art of spiritual gifts

You are invited to be part of the following project:

Following the success of our Salon Des Refuses Show show earlier this year at the Cape Cod Museum, Of Art,  we’ve been asked for a repeat.  Here’s the response, our new show, titled ‘The Art Of Spiritual Gifts, will be held on February 4, 2010, 5:30 – 7:30 pm at the museum.  The concept for our show is for each of the selected artists to describe the Spiritual Gifts they have received and what/how they have used those Spiritual Gifts in their art. Each artist will write a chapter for a collaborative book that we will publish and have available for sale during the night of the show. The artist’s respective chapter will be ‘illustrated’ with the art chosen by the artist to represent their Spiritual Gift. The representation will be displayed on the artist’s easel during the show.   Contact Robert John Cook at MayflowerStudio@aol.com or call (508) 367-5571 for further info.

As an example, here’s a draft of Robert John Cook’s contribution to our collaborative book.

Spiritual Gifts

by Robert John Cook

The first time Santa Fe summoned me was in 1979. I flew from Boston to Albuquerque, then hopped a lift with Michael Andryc from Albuquerque to Santa Fe. I was a twenty four years old, experience with flying would come later in life. Peering through the small window the clouds were large, vivid white, and reminded me of cotton candy. Their size was as big as mountains. The plane would dart through one cloud, then exit another. Over and over we seemed to be playing hide and seek inside the field of Nature’s randomly scattered cotton balls.

I reached inside my carry-on bag, a knapsack which played host to my art supplies; charcoal pencils, paper, pens, and colored markers, and a few of my favorite pastels. I withdrew my sketch book. Santa Fe would become home to my art, this flight was the first step, the awkwardness of uncertainty seductively crept in, I reached for my colored pencils to ward it off. I drew a rough draft of a piece of future sculpture; a shape reminiscent of an inverted drop of water, a wave found in paisley, coming to a point at the bottom with an egg shaped contoured flow atop, the shape brought Casper the Ghost to mind. In the same form I drew a similar shape, perhaps one-quarter it’s size, about mid-section to my original sketch, and turned it ninety degrees. The two forms now looked like Madonna holding her baby. I choose my brightest pencils and with a myriad of colors brought the sketch to life. A flight attendant interrupted my artistic trance, “You must be going to Santa Fe,” she said. “That is beautiful,” she added.

Santa Fe is a state of mind for artists as much as it is a destination for art collectors. I wasn’t aware of this until several weeks after arriving. As my East Coat hurriedness was replaced with the softer pace one might find on a Carribean island, I adjusted and languished in the easy going style that is Santa Fe. And it was in that easiness that while camping up near Taos I recognized for the first time a soft voice that would become my spiritual journey. It would come to me much later in life that the Madonna and child I sketched that day on the plane was in fact my spirts, and the child she held; my spiritual birth.

Twenty years after Santa Fe, and far too many memories and miles in between, I lived in New Hampshire. I had now become a marathon runner and health nut, each day in the gym for no less than two hours. Part of my energize routine was to take my Yellow Lab and Golden Retriever for a hike in the mountains in my back yard. The winter trail was covered with icy sports, and the crack from my weight echoed in the still forest. My dogs ran up ahead, playfully, which as I write makes me smile, having lost both years ago the memory is a fond gift. In the quietness my attention was drawn to a shift in the wind at the top of a pine tree. The rustling branches seemed out of place in the otherwise quiet woods. I looked to the top of a tree and the explanation for the gentle push of wind amongst the limbs was simple; the gentle touch of my spirits caressed my cheek with the stroke a lover might use. I sensed my father, and his parents that day, but there were also others, many others, all of whom I did not know. All of whom though invited me to discover who they where, and invitation to appreciate them and welcome them into my spiritual life.

I spent the next five years researching my family history, the icon for my quest to discover who my spiritual ancestors were appeared in the sketch of Madonna and child I did twenty years previously en route to Santa Fe. The same icon I connected with while camping near Taos under the desert stars. When running through the woods your mind will be thinking two or three steps ahead of where your foot will land as one avoids rocks and slippery roots. The flight as one glides above the trail is a rush of quick physical decisions that frees the mind, creating an eagerness to go faster, and quicker, especially if the sun bringing the beautifully green leaves to life, and the air is as dry as the mountain is clean. In that quietness where my mind could think ahead, in the future where my next step would take place, I conjured thoughts of my icon of Madonna with child and went to work researching what would become my fourth book, my family history.

From the moment the wind stirred the branches atop the pine that day, I spent almost five years after researching my genealogy. I didn’t know what I was searching for, but I continued to look nonetheless, I believed something was there, just not sure what it was, nor how to find it. I visited each limb of my family tree, painstakingly spending hours combing through old birth records and marriage licences, and any other documentation to track down a path that would hopefully fill in the missing description of my family history. The further I went back the harder it became confirming who was related too who, where they were from, let along who they were and what life they had lived. But I searched nonetheless, recording all.

At the end of three years into my research I received a phone call from an unknown relative in Canada. Lorraine Gabriel introduced herself as my many times removed cousin, or something like that. Lorraine and I were related through my father’s mother, a stern Irish woman with a no-nonsense approach that scared children, or at least she scarred me when I was child. After her introduction Lorraine put to me, “I heard you’re working on our family history, did Aunt Millie ever mention anything to you about us being related to a famous Indian?”

Upon hearing Lorraine’s question my thoughts shifted to slow motion. I could see myself standing beside this stern Irish woman. My grandmother holding my hand and leaning over me, “Listen,” she said as she shook my hand, rattling my entire body. “I have something important to tell you.” I hadn’t thought of that moment in at least forty years, probably blocked it out from fear. Lorraine brought me back to that day, the famous Indian was the clue I was searching for. I went to work investigating my grandmother’s lineage. Later that year my documented research supported my eleven generations ago grandfather as Iyannough (pronounced Hyanno), a local Cape Cod Indian that the village of Hyannis is named after.

Iyannough’s marriage to my grandfather William Brewster’s daughter, Patience, led unearthing my spiritual forefathers. I’m not a very religious person, so I’m not sure if my spiritual devotion genetically transcends from William Brewster being the Pilgrim founder. It’s possible that the same religious devotion that led Brewster to defy the King Of England and through exile lead his Mayflower gathering of followers to Plimoth became the same type of devotion I used in pursuing my understanding and appreciation for my spirituality. I went to work and learned all I could, devouring books and spending hours researching as I looked beneath each rock for clues.

I hold a belief that my best paintings are the paintings that I don’t control. My best work are the projects that I follow and not direct. When I apply paint to my pallette knife and see where the journey takes me I synchronize with a magic moment that connects me to the canvas, a place where my fingers hold a light. I then step back and feel that wonderful surge of, “Wow, I created that.” It only happens with my best paintings, or perhaps with my best guitar playing, but when it happens there is a spiritual connection that took place that it both magical and unearthly. I called these moments Spiritual Gifts.

If blood is the river that breeds life, than Nature is the river that carries our spiritual gifts. The canal that carries the flow of spiritual gifts rests on our ability to raise our antenna so we may receive Nature’s signals, which is easy for few, and sadly non-existent for many. When I began practicing Buddhist meditation I often thought the concept of reincarnation hinged on whether one did or didn’t receive Nature’s signals, with a ‘come back and try it again’ approach if one had missed out in their current lifetime. The more I researched and understood my forefathers the more signals I picked up. My antenna was now in full force, each day I would receive a spiritual gift.

Some spiritual gifts can be as simple as recognizing a beautiful moment during the day when the sunshine hits a flower and the beauty is so overwhelming that it seems the world just stopped spinning. Other spiritual gifts can be more complicated, but with practice having the antenna up makes receiving and recognizing our gifts easier and easier. The complicated spiritual gifts are those that are only appreciated when the myriad of dots can be connected and path figured out regarding how something so beautiful came to be in our life.

I purchased an amplifier when I recognized I like the sound my acoustic guitar can make when plugged in. In my cluttered studio the amplifier reverberated and produced a limited sound. I decided to play elsewhere, in a place more suitable to electric sound. I experimented with a pub in Hyannis (the roots of my spiritual forefather Iyannough). Each Wednesday night at 7:00 I would plug in for a couple of hours. In the luxurious wood of the simple pub my guitar would come to life, I soon gathered a band. At the end of a spiritually based song a young woman whose antenna was obviously receiving signals approached the makeshift stage. “You might appreciate this group”, she said as she handed me a scribbled piece of paper. I stuck the paper in my shirt pocket and weeks later visited the website she recommended.

The like-minded community I was introduced to by this stranger handing me a scribbled website on a napkin was a gift. The once a month gathering shared by this beautiful group of spiritual brothers and sisters is truly a spiritual gift. Carl Jung believed in Synchronicity as the description for Spiritual Gifts, some might call them Coincidences. In either case when one event leads to another, and beauty is created through the connection, the question becomes how did this happen. When that question is asked it’s time to appreciate the Spiritual Gift that our spiritual forefathers have given us.

I mention the story of the young woman handing me the scribble paper because the long list of odd synchronicity events that have ensued since that night on stage have been odd ‘coincidences’. The beautiful friendships, and moments of incredible piece during the healing sessions during our group gatherings are very powerful, and sustaining. The intervention by my spiritual forefathers in providing these spiritual gifts is for me the purpose of life itself. I have discovered that measuring one’s self-worth based on the dollar amount in a bank account, or number of material possessions, is pale in comparison to the self-worth registered by the appreciated accumulation of our spiritual gifts.

My sailboat, “Into The Mystic”, was made for crossing oceans. When I sail far from land there sometimes comes a breeze which with caress my face with the same intention as the day my cheek was gently touched when I initially recognized my spiritual birth flowing in the breeze amidst the branches atop that pine tree. The spiritual gift of being on the water and connecting with my forefathers is a place I was meant to be, at that moment, it is, as Jung put it, a synchronic event. It is the gift that comes with an understanding of Nature, the home to our spirits. All things in Nature were meant to be, it’s our glorious search to understand Nature that can bring us such tremendous joy if our antenna is up.

I mention the story about my sailboat ‘Into the Mystic’ because of the synchronized way my sailboat came to me. For many years I couldn’t afford a larger sailboat, in it’s place I would make the annual springtime expedition to Newport, Rhode island, for the Sailboat Show. I fell in love one year with certainly not the best boat at the show, but a boat nonetheless perfect for my sailing interests. After the show I asked two close friends of mine which boat they thought was the best at that year’s show. They both replied with the exact same boat that had piqued my interest, odd since there were hundreds of sailboats that year to choose from. Several weeks later I was visiting a friend for the weekend, while they ran to the store I stayed and kept an eye on the stove. On the coffee table was the newspaper. I scanned the Classifieds, the items marked Boats For Sale. Listed was the sister boat to the very sailboat I had previously seen at the sailboat show. I dialed the number and when I asked where the boat was located the directions provided where three doors down the street. Coincidence?

My love for the boat led the owner to appreciate my passion in caring for ‘Into The Mystic’. The owner’s generosity provided a payment plan and before long I took ownership of ‘Into The Mystic’. The spiritual gift regarding how ‘Into The Mystic’ came to me is recorded in my appreciation for the obvious; when our heart and mind are trustful of our ability to find tranquility in simplicity we can be at peace with yourself. The collective release of ego-based want and it’s replacement with gratitude-based joy is by itself a spiritual gift. And within that gift is the place were friendships built on care and trust reside.

Understanding the Spirit of Aloha was a gift presented to me that describes the importance of friendships built on care and truth, and appreciation of the spirituality that brought the two together. When I entered the antique shop in Hawaii I was at first skeptical of the elderly man behind the counter. His shop was overrun with what I thought might be better described as rambling collection of junk as opposed to the described Antique Shop sign hanging over the entrance. Cluttered with stacks amongst a maze of narrow walkways was a glass covered display case, a carved ivory Whale’s Tale caught my attention. The necklace pendant was as smooth and fulled with curves as it was beautiful.

“It was carved many many years by a sailor sailing from Alaska to Hawaii while whaling,” The shopkeeper aid. His native Hawaiian smile led credibly to this description. He removed the piece of art from beneath the display case glass and handed it to me. I recognized the spiritual gift when he handed it to me and said, “It carries the spirit of Aloha with it.”

I gave him a puzzled look as to what he meant by it carrying the spirit of Aloha with it. He replied, “Aloha is a combination of two words” he said. “The first word ‘Alo’ means a presence, and the second word ‘ha’ means breath. Put them together and Aloha means ‘the presence of breath, or ‘the breathe of life’. When you greet someone you hug and exchange the breathe of life. The spirit of Aloha is a way of living and treating each other with love and respect.” I was now very interested. He explained that according to the old kahunas (priests), being able to live the Spirit of Aloha was a way of reaching self-perfection and realization for our own body and soul. Aloha is sending and receiving that positive energy. The ancient Hawaiian priests believed Aloha was the direction of living in harmony. When you live the Spirit of Aloha you create positive feelings and thoughts, which are never gone. They exist in space, multiply and spread over to others.

The Spirit of Aloha and it’s inspiration is even embedded in Hawaiian law. Its main purpose is to serve as a reminder to us to treat people with deep care and respect, just like the ancient priests taught. Definition of Aloha Spirit State Law [§5-7.5] “Aloha Spirit.” (a) “Aloha Spirit” is the coordination of mind and heart within each person. It brings each person to the self. Each person must think and emote good feelings to others. In the contemplation and presence of the life force, “Aloha,” the following unuhi laula loa may be used: “Akahai,” meaning kindness, to be expressed with tenderness; “Lokahi,” meaning unity, to be expressed with harmony; “Oluolu,” meaning agreeable, to be expressed with pleasantness; “Haahaa,” meaning humility, to be expressed with modesty; “Ahonui,” meaning patience, to be expressed with perseverance.

When I learned that “Aloha” means mutual regard and affection and extends warmth in caring with no obligation in return, I drew on my thought that the essence of relationships in which each person is important to every other person for collective existence. I then bought the carved ivory Whale’s Tale from the elderly antique shop owner, carved many many years ago by a sailor sailing from Alaska to Hawaii while whaling. I have worn the necklace everyday since. I mention this story as a spiritual gift, just as the elderly shop owner said, the necklace carries the Spirit of Aloha with it.

The Spirit of Aloha, to me, is a powerful force by itself that can attract significant spiritual gifts. When my beautiful son, Benjamin, was sixteen he came from high school one day extremely excited. I could see that ‘Dad, I’ve got a great idea’ look on his face. He threw his bookbag down with a smile, “My friend just his driver’s license and his Mom is letting us take her car to the Mall.” My spiritual gift antenna kicked in and from somewhere came a feeling of fear. I said he couldn’t go. Benjamin flipped out and it was the first, and only, time he ever swore at me. I held my ground, and then Benjamin called his friends and told his two friends to go to the Mall without him.

Benjamin’s two friends died that day on their way to the Mall in a car accident, they lost control with excessive speed. Benjamin’s appreciation and deep respect for my decision that day remains joyfully between us, nine years later. The spiritual gift that we shared that day is a special bond, a bond delivered through the synchronicity of Aloha.

When my younger died and two weeks later my house was hit by lightening I couldn’t find a spiritual gift no matter how hard I looked. Two years later however I was bored at an outdoor art show and decided to quietly sit on a nearby park bench and practice my guitar for a performance later that night. A husband and wife approached my art display and I overheard her say, “I really like this art.” The man said, “I really like the guitar playing.” I got up off the bench and introduced myself. To break the ice and get a conversation started I always ask prospective clients two questions, where they are from, and what type of work they do? It turns out Bil Lane was from Los Angeles, visiting Cape Cod on vacation with his wife. His job is Jackson Browne’s personal Recording Engineer, every time Jackson is at home and picks up his guitar Bil Lane records it, just in case a gem is there. Several months later I received an email from Bill Lane, he returned to LA and had started listening to my weekly podcast on iTunes. He wrote an email to me and filled me with compliments that to this day still make my head buzz. I agreed to a commission painting for Bil and he sent me a photo of a rusted pipe he wanted painted.

I listened to nothing but Jackson Browne songs the entirety of time I spent working on that painting. Each time I worked on the painting the spiritual gift of recalling the adolescence I had shared many years ago with my brother would appear – those many moments as teenagers and our shared interest in listening to the lyrics and searching for wisdom in Jackson’s mystical songs. It had been years since my brother and I had played Jackson Browne’s records and listened to the beautifully crafted words.

Many times while painting that piece I drew the breathe of gratitude for the spiritual gift that was allowing me to connect and reminisce with my brother as we painted together. Meeting Bil Lane and doing a painting for him that when complete I would mail to Jackson’s home studio made the synchronized event that some might call our meeting a Coincidence, but the spiritual gift showed me something. I learned the importance of my art: Each piece of art I produce is the result of appreciation for the spiritual gift that delivered the opportunity to create. The spiritual gifts that Aloha brings to me, if my antenna is up and I’m receiving signals, is the same energy that I embed in each piece of art I create. My art is what I have done with the spiritual gifts that have been given to me, each and every day.