Imagine for a moment that you are a traveler on a long journey, arriving at an airport perhaps, after a long flight. You’re groggy from lack of sleep, long hours, and you are deeply fatigued. You’re in a strange busy place, noisy with unfamiliar language, brightly lit, chaotic – and you are hungry. Hungry and fatigued, to the point of tears, in a foreign place. You don’t speak the local language. You enter a Strange Diner, are provided a seat, served a beverage, and given a menu. The menu is… vast. Huge like an unfolded paper map. The print is tiny. You don’t read the language, or understand it when spoken to you. Everything is strange. You feel a little lost by the incomprehensible selection on the menu in front of you. You look around at what other diners are having, point to a picture, figure it’ll do and hope for the best.
Eventually, over time and repeated return visits to the Strange Diner, you learn to fold the menu accordion-style, as you see other diners doing. You pick up some of the language a little at a time, and figure out the characters that make up the language on the menu. You learn the table manners by watching other diners, and you pick up some of the culture and behavior of “the locals”. You begin to conform. Conformity is comfortable. The menu seems more manageable folded small, revealing only the few familiar options you feel safest with. Comfort feels… comfortable. Safe. Easier.
…There is so much you haven’t explored, so much you don’t know, because you’ve chosen conformity, comfort, and safety, again and again, in the Strange Diner. Most people do. This Strange Diner is your life. The menu is as vast and interesting as you allow it to be. It is as narrow and predictable as you insist on it becoming. You are making choices.
What might happen if you were to unfold the menu? Maybe just a fold or two at first, a peek at other options, other flavors, other experiences… other choices. Life’s menu is vast (so vast) – there is so much to choose from, and each new choice could open still another folded section of that menu to reveal still more experiences to choose from. There is so much to see, do, and experience. So much “flavor” to life that you’ll never taste, however boldly you choose from this vast menu; there isn’t enough time in a single mortal life to taste it all.
Many years ago, when I was first “trying things from the menu” as an artist, I decided against pastels. My first choices were based first on ignorance (I really knew very little about art, generally, or painting specifically – only that I wanted to do this thing). Later I made choices based on my assumptions about various mediums – and myself as an artist. I like things “easy”, there’s no point saying otherwise. I folded the menu, concealing the options to do with pastels (and sculpture, lithography, anything to do with fine metal work… lots of stuff disappeared from view based on how I folded that menu). I simply didn’t consider them. I was a different sort of artist, and I focused on the menu items I was most comfortable with, myself. I made my reasons make sense to me – and I made my choices. I wasn’t even unhappy about it, not at all – it all made sense to me. That was enough. I enjoyed my art. I didn’t give pastels another thought – that section of menu was concealed from me by my own hand, and it disappeared from view. “Out of sight, out of mind” – quite literally. Life (and art) moved on. The menu stayed folded.
Recently, it became clear that my physical limitations were becoming a constraint on my artistic work. Big canvases yielded to smaller ones. Homeownership placed firm limitations on storage space – and work space. More choices. The menu folded, again. Still more recently, circumstances put a new choice in front of me; give up my studio to make room for my Traveling Partner’s son to move in for some temporary-but-undetermined time, or go without help caring for my Traveling Partner while he recovers from surgery. Well, shit. Not much of a choice, but doing so would constrain my artistic “freedom” still further… wouldn’t it? Over days, I considered the “folded menu” (metaphorically) in my hands in life’s Strange Diner…
…So, I carefully unfolded it, revealing so many artistic options I had mostly given no thought to… I could return to working in watercolor, on paper… why had I given that up? What about pen & ink… drawing instead of painting? Fused glass? Origami? The menu quakes in shaking hands, reminding me that choices have consequences, and not all choices are a great fit for the need of the moment – or the artist that I am. Like someone with a bad case of munchies on a limited budget, I stared at that menu for… days. I thought about the options. How they might fit into my experience. Was it too late for a change? (The equivalent of giving up on it as “not really hungry after all”, I suppose.)
Tucked in a little box, in the corner of a drawer, hidden behind my carefully kept watercolors (it’s a very nice set that I rarely use but definitely love)… a small box of iridescent hard pastels, never used. Why do I even have these? I still wonder… My Traveling Partner and I watched a video – serendipity is definitely a condiment in the Strange Diner, it sits on every table. Pastels appear on the menu in that moment when serendipity hints at something more to a small unused box of pastels that has gathered dust in a box of art supplies since the early 80s. It no longer matters why I bought those then, what matters is what I choose to do about them, now.
The menu takes on new color – quite literally – as I consider pastels. Oil pastels? Soft Pastels? What brand? What colors? What surfaces and what tools? As exciting as trying an exotic new dessert, I make new choices, and try new “flavors”. By July, I’ve given up my studio at home, and purchased a basic set of soft pastels to “try out”. I’ve built a playlist of artists’ video tutorials, and gathered some useful reading material. I study the new medium thoughtfully. On July 10th, I paint my first small piece using the new medium, and distract myself from my timidity by doing it while I was on a conference call during a work day, letting the medium guide the work.
It’s now been 86 days – and 16 new paintings. It’s hard to imagine working in any other medium at this point in my life as an artist – a bit as if I’d eaten nothing but burgers and fries in the Strange Diner all my life, then finally tried real French cuisine and fallen in love with food all over again. Artistically, this is very much what has happened. I am changed – because I chose change. I opened the menu to reveal new options. There are soooo many options. The menu in the Strange Diner is disturbingly vast. It’s no great surprise that most of us live our lives keeping that menu folded up quite compactly. It’s more convenient. Less overwhelming. It’s generally enough – but there is more. So much more.
Anyway… I’m just saying; you’ve got options. No matter the circumstances. Whatever has stalled you. Whatever is holding you back or limiting your apparent choices – there is more to the menu in your hand. Unfold it. Take a look. See what life has to offer you from the menu of this Strange Diner. Try something new. Maybe you regret it. Maybe you don’t care for it. Maybe it’s too spicy or too bland. Maybe it’s too strange or not a great solution for you in this moment. You do have choices, though, and life has not revealed all there is to know. Not yet; you’ve still got that menu all folded up for convenience. Go ahead – unfold it.
Begin again.
Evening Light 