Friday, April 30, 2010


We come into this world as artists, creators, and how we express that is for us to find out. It could be in how we organize an event, handle a customer crisis, write, draw, read, cook, tend house, farm—the list goes on. Life is art; art is life.

Yesterday, in particular, I felt on fire. So much racing through me. I continue to feel the inspiration and encouragement; and to find ways to remember to see the world with fresh eyes. I feel the nudges of the universe in a way like never before, or perhaps it’s the same, but now I’m listening more. I feel as though I am giving birth, birth to myself, birth to something that has always been—is a part of where I come from—from this earth, a series of connections, large and small, always a new page, always “emptying the cup” seeing the cycles and then allowing them to fade and then discovering them again.

All of this fire, made me think of a long lost memory of my real father and how he made me an easel when I was a little girl. I didn’t get to use it much. We lived apart. I had another father too. I was upset when my mother told him to take it down, take it apart. No easel. Why? Why! No! I cried. He wasn’t happy about it either. He was an artist, a fine cabinet maker. He would make me wooden dolls with block heads, but they were so beautiful, unique. He made a large crib, dollhouse, high chair. The only gift I kept because of circumstance is a treasure chest he made for me and here it stays, and when I open it, it still has that fresh wood smell that I love so much, and a flush of memory rises.

Ours was a complicated family story—to be saved for another place, another time—I’ll never quite understand, but I know that the easel he made with love, with his hands, my hands—that this drive in me to create in quiet and loud ways has always been there, and sometimes it disappears. I had never really made the connection. I see it now, and I also feel how it transcends all memory, into a larger memory beyond myself and my world.

To connect with that spark, that glow. It never burns out. The fire needs tending, keep blowing on it and see the sparks, hear the crackle. Know that it will never go out. It may need to recede, but it is always there: The drive to create and connect with the great beyond.


jiturajgor said...

This indeed,very positive feeling Rebb.I sense your feeling but can not imagine it completely as we are living in complete families.I have things and utensils of my great grandfather's time.I am happy that you remember your real father in that way after such a long time.It is good for you and your father's soul too.

keiko amano said...


Yes, I see the connections and your appreciation to all the good things you have received. Your love come from their love. Can you imagine if your artist father wasn't in your life? Lucky you!

Rebb said...

Thank you, Jitu. I'm happy you can feel the positive feeling. It's wonderful that you have things from your great grandfather's time.

It was an amazing moment that I didn't want to lose. When I was walking to the BART train station, I was overcome, and took out my pad and wrote with one foot on the curb and one on the street. It felt like it took me a longer time to get to work because I kept stopping and looking up, smiling, and wanting to keep jotting down notes, and even sketches. But, I thought, I better get going, but at least I captured that moment. Thank you for your kind words, Jitu.

Rebb said...

Keiko, Thank you. Yes, it is amazing how love can really impact us in ways that we don't even realize. I do feel very lucky that he was a part of my life, if even briefly, his love reached me and stays with me.