants and means to have, cancer or not. Thank you for this story, Carol, it makes my point better than I could possibly have.

When imagination fails, we cannot conceive of a better life, a life without fear and with hope and possibility. A brave woman with cancer is a mystical prophet to me. She has more creativity and vision than writers and kids and old people with all kinds of resources preparing for doom and counting their shrinking bank accounts and dwindling resources. When imagination succeeds, even cancer surgery does not quell hope and the search for an authentic life.

29 April

What Are You Waiting For? Kill Fear

by Jon Katz
Fear Killer

What are you waiting for?

How bad does it have to get?

Kill fear. No tests. Pills. No waiting. No warnings.

No surgery necessary.

My prescription. Pick it up here.

Light kills fear. In 30 days.

Spiritual light.

Emotional light.

The light of love.

Of flowers.

Of music.

Natural light. Free. Everywhere.

What are you waiting for?

How bad does it have to get?

29 April

Small Miracles: Fran On The Roost

by Jon Katz
Small Miracles

We were surprised and pleased to see the apprently indestructible Fran sitting up on the roost with the other hens for the first time since she was mauled by the fox more than a month ago. Fran has been spending the night in a dog crate in the barn, recovering from a broken wing and severe bite wounds on her shoulder and back.

I love small miracles. They remind me of what is important in life, even if it is a chicken giving the lessons. This most humble of creatures reminds me not to live a small life in hiding and fear and lament, but to move forward, and remember what life is about. Each day, I have a choice. What do I believe? How do I want to live? Is the world a good place or  a bad?  Good for you, Fran. I had just about given up on you, and Maria suggested we give her more time, be patient, allow her to recover.  Now, on the roost, Fran is officially healed.

29 April

Saying Goodbye, Cont. Separation. How I Grieve.

by Jon Katz
Saying goodbye, cont.

It is not simple to grieve for a dog in public, along with thousands of other people who loved him also. It is not simple to photograph and share a private process, although I am committed to it, and I believe it is important. It is not easy for Maria to be the one photographed, as I can be safe and anoymous behind the camera. I thank her for it. It is not easy to be married to me either, I imagine.

It is not simple to grieve in sync with others, some of whom are not yet ready to move on, and are not comfortable with my doing so. Or in the open, where one’s emotions are on display and the subject of general and wide discussion. It is not easy, but it is important, and valuable. In grief, there is enormous interest, and waves of people coming to see and share. If I grieved every day, I’d have a million readers.  I’d rather do it with my writing.

We all cling to our own ideas of grief. And are entitled to them. I posted a photo of Lenore lying on Izzy’s grave, and a number of people contacted me, saying they were certain that Lenore wanted to be near Izzy, and was not simply being a Lab. I love Lenore dearly, and know her well, and I am pretty comfortable with the notion that she is not into grieving, or human-style mourning. She goes into Izzy’s crate each morning, looking for crumbs or leftover treats. She does not need to grieve like I do or we do to be a great dog.

Isn’t it possible you were wrong, they wrote? Isn’t it possible she was missing Izzy and also stealing his spot? Was I denying grief, rushing past it too fast?

I don’t know what to say to that. Sure, it’s possible. So what? It’s not what I see or believe. It is hard for people to let others go their own way.

I very much favor the idea of grieving being individual and personal, but I also feel strongly that it is selfish, even exploitive to project our own grief and loss into animals who are very different from us in the way they process life and loss and death. And I won’t do it.

I got a message from a friend concerned that I was writing a lot about Izzy, and wondering if I did not need to be calm and still in grief. I do not. This is how I process grief – I meditate for hours, I write a hundred things, take a thousand photos, write poems, take long walks with Maria, spend hours alone with my Ipod. I cry every now and then, say a few words over Izzy’s grave each morning. In grief, my mind races with emotion, and if it doesn’t come out I will erupt like a geyser at Yellowstone. I get drowsy, melancholic, get the chills. Then, I begin the process of moving on. I love Buddhism, but I would drive Buddha crazy and out of the faith.  I do not think Izzy has gone to join Rose. I do not believe his spirit remains here looking over me. I do not believe we will meet in the afterlife, or on the bridge. Sometimes we really do lose the things we love.  I believe – this is faith for me – that grieving is a universal, not an individual experience. There is no one reading this who has not suffered an equivalent or worse loss.  Mine is no deeper than yours. That is not death, it is life and I do not wish to live in loss for very long.

Saturday, I worked on my next children’s book. Sunday, I wrote about the fox and chickens for Slate Magazine. This week I will finish the children’s book and send it off. In between I took about a million photos, studied the light, experimented with lens. Grief opens me up, and out comes a lot of stuff, and nothing is more healing than that. I look forward to life, not loss. Living with Maria in this wonderful life, I celebrate life rather than mourn death. That is how I grieve for sweet, sweet, Izzy.

29 April

Lunch In Schenectady. Last Bedlam Art Show. News.

by Jon Katz
Lunch in Schenectady

We went to Schenectady to take Maria’s mother out to lunch for her 83rd birthday. We ate at the Bamboo Bistro and then walked around the downtown. I could spend some happy long days wandering around Schenectady with a camera – what an evocative place. But I took advantage of my hour. Photo album up on Facebook.

Notes and news:

– As most of you know, we have an agreement to purchase the farm where Rocky lives, and Rocky comes with it. As soon as we sell the farm, we will move in there. All of our animals are coming – dogs, donkeys, chickens, barn cats. The New Bedlam Farm will also have sheep, and of course, a 33-year-old pony.

– The last art show to be held on Bedlam Farm (there will be art shows on the New Bedlam Farm) will be held on June 23-24 here at the farm. The public is invited (no dogs please). You will have an opportunity to see Frieda bark at you, cuddle with Lenore, meet Simon, Lulu and Fanny and perhaps the new border collie, if we get him in time.  Might have sheep here too, and if so, we will do some demo herding. More about that later.

The show will be held in the Pig Barn Art Gallery, and the theme is “Anointing The Goddess.” Fiberart, photos, notecards, paintings, photo collage, 3-D collage, great stuff cheap. The public is welcome. Details on Maria’s  website. We expect to be gone by the Fall and in our new home, so this will be the last opportunity for to visit the farm. We are happy to share it with you, as we have done these past wonderful years here. Details will be available on Maria’s website – fullmoonfiberart.com – as we get close. I’m happy we can give the farm a send-off.

– Maria will be selling her art – streaming pieces and potholders – and I will be speaking on creativity and photography on Saturday,  Mother’s Day, May 12 at 20 Main Street, Greenwich, N.Y., 12834. There will be a number of gifted artists there selling their work. I will be speaking at 2 p.m. 518 692-7041. I will have signed notecards available, including the new set, “Fran And The Fox.” I will be talking about the impact digital photography has had on my work and life. I am not qualified or interested in speaking about the technical aspects of photography. But I will share my own experience and my own ideas about doing it in a creative way. This will be a great place to bring Mother’s. Good stuff for them to see, and to get.

– We have some “Fox and Fran” notecards left, and you can see them and purchase them at fullmoonfiberart.com. There are six cards – signed and with text – running through the oldest story and how it impacted us. We added a photo of the baby foxes to round it all out. $20 plus shipping.

Thank you again for the many thousands of wonderful notes and news following Izzy’s death from lymphoma. They are helpful and appreciated. I am continuously humbled at the reach of this blog and also by the impact the animals here have on other lives.

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