Open Road

It's impossible to pinpoint the moment I knew this Art and Muse venture was going to be a thing. In a literal sense, it probably came whilst gazing at the cornfields somewhere outside of God Knows Where, South Dakota, when I said to my wife as much, “This is going to be a thing.” 

Obvious, right? Well, I wish it were that simple. It’s actually taken years to get here. Years of balancing the beautiful mutualistic relationship of creativity and inspiration on one hand and fending off the endless cycle of the grind of capitalism and its chaos on the other. 

I’ve thrived in chaos believe it or not. Or so I’ve been told. Which, that’s nice, but nevermind the fact that I was probably dying inside. Being part of the machine is great and all, so long as all of its parts perform as well as you do. If not, you can quite easily find yourself getting sucked in and spit back out, broken beyond repair. I’ve seen it happen to practically everyone around me my age, and just like a derailing train, once it starts, there's no stopping it. No matter how well you carry yourself on the outside, the chaos will consume you if you allow it to. Things seemed to be heading in that direction for me, and I had been starving for the calm that the open road provided. 

So perhaps it was meant to be that the long stretch of I-90 nothingness in a place I had never been (and never thought I'd ever be) provided the perfect storm of ideas and self reflection. I’d always liked taking road trips, and this was no different, albeit a long way to back Michigan. I find the best ideas come to mind in the vastness and quiet anyways. Here I was, it finally occurring to me what I ought to be doing with my life, which, even in its undefined preliminary exploratory phase, began to present itself as quite simply, “something to the alternative of whatever is currently happening.” Step one: separate the calm from the chaos.

At its core, it must be an introvert thing. To me, at the very least, the open road is like a slow motion picture simultaneously wrapped up in the biggest, long, quiet bear hug from a friend. It's a safe space that, in a busy world, is so very much welcomed. We should all be so lucky to have a place like that. Whether it's a quiet cozy corner where you read each night before bed, or your favorite trail that you hike in morning, with only the sound of birds in the background. That's an open road to me, the antithesis of chaos.

Four hours east of the Badlands will give you that long quiet space, that calm. It wasn’t the first open road either. Rather, it seemed to be a culmination of a week's worth of long stretches of everything from highway to back country trails. Open roads with no end in sight, through hills and valleys, so far removed from civilization that the GPS spins in circles even with said road seemingly headed in a straight line for hours; a microcosm that nearly too perfectly summarized everything. 

 And about that open road of I-90 in particular, it deserves a lot of credit. Things seemed to come alive after a few hours. I actually came to like it, and the more time I spent on it naturally the more I noticed along the way.  How the setting sun hit the ever so slight topography of rolling hills. Hills of not just corn, but of millions of sunflowers and brilliant blooms of all other types of things pink, red and blue. Dozens of pelicans flew overhead and splashed in sapphire blue bodies of water dotting the highway. 

After separating the calm from the chaos, step two would be noticing the things you didn't notice, or wouldn’t have noticed before. And afterall, maybe noticing these things is half the battle. They are always there, but in our busy on-the-go lives, sometimes we miss them. Just like Pelicans in South Dakota, swimming in crystal clear lakes next to millions of the brightest blooms you've ever seen. Who knew? Apparently not me. It’s incredible what you can see when you have time to think about it.

May your life bring you an open road when you need it, and may it help you in your everlasting quest to find your muse.

Custer State Park, South Dakota

What is muse anyways? 

Well, it's both what this site is, and is about.

Whether it means “to be absorbed in thought” or to “say something in a thoughtful way” or even, as the flatteringly descriptive definition states, a “source of inspiration to an artist,” the word “muse” seems to fit the bill for everything around here these days. 

The exploration of the inspiration for art. Diving deep into trying to understand it all. Or understand anything, like life. Sharing that journey with you through these pages, it is all very fulfilling for me. 

As to how we got there in the first place…Allow me to muse on the muse. 

Badlands National Park

There’s a fine line blurred somewhere between hobby and passion- when one travels and takes photos, and when one travels to take photos. I suppose I find myself in the latter camp these days, which is just fine by me. Photography has seemingly morphed itself from the passive supplement of a vacation to, “Ah, but is the place photogenic enough?” No matter, there are worse things than making excuses in order to go out and experience interesting new places, and there is just so much out there to be explored anyways. 

In fact, my wife and I planned a summer honeymoon to Europe, which was to be our third trip to the continent in less than a year, having been blessed to visit twice at the tail end of 2019. We love everything about Europe and the action packed, something-to-do-at-all-hours, architecturally magnificent, all things foodie paradise. 

Alas, 2020. Instead of the glamour and glow of the bustling and beautiful Europe, we took a ten day socially distanced camping road trip culminating in...you guessed it, North and South Dakota. 

In the face of the constant pendulum of changes and challenges this year however, where so many of us have been grasping at anything and everything we can to bring us joy and comfort, the fact that we were able to travel anywhere, brought immediate full circle gratitude and appreciation after a period of underwhelmed assumptions and moping and moaning about our change of plans. 

In fact, the trip ended up being perfect. It was inspiring and invigorating; the perfect muse. In both its peace and pace, these summer travels were exactly what we needed, even if we never considered them to be potentially impactful or marvelous. In hindsight, I think it's guilt that I feel more than anything. The areas visited of Roosevelt, the Black Hills, Custer, the Badlands, each as beautiful as the next, and each as beautiful as anything we’d have seen anywhere in the world thus far. And the magnitude of the open space, where for miles and miles we found nothing but peace and quiet and harmony. To think, they would have been merely an afterthought, or places deemed not necessary to visit. Even the cities along the way. Sometimes it’s easy to get lost in the glitter and glam, travel being no different. For every Paris, there’s a Fargo, and I’ve had two of the best nights of my life in each of those places.

More precisely however, our summer travels were the precipitating factor in slowing down one chain reaction in life, and kick starting another, allowing us to take control over our perspective on the busy world we live in, and what our roles are within it.

Now, I won’t spend too much time on the obvious that a fast pace of life isn’t for everyone, or, that in it, that it’s hard to find your calm, but there is certainly something to be said once you start identifying where you fit in and how quickly one discovers his or her place, if they have one at all. Or, for those creative types, how complicated all of this noise can be. Even more so while a global pandemic ravages our way of life, creating uncertainties at every turn, maxing out our daily anxiety intake, and holding hostage our collective futures. Remove the reliable fix of shared face-to-face spaces, take away the ability to catch a live show at your favorite theatre, or to prohibit flying across the ocean to enter a new world (or basically any other assorted outlet and intake really) and suddenly the creative arrow has nowhere to point but inward. 

Conversely, slow the world from spinning just enough, and you might be able to appreciate what's left around you. 2020; the year of many paths, directions and speeds, and I’ve learned quite a bit about myself through it all this year.

Montana, somewhere

I’ve known for longer than just this year however that I've always had a bit of a different, more creative brain. As a siblingless child, soothing myself in my various alternate universes, there weren’t too many days to be had without pencil, paintbrush or glue in hand. And if not, I'd most certainly be found somewhere outdoors, scaling trees for insects, collecting things and studying them to no end. As I grew older, I retained these hobbies, and found myself exploring other ways of fulfilling my time. Journaling my thoughts, writing poems, and at the exact moment I left childhood to become an adult, being fully sucked in to the wonders of photography.

Photography entered my life like a lightning strike, seeing me go from being rather indifferent to it all, to swirling in an obsession, practically overnight, once given my first real camera as a gift on my eighteenth birthday. It’s safe to say it hasn’t stopped, and what a journey it has been, alongside me through many ups and downs. Through the lower 48 states, and 30 countries, photography has assimilated itself into my being as an extra limb. It has accompanied me to places I never imagined being; wonderful places and places of sorrow. I’ve been able to document human emotions, movements, seasons, the extraordinary, and the unnoticed. 

It has also become the natural supplement to other hobbies. Many of the things I love to do most, from travelling, to seeing live music, or even bird watching, have all become more enjoyable because of photography, and photography more enjoyable because of those things. They become the perfect complement to each other, bringing about constant challenge, techniques to be discovered, boundless new things to be learned, and of course, joy. Photography is thus truly the first experience in my life of what I can only describe as a nuclear fission of hobby and inspiration, where the relationship between the art and the muse sets off a chain reaction that never stops. 

That chain reaction reached the point of no turning back somewhere on that stretch on I-90. I decided that it was now or never to try and slow one world down with one hand, and further propel another into motion with the other. 

As I scrolled through my camera in reflection of a week's worth of amazing memories from places I never considered ever being in, the clarity of wanting to share in the joy of art and muse with others, to focus on the simple things, bring attention to the forgotten places, and most of all, to learn, became strikingly obvious. If the first steps were separating the calm, and by doing so beginning to notice what’s around you, then step three would be doing something with the opportunity presented. It was there that I realized what I wanted to do with my life.

The quiet, the space, the sheer amount of time it took to make that journey home, did quite a bit of good. In a practical sense, it allowed time to gather and compile the many ideas that make Art and Muse what it is today. Good ideas, bad ideas, but ideas nevertheless. Things that will be featured here from day one, and things to come down the line, God willing. 

These thoughts, these creative outlets, will focus on that. The places we’ve been, and where we dream of visiting again. How and where to spend our time when we get there, to maximize our experience. What we can take that we find along the way, giving new life to a simple thing in the hope that it becomes long lasting. Maybe it's a piece of glass from a beach, or a leaf from the yard. Maybe it’s a cork from that favorite bottle of wine. Whatever it is, we will celebrate the feelings and inspiration that these things bring to us.

I've been fortunate to travel to many places, but without question, visiting the Dakotas may be the most important journey I'll ever take. If for nothing else, it’s the appreciation of being able to go somewhere that you may not have considered ever being wowed by, and being knocked off your feet with its beauty and wonder. If for nothing else, it’s cornfields instead of train stations, crowded markets and skyscrapers, where there's just no way you'd have gotten the hours at a time to think in peace when you truly needed them most. 

Most importantly, the open road both gave me great perspective, and helped me face the muse. I’ve chased it for a while, and it seems to come and go, hiding in many places, oftentimes out of reach. 

So I’ve learned that you don’t chase it; it will find you when the time is right. Maybe inspiration is an inanimate object, or the thrill of a journey, no matter the destination. The excitement of your hobbies coming alive working together in perfect harmony. Perhaps it’s a Paris cafe. Or maybe, simply an open road. Maybe it’s whatever brings the best out of you at that time. 

As for the muse, it's none too surprising that my wife has been there through it all these last couple of years, encouraging me every step of the way. I wouldn’t be here without her support. She’s patient and willing, my calm, my quiet. Perhaps I’ve found my muse afterall.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park, and My Muse

For everyone who has followed my photographic journey over the past decade, thank you. Your support means everything to me. I’m happy to say that we’re just getting started. 

Since we may be stuck inside for a few months longer, the least I can do is try to add some color into the world each day. And so, every morning on Instagram, Art and Muse will feature one of my favorite images from around the world. Varying by days of the week, you will find everything from the great outdoors, international and domestic cityscapes, people in daily life, and plenty of local focus. In fact, look for a photo feature of Detroit each and every week. If you like what you see, they’ll all be available to purchase.

On Mondays, we will take a further dive into many of these wonderful destinations, musing on all things travel. What sites to hit on a short itinerary. Where to eat. Where to avoid. Our first city to highlight will be San Francisco, on December 7. On the 14th, we’ll jump across the pond to Budapest. I can’t wait to explore these places with you, sharing more memories, journal notes and quotes, and more.

Later on each week will bring more thoughts on a myriad of things relating to art, travel, and our world around us. We’ll soon look at topics such as: America’s Best Idea, 2020 and the Urban City, and “Yes it’s wiggling, just eat it.”

What I look forward to most, is where we feature an item or two from the Workbench. Basically anything we decide to make, we make. Some things will take off, and some things may crash, but we’ll give it all a shot, with your suggestions too. Lately, we’ve been hard at work making sea glass art, which we can’t make fast enough!  We will also feature our friends and family here, and what better way to cross pollinate hobbies than to cross promote our ventures. One of my favorite small businesses in the world is Teranga Market. We’ll go in depth with owner Katie Allen later in the month. You’ll even meet my five year old son, and embark with him on his quest to make the perfect clock.

I truly can’t wait to share in this experience with all of you. More to come soon.

For now, stay positive, stay safe, and follow your muse.

Love you all,

Matt

Next Week

Travelogue: San Francisco December 7

Stay Home, Make Art December 10