So I just finished reading Warhol’s biography, along with Donald Trump’s “No Such Thing as Overexposure” (which was excellent, by the way- I have a major business crush on Donald trump I have to say- brilliant man), and Joan Crawford’s bio as well, all in the space of ten days or so. Andy Warhol is in the top three of my favourite artists ever. I have to clarify that I really don’t like his style of art. At all. But that said, he was a brilliant marketer and businessman.
Crawford was a maniac, no doubt she contributed to many wonderful charities and such, but she was a raging nymphomaniac who slept with everybody from grips and stage hands, to every director and photographer she ever worked with, and she was a bit in love with her own image. Even so, there’s a genuine warmth that I can pick up on, buried underneath the Hollywood rubbish, and I can feel her kindness. Strange, if not an altogether enchanting combination.
I respect that she was a woman living in a man’s world, in an era when men wore wife beaters, drank like sailors, cussed like hobos, and slapped their dames around to “keep the broads in line”. She stood up in the face of unimaginable testosterone and put the boys in their places!
And when that didn’t work she slept with them.
All of that said, she too was a very bright businesswoman, and so despite their flaws, flesh, and less than perfect lifestyles and hangups, each of these people have qualities that I can borrow, if not outright steal altogether! They’re shrewd business people and something can be learned from them.
I took notes.
I am an artist, published photographer, published children’s book author, singer, songwriter, musician, teacher of 20 years, and so on. Most people want to be famous. It’s true. My whole life I’ve fought against this way of life and have tried (and I mean I’ve actually worked at it) to remain UNfamous. What most people see is the image of a person that the “machine” has produced. The PR guys will spin them into a beautiful mirage and the media tours will start. Talk shows, magazines, TV spots- etc. The person, or “star” will feel truly validated by all of this attention, “They like me! They really like me!” And so they begin to confuse the fat paychecks and worldwide adoration with confirmations that they are indeed worthy of such high praise.
(Sigh. Groan. Grumble.)
My problem is this, and it really is this simple: I have heaps and heaps of talent. This I know. When I was a teenager, I wanted nothing more than to be famous. I was in a trailor park for crying out loud! Frozen burritos and Vienna Sausages were as good as it got sometimes- for months. So I dreamed. And dreamed and dreamed. But somewhere along the way, funny things started happening to me. I came to understand that God didn’t heap all of this talent on me so I could turn into a lacivious, self- consumed, fame-whore! (Think, Lady Gaga, Britney Spears, Madonna, etc. etc. No doubt theese women are talented, but they’ve all sold out and would hump a fire hydrant if the price was right.)
Somewhere along the way, I started realizing that the most rewarding things in life truly are free, and they can be found in doing good for others- not yourself.
There’s nothing wrong with stacking your bank account. Or having nice things. But you’ve got to be willing to get in the gutter with those who are lost and hopeless (to whatever degree), give them the clothes off of your back, and get your hands dirty.
I absolutely love doing good things for other people.
I can’t stress this selfless act enough to people.
Every day I check my heart. I check my intentions and motives and make sure I’m straight. I started seeing a funny pattern develop in my life. The more good I did for others- the more it fell out of the sky and straight on to my head like a sweet rain.
I’ll give you an example.
The other day, I sent an email out to my siblings, telling them that I’ll be moving soon and that I’ll shoot them an email with the new address after I’ve settled in. I didn’t ask for help- I’ve already gotten it taken care of. They were going back and forth discussing who would move what- what days would be best- and hey, let’s have a cookout for the movers! (Etc.) I shouldn’t have been surprised by what happened next- my family tends to take things and run with it, often altering the nonexistent plots and filling in the blanks with ready ammunition, locked and loaded, aimed strategically at each other. My sister said that she wouldn’t be able to help move, but she could, however, make some potato salad. (Hello! I don’t need help moving!!) Unfortunately, my oldest brother used this as an opportunity to assassinate her character, all but calling her a lazy *&^%, and proceeded to tell her why he’s despised her for the past 25 years.
Oh boy. Here we go.
I knew what I needed to do. I needed to bake pies for everybody. That’s right! Apple pies.
Si I inducted my 10 years old neice into this carefully hatched give-to-others plan. If people are bitter and angry, it’s hard to keep that nonsense up when they’re being given gifts and are shown kindness. Showing love to angry people melts their hearts. I might mention that my neice is the daughter of my angry brother. (The one who assaulted my sister.)
So I picked up my neice from her school the following day, and we headed out to our local orchard. We bought homemade pumpkin pie icecream, and homemade bacon infused smoked cheddar and white cheese with green onions. I had two small glasses of the best Catawba Rose on this side of Heaven! Then, we hitched a ride out to the apple trees and picked 70, beautiful yellow and red apples. They weren’t Granny Smiths but they would do.
After leaving the orchard, we went to the supermarket and picked up about 25 pie crusts, a few pounds of butter, and some brown sugar. We also picked up some carrots, onions and fresh mushrooms. (They were fresh out of Baby Portabella’s. White ones would do.) I already had a huge pork loin in my fridge from the day before, so I thought we could make some delicious pork pies to accompany the apple pies.
We cooked about 12 pies that night, and then made outrrounds. Some were home, some were not. For the ones who were asleep, we did what I like to call the ”stop and drop”: leaving a gift on somebody’s doorstep. It’s a nice surprise when they wake up.
Not only was I trying to break down the bitter walls of my siblings’ hearts, but also, I want to teach my niece to do good things for others in the face of chaos. We’re all Christians, and while we’re not going to win any medals any time soon, we do all love each other. But- I do know also that sometimes, words are cheap.
We can say, “Oh I love you, and I’ll pray for you,” (etc. etc.) and really, sometimes it’s just lip service. Plain and simple. We mean well, but it’s a quick promise that we say so we can look good or feel good about ourselves. It’s true. We get lazy, and we try to barter with God. We think we can shoot up a prayer (I mean, that only takes 10 seconds, right?) instead of getting our hands dirty with love. Because love hurts. And it’s a sacrifice. And more times than not, we give without receiving anything. Well, what’s in it for me?!
And so on.
But I not only want to get my hands dirty with love, I want to roll in it. And I want to teach others how to do that too.
It’s not a “decision:”…it’s a lifestyle.
