Showing posts with label Covid. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Covid. Show all posts

Thursday, December 8, 2022

Getting Sandpointed: A Conversation with Jackie Henrion

 



Getting Sandpointed: A Conversation with Jackie Henrion

 

KIRPAL GORDON: Reading the poetry collection, Sandpointed, I wonder if the community in Sandpoint, Idaho, knows you from your weekly radio broadcast you host and curate, “Songs-Voices-Poems,” every Sunday at 7 PM on KRFY 88.5? I ask because the book is like an extension of your radio show! What also knocked me out is this back cover blurb from the town mayor’s wife Katie Greenland: “Sandpointed is a wise women’s collective weaving of place, presence, and possibility. At once a portrait of sassy poetics, a song of seasonal survivance, and a recipe for medicinal brew sure to tantalize any literary appetite. Written by a royal flush of witty and playful writers well-versed in lettered seduction. A soul-nourishing read.” Quite skillful of you and your writing group to get your town represented in the arts!

 

JACKIE HENRION: We were thrilled to have her endorsement. Katie and her husband, Shelby Rognstad, are not only supporters of the arts but they are courageous thought leaders, and devoted parents to their two children. As part of her doctorate studies in Leadership from Gonzaga, she now conducts presentations and workshops around the world about the power of women’s stories. In fact, the other endorsements at the front of the book are from a number of potent women in the Sandpoint arts community: Carol Deaner from the Pend Oreille Arts Council, Karin Wedemeyer, founder of the Sandpoint Music Conservatory and Suzy Prez, Manager of 88.5 KRFY.

 

KIRPAL GORDON: It appears this group has a long history. Why did you decide to publish a book now?

 

JACKIE HENRION: With covid restrictions and shutdowns, the women of the Sandpoint Monday Writers decided we would stop meeting for a while. Our long-term meeting place, Foster’s Crossing, an artistically quirky antique mall and restaurant, closed. We missed each other. We also missed the weekly practice: writing extemporaneously to prompts, witnessing our feelings, and giving wings to our creativity. In 2022, we decided to reinstate the meetings at the new Monarch Mountain Coffee, recently relocated to the heart of downtown Sandpoint. The book honors the writing process and this moment in time—our moment in time when women’s voices are at the crest of a cultural tsunami.

 

Jackie Henrion, Rhoda Sanford, Sandy Lamson, Robens Napolitan, Desiree Aguirre, Sandra Rasor



KIRPAL GORDON: Cultural tsunami? How so?

 

JACKIE HENRION: The most evident tsunami is that of high-profile figures held to account for their abuse of power for sexual ends. Women are challenging traditions around the globe, most evidently in the Middle East, on the African continent, and in France. During the covid shutdowns we had more time to reflect how human culture is changing in many related ways. For example, younger generations are showing us how to be more fluid in our identities, our jobs, and our families. In over a decade of Monday morning writing sessions, we also see changes in our language. We have matured in our perspective, occupying more space and holding the interspace for other women; less judgmental and more nuanced in our observations. Not just about poetic details but about ourselves. In a way, we are more forgiving of our formative conditions. Aging together makes us laugh more about our hair color, weight, families, memory lapses, and pets. Sandy Lamson’s piece, “The Oldest Bike,” is evocative in this way: ...“it leans against the wall to witness everything going on. The oldest bike in Sandpoint is envious; the last time it tried to see and hear everything, someone pushed it outside, where it fell into a crumpled heap from which it could not extricate itself without assistance. It was very embarrassing.”

 

KIRPAL GORDON: How did you discover or decide on the title Sandpointed?

 

JACKIE HENRION: We stretched the town’s name to a descriptive term to increase its stickiness. If you know a little about the literary history of the Northwest, you will have heard of Richard Hugo, the revered poetry professor at Montana State Bozeman, memorialized by the Hugo House in Seattle. He wrote a book called The Triggering Town, about his poetic philosophy. The resultant dominant cultural legacy from Seattle’s University of Washington out to the plains of Montana, is place-based. Certainly in Sandpoint, our creative language can’t help but include the geography, such as my poem “Lake This.”

“The lake exudes a tufted sailing regatta, lofted

Scrims wafting, floating, coasting along

The viscous surface about to be ice.

Like tall ships and small craft, drifting in the Northward breeze

Stately procession, over immobilized waves. Ducks

Dive, punctuating the edge of the crust periodically, Purposefully."

 

Or Desiree’s story about Marburl, the lone post-apocalyptic figure who accumulates family on his way to the remembered safety of Sandpoint. In this way one can see Sandpoint as an enclave of hope where men and women can navigate new streams from their regional cultural lineage.

 


KIRPAL GORDON: The reputation of North Idaho and the extremist community called the American Redoubt movement have grabbed headlines in the recent past.

 

JACKIE HENRION: They are a noisy minority. But our group chooses to focus instead on authentic experiences and communal sensibilities. This book amplifies our shared experiences. We wish to become louder, inspire others. We write about this place and the paradox and diversity of viewpoints found here. We embrace them all. Writing our first and best thoughts, reading them to each other, and acknowledging each other happens quietly, yet profoundly, every week.

 

KIRPAL GORDON: Does the Sandpoint community know that you received your MFA degree from the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics at Naropa University? I ask because your poetry project reflects a commitment to make community wherever you are, which the original JKSDP program directors, Allen Ginsberg and Anne Waldman, powerfully espoused. How did your degree from Naropa affect this project?

 

JACKIE HENRION: Although my work at Naropa influenced my language, our writing group uses the concepts through osmosis. At Naropa, I experimented with writing tools that helped me rise above cliches and think more poetically from Eleni Sikelianos. I also learned much about women’s writing and philosophy in Gabrielle Civil's class, discovering my lineage of the interspace and bridging through Dickinson, AnzaldĂșa, Perloff, and others. From Anne Waldman, I learned how politics begins and ends with personal sensations. But more than anything, I absorbed the value of continuing focus and energy: The “vow to poetry,” Anne describes. To learn the fundamentals of eloquent expression, then to value it enough to go to print, is a kind of sacred rite. As a result, it has been a delight to work with Laura Wahl at Turtlemoon Publishing, whose underlying mission is to publish women's stories and work. My MFA from Naropa helped me navigate the curating, editing, publishing, and marketing arenas more confidently. But all this knowledge fits within my parallel study of meditation and mind.

 

KIRPAL GORDON: Can you say more about your study of mind?

 

JACKIE HENRION: Before I went to Naropa, I had experience with meditation, and my undergraduate degree was in psychology. Then I encountered the work of psychologist Daniel J. Siegel. His concepts provide a framework and tools to integrate all of this knowledge in a helpful way for writing. I will mention only two here. His “wheel of awareness” describes four areas of insight critical to growth: the five senses, sensory awareness of subtle internal body processes, our thoughts and emotions, and finally, interpersonal dynamics. We can rise above the conventional when writers integrate language in these areas.

            The second is what I see as original innocence. When we start to discover ourselves through writing, we are more compassionate if we understand that we, and others, are formed from our DNA and circumstances. We learn how to survive through our formative environments.  For example, Robens’ poem, “Where God Lives,” is a poignant artifact of her upbringing as a minister's daughter.

“In my palms, the heat of suppressed youth

pulsed and ran up past the restricting cuffs

of my Sunday dress into my restless arms.”

 

When we become more self-aware through these writing processes, we learn that we can choose our actions and words differently with a focus of attention. Then our writing can take wings poetically. Our resultant growth and integration and provides something valuable for readers.

 

 


KIRPAL GORDON: How do you see that shaking out for readers of Sandpointed?

 

JACKIE HENRION: I see it as a kind of chamber music. The unique thing we have found through the group is a resonance of words and concepts. We achieve this resonance through one of our processes: collecting a list of words during the month which we use directly or for inspiration. In our writing, you can hear a repetition or echo in the finished pieces. Like the first poem by Desiree Aguirre mentions porcupines, so does one of my poems. You will also encounter some “recipes” from different writers. These repetitions are random and individually filtered yet pull the work together: a collection of “Wild Minds” at work. Like music, it takes time to absorb the vibrational qualities. Rhoda's Sanford's last poem in the book, “Give It Some Time,” is an apt invocation:

“...savor the taste,

feel the richness.

Relax into the pungent whisper of fulfillment.”

 

 Hopefully, it will inspire people to take this home and start writing groups of their own. It can be transformative---in the most subtle and fundamental ways.

 

KIRPAL GORDON: How can readers find the book?

 

JACKIE HENRION: It’s available on Amazon as well as in local shops (https://a.co/d/9o0OHWh). Many come to Sandpoint to enjoy skiing, the lake amenities, hunting, fishing, and scenery. But this book is a gift to yourself or someone else about real people who live here, their interior landscape, their hopes for growth, and ultimately their courage to share their work.

 


Thursday, July 15, 2021

Music Next by Marty Khan

 


Reprinted from Practice Magazine

 

As a management strategist and project developer for over 45 years, it has always been my methodology to plan for both a best-case and worst-case scenario, knowing that reality will fall somewhere in between.  With that approach in mind regarding our current Covid-inflicted crisis, I believe that we have to be prepared for the possibility that we may not emerge from under its scourge. If we do, great, but if we don’t … we need to be ready for that reality. And what are some of the worst-case scenarios we may be facing? In simplest terms that in the foreseeable future:

  • Music may not be performed in front of live audiences. 
  • Earning money through live musical performance may not be possible.
  • Getting together with groups of musicians in person may no longer be viable. 

I’m not writing this to establish a definitive position. To do so this essay would need to be far longer to support and explain everything I’m saying. Rather, my purpose is to stimulate consideration and discourse as we all struggle to come to terms with a dilemma that twelve months ago was inconceivable. That said…

As we all confront variations on the theme of WTF now? – let’s pause, pull back, and take a wide-angle view to consider the inception of our personal journeys in the pursuit of music. What is it that brings a musician to that decision – and even more than that, what is their ultimate goal? 

To help answer this difficult question, let’s pose other questions. Why does one practice yoga? Or meditate; watch a meaningful film; read an impactful book; study an interesting subject; work out at the gym … and so on and so on? The common answer to all of these things is the pursuit of self-improvement and personal growth. In some cases, there is a simple goal – lose weight, build muscle, equip oneself with the knowledge to interact with someone or something that means something to you. But on the higher level, the goal is to pursue transcendence and the profound … to uplift the soul and improve one’s being in pursuit of the miraculous. 

So who the hell decided that a primary purpose of pursuing music is to make money?

Since the development of artists’ careers and opportunities has been the focus of my professional work for well over 40 years, let’s just accept that purpose as a given – for the moment.

I read a very perceptive comment a few years back by someone who suggested that rather than lament the fact that people aren’t paying for music any longer, we should appreciate how fortunate we were to get away with it for almost 100 years, because prior to that nobody ever paid for music. While that is not entirely accurate, and he was primarily referring to sale of product, the statement is meaningful in a more general way.

Prior to its commercialization, music was generally heard in parks, town squares, royal courts, places of worship, and so on. I don’t know how much it cost to go to concerts, but considering what I was paying when I came up in the ‘60s and well into the ‘70s, it couldn’t have cost too much. Part of this was due to the exploitation of the artists, and I did my part to level the playing field in the ‘80s while still keeping the costs to the consumers quite reasonable. Our policy was always whatever the market will bear. But then came the Reagan years and what I generally have referred to ever since then as The Republicanization of the Performing Arts, leading to an artificial economy that would inevitably collapse.  However, that’s a different piece for another time.

In truth, the business of jazz has been disintegrating steadily for at least thirty years. Since my focus here is particularly upon the jazz form – the butt end of the arts economy – it would seem that there wasn’t a lot of room for things to get much worse, but they really did. I’ve written extensively about the economic plummet for over twenty years – the monolithic institutions, joined at the hip to the misguided invasion of the performing arts funding world; the emergence of the promoter/venue as star; the anointment of “influential” artists by institutions rather than emerging organically from the artists themselves; the post-Reagan perversion of the profit concept – have all led to a dysfunctional economy with a polarization of fees parallel to the same 1% vs. 99% imbalance that is crippling our society. 

A simple question: is the Covid crisis essentially a disastrous disruption of a viable business for the jazz artist? Let’s consider what I wrote to all my clients and many colleagues early last year…

… we should view the current reality not as a stumbling block to overcome in order to get back into the antiquated, ineffective and user-unfriendly realm that has now been shut off, but rather as an opportunity for a more viable, productive, and rewarding new reality that may now be within our reach.  

Think of this: prior to the crisis, how many artists were even close to supporting themselves through performing – either live or through recorded product? And then, how much work is entailed in doing a small tour, or even a solitary gig, where the primary goal is often just to not lose money. Consider the work that goes into:

  • Getting the interest of a presenter (or agent)
  • Securing the gig
  • Making sure it can be viable (support gigs, overhead, etc.)
  • Locking in the personnel
  • Rehearsing the group
  • Getting there and back
  • Making sure you get your money

It’s an exhausting process … is it really worth it? And is the real fulfillment in playing the music, or is it the response of the audience? And in all honesty, are either of those two goals achieved to a really satisfactory level. In any case, an important consideration: can you achieve the purpose of expression without an audience response? If you can, that would eliminate five of the seven bullet points above. It would also mean that making the music as an ensemble would be done for the love of it. And if you have the spiritual substance for it within yourselves – in the pursuit of Transcendence. If you don’t, then in pursuit of joy. You can still share it with an audience, just not in real time. Considering the array of challenges that real-time music-sharing can pose … would that really be such a bad thing?

 

After all, we all do things that are deeply meaningful and essential to us without the added element of doing it for commercial purposes. Can’t music fall into that same domain?

Which brings us back to the yoga comparison, along with the added element of how musicians actually make their living – outside the somewhat questionable, but not terribly uncommon, approach of having your life partner work to support your artistry.

Doesn’t teaching – privately or institutionally – occupy a lot of that terrain? For some of you, that is a calling. For others, it is a necessary application to allow you to pursue the music of your heart’s desire. For many, it may be both. Why are you teaching? Is it to produce more professionals to further glut an already overburdened economic environment? Or is it more for the love of music and the positive growth and development of the student?

So … consider the yoga industry. How many facilities, teachers, and students are involved in that pursuit? Isn’t there a common purpose – a set of values that every student essentially shares? Isn’t it also clear that the private teacher and/or institution is motivated by the combined purpose of enhancing the student’s experience and making money while doing it? 

Get where I’m going here? Not fully? OK, I understand. 

Music isn’t yoga. It can’t be done by anyone with a mat and the proper apparel. Who says? Music can be done by anyone with a voice, a bucket and stick, or lips that can whistle. With a minimal investment, it can be a harmonica, a recorder or a cheap electronic keyboard. But will it be of a worthwhile quality? It’s probably best for me not to offer an opinion about what is or isn’t good music here … and that really isn’t the point.

Let’s just go with this: Music in its highest form is a spiritual quest, which if achieved successfully is an incredibly enriching, life-affirming and profound contribution to the world and every individual in it. While yoga is … well … pretty much the same, no?  And it might make sense to check in with a true yogi about that, as I assume that there may be a good deal more of them than musicians who can properly claim that same level of mastery. 

Some of the most transcendent music I’ve ever heard has been made without commercial intent and where an audience was somewhat incidental: a shehnai player with drummers at a Sufi shrine in India; Pygmy music; Gospel choirs; a Senufo trumpet choir. I often enjoyed a trombone choir that used to play in midtown NYC – they were spectacular! One day during a break I spoke to the leader and told him that I would like to bring a certain record exec with a very open mind to hear them. He thanked me but said that this wasn’t why they played music … it was just for God. 

So … imagine a world in which you have a large number of minds and souls who can benefit by exposure to your teaching and who can be connected to the incredible legacy of the music’s past immortals; where you can create music with like-minded artists for the sheer pursuit of the miraculous (or on a less ambitious level, for a delightfully good time). Where your own pursuit of mastery is for the perfection of your own being rather than a competition for the meager rewards that await most professional musicians – or the lottery of becoming one of the anointed and/or a recipient of the occasional grant or one of the bigger (and highly arbitrary) awards.

Who loses by this shift in emphasis? 

  • The world of absurdly priced higher education that sells students on a six-figure investment that is highly unlikely to ever be recouped as a professional
  • Bloated monolithic institutions with ridiculous overheads fueled by millions of dollars of squandered contributions 
  • Self-important presenters who consider themselves stars of equal magnitude to the artists upon whom they bestow the rare gig
  • Arts funding professionals whose bloated salaries far outweigh the artist recipients as they foster trickle-down economics and combat self-empowerment in order to remain the new plantation
  • Instrument companies charging incredibly high prices for their products while thousands upon thousands of instruments remain locked up in the storerooms of public schools all over the country

This all may seem a bit simplistic, but it’s all in the quest for a certain brevity. There’s far more to say … and I will. That includes an answer to those who may say that I can’t address this because I’m not a musician. 

I’ll wrap this up by re-stating something I say above: We should view the current reality not as a stumbling block to overcome in order to get back into the antiquated, ineffective, and user-unfriendly realm that has now been shut off, but rather as an opportunity for a more viable, productive, and rewarding new reality that may now be within our reach.

Peace & A Love Supreme!

Marty Khan, arts management consultant, strategist, producer. problem solver, writer, educator and more than occasional pain in the ass to fools.
Executive Director of Outward Visions. Inc. www.outwardvisions.com