Notes of A Native Son

The other day as I parked in front of my studio, a dark shadow spread across the hood of my truck. Then the body of a hawk dipped low enough to grab my attention through the top edge of my windshield window. I followed it with my eyes as it soared back and forth, higher and higher. Quickly, I grabbed my phone and bagged the shot. I feel like the hawk made its presence known to me as a reminder. I can soar as I choose.

As creatives, we have the ability to rise above the noise of life’s turning in on itself due to crippling negativity, much like a hawk soaring high above the busy landscape. The hawk doesn’t concern itself with the chatter and discord of the ground but instead seeks a higher perspective, where its vision is clear and its purpose sharp. Our abilities, like the wings of the hawk, give us the freedom to rise above negativity, base thoughts, and small minds that try to limit us. The art of doing the things that allow us to be in our creative space requires as much if not more creativity as the creative activity, itself.

When we create—whether through painting, designing, writing, or finding a new way to get more out of what you have—we are tapping into something greater than ourselves. Each stroke of the brush, each word or idea, is a testament to our refusal to be confined by doubt or fear. We can soar the way we do because we are called to see what others cannot or will not, to bring light into dark places, and to inspire others to break free from the dragging weight of perceived limitations.

Allow your your creativity be your wings. Let it lift you above the distractions, the criticism, and the wind drag of hesitation. Every once in a while, you may see a dead hawk by the side of the road. That’s because he probably went for the low hanging fruit, the roadkill, and got caught up, literally, wallowing in death. Like the hawk, master the art of rising by find the currents that will carry you higher, where you can see your purpose clearly. Use what you have to gain the lift you need. Your art has the power not only to transform you but to inspire others to rise above and reach for their own heights.

No one really achieves success in isolation. Trust me, I tried for a long time. As an introvert, it seemed the natural way to go. Please go out there and make yourself uncomfortable if you have to. Therein lies the gateway to your success.

“You never change your life until you step out of your comfort zone; change begins at the end of your comfort zone.” – Roy T. Bennett

Seeking support from friends, family, mentors, or professional networks can provide invaluable guidance, encouragement, and resources. These support systems can help us stay motivated, offer different perspectives, and assist in problem-solving when we encounter difficulties. In the beginning, I never even considered the idea of hiring a coach. However, once I began to gain momentum and the stakes were higher, I made a calculated decision, a faith move, and invested in a coach.  Notice that I used the word investment over payment. Why, because I fully expected a return on what I invested. There was a fair amount of back and forth in my mind as I tried to justify why I didn’t need to put money toward coaching. In the end, I made a decision and resolved to stick by it. Up until the last minute, I could still hear doubt rapping at my door. My belief in what was to come from it drowned it out. I had written in my journal a week or so before I hired the coach, that I wanted the funds for my coaching to come from an entirely unexpected pot of money than my regular projects. I wrote it down, thought on it, and kept it moving.  

The turnaround was rather quick. Less than a week after I’d signed on, a client handed me a check for considerably more than I was expecting for a completed project. The amount covered the full investment for my coaching and then some. I’m not saying this will happen for you like clockwork every time. But I will say that when you invest in yourself and utilize the most precious resource available: other people, in terms of betterment, you open the gateway to miracle territory. Our success is the result of many hands and minds supporting us in some form or fashion. Your net worth is directly tied to your network. Ask anyone who is already where you think you want to be.

“We can endure almost anything if we are centered if we have some focus in our life. You can endure if you have an anchor.” ― Renita J. Weems.

On last evening, I addressed a Diversity leadership group during their orientation ceremony. I shared with them how my childhood had so much in common to the friendships in the Stranger Things series in diversity and challenges. I spoke of today’s charged political climate and present brooding events as comparable to the upside down (another Stranger Things reference). In the series, no matter what they came up against, they found a way through, collectively using their individual abilities.

On the eve of the launch of my website relaunch (www.jahnitheartist.com … shameless plug), I’m looking back over the last few years of my life as an artist (as though I’ve had a life being anything else). In 2020, the world flipped over and the art world sputtered. Funds and campaigns were started to support artists who lost work and faced financial upset. I was able to actually be a contributor. Later that year my web designer mysteriously passed away. So my website was out there in the cyberocean without a paddle or anchor. Then my Facebook account was hacked. I could post through instagram and it rolled right into the facebook page but I had no connection to message or to receive messages through Facebook messenger. That had been a major connection for me as I communicated with patrons around the world with it. Do you wanna know what I did..?

I kept on keeping on. Producing work, networking with other creatives, utilizing other means of social media, and most of all deepening my connection with my practice and the mystery of life. I walked a peaceful path in the midst of the full-on frenzy. Things fared even better for me. By the looks of things, I didn’t miss a beat. In fact, the tempo picked up to an improvisational jazz rift that allowed me to walk closer to the rhythm of who I am. Through it all, I calmly stayed the course.

I often talk to artists and makers who for some reason or another, have ceased their work. Many of them are pretty heavy reasons, all withstanding. I offer encouragement and usually whisper a prayer on their behalf. In some cases, I’ve invited them to show, shot a project their way, or something to jumpstart the action of making. It’s healing to the individual and the collective. It appears that the enemy of healing, the enemy to wholeness and cosmic balance has the intent of preventing the making by any means necessary.

That’s where we need an anchor, a stronghold, something bigger than us, to hold onto in these life storms. I’ve found that when I can pull my self together just long enough to connect in some form or fashion, through prayer, meditation, a walk in the woods, etc., things get put into perspective. In that I realize that putting down my practice is counterproductive to doing what I need done anyway. It actually gives me the impetus to do the things in other areas of my life with more presence. It’s the sense through which I experience the world.

May your entrusted practice/craft be the sail guide that the divine winds catch and take you along your journey. It’s about every step along the way, not just the destination. People have always commented on my ability to be cool in the midst of chaos. My secret is no secret at all. I’ve simply gone beyond belief into the realm of knowing that it is what it is; I have a steadfast Anchor that does not fail.

Most conversations about art often focus on techniques, mediums, and concepts, and business. Let’s take that one artist you read about, who has found a unique style, subject matter, or twist and is creating works that are shaking up the art world. Is it really the work or the one working the work. Allow me to set this as a wake up call: your concept isn’t the masterpiece/technique; you are.

“It is not what the artist does that counts, but what he is.” Pablo Picasso

It’s the art of you that makes the work work. Do you think if you had painted Van Gogh’s “Starry Night”, you would have created the same iconic work? Or if the famous melting time piece,”The Persistence of Memory” by Salvador Dalí were your idea, you would have painted it with the same impact? The probable answer is no. Few understand that a concept is only as powerful as the artist who brings it to life and shares it with the world. Again, you are the masterpiece.

When you cease your search and exploration for the perfect concept and start focusing on becoming a person in tune with themselves, a more authentic maker, something remarkable happens. Some of your seemingly ordinary ideas will resonate as genius to others. Think of it this way: a technically skilled craftsman without passion or vision won’t necessarily create that iconic work. But a committed artist who pours their authenticity dripping with heart and soul into the process, even with a simple idea, can create something unforgettable. Your concept is the canvas; you are the brush.

Refine your eye for connection, your ability to express soul through your work, and your skill in telling stories through imagery. Approach your craft with the passion of a lover on fire. Cultivate a practice that reflects your true self, and watch how your art starts to resonate more deeply with others.

On the day the children’s choir was set to leave for Disney World, I sat on my bike in my best friend’s driveway. It was sunny with that slight spring chill in the air. My friend and his siblings were carrying luggage and things for the trip from the house to the car.  I just sat there watching, no sadness, no regrets, just gazing on the activity. As far as I was concerned, I had accomplished my goal of selling enough candy to pay for my choir robe. After a while, my friend’s mother’s voice cut through my trance.  She was calling me.  My mom was on the phone.  Was I in trouble for something?   

On the phone, my mom asked with excitement in her voice if I wanted to go on the trip.  Did I want to go on the trip?! Was she crazy or had I just lost my mind. “Huh?” was my reply.  She repeated the question with a little more gusto.  This time my good sense kicked in although I still didn’t know what was going on. Of course, my answer was yes.  She told me to hurry up and come home to pack.  I tore out of there on my bike like I’d been called by God or chased by the devil.  On my way home my mind raced faster than I could pedal.  This was a dream come true. This was a dream come true.   This was a dream.

While I packed as fast as I could my mother explained to me that the choir director called. I had sold so much candy, it earned me a spot on the trip.  I had been so driven by the desire to keep my parents from having to worry about that choir robe and the sheer rush of the sell, I had secured an all expenses paid trip to Disney World.  To a child who loved everything Disney, this was almost beyond belief. She gave me a crisp $10 bill and I was on my way.

My drive and intent had netted me more than a trip to the Magic Kingdom.  It was a passport to possibility! All I’d needed was an opportunity to kickstart my solution finder. At ten years old, I had been armed with the knowledge of available power to make change in my circumstance. The trip down to Florida was an incredible journey in itself.  I watched the landscape change – From tall southern pines to majestic live oaks draped with ghostly moss that finally gave way to palm trees and other tropical foliage.  Then that magical place called Disney World. 

It was more than a trip for me.  It was a tear in the veil of my perceived limits, a glimpse through the keyhole to a place where my vision took root.  That trip expanded my view beyond the world in which I existed – beyond the high wall of poverty on to the land of possibilities. It made possible probable. 

Walt Disney’s vision and imagination continue to inspire me. It all started with a mouse.” He said.  A seemingly small thing backed with imagination, faith, and intent, can net a major return. Even beyond our wildest dreams. That summer a long time ago, I was granted a key that opened the door to a glimpse of my mouse. Over the years, I drew and painted my way out of poverty. There’s a path for all who truly desire to go beyond where they are, ours is but to find it. Where there is possibility, there is power.

It was in the spring of that year.  The winter had been a bit colder than usual. At the end of my fifth grade year I was still tiny for my age. I compensated for my size in daring, drive, and determination. I would do things like jump off the roof of my parents house for fun and catch snakes longer than me – just because it was possible. In those years spring was the favorite time of year because it was closer to summer vacation.  Don’t get me wrong, I did not mind school.  I especially loved science, reading, and P.E. Some of my fondest memories of school are of the well lit library that seemed like a cathedral of books.   Every few weeks heaven came down in the form of an art teacher who came around with her art project lessons on a cart. Heaven bless those angels.

One Friday afternoon after choir rehearsal at our church, the children’s choir director announced that we were getting new robes.  Instantly I felt sadness roll over me.  I knew there was no way my parents would be able to pay for a new choir robe.  Although I had no idea what a robe would cost, I knew it would be a strain on my parent’s pockets. I didn’t want to saddle them with this new burden.  Of five children, I was the oldest boy in a family of seven people. We lived modestly in a three-bedroom house on a child filled street with hardworking parents.  My parents worked extra hard.  They worked so hard, for a large part of my childhood, I thought vacation meant taking days off one job to work another one.  That’s  what my dad did for as long as I remembered.  Even as much as they worked, we were still among the “working poor.” Although the money was scarce – love and care flowed freely within our home. My Mom really could make a dollar out of 15 cents – and a whole dinner out of leftover breakfast. Years later I realized we weren’t poor. Poor is a state of mind. We were financially broke – a fixable situation. We had a wealth of family and relationships. My parents kept us involved in church related activities.  Every time the church doors swung open, we were there. 

The moment the announcement was made about the choir robes, my mind set off frantically trying to figure out how to get the money for that robe. In the next instant, I had an answered.  The choir director announced that we would sell candy to raise money for the robes. Instantly I heard the angels chorus. The clouds parted and I was filled with the light of glory. Actually it was just me, elated.  If I couldn’t do anything else, selling was my forte, by default.   I loved selling.  There was this time my Mom had bought this bubblegum that was super hard to chew.  None of us liked it.  This was one of those rare times when something sweet sat on the cabinet counter for weeks untouched. One afternoon when some friends were over hanging out on the porch, I had this bright idea.  In a short time, all the gum was sold.  Yes, I sold it. Told my friends it was jaw strengthening gum and sold every single piece.  I even had other neighborhood kids come over to ask about the gum.  That was the jumpstart of my first, and rather successful entrepreneurial adventure. It was also a key to an entrepreneurial wormhole – Don’t sell a product. Create an experience and your product becomes a desired byproduct of the adventure.

Now, there I was standing tall in that choir stand knowing that new robe was as good as already mine. No doubt. During the next few weeks, I sold candy like crazy.  I sold at school, at church, in the neighborhood, at church some more.  I even sold to salesmen who came to our house to sell stuff to us. After I’d sold my candy, I kept going back for more. I wanted to make sure my robe was covered.  When there was no more candy at the church, I sold what my friends hadn’t sold.  I was a stone-cold chocolate bar selling machine. At that point I was not so much driven by the reward of the robe or even the dollars and change coming in but the victorious feeling of seeing the look in people’s eyes when they purchased and the bottom of another empty box.

As part of the venture, that I had somehow missed, the choir was going to DisneyWorld in Orlando, Florida.  I didn’t even given that any thought.  I couldn’t even conceive of a trip like this. It had to be beyond my realm of possibilities.  I just saw it as somewhere they were going. Things other people did…

To be Continued…