Dia Calhoun's Blog, page 6
March 15, 2016
7:30 BELLS: Cut Off the Branches That No Longer Ring
Sometimes what once made us feel radiantly alive—a friendship, a job, an idea, a project, a religion—doesn’t anymore. What once rang fades to a tolling dirge. Often I have trouble recognizing this, trouble letting die what needs to die. This had value once, I think. This rang, once. So I attempt CPR and try to force life back into it.
But if you don’t let die what needs to, there’s no room for something new to grow.
The question is, how do you learn to recognize when something’s time has come? When do you pick up the knife?
Pruning is an art that has to be practiced, like any other art. Often the guiding principle is to open the tree up to as much light as possible. I once read something helpful, I don’t recall where: “Cut off the branch that has no singing left in it.”
Translating this into my own symbolic life language, I’d say this: Hold the knife with care. Give thanks to what once sustained you but no longer does. Then, with intention and respect, cut off the branch that has no ringing left in it. Let it die. Let yourself mourn. And then walk on.
New branches will grow. New buds will bloom. New bells will rise and ring, because you’ve purposefully shaped your life to let in new light.
Spring bursts from winter. Always.
7:30 BELLS Posts run every Tuesday.
Join us on April 12 when author Kevan J. Atteberry shares what makes him ring, resonate, and feel alive.
But if you don’t let die what needs to, there’s no room for something new to grow.
The question is, how do you learn to recognize when something’s time has come? When do you pick up the knife?
Pruning is an art that has to be practiced, like any other art. Often the guiding principle is to open the tree up to as much light as possible. I once read something helpful, I don’t recall where: “Cut off the branch that has no singing left in it.”
Translating this into my own symbolic life language, I’d say this: Hold the knife with care. Give thanks to what once sustained you but no longer does. Then, with intention and respect, cut off the branch that has no ringing left in it. Let it die. Let yourself mourn. And then walk on.
New branches will grow. New buds will bloom. New bells will rise and ring, because you’ve purposefully shaped your life to let in new light.
Spring bursts from winter. Always.
7:30 BELLS Posts run every Tuesday.
Join us on April 12 when author Kevan J. Atteberry shares what makes him ring, resonate, and feel alive.
March 8, 2016
Hearing the Bells: 7:30 BELLS Guest Post by Elizabeth Rose Stanton
I'm happy to share this guest post by author illustrator Elizabeth Rose Stanton. And no doubt about it, she is an AMAZING artist!
For years I didn’t think I was meant to be an artist. Looking back on it I knew in my heart I wanted to be one but didn’t, for one reason or another, take it seriously.
I should have known, though, the first time I heard those bells go off. I distinctly remember the moment. I don’t remember exactly how old I was . . . maybe twelve? I was alone in my room, it was late and I was supposed to be asleep. I had a pencil, a pad of lined paper, and a photograph of something I wanted to capture. Then it happened. Without being entirely conscious of it, I had broken down an image to an abstraction, and reassembled it into ART! It was exhilarating and powerful. Bells and whistles went off!
I heard those bells, loud and clear that night, and I felt them . . . but I didn’t heed them. I didn’t know exactly what to do with my newfound superpower. I suppose it was because I didn’t have a frame of reference at the time. I suppose, too, it was because I grew up in a household that, while otherwise encouraging, didn’t value the notion of a professional life devoted to art.
But over the years those bells kept ringing, sometimes intermittently, sometimes faintly, as I wandered down one life path after another. I became an architect (lots of drawing, right?), I had kids (!!), and I dabbled in design and arts administration (getting closer . . .). Finally, in what was truly a clear-as-a-bell moment (and, indeed, it felt like it happened in a moment) I found myself an illustrator AND an author. Those bells were ringing so loud I couldn’t ignore them any longer!
Looking back a lifetime, I wish I’d had the wherewithal to realize how powerful that first moment, long ago, really was—and to fully understand what it meant. I wish I’d pursued my art more directly. But I’ve come to appreciate all the life experiences I have had and have come to know that every one of them has, in fact, been leading me straight to where I am now.
My bells are ringing loud and clear, once again.
So when your bells go ringing, be sure and pay attention!
Thanks for having me, Dia!
Elizabeth Rose Stanton began her grownup life as an architect; then segued over to arts administration and design after starting a family a long time ago. Now she builds picture books, and is having a blast!
Her first book, HENNY (Simon & Schuster), was named a best picture book by the New York Public Library (Titles for Reading and Sharing, 2014), was a Kids’ Indie Next List pick, and was a finalist for the Prix Jeunesse des Libraires du Quebec. Her picture book PEDDLES (Simon & Schuster), was just released (January 2016), and she has recently begun work on her third picture book for Simon & Schuster, BUB, due out in early 2018.
Elizabeth lives in Seattle with her husband and three Scottish Fold cats.
7:30 BELLS Posts run every Tuesday. Join us on April 12 when author Kevan J. Atteberry shares what makes him ring, resonate, and feel alive.
For years I didn’t think I was meant to be an artist. Looking back on it I knew in my heart I wanted to be one but didn’t, for one reason or another, take it seriously.I should have known, though, the first time I heard those bells go off. I distinctly remember the moment. I don’t remember exactly how old I was . . . maybe twelve? I was alone in my room, it was late and I was supposed to be asleep. I had a pencil, a pad of lined paper, and a photograph of something I wanted to capture. Then it happened. Without being entirely conscious of it, I had broken down an image to an abstraction, and reassembled it into ART! It was exhilarating and powerful. Bells and whistles went off!
I heard those bells, loud and clear that night, and I felt them . . . but I didn’t heed them. I didn’t know exactly what to do with my newfound superpower. I suppose it was because I didn’t have a frame of reference at the time. I suppose, too, it was because I grew up in a household that, while otherwise encouraging, didn’t value the notion of a professional life devoted to art.
But over the years those bells kept ringing, sometimes intermittently, sometimes faintly, as I wandered down one life path after another. I became an architect (lots of drawing, right?), I had kids (!!), and I dabbled in design and arts administration (getting closer . . .). Finally, in what was truly a clear-as-a-bell moment (and, indeed, it felt like it happened in a moment) I found myself an illustrator AND an author. Those bells were ringing so loud I couldn’t ignore them any longer!
Looking back a lifetime, I wish I’d had the wherewithal to realize how powerful that first moment, long ago, really was—and to fully understand what it meant. I wish I’d pursued my art more directly. But I’ve come to appreciate all the life experiences I have had and have come to know that every one of them has, in fact, been leading me straight to where I am now.
My bells are ringing loud and clear, once again.
So when your bells go ringing, be sure and pay attention!
Thanks for having me, Dia!
Elizabeth Rose Stanton began her grownup life as an architect; then segued over to arts administration and design after starting a family a long time ago. Now she builds picture books, and is having a blast!
Her first book, HENNY (Simon & Schuster), was named a best picture book by the New York Public Library (Titles for Reading and Sharing, 2014), was a Kids’ Indie Next List pick, and was a finalist for the Prix Jeunesse des Libraires du Quebec. Her picture book PEDDLES (Simon & Schuster), was just released (January 2016), and she has recently begun work on her third picture book for Simon & Schuster, BUB, due out in early 2018.
Elizabeth lives in Seattle with her husband and three Scottish Fold cats.
7:30 BELLS Posts run every Tuesday. Join us on April 12 when author Kevan J. Atteberry shares what makes him ring, resonate, and feel alive.
March 2, 2016
Spring Bells! Announcing 7:30 BELLS Guest Post Lineup.
I'm so pleased to share the "Spring Bells,"
7:30 BELLS Guest Post Bloggers for this season. Find their posts on the second Tuesday of each month.
Elizabeth Rose Stanton March 8 Author and Illustrator Elizabeth Rose Stantoncreator of the beautiful and heart-warming picture books
Peddles and Henny.
Kevan J. Atteberry April 12
Kevan Atteberry has been drawing since he was "knee-high to a crayon." He's an illustrator and author
of books such as Bunnies!!! and Halloween Hustle.
Mitali Perkins May 10 Author of nine novels for young people,Mitali Perkins invites readers to her "virtual fire escape,"
to read and chat about life between cultures.
February 23, 2016
7:30 BELLS: The Call of the Magnificent: Moon and Mountain
Saturday evening driving south, I saw the west side of Mount Rainier at sunset, the other side hidden. In the east, a nearly full moon rose. The mountain that rises from the earth and the moon that rises over the earth—how similar they were. On both the shadows of rugged rock. On both the wash of water color blue. The world was ringing for my attention.
Only half of each of these magnificences was visible. There’s so much of the world, of life, that we can’t see, don’t know. So much lost in shadow. Hidden by clouds. So we think nothing is there.
This is true of ourselves as well. And then something breaks through—in our dreams, our work, our beliefs, our unexpected response to a situation—and we have an intimation of the immensity of the hidden. Most of the time we ignore it until the mountain erupts in pain to get our attention.
As I drove I couldn’t look at this moment in time, these two magnificences—moon and mountain—the way I wanted to, because I was driving on the freeway.
And isn’t that the truth too? We’re so busy hurtling down the freeway of our lives that we don’t pull over for such moments. Don’t realize the importance of this witnessing and how it connects us to our greater world. Yet, we will pull over to answer the ringing phone, or risk an accident to talk on the phone while driving, even though we can always call back. The phone number is there. The person is there. What’s so important?
But the call of the sunset moment of the two magnificences passes forever. The ringing will stop, and we can’t call back.
Don’t miss it. Answer the call of any magnificence you are lucky enough to witness.
Only half of each of these magnificences was visible. There’s so much of the world, of life, that we can’t see, don’t know. So much lost in shadow. Hidden by clouds. So we think nothing is there.
This is true of ourselves as well. And then something breaks through—in our dreams, our work, our beliefs, our unexpected response to a situation—and we have an intimation of the immensity of the hidden. Most of the time we ignore it until the mountain erupts in pain to get our attention.
As I drove I couldn’t look at this moment in time, these two magnificences—moon and mountain—the way I wanted to, because I was driving on the freeway.
And isn’t that the truth too? We’re so busy hurtling down the freeway of our lives that we don’t pull over for such moments. Don’t realize the importance of this witnessing and how it connects us to our greater world. Yet, we will pull over to answer the ringing phone, or risk an accident to talk on the phone while driving, even though we can always call back. The phone number is there. The person is there. What’s so important?
But the call of the sunset moment of the two magnificences passes forever. The ringing will stop, and we can’t call back.
Don’t miss it. Answer the call of any magnificence you are lucky enough to witness.
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