Month: January 2018

creativity

A Year of Yes: Keep wondering

Christa Avampato

“The sign of intelligence is that you are constantly wondering. Idiots are always dead sure about every damn thing they are doing in their life.” ~Vasudev, Indian yogi and mystic

Doesn’t that quote make you smile? And doesn’t it make you smile even wider when you realize it was said by an Indian yogi and mystic. I always appreciate a no-BS policy. We are all guessing, all the time. I love nothing better than hearing someone I admire say that they’re still trying to figure out what they’re doing. I love that they keep trying new things, exploring, and putting themselves in the role of a beginner. There’s a lot of pressure in the world to be an expert, to only do what we’re sure of. We hate doubt, but doubt is the key to everything. It keeps us hungry and hustling. It causes us to keep learning. It sparks curiosity and inquiry. It gets us talking and connecting with others. Keep asking questions, of yourself and others, and know that being uncertain puts you in the best possible company.

 

creativity

A Year of Yes: NYC’s Secrets and Lies at CAVEAT

Christa Avampato

Screen Shot 2017-12-13 at 7.52.48 AMI couldn’t be more excited to host the live storytelling show New York City’s Secrets and Lies on Monday, January 29th, at CAVEAT on New York City’s Lower East Side. Six incredible storytellers are going to take the stage and spin tales about New York City’s deepest, darkest secrets. They’re all true, except for one. Can you separate outrageous fact from fiction? Come grab a drink, hang out with us, and learn five true tales about this incredible city we call home. If you can guess which story is fiction, you’ll be in the running for a secret prize.

Tickets on sale now here: http://caveat.nyc/event/new-york-citys-secrets-and-lies/

Facebook event page with more details here: https://www.facebook.com/events/983548008463724/

 

creativity

A Year of Yes: Embracing “kintsugi”, the art of imperfection

Christa Avampato

In Japan, “kintsugi” is an art form and method of mending. When a piece of pottery develops cracks, those cracks are filled with gold. The flaws aren’t hidden; they’re highlighted. We try so hard to give the illusion of perfection—in photos, in words, in life. What if we not only let our imperfections and flaws and mistakes and scars show, but we actually brought attention to them? What if we shouted them from the rooftops and claimed them as sources of strength and resilience and courage? What if we could celebrate them, in ourselves and in others? Imagine how much kinder and more productive we could be if we stopped being so afraid to try, and just decided to go for it without any concern of failure and success, only to embrace doing our best and learning every step of the way. What would you try first?

creativity

A Year of Yes: Be a Young Person’s Carl Sagan

Christa Avampato

This week I was watching an episode of Cosmos, and Neil deGrasse Tyson told the story of how Carl Sagan invited him to Ithaca when Tyson was just 17 years old and growing up in the Bronx. Sagan encouraged him to pursue his passion in science. It was a pivotal moment in Tyson’s life, a moment he’s never forgotten.

That’s the power of mentorship, of caring about the future and the success of young people. Carl Sagan had plenty of other ways to spend his time. He chose to make time to help young people, to support their dreams and aspirations, to share his love for science.

Whatever your talents, I hope you’ll find a way to use them to help our youngest generations. They need us, and we need them.

creativity

A Year of Yes: Mark A. Smith’s story of surviving and thriving

Christa Avampato

Mark A. Smith posted this story on LinkedIn this week. It was so powerful for me that I have to share it with all of you. My favorite of his learnings detailed here: “No one learns in the middle of a crisis. Survive. Breathe. Reflect.” If this doesn’t personify the power of yes, then I don’t know what does. Thank you, Mark, for you bravery and tenacity. I’m so glad you’re still with us.

“23 years ago today my parents and doctor walked into my ICU room, held my hands, and told me I had only a few months to live. I had a rare disease called Wegener’s Granulomatosis and had 18 tumors throughout my lungs, kidneys, and airway.

16 years of chemotherapy, 200,000+ pills, 34 surgeries, and a million prayers later and I’m still around to annoy everyone on LinkedIn. Here is some of what I’ve learned — I’ll hope you find some value:

– We have the capacity to find joy in all things. A negative attitude is worse than a tumor. The best of life can come from the worst of life.

– Everyone has a difficult trial. Everyone. Be compassionate.

– When your looks get taken away, you better have a solid character or you’re screwed. – Priorities are revealed when abilities are stripped. Put them in order before life forces it upon you.

– No one learns in the middle of a crisis. Survive. Breathe. Reflect.

– Life is too short to take offense. Assume the best and move on. One day our children will struggle. We must endure our own trials so that, when needed, we can look in their eyes with perfect credibility and say, “I’ve been through the same struggle. I know your pain. You can do this.”

Happy New Year, my friends. Thank you for all you add to my life.”

See Mark’s post here.

creativity

A Year of Yes: Science and art – two worlds not so far apart

Christa Avampato

Science and art are not mutually exclusive. There’s so much cross-over, so much cross-inspiration. Be a scientific artist, or an artistic scientist. They are languages, forms of communication about the experience of the world and our place in it. They are dialogues. They are stories of discovery and chance and change. Find them, write them, and share them as clearly as you can. It’s all beautiful.

creativity

A Year of Yes: The gift of the cold gave me the view of Emerson Page

Christa Avampato

I got a gift from the frigid cold in New York City. It gave me the chance to physically walk in Emerson Page’s footsteps.

Walking down Fifth Avenue, the air was so cold that my lungs hurt. I couldn’t wait to get to the warmth of the Met a few blocks away. I tried to distract myself by looking at Central Park. Around 75th Street, I stopped short. People were walking on ice, but there wasn’t a rink there. I couldn’t believe it. It had been so cold for so long in New York that the boat pond was frozen. Not ones to be deterred by signs of danger and warning of any kind, New Yorkers were walking on the pond. I smiled and kept walking.

A few blocks away, I stopped. I turned around. In my novel, Emerson Page and Where the Light Enters, Emerson goes out into the middle of the boat pond when she’s most fragile, turns to face the Alice in Wonderland statue, and descends how into the Lake of Possibility where her life changes forever. This was my chance to see that view in real life the way I imagined it in my mind.

Was I really going to stand out in the freezing cold just to look at the view of the world from Emerson’s perspective? Yes. Hell yes. I ran back to the Children’s Gate entrance of the park and down to the boat pond. Like Emerson, I was a little timid in those first steps on the pond, and then glided my way to the middle of it. I took in that view of Alice and couldn’t stop smiling. My eyes got a little bit teary. It was just like I imagined it would be.

I said a silent thank you to the setting sun and to beautiful Central Park and to this amazing city that never stops inspiring me and my work. The cold gave me this magical moment to step into Emerson’s world, to be right in the center of it, and I was so grateful. Right now, I’m exactly where I need to be. Yes, this is home. Like Emerson, this is exactly where my life changed forever, too.

creativity

A Year of Yes: Making time for Michelangelo at the Met

Christa Avampato

“The wait’s going to be at least an hour.”

That’s what one of the guides said to me at the Met when I inquired about the insanely long line to see the exhibit Michelangelo: Divine Draftsman and Designer. I almost left without seeing it. Almost. But then I remembered my commitment to say yes more often in 2018 (even though it was still 2017.)

So I wound my way through multiple gallery spaces and parked myself at the very end of the line. I knew it would be crowded; I doubted I would be able to get up close to the pieces. And that was okay with me. I just wanted to be in the presence of the work. So I waited. For about 10 minutes, not even close to an hour, and then I was there. The first part of the exhibit was crowded but I was able to get up close to the work in many of the galleries. Very close to it.

“Yes, I’ll stay in line” was the right answer.

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Toward the end of the exhibit, I came to this placard. It’s short story hit me right in the gut. I audibly gasped. To give the illusion of perfection, to hide his process and his struggle in his work, Michelangelo burned many of his sketches. He wanted people to think his talent was effortless and god-given even though it was far from it.

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Think of all that lost work. Think of everything we could have learned if he hadn’t been so concerned about the illusion of perfection.

I sat there in the middle of the exhibition and thought about how afraid we all are to show our stumbles and missteps, how we savor the performance and cringe at the endless practice it took to get there.

When I left the museum, I turned and looked back at the building in the cold, dark night. I was so glad and grateful to be able to come to this museum any time I want, to live in a city that build castles to creativity. And as I looked at the Met, I thought about how much art has changed my life. And how much effort, how much beautiful effort, it takes to be an artist of any kind.

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What if we could all commit to being a little more authentic, to sharing when we’re lost and confused and unsure of how to proceed, to asking for help? What if we could be okay with admitting failure and defeat because accepting them while not being discouraged by their existence gives us resilience and confidence? Imagine what we could learn, what we could inspire, and what we could teach others in the process. I say, yes. Let’s.

creativity

A Year of Yes: Show your work – a lesson from Matisse

Christa Avampato

Pentimento is Italian for “repent” though its colloquial meaning in the art world is a bit closer to “show your work”. If you look at a number of Matisse’s drawings, you can see that he left his erasure marks so that we can see where and when he changed his mind and how often it took him multiple tries to get his work exactly the way he wanted it to be.

When I look at the path of my life, I see many pentimentos, places and traces of changing my mind, trying something new, exploring, and traveling in a new direction. Like Matisse’s sketches, you’ll see the marks if you look closely enough. And that’s okay with me. I don’t erase the mistakes of my life; I just re-arrange them. I put them in perspective. I try very hard to learn from them and be a better version of myself as a result of having lived through them.

I hope that as we begin a new year after what was a very difficult one, we’ll find a way to take a page from Matisse’s book. Let’s make use of our collective pentimentos so that we can craft a much better future together.

creativity

2018: A Year of Yes

Christa Avampato

My 2018 resolution can be summed up in one word: Yes. My friend, Ria, recently told me about an article she read in which the author explained that when you commit to saying yes, your day ends up in a completely different place than where it started. And I’m all for that. Yes to:

    • adventure
    • travel
    • learning
    • passion
    • creativity
    • exploration
    • joy
    • opportunity
    • community
    • building a better city, country, & world
    • kindness
    • helping others

I’m going to make 2018 the best year of my life so far in every way. And I’m going to lift others as I rise. We’re doing this.