Think Globally, Art Locally

I've been developing a workshop that I'll be presenting for the first time at the Gaia Centre in Haliburton on September 16th (and previewing at the Renaissance Cafe in Toronto on August 23rd.)

It's called "Creativity Off the Grid: Values, Meaning and Money". It's designed to help artists sustain their work through healthy sources of energy...and clarify the meaning of their work and its value.

Meanwhile, as always, I've been aware of my own addiction to sources of power and energy that may be harmful to me--and the community and the earth--in both the long and short term. (As I develop this workshop, I'm reminded--as I am when I write new songs--that I'm writing whatever I am at the time because I need it.)

For example, I sometimes discount the value of local and immediate opportunities to sing--which include my home, my church, the subway, the local cafe. At times I worry that I'm not touring enough; I'm concerned that I don't have wider distribution. Like many artists, I'm vulnerable to the sales pitch of a service that might possibly help me have a song picked up by a major international artist. The idea of fame is seductive...and it's an empty "Idol", a show of no "reality".

I know from personal experience that the songs that have the most meaning for me (and that have been most deeply felt by my audience) have been specific and locally based. They have sprung from this place, this person, this time. They don't have to go any further to be valuable (and yet, ironically, they've often gone much further... without any help from me.)

In the evaluation of the commercial marketplace, they may appear to have less value.
But, on the other hand, they are far more in line with my personal values, which are community and family-based.

If my art stays local, my attention can as well. I can look after and beautify this corner of the world, which includes specific people I would like to honour and specific causes I would like to support (such as two local environmental and healing organizations which, serendipitously, expressed an interest in my music today).

Art that has the world in mind--but that is created out of a sense of deep connection with the local and the immediate--is work that will have ongoing spiritual and personal meaning and will ultimately sustain the artist and, hopefully, the world.

For

I realize that if I get around to recording my tribute project before I record any new collection of songs, I could call it "For"...my fourth CD.

The project enjoyed a brief lull after I wrote and recorded the first two songs (for Neil Young and Bruce Cockburn). Now I'm working on a number of songs for (in tribute to) three women artists: Rita MacNell, Jane Siberry and Joni Mitchell. The Rita song has been half-finished for a few weeks now; the Jane song has been started a few times (who knows where it will go) and the Joni song was written tonight, after several hours of noodling that I wasn't sure was going anywhere.

It's always wonderful when a creative project suddenly snaps into focus. It's so reassuring, seeing that all the mucking around and exploration actually lead to something. I believe it's always leading to something, even when the completed project isn't soon in coming. One of the reasons I like songwriting, though, is that often the process is short: a sprint, not a long-distance run.

Fairly early on, as I began to write this song, I felt that it wouldn't be exclusively inspired by Joni Mitchell as a musician and songwriter. Instead, I wanted to highlight the connection of her paintings to her songwriting. It's always struck me that she's just as accomplished in both art forms, and in both cases she's manipulating shades of emotion and meaning, playing with light and shade and colour.

It may not be coincidental that on Tuesday, I picked up my own sketchbook for the first time in months, and drew a pretty fair pen-and-ink drawing of my daughter reading after her piano lesson. I was pleased with the results (much as I am when I write a good song) and yet I know what its technical flaws are, and I admire those who have mastered the ability to draw.

I think it was that admiration that informed "Colour Wheel", my tribute song for Joni Mitchell. I see her as an artist who understands all the brilliant shades of human emotion; who knows how to use them all.

Writing the song brings me back full-circle in other ways too. The first Joni Mitchell song I learned, back in high school, was "The Circle Game".