Author Archives: Janet Grace Riehl

THE ZEN OF ART OPENINGS

A Star Is Born

“A Star Is Born”

Image and Essay by Janet Grace Riehl

This is my 70th Creative Catalyst  post since 2008. During that time so much has happened to me personally and in my creative life. Whether I’ve written about Daddy Care or Doodling you’ve responded and shared your lives right back. How appropriate, then, to tell you now about the culmination of artwork I began in 2011. All those doodles became a beautiful exhibit. Through Women & Wardrobe: The Riehl Collection I claimed them as digital images—fine art. And, the opening of the show opened me.

In all the arts—literary, visual, performing—there is that moment where the art becomes public. There is so much creativity advice about how to inspire, coax and sustain our practice. But, there is little that I know of to help us move through and use the opportunity of shaping and showing our work for an audience.

A mentor once told me that “Your show is really for you. It shows you what you’ve been doing. It’s a time to take it in so that you can use what you’ve done as inspiration to go forward.” With all creative work it’s like that. In studio art made of paint or clay it’s even more striking to see your work altogether in a clean space.

Three equations expressed this protected time.

Work = Play

Play  = Work

Work + Play = Joy

In making the body of work, it worked because:

1) I had no ambition beyond making each image work on its own terms.

2) I let my images do the talking.

3) I taught myself (and taught myself how to teach myself) as I went.

4) I surrendered, and entered a state of easy-going exploration.

Every event has its challenges, and this one was no exception. My framer became sick unto death and I had to find a new one—while on holiday 2,000 miles from St. Louis in Northern California off the grid. “Set up a fashion show? In a month!” the head of the design department of a nearby college wailed when I asked if they’d participate. But, I urged them to continually redefine what a fashion show is, and they hit on a perfect orchestration that blended with and augmented the artwork to make the night even more fun.

Jump cut to opening night—a rousing success! Both on the outside and the inside. On the outside, it was everything any artist could wish, pray, and hope for:

  • Lots of people came. 100?
  • Lots of people bought art. We raised a goodly sum to benefit Portfolio Gallery (all the profits went to the gallery).
  • Everyone (including me) had a good time!
  • People didn’t only raise their glasses and chat. They actually looked at the work and appreciated it.

And for me, on the inside? My opening was an opening of me. An opening of my heart and soul.  There was so much love that allowed the work to happen. To be asked to show. To have a friend who took on all the technical work. To be on TV.  To experience the hilarity of 15 minutes of fame. To have my family and friends come. To have the joy of giving to Portfolio. To have the joy of seeing my work apart from my phone or Facebook transformed into elegantly framed images. The joy of people loving the work. Validating. Affirming. Filled with possibility and a sense of rightness.

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Want to read more Creative Catalyst posts about this latest art journey?

In June 2012 I described the wonderful surprise of visual art coming back into my life through “Doodling a Body of Work.”http://storycirclenetwork.wordpress.com/2012/06/12/doodling-a-body-of-work

In July 2014 I shared my happiness at my upcoming exhibit with “Bliss + Work = Results! Case study: Women & Wardrobe: The Riehl Collection.”

http://storycirclenetwork.wordpress.com/2014/07/01/bliss-work-results-case-study-women-and-wardrobe-the-riehl-collection/

Learn more about Janet Riehl’s work on her blog magazine Riehl Life: Village Wisdom for the 21st Century (www.riehlife.com). With the mission to create connections through the arts and across cultures.

 

 

Bliss + Work = Results! Case study: Women and Wardrobe: The Riehl Collection

Janet portrait

Photo by Henry Lohmeyer.  Essay by Janet Grace Riehl

“If you do follow your bliss you put yourself on a kind of track that has been there all the while, waiting for you, and the life that you ought to be living is the one you are living. Follow your bliss and don’t be afraid, and doors will open where you didn’t know they were going to be.”

 –Joseph Campbell

Yes, sometimes it does happen that way. In 2011 serendipity entered my life and I followed the thread. I started making art again using the small canvas of my phone. Three years later, I’m having a show. All along the way this new art love unfolded organically. Friends saw the possibilities and flooded me with suggestions for replication and marketing. I wasn’t ready. I wanted to protect my refuge of bliss.

But Robert Powell, the director of Portfolio Gallery in St. Louis, never let it drop. Finally, he simply said: “Come talk to me.” And now? We have Women & Wardrobe: The Riehl Collection—an exhibit and fundraiser.

People moved in to help me make it happen. Curiously, for this celebration of women these helper-angels were all men: printing, framing, and showing the work. If you are in St. Louis, join us at the opening. If you can’t make the opening, the exhibit runs through the end of August. Just call Robert Powell (314) 533-3323 and he’ll arrange a time for you to see the work. If you’re not in the area, go to my website to see all 30 images I’ll be showing. 

I can’t say it much better than in my press release, so here you go.

Women & Wardrobe: The Riehl Collection

 PORTFOLIO GALLERY

3514 Delmar Blvd, St Louis, MO 63103

Exhibit and Fundraiser

Opening reception August 2, 2014

7-9 p.m.

Artist Janet Riehl works big—or, did—exhibiting large-scale paintings, sculptures, and outdoor installations in California, New Mexico, Latin America, and Europe. But, sometimes things come in small packages as proved by “Women and Wardrobe: The Riehl Collection” opening at Portfolio Gallery August 2nd .

Riehl was dazzled by African expressions of beauty during her five years working in Ghana and Botswana. Thus began a love affair that still ripples through her life and art. The images in this exhibit with their creative use of color and pattern strongly reflect these African influences.

Presented for the first time these 30 high-quality framed images signed by the artist are culled from the 2,500 she’s made on her phone since 2011. Portfolio will receive all profits from the sale of Riehl’s work. Cards and books featuring women and wardrobe images ensure that something is available for all pocketbooks.  You can also see a slide show of the larger body of work.

“I’d never imagined making digital art, let alone art on my phone,” says Riehl “I started by chance when a young friend asked for something to draw with. I reached for pen and paper in my purse, and she looked a bit crestfallen.” That night Riehl downloaded her first app, called “Doodler”—thus dubbing the images “doodles.”

This unlikely media turned out to be just the right thing at just the right time. “My studio was always with me with no muss or fuss.” Whether in Illinois taking care of her father (now 98) or back in St. Louis she made art before going to sleep, when she woke-up, waiting for a doctor’s appointment, or even in the grocery line.

“It was just fun and captivating with no pressure to be great or establish an empire. It made me happy. When I started sharing the images on Facebook, I discovered they made other people happy, too.” She encouraged those she met to try their hand at doodling. “It’s such a joy to see people entertaining the notion that they have a little art in them.”

She first met Robert Powell, Executive Director and founder of Portfolio Gallery and Education Center as she explored African-American arts and culture in St. Louis upon her return to the Midwest. “I loved everything about Portfolio: its mission, the power of the art shown, Robert’s dedication to community service and talent as a sculptor, the opportunity to meet artists—some internationally renowned—and the gorgeous 19th century residence that resonates with St. Louis’ history. It was a no-brainer to use my show as a way to raise funds for this organization that has brought so much not only to St. Louis but, really, to American culture.”

Who is Janet Riehl?

Janet Riehl is an award-winning artist, writer, and educator. She describes herself as a country girl who roamed the world and then came home.  Her art is in collections in the United States, Europe, and Latin America.

In 1990 she mounted “Celebrating an African Experience,” an exhibit incorporating large-scale paintings on cloth, creative writing, chants, songs, dances, and ceremonies. The enthusiastic reception spurred her to earn a BFA from the California College of the Arts where she graduated with high distinction as a clay sculptor.

Janet’s focus on creating community through the arts led her to serve as West Coast Ambassador for An American Quilt, The Peace Project, and board member of EcoArts of Lake County. As Artist in Bioregional Residence (sponsored by University of California at Davis) she installed her art in state parks.

From large-scale paintings to sculpture to outdoor installations to digital art Riehl’s love of Africa ripples through.

 

 

 

 

Warning: Poems Save Lives (“Live in the layers. Not in the litter.”)

Fly Away Home  “Fly Away Home”

Image and essay by Janet Riehl. Poem “The Layers” by Stanley Kunitz.

This morning readying for June’s Creative Catalyst post I opened a notebook  which turned out to be from 2008-2011. It fell open at page 31 to reveal Stanley Kunitz’ fine poem “The Layers.”  Ah, there’s the poem copied out in my own hand from a Memorial Booklet. It’s a poem of wisdom and compassion for self and others. Very much where I am now (and perhaps always have been).

I read the comments posted after the You Tube video of  Stanley Kunitz reading his poem “The Layers.” [Click to see.] People focus on how this is a poem of an older person. Some say what the heck is this about? Help me out here.

This poem is as close to my life story as anything  can get. It’s been the story of my life since my 20s. Now at 65 it’s still my life story. I believe our deepest life stories stay with us and do not change that much. I need no college course or poetry commentary or poetry discussion group to know in every syllable, word, and line  what this poem is about.

It’s about hope and heartbreak. It’s about the courage of not knowing. It’s about the fruits–both bitter and sweet–of a nomadic life of constant re-invention. Here you go.

Stanley Jasspon Kunitz (July 29, 1905–May 14, 2006) was a noted American poet who served two years (1974–1976) as the Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress (a precursor to the modern Poet Laureate program), and served another year as United States Poet Laureate in 2000.

THE LAYERS BY STANLEY KUNITZ

I have walked through many lives,

some of them my own,

and I am not who I was,

though some principle of being

abides, from which I struggle

not to stray.

When I look behind,

as I am compelled to look

before I can gather strength

to proceed on my journey,

I see the milestones dwindling

toward the horizon

and the slow fires trailing

from the abandoned camp-sites,

over which scavenger angels

wheel on heavy wings.

Oh, I have made myself a tribe

out of my true affections,

and my tribe is scattered!

How shall the heart be reconciled

to its feast of losses?

In a rising wind

the manic dust of my friends,

those who fell along the way,

bitterly stings my face.

Yet I turn, I turn,

exulting somewhat,

with my will intact to go

wherever I need to go,

and every stone on the road

precious to me.

In my darkest night,

when the moon was covered

and I roamed through wreckage,

a nimbus-clouded voice

directed me:

“Live in the layers,

not on the litter.”

Though I lack the art

to decipher it,

no doubt the next chapter

in my book of transformations

is already written.

I am not done with my changes.

Stanley Kunitz, “The Layers” from The Collected Poems of Stanley Kunitz. Copyright © 1978 by Stanley Kunitz.  Reprinted by permission of W. W. Norton & Company, Inc.

Source: The Collected Poems of Stanley Kunitz (W. W. Norton and Company, Inc., 2002)

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Janet Riehl is a country girl who roamed the world and then came home. So many countries, so many homes, so many heartbreaks, and so many hopes. You can read more at Riehl Life: Village Wisdom for the 21st century  where the mission is to create connections through the arts and across cultures.

This I Believe: The Power of Mystery

Image and essay by Janet Grace Riehl, copyright 2014

The Power of Mystery

Something’s happening. We can feel it. From the furthest reaches of the galaxy to a sub-atomic particle. That something is the constant, organic, mysterious change known as life.

And it’s happening faster. So we’d better get used to it,  and we’d better get good at it if we want to survive as a species and a planet. The big bang has come home. The bumper sticker “Think globally, act locally” might be expanded to: “Think galactically, act molecularly.” From protozoa to protean space explorations life is on the move. The times call for us all to become creators—to cooperate with the larger mystery and to co-create our lives in concert with something so vast and so deep we can never encompass it. We can only learn to be held and enfolded by it.

Transition has its seasons of darkness, shadow, and pain. We honor that. Life takes time with unexpected turns. We honor that. And in honoring that, strangely, burdens lighten. Then the meandering path through change yields rather than greets us with roadblocks.

The pace of change explodes as life reorganizes itself for the next mega-cycle. We are being made ready. Because ready or not, here it comes.

Luckily, we’ve been given longer lives. With this longer span of productivity comes the luxurious necessity of giving ourselves time to regroup. During the in-between times we prepare for the next act. The intermission and the entire act become a creative space. There’s time to digest information taken in during the first act, time to stretch, get a cup of coffee, and greet friends while we feel around on the inside to glimpse who we are in this moment as we prepare for the next ones.

So let’s get good at transition.

Carl Jung’s concept of synchronicity—serendipitous coincidences—is part of the mystery. Reading these synchronous events is one of the skills in transition. Ordinary living becomes a source of magic with many messages. Things as simple as fortune cookies and the daily horoscope hint at our heart’s desire if we are open. Everything becomes an oracle to lead and protect us. We come to realize that we are surrounded by signs, symbols, and portents. We ourselves are ciphers in the eye of the sacred storm.

There is choice within destiny. Sometimes destiny speaks in a thunderous voice and we know we are being chosen rather than doing the choosing. Events come into our lives that beg to be used, and that beg to use us. And, sometimes, destiny speaks in an off-stage whisper.

In order to slip and dive through transition we must improvise. We must learn to live as a jazz artist plays, as a great chef cooks, as great lovers exchange pleasure.

The map of mystery limns the Terra Incognita beyond the edge of the world. If only we can appreciate and cooperate with the mystery without getting lost in it!

Welcome to my village: the power of small gestures

By Janet Grace Riehl green handEssay and image copyright 2014

Mine is a life composed of small gestures.  The days of sweeping projects are gone, or at least on pause. If I’m not dreaming big, and thinking big.     If I’m not out there Being Somebody and changing the world, is that okay?

 

Back on our home place on the bluffs of the Mississippi I kneel at my father’s feet to take off his socks, roll up the legs of his pants, and bring the warm bucket of water to soak his feet. We have known each other all our lives. My brother is the only person still alive who has. Now 65 years in I watch him fade towards death. He is so fragile, and so smart that he knows just how fragile he is. I am his youngest and will always be so. Will he leave us before his 99th birthday next November? It hardly seems possible that he can. And, it hardly seems possible that he won’t. I’m happy with the small gestures in caring for my father: the jokes and hugs amongst the rounds of medicine, breathing treatments, meals, and putting on those damn compression socks after we soak his feet.

 But, Pop! Why can’t you be happy with a life of small gestures? With so many books published and so many significant things accomplished, could we cool it with the projects already? Just leave me in my land of small gestures.

Back in the city I roam a neighborhood that has become my village. Villages value small gestures. Public space becomes intimate place when the world becomes your village. I live in one of the most beautiful places in St. Louis—the Central West End. It’s near Forest Park (the site of the 1904 World’s Fair) and the Chase Park Plaza, an icon of elegance built in the 1920s. Historic houses and tree-lined streets. Lots of places to spend your money.  I keep my money in my pocket while soaking it all in.

I greet everyone who looks as if they want to be greeted. In villages all over the world, we do that. I believe that greeting—a nod of the head, a smile, a ‘morning, a casual pleasantry or banter in passing, even a brief conversation about that cute little dog straining on the leash—makes for a safe neighborhood as much as a watch group.

A village is a place where we affirm our oneness and acknowledge our differences. A village is a place where we exchange the generous impulse to share ourselves with others—to connect. Public space yields up its intimacy as I greet the street sweepers and they reply, “Keep on rockin’ that hat!” “It’s spring!” I say. And they agree, “Yes!” The hat in question is a “Janet Special” bought from a thrift shop, and then trimmed with a hot pink velvet ribbon held together with a gold paperclip posing as a buckle.

At the side door of the Chase Park Plaza the doorman gives me a hand jive lesson (we’ve invented some of our own).  I pass the flower arrangement in the middle of the black and white marble floor to greet the concierge from Barcelona in Spanish. Then down the stairs to my health club where the receptionist—a young man who coaches a soccer team—greets me.

“Good morning, Miss Janet.”

“Good morning, Mr. A. J. Did you win last night? Are you up to ten, now?”

Later at the upstairs coffee lounge I meet the executive pastry chef who hails from Nigeria. He imparts a surprise benediction on my day as he shares his wisdom to me, his newfound friend, who he may never see again.

The lilt of West Africa wafts over me. “We must give thanks everyday to God—or whatever we believe in. It’s good for our souls.” He understands about village, and his words stay with me.

Yes, my life is composed of small gestures that earn my keep in the world. By turns I’m an honorary auntie, a mentor in passing, a tour guide, a teacher, a problem-solver, a friend. I pour tea and break out my really good chocolate before drawing mind maps on newsprint spread over the floor. I listen to my friend and bring all my consulting experience to bear. The stuff I used to get paid big bucks for I now give freely. It’s no less valuable for it. In the midst of a family heavily populated with super-high achievers (a world class physicist, a nationally influential lawyer in mortgage lending) it’s hard not to compare.

Yet, I relax into my world of small gestures knowing that out of these I’ve created a life worth living. Out of these I’ve become a woman in my prime with time to just be.

Janet Grace Riehl is a down home country girl who roamed the world and then came home. Her blog magazine is Riehl Life: Village Wisdom for the 21st Century. Become a Riehlife.com Villager.

 

 

Daddy Care: He labors in the grove of service

 

Janet and Pop

 

Pop leans back in his green lazy boy, a spoon of oatmeal balanced on the blue
Wedgwood bowl. His eyes drift to the cardinals flitting around the feeder slung from the Magnolia tree. The world is covered with ice.

“What the weather like today?” he asks.

“We didn’t get the deluge of snow they predicted but no one will be able to get up our hill. I’ve cancelled Hospice and your caregivers for the next two days. We should get a good melt by Wednesday.”

His face softens, and his head drops. Air puffs from his lips, and the oxygen hums.

“Don’t go to sleep on me, now.” I lean forward to place my hand on his knee.

He starts awake, and looks down at his oatmeal.

“What are thinking about?”

“A time I tried to help someone and it all went wrong.”

“Ah. Yes, I can think of a few of those times, too. You’ve dedicated your life to service anyway you cut it. The army is called the service. You served your family. You kept expanding the definition of your extended family. Anything we do a lot is bound to have some real humdingers.”

I go to the front room to fetch my book “Sightlines: A Poet’s Diary”  from the shelves filled with family books. Grandma Annie’s “On the Heights.” Great Uncle Frank’s “Runes of the Red Race” and “Poems of the Piasa.” Bunches of books Pop wrote.

I go back to the table and I open the book to the poem “Treasure Chest” in the section about my father. 

 He labors in the grove of service.

Remembers flat tires, repaired.

Loans proffered for crises.

Then his somber face glows

with the light of a thousand-watt angel.

I look up at him to say, “That’s my father.”

 Memories of good turns returned

is a treasure he counts with care.

His treasure chest

of good deed stories is a full one.

 Bureaucratic stupidity

circumvented to better humanity.

If there is a fetching young woman

in the story charmed

with his wit, courtesy, and good sense,

why then, all the better.

“That’s my father,” I tell him.

 War stories as WWII platoon sergeant

overflow a section of his treasure chest.

Sure, my father earned a Silver Star for heroism in battle.

A Purple Heart commemorates his war wounds.

But memories of gratitude

from men he trained mean most to him.

 His eyes, slightly filmy from cataracts, mist over

as he tells battlefield stories not shown in movies.

Lying in a base hospital bed,

recuperating from shrapnel wounds and gangrene,

Pop met a man he trained.

“Sergeant Thompson,

I’m alive today

because of the things you made me learn.”

A buddy shivered next to my Dad in a foxhole.

“Tiger,

when I’m in a foxhole with you,

I feel safe.”

“You’re crazy!”

But, Christ! That’s really saying something.

Shells whizzing over-head and grenades exploding.

How could anyone possibly feel safe?

 Men in the barracks

brought in a local French girl to have some fun.

She needed money and food for her family.

These GIs could provide both.

They passed her from bunk to bunk

until morning came.

Then these men were stricken

with amnesia and sudden blindness.

She needed to get off the post fast.

My father, not part of the evening’s fun,

escorted her to safety

as if ushering his dance partner

to the edge of the floor

when the music stops.

Quiet sits between us when I finish reading.

“That’s from your poetry book?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a good one.”

“And that’s you, Pop, as close as I can get it.”

“Yup.”

He raises his spoon, and eats his oatmeal.

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Janet Grace Riehl is the author of “Sightlines: A Poet’s Diary,” and the audiobook “Sightlines: A Family Love Story in Poetry and Music.”  You can read more stories by and about her family Erwin A. Thompson at her blog Riehl Life: Village Wisdom for the 21st Century. Just use the search box and an amazing archive will pop up to keep you entertained all Sunday afternoon.

Hyacinth Hope

Hyacinth HopeImages and essay by Janet Grace Riehl 

Hope sits quietly.

So pregnant with potential.

Clearly ready to open fully at any second. 

 –Said a friend who would cringe to be thought a poet

 

Pop (over the phone): “What are you doing?”

Janet: “Watching my hyacinths grow.”

My mother raised flowers galore. If she was going to grow a day lily, why not 500 varieties? While she’s at it, why not map out each color and kind on graph paper and then plant the beds like a Monet painting? Why not stake them as if in an arboretum and then move them around to improve the real life painting? Her only problem was that being equipped with only three children and one husband she was short-staffed

I knew firsthand the price of those glorious garden paintings, and never grew flowers—inside or out. Then, by chance I found that if I kept my garden on a tiny scale I could be an avid gardener too.

I wheeled my cart past hyacinths in the store—blooming and pricey. The wafting scent stayed with me even when I unloaded the groceries in my father’s kitchen.  A field trip was in order to White’s Greenhouse on the other hill. I went to school with Jim. He started his business in 1976, and now its annual revenue exceeds $5 million. Yet, it’s still an unassuming family business. I stepped inside the greenhouse late in the day.

“Do you have hyacinths yet?”

“None blooming.”

“That’s okay. I’d rather grow them from the bulbs.”

She took me over to a cluster of pots with green spears just poking up through the dirt.

“We have pink and blue. What would you like?”

I chose blue and left with three pots—each filled with three plants—all for less than $25. Back at my father’s I soaked them, and left them in the cardboard flat they came in. They rested on my floor of my upstairs bedroom with indirect light so they wouldn’t come on too fast.

1 Hyacinths pushing up

I went back to my place in St. Louis for a few days. When I came back, I saw humps of dirt displaced by the energetic plants bursting upwards. This time when I packed to go back to the city I took them with me in a white oval enamel wash pan I grabbed from our back porch.  Back in my apartment I placed them by my picture window where I could keep a good eye on them.

I’d only known gardening as hard work—without the joy. But in my secret garden I was surprised by joy as I watched the little plants poke through the dirt and grow all the way to blooming. Each morning they amazed me with another upward bound. I put giant paper clips in the pots to measure their progress—like marking a child’s height in pencil on a wall. Over the next weeks more plants poked up their heads. I didn’t have 9 plants. I had 15.

2 hyacynth collage growing

I carried my hyacinths back and forth from my place in the city to Pop’s place in the country and back again and again in the white enamel pan. They proved to be good companions. Amid the blizzards and unusual chill they testified to the humbleness of the life force around us and in us. They proclaimed hope for all that is green, and good, and glorious.

3 hyacinth collage little to bloom

Yesterday I decided to transplant them. I carefully trod down the icy back steps at my father’s around the corner to our potting basement down limestone steps. I ducked through the doorway and squinted in the dim light to locate a bucket of soil and clay pots. The  plastic bag of perlite fell apart in my hands and the white beads piled on the dirt floor. I scooped up what I needed and left the clean-up for a warmer day. As I got deeper into the narrow basement in search of clay pots I found that the spiders had been busy. Along with the pots and dirt I left covered with cobwebs.

I lined the sink with newspaper and set to my task—using less than a model technique. I was definitely out of practice. But, with some gravel for drainage and some dirt and potting soil mixed with perlite, I ended up with 15 plants in 10 pots. Some of the plants came from offshoots of the same bulb; I let these be.

4 hyacinth collage blooming

Then, on to the great give-away: to my niece, one of my father’s caregivers, a friend in the city. And some for me to keep in the white enamel pan on top of the walnut chest my father made so many years ago.

Pop (over the phone): “What are you doing?”

Janet: “My hyacinths bloomed, Daddy. But I’m still watching them grow.”

S-l-o-w living is so good for the soul.

P. S. Check out Chris Bradley’s January post “Surprised by Hope.”  She gave us two writing prompts:

1) What reminds you to be hopeful?

2) Have you been physically comforted by nature?

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Janet Riehl is an artist, writer, storyteller and glad when joy finds her.  You can learn more about her work at Riehl Life: Village Wisdom for the 21st Century. Creating connections through the arts and across cultures.