Jonesberries

Hanging out in a castle last nite. A real live castle outside of Dresden. The castle is a collection of about 6 buildings and grounds in a complex in which the other half contains a Denny’s wannabee pub, a suburban like ice cream parlor and farmer’s market shop that makes the perfectly predictable and safe day outing for the family from the big city or suburbia that suburbanites around the globe would be perfectly at home in. Need help visualizing it? Think parking lot full of clean, new, shiny sedans, randomly placed farming equipment, new furniture that has been intentionally distressed to look old and peach, the colour peach that rears its ugly head out from the 80′s when you least expect it.

Hanging out at the “Denny’s Wannabe” we feared the worst on the other half of the grounds.  We were pleasantly suprised. We found normal people and normal living. Well, normal for us. In the public area we found ornate ceilings, peach sheets and a bit of “Tammy Faye” with the black and gold toilets. Beyond the public areas we found families hammering together random bits of wood to create important objects like helicopters and boxes and boats. mismatched patio furniture in the back, randomly placed mattresses and plastic cars in the hallway. Real people with long hair and mismatched clothes. One look and we saw that they were “our tribe”. We should have known. Not let the Denny’s scare us. So many of our friends have been telling us we need to come here. Friends that are not impressed with fancy buildings but by real people, by people living out the free, yet sometimes insane, life of an artist.

We talked late into the night echoing each others thoughts and finding more and more people we both knew and loved. Thoughts about art being a language that transcends the boundaries of mere words. So many words have lost their meaning through misuse that art is becoming a more efficient way of communicating truth. This is because art, many times, has a mind of its own. It will communicate more deeply and with greater truth than even the artist intends.

The conversation started my mind spinning.

If art is a language then what makes an artist?

Earlier this year I spoke with the father of 4 musicians who I considered very talented. “It isn’t about talent”, he said, “They practice hours each day”. I spoke with a potter as well. “What makes a great potter?” he asked, “The sheer quantity of clay that goes through the fingertips”. How many artists have echoed the words, “talent is 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration” or “2% inspiration and 98% perspiration”. One of my favourite songwriters once said, “The songs are up there, the question is do I have the courage to pull them down”.

If perspiration and courage are factors then what makes an artist?

Many of the most “talented” artists are broken. A bad childhood, mispent youth, illness or abuse shadows many artists. I refuse to put brokeness in as a requirement to being an artist. Maybe brokeness is just one path to what is needed.

I have a theory. You know how I love my bizarre theories. Maybe what makes an aritst is freedom. If it is a language then we all have it in us somewhere. The difference is that through need or strength or perceived insanity some of us rebel against what is considered “acceptable” and declare ourselves imancipated. We refuse the boundaries and what is deemed normal and permisable. All too often we must be broken to rebel to this level. To daily throw off the cages of “the good life”. To not care is we create something that is “pretty” but  to declare truth in ourselves and the world, as we perceive it. The better we do this the greater our reputation of “insanity” while living and “brilliance” long after we are dead. To create art is to expose our souls for all to see. Not caring, if only for a moment, about whether it is understood, accepted or rejected. It is an insane undertaking.

Am I taking this too far.

How about spirituality? The trappings, institutions and rules of religion remain long after spirituality has left the building. Is becoming more spiritual, intertwined with rebellion and freedom from acceptable norms of conduct and thought.

Are the two related?

At Freakstock now. Andrew seriously contemplating getting a mullet….. again. Drinking lots of tea with old and new friends.

We have now left Czech Republic and are in Chemnitz, Germany. We have been greeted in, what we have determined to be, classic German hospitality. It is just over the top. We arrive to put our truck in a large shed where Mirko has gathered a team of efficient German welders and mechanics have been gathering supplies and do the work. On the agenda are some mechanical repairs, waterproofing the roof, new tyres, etc. After one look at our bicycles they were promptly added to the list.

We have a choice of 2 places to stay. We stayed the first nite in an idyllic little fairytale cottage on the edge of town and a room in town with food, washing machines and a kids program. We are being pampered German
style.

Andrew is trying desperately to be more German by simply being on-time
but is sadly failing miserably, despite his best attempts. I think he
might have become a bit more “hippy” over the last year. Our adventures
are transforming us and I think it depends on where or who you are to
determine if you think it is better or not.

As me and the girls have had some time to hang out while Andrew works in the warehouse me and the girls have been exploring. Among our favourite places in Chemnitz are the Eiscafe. Dare we say that this place has our favourite ice cream so far. I know, I know, we ARE in Germany and this ice cream is the absolute best. I had “chili/chocolate” and my mouth was numb from the real chillies. Abi had “Pina Colada” and had real chunks of pineapple and coconut. TJ had raspberry and it still had raspberry seeds in it and the sour taste of the actual fruit. We found this place after making a major wrong turn on the bus and the kids say it was definately worth it.

Another favourite was our free tour from the nice man at the salt grotto around the corner from where we are staying. Sure, it is man made but what an effort. Locals come in to take care of health problems of the respiratory system and skin problems. Himalayan salt stone walls. Salt steam. One relaxing 45 minute session, complete with mood music, a couple of times a week is supposed to cure what ails you. There is even a special kids session everyday at 3pm.  The kids didn’t want to leave and really liked the sweeties at the front desk. These sweeties had no sugar of any sort (not even fake sugar). Just himalayan salt and herbs. http://www.salzgrotte-chemnitz.de/

The Chemnitz claim to fame is the giant Karl Marx statue still in the centre of town. I was told I couldn’t miss it. Uuuuuhhhh, we missed it. Honestly couldn’t find it. Apparently this town was called Karl Marx town during communism and they are quite proud of their giant statue.

You know, ever since we went to SLOT Festival in Poland the first time, we just can’t seem to avoid it.

We have now been 4 times in a row.

We weren’t even planning on going this year until about a week before. We all love it. There are workshops on everything from black-smithing swords to tightrope walking.

We saw many old friends and made alot of new ones.

Andrew taught under the tree again.

I did something a bit different this year. I made the tipi into a space to make wings.

The thing is, I had this dream a few months back. I was in Africa. I found some beautiful, semi-transparent fabric and thought it would make beautiful wings. I have often thought of making wings. I dreamt that we went to SLOT and people were walking around in wings that were made in a space that I set up and this helped us get around the world.

Strange huh? I thought that if we go to SLOT I should do this. But, since we weren’t planning on going to SLOT this year I wouldn’t have to do it. I was safe. The dream could remain this strange and distant image in Africa, the land of dreams.

Then our plans changed and we went to SLOT. I felt really silly doing this. I did a lot of moaning to my family, Sasha and Derek while setting things up. Moaning to the point that there was a bit of a role reversal with my girls. I was doing the little girl moaning and they were coming back with heaps of motherly encouragement. Doing this hit all my issues. I don’t like the attention. I don’t like looking stupid. Silly I don’t mind but stupid is another issue.  I couldn’t quite figure out how to frame it. Was I to do it all for free? Was I supposed to sell the wings? What about a donation?

I need to tell you, at this point, that I have a belief in a God who cares about me and speaks to me. So, at the risk of seeming even more strange than I already am, I need to say that I think that this dream was from God and that He wanted me to do it. OK, I said it, Whew. To add to this, Derek had some really good advice for me. He said that the exact frame for a wing-space was unimportant. If I think that God wanted me to do this, then it was a simple matter of obedience.

So, instead of doing what makes sense and making money by selling wings to unique, eclectic shops in wealthy countries I take my partially made wings and set up a space in an art festival in a struggling country among economically challenged young people alongside over a hundred free workshops and then ask for donations for our diesel in a country where “donation” is a bizarre concept. All this because of a dream I had in the Sahara and a very strong feeling that I was supposed to do it with no assurance that I wouldn’t look like a complete idiot doing it.

Abi and I cut out and sewed together hundreds of wing panels, with my hand-crank Singer sewing machine, the week before.

We went to slot and set up our space. We set up the tipi. Painted a sign. Hung up some wings.

Our space was completely full of people pretty much the whole time it was open. We covered our costs with a single generous donation.

We left the tipi up for overflow for the neighbouring tea tent after we ran out of supplies to make wings and sold every last pair of intact display wings for donations.

I need to say, at this point that we didn’t do any clever marketing or advertising. We tried to print some cards off and our printer cartridge suddenly became defective. People just saw the tent and the wings and asked if they could make some. After we ran out of supplies for making wings people sought out me, or one of my girls, to ask for wings.


Over the next days the wings were popping up everywhere. Just like my dream, only better.
I think the wings made people happy… and beautiful… and free in a world where this is all in way too short supply. There is just something very special about wearing wings. It opens up a world of possibilities. Especially wings that are huggable.

We also got to fill up our diesel tank on our way out of Poland. Which was incredible because we drove to Poland with no money to fill the tank for our return trip.
Technorati Tags: Slot art festival, poland, wings, dreams

Sorry for the silence but we have been camping on some friend’s land in the Divoka Sarka on the outskirts of Prague. It is an old farm that was last used by the Nazi’s. Legend has it that the Communists and the Nazis had a bit of a battle right at the edge of the land. The new owners plan to make it into a retreat center, farm, home for 3 families and ??? It was a wonderful time with frequent bike trips to the spring fed pool and the pub right next door, which can only be reached on foot or bike.
 

We have received a homecoming welcome from our old friends. Made new friends that feel like old ones already. We have had our backs cracked by the muscly amature chiropractor next door. Chased fireflies with his wife. Heard hilarious stories from a very aminated czech ambassador. Heard from a Thai businesswoman about an amazing education program she is involved with in Thailand where their students learn practical skills for life and their 8 year old graduates must build a house before they can graduate. We drank great czech beer (the kids drank Kofola, alias communist coke) and ate great czech food.
 
WOW! What a great week. We have now left and are at the SLOT art festival in Poland. We have been invited to return to Divoka Sarka after SLOT to do some work on our truck. Hmmmmm… what would you do?

Just thought you might like a photo of how Inigo is doing. He is getting SOOOOO big. He is fitting right into the family. We think he is the perfect dog for us.

He frequently gets hiccups. He likes to do a froggy sprawl when he finds cool tile floors, he is truck trained, he has a muscly strutt, he still pees like a girl.

He now has his puppy immunizations finished, a little blue microchip floating around inside somewhere (how strange to think about) and his EU passport (wish we had one of those).

We have been given some great books on dog training. The best one is these 3 monks who breed and train german shepherds, called “How to Be Your Dog’s Best Friend”. Bizarre cover (Do those 3 monks all naturally tilt to the right or did they change a slanting horizon to straight to help the cover look more symetrical, or the monks look drunk?), great book.