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That Third StepWhen I was a kid my parents had this big old wooden console stereo that sat in the corner of our dining room. It had all the modern amenities: a turntable, 8-track player, AM-FM radio; and my Mom would often play music while tending to housework. Save for the occasional Elvis record she’d sneak in from time to time, KHAK out of Cedar Rapids was her station of choice, and with it 80’s country music became kind of a soundtrack for my early childhood. It’s funny how some of those old songs still pop into my head, with memories of how I
would sit and analyze the lyrics as a young boy trying to make sense of this world. There was one song I remember in particular by The Desert Rose Band called “One Step Forward.”“One step forward and two steps back… Nobody gets too far like that…” Frankly it was kind of an earworm, and I’m not sure if it’s because it was on such heavy rotation, or if life
is just prone to giving me reminders, but it seems to come to mind a lot. As a kid, ten years old or whatever I was at the time, I remember hearing the song and thinking, “Well, duh…” As an adult however (as I’m sure is also a constant struggle for others of my generation) it’s yet another example that life isn’t always as black and white as eighties pop culture would have had us believe. Because sometimes for every step forward we do take two back. Hell, sometimes we stumble and take four or five. But it’s not the steps backward that keep us from getting far- it’s losing faith, abandoning hope, and lacking the will to try moving forward again that does. I want to take
this opportunity to extend a heartfelt thank you to those of you who reached out to me following my last newsletter. I was pretty down in the dumps. This world can seem a very cruel, uncaring and lonely place sometimes, and the feelings of despair that come with that are only amplified when time and again it seems that no matter how hard you try, nothing will go your way. It’s never just one misfortune, but the timing of such amidst a chain of events weeks, months or years in the making- and in my situation to be walking such a fine line and taking such a gamble to begin with- that really pushes us to that threshold. I was feeling overwhelmed, broken, and utterly alone; and while I still hadn’t thrown my hands in the air and given up, the thought had been creeping into my mind more than I care to admit. In the hours that followed, though, I began receiving messages of
encouragement. Notes telling me to keep my head up, people asking if they could do anything to help, and most meaningful were the assurances of “Hey, we believe in you…” I can’t even begin to express how badly I needed to hear that just then, or how pivotal it was in helping me to find the strength to push on. I don’t know how I can best thank you other than with a promise to never forget these gestures, and to do my very best to try and be someone worth rooting for. I do promise to try.You may remember that’s kind of
where I left off last time as well: choosing not to give up, to at the very least try. So in the days that followed I gave a lot of thought to what exactly that means. Six hours after I sent that email I was lugging hundreds of pounds of tent, photos, and display equipment across Depot Park in Whitefish, sweating to set up as fast as I could in the late afternoon sun. It’s the same routine that I’ve carried out probably close to fifty times now over the years, but this was the first that I’d missed a day of a show. After, I raced to the grocery store to grab some bread, peanut butter and granola bars to get me through the weekend (working an art show solo doesn’t really allow for breaks or standing in line for concessions) then stayed up most of the night making cards and matting prints. It had been kind of a whirlwind couple of weeks prior and I’d held off
on stocking up on Montana specific items, just in case the show got cancelled (again, this gig requires walking a financial tight rope and quality supplies are expensive, so you don’t want to end up using hundreds of dollars of mats on prints that may sit in storage until next year.) My plan had been to get out there two days earlier, allowing time to finish this work, but you all know how that turned out. I was back at the park by six o’clock the next morning, scrambled to complete my set up then stood in my 10 x 10 foot show space until dropping the tent walls around 6:30 that night. Sunday was a repeat, only the show ended at four and the next three hours were spent tearing down and loading up. There’s a lot
more that goes into these art shows than people realize, lots of hard work and long hours, and trying for me has never been an issue there. I work very hard to put my best foot forward and still do so with the same hope and enthusiasm that I carried into my first show, as well as the same appreciation for every single sale. I’ve learned though, over and over again, that trying in the sense of working hard and pouring yourself into it doesn’t automatically equate to some karmic reward. In the back of your mind you always kind of hope it will. When it’s four a.m., you’ve been up all night in show prep and you have the choice between an extra half hour of sleep or gluing a few more note cards, it feels like kind of a test and you wonder in your delirium if having just a few more offerings from Logan Pass might somehow help the stars align. Don’t get me wrong,
some shows go really well and you’re grateful to have extra inventory on hand. I’ve just yet to pin down a consistent prediction model connecting sales to loss of sleep. (God knows I’ve tried!)The Whitefish show was rewarding on a personal level. I will say that. I’ve written in the past about my history there and how much that town, and returning in this capacity, meant to me. From a sales standpoint though… it didn’t go so well. I probably sold just enough to cover my gas going out there, and that’s about it. There were of course a lot of factors- all pointing back to the pandemic- that played a role in this. People have less disposable income or financial certainty right now, the border is
closed eliminating Canadian tourism, attendance was down in general- it’s just a hard time for everyone. Speaking with some of the other artists who have taken part in this show in years past, they estimated their sales to be only about twenty five percent of normal. (And that’s over a three day period, compared to my two.) I definitely saw potential and would be happy to go back in a better year for another shot, but I knew this time would be a gamble and unfortunately, after the expense of the breakdown, dollar-wise it was a painful loss. In the bigger picture, though, trying isn’t limited to how hard we work at performing the duties of our jobs, and it certainly isn’t reflected in dollars and cents.
After the show I spent a few days reacquainting myself with Northwest Montana; exploring some new places, visiting old haunts, and giving this whole trying definition a lot more thought. And I think the best way to explain it, at least as trying means to me, is listening to your heart’s calling and doing your best to pursue growth, inspiration, and fulfillment in a way that has a positive impact on others who may look to your life for example. To strive for the integrity of adherence to self-truths, even as some may fault you or be quick to judge. To chase your dreams with conviction so you can leave this world with as few wonders as possible of what might have been. And to seek out those moments of peace and harmony when you just know within your very soul that you’re in tune with your true purpose, and doing your best on your unique journey to give this life everything that
you’ve got. That, in a nutshell, is what trying means to me, and I think for myself it’s inextricable from career and personal life. Some can probably compartmentalize things better, perhaps find utility in their employment and additional fulfillment in hobbies or social pursuits. I’m just not wired that way. I want to fill my moments on Earth with authenticity and passion and not waste any more time simply going through the motions in any capacity. It’s a holistic approach to apply this in all aspects of life- to just be myself and live in accordance with the guidance of my heart- that I believe will allow continued growth and my greatest chance to reach full potential; which in turn will let me be my
best for others and hopefully contribute to this world in a meaningful way. So while it would certainly be easier to just go settle into some job, a more secure existence, and hope to make peace with simply being content –that’s not trying to me. It’s choosing to stay put as not to risk any more steps back. That’s not being true to my dreams or to my heart, and it’s not the example that I want my life to be. With that another question I’ve given lots of thought to, and maybe some of you will as well, is what exactly this all means… what exactly is that truth, that calling, that guidance of the heart? I do believe that in each of our hearts lives the knowledge of what we’re supposed
to be and do in this life. But while always present, it’s not always something that’s easy for us to identify, because often it’s more of a feeling than something that we can put into words.I’ve known for a very long time that I am meant to be a storyteller. Kind of an odd role for a bashful introvert, but I’ve always felt compelled to share my view of the world through images and the written word. Since I was in second grade I’ve been praised for my ability to do so, and for opening eyes to new places or thoughts. In every adventure I’ve set out on I’ve done so in equal hope of personal discovery and that of sharing my story to inspire others as well. These aspects of what I do are
easily explainable, but it’s something more that guides a deeper drive…It’s in the feelings. It’s in my instincts. It’s in my overwhelming desire to express the sense of wonder I feel toward life. It’s in the urgent need to find a pen and scrap of paper, or the back of a cereal box or anything within reach, because I just have to jot down a phrasing or find an outlet for the words that fill my mind. It’s the race to chase the sunset upon noticing a subtle shift in light on the living room wall. It’s setting out on a venture knowing few will understand my reasoning but believing that I can show them something that changes minds and makes them care. It’s holding tight to the hope
that even in a world where I feel like such an outlier, someone out there might see my pictures or read something that I’ve written and maybe, on some level, connect or relate. It’s the feeling I get while standing deep in the woods, thoughts coming rhythmic as breath as I contemplate life and love and the magic that exists, inspired by how the sunlight filters through the canopy to cast dappled patterns upon the forest floor; marveling at how even the tiniest fleck of moss holds it’s rightful place amongst the ancients and smiling at how each fern frond is covered in hundreds of leaves that look like miniature versions of itself. It’s in walking through waist high prairie grass and wildflowers
trying to picture a landscape that once was, sensing the Earth’s reverberations and the justness of the natural world; feeling compelled to both advocate and get my hands in the dirt, vowing to return to help heal the land. It’s while photographing golden rod in the autumn twilight, wishing to hold forever the memories it evokes and convey that emotion into a piece of art.It’s in these moments, and in those feelings, that I know I’m in tune with my heart. It’s in these that I seek my stories, express my vision, pursue my true purpose and calling. So when I promise that I’m going to keep trying, this is what it means as well. There’s hard work, sacrifice and commitment that is certainly
involved with attempting to build a career from it all, but sometimes an even greater effort is required to silence all of those distractions and reconnect with that internal voice that is leading the way. Getting back to the wilds of Montana was definitely a good place to start. I mentioned at one point last time that there was a moment I actually considered pawning my camera. Sadly, that wasn’t an exaggeration at all. I hadn’t found the motivation to even touch it in about seven months, I desperately needed the money, and everything just seemed to be
falling apart. As promised though, I didn’t pawn it. I’m just beginning to dig into my edits, but here’s a look at some of what I did with it instead…
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