Category Archives: Dreams

PRACTICE PRACTICE PRACTICE

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“The human brain is an unstoppable piece of machinery that from birth to death whirrs out text and imagery at unfathomable rates of speed. Perhaps the Creative among us are not Truly Creative at all.

Those of us who are blessed with a thoughtful, interested audience may only possess  the ability to quickly spot and recognize a new idea, to focus on that idea and with brush or pen, to create an original expression of that idea.”

My first retail store was located in Scottsdale AZ,  a DYS picture frame shop. For the first few years this store was the only such business in North Scottsdale. It was a fun way to earn a few bucks.

There was an artist, a bit of a late bloomer, who often arrived as our doors opened,  paintings in hand, her painted canvasses from the art classes she was taking at Scottsdale Community College.

Her work was horrible. She couldn’t  draw a straight line with a yard stick.

At first she tried framing her own work but her uncooperative thumbs (ten as I recall) helped her to decide that a more professional craftsman would know the best solutions.

I and my team framed many of her works  over the years;  her work improved and we adapted to her enthusiastic, wolfish tenacity..

I gave her a biography one day, of Pablo Picasso. The first chapter described little Pablo, who, acting on his father’s advice, went to the garden, chose a flower and drew it.

He  drew that floral beauty dozens of times until his hand seemed to have a mind of its own. He had begun with the expectation of becoming a slave to perfection, learning instead that the appearance of the finished work depended upon purpose and he developed the practice of rendering several very different impressions of his subject.

Having been influenced by that same chapter during my own childhood I had successfully practiced the same technique and wondered if this might be of some help to our friend.   She gratefully emulated Picasso’s example on a daily basis and the quality of her work seemed to grow .

She told me one day that a major gallery in New York City wanted to manage her career; She was moving to The Big Apple;  within a few years I began to see her work turn up on the walls of homes gracing the pages of Architectural Digest and American Artist.

Like the lady I just described and like many artists, I was not born with the ability to draw or sing or play the piano. I arrived with curiosity. I was born with questions afloat in my head. My earliest infantile experiments were well under way as I rose for my first step and fell again to my knees.

Whenever I hear someone describe themselves as lacking creativity, I become instantly sad. I mourn because I recognize the pain that this kind of affirmation causes.

Daily descriptions of what we perceive as our limitations, render these ideas into nightmares and the nightmares into shame, blame and often violence.

I have a few standard quips for those who regularly repeat such ideas about themselves but being a part of my memorized repertoire these  “standard” retorts seem to lack credibility.

As for myself, it has been awhile since waking at 2:00 AM with the dream-words spilling from my lips, “Lee you dumb-shit-you did it again.”


Lee Broom

 

Who, Not What (by Zippety Zot) Repost from Amo Apr 27 2012

 

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The WHAT of life is found ‘neath the neck.

The WHO resides in the head.

What I want to know by zippety-zot

Is Who is this in my bed?

The body’s familiar, it has two legs.

But who’s at the other end?

A woman it seems, she’s not a horse.

So what path down was I led?

This must be a dream, of course that is so.

Another one’s coming and

Off I shall go

I’m going

I’m going

I’m gone.

Goodnight.

 

Who, Not What (by Zippety Zot)

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The WHAT of life is found ‘neath the neck.

The WHO resides in the head.

What I want to know by zippety zot

Is Who is this in my bed?

The body’s familiar, it has two legs.

But who’s at the other end?

A woman it seems, she’s not a horse.

So what path down was I led?

This must be a dream, of course that is so.

Another one’s coming and

Off I shall go

I’m going

I’m going

I’m gone.

Goodnight.

 

A Six Pack, a Hammer, and a Church Key, Please,

lafayette compound 008

 

It is said that it is easier to break an empty bottle of beer than a sealed one.

It is also said that it  is easier to break anything than to fix it, unless that thing is an undesired habit or a relationship.

Is it any consolation to realize that when a thing is made by man,  that something was first destroyed?

Whatever we make of ourselves requires raw materials, desire and a whole lotta Love.

As for the Love…

We may need a little help with that one…

Lee Broom.

Formlessness Ignored: by One Who Seemed to Know

Cardiovascular Bldg. Scottsdale, AZ - 1

Medical Building Scottsdale AZ                                                        Designed by Kamal Amin

“Every morning I dressed up in a suit and tie, drove to the office and sat on my chair next to the telephone. No one knew I was there……..After two weeks of waiting by the telephone in my office, it rang one morning. I said to myself, ‘Good Lord, someone knows I am here’………..”
Kamal Amin            Reflections from the Shining Brow.

TITLES: When and How to Use Them.

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I write essays, stories, plays, poetry and songs. Remembering a childhood experience, imagining an adventure, peering into the future; a new song can stir the soul  and stall the inevitable but for ideas to thrive they must be shared. And to share requires the ability to listen to the Source of all Ideas.

One must listen carefully, oh teller of tales for the most important creation is often the Title, the Tickler, the time challenging Source which will make this possible. Or………

Like any good craftsman one can follow a few simple rules and make do until something better comes along. And it will, if needed.

 

 

When to Use a Title

Some images are sublime, alive with the moment, unusual and for whatever reason, attractive but still there is no story that comes to mind. The more neutral the idea the easier it is to capture the viewer’s imagination by adding a title. But please, be subtle.
When not to Use a Title.

Remember Norman Rockwell? Here was a man who needed no titles. The successful Illustrator regardless of what his or her artistic medium, may not need a caption. Norman Rockwell was one of the greatest storytellers of my time and he rarely wrote a word.In fact, redundancy threatens every creative endeavor. As a boy I had a couple of snail-mail chats with my hero, one of which was on the subject of using titles to explain the obvious.

Mr. Rockwell agreed with me that his work would in many if not most cases, be more successful without the titles. But that his editors at Post insisted.

And now that we are moving into the world of Kindle-ing our written, creative endeavors we are being encouraged to use keywords, tags and categories to even survive.

 

What Works Best.

Experimentation is the primary tool for gathering information. We can on the other hand, listen to others and put our faith in their reputation if we choose and judge the ensuing success or the lack thereof, discarding these ideas when necessary and replacing our role model with someone new. Or we can place our faith in the process, do our own work and see what we can learn.

About titles: Titles for chapters, titles for illustration are not like hooks in a song. Hooks are about repetition and building habits but the thing that got the music lover to buy was the title. What made it work was persuading the prospective CD buyer to become involved in the process. The artist name was the first attraction; next came the Album Illustration and the Album title. After that the song titles. The Artist and the album supplied the obvious. The subtlety of the titles involved the prospect.

 

What Does Not Work Best.

A title that is a perfect fit will soon be forgotten. Subtlety encourages questions. Questions need answers. The need for answers inspire thought. Thought produces memories. Memories produce sales.”

Bang Bang Bang

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At 2:12 am I awoke to the sound of three loud bangs. It sounded as though someone was pounding on the sliding glass patio door, which when sleeping is only three feet from my head. The patio lite was on; its on a timer. I looked out through the glass. no one there. I moved on to the patio. I was alone. I checked my watch. 2:12 am. I went inside and confirmed the time with my cell phone and went back to bed. I fell off into dreamland as though drugged.

I awoke at sunup.; I had left the blinds open. That, in my oopinion is a wonderful way to greet the day. I had only to wait for a few seconds before hearing the mockingbirds inventory their musical portfolio.

I checked my watch; 2:12. I checked my  cell phone; 6:42.

Apparently, my brain was able to detected a change whis was somehow related to the stopped watch event. And, apparently this brain also was able to concoct the banging sound which was certain to wake me. Was it only the aborted electrical pulse which got my attention? Or was there an alien force from another galaxy studing my REM signals?