Jerry Park

December 16, 2011

Do art and technology make sense as a duo?  Something so aesthetic and inspirational as art alongside the discipline of making knowledge practical and applicable?  The two subjects are even considered in opposite sides of the brain.  Can the same person who can stand transfixed for many minutes before a Renoir gravitate toward the use of the latest technology almost simultaneously?

Let’s consider how these two disparate bedfellows have actually bettered one another over the expanse of time.  The first paintings were made with crude instruments, even the artist’s fingers, on the wall of a cave.  At some point, better surfaces were discovered and applicators evolved to the point where brush and canvas led to a clearer  

depiction of the image in the painter’s soul.  The potter’s wheel at long last made a perfectly symmetrical bowl possible.  The lathe provides a similar freedom of possibility for the craftsman carpenter.  Imagine the sculptor in metals without his acetylene torch.  And being a photographer, how long do you have for me to tell you why I love digital cameras and Photoshop over film?

Well, now comes something else – the QR (Quick Read) code.  You know, those weird looking boxey things you see on products, in the newspaper, and in magazine ads?  You scan them with an app that is downloaded onto your smart phone; then you’re taken to a hosting site to see what is “behind” the code.  It can be a video, audio, text….just about anything.  The whole idea is to give you additional information and a broader experience with the subject.

I’m one of the eight guys in a photography Salon called South Light.  We are united by our passion for the art form and a determination to communicate that art is alive and well below the Mason-Dixon line.  We’ve partnered with The Arts Company, a prominent gallery in Nashville, a great friend of photography, to put on something we’re calling The South Through Eight Lenses and a Code”.  It begins January 6 and goes through February 22 and features an exhibit of 40+ of our photographs, panel discussions on art collecting, the creative process, street photography, among others.  We’ll also we taking interested parties out to shoot downtown Nashville, holding a portfolio review of other photographers, showing art films, introducing new poetry….and underlying the entire event is the utilization of QR code technology.  

When you come to The Arts Company (215 5th Ave N), you’ll see the codes used in a variety of ways.  There’s a code that explains what we’re doing during those two months in general, another that gives all the program details, but the ones I really love are tied to the photographs themselves, either as a part of the image itself, or mounted on the wall beside the work.  For example, I chose the color of the South as my subject for the exhibit and, specifically, the rich hues of that magical place called the French Quarter.  Beside each of my images, you’ll find a QR code that, when scanned, begins to play an audio of a life-long resident of N’awlins (as he pronounces it), Bruce Ting.  You’ll catch the ingredients of his favorite creole meal, hear about those jazz funerals with the slow marches and soul-filled horns, listen to the history of Mardi Gras, how winning the Super Bowl spread a soothing balm across the wounds of Katrina survivors….you get the idea.

So, now, instead of simply gazing at a piece of art, you have the option of an enhanced experience that perhaps can transport the viewer to a place beyond themselves and that spot in the gallery.  Art quite often takes you someplace.  It stimulates emotions, it conjures up old memories, it inspires, and so much more.  Can a carefully used QR code add to the mix?  Can it even take you to a place you’ve never been before?  I think so.  But, who knows?  We’ll see over the next couple of months.  Come over and be a part of it and tell me what you think!  Let me know if you’d like more info on the event.

Although there are plenty of us who’re not yet sure this is an actual issue, I do believe that the good science overwhelmingly confirms the reality of warming.  It’s here and it’s getting worse at an accelerating pace.  Fixing it is not optional.  Expensive?  Yes.  But it really doesn’t matter what it costs.  What is the alternative?

We in America celebrate with universal delight the steel-willed men who bucked up against the tyranny of Mother Britain and Declared their Independence.  It was a time when the world had more space left than it knew what to do with.  A time when distance or geographical shape and mass was all that was needed to provide separation, isolation, and protection for a body of people.  That, and a decent military.  If an ocean lay between you and your royal parents, you could thumb your nose at them and have a fair chance at keeping them at bay.

That world is gone.  Technology has rendered physical separation almost as helpless in self defense as a toy gun.  It has made it easier for a smaller enemy to threaten a much larger one.  We are crowded now, not enough space for everyone in many areas of the world.  We’re scared and reacting to it in a protective way.  We’re trying to outrun hatred.

We – all of us – must jettison old ways of thinking and acknowledge that there is no substitute, no option now for working together until solutions are found and implemented for the world’s problems.  We must Declare Our Interdependence and move forward into that with the same fierce determination and grit that created a bright new future here in the 1770’s.   I believe that would work, that it could provide for all people what we hoped for back then.  And I believe that it’s the only solution.

It means that, in addition to the suddenly bulging midsection of my body, my heart is also filled to overflowing with gratitude. Now, I generally am aware of the good things that God has seen fit to bring my way, but this week, this unique American moment, my mind tumbles around so many specific names and things and places and memories, that they all run together in one big jumble of “I can’t believe all this is mine”-ness. But, here goes my attempt to start a list….

I’m thankful….
• For Julia Park, my love, my answer, my partner in life.
• For my three babies, all God-given and all grown up into amazing people. And I have one terrific son-in-law.
• For the crazy things my grandson says, like “ It looks just like this one!”, raising his free hand frantically one day in the car, desperately wanting help to find the other one after pulling it back through the armhole of his shirt, hiding it under the seatbelt and getting it stuck there.
• When my granddaughter tells me I’m her favorite man and writes me cards with that on them.
• When my other granddaughter, at age 3, finally got up her nerve and settled into my arms with her head on my shoulder. It’s been there a lot since then.
• That my sisters sure seem a lot nicer now than they did when we were growing up. I like to see them and hate to see them go. I can’t believe I’m saying that.
• For church. All my life, I’ve been in the church. It’s made all the difference. Thank you, thank you, Mom and Dad. I’m sorta thankful for you two, also. Like head-over-heels thankful.
• For good jobs and great opportunities. I wouldn’t be able to be retired now, were it not for good people who gave me a shot.
• That God put in my being this insatiable desire to capture the world with a camera. I come alive when I raise it to my eye.
• For my buddy, Jim, who I’ve been hanging with, through side-splitting and sober moments, for a long time.
• For new friends of late, particularly those who get as silly about photography as I do. To have one or two great pals in your life is a gift. To have as many as I’ve been given is an embarrassment of riches.
• That I’m healthy. My goodness, am I ever blessed in this. Every morning that I get up and go about my day doing for myself, going where I want when I want, I am conscious of all those folks, many of whom I know, who have to have help, or who can’t go at all.
• For the senses. The smells that can instantly transport me back to another moment in time. Eyes that know color and shape and neighbors. Taste buds that long for, and are satisfied by that first taste of morning coffee just brewed and steaming. The sounds that warm your heart and those that warn of danger. For skin that feels the first warm breeze of spring and the soft pudge of a one-year old. These are our navigation tools, given to guide us around and through all of life.
• That I live in the U. S. of A. All the people here and abroad who love to denigrate America for whatever reasons, God bless you. And God help you. ‘Cause if you can’t see for yourself that our good so astoundingly trumps our bad, then bless your little heart, you just don’t know no better….
• For aimless drives in the country, watching no clock, looking for nothing more than my heart.
• That you can make just about anybody grin with a simple smile and a “How’re you doing?”
• All the other folks who’ve been given passions and skills in so many areas that make my life better. Doctors, pastors, computer geeks, mechanics, trash collectors, writers, leaders, teachers, athletes, chefs, artists, carpenters, mailmen. Yes, even politicians. Can’t live without ‘em, folks.
• For the first Saturday of college football and its “Toe Meets Leather!” feel. For the last Saturday of college football – Rivalry Saturday – that gives us UNC-N.C. State, Florida – Florida State, Alabama – Auburn, Texas – Texas A&M, and so many more here in the South.
• For Tar Heel basketball. Blue Heaven.
• That it’s ok for a Methodist to enjoy a wee dram and a stogie. Oh, yeah.
• That I know Jesus and He knows me. By name.

I have to stop. Not because this list covers it, not by a long shot. But because I hope you’ll stop now and make out your own list. I’m sure it’s as long and rich and life-giving as mine. Happy Thanksgiving. All year.

During their time there, I’m privileged to make so many new friends, fellow brothers in Christ. I learn their names and their stories. Take W.B., for example. (He told me a few times that the way to remember his name is to think of Warner Brothers.). He turns 58 today as I’m writing this. He’s divorced, but has a big family – 31 grandchildren, all local. He fell in love with stuff that’s bad for you and it got him. But, he wants so bad to have another crack at it. W.B. stuck his head in the door of the cafeteria yesterday, looked at me with a cheek-splitting smile, held up a hand with all fingers spread and shouted, “4 More Days!” W.B. is chomping at the bit to get back out there when he graduates on Friday. He said he’d take ANY job that paid minimum wage. He just wants another chance to be a man, to earn back respect, both from himself and from family and friends.

It struck me yesterday as it often has that the power swirling around those halls is the same one that lies behind the eyes of most of the folks we meet who seem joy-filled, positive, determined, fun to be around, seemingly on a mission – hope. HOPE. Hope – the real belief that better days are surely on their way. That I CAN achieve this thing, this dream. That God IS, in fact (not in theory), working in the world, working in MY world, for good. That people are good. That life is good. That temptations, obstacles, pain, loss can be overcome. That the past is the past and it cannot determine my future. That today brings to me a new, blank sheet of paper and a sharpened pencil, on which to write my dreams. The Scriptures give us this: “Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” (Hebrews 11:1, NKJV). A person with hope in his heart and the faith to believe it is true is a person equipped and readied by God to become all God intends him to be. How much more power-filled can a person be than that?

Where do we come into all this? Well, certainly to make Hope the watchword for our own lives, but also to be enablers to those who might not be on as solid a spot of ground as we may thankfully be. To grease the skids for souls new to the idea of Hope. To help them realize what they hope for. We know in our deepest being that we are to give from our plenty to those with little. It’s not just money and things, though, although those are necessary. It’s those other provisions of a life well-stocked for moving out and moving forward. Respect, opportunity, encouragement, a hand, friendship….hope. HOPE. Give it.

 “4 more days!”. Good for you, W.B., good for you.

 But, my ire isn’t about just this game.  It’s about this whole stinking season for Park teams.  Even perennial Division 1AA power, the mighty Terriers of Wofford, are having an off year.  Vanderbilt, fresh from their first bowl victory in 50 years, their first winning season in 23 years, stink this year.  And the Titans….holy moly, the Titans.  What the…!

Started last year 10-0, and this year, they’re 0-6, handing the Patriots their all time victory margin last Sunday – 59 points (The Mighty Tights put up a big goose egg on the ol’ scoreboard).

 I scared myself toward the end of the Carolina game.  Several times I had to literally get myself under control.  I almost threw the remote at something.  Anything. 

 What’s at the bottom of this feeling?  Frustration’s certainly near the top of the list.  Maybe the seldom felt Stress Monster is rearing his nasty head after a week of having to hustle to meet a bunch of deadlines – a very rare situation for me these days of retirement.

 Whatever it is, I don’t like it.  None of these things are worth feeling like that, or letting myself get away from what I know is important.  Those things, I have plenty of and always will, because they’re not ephemeral, nor fleeting, nor dependent on uncontrollable elements.  They’re family.  God.  Grace.  Joy.  A future that goes on blissfully forever.  Beauty.  Friends.  Freedom.  (I’m already feeling better….) 

 Hmm.  What I’m doing, I guess, is counting my blessings.  Like counting to ten, maybe.  Yes, feeling a little better.  Heartrate returning to a more lazy pace.  Might even start to feel sleepy soon.  Sure hope so.  Game?  What game?

 Whew.  Well, now.  Hey, thanks for letting me vent, get this off my chest.  Think I’ll grab a bedtime snack and hit the sack….  ‘Nite.

Touch.  The wonderful, enlightening power of touch.  When we think of the incredible, God-equipped gift of our senses, those of sight, hearing, and smell come to mind quickly.  But this runt of the litter, this under-sung B-teamer brims with lush pleasures and life-giving potential.

There’s the tactile thrill of contact with familiar things.  Who among us can resist touching that baptized baby’s soft little cheeks and Tootsie Roll toes?  And what about the feel of really fine, supple leather?  The sudden relief of stiff, frozen hands at last gripping a steaming cup of hot chocolate on a blustery January day.  The silky fur of your dog’s just-washed coat.  The cool, hard surface of quarried marble in museum halls.  Tickly, spongy moss under  bare feet on the forest floor.   The firm assurance of a wedding band.  Fine, warm sand sifting through your toes at the beach.  That first freshening crash of surf on chest.  And then, there is the sheer, “ah, welcome back” pleasure that comes from hands around the tools of a favorite pastime: your driver on the first tee; the skillet you’ll use on a family request for tonight’s dinner; a worn, earth-fragrant garden trowel; the solid right hand grip of your best camera; a treasured pen given by someone special; even the keys of your computer laptop when you’re on there for something fun.  So much of what we know about this world is learned through our fingers, our feet, our skin.  To go back to touch again those things we love evokes old memories and new pleasures.

Perhaps more important is the power of one person touching another.  Jesus healed with a touch, and instantly, lives were changed forever.  That power has been passed down to you and to me.  The perfect gesture at the moment of greatest need cures some things that no amount of pills can.  You shake hands with just the right amount of firmness, but this time you put your left hand on top of the clasp; you caress your wife’s cheek gently and smile; you put your arm around her waist in public; you grab your son-in-law in a big ol’ bear hug, assuring him that he’s family, too; you actually touch that homeless person, acknowledging a humanity already assured by God; you provide to a hospitalized friend that welcomed touch from someone other than a doctor or nurse; you greet a nervous, unsure stranger with outstretched hand.  You touch the arm of a troubled co-worker and ask, “are you okay?”  And who can forget the electrical surge your whole body felt when that so-cute-I-wanna-cry girl in junior high brushed your arm and smiled, signaling that maybe, just maybe she kind of liked you, too?

Sometimes words are needed.  You say it the best you can.  But a touch says you mean it.  You really do care. 

Use the good sense.  It makes good sense.

Girls are demonstrative.  They extend the hand and often the arm as far as they can and wag them repeatedly, as if at the 10^th uninterrupted wave, someone will hand them a $50 coupon good at the closest nail spa.  The verbal portion is sing-songy, as in “How are YOU-ooh?”, the last word starting high and ending a half-octave lower.  Sometimes they grab each others’ upper arms and  jump up and down while rotating around an imaginary May pole.  Squeals seem to help at times.  The first comment is always about how incredible the other looks.

Guys?  A totally different story.  Cool rules.  That’s why we use The Nod.  The Nod does it all for us.  You’re shaking your head in agreement if you’ve ever seen a Clint Eastwood movie.  There are basically two kinds of nods: (1) a single upward nod of about 1 ½ “, where the chin ends up pointing at the other guy, the head thrown back slightly, and (2) a single downward nod of exactly the same distance, with the chin tucked toward our forebear’s apple.  In both cases, the eyes never wander from their direct lock on those of the other dude.  And never, never do you nod more than once.  Nod twice, and you appear unsure of yourself.  Nod three times, and you look like you’re in agreement with something the other guy hasn’t even said yet.

The Nod strikes that perfect balance between acknowledgement (I see you.  You know I do.), respect (You’re a man.  I’m a man.), and warning (I’m bad.  You bad?).  The verbal part is short, preferably mumbled as a single, multi-syllable word, as in “Howyadoin?”, or “Wazhapnin?”, or “Whadayano?”.  The Nod is most naturally executed in the middle of this word.   And don’t even think of touching me unless we’re long time pals who’ve agreed to let our guard down, ministers, or in the Christian publishing or music business. 

If, and I mean IF, we use the hands (other than to shake firmly), it’s one hand barely lifted, palm toward the other man.  The Indians started this and it still works.  Except we don’t completely flatten the palm.  We sort of let the 4^th and 5^th digits curl disrespectfully downward to retain some modicum of control.  And, if we’re driving, we raise one finger off the wheel as we pass the other sky-pointer.

Harley riders have the best wave.  The left hand drops down and away from the handlebar, facing the oncoming rider, the thumb, 1^st and 2^nd fingers extended,  with a little curl still remaining.  The head does not move toward the other HOG man.

We begin to learn this in our unsure, respect-hungry teens.  It serves us well in the military, and then as we build our careers among other men.  It reaches its refined, customized, most awe-inspiring zenith around our 50’s or early 60’s.  After that, not only does it begin to seem not quite as important, but perhaps even a sign that, despite all the bravado it attempts to portray, maybe we didn’t reach that place where it was no longer needed, where nothing else needed to be proved.

At any rate, these days, being retired and past that zenith, I’m finding that nodding seems more useful ‘long about mid-afternoon, in an easy chair, feet up on an ottoman, with hands folded atop the newspaper spread across my lap, and no one else in the room.  Ah, yes….

But, still, it would be nice, I admit, to one day pass a stranger and his young son, exchange The Nod, and hear a small, receding voice exclaim, “Dad! Was that Clint Eastwood?”

For some reason, this idea raised its logical little head many years ago – worrying ain’t helping nothing.  Not one time had worry itself solved the problem, avoided the catastrophy, or even made me feel better.  No, in fact, it made me feel worse.  So, I knew I needed to replace worry with something else: action and peace.  Here’s what I came up with – put everything that is in front of you into one of three boxes and then take the appropriate action.

Box 1 – Things you have total control over

Examples might include

• What attitude you take to work with you this morning
• What you say back to someone who verbally abused you
• What you absorb into your mind and soul through reading
• Whether you do today what you’d rather put off until tomorrow
• Whether you begin to save money for the future
• How much effort you put into enriching your marriage
• Whether you pick the phone up one more time to try for a job interview

Action Required: 100% Results.  That’s right, no room for partial delivery here.  Why?  If you can absolutely control it, then there is no reason whatsoever to not do it and do it right.  None.

Go back through the above list and form in your mind what you know would be the correct action for you to take in each situation.  Nothing to stop you from doing it, is there?

Box 2 – Things you don’t control, but do influence

Examples might include

• How a co-worker responds to you
• How your kids turn out when they’re grown
• Who gets elected
• Whether your spouse works to enrich your marriage
• How your team works together
• Whether the product you sell or market to retail actually sells through to John Doe
• How long your car lasts

 Action Required: 100% Effort.  The key here is to do all you possibly can to achieve the best outcome.  You don’t control it, but you can surely influence it by intelligent thought and hard work.  Again, no excuses for not giving it all you can.

Box 3 – Things you can neither control nor even influence

Examples might include

• Whether that hike you were looking forward to gets rained out
• How the stock market fares this year
• What the competition is doing
• When the love of your life is going to walk into your life
• How much food prices go up
• Whether your new boss is someone you would have selected
• How the other drivers act on the road

Action required:  Well, as I used to so articulately explain to the patient folks who worked for me, “If I catch you spending 5 seconds worrying about a Box 3, I’ll kick your a___!!!  I mean, why would you?  Worry about something you can’t do a dang thing about?  So, every now and then, just to be sure you’re not hanging on just a little bit, fold the top of the box over, take it out back, pour some gasoline on it, get the marshmallows, and set the sucker on fire.

So, there it is.  Oversimplified?  Maybe a little.  But it has surely helped me these past 10 years or so.  I don’t worry (well, maybe ALMOST never….).  In Box1 and Box 2, action is called for.  In Box 3, no action is required.  The only constant among all the Boxes is the total absence of the big “W”.  And when the big “W” leaves his place in line, taking his buddy Stress with him, other more pleasing states of mind take their place.  Like peace.  Joy.  Relief.  Energy.  Well-being.  I’ll take that trade anytime.  Give it a try.  It’ll take a little practice sorting all your issues into the right boxes, but soon you’ll start getting that incredible sense of clarity and freedom that sweeping away unproductive thought and action gives you.  And that’s going to make you a better, happier YOU.