These are dry times. Summer slips away faster than you can catch it – a dime down the drain. The sky hangs damp and icy today. Across the globe, powerful little men toy with the world’s future like it’s a game of chicken. Hurricanes have ravaged large parts of our earth. Families will suffer the effects for years to come. Terrorists won’t let London sleep.
This planet can get so ugly. So broken. So disordered. So many of our mirrors are shattered.
There is order in beauty. A divine order, I believe, but whatever your theology you can feel it. The affirmation of disparate parts falling into place.
Jennifer Berkenbosch’s Cultivar matters because the world needs beauty today. We need to be reminded that there is goodness. There is a solid bed beneath this wild river.
My name is Dave Von Bieker, and I’m a snoozeaholic.
I love my snooze button with it’s promise of nine more minutes. Nine more minutes of dreamy indecision. Nine more minutes of pre-dawn warmth.
Nine less minutes to read and pray. To plan and write. To control my time before the family wakes up and requires my full attention. Making lunches. Coordinating mittens. Checking homework and filling out field trip forms.
I have a problem.
How can I trick myself into getting out of bed on time?
You have something to say–why not say it here? Email your blog post idea to dave@bleedingheartart.space and let's chat.
I need to find an artist to love today.
I need to grab an artist by the shoulders, look him in the eye and say "You are doing good work. Valuable work. Work that matters! You need to keep this up, even if the validation you think you need isn’t coming. Even if people don’t seem to get it. Even if you are not 'making it'. Yet. You need to do this work. I need it. No, really. Here, let me prove it to you."
And then I take out my wallet.
You have something to say–why not say it here? Email your blog post idea to dave@bleedingheartart.space and let's chat.
Artist, who are you?
What do you have to give?
Can you answer?
We are waiting for your strange and beautiful shimmer. Will you shine for us?
Perhaps you don’t feel shiny today. Perhaps you don’t know how to peel back your skin for the gold beneath.
Perhaps there is too much noise for you to hear your heartbeat.
“The present state of the world, the whole of life, is diseased.
If I were a doctor and were asked for my advice, I would reply:
‘Create silence! Bring men to silence.
The Word of God cannot be heard in the noisy world of today.
Create silence.'”
Enter Lent.
For artists, Lent is a journey well worth taking. A journey towards something powerful.
You have something to say–why not say it here? Email your blog post idea to dave@bleedingheartart.space and let's chat.
This morning I wear a five a clock shadow from a few days in the future. I am unkempt. Outside proof on inside struggle.
I am not winning.
This Sunday at church, a woman both years and heartaches ahead of me in the faith tells me she is not winning these days. Those words. Not winning. They resonate. I know exactly their meaning. I know them like I know my own holes.
Amen, sister.
Not winning means life feels like a game. With odds. With opponents. With an outcome. With judgement.
Today I am barely holding the pieces of my little house together in a hurricane. Little winds, from every angle. Blowing and testing. I am full of holes and my weakness is whistling. But maybe the tune is beautiful. The storm has gotten a little too loud to hear my own music. So let me play it for you. Maybe the tune is familiar?
Last night I drop my daughter off at gymnastics. I leave no margin of error in my timeline and hit the Oilers crowd head on. Our route inches through that traffic like molasses through a sock. Then I make a wrong turn. I hit a closed road. We are late.
Far too often, I am late. I am that guy. I know this. I hate this. I am working on this. But I am not winning.
I leave to get gas (the light is on) and return to watch her. She is walking towards the car, holding back tears. No. Crying. She is too late and they won’t let her take part. She’s been waiting outside the gym for my return. Alone.
My crying daughter is the mascot of my team. I am not winning.
A new art space launched. That takes some serious work. Body work and brain work. More work than I have time for. I’m grateful to have a team, but still there is plenty of work. We tore up our basement over the holidays so my house is in disrepair. Everything covered in a thin layer of drywall dust. No place to put a room full of disloged possessions. Days of work still ahead.
There are the cars. More cars, more problems. Car number one has a battery I resuccitate only to watch it die again. 3 boosts in 2 days. Car number two–the one worth something–is damaged. We lent it to a relative who crashed it into another car. So that happened. The insurance adjuster will come today. There is a deductable to pay. Our rate may increase. We’ll have to take it in for repairs. All of this takes time.
I don’t have time. I don’t have margins to deal with dead batteries and hockey traffic.
Time is at a premium today. My wife is waiting for a call about a job interview. I’m not sure how its going because she is working odd night shifts this week and we haven’t talked for more than 10 minutes. I am transitioning roles and schedules at work, made more difficult by the fact that I cannot actually get to work with a dead battery. Unless I walk. Which takes yet more time.
A circus act is impressive, but you cannot stay on that wire forever. My plates are wobbling. The crowd gasps. I fall into the net.
I am not winning.
I awake this morning with the pieces reset. Another chance to live in the balance. Maybe to win or maybe, by the grace of God and friends, to give up the game altogether. To stop keeping score. To simply be here, now, where I must be for a time.
That takes a lot of art, faith, hope and love. Good poetry to read. Good friends to visit. Prayers to pray and promises of care from my Bible. All help. All ringside recovery before the bell rings in the battle. Or the dance.
Lord, make this a dance. Make me a dancer.
We come home last night after my daugther’s tears have dried. I make the best of failure. We play Yahtzee and eat ice cream. By the end my kids are laughing silly. It’s all OK.
There was no final score.
You have something to say–why not say it here? Email your blog post idea to dave@bleedingheartart.space and let's chat.
It’s January 15th, just before 7 PM and I’m rushing around making final preparations. Grabbing tablecloths from the basement. Asking my wife and two kids for help. Searching for a missing water jug. Struggling to get the details right with this first ArtLuck in the new Bleeding Heart Art Space.
The first guest arrives. Daniel Van Heyst is a new ArtLucker, but certainly not new to the Edmonton arts scene. 15 of us come and go by the end of the night. Familiar faces like Adam Tenove and Edward Van Vliet welcome newcomers like Kayla Muth and special guest Karla Adolphe, in from High River for a concert.
I’m worried that this space won’t be as ‘homey’ as, well, my home. I don’t need to worry. Conversation picks up and carries on and after twenty minutes I call us all to attention. I lay the groundrules and share some history. I talk about the freedom to ask for critique – or not to ask. The freedom to simply be here and share food and beauty and conversation.
We decide to order our night by birthday, and that puts Cheryl Muth in the lead.
Cheryl is a painter, and has brought 2 pieces of her own, as well as a small piece she picked up in her travels to Bangladesh. She passes the small piece around – a vibrant painting of a woman, in deep indigo and fusia and colours in between.
Cheryl’s own pieces are landscapes. We hang the first on the gallery wall – a treat offered by this new space. There are vibrant colours. Bright pink on the face of the rocks. Colours that belong, but surprise. I ask Cheryl if these colours were perceived, or added through her own imagining. They were added. She loves colour. She explains that so long as the value of a colour is the same, the hue can be anything and still sit well in the painting. I still find this amazing. I want to try it for myself.
Cheryl has her own questions. How to finish the edges of these deep canvases? Solid colour? Wrap the image around? Nothing at all? Edward Van Vliet shares some insight.
You can view more of Cheryl’s work at cherylmuth.ca.
Penny reads us a poem. I’m surprised to learn that this wildly creative visual artist is also a writer. There is so much talent in the room. Moths fill the piece, representing thoughts and impulses within, batting against our boundaries. Crashing into the light. The moth motif is strong, but there are other images that don’t fit as neatly. ‘The son eats the father’. Penny tells us that her family had gerbils, and she observed this grotesque scene one day. Literally, the son at the father gerbil. It’s a vivid image, but many of us feel it belongs in a different poem. A piece that can shine a brighter light on the ‘gerbil thing’. Karla Adolphe is drawn into that line. ‘The son eats the father’. It is tugging on her as we move along.
I encourage Penny to finish this poem and submit it for Bridge Songs: Perfict. I hope she will.
You can discover more art by Penny Tores at eloovias.wordpress.com.
Michelle is another artist exploring many mediums. Most often a writer, Michelle has brought a painting to show us. A painting of a dragon. Well, part painting, part drawing perhaps. Michelle likes to work with felt pens, often on fantasy images that match her writing. She passes the small piece around the room so we can all get a better look.
If features not only a dragon, but a knight, so many of us bring up George and the Dragon. Michelle is not familiar with the story. She plans to look it up and I think it will bring new life to her piece.
You can view Michelle’s work on her blog, The King’s Poetry, at kingspoetry.wordpress.com.
Daniel is no stranger to the Edmonton arts scene, and many of us know him orbiting different worlds. He designed the original Badlands Passion Play, and knows the Rosebud Theatre crew. He has designed numerous theatre sets. He currently teachers art at The King’s University College here in Edmonton. Daniel Van Heyst is also a painter in his own right.
His own offering is in the form of delicious salad rolls – he has not brought art to share this first visit. But he has brought experiences to tell us about, and I’m happy to share these opportunities with you.
Firstly, an art show from painter Rhonda Harder Epp is coming ot King’s. It is called Walls, and the invite is included here. Her website is www.rhondaharderepp.com.
Another artist, Betty Spackman, is planning a closing celebration/bone-burning event (how often do those happen?) with the tentative fall date of Sept. 26 2015. Daniel is currently looking for a large warehouse-type space to house the final showing of her massive installation piece, Found Wanting. If you have a warehouse-type-space in mind, get in touch.
Finally, Daniel Van Heyst has his own show of paintings coming up in the foyer of Roots on Whyte, from February 27 to March 30. You can view his art on Facebook at www.facebook.com/danielvanheyst-artist.
Janae is a writer visiting us for the first time. I have known Janae for a while from my work at Hope Mission, so it is exciting to see her at ArtLuck. She shares a short essay from her blog, full of nature imagery, and images of nature inverted. Her piece asks what might happen if animals were to buck their natural tendencies. If bears ceased to hibernate, say, or bats flew by day. She moves then into our own nature, and questions our resistance to the God whose image we are created in.
Janae explores her faith through her words, and we encourage her to use the richness of language and metaphor even moreso in those explorations. I look forward to watching Janae’s writing develop in the months to come, and you can watch too, on her blog. You can read the post she shared there at https://thelittlethingsoflife.wordpress.com/2015/01/17/imagine/.
Edward Van Vliet shares three poems with us. It’s been a joy to track with Edward through his return to writing poetry regularly. He has a gift for language and a passion to share that gift. We are blessed by it.
The second of three poems Edward shares is as near to perfect as I think poetry should come. Tight, focussed and moving.
The third ends with this sucker-punch;
"perhaps one day i will forgive you
perhaps i will even forget
this is not that day."
Edward has posted these works on his blog, where he posts his poetry adventures and thoughts on art and faith at etechne.blogspot.com.
Another first time ArtLucker, Kayla Muth is also the first photographer of the evening. She shares two images, both framed black and white photos. Both are well composed. Both capture brooding scenes from California beaches. Both garner ‘oohs' and ‘aahs' as they are passed around.
We talk about contrast and shadow. We talk about composition. We discuss technique. We ask about a halo effect on one image, where a faint ring of light encircles the subjects, separating a small structure and a man from the grey sky (shown in the photo here).
Having just been to the AGA to see a lot of photography, I point Kayla in that direction. If you haven’t been recently, allow me to point you there too.
I’m next. It’s time for some music. I play a song many people here have heard before, in a more raucous incarnation. I strum Wherever You Are gently, crooning quietly along. I get good feedback.
The chorus I’ve added plays well. But I can still work on the lyrics. Make them stronger. Especially in that chorus. It’s the kind of feedback you don’t love, but know you need. This is how the art grows stronger.
You can hear this song on Soundcloud at https://soundcloud.com/vonbieker/2014-11-06-wherever-you-are
To have an ArtLuck it seems you need just three things. Food, art and Adam Tenove. Adam has been at nearly every ArtLuck and is here again tonight. We quickly forgive him for being 2 hours late. He brings a characteristically adventurous snack (deep fried okra) and an interesting painting. He also shares some poetry – strangely beautiful work from a Canadian anthology.
Adam’s piece references, in both form and content, Indigenous cultural symbolism. It pulls that heritage into a gritty urban landscape. We talk about appropriation of symbols. Of where the boundaries lie–what we can borrow from other cultures and what we should not. Adam wants to respect Indigenous culture, while still reflecting it in his work from his limited vantage point. Whether he fully understands the culture or not, it is part of his Canadian make-up. It is in some ways a part of his identity. And so, should it not be a part of his work?
This is the type of conversation I love at an ArtLuck – full of meat and meaning.
You can view more of Adam's work, and read his thoughts on art, at Ellipsis Art Collective.
Hearing Karla Adolphe sing is always a blessing. Tonight she stumbles on what to sing for us and Edward asks her to share her own favourite song. She does. Roll Away the Stone, from her Emporiums collaboration with Aaron Strumpel is one of my own favourites, too. Simple, potent imagery over an immensely singable chorus. So singable, in fact, that I ask to sing along.
And so I end the night dueting with Karla Adolphe, instead of photographing her performance. Not a bad way to spend a Thursday. That performance was recorded, and will be posted in episode 2 of the Storm the Perfict podcast, next Friday.
If you’d rather not wait, you can download the original song from iTunes here. Aaron Strumpel definitely outdoes my backup vocal, anyways.
You can find out more about Karla online at KarlaAdolphe.ca.
And that’s a wrap. One more ArtLuck in the can, but this time in our bright new art space, surrounded by the current Marcie Rohr show, Inner Core.
Get your art and your recipe ready to join us next time we ArtLuck in early March.
You have something to say–why not say it here? Email your blog post idea to dave@bleedingheartart.space and let's chat.
It's been a very big year for The Bleeding Heart Art Space. This is the year we became a space. But that was just last month. A lot happened on the way to that space. A lot of you showed up and taught art, faith and community to dance.
It is hard to narrow down my 12 favourite posts of 2014. Do I choose the posts I had the most fun writing? Those that got the most comments? The most reads?
In the end, I've chosen the dozen posts that, for me, best represent the last 12 months of The Bleeding Heart Art Space journey.
Way back in January, I launched the Grow Your Art Challenge. It was largely a selfish endeavour, as I wanted to grow myself as an artist. But the more I thought about that, the more I thought it would be so much more fun to grow together. With you. So I put the challenge out there to anyone who wanted in. Choose an artistic goal. You have a year to complete it. We'll hold you to it. We'll celebrate when we're all done. Or not done.
With 2 days to go, I can safely say I have failed at my own challenge. But I've failed wonderfully well, and my goal is still alive. It will be done, and it has led me many wonderful places this past year. And we are still having that party.
Click to see the full Valentine
Dear artist, we love you. So began our first ever Artist Valentine. The Valentine was an original design and well received. It was encouraging to watch this put a smile on people's digital faces, and we'll certainly send a new one out come February 2015.
This post marks the first time I realized that an organization named The Bleeding Heart should be all over Valentines Day.
Obscured date by obscure date, we've made it a little, sideways goal to bring ancient Christian holy days into the light. Ash Wednesday was the first such liturgy we engaged in, in 2012. This year we did not have our own Ash Wednesday gathering, but I did post an original poem to mark the occasion.
It would be wrong to mention a day like this without thanking the makers of Salt of The Earth: A Christian Seasons Calendar – an alternate view of time as we know it, and a reminder that the Church marches on to her own beautiful beat.
For this special Sacred Space event called Mary/Martha, we teamed up with the good people of St. Faith's Anglican Church.
This post marks the time when I saw the value in sharing these experiences, in detail, so that those who couldn't join us can still get something from the gathering, and perhaps be inspired to craft their own. The event also underscores a deeply rich relationship with the Anglican church that continues today.
Neighbourhood artist Marcie Rohr submitted work for Bridge Songs: Dear Edmonton, and her series of paintings became a featured post on our blog. Marcie also wrote a letter to our city. A letter that perfectly captured the complicated feelings we all have for this ice-cold oil town. But maybe that's just December talking.
With this post, the relationship between Marcie Rohr and The Bleeding Heart deepened, leading to further collaborations (one of which is just around the corner).
Read the post and letter from Marcie Rohr here.
I was starting to venture into the waters of Mega-List-Posts. I'll admit that the primary goal here was drawing more readers to the blog, and expanding our niche a little bit. It has worked.
These long list posts (like the one I'm writing right now) take a long time to craft well. But they also stand outside of time, which is good. They are not the type of updates that become irrelevant when an event has come and gone. They are 'evergreen'. This means that this post is just as valuable today as it was when I wrote it. Which, if you still haven't heard of or tried any of those 19 tools, is quite valuable indeed.
Part of our mandate at the Bleeding Heart is to help artists achieve excellence, and sharing what we've learned along the way is a part of that.
This was the biggie. Likely the most read, most commented on post I'd written to date. I knew it was a little odd not to carry a cell phone, but I didn't know just how interesting that oddity might be. It turns out my reflection on technology's role in my life gave voice to the wrestling of many restless hearts. It certainly made me question my decision to live just a little off the grid.
I ended the piece realizing that our relationship to technology is deeply personal, and always evolving. Discernment is required at every turn.
It's about time I wrote a follow up to this post. I now have a cell phone.
This post marked two milestones. My completion of a massive series reflecting on the Glen Workshop in Santa Fe, New Mexico, and my first public use of the word 'twerking'. It may have been my last use, too.
This post garnered good responses and high click-through rates. I'd like to think it was the incredibly rich quality of my writing. But the more realistic version of myself thinks it was that word that drew attention.
This post makes me very excited to return to the Glen this summer – and hopefully bring some of you along (early bird registration ends Dec 31).
Fall begins on Alberta Avenue with the mighty Kaleido Family Arts Festival. For the second year, The Bleeding Heart Space was serving up food and ambiance for the hundreds of volunteers needing a short rest.
This time, we had a camera, too. When the floors were swept and the dust settled, I shared 34 photos – 34 moments that, for me, made the weekend one of 2014's highlights.
A 2014 highlight reel cannot miss the launch of our brand new space at 9132 118th ave. There were few posts I was so excited write as this announcement that we would take up permanent residence in Elm Catering's living room. It felt like writing down my dream, except that this time, it was real.
This post was such big news, in fact, that it beats out four others for a spot in the 2014 annals. This was the same month where I asked 'Why is Beauty?', shared photos and stories from '13 European Art Experiences I'll Never Forget', took you to the amazing abandoned Temelhoff Airport in Berlin and showed you how I use the magic of Trello to put the first 10 minutes of my day to good use.
But I can't mention all of that, because this was also the month we got our space.
Ah, the Artluck. This November Artluck was to be the first time we gathered in the new space to share beauty and snacks. But with renos on our new space in full swing, it instead became the final Artluck I hosted in my home – always a great honour.
With work from old friends like Marcie Rohr, Edward Van Vliet, Adam Tenove and Wenda Salomons, as well as newcomers like Aydan Dunnigan, this Artluck reminded me why I love these every-so-often get togethers. In fact, I think it's time for another, don't you?
Even if this were not among the most viewed posts ever on our blog, it would be a personal favourite of mine. CBC producer Isabelle Gallant put together a beautiful, in-depth story that reflects the heart behind Blue Christmas, and what The Bleeding Heart Art Space is all about in general. I am so grateful for Isabelle's care and attention on this piece, and hopeful that this is only the beginning of a good story at the new Bleeding Heart Art Space.
I write this on the very first day of 2015, with so much to look forward to. We'll be launching a creative coworking space. Bridge Songs: Perfict is just around the river bend. We'll celebrate our achievements from last year's Grow Your Art Challenge, and begin a new one.
You and I are about to blow those 2014 stories out of the water.
You have something to say–why not say it here? Email your blog post idea to dave@bleedingheartart.space and let's chat.
On Saturday, November 23, Jim Robertson curated (and largely created) a worship experience called Reign of Christ the King. This 'Feast Day', in Christian tradition, focusses on the rule of Jesus in the world. What does it mean to say Jesus is king of all, when so many don't even believe in his existence, and especially not his everlasting life? What does it mean to say God is still in control, in the face of Ferguson and Ebola and the middle east? It means a lot that is perhaps best understood beyond reason and rationale – beyond the brain and into the heart. Through image, sound, language, dance and practice.
All of these elements were brought together at St.Paul's Anglican Church on November 23, when dozens of us came together to create an experience for 'one night only'.
I can't describe what that kind of experience is like – when artists get the keys to church for an evening. But I can show you. And I will, in 13 pictures and a video.
When one walks into the room, there may be confusion. Surprise. 'What the ...?'
You've got a lot of explaining to do, Jim Robertson. Here, Jim does explain, and does it well, walking us through the evening's activities and sharing words from his deep well.
The gathering is split into times of singing and reading and listening and sharing together, as well as time for a short dance. Then there is the bulk of the evening, the 'fat middle' where we are on our own to wander through a series of stations. This station, at the back, invites participants to pick up chalk and write (or draw) answers to some guiding questions. Questions like 'What do you see when you see Jesus in others?"
A poem written for the evening by EmTee (and featured in the video below), peers into the various names for Christ. So does the installation piece above, acting as another worship station.
Rocks feature heavily in Jim Robertson's Interface Worship experiences. This display is my favourite. I'm not alone. I once heard Jim recall the incredible story of finding these rocks, years apart and yet two halves of one whole. Behold The Blessings of Brokenness.
Another favourite piece of mine, this station features a large stone, the 'stone the builders rejected' crowned with some very painful looking thorns. It is accompanied, as all the stations are, with a written reflection, either curated or written by Jim Robertson.
In one of the evenings first movements, the congregation each brings a carnation up to lay at the bottom of this beautiful wooden cross. At the bottom of the cross regal robes are draped. It forms a beautiful backdrop to the rest of our evening together, and at the end of the night we will surround this scene for Communion.
Light plays a big part in the evening, and so it should, as Jesus has declared himself Light of the World. I can't get enough of this retro star lamp. If Jim ever wants to get rid of this piece, he knows where to find me.
Interface Worship uses prayer bowls heavily. These liturgical objects are accompanied by written meditations and invoke images of prayers rising like incense, burning in bowls.
The Prodigal Son story forms part of our evening. We are embraced by the king. We are robed in his righteousness. These colourful robes are put on by the participants near the end of the evening, as we gather round for communion. The colours also evoke 'the lilies of the file' - lilies which remind us not to worry, because if God dresses those flowers so beautifully, won't he also care for you and I?
These vintage windows rotate, and as they do, the view through them changes. Reflects. Refracts. Windows for a few newer stations at the back of the room, and offer rich metaphors.
And what would the evening be without these beautiful fabrics hanging above? These colours are rich with liturgical symbolism, and set the stage perfectly for the evening experience. Always look up.
Can you smell those fresh carnations? A reminder that engaging all five senses is a powerful way to connect with God and one another.
The simplicity of candles in the dark remains a favourite image of mine from this evening. Here, a trinity of candles shines small and unassuming. So low I have to nearly lay on the ground to photograph them. But if the Reign of Christ the King matters anywhere it is here, in the dark and low places.
I hope that from those 13 strands you can weave together something of the whole. And if not, perhaps this video will help. And if not, there's always another nterface Worship experience ahead.
You have something to say–why not say it here? Email your blog post idea to dave@bleedingheartart.space and let's chat.
Are creative people swamped in constant chaos, unable to keep an ordered life or make a deadline? Do you feel in control of your hours, or at the mercy of every notification and undone job?
I've found this especially true in the way I spend the 24 hours I'm given, fresh every day.
I used to spend many days frustrated, distracted and unsure of what I accomplished. Then, I came across some great articles online that suggested I may be able to fix things in just 10 minutes. Now, by taking 10 minutes to plan each morning, I know exactly what I need to do and whether I have time to get it done or not. I also know that I have time to relax, without guilt.
Just 10 minutes in Trello, an online planning tool is making all the difference.
I know my body has some serious limitations. When I wake up, I work out first thing.
It seems I can fool my body into thinking it can work out, long enough to get the workout done. Having this completed not only makes me feel accomplished the rest of the day, but it also gives me energy to get through what I need to do. There's not much sense planning for tasks I have no energy to tackle. Exercise especially helps me with my 'siesta-time' lull – a period between 1:30 and 3:30 that used to nearly paralyze me. It is at this time I am most likely to lose focus and start clicking random links to take me anywhere but the task at hand. Early morning exercise helps with this, hours later.
Of course, to get up and exercise at 6:30, I need to have gone to bed by 10:30 the night before. So today starts yesterday.
Now for some caffeine and centering. To be honest, most mornings this is a brief time - just 10 or 15 minutes. I'd like ot make more time for prayer and contemplation. I need to make that choice, and as you'll read below, I can.
I try to read a Bible passage from the Revised Common Lectionary and think about what it means for my life. I will sometimes pray through the Lord's Prayer, or think about any needs in my world. Oftentimes, my prayer will blur into the next part of my day: planning.
'Today' is a special Board I use in Trello, an online project management tool you can use for free.
Think of Trello as a series of bulletin boards, each representing a specific project or sphere of responsibilities. I have Boards set up for breaking large projects down into smaller chunks. I have a Board set up just for books I want to read and have read. And I have a Board set up for Today.
Within each Trello Board you create Lists of Cards. I think of the Cards as little pieces of paper I pin onto the Board–each representing a small piece of the whole project. These Cards can be grouped into Lists within the Board. I love this system for two reasons; it is visual and it is flexible.
Moving the Cards around the screen is a visual, nearly tactile, experience. It's the closest I've come to using a pin-board or sticking Post-Its to the wall (something I do often in creative meetings). Trello's flexibility makes it adaptable to any circumstance. Planning out your day, for example.
Here's how my Today Board is set up. Within the Board, I have the following Lists.
This List holds Cards for tasks I want to achieve today. Writing this article is one of today's Cards. I want to rake up 2 bags of leaves from the front lawn. I need to mail in a cheque for our tree pruning. These are all Cards under my To Do List. The bulk of my time in Trello this morning involved dragging cards into this To Do List, or creating new cards here.
I put fun items on this List, too. Reading a book. Taking a bath. Going for a walk. Visiting a vintage furniture store. Playing a game. Make sure you plan for leisure. When I don't, I either don't get leisure, or spend it guilty, assuming I don't have the time.
I don't always use this List, but it feeds my obsessive need to feel I'm accomplishing something. If I'm in the middle of a longer activity, like installing a new operating system on my computer, I'll drag that Card into this List while things are happening.
Right now, "Write Trello Today piece" is sitting in my Doing List. Soon, I'll move it to Done.
As tasks are done Today, I'll drag them into this List, from my To Do or Doing Lists. It just feels so good.
One of the best parts of this system is that at the end of each day, and the start of the next day, I can see what I achieved. I know exactly where my time went. Each morning I review this List and then archive all the Cards in it. I clear it out. I start fresh.
This List holds Cards for things I want to get done, but don't need to do, or don't have time to do, today. This is how I make sure I don't miss important tasks that are due in the next few weeks.
At the start of each day, I review this List, and try to drag at least one Card from it onto my To Do List. I pick away at these important tasks as I can.
Things are things I want to do, but don't have to do. Checking out new features on a website might go here. Drawing a picture. Finishing staining our picnic table. I'd like to do these things, and don't want to forget about them, but if they don't happen soon, my world will remain pretty much intact.
These are Cards that I have decided I'm not going to do. I didn't start with this List, and I'm not sure I need it. It likely only exists because Trello doesn't actually let you delete Cards. This is frustrating to me, so I created a 'trash bin' of my own here. Maybe Trash would be an even better name for it. I just didn't want to put these tasks into 'Done' and pretend, because, well, I have issues. Let's just leave it there, okay?
I have a couple of extra Lists here. One is for albums I have heard about and want to buy at some point. The other is for movies I'd like to watch at some point. These Lists may not belong here, but I didn't want to make a whole new Trello Board for them, so here they are. Trello can flex like that.
I'm still working on this one, but it's important to know how long things are going to take. Do I really have time to get those 14 things done today? I think three major tasks is enough for any one day, with some smaller tasks peppered between.
I use the Pomodoro Technique to track my time, which calls for 25 minute blocks of work broken up by 5 minute breaks. Yes, I use a timer. So when I plan my day I think to myself 'how many Pomodoros is this going to take'? Because I'm a nerd.
Here's what's awesome about planning in chunks of time. You know if something is actually possible. If you are a 'Quantum Time' obsessive, like me, this also stops you from working for four hours with no breaks, or water, or snacks. If you get a link to an awesome YouTube video, you can park it for your 5 minute break, then watch it guilt free. Hey, this is your break! Social media addicts can try reserving Facebook check-ins for these 5 minute breaks, too. No checking for 25 minutes, then run wild for 5. It works really well, and it is freeing.
You can sign up for Trello free at http://www.trello.com. I recommend Trello as a way to break large projects down into bite-sized pieces. It even lets you collaborate in teams.
But it may not work for you. A paper Today list may be all you need. You may prefer a system like Wunderlist, that lets you check boxes rather than dragging Cards. But I like dragging Cards.
What matters is this: plan you day . Take stock. Consider how you spend your time. Schedule as a spiritual discipline.
Don't complain about how busy you are–do something about it.
We creatives get a bad rap for disorganization. I do find it easier to chase distractions and new ideas than to focus and commit. I'm thankful to have tools, like Trello, to help me.
You know that dream project you just haven't found time for? Make time. That novel? Plan to write 500 words today.
Last year I struggled to write a blog post once a week and send out a newsletter every once in a while. Now I blog at least three times a week. I post to Facebook and Twitter regularly. I write monthly articles for the Rat Creek Press, I send out weekly emails. I'm working on an EP. I'm about to open an art space. I work part time at another job, cook great meals from scratch and exercise. I get to bed on time, and I don't feel busy.
Most of the time.
I can tell you this. We all get 24 hours. Every single day.
You choose to give those hours to work or family or sport or play. You choose to binge-watch Orange Is The New Black or read Moby Dick. You. Choose.
Choose well and use every tool at your disposal. Take your time back.
You have something to say–why not say it here? Email your blog post idea to dave@bleedingheartart.space and let's chat.
We eat to keep ourselves alive. More specifically, to keep our bodies alive. To nourish.
There is a spectrum, from fasting to feasting. We may fast for forty days and live, I am told. Once I fasted three days only to get so weak I had to get off the ETS bus and buy an apple from 7-Eleven. I could feel the sugar surge through my veins, reviving me. Science tells me I could have held out longer, but I'm a small man.
We are fresh from Thanksgiving feasts, when family gathers around a special meal to eat more and better than we need. There is no practical purpose for gravy.
We fast sometimes and we feast sometimes and both are good.
But we do need to eat. The most basic food will sustain us. Mush. Gruel. Insects and leaves on desert islands. Rice and beans for a third world lifetime.
To survive we don't need flavour, but we do need food.
The science of sleep seems to be a confounding conundrum, but I can tell you one thing for certain. I need sleep.
Shortly after returning from Europe, I awake in a half-dream state. Blurred vision. Disoriented stagger towards the bathroom. I've been away for two weeks in three different bedrooms and already I am losing my way in the darkness of home. Back in bed I lie half-awake for two hours. I move ever so slowly in and out of sanity. My vision is liquid – dancing in blurred shapes of light. This feels close to fainting. I wonder if I am going a little crazy. Or having a near-death experience. I check my pulse.
As I lay awake–and more awake each moment–I inch towards the light of reason. My mind clears its clouded waters until I can see bottom.
I was not crazy, after all. Only very, very tired. Jetlagged.
I eat to sustain my body. I sleep, I think, to sustain my mind.
But what of my spirit?
A few months back good friends shared good drinks and asked a good question: What is beauty?
We never got our definitive, move-forward-answer.
There were clues. We got peeks through the windows. Parts to make something of the Whole. But the whole remains obscured.
What is beauty? They still write books about this question.
But what if it is the wrong question? Often, questions matter more than answers.
This is perhaps the great forgotten question of our time. The walked-over-on-the-way-to-work-question. The question left behind on a rush through the Louvre to check the Mona Lisa off an itinerary.
Why is beauty?
Our bodies can go without food for 40 days and will let us know they need their hunger. By 40 days will theyever let us know. They have pain at the ready. Our minds can last a while without sleep before they slip. But anyone who has felt that slip start will tell you it is a long way down and that you'd better stay here and lie down a while at the top.
So what of our spirits? What food for them? What rest?
Last week my wife and I are reclining on the Parisian grass. We close our eyes, and when we open them, the Eiffel Tower is there. Just right there, and way up into the sky she reaches. She dances with light. We are drinking French champagne. We close our eyes again and when we open them, the Eiffel Tower is still there. And we are still here, on the Champ de Mars, like millions before us, feasting on beauty. We lie down and sigh. And then my wife is crying. Not sobs and not much, but a tear or two.
The spirit leaks in this way, sometimes. When jabbed with the sharp spear of beauty, a little hard and a little fast and a little too far in.
Somewhere on our trip, from some mouth or some wall's graffiti came words something like this; 'Beauty is the glow of Truth'.
My God, that is beautiful. And the best answer to our wrong-headed question I've heard so far. It might be just another peek through a window, but it's a mighty large window.
We need beauty. Our spirits need beauty, in the same way that our bodies need food and our minds need sleep.
But we have a problem–a fatal flaw in our design that I cannot understand. When we lack beauty, it is so hard to tell. Our spirits are so quiet. The body will cry out with pain. The lens of the mind becomes so foggy without sleep that we cannot walk a straight line. But what cry does the spirit make?
Depression. Boredom. Anxiety. Fear. Hatred. Hopelessness. Abandonment. Loneliness.
These are good warnings. When the needle is on empty, these will tell you. Unless you are not listening. Unless you drown the warnings out.
Entertainment will do the job.
Perhaps the ugliest thing I saw in Europe was a group of actors screaming for my attention at a dungeon-themed amusement park in Berlin. It was one of the most expensive mistakes of the trip. And the longest wait in line. The sets were elaborate and immersive. The actors were passable through thick German accents. The ghoulish special effects and suspenseful scares entertained, but none of it was beautiful. My spirit left hungry.
Let me repeat that, oh screen-sapped and weary generation of mine. ENTERTAINMENT IS NO STAND IN FOR BEAUTY.
Don't settle for entertainment. Seek out beauty. You won't have to look far. You don't need to travel. Beauty is just around the corner.
The most beautiful song is the song written just for you. The most radiant beauty is steeped in the context of home. The beauty of my own wife in a fancy dress. The beauty of Alberta Avenue on a sunny Kaleido Saturday.
Festivals and holidays are feasts, but our spirits need meals and snacks, too. Tiny beauty. The Sacred Small. We have to take time, and purpose, to stop and eat.
To look. To listen. To pay attention.
If I bring back one thing from two weeks in Europe it is the reminder to nourish my hungry spirit. To find the beauty of home and daily life. To grow stronger and healthier as I do.
I bring back answers to a good question. Why beauty?
You have something to say–why not say it here? Email your blog post idea to dave@bleedingheartart.space and let's chat.
I've been back from Europe nearly a week and I'm just now getting settled. I return refreshed, with a full memory, and a fuller memory card. I am seeking ways to unpack it all.
There was champagne at the Eifel Tower. The massive treasure chest of modern art that is the Pompidou Centre. The Salvador Dali Gallery. The old rail yards of Berlin. The midnight bike-ride through a pitch dark drug park. The beer steins and lederhosen of Munich. There was just so much.
When I feel this sort of overwhelm, I know I need to focus–to zoom in on just one moment. So let me take you to Berlin's abandoned Tempelhof Airport.
I am wandering, jaw dropped and wide-eyed, through the most wild and beautiful garden I've ever seen. The Tempelhof Airport is an abandoned city-centre airport, like our own. It was slated for redevelopment, like our own. Unlike Edmonton's Municipal Airport, Tempelhof is a war hero. It was here that the US would drop off supplies and aid. This patch of grass and concrete and asphalt has worked its way into Berlin's heart. They love it here.
Tempelhof is now many things to many people. It is a sprawling runway for bicycles and skateboards, rollerblades and scooters. It is a place for children to race on foot, with start and finish lines painted out. It is hopscotch and chalk drawing. It is a place to picnic by the little old airplane. A spot to play baseball. A place to watch and learn about birds. A dance school. A bike-repair training centre. A refreshing hand-in-hand walk. A community garden.
In middle of this public park, now reclaimed by Berlin's citizens (I am told they will never develop it now), there is a community garden.
And I am wandering through this garden, taking photos. The first visit I just gawked and wondered aloud how this could happen. There are, seemingly, no rules at the Tempelhof garden. Respect your neighbours, of course, but build what you wish with whatever you wish. A pile of trash waits just at the edge to be transformed into the waking dreams of gardeners. I am back today to capture this–to feed my lens a kaleidoscope of imagination. To try and bring some of Tempelhof back, for you.
I need to try, because this remains my favourite memory of Europe. There is something about such ragged beauty–it's absolute freedom granted to the human spirit–that is a pure joy. This place, so far from perfect, is just perfict.
Be sure to click each image for a description, my thoughts, and a larger version.
You have something to say–why not say it here? Email your blog post idea to dave@bleedingheartart.space and let's chat.
