Word of the Week - 25

Word of the Week:  REIMAGINE

Today I declare that imagination is our top and truly kick-ass superpower.  As with other endowments, it may be used for good or ill.  Today I declare it is no longer appropriate to employ imagination to  enlarge or inflate fear or worry, to use it as the magnifying glass that sharpens a focus on our suspected defects, to bend it to our will for the purpose of keeping us frail or tepid or less-than.  We, as Werner Herzog reminded in a recent interview, are able to give success our own definition and we certainly are here to save the world by whatever means possible.  This will involve stealth, humor, beauty, love and patience.

Without being vast and brilliant, saving the world, even a section no larger than a collar button, would be impossible.   Therefore, we must reimagine, redefine what we believe about ourselves and how we fit into this world that needs us at our truest.   Recently I found a quote by writer Paulo Coelho, “Don’t be intimidated by other people’s opinions. Only mediocrity is sure of itself, so take risks and do what you really want to do.” As the loudest voice of disapproval is usually the one in our own heads, that is the first one to ignore.  Sing louder than it shouts.  Make faces and do a silly dance.  Righteous mediocrity can't stand any of that.  And, above all else, throw your arms around every lumpy, battle-scarred, making-it-up-as-you-go-along inch of your brilliant being and squeeze until you can hardly breathe.  Don't let go.  I'm not saying this will be easy.  It may seem impossible, but, as Coelho also said, "Impossible is just an opinion."

In our reimagining, let's imagine this:  that most of what we've been told is wrong or, even more likely, was lies intended to keep us quiet, submissive, to stop us from being troublemakers and siphon our unmistakable coolness out of the tank, leaving us stuck and dispirited.

Empowering words from Lisa Congdon.

I realized this week, in visiting some top-drawer work from artist Lisa Congdon and writer Maria Popova on women who have changed the way we see the world, that it is, at this late date, unlikely that I will be (a) famous or (b) brilliant on the BIG screen.  That does not mean I am not or cannot be brilliant.  The stars come in all sizes.  Brilliant, and successful, by my definition.  Some days all that requires is being alive, reasonably awake and aware that none of us is ordinary, unless we choose to be.  Imagine something brighter, something better, something that makes your heart happy, not lurching along with grim foreboding.  No one has ever known what will come tomorrow.  I imagine it, and we, will be magnificent.

Letter lust

Oh, our passions, our obsessions, enthusiasms. They are not voices that shriek or whisper for no reason. They call us to ourselves.  Hand-lettering as a form of expression is hissing at me in its outdoor voice.  It is the match no dating service could top - words and drawing.  And, of course, pens or pencils.  Not really a couple, more like a small tribe of perfect things brought together.  Love objects and the wild happiness of being their playmate.

Hand-lettered art by Lisa Congdon, from her 365 Days of Hand-Lettering.  Some work included in her newest book, due April 1.

As a junior in high school, I felt my career vision derailed by an imperfectly executed (so I was told) commercial art assignment of words and brush lettering.  I switched to journalism where the encouragement was more robust.  A good choice.  Yet here I am, 53 years later, lusting and hankering and sketching in the small hours, scribbling in the dark phrases like "giant billowing underpants" so I don't forget them when I am marginally more alert.  Don't ask me what sort of home the underpants would find but don't let me see it turn up elsewhere.  I claim it as my own.

In Facebook roaming a few days ago I found a statement from Azucar Magazine, "There is an awakening going on.  You know that."  At first I took it as a reference to the spiritual, then watched it widen to mean all matters of the spirit and heart and mind and hand.  Yes, I do know that.  I live it, the transformation of a discouraged art-class drop-out into a model of five-alarm besottment with what had always appealed to me.

Today I may practice writing "captivated" and "ensnared" and "infatuated," though I do believe it is beyond those.  It is true love, misidentified too often before, this time here to stay.