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PAY IT FORWARD

1/20/2020

Did you ever see the movie "Pay It Forward"?? Neither did I.

However, I do love the idea.

Whenever I do a favor for someone, I never ask for anything in return because… it's a favor. I usually tell them something like, "Just do it for someone else in the future".

Imagine... if you pay a favor back, it stops there and that's the end of it. But if you pay it forward... it never stops. Unless someone gets a little selfish and stops paying it forward.

Anyway... I love the concept. Now you must like it too. Because I've been hypnotizing you as you've been reading. Bring me some ice cream.

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Inequalities During The Holiday Season, and The Potential Damage It Can Do

12/20/2019

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This is the time of year when Santa visits. And rewards those that have been nice, and supposedly, does not reward those… as much at least…. who’ve been naughty.

There are however, a lot of families who can’t afford gifts. The children in those families may have tried really hard to be deserving of reward, and yet, to them, after the holiday comes and goes, Santa will have deemed them to be undeserving and unworthy. This concept is disturbing to me.

Kids are taught to believe in Santa, and they talk about him, as well as all their holiday gifts in the aftermath. And those that don’t get gifts are left to wonder what they did so wrong, and why they were deemed unworthy even though they may have tried to be so.

One of the many, many seeds of character building, that can go so wrong.

It's impossible to know, but I wonder what the ripples add up to, with things like this.

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"There is an art to doing nothing, because very often, while doing so, you are accomplishing great things".

12/20/2019

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One of the best things about having faith is that it gives you a place to store the answers when you don't know them

7/10/2019

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FEATHER IN THE BREEZE

6/7/2019

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You’re a feather in the breeze
Prodded rocking side to side
No control no direction
As you drift upon the wind

Jetsam on a broken shore
Empty life with hints of more
Waiting as your savior
Lifts you up to take you in

Transparent and so fragile
Stripped naked and confused
The tears have worn away
the underneath

You sacrifice your values
Give up, give in, give out
Prostrated and so
Open just to breathe

Fragile, cracked and broken
Jetsam floats upon the waves
Your own needs go unspoken
In your offerings to please

Opened with acidic hands
Your inner self wears thin
In a life of hidden winds
You’re a feather in the breeze

Silent tears in dark of night
Only you to hold you tight
With loss of soul in darkness
In some ungodly way

You cry in silent sorrow
As the sun unveils morrow
You face the waking challenge
Of pushing past the day

Fragile, cracked and broken
Jetsam floats upon the waves
Your own needs go unspoken
In your offerings to please

Opened with acidic hands
Your inner self wears thin
In a life of hidden winds
You’re a feather in the breeze

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Don't expect anything to change, if you're not going to change anything.

5/27/2019

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Maybe the idea isn't to be better than someone else was the day before, but to be better than you were the day before.

8/9/2018

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Those who feel less in control, are the ones who make the most noise.

8/9/2018

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Don’t forget… in the course of being an adult, being responsible, and carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, to look at life through the eyes of a child, appreciate the silly, and be a little goofy at times.

5/8/2018

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The more your own opinion becomes important to how you feel about your own actions, the less other people's opinions will matter. And it will give you freedom.

4/20/2018

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STRANDED

3/30/2018

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I wrote this a long time ago.... around 2005 or so. Obviously, I'm catching up on some old writings...
_____________________________________

Day 5:

Dear log,

It has been a long time now that I have been stranded on this island that is my office. Many suns have risen and set, many moons have lit my nights. I wonder if I will ever escape.

Yesterday was interesting albeit as usual, somewhat dangerous. The unknown, along with the clutter, seems always to be like that.

I was working my way through what seemed like a large field of debris, searching for nutrients of any kind, or maybe some coffee, when I suddenly came upon a clearing. It was unusual, to say the least. As I looked across the vast wasteland that has become my tormentor, there stood in front of me a large mound, approximately 7 feet wide, 3 feet high, and 4 feet deep. It looked unnatural and I approached it with caution. It seemed almost a living being, yet so long left dormant. The mound was covered with more debris and as I approached, I could feel my heart drum a harder, faster beat within my chest. I stared upon this mound, so covered from time past, and felt the evil within. It could only mean danger. I reached my hand out, barely touching the edges of dust and cobweb soaked clutter, so long ago lost to sunlight. It lay there silently, almost daring me to come closer. I did so. With trepidation and a rising sense of danger, I moved the dust cloaked edge of debris a little more. No response. I did it again, my rising caution screaming out. Nothing. I wiped away more of the remains to find a smooth brownish textured layer underneath. What kind of aberration could this be?? It looked man made. I wiped away more, my anticipation and curiosity almost making me throw caution to the wind. I stared aghast, amazement running through my veins as I gazed upon something I could never have imagined. There in front of me was a long ago forgotten desk. A chill shot through me as I contemplated the meaning of this new discovery. Someone had been here before. As the dust slid and lifted, I could see file folders with vaguely familiar names of cases not yet finished. I slowly opened a drawer. Wow, I thought to myself... paper clips. Sticker thingies. A stamp! I could write for help!!

Suddenly my hand rubbed against a small hard lump. Caution and fear once again shot through me as I jerked backwards. No movement. I slowly reached for the object again. It was gray with small button-like buttons. I pressed one. Suddenly from across the island that is my office came voices from under a large pile of 3-ringed binders and industry magazines!! I rushed over, my legs churning, held back against the currents of debris. Hacking my way closer, I shoved the dust covered binders aside, hoping to find someone alive. As I moved a baseball cap and a can of Slimfast, I saw a glow. My eyes stared in wonderment. No... I would find no one alive this day. That was too much to hope for. However, there would be communication. The AM/FM CD Tape player glowed its' digital glow as sound from a long forgotten band called "Train" wafted through the air. I barely remembered them. I have been on this island that is my office too long.

Some day log, I will get off this island that is my office and be set free to enjoy life as it should be. For now though, I continue on, exploring the dark danger-filled corners and long forgotten file cabinets, answering the phone, doing reviews, and the occasional wholesaler-sponsored lunch.

David S. Chorney

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Marlee Dating

3/3/2018

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This is something I wrote wayyyy back when my daughter was first born. Must have been sometime in 1997...
_______________________

A bunch of people who saw the pictures I sent of my new born daughter Marlee, commented on them. It made me think. I need a plan for when she wants to date. So far, I jotted down some ideas…

No make-up, no earrings, and no dates until she’s 30. In-home schooling too.

Every boy who wants to even talk with her has to pass a written and oral exam plus I interview his parents by gun point.

Salt peter must be present in his diet, and he must offer to do 50 hours per week of community service work around MY house until he’s known her for 7 years or until he dies, whichever comes first.

He must go through a metal detector. If he has an earring, a nose ring, or any other piece of jewelry, he must ASK me to tear if off him.

He must be a big fan of Perry Como. I am NOT a fan of Perry Como, but if HE is, I’ll feel better.

He must be regularly contributing to an IRA and know the difference between a bond, a stock, and a mutual fund.

His car can’t have any dents or dirt on it. If he ever sits outside and beeps for my daughter, he will either be shot, or he will stay sitting outside and beeping for the rest of his endangered life.

If his jeans EVER fall below the point where his hips start, I will tear them off him so fast he’ll think he forgot to get dressed, and kick him back outside.

He must insist on calling me “Sir”.

If he ever even tries to come into actual physical contact with my daughter, he’ll wish he was being slowly eaten by dogs.

He must naturally enjoy bowling, sunsets, puppy dogs and helping out in senior citizen homes.

He needs to speak at least three languages fluently, know how to write a business plan, know how to create a DNA model with Tinker Toys, and do fractional square roots in his head.

He must make me laugh. Hard. He must make Marlee laugh.

He must bring a bouquet of flowers for my wife and roses for Marlee. If he brings RED roses for Marlee before he has known her for at least 9 years, he will eat them.

He must be on time. He can be up to 30 seconds early, but he can NEVER EVER be late for my daughter. If he IS late, he should only consider ringing that doorbell with a finger he is not fond of.

Okay, that was off the top of my head. I will formulate the other 75% of my plan when I’m not feeling quite as relaxed.

Marlee’s Dad

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I Needed

2/27/2018

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I needed to imagine a grin on your face,
if just for a second or two.
The sun pouring down for a brief point of time,
falling down as to shine just for you.

I needed to dream of a mere moments lapse,
where I see your half sleepy smile.
At least I can feel I turned on the sun,
if only, if just, for awhile.

I needed to imagine a brief point in time,
where the day glow could shine down on you.
I needed to think that I could do that,
if just for a second or two.

- David S. Chorney

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I hope, in the future, we look back at those who hated so much, and know we used them as markers to measure who we didn't want to be

2/25/2018

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The barrier between eating healthy and weight loss, is quantity

2/25/2018

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Life is not a competition. It's a journey of discovery, most often about yourself.

2/25/2018

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May the coming year bring you all of what you need, most of what you want, and just enough struggle to appreciate it all.

2/25/2018

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Tis better to have felt the depth of intensity and be left bereft, then to have never felt at all. I will take the deep cutting pain of loss, over the black chasm of nothing, every time.

8/28/2017

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Jogging Tip: You can save a lot of wear and tear on your knees, and the rest of your body, by going straight from your warm up, into your cool-down.

10/21/2016

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"The closer you feel to enlightenment, the further away you are"

10/4/2016

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"Fear of failure and fear of success are both crippling"

10/4/2016

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This Is The Title For This Post

9/23/2016

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Okay, so yes... the title for this post doesn't really make any sense. But I just realized that I really need to start writing more entries into this blog, and I wasn't sure what kind of entry I wanted to make, so... well.... there ya go.

I realize these posts are all supposed to be art related. But I don't really know how much I can post about "just art" and not bore the heck out of all of you. And me. So I think I would actually just like to write, and make conversation, and post things I enjoy writing about.

Besides photography, painting and burning abstract designs into wood (and sometimes my hand accidentally), I also do a lot of writing. I have no idea whether it's any good or not, but I enjoy doing it, and I like what I write, so I guess I'll keep it up. Although one of the things that keeps me pretty humble about my writing is that all too often, when I go and look at something I've written long ago, I usually don't like it nearly as much as I did when I first wrote it. Most times, when I first write something, I think it's prize worthy. I mean... I am sometimes prone to thinking I've written something profound, and probably a partial secret to helping humankind. Then, a year or two later, I'll read it again and just be glad I never showed anyone.

But what the heck... I might actually post some of my writings in here. Either that or just have some kind of one-sided running conversation. Which is what most often happens when I'm working in the yard or garage or some other place by myself. So I'm used to it.

So there you go. I've finally posted something in here. And I even gave it a spiffy title.

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There Is No Good Art. Or Bad

7/16/2014

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I, like many other artists, would like to think I’m a good artist. I’d like to think that someday, my artwork will be considered precious collectibles for those lucky enough to collect some when the prices, way back when (today), weren’t stratospheric. And even though I do like being honest with myself, I still like to fantasize, so let me. Don't be a killjoy.

By the same token, I’ve come to the conclusion that there is no good art. There’s also no bad art. There is just…. art. That’s not the same as saying there is no successful or unsuccessful artist. At least monetarily. Ask any starving artist… they’ll tell you… there’s definitely a difference. Successful art, at least in a monetary sense, is the stuff that becomes precious collectibles. But art, in itself, is neither good nor bad. It’s just a representation of something from within. Now… maybe if you want to be nitpicky, you could say that bad art is when an artist represents something from within, and it got WAY lost in translation. But really… only the artist knows that. And if they haven’t destroyed this bad art already, then they’re probably going to rationalize that it really DOES represent whatever it was they wanted to represent ("My painting, 'Girl Getting Of Horse In Field' looks like a potato because it was an introspective look at her relationship with her mother during her dark years").

But really, there is no good or bad art. Just art itself. And each piece of art connects somewhere inside with potential viewers. Some art connects with the artist him or herself, and very few others. And some connect not only with the artist, but with a huge amount of the viewing public. It is the art that connects with huge numbers that is usually considered “good” art. But I contend that it’s neither good, nor bad. It just happens to connect to more.

Art is not made to connect with as many as possible. It is made to represent something the artist sees or feels, either from within, or in life itself. How many it connects with is something totally different. It’s nice when it does connect with many, but maybe all that means is that the artist, emotionally, was more aligned with others than maybe a different artist might have been.

There are tons of critically acclaimed artists that die broke. Being a monetarily successful artist, doesn’t mean they were better or worse. Just more aligned. And any artist who is true to him or herself, won’t change what they do just to sell more art.

Okay…who am I kidding…of course they will. Maybe. Sometimes. For some. Those who create art for a living... do have to make a living after all. It's fun not to starve. And support your family. But you get the picture.

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David S. Chorney

This is where I'm supposed to write something about myself. I still have some hair left. I am still undecided which I like better, photography or painting. My four major food group are seafood, melted cheese, pasta, and Advil. I love the hunt of a finished piece of art. All quotes, essays, stories, and any other written piece on this website, are original and written by yours truly, unless otherwise noted.

Please, share everything you can from this site. I'd like to make this site the central part of every single living person's life. And become modestly famous and fabulously wealthy in the process. I promise to share.

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