THE UNFORESEEN: LIFE IS A TALE OF SURPRISE!

HMMM...

Have you ever met someone with whom you were smitten, someone you thought you could never distaste?  Have you ever met someone you found to be bewitching, who later proved to be a vexation?   

Have you ever met someone you thought was cool, then whose interests you realized never rose above workaday and pedestrian?  Or ... have you ever met someone who would make you laugh, then by malicious design make your heart ache?  Or ... have you ever met someone who made you feel absolutely wonderful then abhorrently unworthy?

Fact:  Life is not abecedarian, but a happenchance series of surprise.

Fact:  All thoughts in life can neither be anticipated nor predicted with certainty. 

Fact:  Life is UNFORESEEN, and all thoughts and all things (especially including interpersonal relationships) in life are UNFORESEEN.

THE UNFORESEEN title of this blog is taken from THE UNFORESEEN, a television weekly drama of the late 50’s and early 60’s.  THE UNFORESEEN was a type of suspense drama, a weekly thirty minute story always with a twist in conclusion.  THE UNFORESEEN was, like real life, always filled with surprise.

Generally, we can anticipate and predict our day-to-day trudging events with considerable accuracy, but all such predictions are just really good guesses, imaginings based upon the empirical evidence in our lives at the time.  In any contest, games of sport for example, we never really know what is going to be the outcome, and the outcome of any event in our lives is just as uncertain.

Forgive me, dear reader, for such a negative opening paragraph, but most of the surprises in our lives weigh down, rather than uplift.  In our Yin and Yang existence, this probably isn’t true, but are brains seemed to be more programmed for pain than for pleasure.  Pain we remember forever, pleasure we remember only for a season.

The examples in the opening paragraph, generally speaking, seem not to work well in reverse.  Have you met someone you loathed at first, but now love?  Have you met someone your eye found repulsive but now you deem strikingly attractive?  Have you met someone you felt was caustic, and then determined to be cool?  Have you met malicious people that make you laugh?  Life does not seem to work from negative to positive.  If ever it does, this is truly surprise, surprise!

Life is, according to your metaphor of choice, mostly a highway, a path, or a river.  Our uncertain lives are filled with detours, forks, and rapids.  Always, these detours lead on to more detours (hence our shaggy-dog tales), more bends and turns, and more roundabouts. Whilst we breathe, we are forever navigating rage after raging river, sometimes wading, sometimes treading.  Every road, every trail, and every river takes us somewhere, and that somewhere is always unforeseen and filled with surprise.

Let us go to busking down at the market.  On any given day I can with considerable accuracy predict, in a very general way, how my buskapade will unfold.  I will arrive and pick my buskspot somewhere between 9 o’clock and 9:30 a.m.  (It will likely be near my best vendor neighbour friends, Greg and Valerie Asher of ASHER DESIGN LANDSCAPING.)  This is my comfort zone for busking with either my guitar and harmonica, or my pencil and sketchbook.

I know I will meet several people during the four-hour busk, some friends, some colleagues, some strangers, both familiar and unfamiliar.  Strumming or sketching I will make approximately one hundred dollars.  Generally, this is how my busking at the market will typically unfold.   

Specifically, I shall describe how my morning at the market did unfold.

I did not arrive between 9 o’clock and 9:30 a.m.  I had to retrieve my car from the parkade beneath the hotel across the street (long story), then I had drive over to my son’s apartment for a quick emergency (an even longer story).  Finally, I arrived at the market and set up just minutes before 10 o’clock a.m.

I did set up across from ASHER DESIGN LANDSCAPING, but Greg was a no-show.  Valerie was operating alone.

I took only my pencil and sketchbook.  I find that strumming my guitar and blowing my harpoon for a four-hour market to be wearisome, humdrum, and colorless.  Sketching pencil portraits, on the other hand, I find to be animated, stimulating, and bright. 

My morning at the market went generally as I had anticipated; specifically though, my morning was filled with surprise.  And here are just a few examples of some awesome people that came my way:

CINDY

 

BRANDON

LINDA

My unforeseen CHAUCERIAN PARADE this week includes:

• Allen is a Financial Studies university student, who happens also to be taking a camera class.  Allen approached me the week previous seeking my permission for him to take a picture of me while sketching a pencil portrait.  If it was okay with the consumer, it was okay for me, I told him.  Allen did take some pictures, and did quick interviews of Linda (pictured above) and myself for his camera class project.

• Ponziano Aluma is the author of WE’RE HERE!  NOW WHAT? (This is a non-fiction book about newcomer misadventures).  For his next book, he wants me to be the illustrator!

• Gordon asked me if I drew dogs, and if I would draw one from a picture.  I told him I could but it would cost him a lot of money.  I told him if he brought the dog to market, I would do the pencil portrait for the usual $10.  Gordon said he’d be bringing his dog for a sitting next Saturday.

When I return to work tomorrow I can generally predict that I shall have a morning chat and chuckle with my friend and band mate, Darren (pictured below), and an afternoon chat with my imaginary Rubicon, Kimberly (pictured below).  Darren and I always have a philosophy-to-go type of chat; whereas with Kimberly, I’m always sadly reminded of my senescence.  What will actually happen between Darren and me and Kimberly and me has yet to be really determined.  My day at work tomorrow is right now unforeseen.

DARREN OF PHANTOM TIDE

  

KIMBERLY

     

To close, we humans (according to Sam Keen, 1973) are featherless, gregarious and storytelling creatures just wanting to get along with one another, oftentimes needing moral support from one another.  This could mean a written letter, a personal phone call, a text, or at the very, very best, a vis-à-vis over a coffee.  Not so strangely, my unforeseen interactions at the market seem suffice to temporarily fill such a social deficiency in my particular make-up. 

No matter what we believe and think ... 

Our lives from beginning to end are a complicated series of eight-lane highways and dirt roads, happy and sad trails, raging rivers and still ponds --- ALL OF WHICH BEING UNFORESEEN TALES OF SURPRISE!    

RAGS TO RICHES: MY LIFE IS A COSTUME PARTY

This past Saturday began as most my Saturdays begin, with a five mile run around Wascana Lake.  But later on in the morning, taking my fat little pencil to Market, I felt a little bit different.  I felt different because it was my birthday!

All palmy Saturday I could not stop reminding me that I’m a long ways from my world debut in a birthday suit.  Now I have threads! I’ve fifteen black shirts long-sleeved with collars, eleven white shirts long-sleeved with collars, five pairs of blue jeans for work, four pairs of blue jeans for busking, three pairs of boots, one cowboy, one working, one hiking, and two pairs of sandals.

Research has confirmed that the raiment in which we wrap ourselves, our garment our apparel our attire, actually primes our brain to function and operate accordingly.  In a line, we become what we wear.

In the 90’s Barbara Fredrickson found that women who were given math tests performed worse when wearing a swimsuit rather than a sweater.  Research suggests that a person’s mental agility improves when wearing a white coat.  Adam Galinsky referred to this phenomenon as Enclothed Cognition.  Galinsky found that when research participants wore a medical doctor’s coat, their mental capacities sharpened; whereas, their performance was not significantly altered when they thought they were wearing a painter’s coat.

Professor Karen Pine had students don Superman t-shirts.  And when they did, Professor Pine noted that their self-impressions had been boosted, and they actually thought themselves stronger than those in the control groups.  Pine was convinced that clothing can change minds.  In her latest book, Mind What You Wear:  The Psychology of Fashion, she describes the link between women’s moods and their choice of clothes.  Women are more likely to wear jeans when feeling low.  Clothing can reinforce negative moods – when we are stressed our world narrows and we dress simpler.

And I remember simpler.

My earliest memory of being in costume was, at six years of age, wearing a coonskin Davy Crockett hat and a leather-fringed Davy Crockett jacket.

At seven years of age a friend, Randy Corbin, wore pink pants to school. Within a week, there were several of us wearing our new pink pants to school.

As an early adolescent my grandma allowed me the luxury one pair of pants and two shirts per week to wear to school.  We did not have indoor plumbing at the time.

And I can remember one September, driving into Swift Current and buying several new shirts and jeans and two dickeys, one black and one white.  Dickeys were the rage in 1966.

At one time in our town (Vanguard, Saskatchewan), all the guys had BRYLCREEM hair, madras shirts, blue laminate jackets, tight jeans with a rat tail comb in the back pocket, and pointed leather shoes.

Then, by the time I had graduated from high school, grease was out and the dry look was in – no more BRYLCREEM.  And my girlfriend had bought for me in the latest of fashion, three Alpaca sweaters, an Ebony, an Ivory, and a Midnight Blue.

My university garb was always a Canadian tuxedo, t-shirt and jeans, and hiking boots, except when I did my teaching practicum.  During this four month internship, I sold my International half-ton truck, and bought some sports jackets and dress pants to teach alongside my mentors. (I’ll mention that immediately following this period, I was hired as a high school English teacher, then ditched the dress shirts and dress pants, and reverted back to t-shirts and jeans and hiking boots, but kept wrapped in the sports jackets.)

The notion of Enclothed Cognition demonstrates the importance of symbolic association of garments as being the mechanism for altered cognitions.  Clothes change the way we think and feel.  I feel much different when dressed up for teaching at the university than when dressed down for busking.

Whilst standing in front of a university class, my attire cap-a-pie, is hatless, with either a black or white dress shirt, a sports jacket overtop, jeans for pants and brown-polished dress shoes for wheels. 

Whilst guitar busking, I often wear a Brixton hat, a tight white t-shirt, worn-out faded blue jeans, and polished-black work boots. 

My new gig, sketching pencil portraits, I cover my noggin with a black and white checked bowler, my shirt is always white, long-sleeved, and with a collar.  And I wear grey cargo short pants and brown leather sandals.

Enclothed Cognition works for me.  If I want to feel happier and more confident --- I wear the right clothes. The garb I choose does make a difference.  My raiment doth have that ability to advert my attention to the things I am doing. My attire is akin to an Aesopian fable, conveying innocence to an outsider, but a hidden meaning to me.  As a busker, I never want to present my image as being a clochard or cadger.  With my guitar I like to present windswept and breezy; while with pencil I like to present a bit more polish.

My CHAUCERIAN PARADE this week has got to begin with the voluptuous cowgirl who pulled up alongside me in her black Dodge Ram as I was guitar busking at VALUE VILLAGE.

“Do you know any Janis Joplin?” she asked.

As I thrummed one out, twisting in her knee-high cowboy boots, she gyrated and grinded against me in her tight satin blouse and skin-tight jeans, while singing her unique version of Me and Bobby McGee. I must confess I was mildly aroused … I mean amused (Freudian slip)!

And I must include some pictures of some of my consumers and their portraitures at the FARMERS’ MARKET:

WYATT BUCKLEY

AUDREY

NICOLE

JULIA

SMURF

From birthday suit to swaddling clothes to work-a-day duds ... 

Last Saturday at the MARKET was just another day in my costume party life!  In fact, by midnight, with my brand new leather barbeque gloves, I had transmogrified from busker to boxer!

THE BOXER

QUICK ON THE DRAW: THE PENCIL NEVER LIES!

SELF-PORTRAIT

Normally, I am always happy to go to Market, whatever may betide, but with a guitar and harp – not a drawing pencil and sketch pad!  

Cap-a-pie I wore my black and white checker bowler (purchased at Madame Yes in Regina), a long-sleeved crisp white shirt with a collar (purchased in Paris), a pair of short pants (purchased in Amsterdam), and my Barcelona sandals.  (Subliminally, I was an artist of international renown.) 

Mise-en-scene I rolled out a matt, put some sample portraits on display, beside which I set up two camp stools, one for the consumer, one for the artist. 

My first hour at the market was a flounder, compensated by time spent visiting my neighbor vendors – there was no action at my draw-site!  I had angst going to the market, and sitting and standing around without any consumers was not, at all, therapeutic.

Finally!  A smiling young lady asks if I can draw a portrait of her four month old son.  Yikes!  I had not thought about drawing toddlers!

My first paying customer -- it was time for me put my pencil to paper and impress! Kaiven, the four month old son, wriggled around and around, as did I to keep his visage in my line of pencil sight.   

“That is so like him, I love it!” the young mother said when I finished.  Though my mat display reads, PENCIL PORTRAITS $10.00, she gave me twenty dollar bill, insisting I keep the $10.00 tip!  Kaiven and his mom proved to by the anodyne for my morning market angst.

Then along came barbate John.                          

“Will you draw me? “he asked.  John, 67 years old, is a retired provincial public servant.  Because of his unusual tam and signature beard, John presented to me as being the archetype of the easy draw.  John loved his portrait and told me he was going to advertise for me, vocally, as he strolled down the market! (With permission I took his picture with my iPhone.)

JOHN

Mother and daughter, Kerry and Kaitlyn, from Saskatoon, asked if I could draw them together on one page. 

"Of course," I replied (never having expected this).  This happy twosome was in Regina at a hockey tournament, and hockey was our chat about for the 20 minutes it took me draw them.  I love talking hockey and they loved their finished product!

Another toddler, Marcus!  Marcus, like toddler Kaiven, wriggled around and around.  Even so, I did manage to complete his portrait in about ten minutes.  Both his mom and grandmother loved it, and gave me a $10.00 tip!  I now know that toddlers mean tips -- I shall remember this for next week when I again take my pencil to market! (With permission, I took a picture of Marcus on my iPhone.)

MARCUS

Several portraits later I had the pleasure of meeting two thirty-year olds, Courtney and Steve.  What a treat!  Both were from the city of Regina, and both were contemplating ditching their present jobs and moving to Banff (my kind of people, my kind of adventure)!  Courtney’s beatific smile was worth a gazillion dollars, and this chat, in particular, was a glorious way to end my day at the market. 

Drat!  I had forgotten to take their picture on my iPhone!  As I packed my bag, I thought maybe if I strolled through the market I would find them!  No such luck.   

A lesson learned, I thought to myself.  Exiting the market and walking down Victoria Avenue, I noticed the two of them sipping drinks on the outdoor coffee patio at Atlantis!  I approached them and they consented to have their picture taken for this blog!  This is PHENOMENOLOGY!

COURTNEY AND STEVE

Could doing these pencil portraits be the apex of my busking career, or just another piece in my busking bildungsroman?  Hmm ... drawing portraits seems more debonair than thrumming a guitar.  Guitar busking compared to pencil portraiture is like comparing a flivver to a Ferrari.

Having spent just one morning drawing pencil portraits I’ve gained considerable marketing insight. For example, chubby cheeks and double chins are in for toddlers, out for adults.  Mothers find such embonpoint adorable; whereas, plumb adults desire pencil surgery, and shall judge their portraits accordingly.  Contributing to consumer vanity pays higher and heartfelt dividends.

Drawing pencil portraits at the market is really a maxixe, a two-step dance of accomplished drawing techniques whilst engaging the consumer in delightful conversation.  If a third step were to be included in this dance of the draw, it would be time.  In just one morning I’ve discovered that ten minutes seems the perfect number of minutes allotted for the portraits.  The longer it takes, more photograph-like the expectation.

Hmmm … all of the above is what I think I know.   

Hmmm … this is what I do know …

The pencil never lies!

MY PENCIL ADVENTURE: THE FEAR AND THE FLOW

An adventure is any enterprise that is potentially fraught with psychological risk, such as a business venture, a love affair, or other life undertakings.  When I first began to busk, I was on an adventure.  I had anxieties, mainly instrumental and vocal competence and confidence issues.  That first summer of busking on the mean streets in Victoria, British Columbia, was a tough gig.  (No, the streets are not mean in Victoria, but it does sound better as a descriptor, not?)  It was a business risk.  It was not as exciting as a love affair, but did have the trappings of other life undertakings.  My Victoria busk happened eight years ago – I’m still busking.

An adventure is an experience that creates psychological arousal.  This arousal could be negative (FEAR) or positive (FLOW).  Fear is only a delusion; however, the lack of fear is also a delusion.  Flow is the mental state of being in the moment … in the zone.

My first time busking in Victoria was a tough gig because I didn’t have FLOW – I had only FEAR.  I had only fear because I did not know what I was doing.  I didn’t have the right song lists (I carried three binders of songs); I didn’t have the right equipment (I had everything, the binders, a shaker, a cowboy costume of green leather boots and a white hat, ; I didn’t have the right locations (I never then  realized that you need crowds to make coin).  In a line, I was a novice.

And I’ve had other fears previous (to busking).  When I defended my Master’s Thesis, to the External Examiner, my academic committee members, and the guests from academia who chose to attend, I had FEAR.  And I survived to tell about it.

When I had to play the glockenspiel in front of five hundred live audience members, including among them our Premier of the province, I had fear.  I was strategically placed high in the rafter seats, sitting among members of the audience, plunking as the keyboard echo for the Christmas song, Do You Hear What I Hear, knowing that any error would be so noticeable, not only to the live audience, but to the live television audience, too.  That was my one and only time ever (playing) on the glockenspiel.  I had FEAR.  And I survived to tell about it.

Adventurous activities are typically undertaken for the purposes of recreation and excitement.  I want new and exciting experiences.  I must want adventure, but not the ilk of rolling over Niagara Falls in a barrel.

Here is my latest attempt at adventure.  My son, Travers, lives in Amsterdam.  Last November he spent the entire month in Afghanistan conducting interviews with people in the city, people in the country, members of the military, to determine whether or not the U.S. Military interventions have improved the conditions for the citizens, a deconstruction of the construction efforts so to speak. 

Anyway … a Dutch journalist, whom he befriended, happened to be writing a book about the Taliban.  For the book publication she decided not to have a photograph, she wanted a pencil portrait of Hamid Karzai on the cover.  Travers enlisted me because … in braggadocio fashion, I have the uncanny ability to draw people’s faces!  Here is my pencil sketch of a hatless President of Afghanistan.

 

Travers then wanted me to sketch a picture of him for his academic website.  Here is that pencil portrait.

And then this past Saturday, I took my talent to the market.  I also packed my guitar just in case (pun intended).  I thought I would thrum awhile, then work up the nerve, jettison the FEAR, get into a FLOW, and sketch people for $10 a head. 

It turned out I could not just jettison the FEAR.  The FLOW I was accustomed to experiencing whilst guitar busking, did not transcend in my mind’s eye, to my enterprise of portraiture.  After three hours of guitar busking, I could not shake the FEAR.  Finally I decided to stave it off, and draw Greg, the metal artist, my vendor neighbor at the Farmer’s Market.  See Greg and my very first market pencil portrait below. 

  

  

I would love to close with Fear is only a delusion, but instead I’ll go with the Flow is being in the moment.  Derring – do next week if the weather agrees, I’ll be at the Farmer’s Market, aplomb and in the moment, as a dilettante pencil-pushing artist of portraiture (with a special thank-you to Greg and Valerie Asher of ASHER DESIGN LANDSCAPING).

To bastardize Robert Service …

There are strange things done under the mid-day sun, 

By the buskers who moil for gold …