Elizabethtown

There are very few movies that persuade me the way Elizabethtown has done. In my collection of movies to watch on a rainy day, I own Dead Poets Society, Good Will Hunting, Bridges of Madison County, and now, soon to own, Elizabethtown.

The movies that touch me most have some relational aspect of them to either my experiences, loves, interests, or desires. Such as, I need that road trip taken out of Elizabethtown. We lose too much in our haste to attain some destination that we lose, or forget, or maybe overlook, that the journey tends to be more powerful and impactful than the destination.

In fact, I have done things similar to that final destination, though less grandiose, as that in this movie.

I remember bringing my future wife (now current wife) across the state, providing directions for her, and noting landmarks she would see along the country route. There are small things I remember, like the word “Creamery” in cement, on a brick building in Carson City, Michigan (which was covered up by some senseless individual). Or the farm with several tractors, believe they were John Deere’s, on the corner of Barry and Washington Road in central Michigan.

But, what Elizabethtown has given to me is the quote on failure. I have failed at many things, many times, even today, but I continue to press on and look for new ways of doing things, new ways of experiencing life, new ways of understanding this world we live within.

Failure is a non-achievement the conformists and the mundane love to force upon the non-traditionalist, with admiration. Whereas, we, the artists, love to see failure validate our non-conformist ways. Why? Because we know failures are merely steps to success.

In the corporate world, perfection without failure equals mediocrity and attainment of the status quo. Outside of that, those challenging the norm, who eventually succeed, see success greater than that imagined. Those who fail, either pick up and move on, settle for the security of the mundane and the mediocre, or pass silently away to obscurity through their own madness.

I may be close to the madness, at least my wrinkles prove this could be close, but I think one more road trip will bring out the true greatness that is present in all of us. One more trip to discover America, my soul, our essences, or just to discover life. And I wrote “life” without thinking about Elizabethtown, seriously, but that is how the movie ended. Discovering life. Let’s discover life!

Let’s run as fast we can down the road, any road, or path, to discover something new.

The rest can wait until later…

EjG

================================

From Elizabethtown...

Claire: So, you failed.

Drew: No, you don't get it.

Claire: All right, you really failed. You failed, you failed, you failed. You failed, you failed, you failed, you failed, you failed, you failed, you failed, you failed, you failed, you failed, you failed, you failed, you failed….

You think I care about that?

I do understand.

You're an artist, man. Your job is to break through barriers.

Not accept blame and bow and say: "Thank you, I'm a loser, I'll go away now."

Oh "Phil's mean to me, wah, wah, wah..." So what?

Drew: I don't cry.

Claire: You want to be really great?

Then have the courage to fail big and stick around. Make ‘em wonder why you're still smiling.

That's true greatness to me.

Dungarees...

The other day I washed my favorite pair of jeans, by hand, so I could wear them, as they had already been well worn this week. It was just like some dungaree commercial, one you would think makes for a good commercial on TV, but may not really happen.

And I laughed, while no one was home, as the soap suds spilled over the sink, and from there being too much material to easily engage in this endeavor. But, life has become so mundane that wearing jeans last Friday was one way I could get at my simplicity, wanderings and creativity.

They represent the many miles traveled. They represent me not wanting to fully conform to the system. They represent some odd sense of individuality. They represent my country roots and love. Most of all, they represent freedom.

I’ve been listening to a CD called Grandfather’s Hat by, believe it or not, Jeff Daniels, and it is not what you would expect. It somehow speaks to the wanderer in me. His song Mile 416, talks of travels, across Highway 2, but more importantly about what a wanderer sees, remembers and forgets along the way.

And, that’s how it is; what you see, what you remember and what you forget.

The song reminds me of traveling up M-32 in Michigan, with a barn off in the distance, as I travel north to Charlevoix. It is red, as red as barns are supposed to be, with white trim and Celtic markings on it.

It reminds me of driving along I-80, in August, through Iowa. The miles and miles of sunflowers, in full bloom. Their brilliance accentuated by the sun and a cloudless, blue sky.

I think of Highway 34 in Colorado, smelling the pine as they whistle with the mountain winds, eventually reaching the point they end to make way for the tundra. The air as clear as it will ever become.

And, it reminds me of KY 80, out to Hazard, Kentucky, where the trees and small homes dot the landscape reminding me there are poor here in this country, too. Coal is one man’s gold and another’s subsistence.

The song also reminds me of Hancock County Road 6, in north central Ohio, where a graying barn leaned with the wind and a vagrant, with two canes, walked the lonely miles. His skin, tarnished by the years, was wrinkled and brown from the sun. I am sure he had a name.

Yes, this song reminded me of all this. But, I also mark my maps with a blue pen so I know where I have been. Partially because I know I will forget, but also to ensure I continue to explore every inch, acre and mile I can.

Looking down the road that passes in front of my house, just a small place in America, I realize it’s the beginning for any journey.

My truck, my dungarees, my guitar, my pad of paper and the endless black top.

EjG

Photographs

I've been taking photographs in order to understand life. Each representing some reality I know, experience, or dream about. It is an attempt to find beauty and art in a place that stifles them both, stifling it with an ultra conservative exuberance for it's not what the mundane can have nor understand. Once I was able to dream, but those dreams keep getting fainter as time moves along. Therefore, I take these pictures, began drawing, and began writing again. I'm recapturing these dreams.

There is no life without art and beauty...

EjG