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To say that this was a labor of love would be the understatement of my life. My wife Katie and I are so delighted to share that our first daughter Willow Grace Peloquin was born at 1am Sunday April 28th, 2019.
“Dear Daughter” is a poem we created while she was in the womb as a gift to welcome her into the world. It's about preparing for one the greatest unknowns we've ever come up against. How to find hope amidst the fear and ready ourselves to become more than we were. It's a little over 4 mins. We hope you enjoy it and, if you do, please do comment and pass it along. Special thanks to the following people for making this video happen: Ted Maniatakos for filming and editing the project at our home in Bushwick, Brooklyn. Greg Tiefenbrunun and Andy Green at Duotone Audio for sound design and mix. Andrew Pandolfino at Nice Shoes for the color correct. Helios / Keith Kenniff for the music. Dan Burt for music supervision And our famous feline Betty, for being such a good sport on the shoot. They say the future is feminine and we agree. Grateful to have WIllow Grace here to help lead the charge. Love, Kurt
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'From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and imaginary lines...' - W. Whitman.
I have drifted to the temple of sublime where senoritas dine on cotton candy vines. There in the shadows of our grandparent's shrines, a folded blanket reminds us to set down our guards, trade our cards with the stars, and make medicine of our scars. Where there becomes then and when becomes here, we're diamonds my dear...they can't break us. -Kurt Peloquin
e- Day seven, Hobson Bay, California -
Sipping hot coffee, I cannot help but admire the golden glimmering waves reflecting in the window of our campervan, just beyond the jagged grey boulders protecting us from the rising Pacific. Seated on silver steel beneath the cries of a California Gull, a nesting Night Heron and, as always, our trusty Raven, I replay the phantom work assignments and plots of racial injustice that kept me hot in my sleep; Worn weary from a week on the road and a lifetime of beauty. Finished The Road just yesterday with Sal Paradise in the white wash of Gaviota Bay. There beneath the rusted red rails and beyond the tar ridden sand, beside cascades of yellow iridescent metamorphic rock, with the gliding wings of vultures four feet wide, the cool green waves rolled over my thighs and I said goodbye to Dean Moriarty and hello to Neil Cassidy, Will Burroughs, Allen Ginsburg, Henry Miller, all by the way of my spirit animal Patti Smith. We found Solvang's broken wind harp and 20 minutes of silence along Jesus' death march, beholding the rolling vineyards of their mission, and forgave our wandering ways beside a slow dancing cactus and the angry roots of a wild cyprus. We made stop motion films with our GPS and took winding 101 through Santa Barbara's fertile breast, where we made lives of running moms and power brokers, before we grabbed a pound of sirloin and met our faithful road. Digging for soft gold along Juan Bautista De Anza's path, where he once led 30 families 1,210 miles from Tubae Precidio to San Francisco 1,240 years ago. There and then, his soldiers went astray and incited the Yuma and Mojave spirits; Men and families who rose up and burnt Anza's missions and pueblos, killing 103 soldiers and 80 more, mostly women and children, and closed Anza's pass for 44 years. But Anza's sails persevered and built their home among the eleven blue green rolling hills, along the opposing estuary of our Manifest Destiny. We are flower children hugging bone trees, worshiping copper beetles along our dream walk. Drinking water from droughted land and sweeping sand from our beachside van. A wandering poet and watercolor princess, pouring whisky and fire in Hobson's purple night; Playing two note songs in the mountain's starlit silhouette. We have finally arrived, to leave again, at last...  To the young poet who once willed the weather warm
Then burnt his tail sailing a New York City storm Mothers proud eyes and fathers bad back Gripping heart, pulse, contract Mindful-mystic, hieroglyphic-misfit Dawn of too many tomorrows Become the efforting sun, son, sum Courting the drifting spirits Gasping for honest lyrics Allowing the needlepoint blood flow To drop, spin, and soul glow Hop, skip, and hopeful Born, fed, and grateful Gong swipe for the faithful Tasting the salt water Embrace the passing rain Upon the faded trail marker To will the weather again "Who's a poet anyway?"
Says my inner critic everyday. "I am" Says my scared, scarred, sacred heart. Who dances, dreams, and believes in the gift in all things? Says the rolling river of righteous rhythm inside my being. "I do" Says my wise, worthy, warrior heart. Still, I am afraid of being those things and fully opening up to "you" - The illusion of my audience. If I trace this fear back to it's seed, I find it exists because I am so grateful and in love with the gift of creativity - that force of life inside each of us that manifests in our own unique ways - and I'm afraid it will lead me to rejection - as it did at an early and impressionable age. Secretly, I want my work to inspire yours, because your work inspires mine. I want my work to be honest, raw, and perfect. And there, among these wants, lives the land mines of my mind - triggering the pressured emotions that constrain my motion; restrain my words and my actions; and inhibit my loving presence with right here and right now. This labyrinth of longing to be who we are - freely, forcefully, and fluidly - collects a duty on our most valuable resource: time. So, my friend, are you hiding your light like me? If so, then how? Perhaps by pouring another drink, scrolling another screen, or searching for another thing? It's OK, forgive these habitual rings and try tracing your "why" back to the seed of your heart's needs - to say the silly things, to show us the dark places, stand on the stark stages, and sing us your songs of healing. I am a poet, a singer, a dancer, a dreamer, a joker, a husband, a brother, a son, a friend, a child, an artist, and a man. I am...  I heard your silence through the hills
Beyond the violence of my will I tried to hide from you But lied to you still Said I'm better off alone Found your letter in my home Returned to sender like this poem How do you feel? I see you here Inside my fear Where the darkness dances Dangerously Dear I see your eyes Calling me to hear That echoing stillness That brought us here When I tasted turning fate I built a stone wall with no gate Still I found you waiting in the garden Pouring water on my seeds Did I tell you all my needs What did it take you to believe And break the shell upon my greed I can see the currents that you breathe I see you here Inside my fear Where the darkness dances Dangerously Dear I see your eyes Calling me to hear That echoing stillness That brought us here Into the fire fleeting light Upon the salty sands of St. John's hands Caught the poison bite beyond my sight Drifted winter into glisten moonlight Golden water carried harbor dreams Where drunken teachers told of hollow Kings We played paper drums on sweet stolen air & I kissed your hidden stone inside my prayer I see you here Inside my fear Where the darkness dances Dangerously Dear I see your eyes Calling me to hear That echoing stillness That brought us here When do you need my love? My permission My listening My kiss My absence My gifts? When do I need your love? Your allowance Your understanding Your contention Your heat Your heart? Whenever the sun flares molten light Whenever the sky sees the earth Whenever death is met with new life And the wind dances on the hills Meet me in the shadows of my sleep On the sculpted slate of every street In the crowded trains and generous rain Feed me in the rich darkness behind my eyes Upon the horizion of my tears And in the hollow moonlit mountains of time I will find you in the shadows of my fear and remember that I am yours and you are mine   Lightly stained rope
Met the first snow As we held our breath And forgot time The namesake of duty and faith A father's shelter Wilted protector in the wise garden A son A daughter A son Rusted harrow entwined In English ivy And years of forgotten rain I've seen the stark naked smiles of friendly strangers Fighting with the fleeting days Asking for permission to build their early graves Draped in the careful clothing of modern slaves Holding eternity behind their breast pocket Locked in the light Out of sight for years and more Through tears and memories Of mountains and beaches Children playing and all the brutal loss The glimmers have appeared In their intoxicating imaginations Imbibed creation has danced in their fire Part by part telling the sum of one Undone with each word that runs Each tale begins is borrowed Grasping the hollow pleasant Missing the holy present All the while I sit distant Resistant to the pull of their ways Their gaze and the allure Until 'their' tears into 'mine' And my enshrined lies dissolve And I am reminded of my own end Of my wasted washing machine Building a gilded podium only to look down Holding a found crown through the curtain of an old town Then a voice begun Surrender son your time has come Set true the glue Walk miles barefoot and bruised Staring into the earth star Until your blindness begins And suddenly all of them I ever saw I finally see within Behold the gameful glimmer Shiver me timber Let the stories fall Of wall and wall between the other Of wall between us all Fill my chest with your breath Fill my truth with your confess Fill my heart with your regrets And together let us build what's next   I woke up beside heavens gate
Found my bride and buried my hate Tried to reason still My hands aren't ready To carry you through the pain And the rain, the rain So give me all you are my child I’m ready for your dreams A promise land will find you I know how hard it is to sleep Oh, I gave you all my stories But kept them from feeling their truth Now I'm ready to follow you Yes, I promise, heres what I’ll do I’ll build a home by the river Take down all of your fears I’ll build a home with fire Yeah, you get what you give I’ll be home in the garden tending to the leaves Of our fearless creations Of all we believe Oh I threw it away Oh i threw it to be I know just why we're lonesome I can feel the things we need We were caught in the hour of our fearless fraud Now we know just why hurting, can take so much of who we are Oh I gave you freedom, but didn’t take it in return And I know now, we're in it for the work So give me all you are my child I’m ready for your dreams A promise land will find us I'll be with you while you sleep I woke up beside heavens gate Found my bride and buried my hate  I am the light in the closet
Frayed wires and dusty lense Cotton cobwebs and ancient secrets One window with broken glass Patched silver gaff tape and paint the color of buttery atlantic oysters Thick carpet of frothy lake water Home to the dandy drapery of my darling wife She is the the light in the closet Sturdy iron pipes hinged on hard oak Haphazard screws and nails secure and unsure Daylight shadows and cat hair Clothing pins with pink and white toppers Fur family coat and a chair from Ikea I use to gather our suitcases Light embroidered dresses and silk head scarves Quiet tears and reveling solitude We are the light in the closet Beaconing our hidden desires Heavy old door almost closed With open silk collars ready for dance And boxes with almost used sewing machine and a cat box clean Delicate and dormant fire Awaiting our spark  Blinded by belonging
Nearly lost my soul Off to the races Of another show One last thing Before the road A kiss on the lips And a bag of gold Signs on the surface Sent from the past Call it religion This too shall pass Father the faithful Mother the grateful Brother and sister Where is my path? Angel eyes, set me free Angel eyes, let me see The Beauty before the gilded doors we keep Seek all the shelter Fight with the weather Find all the places On this land Death and the danger Of a steady path Making my future With each laugh and cry Angel eyes, wait for me Angel eyes, let me see The Beauty before the gilded doors we keep Yes forgive the hurt For what its worth We have each other And I understand That time and again I can pretend To be someone Who's not afraid While deep in my heart Black as the dark There is a fear That I am lost Then theres where you are Under the scars Begging to be My only voice Angel Eyes, now I see Angel Eyes, alive in me Hiding your fear Won’t let you be free Hiding your fear Won’t let you see The Beauty before The gilded doors we keep To friends far and wide,
I'm writing this with a heavy heart, conflicted because I have so much to celebrate in my life, and yet I feel the pain of the world as tragedy after tragedy stream through every screen I see and every story I hear. It appears to me that each story is connected and I had a thought last night that seems worth sharing. We've all heard the phrase "its not guns that kill people, it's people that kill people." So, I wonder, what drives people to kill people, be it with guns or bombs, and is anyone interested in talking about that? About the hatred, anger, and fear that these killers inherit, learn, and live with. About the tortures they must have suffered in their lives (for generations) and, on a very deep level, about all the ways they must have missed out on feeling loved and that they were enough. I agree that we need stronger gun legislation, that those who take innocent lives (be it civilians or police) should face strict sentences, and that terrorism should be defended against (be it by foreign forces or domestic); yet I cannot help but see these measures as solutions for symptoms. Symptoms of root causes that go much deeper into the lives of every living person. Root causes like all the ways that we suffer, feeling alone and afraid, holding onto our fear and anger until it bursts. How can we address these root issues in our own lives, between each other, and in our communities? It is so easy to give into fear, but I believe that what we, and the world, need now more than ever is Love. Look to the victims of these tragedies and their families. There is not hatred in their eyes or in their words. They have connected to the fragility of life and the resilient energy of love and hope. It is there where I feel we must return. With that in mind, I humbly offer this advice: Give freely of your love, your compassion, your listening ear, and your beautiful heart to everyone you see, hear, and feel in this precious life. And, if you are one of the people who feels this suffering, anger, and fear building inside you, please know that you are enough and that there are people willing to listen and show you love. I'm one of them. With love, Kurt  Everest featured the creative direction and 13 song score of composer Charlie Wan, set to a fictional story of triumph, co-wrote and directed and by Charlie Wan, Lulu Ward, and myself, Kurt Nelson Peloquin.  Everest was a massively collaborative, mixed media, multi-sensory experience hosted in Juniper Jones (www.JuniperJones.tv) penthouse studio along the East River in DUMBO, Brooklyn. The original 13 song score was played live for a packed house, and featured guest performances by vocalist Danielle Parente, accompaniment by GHST and GUITARS, with dance by Gregory Dolbashian and Loni Landon of the Playground, live narration by Lulu Ward, with emceeing and program direction by me (Kurt Nelson Peloquin). With intricate set design by artist May Lin Legoff, 3D video projection mapping by Max Nova and Dawn of Man, sound design by Tomas Del Ray, BTS cinematography by Cameron Michael and Sean Biffar (in-post), lighting by Nic Smith, and production support by Kate Power, Rae Donovan, Scott Parenteau, Katie Calcaterra, Mari Shten, Katia Slottke, Michael Drucker, and Maura Siobhan, this was a true example of the power of uniting great people.
 In this series we invite you to meet and learn from thinkers, doers, and believers who find success by actively living in the grey.
What Does Living In The Grey Mean To You? Life is not black & white Work & play Live in the grey means Live your way. I had the pleasure of joining Live in the Grey for their June Salon Dinner in NYC. The dinner was one week after Gallup released their 12 year study, “The State of the American Workplace,” which revealed that 70% of US workers aren’t reaching their fullest potential, and 18% are actively disengaged at their jobs (They’re actually trying, not to try). That’s not good for business, the economy, and especially the people “phoning it in” 40+ hours a week. This was, and is, the problem Maneesh, David, and their passionate team, set out to solve with four words: “Live in the Grey.” As we gathered around the table, I was in awe of all the great people joining in. Entrepreneurs, journalists, activists, and innovators, all of them artists in their own right, came together to help humanity grow. I asked myself, “What kind of people dare to have these types of conversations and, more so, actually believe they can make a difference?” Then it hit me: LEADERS DO. For me, that’s what living in the grey is all about. Leading your life, not letting life lead you. And here we are, five months later, still at it, and I think it’s working. Who Is A Mentor Of Yours And Why? My Grandfather, Charles Nelson, has always been a great mentor and hero to me. A retired military man, with some serious chops on the piano, he worked his way up to General Foreman and eventually Deputy Director of Logistics at the Fort Devens, US Army Base, in Massachusetts. There, he oversaw nearly 3,000 Army reservists, had a private plane, and received The Commanders’ Award, the highest civilian medal the US Army gives out. He married the woman of his dreams and had two of the most amazing twin daughters a guy could ever ask for (Hi Mom & Aunt Linda!). He’s lived a full life, got the stories to back it up, and is still going strong. In fact, he’s on a boat headed toward the Panama Canal as I write this. He’s helped me at key turning points in my life and career with simple lessons like, “There’s always room for the best” and “Memories are better than dreams.” He’s a true leader. Love you Grandpa. What’s The First Thing You Read In The Morning? My reading schedule varies, but lately I’ve been checking the Daily Quotes app on my iPhone. Here’s today’s quote: “Seek the lofty by reading, hearing and seeing great work at some moment every day.” by Thornton Wilder. Very on point, and a nice segue… What Are Three Things You Make Sure You Do Everyday?Make music, say thank you, and learn something new. Do You Have A Motto? Great people unite. It’s the name of my company and, more importantly, I think it’s an important idea about the power of collaboration, community, and connection. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. once said, “Not everybody can be famous, but everybody can be great, because greatness is determined by service.” Great people serve. Great people lead. Great people unite. Do You Work Differently Than You Did One Year Ago? Yes. Being an artist and an entrepreneur, or being artfully entrepreneurial (think about that for a minute), takes A LOT of practice. For me, the biggest change has been in recognizing blocks, when my productivity is waning, and switching directions or taking a break to re-charge. How Do You Ensure Your Intentions Become Actions? Organize them into projects, begin them with verbs, start with the hard ones first, and cross them off every single day. What’s The Best Advice You’ve Ever Received? I’ll have to go back to my Grandfather’s quote, “Memories are better than dreams.” It confused me at first, because I’m a dedicated dreamer, but then I realized: It’s not that dreams are bad, it’s just that memories are better, because it means that you’ve made your dreams come true. I love that. What Advice Do You Have For Others Beginning Their Grey Journey? I’d offer this quote from Mark Twain: ”Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambitions. Small people always do that, but the really great make you feel that you, too, can become great.” It’s so important to surround yourself with people that support your ambitions and inspire you to grow. My fiance, Katie Calcaterra, is the best example I have (Hey Love). She makes great suspenders too: www.MaryJaneLane.com. Finally, if you’ve read this far, your “Grey Journey” has already begun. However, a healthy thirst for learning, must be followed by a healthy commitment to action. What are you working on now? How can you bring your ART to that work? What is your next great project? What are the necessary steps you must take to make it real? Who are the great people that can help? Close your computer, get up, go for a walk, appreciate the beauty all around you, talk to a stranger in a café, breathe deeply, have a glass of water, and when you’re ready, get back to the work of your life. “GREY” people unite. Say hello and stay in touch with Kurt at www.GreatPeopleUnite.com |
