11 - Bonsai

As he was given to me...

I don't have children...I hope to in the somewhat near future, but for now, I have Herbert. Herbert is my 16-year-old Juniper Bonsai Tree. My wife gave me Herbert for my 23rd birthday and I was ecstatic. When I got Herbert he was overgrown and in desperate need of trimming. I got my little shears that are attached to my leatherman and went to work. I can't really describe the satisfying yet emotional process of clipping the little branches. Before long I had a small pile of branches and my fingers were raw. Herbert looked better than ever though. I have thought several times about my first experience with clipping the new buds. In ever work of art you need to take a step back and ask yourself if you are over working the piece. It is possible to just keep going and to never be satisfied with the work you have done, but knowing when to stop is a very important part of the artistic process.

I tend to think of our lives in a similar way. There is a point when we need to make changes, fix things, and be better. Those changes are welcomed and necessary. We cannot let ourselves get overgrown and out of control because all desires and passion should be kept within appropriate bounds. I also think there is something to say for the overworked life. There is a point when we have to step back and realize that we have done what we can and it is time to accept some things that cannot be changed before we are left with only a trunk. The Japanese have a very interesting theory of nature. Nature is perfection, but it needs mankind's help to be its optimum. We cannot reach perfection. Nature can, but it needs our help. I can't decide whether or not I agree, but an interesting idea nonetheless. I am grateful for Herbert...my 16 year-old bonsai tree.

Part-way through the trimming process.

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10 - Temples

I didn't attend the San Diego Temple today (pictured above) but this is one of my favorites.

As I have overtly stated before, I am a Mormon. This means that I have a set of beliefs that govern a large part of who I am and what I choose to do on a daily basis. I believe that these make me a better person. Mormons of a certain age are encouraged to attend what we call temples and perform service. This service is in the form of helping those who have already moved on from this life have the option of receiving Christ. We believe that there are some things that must be done while you have access to a physical body. Since God does not discriminate or give preference to one person above another, he has provided a way for those that did not have the chance to be baptized in this life to be baptized by proxy and receive those blessings as if they had. There are a number of other ordinances that are performed for those that have passed on in addition to baptisms. These temples are beautiful places where we can go to be close to our God. Even though I am doing service for others, I get so much out of it that helps me improve my day to day life. Today when I attended the temple I felt an overwhelming desire to be better, to stand taller, and to give up more of my life in service to my God.

I am grateful for these chances that I have to come closer to my God. I am grateful for temples and the things that I learn there every time. The message is always the same, but what I walk away with is almost always different. If you have noticed these temples they are beautiful works of art. Mormons aren't trying to make a statement or prove to the world that we can build impressive buildings. We build these as a demonstration of our loyalty to God. These buildings are built to perfection with no corners cut. They stand as a reminder to me that I should live my life in a similar way, no corners cut, devoting my finest resources to my Father in Heaven. 

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9 - Photoshop

I did this piece in High School. Still one of my favorites.

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8 - Taiyaki

Quite possibly one of the most delicious things in the world is also one of the most unbecoming. Taiyaki: A fish-shaped pancake filled with red bean paste, custard, or any number of delicious fillings. Personally my favorite was custard. However, if we are talking about savory Taiyaki I once had a delicious potato and bacon. I don't know that I can even write anything here that will describe how delicious they are. My one recommendation: put these on your bucket list.

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7 - Garlic

There is a place in San Francisco, a small little restaurant down by Little Italy, called the Stinking Rose. Legend says that the Romans first called the beautiful little bulb of Garlic the "Stinking Rose". The smell in this place is intoxicating. Like when you spray too much cologne and you aren't sure whether it is good or too much, this place suffocates you in fantastic aroma. Bags of garlic hang from every wall and alcove. Strings of wine corks act as walls to separate guest, and their bottles hang from the ceiling. Everything on the menu wreaks of garlic. Recommended to me in particular was the Garlic Roasting in a Hot Tub. Spread on Focaccia rolls, these sweet roasted bulbs of flavor pack quite the punch. I am beginning to experience what garlic can taste like.

Being unaccustomed to roasting garlic, sometimes I fry it, press it, or even steam it. The affect it had on my apartment could not have been anticipated. I expect I should bask in the perfume for weeks. After successfully roasting the four bulbs for over an hour, they slipped gracefully out of their skins and into my artisan bread...but that is gratitude for another day. I am grateful for Garlic.

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6 - Kids

You should notice the bad guy in the stomach of our vampire dog.

I was sitting in church when a the little boy of a family that I am familiar with in the community wandered into class. I knew that his Dad was away in Florida tending to his Father who would most likely pass away in the next couple of days. He looked sad as he surveyed the room and seemed to remember that his Dad would not be there. I caught his eye and motioned to the seat next to me. He came over and took a seat next to me and settled in. I asked Sam why he was here and not with his friends in class. This sweet little five-year-old proceeded to tell me that his friend had made fun of him in the bathroom and he didn't want to go back to class. I told him that it was okay if he wanted to stay here with me.

We spent the next 40 minutes or so drawing in my sketch book. He drew us both with bows and "Robin Hood hats" and a vampire dog that eats the bad guys whole. I turned to take my pack of gum from a 1-year-old that had wandered over and when I looked back, Sam was drawing on a new page of my sketchbook. There were two stick figures with about 10 hearts floating above them. 

"This is you and me. We love each other." he said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 

"That's kind of weird," I say, not sure how to respond.

"No It's not, because you and me are family!" I felt like I could cry. "I already miss my Dad. He is in Florida because Grandpa is dying. He will probably stay there until Grandpa is in the ground, all dead." I put my arm around him. Once again I was speechless. I continue to listen to the instructor as he talks about the trials of life. 

"We deal with a lot of crap in this life," the instructor says. To which Sam pipes up in his loudest voice: "Crap is a bad word!" I knew then and there that I was so grateful for Kids.

I am grateful that they aren't afraid to stand up for what they know is right. I am grateful that they talk openly and freely about their feelings. I am grateful that I had the chance to commit to being a better person because of the example I saw from 5-year-old Sam.

He made sure to draw us in a house to show that we are a family. Also it seemed fitting that Baby Jesus would be there in the bottom left-hand corner.

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5 - A Blank Page

Some may call it intimidating, nerve racking, or even daunting, but to me there is a lot more involved in a blank sheet of crisp, white paper. I'm not perfect, nor do I think I ever will be. As an artist I have soiled so many pieces of white paper I could scarcely begin to count them. I experience the same hesitation that many must face when they put their freshly sharpened pencil to a flawless piece of paper. Erasers exist and that helps, but everyone knows that an eraser cannot restore a paper to it's initial beauty...no matter how good the eraser.

When I first started studying watercolor I faced a dilemma: Though you did have white pigment, there was no way to get it back to the white of the paper. If you want a true white, you had to plan on it from the beginning. Pressure. As layer after layer of pigment built up on the sheet, using the water as its vehicle, you could see the whites get dimmer and dimmer, tainted by the layers.

Today a white page to me means a fresh start, something that has no definitions or boundaries. Like waking up in the morning, that page has nothing but what I decide to put on it. I am reminded of the freedom that I enjoy and the ability that I have to make something that wasn't there before. It reminds me of what it means to be human. We are creative by nature, something that nobody can take away. When I see a blank page I remember that there is the possibility for failure as well as success. Through the years I have learned to be proud of my failures and rejoice in the process of becoming. On any page there are bound to be mistakes, but there is always the promise of another page to follow.

For all of you Christians out there, a new page is repentance, a new start granted me by my Savior Jesus Christ. I have the chance to move on from what I have done and start again. Those pages that I wish never to see again remain as a lesson learned from but they do not cumber the page that I have for today. I will be forever grateful for the chance that I have to start anew, fresh and untainted. This is something that is only made possible through my Savior. A Blank Page.

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4 - Rain

Tap, tap, tap...the window pane beckons. 

Glance. It's getting darker. 

Clouds roll in slowly, gathering mass like the base of a snowman pushed slowly...but steadily. 

Flash. In the distance and seconds later it sounds as though they were trumpets announcing the fanfare of her arrival. Homework abandoned, standing on the hot pavement. Waiting, watching. The ground is speckled with the first evidences. The smell has been here longer than expected. A mixture of earth and moisture caked together into an aroma that cannot be duplicated. Drops land, like icing, on the world below making barely any sound individually, but rising to a beautiful cacophony resonating from any and all directions. The world grows heavy and draws a labored breath. Releasing, steam rises from the ground and adds its gentle perfume. Like white noise, nothing can be heard, but there is no silence. The mind clears and thoughts come quickly. Puddles gather as the festivities continue.  The sound fades, the air clears, the clouds part, and silence pervades. The world holds it's breath now, waiting for the next chance it will have to celebrate the rain.

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3 - Running

I'm not normally one for running...especially during the winter; but a pair of hand me down shoes and a little motivation is all you need to get a good workout and I can't really argue with the convenience. The air is biting but the sun is out and the resultant dichotomy is breathtaking. A few walking steps before I push off of my right foot into a gentle jog. For a few minutes I feel like I could run forever. If we didn't get tired would we all run everywhere? Would walking gradually fade away and die? This feeling of wind blowing past your ears, legs churning either keeping up with the ground or the ground keeping up with you is exhilarating. The rhythmic thud, thud of my feet against the pavement is barely audible above the pulsing music of my headphones. It isn't long before I slow my pace and remember why I don't keep running forever. 

The Sun is setting now and the air is getting more brisk, but the heat inside my chest, and legs feels like it would burn through my skin at any moment. I round the corner to my destination and slow to a gentle speed walk. My legs are stiff and for a moment I wish I could keep going. Tired and achy, my body is longing to lie down and rest but I know I should keep walking. I feel a deep sadness for those that have never felt the exhilaration of a good run, a healthy body. I smile and think of the day when everyone will receive their perfect bodies, when those who have never run will run and those who have lived with chronic pain will enjoy their reprieve. I am reminded that this life is a mere blink in the scope of eternity. 

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2 - Dreams

It happens in the darkness,

when all is calm and still,

when people, places, words, and rhymes,

come creeping o'er the sill.

I cannot help but welcome,

the good, the bad, and strange.

For deep in these recesses 

my fondest friends, they came.

They dance upon my conscious,

play games with my insides,

but although the dawn breaks slowly,

they quickly run and hide.

I cannot keep them near me,

so rarely they return,

but recorded in my notebook,

their names I slowly learn.

Theres a friendly one who visits,

realism is a fright,

but of them all I cherish most,

the future and the light.

So come my friends I beg you,

come and visit soon,

though different shapes you surely take,

I wait by light of moon.

I love dreams. I can't really explain why, but I love the bad ones almost just as much as the good. Sometimes a bad dream is exactly what you need to be grateful for what you have. Sometimes the fear that you feel in a dream is so potent it gives you the contrast to enjoy the good. I have heard it said joy and pain are like a pendulum. You cannot experience joy exceeding the amount of pain you have experienced. I don't know if I would go that far, but I know that on occasion I wake and instead of regretting the dream, I simply let the feelings run their course and look forward to dreams to come. My favorite dreams are those that give me a glimpse into the future. I believe in them though many may not. I believe that on a regular basis we are granted a fleeting glimpse into what will be. I love those ones.

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1 - Body Surfing

Deserves my description

The waves pound in the distance and ocean spray and foam fall back to the endless churning waters. The sand remains grainy yet soft beneath my calloused feet. A ripple of water surges toward me, a feint echo of the crashing tempests that I had witnessed moments before. The icy water rolls up around my ankles and my heart gives a feint jump. I grip the styrofoam board in my hands. The grit of the sand bothers me but I know it won’t be long before it is washed away. I take a step forward with the motion of the waves. The water seems to pull me in, beckoning, inviting. Digging my toes into the sand I start running.

The water is up to my waist now and water drips from my nose and eye lashes. My toes continue to dig into the hard sand as I push forward. The waves, no longer inviting, no linger beckoning, crash against my chest as if punishing me for trespassing. A wave crashes right in front of me and I dive down as deep as I can, kicking my legs to avoid the push. Emerging on the other side I wipe my eyes. The water is almost up to my neck now, but I know that in a moment it could be as low as my knees. I take another couple steps toward the horizon and something in the wind, perhaps the water, tells me that this is the place. For a moment the ocean seems still, unmoving. I almost let myself believe that the ocean has accepted me, ceased the pounding waves that drove me back toward the shore. It didn’t take me longer than 20 minutes to get here, but it seems as though hundreds of waves have crashed upon my chest forcing me back one step for every two I have taken. I refocus on the forming waves. I see it forming in the distance, a huge swelling mound. As if a monster were trying to break free of the moisture binding it, it reared up in a colossal rage. I had misread it this time. The ocean had not accepted me, nor had this keen the place. I take a few steps toward the shore but I realize that it is too late. This monster has me in its sights and now is pulling me in. The water which was once at my chest is now at my navel, my waist, and the current pulls me closer and closer to the mouth of this monster. Realizing it is hopeless, I turn around to try to go under. In the same motion, the beast pounces.

The styrofoam board in my hands beats the side of my face and a muffled roar surges around my head. Like a rag doll I turn head over heels in an endless tumbling mass unable to breathe or see. Finally my head breaks the surface and sweet air fills my lungs. I dry heave once, my body’s natural response to the quart of Ocean water that just forced its way into my system. I rub my eyes and start to notice the sting of the raw flesh that surrounds them. I smile. It didn’t take me too far back to shore. “You may have won this one,” I think wryly. “But I’m not finished yet.” Then, ignoring the stinging of my eyes and throat, I dig my toes into the sand and push forward, unsure of wether the ocean beckons me in or fights against.

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