Tuesday, February 25, 2020

New Midcentury Modern Mobile Spinning in Denmark | Mark Leary Designs

Mobile: Ironwood Road

On self belief
“You don’t *think* you can do it?” asked crow.
“No,” replied fox. “I know I can.”

Thoughts while making
In the early 90s, I was interviewed for a new show on MTV. The role of “blonde-haired, Southern California surfer dude” ultimately went to another guy, and I went on about my life.

The Real World is credited with ushering in the era of reality TV. And while there are redeeming shows in this genre, I’m left wondering how we benefit from watching others fail, connive, get shamed, and endure contrived situations that are anything but “real.”

That said, there are a couple shows I still love, @americanidol and @nbcthevoice. But even here, I’ll usually only watch the early episodes, when the contestants are doing their first auditions.

Why? Because for one fabulous moment we get to see something so powerful: belief. We get to see everyday people just like you and me experiencing all the things – fear, doubt, obstacles – and still going for it because they believe, and they feel compelled to express, to dream, to – literally – sing out loud.

Beautifully, we also get to see others support this expression, this courage—showing their loved ones, “Hey, I’m here for you and I believe in you.”

Yes, it’d be easy to get cynical, to write these shows off as overly produced and scripted. But each and every time, I come away amazed at the human spirit and the power of support.

Growing up on Ironwood Road, I felt the support and belief of my parents. And I still do. They encouraged me, invited me to find my own way. And it’s made all the difference. I’m forever grateful.

Where’s one place you can demonstrably express belief in and support of yourself or another today?

Saturday, February 22, 2020

Hanging Mobiles, A Cat, and The Art of Getting Out of Your Own Way | Mark Leary Designs

Artwork: The brilliant @woman.in.the.fog with my Black Stack mobile

 On magic
“But why do I have to break it?” asked bird.
“Because,” replied fox, “the cracks let the light in.”


“Did you just head butt me?” No response.


“Did you seriously just do it again?” No response.

It was 2008. The room was dimly lit and smelled of urine. This is not what I expected.

I’d always pictured adopting a dog. But after a trip to the humane society, it was clear I needed a cat.

My research told me a short-haired, tabby, adult female was going to be the way to go.

So here I was in a room surrounded by cats that fit the description and not a single one paying attention to me. All this activity, but no connectivity.

Just as I was thinking “Maybe I was wrong,” it happened.

This little-bitty black furball emerged, walked directly to where I was sitting, and head butted me. Twice.

Then, he just stood there; looking at me with these big, bright eyes. A fluffy tail twice as long as he was. And in the tiniest whisper, he said meep.

Buddy will turn 12 on Saturday. I didn’t really understand it at the time, but what I needed was a companion, someone to choose me, someone to show me what it meant to love without hesitation, without reservation.

I thought I wanted a cat that fit my list, but Buddy - a black, long-haired, male, who was just a baby when we found each other - showed me how important it is to get out of your own way and let life head butt when and where you need it most.

Buddy teaches me new things every day about what it means to be really present and endlessly curious, to ask for what you want, to return again and again. And I love him.

Where in your life could you use a little THUMP to let the magic in?

Matisse and the Modern Art Mobile by Mark Leary Designs

Mobile: The Classic (spinning in Hanover, Germany)

On design
“But how do I know if it’s good?” asked fox.
“You’ll just know,” replied crow, “you’ll just know.”

Thoughts while making
His name was Henry. And his story *could* have been quite normal. He went to school to become a lawyer. Ended up an artist. Defined an era. You’re welcome, Modernism.

Henry’s childhood was like many of ours. Loaded with landmines. "Be quick!" "Look out!" "Run along!" "Get cracking!" Seemingly constructive, to the sensitive and hyper-vigilant, these imperatives set a high bar. Henry struggled. Stress. Anxiety.

By 19, Henry was already moving up in his profession. But something wasn’t right. He woke with big questions. Ones about purpose, about meaning, about why, about how. Work made him sick. Really sick. Appendicitis sick.

During his recovery, Henry’s mom brought him some art supplies. And that’s when everything changed: “From the moment I held the box of colors in my hands,” he explained, “I knew this was my life.”

For over 50 years, Henri Matisse created artwork that would redefine design with the likes of fellow modernists Kandinsky, Duchamp, Miro, Mondrian, and his lifelong friend, Picasso.

When a client recently sent me a photo of “The Classic” mobile hanging in her beautiful MCM space, Matisse’s words immediately came to mind: “What I dream of is an art of balance, of purity and serenity … a soothing, calming influence on the mind, something like a good armchair.”

Yes, a good armchair! And, yes, the invocation + invitation to take pause, to dream, and to consider if you’ve found your own box of colors, and if not, what it will take.

Matisse once said, “I threw myself into [art] like a beast that plunges towards the thing it loves.” Where’s one place in your life you are (or would like to) do the same?

Modern Hanging Art Mobile Electrifies Eichler Home | Mark Leary Designs

Mobile: The Wham (spinning in an Eichler home in Palo Alto)

On home
“But how can it be a home if it has no walls?” asked bird.
“The real question,” replied fox, “is how could it be if it does?”

Thoughts while making
I fear it is still alive. Somewhere. Plotting. Scheming. Waiting for the right time to return. And, yes, we should all be afraid. Very, very afraid.

To call it “shag carpet” would be grossly misleading. Because, in reality, it was much more. A mix of fiery reds and oranges, it was born in 1969 and I would not be surprised if siblings and pets and memories are still lost deep within its twisted strands.

My childhood home in San Diego epitomized the era: a red brick fireplace. Gold doorknobs. Popcorn ceilings for days. Faux brick linoleum tile. Formica countertops. Harvest gold appliances. And that carpet.

Yet it was home and I felt lucky for it, especially now as I reflect on the many places where people experiencing homelessness is sadly so commonplace.

Years later, I would come to learn there were other types of homes being built at this very same time. Inspired by folks like Aalto, Le Corbusier, Gropius, and Wright, Midcentury Modern architects such as Keck, Mies van der Rohe, and Portland’s own Rummer, were reimagining the suburban landscape. Atop that list of visionaries was, of course, Joseph Eichler.

My dad, an architect himself well known for his innovative large-scale work in the healthcare and retail sectors, would later redesign our home—vaulting ceilings, creating walls of windows, soaring skylights … and replacing that shag with beautiful hardwoods.

Gone but not forgotten, that shag lives on in countless photos; memories of holidays and celebrations and everydays that remind me of what really makes a house a home.

What’s one item, element, or aspect from your childhood home you’ll never forget?

Redblack Vanilla | A New Ice Cream Flavor or Modern Art Mobile? Mark Leary Designs

 Mobile: Redblack Vanilla

On choices
“Even if I decide to do nothing,” she asked, “I’m still making a choice?”
And that’s when fox knew rabbit finally understood her own power.

Thoughts while making
I was hiking in Snake Canyon when the trail branched in two directions. To the right, it turned sharply upward toward a bright light. To the left, it descended into darkness. I was faced with a choice. Little did I know, my decision would determine the fate of the world.

Do you remember the Choose Your Own Adventure book series? I was obsessed with them as a kid. You, as the reader, were the story’s protagonist, “choosing” the way the story unfolded: “If you want to go right, turn to page 20. If you want to go left, turn to page 75.”

In a single book, your choices could put you on the back of a galloping horse in the Wild West, hurl you through space in a runaway rocket, and find you saving the world from evil villains, recovering lost treasures, or running for your life from dinosaurs.

As a kid, the idea of being in charge was awesome. Sure, my choices often led to an untimely demise or put me on a fast-track to disaster, but that feeling of being in control was liberating.

It was also challenging. I remember getting stuck on pages, struggling with the question of “what the heck should I do?”

But, here’s the thing: I always chose something. I never just decided to the end the story because I couldn’t make a choice between this or that. So the adventure always continued.

And yet as an adult, how many times have I walked away from adventure because I couldn’t (or wouldn’t) choose between this or that; my ultimate choice being dictated by a fear of consequences, worried about outcomes, second guessing possibilities?

As I was packing up this mobile, I was thinking about these books (the colors reminded me of the cover of The Cave of Time) and how relatively easy it was to fluidly move from choice to choice, not worrying too much about the outcome, realizing that I could always flip to another page, go back to where I was, or even start a new adventure if I wanted. It’s a good reminder.

What’s a choice you can make today to make your world a little brighter?

Monday, February 10, 2020

Ovalteenie Kinetic Sculpture | Modern Mobile by Mark Leary Designs

Mobile: Ovalteenie

 On fear
“But how do I know it’s safe?” asked bear.
“How do you know it’s not?” replied fox.

Thoughts while making
All I was doing was ordering a pizza, but if you took a blood pressure reading at that exact moment, it would’ve been off the charts.

Do you know that feeling when your heart is racing so fast from fear that you can hear it pounding in your ears, that dizzying warmth in your forehead, rapid breathing, the world simultaneously slowing down *and* speeding up, sweat like ink, nauseating?

Ever since I can remember, the telephone scared me. It didn’t matter who it was - grandparents, soccer coaches, den mothers, or even ordering takeout – just thinking about dialing it raised panic.

I was well into adulthood before I felt even remotely comfortable on the phone. And to this day, I still often feel that twinge of fear any time I have to use it.

The funny thing is, once I’m on it, I’m fine. It literally is the moment before I dial it. That’s when fear and anxiousness rear.

Today, I had a meeting with a prospective client. Before the call, those old feelings began to surface. As I reflected on them, what occurred to me was that the pit-in-the-stomach nervousness had very little to do with the phone, it had to do with Before New.

I realized the feeling was the same I experience before a new class, before meeting new people, before that new volunteer gig, and, yes, before talking to a potential new client.

Interesting thing about adrenaline and cortisol which are released during times of fear, they’re also released during times of excitement. So what we feel is part chemical chain reaction, part conditioning. Somewhere along the line, I apparently got the call that new was scary.

The next time I feel that all-too-familiar sensation before doing something new, I’m inviting myself to try on whether it’s fear or consider it may really be excitement. And if it’s the latter, I’m going to warm up the moment with nice words to re-condition a lifetime of Before New patterning.

The shapes of this mobile I painted today remind me my first flip phone, so it felt like the perfect pairing for the topic.

What one of your biggest fears?

Level Change Modern Hanging Art Mobile | Mark Leary Designs

Mobile: Level Change

On time
“I can’t stop it?” asked bird.
“No,” explained fox, “but you can stop wasting it.”

Thoughts while making
“That’s a car?” she asked. And her question said it all. Almost.

I was a junior in high school, and I was taking an art class. For our final project, we had to paint a mural.

I can’t remember why I decided on a Lamborghini, but there it was. It was supposed to look like it was blasting out of the wall, bricks flying everywhere. But the proportions were all wrong. And the colors. And the perspective. Um and all the details. It *was* red, so I guess it had that going for it.

The mural lived in this dark, unused hallway (which was probably a blessing) near the campus wood shop. Every day, third period, I’d head out there to paint. And nearly every day, I’d keep painting well into my lunch hour.

Objectively, that mural sucked. And I knew it in real time. But from the second I put on that painter’s smock until the moment I took it off, time sort of happily melted away; proving, I guess, that flow state really is about process and not product.

When I’m making mobiles, I have this same experience. Time changes. It softens. It sweetens. It swirls around me like my fuzzy blanket. Would-be problems turn into challenges, transforming into opportunities for discovery. I feel at once clearer *and* dreamier, at home in my body and in my thoughts.

I’ve been thinking a lot about time recently, about how I’m prioritizing it, about how quickly it seems to pass. I’ve been asking myself: Am I “making the most” of my time? How can I be more intentional with it, present to it, aware of it? My self-talk is not always nice on this front. I’m learning.

As I was taking these photos of Level Change, it struck me how much it looked like a clock. But instead of marking hours and minutes, I imagined the multiple hands charting overlapping moments and memories, experiences and events, the substance of our everyday; a life clock with lines connecting past, present, and future, you and me, from birth and death.
Where have you experienced flow in your own life? Are you able to find that place as often as you’d like? How can I help?


Monday, February 3, 2020

Blue Moon Rising | Modern Art Mobile by Mark Leary Designs

On directions
“I think I’m lost,” said mouse.
“If you’re thinking,” replied fox, “there’s a good chance you are.”

Thoughts while making
“But how do I know which way is north?”

When I was a kid, my dad would take my older brother and me backpacking. For weeks, he’d plan, buy supplies, pre-pack and repack our backpacks. And pour over maps.

His were green topographical with thousands of contour lines, and they made my head spin.

“But how do you know where you are?”

As a teenager, malls were all the rage. But, even as I was looking at the store directory that clearly told me with a big red star that “You Are Here,” I often struggled to understand where I really was.

“But how do you know where you’re going?

As an adult before Google Maps, we had Thomas Guides: a book filled with page after page of street maps for a given city. If it’s possible for a map to get you more lost than you already were, I was at the front of that line.

“But how will I know when I’m there?”

Maps have always confounded me, so when I send off a mobile I rarely look to see where it’s headed. What matters to me are not the locations, but the relations that have been made in the making; and the precious lines that connect giver and gifted.

In 2019,
Blue Moon Rising mapped these sweet relations of connection 52 times between friends, family, and loved ones from Honolulu to Geispolsheim, Ludwigslust to Toulouse, Kockengen to Montreal, and of course this one given from a son to his stepmom in Denmark.

I am ever grateful to be even the tiniest part of the heart mapping and orientation that occurs when someone generously exclaims with a gift of love that “You Are Here” and you matter. That’s a map I can read and appreciate.

What is one way you can help someone feel “in the right place” today?