jtoneill.net

So I am working on a website featuring both my photography and my original art work.  But there is an introductory page that I need to do - and part of that page is the dreaded "About me" -- hmmmmm - that is tough to write so I will practice here first.
      Long ago and far away I was a teenager.  What a time of angst and confusion. Solitude was my best friend and family was my refuge.  I pushed myself out into the world via a marriage and, with its demise, all doors opened.  So many exciting doors with so many choices! That twentysomething decade included roller coaster years of exploration and discovery, of roles and masks, of social life and solitude. Personal encounter and change characterized those times.  They are remembered fondly and with great appreciation for all that I learned.
     And still long ago and far away were my hard working thirties and forties.  These two decades were all about raising children and striving for professional perfection and acknowledgement.  Marriage, friendships and self had to be inadvertently set aside as the responsibility of parenthood and work simply took over.  Being a reflective, responsive, and present parent has been the toughest work of my life but the payoff is grand.  I am so proud of those two children.  Professionally, I remain in love with my work and believe I am in my element there.
     Now for the last third (or less) of my life...... scary.  It saddens me when I think that at least two thirds of my life has been lived,  much of it with my eyes closed and my foot on the accelerator.  I suppose this website is an attempt to meld together much of what I have learned so far in life.  It isn't really for anyone else but me.  It is a way to fuse past and present via my own words and images and the words and images of others who have profoundly touched me.  Putting it all out there for the world to see and judge is rather narcissistic, I venture to say, but it is one way to sort life out and be held accountable. What do you think?
     ps:  The website isn't up quite yet but I'll let you know when it is!

Make Your Own Kind Of Music

Remember that song Make Your Own Kind of Music?  Maybe that's the obvious answer to the question I posed yesterday.  Are there good surprises left?  Are there crests yet to come? I suppose if I cocoon my way through the next , oh, 35 years or so, the chances of real highs happening are relatively small.  I am sure there would lots of pleasant moments but intense joy, wonder, excitement?  I don't  know.  Maybe you have to go out and make those moments.  When I reflect back on my 20's there were lots of adventures - some travel, lots of adventures of the heart, always new people being encountered, and openness to explore and an ability to move lightly through life.  I can still travel, I can still  meet and connect with new people, I can be open to what is out there - I want adventures of the heart but that's complicated.  I think the surprises come when eyes sparkle, when attitude is open, when there is an element of risk at stake.  Risk adds to the excitement , to the surprise - but risk is, oh yeah, risky.  It doesn't always play out the way you were hoping.  I also wonder if surprises are more available when your life is not overly complicated, not a tangle of a schedule, not bogged down with things and the need to take care of things (like houses, yards, cars - those kind of things).  Just wondering....

Is it true?

I get grief for this but sometimes I feel as if all the surprises are done - all the good surprises, that is.  There are lots of bad surprises waiting to happen but when you get past the college and career decisions, the marriage and kids days, where can you find surprises?  Yes, there can be pleasures and daily pleasant moments - I get that - but how about moments of intense joy or excitement? Maybe I will be surprised but when I scan the future (which I seldom do) I see a collage of same old same old days.  For a few years here I will keep going to work every day.  And that's a good thing...... overall, I love my work and it brings lots of satisfying/challenging moments.  But it isn't a surprise.  I will enjoy plenty of laughter with friends and family.  I expect to have a few travel adventures and relish plenty of good books, good music and a few good movies. People tell me that grandchildren can be delicious and perhaps I will have the opportunity to discover that.  But I thrive on the highs in life - the way highs - and, admittedly, I am plagued by the lows in life.  I both love and hate the roller coaster that is life but if I have to be in the trough, then I want to ride a crest too.

just me

leave me alone

crawl inside

hear nothing

no sound

no creak, no phone

leave me alone

block my head
make it white

or black

don't ask me 

to come back

don't talk to me

don't tick at me

leave me alone

put blue sky
and silence

in my head

make me hear
only the shhh 

in my head

I would like
that

Riding Away, Running Away

Incredible bike ride!  Words like incredible just fall off the fingers but I know I am alive on the early morning planet.  All senses are engaged.  I can see such brilliant color.  At 6:15 am the light is both eerie and calming.  By 7:15, the light intensifies the greens, the yellows, the purples of spring.  I swear they just leap out at me and stop me cold.  I seriously must stop and breathe in the colors, the fog, the filtered sunlight. There is a short section of the ride that is in a small valley where the hills and trees ooze greens, purples and shades of blue while the flat is littered with oranges, reds, yellows, and pinks.  I almost can't stand the beauty.  But it's not at all just what my eyes take in.  The fragrance of spring surprises me!  It is not a constant as I ride along but rather whispers in my nose from time to time.  And when it does, I see the colors too.  Double whammy!
The air is cold and my fingers a bit numb but then the hill work makes the hoodie feel too tight and too warm.  I have to frequently adjust the gears as I roll up and down and on the flats.  I can hear the knees scream a bit but I am used to ignoring them.  The abs are sucked in.  They ride better that way.  The right clavicle whines from time to time and I find myself releasing the right arm from the handlebars and holding my right hand close to the clavicle.  It's a way to take the pressure off the reach and to remind myself that the healing is not quite done.  This morning John Prine fills my ears too and I carry an illegal smile as I keep a head full of hope and a heart that's filled with wonder.  Oh my!  For a brief time I am in the moment, as they say.  I know what it means to be alive, to be joyful with the world, to have no fears or failures.  I have run away.

Moonbeam grin

To sparkle is to be alive.  To saunter with Ellie through the neighborhood, to feel a late afternoon spring breeze, to wrap my eyes around the greens and the purples, the  pinks and yellows, the oranges and the shine that are spring, this is to be alive.  To watch another person's eyes dance, to know that the room is  electric because people are connecting, to laugh, this is to be alive.  To paint walls on paper - rich, exciting, sharp walls - to feel their power is to feel alive.  Alive begets alive and the spark grows into a flame.  The dark cave of a life can find windows when the spark ignites the flame.  Sparkle lights up a cave.  Sparkle lights up a life.  That tiny moonbeam of a grin can become the sun that makes all the difference.

paint

paint falls off the fingers
black red
bars and rocks
rocks and bars bricks strong
stop the world
why? what good does stopping do?
make the paint real
make the paint
tough
make the paint me
paint cement
cement bricks
bricks that pull skin off
bricks that pinch fingers
bricks that hide
bricks that tear
bricks that are strong
will not allow entry
will scream will tear
will break
me

What would you observe if you were observing?

What would you observe if you were observing?
the green in the world
the green in my paint
the sad in my soul
the anger in my jaw
the good in my home
the fear in my mind
the despair in my imagination
the drama of it all
the ability to stop
the desire to write
the gotta get on with it attitude
the pain in the world
the emptiness of the house
the tick of the clock
the tear on my face
the salt in the tear
the go away in my mind
the walls on the paper
the wine in the glass
the sadness of the memory
the anger of connections
the desire to escape
the knowledge of friends
the pettiness of lovers
the kindness within
the calmness of perspective
the peace of wisdom
the peace of non attachment
the love of brothers and sister
the hope within
the promise of change
the beauty of spring
the leave me alone that works
the value of tears
the value of walls
the hope

Walls

Walls - I have been painting walls - I mean putting walls down on paper.  Putting brush to paint or sponge to paint and creating a strong wall -- filling every crack with heavy black brown red paint and sponging some texture for interest .  Adding a little blue or a little purple in for something eye catching.  The bricks are similar sized but not even steven neat and and tidy.  The foundation on each wall is dark, messy, bold, not to be shaken.  There are spikes at the top of each wall.  Strong walls.  Brick walls.  Walls that are rough to the touch.  That cannot be scaled.  There are no gates, no windows, no lock and key.  They will not fall.

Worthy of an Oscar

Everybody has a story.  Some stories are alive with sadness and tragedy and those stories resonate across the world.  The hero's story is worthy and inspiring and is everywhere if you open your eyes. The triumphant stories can be thrilling and can evoke dreams and action.   And there is the everyday story that is at the heart of so many lives.  No great tragedies or wild grand fortunes.  Simply a willingness to keep going, trudging along, getting out of bed every morning, taking what the world throws your way that day. And in some everyday stories there is no flame, no surface hunger.  The story salutes the sun, tolerates the rain, and believes it is less than it should be.  A mediocre story at best.  The performance, however,  is awesome.   Worthy of an Oscar.  Eyes sparkle, laughter seen as genuine, self deprecating humor which is truth. The actor is alive.  The air is electrical and the sparks are real.  And the performance fools the audience.  It is so good.  No one knows the real story.