Past Collections

I've always loved the last 4 months of the year. Most people I know crave the warmer months, but not me. My favourite time of year always begins with the school year and runs until the end of Christmas break. In that time period, there is my birthday (September 29th, for all you taking note), Hallowe'en (and later Samhain), Thanksgiving, Hannakuh (my grandfather's Jewish), Yule, Christmas, and New Year's. This time of year has always been a constant roller coaster of excitement build-up and denouement.

In naming this Collection “Revelry,” I want to emphasize the first imperative of these holidays. Despite the issues we have when re-encountering old friends, relatives, or even old wounds around the holidays, the intention is merriment. Can you allow yourself to be authentic during this time of year? How hard is it for you to stay centered and not get lost in the commercialism of the holidays? Maybe the real reason for shoving all these holidays in towards the end of the year is because this is the Dark Time, the time for introspective work, the time for looking inward and seeking the Real Truths.

This Collection is my attempt to pin-point some of those moments of looking inward.

When October hits, the Pumpkin Pie Toggle gets turned on in Mo and me. We start thinking about pumpkin pie day and night, devising ways to work more into our mouths. Fortunately, Jim doesn't like pumpkin, so the competition around any pumpkin dessert I concoct is left solely between me and my daughter. One fall day a couple of years ago, Mo and I were on our way to a friend's house for a play date. We were supposed to bring something to contribute to the potluck, so, because of time constraints, we decided to stop by a grocery store on the way there to pick something up. As we walked towards our intended target of local apples, our eyes landed on a pumpkin pie display. “Let's bring one of those,” I say. We purchase our pie, get into the car, and look at each other. “I want some pumpkin pie now,” says Mo. “We really should wait... til we get there.” I'm looking at the pie, sitting in the driver's seat, not starting the car. I look at Mo and she's looking at me. Time stretches between us. “Do we still have one of those plastic forks in the car?”

All the kids have been poured into their coats and boots, final trips to the bathroom have been made, and the dogs pushed out the door. Our group trudges through the snow to the grove for another Yule celebration. But I linger… just for a moment. This is my secret gift to myself: walking around the tables full of food, touching a plate here, rearranging a bowl there. I notice that almost everyone has tried to do something symbolic with their dish: mistletoe-shaped cookies, a salad arranged into a sun, and, of course, the Yule Log. That must have been Grammy’s. She’s always doing something creative with a cake tin and some frosting. Chuckling, I think, man, we're so into our food – especially desserts. Typical for this community. I’m startled out of my reverie by a flushed kid throwing open the door. “Lisa Marie! Mom wants you to bring the lighter!” Smiling, I peel myself away, grab the lighter, and walk out into the snow.

I was the only grandchild for the first 7 seven years of my life. I really think this was when the foundation for my inflated self-esteem was laid. Every holiday, every birthday, every minor achievement was celebrated to the fullest extent. My grandparents absolutely adored me and I was always showered with gifts and attention. And then... my cousins came. Talk about a life lesson. There was a Christmas when I was about 10 or so and my cousins were both around 3. After dinner, all of us rushed the Christmas tree to get ready for the Great Unwrapping. I saw a number of boxes under the tree, but I grew concerned when I noticed a couple of larger ones that had my cousins' names on them. Looking back as an adult, I understand now, of course, that the smaller the kid, the bigger the boxes are – usually because their gifts were playsets or dolls. But at the time, I felt frustration and... well, a little abandoned. My gramma must have noticed because she leaned over and whispered in my ear, “You should grab that little one in the back. It's got your name on it.” I turned and looked at her, inhaling her Chanel No. 5, and saw her eyes: they had the most mischievous twinkle. As I reached for the present, I knew that she'd never forget me, never push me to the back, and always adore me.

It was my 17th New Year's Eve. My friend, Keith, and I decided to spend it with our friend, Jan. I was thrilled: New Year's with my two very best friends. I don't know how, but somehow we'd scored some cold duck and a couple of bottles of strawberry wine. Before Jan got there, Keith said, “You know that whatever you do on New Year's sets the tone for the year, don't you?” He kind of just threw it out there, not really intending any heavy meaning, but... I couldn't stop mulling it over. Later on that night, as we found ourselves hanging over the toilet... setting the tone for the next year supposedly... something clicked in me. It wasn't just what we did on New Year's that set the tone; it was what we did each day. And maybe it wasn't quite a click, per se. It was really more like a tectonic shift.

top

It's happened to all of us. We hear a song and are moved – sometimes to tears, sometimes to a greater love, and sometimes to that long-awaited epiphany. Music touches the parts of us that are unnamed and dark and brings them, begrudgingly, to the fore. Musicians are the bridge-builders and the soul-sweeteners. They are our magicians reworking Source and re-presenting it in palatable verse. They are the Reminders of our race. Here, they seem to say, take this and let it slip into your ear. Does this reconfiguration of words and notes touch you? Do you hear what I feel? Are you me in this moment?

Music creates that sacred space between the impossible and the possible and this feeds so much of our imagination.

This collection is dedicated to those musicians who have shattered who and what I thought I was... and have reassembled me into something more delicious.

There are few men that can cross the Gender Chasm with as much grace and finesse as Steve Hogarth. His daring to walk the path between masculinity and femininity skirts shamanism. I don't say this lightly. Sometimes you hear a lyric or feel the voice of the singer in your head and know that the only way that could have transpired is if that person was connected to the Divine. Of course, I know he's just a man: I've met him in person. There were no fireworks coming out of his eyes, nor angels whispering in his ears... that I could see, anyway. But he's sitting on the fence of the two worlds – an enviable position to some, but to others, this would take an act of courage. Steve Hogarth gives me lightness and purpose in times of burden and wandering.

***

Reality is something that you rise above
We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are
Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run
The fearful fall foul of fate as often as the reckless

You don't need money to be rich anyhow
Spending yourself is what it's all about

No tears
No lies
No pain
No doubt
No darkness
No confusion
No loneliness, despair
No more, no more
It's all illusion
- excerpt from "Rich" by Marillion

During my youth, I lived vicariously through Freddie Mercury. He dressed outrageously, had a sense of self that went beyond pride, and sang like nobody's business. The name of his band, interestingly, was not lost on me. As a queer kid growing up in the conservative South, I latched onto Queen out of hope and quiet rebellion. I watched as my gay-bashing peers rocked out to “We Are The Champions” and “Another One Bites The Dust” - and knew that somehow, somewhere justice was being served. Freddie Mercury gives me voice and inspiration in times of fear and shame.

***

One shaft of light that shows the way
No mortal man can win this day
It’s a kind of magic
The bell that rings inside your mind
Is challenging the doors of time
It's a kind of magic
The waiting seems eternity
The day will dawn of sanity
Is this a kind of magic?
It's a kind of magic
There can be only one
This rage that lasts a thousand years
Will soon be done
This flame that burns inside of me
I’m here in secret harmonies
It’s a kind of magic
- excerpt from “A Kind of Magic” by Queen

I'd never really understood Kate Bush until my friend Tony gave me that cassette. I remember coming home and putting it on to listen to while I was doing housework. As the music started and her voice oozed out of the speakers, I stopped, turned around, and sat down on the bed. As I listened, the lyrics and music started painting pictures. Some of them were soft and ethereal; others were fiery red with harsh black stripes. Female passion and strength were redefined for me. Here was a woman who used all of her senses to create music that was so fat I was astounded that an LP could contain it. Kate Bush gives me travel and permission in times of stagnation and doubt.

***

I still dream of Orgonon.
I wake up crying.
You're making rain,
And you're just in reach,
When you and sleep escape me.

You're like my yo-yo
That glowed in the dark.
What made it special
Made it dangerous,
So I bury it
And forget.

But every time it rains,
You're here in my head,
Like the sun coming out--
Ooh, I just know that something good is going to happen.
And I don't know when,
But just saying it could even make it happen.
- excerpt from "Cloudbusting" by Kate Bush

Michael handed me the NunSexMonkRock album and said, “You gotta listen to this.” I looked at the cover and was immediately intrigued. I put the album on the turntable, put the needle down, and... knew she was mine. Ever discover a musician like that? Ever listen to someone sing and think, This one is just for me...? Her operatic style and fierce independence coupled with a zealot's love of God released something in me that I didn't know had been caged. She didn't care – and not in that way of dangerous apathy, but in that way of personal freedom. A world of possibilities opened up and dared me to... Well, just dared me. Nina Hagen gives me wings and laughter in times of entrapment and gloom.

***

I'm going to live the life
I sing about in my song
I'm going to stand for right
And always shun the wrong
If I'm in the crowd
Or if I'm alone
On the street or in my home
I'm going to live the life
I sing about in my song

Every day, everywhere
On that busy thoroughfare
Folk may watch me, some may spot me
Say I'm foolish, but I don't care
I can't sing one thing
And then live another
Be a saint by day
And a devil undercover
I'm going to live the life
I sing about in my song
- excerpt from “I'm Gonna Live The Life” by Nina Hagen

top

I've spent my whole life being in fear of something: not having enough money, having too much money, saying the wrong thing, not saying the right thing, compromising in places I shouldn't, not compromising in places I should, and on and on. Everybody's got their list. Mine has only grown as I've gotten older. When I was younger, it was the Creature from the Black Lagoon; now, it's rooted in my checkbook and doing right by my kid. God, how boring. I mean, at least when I was a kid, I was creative: Lisa Marie is sleeping peacefully in her twin bed when all of a sudden – AGH! The Creature from the Black Lagoon grabs her exposed foot and drags her underneath to feast on her face! Today my fears are less about adrenaline and more about anxiety and feelings of failure. When did this switch happen and who's sitting on my creativity?

This Collection is dedicated to that part of me who is tired of the self-deprecating mantras. The following people represent those aspects of fearlessness that I call upon when a self-applied kick in the ass is needed.

“'Well, don't think you can just bloody fail... Because you can't just bloody fail. You got to learn how to be a magnificent, brilliant, flamboyant failure rather than any kind of benign success.' … That phrase haunted me... It was about being fearless – fearless! - of failing because that was the only way that you would ever find anything out for yourself that counted.”

- Malcolm McLaren, Authentic Creativity vs. Karaoke Culture

Some fears are born out of and fueled by a common assemblage of ideas. In these cases, sometimes the best remedy is to reassemble those ideas into something more workable. Richard Russell does this beautifully through his art. In his collages, he is constantly reaching back to pull the past into the present. He teaches me that the old ideas can be rearranged into something new, can mutate vulgarity into beauty, and beauty into something questionable. Richard takes the Understood, the Norm, the Conventional and turns them all on their heads – not out of mockery, but out of necessity: they become a question of our quality. Great courage is needed to build bridges from the Given into the Unknown.

To learn more about Richard's art, visit http://www.myrichardsart.com.

Some fears are born out of and fueled by fear itself. In these cases, we have to ask ourselves if we have the courage to explore those Things Not Spoken Of, those places gated off by Common Courtesy. Are we willing to be pushed outside our comfort levels and to feel truly vulnerable? Eddie Carpenter is just such an irritation to me. My friendship with him over the years has seen him in the role of Devil's Advocate and of Caliber Questioner. He teaches me not to fear the fears and dark places and to reach out and, if not embrace them, then to at least expose them to a little light. It takes bravery to dismantle the Accepted and to push against the Edges of Perceived Boundary.

To learn more about Eddie, visit http://edsart.org.

Some fears are born out of and fueled by the Illusion of Caution. In these cases, we find ourselves asking if our words or actions are valid, if they will truly make a difference. We question whether we have the right tact, can take the right angle, or are even the right person to speak about the issue at hand. Wendy Chapkis has taught me that speaking diplomatically was an art form: there are times when razored words and actions are needed; other times demand softness and the building of bridges. Our power is ours alone to wield, but it is the manner in which we wield that truly determines our character and our outcome.

To learn more about Wendy, visit http://www.wchapkis.com.

Some fears are born out of and fueled by exhaustion. Sometimes we are so beaten down, so despondent about the battle we believe we are fighting, that we lose sight. When I met Jim Lindenschmidt, I realized he made this annoying assumption that everything would work out in the end. I would fire warnings, negative scenarios, and doubts in his direction, only to have him coolly bat them aside like gnats. I decided to marry him because I wanted some of his trust to rub off on me. Since then, I have slowly learned that trusting isn't finding something to cling to; it's finding that you have to let go of everything. It's about having faith in yourself, your path, and the process.

To learn more about Jim, visit http://www.bardicbrews.net.

top