I'm Back. Sorta. Maybe.

See the headline?

That's the post.

Pop-Up Gallery Revelations

If "pop-up" galleries and shops were a thing during the early 1970s, I was too busy mangling mechanicals with Letraset transfer lettering to know about them. And after being laid off (aka, fired) from that job, I took a 40+ year break from artwork to explore the Life of the Mind.*

As it turns out, pop-up or flash retailing first arrived on the scene in 1997 when Patrick Corrielche created The Ritual Expo in Los Angeles. I didn't know any of this before artist Amy Baca Lopez invited me to join a lunch-time pop-up during November and December.

Among its many enchantments, Albuquerque has a mayor, Tim Keller, who understands how the arts can play a vital role in urban redevelopment. Amy and designer Danny Hart were organizing The Goods at a prime downtown location donated by the city. How cool was that? Very.

Had it been since 1970 or 1971 that I'd hung artwork publically? Weep-worthy to contemplate in either case, which is exactly what I did when they said, "Sure, hang your stuff."

Good thing I consider myself a lifelong learner. I had a lot to learn and learned a lot. We closed down The Goods on Sunday, December 23 so I'm still processing the experience. More will be revealed but here's what I've discovered thus far: Pop-ups require loads of energy on all levels—body, mind, and spirit.

• Hauling, setting up, and dismantling displays are super-physical. My mosaics are small and light enough to haul in smallish boxes (H/T Chewy.com!). Revelation: Think carefully about the practical consequences of working larger and heavier. Also, tools, tags, tape, and packing materials are essential. Fortuitously, I prefer working small and already own tools.

• Figuring out where and how to arrange artwork involves strategic as well as tactical thinking. Revelation: The visibility of (some) wall art could be enhanced by being displayed on a table. Also, consider traffic patterns and who else is showing what-all before choosing display space. I probably should've brought in a table and avoided hanging anything near the side door.

• Predicting who will like and buy anything is almost unpredictable. Revelation: Be grateful for the thick skin developed as a working writer and published author. Also, be grateful that pop-ups provide an opportunity for market intel. Turns out I'm more grateful than I give myself credit for being. I loved noticing who walked right by my work (N=too many to count) and who made a beeline for it (N=5). I've used these data to figure out my probable niche. 

Will I participate in another pop-up any time soon? Time will tell. For now, I'm feeling called to refocus on what I'm creating. I do know that I'm looking forward to wandering through future pop-ups to meet other artists, chat with people I would not otherwise meet, and to fall even more in love with my new home.

Me & Amy Baca Lopez

Learn more about:
> Patrick Corrielche
> Pop-up Retail
> Amy Baca Lopez
> Danny Hart Design
> Albuquerque Mayor Tim Keller
> The distinction between writing and authorship.

*Not to be confused with "Mindful Living."

Work In Progress Right Here and Now

Many changes for me within the past two years.

I seriously doubt anyone would've guessed I'd move to Albuquerque in June after visiting in May. I certainly didn't see that one coming.

As for my two most significant life changes since 2016, viz. returning to core identities as artist and Jew, those were probably predictable. By psychotherapists over the years. But maybe also by you? After all, I did write about the mosaic thing and got three posts about "Politics, Identity, and Activism" up here in May 2017.

Since then, crickets and that, too, is about to change.

Refocusing and redesigning this blog is on my list of things to do before we get too much further into 5779 and 2019 C.E. begins--in three weeks!

Meanwhile, if you have the time and inclination, here's a lengthy conversation (read: soliloquy) I had with artist and teacher, Sadelle Wiltshire for her series about Creativity and Faith:

To see what I'm up to with mixed media mosaics, visit: http://www.meditativemosaics.com

To see artwork in progress plus pictures of cats and food, follow me on Instagram.

More will be revealed here but it's already pushing midnight (Mountain Time) and I've promised myself to get to sleep by 1:30am instead of 3:00am.

What Now? Mixed Media Mosaics!

When and for how long I studied art and created artwork is another story for another time.* Let the record show that this, the summer of 2017, is when I came under the thrall of mixed media mosaics. 

Working with tiles, glass, beads, and assorted goodies I've collected over the years, I'm focused on creating (small) labyrinths and hamsas. Why those images? That, too, is another story for another time but these foci should come as no news to anyone who has followed me on Pinterest for years. Or visited my website. Or noticed my Facebook profile headers, at least ones posted before last November's election.

So this is what's happening now. Here are some substandard images that look better on Instagram. The mosaics will look a lot better when I reshoot them with a good camera.

5"x 5" Square

6" Circle

4.5"x 6"

* Short answer: From age seven through age 23. 

Politics, Activism, and Identity (Part III: Activism)

Continued from Part II: Identity

Trump's election compelled me to recall my identity as an activist. Oh joy, I get to wander down the memory lane of young adulthood, something I'm doing a lot lately, so at least there's that economy of self-inquiry.

Activism
From my late teens through my late thirties, I was outraged about prejudice and discrimination in every possible form. The big systemic social inequality "isms" for sure, but that's not all. During the mid-1980s I was, for example, also enraged by things like pitiful menu choices for vegans. Equal opportunity outrage! When it came to activism, I was at times simultaneously fearless and naive but nevertheless coachable...about activism. Maybe not so naive, given what I learned from my parents.

For one thing, I was raised to support labor strikes. My father's grandfather, Rabbi Moses Gold, was a founder of the Workmen's Circle. My mother boycotted grapes from 1965 through 1971, even though the Delano Grape Strike was settled in 1970. Looking back, I'm surprised we didn't have a portrait of Cesar Chavez in our dining room. Crossing a line of picketing workers was unthinkable. Of course, I became the only clerical worker to ever walk with AT&T linemen during a wildcat strike in 1973. I also discovered Saul Alinsky.

You didn't have to persuade me that black lives mattered, either during the 1960s or in 2013 when the #blacklivesmatter Movement was founded. The coalition between blacks and Jews was strong and seemingly unbreakable during the 1950s and for much of the 1960s. My parents belonged to the NAACP which, in case you don't already know, had long worked in coalition with the ADL (aka, Jewish Anti-Defamation League). Looking back, I'm surprised we didn't have a portrait of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. in our living room. Of course, I became a non-voting member of my (first) college's Black Student Union in 1971.

Long before Trump arrived on the political scene with his white nationalist storm troopers, I'd realized this history of shared causes and activism, not to mention the resurgence of black antisemitism during the late 1960s, was either lost or being studiously ignored. What, if anything, did I want to do about that? Or, more accurately, what would I need to do before I could do anything about that?

Next on my list of activist passions? The Vietnam War. Like everyone else in my generational cohort, the Vietnam War was intensely personal. Protests at the Democratic National Convention in 1968, draft number lotteries in 1969, and the Kent State Massacre in 1970 contributed to my formation as a student activist. Of course, I organized a teach-in instead of blowing up buildings on my (first) college campus.

By the time I returned to another college after dropping out of the first one, Nixon had been elected, his impeachment hearings had begun, and he had resigned the presidency. Like so many outraged Sociology majors and wannabe Leftist intellectual-activists, I went from liberal Democrat to Marxist, with a side helping of Bakunin.

Women's rights and gay rights* arrived on my personal radar through the gateway of employment discrimination. Getting fired for organizing women clerical workers and suing a small multinational company was one glorious wake-up call in 1976. Of course, that involved the New York District Office of the EEOC (U.S. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission). Of course, I handled the case pro se for the first two years.

The focus of my scholarly work during and after graduate school would provide another wake-up call. Like so many women in graduate school at that time, I went from Marxist to Socialist Feminist to Radical Feminist to Lesbian Feminist to something I couldn't and wouldn't shove into a category. Later, in response to anyone's shock and awe, I'd quip that my intellectual-activist world was zoned for lavender. Of course, I was denied tenure in 1985.**  I didn't fight it. I was exhausted and would eventually ditch everything to focus on my nascent spiritual life. 

Ah, memories...those memories. Lots of righteous anger but also lots of exuberance and joyful exhaustion, especially after protest marches monitored by SWAT teams. All great and groovy, but now it's 2017. Now what? 

There will always be more for me to remember and think about, but I'm having T(hat)F(eeling)W(hen) time is of the essence. It's time to brush-up hard-learned and hard-earned skills. Time to infuse activism with faith and what I discovered during the spiritual journey of middle adulthood. While I'm ready to tell more stories and believe storytelling is necessary, I'm also aware that it's insufficient. Storytelling must inspire action—starting with mine, of course. 

Posted to Twitter by @CarolSnowBooks

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Do not send hate mail, that's what it was called during the 1970s. Also, transgender people were called transsexuals; "dyke" and "queer" were considered epithets with the "n" word and "lipstick lesbians" were regarded with disdain. Do feel free to ask me about in-group bickering among organizers of the NYC Gay Pride March 1976.

** I literally laugh-snorted when, circa 1998, I stumbled upon a paper copy of my curriculum vitae. How had I ever imagined I'd receive academic tenure? Almost every publication had some combination of the words sexism, heterosexism, homophobia, and patriarchy in its title.

Politics, Identity, and Activism (Part II: Identity)

Continuing from Part I: Politics

What happened next was feeling an unexpectedly visceral need to reexamine my multiple and often competing identities in the domain of faith.

Identity

That one of my favorite hymns is the Shaker classic, "Tis the Gift to be Simple" demonstrates my ability to infuse wishful thinking with irony. When it comes to faith-based identity, mine is anything but simple and involves the dubious gift of head-spinning turning, turning.

Longtime readers already know this about me because every book I've published includes peeking into the varieties of my religious experiences and spiritual encounters.* Still, here's a synopsis of my identities:

• I'm a Jew who follows the Way of Jesus because of its emphasis on repairing the world through acts of social justice and gathering in chavurot (fellowship).

• I'm a church communications consultant who was spiritual but not religious long before SBNR became a recognized acronym circa 2001.

• I'm becoming one of "the Dones" (aka, been there, done that, and done with the institutional church as a result) while also welcoming almost every opportunity to make the church better.

• I'm an author whose books with Catholic publishers get bragworthy endorsements from leadership in mainline Protestant churches.

With one exception, nothing new here. The exception? Becoming one of the Dones. But when it comes to that, I seem to be in good and sacred, albeit agonized, company. Pretty soon I'll lose count of how many clergy have confessed, usually through private channels (e.g., DM on Twitter), their feelings of being done with church-the-building.

These clerics are typically ones who have served in pulpit ministry for eight to fifteen years. Many are what's known as "late vocation" clergy because they had previous careers in the secular world. Almost without exception, they tell me how they encourage wannabe pastors to explore other ways to fulfill a felt call to ministry. (To be written at another time and place: my own story about discerning what I initially thought was a call to ordination.)

So if I've been managing these multiple identities for decades, what's the problem? My problem seems to be handling my identities a lot more gracefully these days, but I'm not convinced that I can—or should.

Turns out that during this time of unbridled anti-Semitism, Islamophobia, misogyny, racism, and xenophobia what gets posted by some Christian clergy and most Jewish clergy often differs radically in content and tone. I didn't expect that, nor did I expect my gut-level reaction to noticing those differences.

Other than reconfiguring who shows up in my Tweetdeck columns, what to do about this latest challenge to identity?

I typically introduce myself during faith (church) community Twitter chats as having a "multiple spirituality disorder" and as being "fiercely ecumenical." Is it time to add "less Jew-ish and more Jew" or will that become evident by my activism? And what does it matter anyway? Aren't oppressors, not allies, the ones who keep track?

To be continued but meanwhile, let us pray...

To bow and to bend, we will not be ashamed

To turn, turn, will be our delight

'Til by turning, turning, we come round right

* As I often quip, "Don't get mad, get published." Being irked by the woeful lack of knowledge about Judaism among (some/too many) Christians, led to me writing, Why Is There a Menorah On The Altar: The Jewish Roots of Christian Worship. Further irked to report that this book never quite found an audience of readers.

Politics, Identity, and Activism (Part I: Politics)

Since the 2016 U.S. presidential election, I've been spending much of my contemplative time thinking about politics, identity, and activism—mine. What do I believe? Who am I? What is my life's purpose? These core questions are not new to me. I've been exploring them for decades and, depending on the impetus, more or less willingly. Inward Ho, etcetera.

So what's different this time? To the best of my current awareness, it's the impetus. Current political events have revived memories that have, in turn, reactivated questions about identity. Once again, I'm reminded how the work of self, of being and doing, is the work of a lifetime—mine. Some comfort in knowing that this is just the latest iteration of something that, too, shall pass. Less comfort in suspecting that this round of inner spelunking isn't going to pass anytime soon.

Politics
My parents were politically active the way Jews have been active throughout history, thanks to a powerful combination of ethics and necessity. Their political activism was also typical of American Jews during the 1950s whose desire for assimilation was anchored in complex and often competing motivations.*

I was raised to evaluate every political event by whether it was "good for the Jews." In almost all instances this question was purely rhetorical because I was also raised to know that the answer would almost always be "no." It's a deeply embedded question I'd revisit over the years, but rarely to the extent I started asking it during the third and final presidential debate between Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump.

To refresh your memory, that debate included Clinton's frighteningly instructive commentary about Russia's interest in and interference with U.S. politics. A CNN/ORC poll declared Hillary Clinton the winner. Want to revisit the audio and visuals? Here's a link to "Third Presidential Debate: 7 Moments That Mattered."

Meanwhile, since June 2016, I'd been tweeting, "no one should be surprised if Trump wins" and getting a fair amount of pushback. Oh well! I self-soothed by making "I love being a sociologist" my new mantra. Still relatively dormant? Any urge to reboot the political activism of my young adulthood.

As it became apparent that Donald Trump would win the Republican party's nomination, I tweaked the key question a bit to ask how bad his presidency would be for the Jews, especially given his bloviating about having Jewish grandchildren. When Trump won the Electoral College vote, I managed my anxiety by quipping, "I'm sewing diamonds I don't have into the hems of dresses I don't wear."

Hahaha, right? My plunge into collective and personal memory about identity and activism became real. I didn't expect what would happen next and maybe that's a good thing?

To be continued...

Because Nothing Ever Dies on the Internet

*I recommend reading National Jewish Book Award winner, Jew vs. Jew: The Struggle for the Soul of American Jewry by Samuel G. Freedman, especially if you're a non-Jew. Or, Jewish and under age 62-ish.

Why I'm Back to Blogging (On a Personal Blog)

Hello again!
When last we heard from me back in 2015, I was explaining my decision to ditch blogging. I thought it would be a permanent hiatus. It's not because here I am, back to blogging.

Most of my reasons for going on hiatus remain true, albeit slightly tweaked. Read on.

Twitter is still my go-to platform for news and conversation.
If you follow me on Twitter (@meredithgould) you've probably noticed a gradual shift in focus. Since the presidential election, I've become more focused on #digitalactivism and #deliberatekindness. (I'll write more about my call to digital activism in another post.) I still specialize in curating content with (and without) commentary.

Medium has become my primary place for writing about writing.
On Medium (http://medium.com/@meredithgould) I write about writing. After experimenting with a few other topics, I discovered my sweet spot and contribute to The Writing Cooperative.

As for blogging...
Turns out I was simultaneously right and wrong about the value--to me--of actively maintaining a personal blogging. But ever the empiricist, I needed to test this hypothesis.

I was right because: Since 2015, I've written two books for Liturgical Press. Desperately Seeking Spirituality: A Field Guide to Practice was published in 2016. The publication date for Transcending Generations: A Field Guide to Collaboration in Church is August 15, 2017. Last month, a new edition of Deliberate Acts of Kindness: A Field Guide to Service as a Spiritual Practice was published by Clear Faith Publishing. I managed to accomplish this without futzing with ideas and content on my personal blog.

I was wrong because: I underestimated the value of blogging to keep my writing pump primed. Standard advice to writers is to write every day. I do, in fact, write every day but not always the type of writing that builds book-writing muscles. Yippee! A new hypothesis to test. Hence, back to blogging.

I still believe I'm right about group blogs for organizations because: They're a labor intensive nightmare for whoever is charged with maintaing editorial quality control.

And so here I am, back to blogging. Because I always have more to say. 

About this blog and shifting the conversation elsewhere online...

Oh right, I have a blog. This one. The one I haven't posted any written content to since January 4th. And the only reason I know that is because I just looked it up. 

I looked for the last post with text, read it, and saw that I wrote about "being present one day at a time...each hour or moment-to-moment, if that's all I can muster." Clearly, all that being present did not include blogging. Now on my mind, this question: When will it?

At this juncture I'm not sure when I'll get back to this social media platform. If ever. So much has changed since I started blogging in 2007. Blogging platforms have died (e.g., Typepad) and others have emerged (e.g., Tumblr). Blogging itself has gone through some changes. 

Years ago, long form posts, sometimes pushing 2,000 words were acceptable if not normative. By 2010-ish, micro-blogging platforms like Facebook and Twitter, plus changes in hardware, eventually rendered massive word counts as intolerable as they were unreadable on certain digital devices. 

I was fine with all these changes, including the ascendency of visual social media like Pinterest and Instagram. Having started out as a visual artist, I became a very happy camper indeed when it became perfectly acceptable to have blog posts dominated by images rather than text. Tumblr is the blogging platform responsible for that shift. I set up a Tumblr blog and then did exactly nothing with it because I had this one.

There's more to this transition from blogging, including but not limited to these current realities:

• Twitter allows swift access to and the possibility of conversation with more people than my blog could ever generate.
• Facebook provides a platform for sharing thoughts, insights, and ridiculousness with even more space than allowed via Twitter, plus see first point above.
• Both Twitter and Facebook allow me to choose when and how to share my Instagram pics with a slightly different group of connections.
• Books are my long form, a revelation I've finally arrived at as I begin my tenth and another with Liturgical Press. 
• Public blogging no longer functions well, for me, as the place to futz around with book content.
• Any future quasi-long form writing I might want to do online would probably be better launched from Medium.

Still, I'm loathe to completely shut down this online diary (the original point of blogging) of my interior and exterior meanderings over the years, so I won't. Instead, here's where you'll find me:

• I'm sticking with Twitter as my personal comedy club and go-to place for marketing communications intel in the worlds of healthcare and church. Follow me on Twitter (@meredithgould) to find curated content about #chsocm (Church Social Media), #hlthsp (Health and Spirituality), and lively exchanges with tweeps from my overlapping worlds of interest.
• I've set up a Facebook Author Page to update readers about book releases and events, with occasional whining about the process of book writing and the world of publishing. Please "Like" me there.
• For all other longer-than-Twitter observations plus other stuff (but rarely links to articles because those I post on Twitter), "Friend/Follow" my Meredith Gould profile.
• To see what the "eye" cultivated by decades of formal art training zooms in on, follow me on my Instagram account.

Next Advent (November 29-December 24, 2015), Schlep of the Magi will show up on FB and possibly on Instagram.

So there you have it, dear readers. I do hope you'll connect with me via other social networking platforms. Your comments and support over the years have been a blessing that, not to be greedy, I'd love to continue receiving.

The Magi Enter the Season of Lent (2015)

Schlepping home in time for

Shrove Tuesday pancakes.

The Magi Arrive at Long Last

The Magi didn't expect the Holy Family to be 
so much larger than life. Quite the Epiphany! 
And the trip was such a schlep, 
they decided to head home another way.

New Year's Resolutions? Why Bother?

By the time January 1st rolls around I've already celebrated Rosh Hashonah (Jewish New Year) and Advent (beginning the Christian liturgical year). Plus, it doesn't matter for how long I've been away from academia, its rhythms thrum deep, so I always welcome September as yet another new year.

Add my sloppy but well-intentioned practice of a daily Examen and nightly 10th Step, and creating new or strengthening ongoing resolutions on January 1st seems redundant. Still, as a chronic maker-of-lists and begin-again-er, I do exactly that on the first of January, knowing full well the absurdity of characterizing these intentions as resolutions.

In reality, such as it ever is, I create a list of hopes and wishes. Some come to pass and most don't, which has finally got me asking, "Whose will is it anyway?" And so during morning (written) prayers on the first day of 2015, I found myself scrawling, "Why bother?"

Turns out I'm not alone, something I know enough to assume but was happy to discover empirically while reading Fran Rossi Szpylczyn's first post for 2015, "#Why not? A New Year's reflection." Four paragraphs into her post, "So why bother setting up some unrealistic expectations that will only send me swooshing down some giant slide o' shame by January 10th anyway? Why bother?" Please read the entire post to see how she's embracing the spiritual practice of curiosity in 2015.

As for me, enough with the grandiose plans. I'm inviting myself to be present one day at a time...each hour or moment-to-moment, if that's all I can muster. Amen to that and, while I'm at it, dayenu.

Take a page from my book...

Schlep of the Magi into 2015: Bleak Midwinter

The final approach 
to the manger becomes 

more-than-slightly catastrophic.

Schlep of the Magi (2014): Starry Night 1

The directions mention 

something about stars...somewhere.

Schlep of the Magi (2014): Boatload of Lost

The Magi finally start fishing 

around for directions.

Life as a Clergy Wife (Christmas Edition): You Don't Hear What I Hear

Yes, I was eavesdropping, how could I not? If I've said it once, I've said it gazillion times, "Inside voice, please."* But to be fair, certain types of the Clergy Voice will forever trump the Inside Voice.

And so it came to pass that I heard my husband's conversation with the puppeteer-ventriloquist the Vestry had booked for the Christmas Eve show worship service. He thinks this might possibly be an annual thing at the church where he has been serving as interim Interim.**

I was in the kitchen making an East Indian curried cabbage dish, so sauteing was going on. Still, through the sound of mustard seeds a-popping, I could hear him say, "Jesus loves you, no matter what."

While I could easily come up with several reasons to say this to a puppeteer-ventriloquist whose gigs include churches, why was he?

"She wanted to know what message I'd be delivering on Christmas Eve."

"Jesus loves you...no matter what?"

Turns out I hadn't heard the lead-in, his framework for delivering on Christmas Eve, this core Christian message about Jesus' abiding love, mercy, and grace.

"Santa is the only one who cares if you're naughty or nice, but Jesus loves you no matter what." 

I treasured all these words and pondered them in my heart, wondering out loud if this might mean that Santa, not Jesus, was Jewish. Also, why would the puppet be a goose? Given the Anglican tradition of tucking into roasted goose for Christmas, wasn't that just a wee bit weird and possibly traumatizing for the little ones?

"You don't have to go."

I'm thinking I should probably thank Santa for that.

Christmas Hamper by Robert Braithwaite Martineau

*Around here, "inside voice" refers to being inside our home, not inside a church whose sound system is at best iffy.
** interim Interim is not a typo.

Schlep of the Magi (2014): 4th Sunday in Advent

The Magi don't even consider stopping
to find rooms at an inn.

Schlep of the Magi (2014): Miracles Abound

The Magi stop to behold 

yet another great miracle.*

*"A dreidel has one Hebrew letter on each side. Outside of Israel, those letters are: נ (Nun), ג (Gimmel), ה (Hay) and ש (Shin), which stand for the Hebrew phrase "Nes Gadol Haya Sham." This phrase means "A great miracle happened there [in Israel]."After the State of Israel was founded in 1948 the Hebrew letters were changed for dreidels used in Israel. They became: נ (Nun), ג (Gimmel), ה (Hay) and פ (Pey), which stand for the Hebrew phrase "Nes Gadol Haya Po." This means "A great miracle happened here."The miracle referred to in both versions of the Hebrew phrase is the miracle of the Hanukkah oil, which lasted for eight days instead of one." From: What Is a Dreidel?

Schlep of the Magi (2014): Gaudete Sunday J(Oy)

On the 3rd Sunday of Advent, 

the Magi get stuck in seasonal OY

And yet...

 

Schlep of the Magi (2014): Pause on the Journey

The 2nd Sunday of Advent Comes

on Little Cat Feet*

*Ok, who among you gets this reference? Hint: poetry.