This week's package has just shipped! You'll find a link at the bottom of this page.
The title of this page takes it's inspiration from the many works of Seth Godin, one of my favourite authors who is shaping the world we live in. Shaping it by shipping, and encouraging others to do the same. He doesn't encourage the shipping of widgets, knockoffs, junk or spam; he encourages the shipping of art, the kind of art that can't be imitated because at its very essence it is something genuine, unique and ours. Sharing what is ours is intimidating, and that is why we often don't.
When people are willing to share, we are usually moved in some way, sometimes even to tears. I have been moved to tears many times by the art people send me. Sharing their songs, videos, recordings, stories and their dreams. Their work fuels my own, and that is why I'm adding this page. It's a reminder that I have more to share, more to say, and more to ship.
When intimidation is removed, or at least held at bay long enough to get something out into the world, intimacy flourishes and connections are made. When those connections are made, we understand a part of ourselves differently. We understand that in sending our voice out into the world, we risk ridicule in response. In reality, that doesn't usually happen; nobody ridicules an artist more violently than the artist does himself. We create stories in response to the anticipated ridicule and then don't ship the art or sing out the voice. It wasn't the world that criticized us, it was us, we did it to ourselves and that is sad.
Sometimes when we sing, our voice is lost in the noise and din of the day. We yell to be heard, or more often just give up and crawl away. Those times we do manage to ship our art, or sing out loud, what we get back is an echo, or even harmony; someone is doing something that works with us, fits with us and moves us forward. We've been trained to expect criticism, or if we're lucky applause. When we get neither of these things but a feeling of connection instead, we are confused and unable to process what just happened. We set up this dynamic of social interaction; we can change it.
We have the option to yell louder or fall silent into the land of no replies. We have another option too, and it's the one we've forgotten how to do. We can go out together. The wilderness is scary; family and friendship is demanding; art is inexplicable; God isthere in the awesomeness of the world he created and which we have not yet tamed. Many Appalachian ballads and good old folk and country tunes sing of these realities; that is why they are so powerful. For years I have loved the lyrics of these songs and longed to live in a world where such art was a way of life. Miraculously, I now do.
Like the mountain men, cowboys and Okies of the dust bowl, I write quirky lyrics inspired by my daily life and by the stories of heroes who have trodden down the path ahead just a little. I sleep under handmade quilts that I have sewn, and I enjoy a simple life that could not exist without the kindness of friends, family and neighbors. I don't live in the hills of Kentucky, or out on the prairie plans; I live in Canada, three blocks from the Pacific Ocean. Today friendships and communities are formed not so much by where we live, but how we live; by how we make art and by why we nurture others to do the same.
Despite knowing this, and experiencing the fruits this way of life can bring, I still need to get kicked into action every now and then. I still need to get kicked to ship; and I bet sometimes you do too. In addition to my lyrics and poems, I'm starting a new type of post on this blog which I'm calling "Shipment to the Mountain". Consider it a care package to get you through whatever art you are working on. It ships each Thursday until I'm finished saying what I have to say; you can open it whenever you want and read it at your leisure. I'll place a link to each week's shipment here, or you can subscribe to this blog by e-mail and receive it that way. Either way, it's a reminder to you that we are not alone on the mountain. Somebody is listening and your voice is worth hearing. Maybe you don't need to sing louder, maybe you just need to climb a little higher uphill all the way. The reward is not the mountain; the reward is being on the mountain wherever you are right now.
Katrina
Shipment to the Mountain #2
Shipment to the Mountain #3
Shipment to the Mountain #4
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