Make a wish

When I first read "Ruby Slippers" from Seth Godin, I thought. Yes, yes, that's it. You need to have one thing, that's what I've been saying. You figure out that one thing, then start working towards making that magical moment arrive.

Then it hit me. As Seth puts it:

But for many sites, many companies, there isn't a thing. They can't articulate it. They have no wish. If you have no wish, how can it possibly come true?

Ahhh. What's my wish? I don't know exactly what my wish is. [...deep sigh...] Then, that's when it really sets in. [...more sighing ...] I don't have a wish.
You could also call it an objective, but I think that obsfucates the magic of "wish" within the walls of business double-talk. So there it is. I don't have a wish. And if I may, what I think Seth means by wish, is that one special goal, when reached, will allow all of your other plans to fall into place. Note to self, go to the beach and stare into the waves until i fugure out what I wish for.

P.S. Maybe this should get filed away under throw in blender of the same and "wish" for something else besides goop coming out. Just another re-hash or what eludes me. It's not one wish, it's a hundred million. Which to choose? What gets post-poned? Is this a scale of wishes until you receive you're big wish?

Photo Courtesy of Flickr Creative Commons: kern.justin

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Hockney and the iPhone

We Two Boys Together ClingingIt must be the new drugs, or the constant home repair work, but the urge to pick up a pencil, brush, or crayon has seemed distant. So instead I'm staying close to the warmth and comfort of my keyboard. A recent tweet, led me to an interview/article with David Hockney.

At one point in the article he mentions that he has his suits especially tailored to include an inside pocket in the jackets large enough to accommodate a sketchbook and brushes that he always carries.

He is well aware, as he says, that “the art world thinks that this is a genre that’s quite exhausted – but nothing is quite exhausted”. Images, he says, help us to see the world: “I keep thinking that people have stopped looking at landscape . . . and I’m very interested in how we see; seeing is memory and memory is now. We don’t all see the same things even if we’re looking at the same thing . . . looking is a positive thing — you’ve got to decide to look.”

Then at one point in the interview, when discussing several drawings of Hockney’s brother, Paul, and his sister, Margaret; in each picture the subjects seem mesmerised by a small gadget in their hands, which turns out to be an iPhone — Hockney’s latest enthusiasm: Hockney shares:

“Yes, my brother and sister sat there for three or four hours, totally engrossed.” Hockney is thrilled that he has finally persuaded Celia Birtwell to buy one so that he can send her pictures: “I draw flowers on them and send them out every morning to a group of people.”

He demonstrates, tracing his finger over the tiny screen with such absorption that I worry he will stop talking altogether. “Who would have thought the telephone would bring back drawing?” he exclaims with glee.

“It’s such a great little device, it has every Shakespeare play in it and the Oxford English dictionary. In your pocket! But it’s also amusing, look at this.” He blows into it and his new toy
becomes a harmonica.