Becoming
It was been a some time since my last article—it was April, 2022. I have not been sitting idly by—rather I have been surviving (and enduring) the transformation of our society; working on my art; and spending time with my family. I have been observing the decay of our society and the emergence of a bifurcated constituency—where everyone is right and no one is wrong. The embrace of dishonesty and greed is ripping our lives and what remains of our democracy into pieces. Can worrying change anyone? I suspect not. Our only hope is that this turmoil is a “blip” in our country’s democratic journey that will be viewed as a necessity to root out evil. If it is not, then I am not sure it will be worth being part of it all. Do not take this as a commitment to commit the unspeakable. It is an expression of survival of my psyche.
After I completed my year-long study of art-making in Florence, Italy at the end of 2017, I moved to Portland, Oregon with my wife. This was a premeditated move—one brought on by a need to be able to walk year-around in a climate that was relatively benign—with a natural beauty to nourish. I also needed to be as isolated from the past as possible. While we could have moved back to lovely but icy Minnesota from our 5-year home in Mexico, I would have been haunted by the company I founded and by the many friends and avenues to stay in touch. It was time to become what I would be when I die.
Staying in touch now is done almost exclusively on my own terms and in abstentia. I can respond to mail on my on time line. I do not want to sound anti-social. Far from it. But as I approach my 76th birthday, being with myself is not only a new luxury but a life-affirming necessity. For over 50 years, I was obliged and driven to be “in-touch.” For reasons related to work, family, and volunteering.
My days now are not void of volunteering—but the time spent is self-regulated and low. What I enjoy most now is what I never really had during my work years: the choice to be alone. Making art, at least for me, is a solitary event. While it is physically isolating work, it is not spiritually or intellectually isolated. I like being with me. There is an intensity that unites the physical and mental. Time, at least from my experience, evaporates. What may seem like four hours in a one hour business meeting becomes 15 minutes when I am painting or drawing. It is a luxurious euphoria. It is both a physical and emotional high. More importantly it reveals, through personal self awareness, my fears, longings and shortcomings. These are the things I need to face head-on.
Painting—whether it is a landscape, portrait or abstract—is an act of deliberateness. It can also be hindered by what I know about the history of painting and mark-making. The studying of artists of the past and visiting numerous museums and galleries sets in motion ever-changing reference points. But these reference points serve more as guide posts and not literal marks to replicate. As I peel away my “past” skin and its attendant obligations, I realize that what I want to do is easier and more rewarding the less I think about it.
As many of my readers know, I paint and draw now to help libraries and other not-for-profit organizations. To date, I have given away more than 225 works. This brings me deep joy. What is fascinating and revealing is which works are chosen and not chosen. By far, the greater number chosen are those that I spent the least amount of time making. They are the ones that I created “in a flash.” Critically, they are also the ones that more closely feel like they were done by me on the other side of what I am today. I get a glimpse of who I can be—rather than a reflection in my past-mirror.
The term moribund as three meanings: 1) Approaching death; about to die, 2) On the verge of becoming obsolete, and 3) in a dying state; dying; at the point of dying.
On the surface these definitions, and this article, may lead one to believe I am sad or depressed about “the end of life.” This could not be further from the truth. What is “on the verge of becoming obsolete” is my past—a past shrink-wrapped in drive, family obligations, devotion to survival of the company, creating wealth and helping communities transform through library design. All of that time was necessary and rewarding. I would not trade the past 50 years for anything. The company I co-founded (MSR Design) is thriving with new vigor; my children are happy, productive and self-sufficient; my wife and I are closer than we have ever been and help each other daily; and my time serving on the Library Foundation Board of Trustees is rewarding.
I am not shedding love of community, dedication to helping others, or rational perseverance and health. I am saying hello and goodbye. It is this emergent person I am greeting each day with enthusiasm and fearlessness. What I am doing is becoming who I want to be when I die.
Jeff, you are an amazing ly successful architect, artist and humanitarian +.While you still have a few drops of blood coursing through your
veins there is much more to do!
Best regards,
Jeff, your life as an exceptional architect transitioned to an amazing artist combined with the talent you have always had as an eloquent scribe conveying truth. I share your concerns, now at age 80, diverting my attention to improving the natural habitat of our home and a never ending array of little farmstead projects. Today, only because it was fun, I finished restoring a toy box built by my grandfather around 1908, which my sister and I inherited as children. I also watch way too much frightening news.
Thank you, Jeff, for taking time to putting that meditation into words. It’s good food for thought. I like the idea of defining the latter period of our lives as an “emergence.”
Please don’t think of the relative social detachment of your current life as being out of touch with people. If you’ve touched a person once in meaningful way, you are probably still in touch more than you know. Our lives may not have overlapped by all that much, but every single point of contact was intentional, meaningful and fun. Sheri and I have enduring memories of shared meals and stimulating conversation.
About twenty years ago you touched my life in powerful way with a single question. You casually—and pointedly—asked, “What did you do this week that you were truly enthused about?” My stammering answer was, “Not one thing.” Your question spurred me to make a greater effort toward being able to answer, “Everything I do enthuses me.” That may be an unrealistic expectation, but I’m much closer than I would have been without your little nudge. Some of that achieved not only by what I do, but how I do it. Subsequently, I am a lot more aligned with what I will be when I die.
I suspect you’ve created ripples in more lives than you realize. You’ve done your part to make this sorry world a better place. You don’t own anybody anything.
Sorry for the long reply. Could have sent an email, but I wanted to say it out loud.
“While it is physically isolating work, it is not spiritually or intellectually isolated. I like being with me.”
I can totally relate to this and to your musings. We all pass from this life (if we are lucky) with some achievements and some regrets that emerge after it is too late for most people other than ourselves to acknowledge them.
My past work—as much as it involved clients and users and audiences—was not solitary, but it was isolating from the self that emerged later. I suspect you are feeling some of that. Time marches on. The young say, it’s our world now, thank you very much.
After a period of going seep into my own work, I discovered the “me” time was further isolating me from friends and family. The realization provoked a desire to engage with strangers and people outside my comfortable circle.
Offering your work in the way you have feels like the same impulse I have, to send to the world what I do best, for whatever it can accomplish now. We were once strivers and drivers. Now we are elders, and instead of sending, we are receiving. Instead of influencing, we now turn our creative attention to beauty and receptivity. We hope people will benefit, but that is their choice.
We start out thinking about what we can conquer. We finish appreciating what we made better.
“Seep” into my work should be “deep.” The slip may have more layers than a typo.
I like the double-meaning…thanks for your sharing. Take care.
Well Jeffrey and John, it has been a long time since Mort Karp and Palmer Boggs. As my friend Wayne says, we have been blessed to have lived during this wonderful time. I see that we have reached the Age of Reflection: meditating on the past and engaging with our futures. I am glad to see you are both alive and kicking.
Please strike the part about engaging the future. What we are engaged in or with is the problem of transcendence.