How to Become a Successful Artist

By John Lucas Kovasckitz

I know. It’s a click-bait title. Written by...who? 

But I promise that I can help point the way. Hear me out. 

My artistic form of choice is songwriting / music, but I think that what I have to say applies to all forms of art and artists. Furthermore, I think we’re all supposed to live in a state of creativity, and our lives themselves are our art forms...so I think, really, this applies to everyone.

I began writing songs at a young age, and started recording them in my shared bedroom in the basement when I was probably seventeen (all good success stories begin either within a basement or garage). I wrote songs that moved me...songs that were so bare and raw - and so obviously recorded and sung by a teenager that didn’t know what he was doing - that I kind of hated when people I knew found them online. I loved the anonymity of the internet...and in many ways I still do. 

Needless to say, not many people downloaded my songs at first, and they were free-99. 

And that, my friends, is how every good success story begins. 

I was obviously not a successful artist, because - aside from the fact that my art was, objectively, not very good - few people paid any attention to my music, and I didn’t make a dime from it. 

Furthermore, I recorded it on my own...and, as everyone knows (or as they knew way back in the olden days - ten years ago), all legitimate music is recorded in a studio and backed by a label. 

Over ten years later, I’m still making music. Here’s where a good success story would fast-forward to the present day, playing peppy music over montages of me arm-in-arm with Bono or Jay-Z in the studio smoking a cigar, and then driving home in my Tesla to a mansion on the coast. 

My wife and I currently live in a duplex, and I still mainly drive the same rusty Subaru hatchback that I did when I recorded my first song. I don’t know Jay-Z or Bono, and I’m a household name in very few houses.

Two years ago, Danielle and I quit our full-time jobs with benefits to travel, and I started telling people that I was a songwriter when they asked what I did. I’ve had some successes: I made around $20,000 for having 15 seconds of a song you could barely hear in a Google commercial, and my music has been on a couple of not-great TV shows. In the age of streaming, a considerable amount of people around the world have listened to my music, and some have become die-hard supporters of my work. But compared to the “big” artists, my numbers are pretty paltry. Most highschoolers have more Instagram followers than I do.

I’m neither trying to humble-brag nor to wallow in self-pity. I’m filled with gratitude that I can support my family through what I create. Unfortunately, it’s fairly difficult to make any money as an artist...let alone to pay your bills. I’ve been able to do it for two years, and I think that’s worth celebrating. But with a baby on the way and my wife going back to school, I’ve been side-hustling hard lately. In addition to music, I clean Airbnbs, I help in a wood shop, and I’m an extra hand at a local venue for events. And everyone knows that successful artists don’t have side-hustles.

By the standards of most, after ten years of making music, and with a kid on the way, it’s probably about time to get a real, steady, job again…this time for good.

By the standards of most, I’ve had some successes as an artist, but I am not a successful artist. 

Someone asked me a handful of years ago (before I had found a bit more monetary “success” with my music) if I counted up all of the time over the years that I had spent practicing and making music and sweating for it, how much I would have made per hour. Ten cents? A quarter? ...Implying that perhaps, within Capitalism, my labor-power was not being very well spent. 

I don’t think this person realized how hurtful his question was at the time. I was making music that I believed in, and I was working hard to get it out there in the world. However, what hurt the most was - within the typical Western Capitalist confines of value - his implications were probably right.

You’ve read a good bit into this post, so I’ll just go ahead and give away the secret.

You want to know how to be a successful artist? By creating. That’s it. Nothing more. 

If I had spent ten years making music, and it was a net drain on my assets and hardly anybody listened to what I put out there...but I really believed in what I was making, I would consider myself a successful artist. Looking back, I was a successful artist at seventeen. I was growing my craft, I was learning, and I was leaning into bravery.

I get a lot of messages from people that express how much my music has meant to them…that it’s been a companion through the hard times and good. And I treasure these interactions, but I’ll take it further: if no one listened to my music, but I created art that was meaningful to me, I would still consider myself a successful artist. Creating, for me, is communion with the Creator. The slow process of creation has sharpened me and softened me...it has made me more Aware. 

Money, accolades, followers, etc. are all byproducts of - and thus, inconsequential to - my foundational success as an artist: creating art that I believe in.

I forget this most days, but sometimes I remember.

I think that the person making art that they believe in - while not making a dime for it - is far more successful than the rich “artist” selling his soul to make meaningless products that he thinks people want to buy. 

This is not to say that to be a true artist you must be impoverished (I believe artists that add to the human experience should be paid, and paid well!), or that you cannot be making authentic art if you become financially wealthy from it. I’m just saying that I believe our metrics of success are wrong. I’m saying that it’s wrong if our value of someone and what they create is based solely on the amount of copies sold, or the amount of their streams or followers, or their net worth. 

I’m saying that I believe the message is more important than the influence; I’m saying that I think five people given the truth is far greater than five million people sold a lie. 

And to the subject of side-hustles and front-hustles and just generally working your butt off to support your creativity: set your pride aside and do it. Enjoy the work, and let it be a part of your communion with Creation. One of my favorite people that I know has his doctorate degree, and felt that teaching university level courses took up too much of his creative energy, so he delivered pies in his van for Pizza Hut for awhile. And I think that’s one of the greatest things I’ve ever heard.

Being an artist requires having a different value system.

The world needs artists. The world needs your unique perspective…the Universal needs the particular. The world needs you to speak truth to power, and it needs you to remind us how strong love is. It needs you to remind us what’s important. The world needs the work of artists as companions through death and heartbreak and birth and marriage and everything in-between.

And I think this post is as much for myself as anyone else. I think it’s one that I’ll need to come back to...because it’s so easy to forget when a ten-second video of a cat will get astronomically more plays than something into which you’ve poured your blood and soul. 

If money, listeners / viewers, or influence is your metric for success, you will always be empty and will never have enough...because someone will always have more. 

Comparison is the thief of joy.

When success is the struggle and release of creating, you will eventually find it if you wrestle long enough. 

I am going to keep wrestling. I am going to keep making music. I am going to keep writing. I am going to keep loving my wife, and I’m soon going to meet our son outside of the womb. I am going to teach him how to love and to grow as best as I can, but I suspect he will teach me much more. I am going to keep dreaming. And I am going to keep going.

And I also hope you keep adding to the world in the ways that make you most come alive.

Be brave. Create.

To close, I’ll leave you with the lyrics to a song I finished recently…and then a short video that has become a companion for me over the years.

Everybody’s slaying just to get ahead 

Yeah everybody’s slaving just to get ahead

But you’ll never be free if you’re chaining those behind 

Or if you’re selling your soul on the dotted line

I ain’t selling my songs to the record man 

‘Cause their radio stations won’t reach this land

I ain’t moving to the city and changing my name

You can keep your money you can keep your fame

You can gain the whole world

But it’ll cost your soul

Oh everybody dies

Clinging to fool’s gold

Give me what’s real

What doesn’t rust or fade

Come hell or high water

Come judgement day

Give me my job at the corner store

And I will sell liquor ‘til we close the doors

We can keep the lights on, just fine

And I can pay the rent on time 

Give me my garden and the morning dew

And give me my wife with her worn out shoes

Give me my son with his toothy grin

And I would live this life again 

Yeah I would live this life again

You can gain the whole world

But it’ll cost your soul

Oh everybody dies

Clinging to fool’s gold

Give me what’s real

What doesn’t rust or fade

Come hell or high water

Come judgement day

An interview with Benjamin James

Author: John Lucas Kovasckitz with Benjamin James Roberts

(Mobile devices are fine, but due to the visual aspects included, this interview is best viewed via a computer.)

---

Ben, by trade, is a musician, photographer, and videographer. Sliding in and out of his different creative roles he requires two personas to keep things straight: Benjamin James for music and Ben Roberts for his visual work.

Ben is also one of my favorite people on the planet, a man who holds my deepest respect.

He's consistently been one of my closest allies for my own creative pursuits - freely sharing his advice and experiences, contributing to my work (he's played piano and provided vocals for both "Promised Land" and "A Thousand Cathedrals"), and his opinion is one I value extremely highly. But above all, I value Ben as my friend and brother. 

He stood by my side on my wedding day and left it all on the dance floor, we've explored Iceland together with our spouses and good friends ("Love Teach Me" below - filmed on our trip), and we've sipped a lot of tea together asking the difficult questions of faith, philosophy, and how we are to live. 

Ben is a listener, a deep observer, and subsequently a teacher by example. And when he sets his mind to something, he's all in...and it shows in his work and in his life. 

Ben's work is simultaneously abstract and deeply personal; to this point, the subject of a great portion of his conceptually visual work is his wife, Lydia. Ben's portfolio is breathtaking (pieces placed throughout his interview, and a link at its conclusion) and he has amassed recordings of over 30 (incredible) songs in the past few years.

Check out his portfolio, dive into his music, check out his synth skills (currently on a U.S. tour in John Mark McMillan's band through mid-November), but first: keep scrolling. Ben's interview has nuggets of gold, folks.

//

 

In a variety of avenues, you make your living by being creative. What are some of your practices to remain creatively sharp, and what advice would you have for others to help to foster and grow their own inner creative flames?

Ben: Practice is really the key word for me here. I used to think of creativity as some kind of magical process in which the gods randomly chose a tortured artist to be their mouthpiece for a day. This view sometimes fosters the absurd belief that an artist doesn’t have any “influences” but just creates things out of thin air, regardless of their cultural situation. Instead, I think it’s more accurate to define the creative process as a discovery of unexpected connections. In other words, the creative person is able to combine things that everyone else thinks are incompatible. With this in mind, the practice of creativity involves gathering as many influences as possible and seeing how they might work together. Legos provide a good analogy: you can create something nice with a few legos, but the more building blocks you have, the more interesting a structure you can build. The magic of legos, and creativity in general, is not the fact that the individual legos can combine to create a structure, but that different combinations will be created depending on who is building.

For me, staying creatively sharp requires: 1. A constant gathering of influences that I find inspiring and excellent (new music, new photography, new videos). And 2. Developing my skill set enough that I am able to actually make my ideas a reality. Another analogy: let’s say that inspiration is water and your skill set is a funnel. The larger your funnel - aka, the greater your skill set - the more water can come through. You can see why it’s important to keep your skill set and your influences well balanced; there’s no use gathering an ocean of influences if your funnel will only let it trickle out. Conversely, there’s no use, from a creative standpoint, in developing your skill but not gathering enough inspiration to do something new and exciting.

To put it simply: practice a lot, and constantly expose yourself to amazing work other people are doing in the same area.

If, for example, you are a writer, read the best, most beautiful books in the world. Then, figure out why those books are the best, use whatever you find in your own writing (practice), then repeat the process with an author of a totally different style. It really doesn’t have to be much more complicated than that. Imagine the style of Victor Hugo (who wrote Les Miserables) paired with the science fiction storytelling of Isaac Asimov (The Foundation Trilogy, I Robot). Or, in music, what do you get when you add Kendrick Lamar with Bob Dylan and Bon Iver? Could be pretty interesting. The last thing I would say is to simply refuse to stop creating. Of course it feels terrible when somebody doesn’t like something you’ve made, but as long as you keep going, you’ll eventually make something that you can be proud of and that other people will appreciate.  

Your latest album is entitled “Change Is Everything”. What are some of the physical and spiritual foundations of this thesis that you have found to hold true? Also, personally – either currently or aspirationally – how do you see yourself transforming and evolving?

Ben: Well first I want to preface by saying that the statement "Change is Everything" is a metaphysical claim that has some strong implications and brings with it a whole set of difficult philosophical problems which I am not qualified to solve. Instead, maybe I'll focus on why the idea interested me in the first place and what it could mean for the way we approach reality.

For me, spirituality was always tied in some way or another to the natural world. My Mom jokes sometimes that all it takes to make me happy is camping and food. But my relationship to the natural world really changed when I began learning about sustainability and humanity's relationship to the planet in general. At that point, treating the planet (and my body as a part of the planet) appropriately became an ethical problem. That was all fine, but I was still aware that there were deep problems in the way I saw things. I had heard someone say that the less you know about philosophy the more likely you are to be controlled by it. That was definitely true for me. I was approaching the world as if Aristotle's work on Physics and Metaphysics were still the authoritative understanding of nature. In that way of thinking, the world is made of substances whose natural state is to be at rest, separate from other things. Everything that moves only does so as a result of being "pushed" by a mover. Rene Descartes, a French philosopher in the 17th century, carried this line of thought further by positing the existence of two different substances that the world was made of. The first of these substances was matter, the second spirit, or mind. Following from the definition of substance these two things were necessarily separate in the strongest sense of the word. We then have a world in which the mind is completely separate from matter, and matter is made of isolated things that do not depend on anything else for their existence. It’s a lonely, valueless picture of the universe.

This is no longer the dominant view of science. But I think that this line of thought has contributed much to the lack of value we place in our planet, as well as our feeling that we are somehow separate from it. It's much easier for me to destroy my own body or dump plastic in the ocean if I think that matter has no inherent value and that I am not ultimately affected by anything that happens to it.

So with this in mind, I've been trying to explore new ways of looking at myself and the world. That is the real subtext of the new album. For me, saying that "Change is Everything" is a way of resolving some of these problems. It's a reference to Process philosophy, which says that the world is not made of things; the world is made of events. These events are then composed entirely of relationships; everything is in the process of becoming. This can seem pretty non-intuitive but think about this: if we could live for a billion years, objects like rocks - which seem very permanent - would look like a momentary getting together of sand. Another helpful visualization is the fact that glass, although it appears to be solid, is technically a slow moving liquid. It's common to look at something like a flower and to assume that it is separate from everything else, but why should we believe this? There are no such things as flower atoms. A flower is made of completely non-flower elements. When springtime comes the sun, the dirt and the rain are drawn up into a beautiful symphony that we call "flower". But how can we understand the flower without referencing the rain? Or the rain without understanding the clouds? Or the clouds without talking about the ocean? The ocean without the rivers? Or the dirt without talking about the minerals and the worms? How can we talk about the sun without mentioning the Milky Way? In this way, our flower is not just itself, it is the entire universe as expressed in a pretty little plant. The same is true of us humans. As Carl Sagan once said, "We are made of star stuff".

In a process view of reality, relationships are fundamental. But these cannot be two things in relationship, then we are just using Descartes' vocabulary. We are in the habit of thinking of things like "left" and "right" as two separate entities in relationship with one another. But imagine a 12-inch ruler: it has a right side and a left side, and is connected by the tick marks that run across its surface. But if we cut it in half we haven't separated the left from the right, we have only created a new left and right. That's because left and right go together. It's very useful to talk about them like they are separated - and we should continue to do so, for the sake of convenience - but we have to keep in mind that we are imposing an arbitrary distinction, and that distinction is most likely not a characteristic of the physical object. Now to stretch our analogy as far as possible: replace the 12-inch ruler with the universe itself and the process view of reality as made of ever-changing relationships comes into focus. It is similar to the root systems of redwood trees. Although Redwoods seem incredibly tall, their root system is comparatively tiny. In order to remain standing, they spread their roots as far out as possible and mingle with the roots of other redwoods, and collectively they are able to stand. Nothing exists in isolation, everything depends on everything else.

Another consequence of this line of thinking is that the idea of a Self dissolves. If I am not just a thing that changes but a set of ever-changing relationships then there can be no fundamental distinction between myself and the world. And further, who I am in this moment is not who I was or who I will be. This is very much in line with my experience. When I think of who I was in high school I barely recognize myself. I've found that every experience changes me on some level. There is also potential for a therapeutic approach to life latent in this. If everything is always changing, it is useless to try to hold on so tight to things. When something bad happens it's natural to adapt to that situation in whatever way we can, and then continue to act that way whenever an analogous situation arises. This can be helpful and important for a time, but once the situation has changed and we are no longer in danger, we need to be able to re-adapt to our new environment in a way that is appropriate and non-destructive. I'm not saying that all of our traumas would be resolved if we would just be in the moment and realize that things have changed since the original trauma occurred. But I am saying is that this understanding of things gives us a way to work through those issues on a daily and even momentary basis.

One of the things I love about you is your thirst and quest for knowledge, and the subsequent excitement of discovery and understanding. What’s “blowing your mind” these days, and what have been some of the monumental books or texts in your personal quest that you would recommend?

Ben: Currently my mind is being blown wide open by science, philosophy and critical thinking. Up until the presidential election last year I was mostly against these things, thinking that they were dangerous to the creative process and hopelessly inadequate attempts to get at the truth. I think I was wrong. In a world of “alternative facts” and “fake news” I don’t think we have the luxury of subscribing to such weak epistemological foundations (by epistemology I mean “how we know what we know” and “why we believe certain things”). This sounds a little academic, but bear with me. I realized that the foundation for most of my beliefs had nothing to do with evidence but with my desire for things to be a certain way. This caused me a lot of anxiety because I was constantly being confronted by a reality that didn’t act the way I thought it should, and as a result I had to either change my beliefs in such moments or try to ignore/suppress the evidence that was telling me I was wrong. Most events in our lives aren’t intense enough to warrant a total change in belief system, but some demand it. And when we find ourselves in those situations my experience has been that it is dangerous to ignore the facts. Of all epistemological systems I know of, I think that the scientific method is most aware of this. That is because science is attempting to explain the world not as it should be, but how it is. And it turns out that scientist are actually serious about this. If new evidence suggests that the current explanation is inadequate, they will try to find a better explanation. In this sense, nothing in science is sacred except truth itself. While this certainly shouldn’t be applied to every area of our lives (especially not Ethics), I think we could all learn something from this approach.

Smartphones and the internet have made information more available than food for some people. And if that constant stream of information is here to stay, we will all need a better way of figuring out what we should or should not believe. If the only criteria for our believing something is whether or not we like it, or whether or not it works to our advantage, we are setting ourselves up for a lot of disappointment, and even more anxiety. I’m finding that skepticism and critical thinking are a really good way of addressing this problem. And, ironically, they have actually increased my sense of wonder and imagination. It turns out that reality is sometimes more interesting and crazy than anything we could have thought of.

But I do want to reiterate that, at this point, I'm not trying to say that science and philosophy are the only valid way of seeking truth. I just think that they are very important for maintaining a strong democracy as well as a strong belief system.

Here are some books that have been really influential for me. I can’t say that I agree with everything in these books, but they have changed me nonetheless:

Atlas Shrugged - Ayn Rand     

Ishmael - Daniel Quinn

Animal Farm - George Orwell

The Perennial Philosophy - Aldous Huxley

A Psychological Approach to the Trinity - Carl Jung

Discourse on Inequality Among Mankind - Jean Jacques Rousseau

Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

Germinal - Emile Zola

The Three Pillars of Zen - Phillip Kaplan

Zen Mind, Beginners Mind - Shunryu Suzuki

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance - Robert Pirsig

The Story of Philosophy - Will Durant

A Brief History of Time - Stephen Hawking

Reality is Not What it Seems - Carlo Rovelli

The Demon-Haunted World - Carl Sagan

Currently reading: The Big Picture by Sean Carrol and The Brothers Karamozov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Connect with Ben: 

http://www.benrobertsphoto.com

Instagram: @benjaminjamesmusic

Music: Spotify / iTunes

An interview with Dominic Laing

Author: John Lucas Kovasckitz with Dominic Laing

I've never met Dom in person...I don't know how he takes his coffee, whether or not he has a dog, or what kind of car he drives. However, there are few people in my life that have personally pushed me forward, encouraged, and inspired me in the manner that he has.

I couldn't afford to record my last album Promised Land out-of-pocket, and needed to raise the money through Kickstarter. The campaign started off strong, but hit a lull mid-point. There were a couple of $10 and $20 days, and I started to seriously doubt myself...to question why I had put myself out there in the first place, and to doubt the songs I had written. 

It was during this point that I received a very substantial contribution from a guy named Dominic Laing from Philadelphia (he's now putting down roots in Portland, OR). I thought it must have been a mistake, but a few minutes later he sent me a message containing these lines: "...much of what you hope to see, much of what you believe exists in the heart of every person -- I believe and walk with you. I'm too broken to be cynical, too hurt to be angry. I'm just gonna believe every word you say and do what I can to support the howl in your heart."

I collapsed weeping in my wife's arms, repeating I don't understand, I don't understand. And I still don't...strangers don't give like Dom. But I knew in that moment that the album was going to be funded...and it was. Over two hundred people gave to make it come together in the end, and I'm incredibly grateful for every person that poured so much into the process. But it's Dom's gift that I will always remember. I later connected with one of Dom's friends through a project, and when I told him the story of Dom's gift he said that he wasn't surprised at all...and that Dom was "one hell of a guy".  

As it turns out, Dom is also one hell of a poet.

Dom's poetry is rich, and it leaves an ache...often it's simultaneously holy and profane (perhaps as are we all), simultaneously "Now and Not Yet". From the interview below, which is poetry itself: "This form of communion isn’t for everyone, and that’s okay. If anything that’s more confirmation that I need to keep doing it. Poetry pulls me close to God and into his appalling strangeness. Poetry is my whistling in the dark, my undignified dance and my sackcloth and ash."

From the correspondence we've had, and from his poetry, I've come to know Dom as both fiery and gentle...gracious, kind, and full of humility. One hell of a guy to be sure.

I've posted a handful of my favorites from his book of poetry, "Smoke by Day, Fire by Night" below...which he is offering to send to you (yes, you) for free. No catches, no gimmicks, simply a gift - instructions for how to get your hands on one found at the very end of this post, along with his information. Dom also does incredible video work..."When the Saints" - a powerful short film which he wrote and directed - is posted below.

Dom's interview will truly make you a better human being. As my boy Pete Holmes says: get into it.

be here with me,
be now with me — 
presence for present's sake.
not for the sake of "later," 
not for the false promise of
"greater,"
not for pearly gates,
harps, halos,
mansions or yellow-brick roads.
be here with me
and behold with me;
stay awhile with me
and pray wild with me;
dance like amber waves.
church and praise like ocean waves.
burn and blaze, bonfire bright.
smoke by day, fire by night. 

//

do I prefer old ghosts
to new flesh?
am I more comfortable
being haunted,
as opposed to being seen anew?
do I sing old songs and old tunes;
do I wear old clothes
and dig out old wounds?
do I settle for holdable,
malleable, passive memory —
can I turn memories into marionettes?
do I wind back the clock
and seek to reset sun, moon and stars?
teach my hands to be brave,
shepherd.
teach my heart how to be brave, son. 

//

how precious and how glorious —
to confess lack.
to profess wound.
to express gap.
          "here, brother; I fall short."
          "here, sister; I don't know."
          "here, my love; I fear — I tremble."
how rare, how melodious;
how comet-fall, how northern-lights,
how broken, how ashen,
how many-splendored,
how tear-stained and levitating,
how fishes and loaves and po' boys,
how prayer and second-line beads,
how grace and grace
how amazing and amazing.
          to be gathered.
          to be warmed.
          to be known in full.
          to be loved in full.

//

yes, darkness —
but still, light.
yes fear;
but still, fight.
yes, mud — and yes, mire;
but still, blood.
but still, fire.
bare knuckles.
bare souls.
bare hurt.
be whole.

//

shake dust
and be shaken.
raise hell
and be risen.

Can you give a basic timeline of your life up to this point? This doesn’t have to be super in-depth, but I’d love to hear of some of the stages that have helped to shape who you are today.

Dom: I’m Dominic, and I believe in grace, communion, mystery and tenderness. Or, put another way:

— 1 of 4 —

In junior high, I wrote my first short story. It’s not good. It involves a high schooler — a Donnie Darko, moody, introspective type — who kills his cheating girlfriend and her lover in a fit of rage.

Now, cheating partners and crimes of passion are well-worn literary devices; but when you attend a tiny private Christian school, a story about teenagers, sex and murder raises an eyebrow or two.

Glenda Vanderkam, my English teacher for 6th and 8th grade, as well as my art teacher (small school, remember) met with myself and my parents. She didn’t chastise or reprimand me. She didn’t tell me I was wasting my time and should do something more productive.

Instead, with compassion and kindness, she told me to keep writing.

— 2 of 4 —

Also in junior high, I saw the film Amadeus.

Antonio Salieri, a good-but-never-great composer, meets Mozart and considers him a brat, a divine joke unworthy of God’s bequeathed genius. He hatches a plan to drive Mozart insane.

And now, standing at the foot of Mozart’s deathbed, he’s almost succeeded.

Except now he sees Mozart’s unfinished work — a requiem. He examines the sheet music, and he’s overcome by the beauty. “…Let me help,” says Salieri.

Mozart’s spirit awakens. Salieri, armed with ink and quill, transcribes Mozart’s dictations.

“First, the tenors…” In the soundtrack, the voices float over both Mozart and Salieri. The bass voices follow, linked now with the tenors. Bassoon and trumpet and timpani and strings cascade behind them, instrument building upon instrument. Salieri struggles to keep up —

“You’re going too fast!”

“Do you have me?” Screams Mozart.

Salieri finishes the last notation and flips the pages to Mozart, who lunges for them. His eyes scan the pages, his right arm raises as if he’s conducting the orchestra, and —

— with utter majesty, the requiem rises to life, all parts in unison, more beautiful and terrifying than Salieri or Mozart could have imagined. God’s glory on full display.

— 3 of 4 —

The summer after I graduated college, three years after Hurricane Katrina struck the Gulf Coast, I and six others spent a month in New Orleans, Louisiana, working with various non-profit organizations.

Never before had I encountered such a sweet and aching place. New Orleans bursts at the seams with rage and revelry. Death and dirge to the cemetery, then Life Everlasting and Second Line back to the church.

A city and its citizens, in danger of being forever defined by its trauma, raises song and shout (and Bourbon Street to-go cups) to once more profess belief in healing, to once more unspool a yearning for God’s Electric Shore, once more…When the Saints Go Marching In.

New Orleans is also the birthplace of Jazz. On Sundays, the slaves gathered in Congo Square, just outside the French Quarter. There, they would play their ancestral music, dance, and call on the Name.

“Life hurts like a motherfucker,” they seemed to say, “But we…we shall come forth as gold.”

— 4 of 4 —

When I was 26, I moved to Philadelphia. Eight days later, a kid told me he had a gun and demanded my cash and my phone. He fled around the corner. He was arrested later that day.

We wound up exchanging a few letters, and eventually, I wound up visiting him in prison.

Philadelphia’s a vibrant, precious city. If they love you, they want you at every Christmas dinner. But if they hate you, you’re a leper. In this way, Philadelphia taught me about the necessity of tenderness.

Not about its rewards or benefits, but its necessity.

Hatred risks nothing and rewards nothing. But tenderness risks being broken, battered and blown to smithereens.

It’ll always be easier to tell the world to go fuck itself. Such rejection tosses aside the belief that the world could be something other than what’s seen.

Tenderness, though, demonstrates profound belief in the hearts of others. It acknowledges what is, and hopes for what could be. Such belief does not relent, and is stronger than any weapon.

Tenderness is the clear and consistent declaration of love.

It is the Lord’s current which takes us, cleans us and guides us home.

What is it about storytelling in its various forms that draws you in, and what do you feel is the power of a well-told story within our culture?

Dom: “Once upon a time…” goodness, don’t you love those words?

Good storytelling is a good campfire; something built that seeks out others and calls them to itself. “Come and gather. See and be seen.” Storytelling invites and illumines. It welcomes others to sit and be revealed.

And as you share of yourself, you too are illuminated.  The other person leans in, and through storytelling all ‘other’-ness sheds. By campfire light, we enter a fuller knowledge of our friends.

Again: Invitation. Not proclamation, or defamation. Invitation.

Storytelling plants me in the company of other people. Storytelling allows me to participate in currents of hope and ache with others. We stand in those vibrant waters together.

“The Kingdom of God is like…” Christ healed the sick, made sure no one went hungry, and he told stories. His storytelling always pushed Kingdom, always hummed with love that bent him toward the destitute.

Christ expressed the Now and the Not Yet. Christ could talk about people working in the field, and the audience would understand.

But how are workers in a field like the Kingdom of God? How is something we know and inhabit — Now — like something we’re ignorant of and don’t see — Not Yet?

Storytelling confronts, comforts and places us in loving spaces of tension. The tension of storytelling, that which makes you feel seemingly contradictory emotions — that’s the mystery and romance of God.

There is God, on the cross, bleeding; and there is God, in heaven, silent; and there is God, in our souls, weeping, split wide open and living in perpetual wound.

And yet, in the midst of this angst, we tell stories. We can’t help it. It’s our grasp for the ineffable. The Kingdom of God is like a mustard seed. My heart is like a throttling trombone on Frenchmen Street.

I take comfort in the fact that words fall short. Words — Now — falling short — Not Yet.

“Once upon a time…once upon a time…yes, and amen…yes, and amen…”

I think what I like most about your poetry is that it blurs the lines between the sacred and the “unholy”, the divine and the destitute. It’s raw, honest, and real...and in many ways it’s what I’m after when I write. I think that a lot of people are tired of the whitewashed and polished ways of describing and relating to God within a world that is full of deep injustice and pain. How have you experienced God in the grit and brokenness of your own life and the lives of others?

Dom: First, thank you. You’re very kind.

Poetry as prayer — as confession — as liturgical orientation. Here I am, and here you are. This is me with a blank canvas — Christ, abide with me.

Think of the poems as emotional coordinates. Along with that, consider the strange truth — sometimes disappointing, sometimes jubilant — that when I’m honest, where I think I am isn’t where my heart tells me I’m located.

Poems allow me to explore my spirit, and I’m not always thrilled with what I find. However, the more I write, the more peace I experience about myself and how I relate to God. I can make peace with the occasional foul language and the repeated use of the word ‘ache’ because that’s where the Maker has me.

So as I am fearfully and wonderfully made, so I make. Again, it’s communion. It’s belief in a song you’ve never sung, but whose words you’ve known from the moment of birth.

This is my story, this is my song.

This form of communion isn’t for everyone, and that’s okay. If anything that’s more confirmation that I need to keep doing it. Poetry pulls me close to God and into his appalling strangeness. Poetry is my whistling in the dark, my undignified dance and my sackcloth and ash.

Wendell Berry said it better than I ever could: “It all turns on affection.” The more I write, the more I believe in affection. Even when I want to rage, even when I want to lash out and strike at the world, poetry and communion with God crooks me down to affection, to its slow, peculiar and sonorous work.

Still, I hope. Still, I believe.

I can relate first-hand (without even having met you) that you lead a life of generosity and compassion for others. What is it that you want to pass along to others through your life, and what gives you this fire?

Dom: A hammer can build a home or crack a skull. It’s all in how you use it. I can use whatever funds I have to shore up my walls and my domain and my barricades, or I can open myself, make available time and resource, and invite others into relationship.

I’ve experienced moments of molten grace in my life — kindness so emboldening that it makes me want to fly, and kindness so rich and laden it presses my face into the wet dirt.

Grace, Good Grace — that which pulls me up to Heaven, and draws me down to Earth.

I’m thinking back to times where there’ve been samaritans in my life — back in key moments when my heart was breaking — on account of betrayal, on account of loss, on account of confusion — and someone was there to listen, to lift up, to sit in the brokenness.

I can remember my heart melting like ice cream in the middle of August. I can remember feeling like I was going to weep until I was dehydrated. I can remember feeling like I was going to spontaneously combust.

And in those moments, Christ saw fit that I would not be alone.

Generosity — Affection — Tenderness — Abiding — L-O-V-E —

It’s the miracle of God in which we’re allowed to ride side-saddle. It’s living proof of Now and Not Yet.

I was thinking about “thank you” recently — those words, “thank you.” — Saying “thank you” always seems incomplete, but when I try to say ‘thank you’ again, the words feel even smaller, and the more I try to say ‘thank you’, the less it adds up to.

Sin is new every morning, and Grace is new every morning. I can’t say “thank you” all at once, so I shouldn’t keep trying. Instead, profess grace and gratitude; sown one day at a time, one breath at a time.

In the name of the Father,
thank you
In the name of the Son,
thank you
In the name of the Holy Spirit,
thank you

//

Dom's instructions to request "Smoke By Day, Fire by Night", the free book of poetry:
-Follow me on Instagram (@dominiclaing)
-DM me w/ address and number of books
-Wait :)

Dom's blog and website: www.dominiclaing.com/

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Why we're moving into a van

Author: John Lucas Kovasckitz

In two days, we’re leaving behind our dream kitchen. It’s full of natural light in the mornings, and usually smells of my wife’s coffee. The windows above the sink overlook a wooded area sloping sharply to a creek, and today melting snow lingers on the limbs outside. There are creaky hardwoods underfoot, with deep scratches - probably long ago from a beloved dog - and burn marks showing an outline of where a wood stove used to reside. Its cupboards and countertops are now bare, but cookbooks and handmade mugs were arranged just so on the shelves, with a red KitchenAid mixer on the counter. The kitchen drawers are the ones that you can’t slam shut - push them too hard and they glide into place. On the ceiling are a few yellowed spots from when the roof leaked on our first night in the house.

There’s a full basement below, and a loft above. In the adjoining living room is our rattly propane heater, next to which sat our record player. Bedroom to the left, bathroom to the right, and ahead is the guest room where we kept our large collection of books. Rocking chair and swing on the front porch, hot tub on the deck. From the front porch is a view of some of the surrounding ridges, and when the leaves are full the yard feels hidden from the rest of the world.

Simply put, we were renting a palace.

Danielle and I fell in love with this house a little over a year ago, and we’ve made it our home since. But somewhere in the hot tub, or on the way to the wine cellar (not really, but we do have a wine rack in the mud room…) we started dreaming about what it would be like to live in a van.

I think it was initially my wife’s idea. And that’s one of the great things about her: she’s up for trying crazy things. Because it is crazy. We realize that.

We began following a lot of Instagram accounts of people building out vans, and watched a lot of YouTube videos. We’re not trailblazers (sure, there were the original hippies), but there has been a recent upsurge of people - climbers, surfers, overall adventurers and lovers of travel - that have created a growing community of Vanlifers.

Although our building experience together collectively amounted to nil, Danielle was ambitious enough to believe that we could create our own home in a van, and she was convincing enough to persuade me.

We searched religiously for vans, and inevitably the ones we wanted were snatched away (or turned out to be Craigslist scams), but we managed to testdrive a few in the process. We looked at an older Ford in Waxhaw - not quite up to par, but owned by a friendly man who gave us glasses of sweet tea and eggs from his chickens as we left.

We tested an enormous Mercedes Sprinter - essentially a bus, that through a miracle I didn’t use to kill several people. The lot where it was parked was on a slope, and after putting it in drive I pushed the brakes to the floor (or so I thought), and yet still we were rolling faster and faster towards the road and traffic. It was fast-motion and slow-motion at the same time, and I remember yelling, “It’s not stopping! It’s not stopping!” Cars were coming quickly from both directions, and I rolled in front of one car that was able to stop, and hesitated on the gas before a car (that I didn’t see at all) sped past in the opposite direction. If I wouldn’t have hesitated on the gas, someone probably would have been killed...my wife, brother-in-law, mother-in-law, and the owner were also in the van - as well as the other drivers on the road. We pulled over, and I realized that my shoe had been caught on a lip a couple of inches before the brakes would have been fully floored. I was mortified, sweating bullets, and was fairly shaken up for days replaying it in my mind.

The Mercedes was rusty and had several warning lights engaged, but needless to say, we didn’t buy it. Danielle and I became discouraged with the search, and I vowed to stop looking for a certain amount of time for the sake of both our sanities. After about a week, I cheated and found Wadlow.

Wadlow is a 2008 Ford E250 with a high roof, which - at full height standing within - my head barely grazes the ceiling and Danielle is fine and dandy. Wadlow is tall, white, and a little dorky but loveable - aptly named after the late Robert Wadlow, who stood at 8’11”. He was “The Giant of Illinois”, and the tallest man who ever lived.

Our Wadlow came complete with berber carpet and ugly blinds, so we took it camping the first week. It was fairly functional as it was - before we ripped, unscrewed, and overall demolished the interior and threw its contents onto our driveway.

Sweet Lord, have mercy on us. We don’t know what we're doing.

Thank God for Josh, Danielle’s younger brother. He’s nineteen, and yet somehow has watched enough how-to videos to know how to do an array of handy things with confidence that we certainly don’t have. He was our general contractor; he wandered the aisles of Lowe’s Hardware with us (where inevitably I would become overwhelmed, and Danielle and I would get into a fight), he took our calls when we were in over our heads more than usual, and we bribed him with food to come guide and assist for long days on several occasions.

We certainly couldn’t have done it without Josh, but I’m incredibly proud of my wife and I (cue sequence music). We learned how to use power tools together, we laid floors together, we dreamed together. We sanded, stained, drilled, cut, painted, and we measured twice and cut once (although sometimes we still measured wrong). Building out a van is incredibly difficult. Hardly anything is square - the walls curve, the roof slopes, there are weird tubes and wires to factor, you generally can't drill where you'd like, and sometimes even nineteen-year-old wonderboy doesn’t have the answers.

But looking back and seeing Wadlow now, we kicked ass. Right out of town.

But all of this still certainly begs the foundational question: why? Why give up the palace for the chariot? The palace has ample electricity, a fridge and oven, a comfortable (large) bed, space for family and friends and all of our books and records and instruments and our red KitchenAid and our Christmas tree and our TV, and not to mention running water...leading to things we will unfortunately notably not have in the van - a toilet and shower...

The simple answer is this: because we want to live differently.

Danielle and I work half the month - week on, week off, fully immersed care - at a cottage (which, you will be happy to know, has toilets and showers) living with children within the foster care system. Collectively, Danielle and I pull an entry-middle-class salary, which around $1,000 per month was directed towards the rent and utilities for our house, where at most we were spending half the month. We love to travel, to meet new people and to explore new places, but our living situation made us far less likely to do so with our expensive rental house sitting empty.

Living in a van will cause us to buy less stuff, and to greater value experience and time together. Two plates, two bowls, two spoons…

We’ve been purging heavily over the last few months in preparation for move-out day - which the headache and process of subleasing our house is a novel in itself. We’ve given away many of our possessions and stored the rest that have made the cut, and it’s caused us to ask ourselves what we actually need to be happy. We’re planning on downsizing to one cell phone to share (without a data plan), and my beloved Subaru that I bought when I was eighteen will soon go up for sale.

We bought Wadlow in cash for $13,500, and have put about $2,000 in additions. It has 76k on the odometer, and around $15k for (hopefully) a reliable car and home in one isn’t too bad. No rental payments, no car payments, no debt.

For our time in the van, we want to live simply. We want to read good books and to write. We want to volunteer on small farms in the area when we aren’t working, and to visit with friends and family. We want to hike and camp in new places. It won’t be easy, we know this...we’ll be two people living in 65 square feet. We’ll fight sometimes. We’ll smell bad at times, and probably have a close call or two looking for a bathroom. We’ll measure twice, cut once, and still get it wrong in a lot of areas.

But I think that one day looking back, we’ll say that we kicked ass. Right out of town.

We’re excited to take our home with us on the road, and to see where it leads. I think the real answer to the question of why we’re doing this in the first place is simply this: we have no idea. We have no idea where we’re headed or why, but the unknown is calling and we are answering as practically as we know how.

Follow the unknown and see where it leads. Give up the palace for the chariot in your own way, and you may find that your comfort was a cheap sacrifice for the adventure and beauty ahead. We’ll see you on the road.

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Songwriting

Author: John Lucas Kovasckitz

I don’t claim to be the best musician, and I certainly don’t claim to be a great performer (although it is an area in which I want to grow and improve, I currently view performing - with exceptions - as primarily a necessary evil...signed, a classic introvert).

However, I believe in my abilities as a songwriter.

I’ve been seriously writing songs for about twelve years, and I’ve been writing (what I consider to be) good songs for about seven years. Notice a lengthy period of songs falling in categories such as being “good for an adolescent”, or “good enough for a church youth group”, etc. before becoming what I consider to be simply good with no reservations.

I was not a child prodigy, despite what my mother thought. I remember as a kid writing a rap about Jonah (the guy from the Bible who was swallowed by a fish), and I believed at the time it was great stuff. It was not. Somewhere on an old home video tape (hopefully destroyed by now, but labeled “Rock Star Luke”) is me playing my hit song, “I’m Just Dancing Around for No Particular Reason” - the title is essentially the entirety of the lyrics.

My parents bought my brother and I a guitar when I was ten (followed later by a keyboard and drums - yes, my parents are truly saints). I took three guitar lessons before quitting...scales were hard and my fingers hurt. I later picked it back up on my own, fell in love with music, and I have learned without formal instruction since. I slowly started getting better and writing seriously, and eventually began recording my on a very used Macbook.

I released four EPs for free through Noisetrade over the years, each progressively getting better and receiving more attention, until I reached the pinnacle of my engineering capabilities and hired Everett Hardin - with funds raised via Kickstarter - to produce and engineer my first full-length album, Promised Land in 2015...an album of what I believe to be twelve good songs. Shameless plug: its 7-song sequel, A Thousand Cathedrals, is coming soon. 

I relay this history to show a bit of the journey, and to show that there is a journey. Good art takes time, and I think that above all it takes perseverance. Your fingers will hurt and you will want to quit. You will write dozens of crappy songs before you write any good ones. You will record something that you finally like, and no one will download it...even when you give it away for free.

Do it anyway. In my experience, this is all part of the process.

I consider myself to be a successful songwriter. However, I am not - at least currently - a financially successful songwriter. And yes, there is a difference. My wife and I have full-time jobs outside of music, and I’m happy if the money I make from what I create pays for recording costs and occasionally a new instrument.

I don’t make music for the money, and if I did I would have quit a long time ago. I make music because it is a part of who I am. I make music to express myself in ways that I would otherwise be unable, as a way to know the Creator through creating, and to connect with others on a deep level. I get messages all over the world from people who relay that my music has helped them through deaths or divorces, from people who have proposed with one of my songs or used one as their first dance at their wedding...or from people that have seen God more clearly through what I write. To me, these stories are greater than financial success.

Although, to be clear, I like getting paid.

I also get a fair amount of requests from people asking about my songwriting process, or if I have any advice or suggestions for aspiring songwriters. Let’s move into some of the practicals...and if you’re not a songwriter but have made it this far, stay with me. Many of these bullets are applicable to any art form, or most things worth doing for that matter.

• Again, persevere. If you feel that there are songs inside your bones, there will probably be a long journey to find them. Practice your instrument often, so that when the words do come, you won’t be distracted by a poor foundation.

• Have easy access to your instrument(s). If you keep your guitar in a case tucked away in a closet, it will not be played. Keep your guitar in a stand, or hang it on a wall where you will see it often. Even something as simple as leaving the keys exposed instead of covered on an upright piano will make you more likely to play.

• Have a place (or several) where you can go to be alone. I am usually unable to get in “the zone” to write when other people are around - even my wife. I like to play outdoors when the weather is nice, or near a window if it is cold or wet outside. If you live in a more crowded environment, you may find that you need to write later in the night or early in the morning. Find a time and place where you can sing and try out lyrics without being heard by others. I usually play and sing random words and phrases, looking for a thread. A thread is a lyrical phrase, a melody, an image...even a single word that you know is special somehow. I realize that there is something mystical about this. When I’m creating music is often when I most clearly feel the presence of the Spirit (whom I believe to be inside of us all)...and songwriting, when I have experienced it at its very best, I would almost describe as a conversation with that Spirit.

Threads do not have to come while you are in a position of writing. While hiking in Washington state, the line “I have the dust on my boots of a thousand cathedrals” came into my mind. It stayed there without further progression for a couple of months before forming into a complete song, later to become the title track of my upcoming EP.

• Once you find a thread, write it down quickly - otherwise you will forget. If it is a phrase with a particular melody, make a quick recording. One of my favorite things about my iPhone is the voice notes app. Keep a notebook or a voice notes folder with threads that you can come back and explore later. Sometimes I am able to hold a finished song in an hour, and sometimes I wrestle with a certain song for months. Don’t get frustrated with the process - if a song is bucking you off of its back, come back to it later. You may need to learn or experience something in your own life before the thread is able to be followed further.

• Many people are stuck with what to write about. Write about what matters; write about what moves you. If a song does not first speak deeply to you, it will not move others, and it will not have authenticity. Do not write what you think other people want to hear. Write from your perspective, write from the perspective of someone you love, write from the perspective of your enemy...have the audacity to write from the perspective of God (I have personally done all of these). Read books that matter, watch films that move you. Serve others, love others. Let your life feed your art and let your art feed your life.

• When you have a finished song, have the bravery to share it with someone else - usually my wife is my first set of ears. A smoky bar on open mic night is not my recommended place for a debut. Show your music first to someone that you love and trust, and move outwards as you continue to write and grow.

Bear in mind that this is all blanket advice from my own experiences, and is in no way a set formula. I’d love to hear your own thoughts, questions, and experiences. I believe that art created with boldness and honesty has the power to change destructive cultural and societal directions, and can bring unity across our constructed borders.

Be brave my friends, and let’s write a new song together.

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