"Love Your Journey Through Life!"

Stories

I have written these stories, memoirs really, about my life for my children. (They asked.)

If you're considering working with me, these stories will help you discover who I am. You will find it easier to decide whether you want to work with me after reading these.

Have fun.

A Genuine American Alchemist, Dominic Labino

Once upon a time, when I was a lad back in the days of the Apollo space missions, I used to drive out in the country to visit Dominic Labino in his dark medieval workshop/studio with glowing glass furnaces along that wall and monster metal working lathes spread around the shop floor that he picked them from shops going out of business.

Nick looked like the archetype of the Grandfather. He could have sold healthy hot cereal on TV wearing his signature plaid, red flannel shirt, suspenders, pipe (was it corncob), and over his intelligent twinkling eyes arose amazingly untamed eyebrows crowned by a full head of wavy gray hair. I loved him.

Nick was a genius. He created many of the patents for Johns-Mansville Fiberglass. He knew everything about glass, and at 54 years old, he retired from J-M and became the father of the studio art glass movement in the U.S.

Rarely have I known anyone as intelligent or creative. He was a genuine wizard, a modern alchemist, and kind to me.

Over a previous summer, I worked for Owens-Illinois, one of the giant glass manufacturing companies in my hometown of Toledo, OH as an engineering intern. I was majoring in Engineering & Applied Physics at Harvard and would visit Nick on holidays.

Two stories: First, the academics had figured out how the ancient Egyptians had made their glass, only it wasn't correct.

"That's not how they did it. I'll show you how they did it," Nick said.

He then proceeded to create ancient Egyptian artifacts. Naturally, his theory stands.

My favorite story: I was home for Christmas the summer after working for O-I and Nick wanted to show me the new kiln he had fabricated. Naturally, I was eager to see it.

Glass is magical stuff. You melt sand, (Sand! How weird is that!) and you throw in some stuff for color etc. Then you have to cool it very slowly or it will crack. You put your object in a kiln at 2000 degrees F and let it come to room temperature over a 24 hours period.

Here's the set up. We're standing looking at this simple, cobbled together miracle of engineering, smaller than a TV set.

"It runs on 15 amps at 2000 degrees," He says puffing his pipe. He pauses for me to respond to his implied question…

"Hmmm," I said, "good insulation, right?"

He beamed at my correct answer. I beamed.

It's coming …

"Yep, it's the same insulation they use in the heat shields of the Apollo space craft."

I step into his trap.

"Wow! Where did you get that?!"

If possible his eyebrows got bigger and his eyes twinkled like the summer sun off of moving water, "Oh, I invented it."

So, who mentors you?

You can have a life you love wholeheartedly. Really.

I can help.

My father was an art museum director. He was known for having one of the best 'eyes' in the field. That means, he could pick a gem out of a pile of junk and he collected only the best for himself and for the museum. Dad acquired 90% of the collection at the Toledo Museum of Art. And the museum is one of the most highly regarded museums in the world. Surprising, I know, but true.

I was surrounded by great art at home and the museum was a second home for me. I knew great art. And my stuff wasn't great.

Making art was a challenge for me. It took me years to finally get to the point of not judging my work and comparing it to masterpieces. My yardstick became something else.

I asked - Do I like it? That's all. Do I like it?

We have framed art in our home that I created that I would have thrown away because I didn't like it. I eventually learned to ask Suzanne if she liked it before I tossed it or turned it over to paint on the other side.

When I went back to Toledo for my mother's memorial service, I arrived early so I could spend some time in the parks and enjoy the landscape of the region. (As my parents had moved to California, I hadn't been back to my hometown in 14 years.)

I spent time in the woods and meadows that my mother had introduced me to and that had become such a fundamental joy in my life - a place for flow for me.

I found an archetypal soybean field and stood by the road and painted it. I completed the painting with my limited travel pallet at the kitchen table and by the day of the service all that love and grief found a place in the painting. Flow heals grief by the way.

So, why tell you the story?

Here's why. Two things.

One, Dad liked the painting. He genuinely liked it. It had captured the landscape of Ohio that he loved and the season of fall, the season he enjoyed the most in Ohio.

This was the first acknowledgement and approval for my art that I had ever received from him and it came at a good time. I was 50 years old.

Two, painting kept me in flow for hours. It kept me in the present. It allowed me to hold all the losses more easily and to be present for others, including my father.

Wisdom from My Auto Mechanic

When you're putting your personal village together, you will enjoy having a master mechanic. Scott Wands of Champagne Service (206.367.3804) fills the bill for our family.

One day when I talking with Scott he said, "After all these years working with cars, I have finally figured out the cars I like to work on. So, I only work on those cars."

I don't know how many years have passed since that conversation but I do know I only work with people that I like in my practice. I don't think my practice has changed much, but I find joy now in recognizing that I love all my patients.

Is that great or what?

You'll also read that I work the morning hours I love and I take regular sabbaticals that insure I stay fresh and eager to see patients. In short, I love my work.

Are You an Artist?

The CEO of Hallmark Cards used to speak to school classes. And as a practice when he addressed the classes, he would ask, "How many of you are artists."

When addressing the first graders, every hand shot up with wiggling bodies and big smiles.

When addressing the sixth graders, no one raised a hand. They looked around furtively to see who would be stupid or daring enough to raise their hand.

This tells us much about the US schools. Yikes!

Even though my art museum director father liked one or two of my pieces… Even though I have sold numerous works… Even though I have had two gallery shows and sold pieces in each - an accomplishment Van Gogh never managed… Even though Friends and family own pieces they cherish…

The message of the American culture delivered by the schools and media stuck so strongly with me that I still can't call myself an artist after decades of creating.

But if I use the obvious notion that art is ill defined, let alone "good" art, and if I think of art as something you engage in

"the use of skill and imagination in the creation of aesthetic objects, environments, or experiences that can be shared with others" (Britannica Online)

Then I can heartily say that I make art and I am an artist. Process not product …