Nearly Spring Haiku

nearly spring

Most likely I am guilty of slaughtering a venerable form of Japanese poetry. But I must admit to loving the simplicity, the challenge and the possibilities for humor and juxtaposition that Haiku provides.

It is Nearly Spring here in my little part of Canada, that aching time of seasonal limbo when we hover between the lingering cold and the coming green. A lot of snow has melted, yes, but certainly not all. The ground that has appeared again isn’t green but grey. The trees still look bare except if you examine them closely, then they reveal their humble bud beginnings.

These Haiku poems I share today are a form of therapy for me during Nearly Spring. I confess to eagerly awaiting True Spring with only tiny shreds of patience. These humble lines of five syllables, 7 syllables, 5 syllables help me cope.

Nearly Spring Haiku 2018

Spring ready to leap
But winter will not release
Its icy talons

Have you every thought
Spring sprung in February?
Poor befuddled fool

Snow post March twenty
Feels like a wet soggy slap
Across your bare cheek

Brownish greyish gunk
Never looked so beautiful
As on a thaw day

The snow blanket goes
Revealing the plows scrappings
Suburb detritus

Melted mini-lakes
Make some of the sidewalks seem
The place for canoes

Tiny buds appear
At the tree branch fingertips
Peeking at the sun

Spring surprise party
As things hidden for long months
Grin at us again

Green will soon o’er take
Winter’s ice-blue dominance
Time guarantees it

 

by Ronald Kok, March 24, 2018

Florence + the Bunny

florence 1

A simple post from me – pen and ink drawing of Florence Welch, one of my favorite voices in the music world today. The photo I drew from comes from the little booklet in a Florence + the Machine CD on my rack.  I didn’t do any pencil work on this first but jumped right in with the ink – always a challenge when you can’t erase. The bunny in her lap looks like some other kind of creature but…

That’s why it’s called sketching, I suppose.

florence 2

Blasted Birch

Blasted Birch

Ronald Kok, Blasted Birch, 2018, chalk pastels on paper

Part of my week is tending to a small art studio in the day program where I work. Once in awhile, I’ll pull out a different kind of medium as a challenge. I know that it is easy to get too comfortable with one medium. You get used to it and suddenly feel that you have to cling to that all the time, almost like a security blanket. The problem with that is it can stifle new forms of expression. So I will personally use different media to keep myself fresh and will use the same approach with the artists I help guide in their creativity.

This week I pulled out the chalk pastels and encouraged a couple of my artists to use them. I showed them how cool they can be to blend and displayed some of the different effects you can get with them. Then, as they were drawing, I started doodling myself with the pastels on a piece of brown paper, blending colors and making layers. I ended up with the drawing above.

I always find it fascinating to begin with no clear end in mind. That is kind of counter intuitive to all the seminars we attend and books we read on paths to success and having a purpose-filled life, etc., etc. The concept of goals and setting out your path to achieve them has always rubbed against the grain for me. There is nothing inherently wrong with making goals, of course. But it can, at times, stifle the serendipitous.

As I drew, a stand of birch trees emerged. I was simply trying to get an impressionistic feel of a forest in late fall/early winter. But after I was done, I realized there was a melancholy feel to this, and it reminded me of photos I’ve seen from World War I, after a copse of trees has been blasted apart by artillery; or of the remains of a woods after a forest fire has marched a path of destruction. How did I get there? I’m not sure. Certainly, as I look at this drawing I can’t help but feel I’ve made something reflective of my state of mind, my perspective on my life as a whole right now. There is a part of me that feels blasted, kind of torn up and scorched. In some ways, I think I made a self-portrait here. Maybe that happens more freely when you begin with no clear end in mind.

The good news? You can blast a bunch of birch – either through war or fire or change of seasons – and it will come back. There will be green again. Buds will form, life returns, and hope appears.

That is something I need to be reminded of when I am feeling shredded, when things look grey all around me. An image like this captures a moment in time but never, ever the full picture.

Not a bad thing to keep in mind if you, like me, are not where you want to be right now.

A Bit of Spring… as We Wait… and Wait…

A Bit of Spring for Heidi

Ronald Kok, A Bit of Spring for Heidi, 2018

Last week in this space I posted a small painting I had made for my wife for Valentine’s Day. It was a grouping of six red/orange tulips against a white background. A dear and long-distance friend of ours saw the painting online and commissioned a similar one for herself, only this time with yellow tulips. As she put it from her similarly wintry surroundings, “I am in great need of spring (in my heart and in the weather!)”.

Winter does that to those of us who can’t escape to Cuba or the Dominican Republic or some other such exotic and warm locale. At first, I enjoy Winter. When the snow falls and the skies turn bright blue in the cold, cold days, I really don’t mind. In fact, I love so much about it. But after a few weeks, usually near the end of January, you realize that Winter has come to stay. And it lingers and lingers… The season becomes like a relative that you’re happy to have stay with you for a few days because they’re fun and fresh and provide a distraction… but then they end up staying with you for about four months instead, and start leaving underwear on the floor and peeing on your toilet seat. Winter can be fun and different and enjoyable for a time but then the bad habits of the coldest season show up – Freezing rain (or worse freezing drizzle – the combination of those two words just sounds awful), huge brownish-blobs of heaped up snow along the roadside like a forbidding and ugly mini-mountain range, cars filthy with salt and dirt. Recently, I saw a van so covered in crap that I literally couldn’t tell what color it was originally though I’m pretty sure it wasn’t “River Silt Brown”.

Winter brings its charm but also brutalizes. And it can wear you down as you wait… and wait… and wait. For what? For change. For thaw. For Spring.

I appreciated the chance to revisit tulips in watercolors (thanks, Heidi!). Hopefully, if you are also dragging your feet along, tripping and shuffling through the most dire days of Winter, my simple offering of the promise of Spring gives you hope and a bit of renewed energy. Always at about this time of year, I have to remind myself that, to quote Oprah Winfrey, “A NEW DAY IS ON THE HORIZON!” I know she wasn’t talking about Spring but I hear her voice in my head as I’m thinking about it.

As I know what’s coming, eventually, every year as we go into Winter, I’m beginning to see that I may need to paint more Spring flowers come February. It is a good way to beat back the blahs and bring in the joyful expectation.

So enjoy this bit of Spring as you wait… and wait…. and wait…

 

A Nothing Means More Than Nothing

Six Tulips for Valentine's Day

Ronald Kok, Six Tulips for Valentine’s Day, 2018, Water color pencils

It’s not much. Six tulips on a small piece of watercolor paper. The paper is only about 5″ by 7″ in size. It took me about an hour to make. In reality, just another small, simple bit of art that doesn’t break new ground or set the art world on its ear. Quite literally thousands of works like this are done daily, if not hourly, around the world. Some are quite professional and sharp, others amateur but alive with life, others primitive but heartfelt, others sloppy and unsophisticated. Each are drops in the vast bucket of human creativity.

On the surface, unexceptional, everyday, commonplace.

I did this small painting on Valentine’s Day, 2018. My wife and I have been married over 27 years so we don’t make a huge deal of the Hallmark instituted “holiday”. Yet it is impossible not to think about each other on the day, to want to express, in some way, the love we have for each other. She left me a cute little baggie of chocolates with a note on the kitchen table that morning. Nothing big, nothing showy, yet conveying everything important – Someone loves me enough to think about me when we’re apart and, more so, to put something together just for me.

I took an hour or so of my day that day to make the above painting. As an artwork, nothing special; as an expression of my heart to my wife, I would hope that it is much more than just another simple bit of creativity. It reminded me of the fact we so often overlook when seeing something someone has made with their own hands like this: There is a story behind every single bit of art, be it a masterpiece or be it a clumsily crafted work.

In so many ways, the thousands bits of creativity offered daily, even hourly, by the human race reflect the profound reality of the world: We are, on the surface, mostly common, mostly unexceptional, mostly just another face in a sea of billions of faces. But behind the faces there are billions of stories, billions of heartaches, billions of battles, billions of hopes, billions of emotions that rise to the surface and find expression in billions of ways.

As I exist and take in my world, seeing a multitude of faces each day, swept along in the tide of humanity in my spot on the globe, I often consider how I am just a little bit more than nothing amidst all these people, all these stories, all these gifts, all these lives. Yet what can seem almost nothing when put against the sheer numbers of humanity, when the truth about each face is revealed, it is a powerful thing to realize that each person contains all that is truly important. Each of us, in a sense, is a self-contained universe. Each of us created to be unique, to be only ourselves, to be that singular person that has never existed before and will never exist again after we are gone.

And we will be gone. Each of us. But does that make who we are and what we do insignificant?

Was my little painting insignificant? I don’t think so. Really, how could it be? Motivated by another, meant as a small message of care for someone else – Nothing like that means nothing.

And nothing like me or you means nothing.

 

Falumphingly Me

frozen footsteps

Falumphingly Me

Frozen footsteps falumphed in snow
Falumph, falumph, falumph
Signs of resistance to suburbian flow
Falumph, falumph, falumph

Like some wandering Jew it seems
Falumph, falumph, falumph
Deep creviced steps under sun beams
Falumph, falumph, falumph

Who forged this new path in winter’s ice?
Falumph, falumph, falumph
Avoiding a sidewalk that shovelled so nice?
Falumph, falumph, falumph

Be it child, or teen or wayward accountant
Falumph, falumph, falumph
Like a rebel she strode, her own course she went
Falumph, falumph, falumph

Why does this deeply impress itself on me?
Falumph, falumph, falumph
Why stop to snap what I happened to see?
Falumph, falumph, falumph

Perhaps my own path in the snow I saw
Falumph, falumph, falumph
Purposely falumphing, breaking unseen law
Falumph, falumph, falumph

Never a straight line, curving this and that
Falumph, falumph, falumph
Effortful, fun, frustratingly unpat
Falumph, falumph, falumph

Am I going anywhere, is there an end?
Falumph, falumph, falumph
Walking a way to somewhere which bends?
Falumph, falumph, falumph

I really have no clue, and there’s the key
Falumph, falumph, falumph
So best to keep being falumphingly me
Falumph, falumph, falumph

 

– Ronald Kok, February 4, 2018

There’s a Big Love Out There

big love dining room

Big Love

There’s a Big Love out there
Expanding and expanding
Like the Universe
No one has seen its edges
Not even come close
Expanding beyond stars
Beyond galaxies
Beyond bounds

That Big Love out there
Keeps moving, growing
That’s how it stays alive
It never sits still, never waits
Always pushing further
Beyond you
Beyond dreams
Beyond me

The Big Love vibe out there
Can you feel it?
Close your eyes, open up
Can you feel it now?
Expanding inside, expanding
Pushing against your walls
Beyond prejudice
Beyond self
Beyond I

It’s a Big Love thing, you know
Vast and beyond reach
But in you, in me
In that tree, in song and story
A dog’s smile, a cat’s eyes
Sunshine and Autumn’s smell
Beyond sense
Beyond senses
Beyond seeing

There’s nothing beyond Big Love
But nothing outside it
Our attempts to contain
Failures of our smallness
Small minds, small hearts
Our rules can’t rule it
Beyond religion
Beyond law
Beyond isms

Big Love defies definition
As definitions have borders
How do you hold
Beyond in a box?
Why even try?
We can’t handle its Bigness
Beyond thought
Beyond science
Beyond us

But Big Love defines us
The definition of definitions
The One unity, shared
By all despite all differences
Despite borders, despite spite
Uncontained contains all
Beyond tribe
Beyond kin
Beyond us

Big Love is expanding ever
We can’t stop it
It will not be conquered
Or caged, or labelled
By those it contains
Those it embraces
Beyond fear
Beyond hatred
Beyond me

There’s a Big Love out there
Meant for you and me
A Gift beyond all giving
A Hope beyond all hope
You can’t run from it
It’s too Big
Beyond
Beyond
Beyond

 

Ronald Kok, January 21, 2018

The Tenacity of Hope

Ronald Kok, The Tenacity of Hope, Markers on paper, 2018

If you’re like me, Hope is something you may have in short supply these days. But with that in mind I want to point out the almost-obvious: You still have a supply.

That’s the funny thing about Hope, there seems to always be some, even in the darkest of times and places. I know that depression and circumstances have driven people to complete despair, but, amazingly, this is not the rule.  It is astounding how much human beings can endure and still cling to Hope. Really, Hope is what has given people the strength to press on, to keep going, to shake off the awful stuff and get on their feet.

Hope is tenacious. I looked up “tenacious” in Webster’s dictionary. The first definition given was “not easily pulled apart: COHESIVE, TOUGH”. A synonym given was “STRONG”.  Hope is not easily broken. Hope is like super glue that way: A tiny drop of it can adhere to your heart and mind and soul so strongly that almost nothing can tear you apart.

Hope, really, is a testament to the human spirit. What is the source of Hope? We place it in many things – God, other people, our circumstances, our money – but when you think of it, Hope finds its source in us. If Hope was just external, it wouldn’t have the strength or cohesion we need to endure hardship. The truth is, we are the main authors of the Hope that sustains us. This is the true miracle – We have within us the tenacity we need to keep our heads above water even in the worst of storms.

The artwork posted here is my first finished piece for 2018. It came from an idea given to me by someone who saw my artwork on line. She envisioned a woman drowning, yet drowning in her own tears, and those “waters” were things like shame, abuse, depression, etc.; above her was a hand coming down, “Hope”, just out of reach. I took that idea and put my own spin on some things. Overall, the image is more melodramatic than I prefer, but that in and of itself is not a bad thing – Sometimes we need images to point directly to our internal battles. Artists can get a little too cute with making things obscure and I have certainly been guilty of that.

Hope soars down in the form of an eagle, a symbol of the Divine. To me, that can be God and/or the Image of God in all of us.

Ultimately, I have the hope that an image like this helps you see that there is always Hope. It is tenacious – strong, resilient – and so are you.

 

A Year of Creating Dangerously, Day 365: Ring In the Common Love of Good

DSC_0302

“Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.”

This year has come to an end, and so has my goal of posting something each day for 365 days having to do with creativity. I wasn’t sure how to end a year like that but then I came upon this Old Year/New Year poem by Tennyson that states things so well and connects so strongly with my own frame of mind as I move into 2018.

May you sense the creativity around you in this coming year, may you have many opportunities to create and enjoy the creativity of others, and may you be blessed by an outpouring of truly good things.

Peace,

ron

In Memorium (Ring Out, Wild Bells) by Alfred Lord Tennyson

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light:
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.