Naomi Rose Arts
MUSIC, ART, & WRITING
We all are born with gifts. Some we cultivate, and some are so much part of us that they take a back seat in our lives, shared (if at all) with intimates, or only oneself (imagine Renee Fleming limiting her singing to the shower). But then a time comes when the gifts themselves urge their instrument to let them be more widely known. As Anais Nin once wrote, “And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”
And so this site is my feasting table. I have been blessed with at least three branches of the creative tree -- writing, visual art, and music -- and on this site I get to share them with you. I hope they will give you deep enjoyment and cause for reflection, and perhaps even spark the beautiful expression of your own gifts.
Music is the heart of life, and I am grateful to have found its heartbeat. Our very breath is part of a vast harmony that courses through our bodies as well as the universe. In my youth, I wanted to live in a world where — as in musicals — people on the bus would burst into joyous song.
Now I know that, on a subtle level, some version of this takes place. Our lives are so integrally steeped in music that we mostly don't even notice, and think of music as a separate, sometime thing.
When I was singing in one of the half-dozen choruses I was graced to be part of years ago, often the conductor would caution us, "Listen! Listen! Listen to yourself and to each other." At first I had no notion of how to do this; it was hard enough to just learn my part! But after awhile I began to understand. It is listening to ourselves and to each other that allows the music to take wing.
I have been in love with singing all my life, though for much of that time I was too shy to come forth with the voice I longed to have. Secretly believing there was a beautiful sound in me, I didn't know how to connect that possibility with who I thought myself to be. Many times, I thought it was a lost cause, and tried to let it go.
But it didn't want to be let go. It chose me, much as I longed for it. And so by now, singing is not only a part of my sense of myself, it is a straight line to the divine, a healing force, a teacher, a friend, a beloved. On this page, I will share with you some of my insights and experiences of music . . . and some of the actual music, too.
I was trained to be an artist by my father, my first art teacher. At first he supplied me with crayons and paints, and I sat on the floor with my coloring books, exulting in the smell and chiseled dignity of a box of brand-new crayons. Later, he gave me paints, and a copper-tooling kit, and a great deal more. He had enormous respect for craft, and he passed that on to me.
There was a time before high school when all the drawings and paintings I did had no self-consciousness at all. I was just wanting to be present with what I was making, with no thought of how others might evaluate my efforts. I can still recall drawings of sheets on a clothesline I did in my early teens, and the animateness of the wind billowing out the sheets.
When I applied to an art high-school at the age of 13 -- the High School of Music and Art in New York City -- I had to present a portfolio of my work, and take a test as well. Enough time elapsed between when I applied and when the verdict was announced for me to have three successive nightmares about not getting in, each more ridiculing than the last.
My elation at being accepted was quickly eclipsed by the magnitude of talent all around me. The corridor walls were hung with extraordinary oil paintings by children my own age. The days of doing art just for the pleasure of it were over!
And yet as the years have fallen away, so has my preoccupation with "How am I doing? Am I any good?" Now, I draw and paint for the joy of it; to bring me closer to myself; to understand the subtle world through small details; to be present to the moment and, as T. S. Eliot wrote, "to know the place for the first time."
And so I share with you those creations that have captured my love and interest. Drawings and photos, mostly, at this point. I hope you enjoy them. And if you would like to live with them, or even commission a drawing . . . well, that can be arranged.
I would not presume to help others with writing if I didn't write, myself.
The reason I have such a nuanced understanding of what people can go through around writing — especially something as intricate as a book — is because I have gone through so many knots and seemingly implacable obstacles, myself. It's been through my own inner work and healing process that the breakthroughs and epiphanies have come.
Happily, I have remembered and tracked this healing journey from my own experience so that I can help other people navigate the more oblique passages.
Here, I share with you some of my own writings -- published and unpublished -- to give you the flavor of my ways into deep things. When not writing to educate and guide my clients, I write about especially loved and/or not-yet-thoroughly understood preoccupations of mine. Music, and my relationship with it, is one such beloved preoccupation.
Recapturing the innocence of childhood is another -- see "Postcards from the Lost World." The creative process is another. And then, of course, there is love . . . in its various forms and allures.
You can read these on the linked page ("Learn More," below). And you can purchase those that are in print. For example, the series of books on "Money and the Inner LIfe" -- a much-needed exploration of how our inner life connects to the outer life concerning money. That is, there is an inner strata; it's not only about making budgets and learning financial literacy (significant as that is).
One book in this series is MotherWealth: The Feminine Path to Money. Another is The Portable Blessings Ledger: A Way to Keep Track of Your Finances and Bring Meaning & Heart to Your Dealings with Money. There are also excerpts from The Blessings Ledger (the "mother" of The Portable Blessings Ledger).
There is bound to be something you have wondered about that I have written about -- or that you have not consciously attended to that will spark your grateful recognition.