Exhibit info 2014

EASE Gallery curated show March 1st - April artists, writers, and musicians. Theme is “Wildernesses: Physical and Spiritual.” The show will begin with a blockbuster reading and reception at which poets, fiction writers, essayists and musicians will be invited to read and perform. Visual and written works will be published in a chapbook of the show, also entitled Wildernesses: Physical and Spiritual.
Location 30 W. Woodruff Avenue Columbus, OH Open Sunday-Friday, 11:00 - 2:00 and by appointment
Jolhn's Work is titled The Wilderness of Winter with accompanying poems and reflections as seen in the Blog.
EASE Gallery The Episcopal Art Space for Everyone is a community outreach of the Episcopal Diocese of Southern Ohio. The EASE Gallery is free and open to the public. Artists who show in the gallery must be affiliated either with The Ohio State University or with the Episcopal Church. Artists are welcome to propose forthcoming shows by e-mailing campusministry[at]diosohio.org.

Grandma's Hairpin Maple

1. The Procter Center, London, Ohio, the Episcopal Conference Center of the Diocese of Southern Ohio. An ongoing and changing exhibit of recent work. 11235 S.R. 38 SE      London, Ohio 43140

2. On-Line Exhibits with reflections at the Praxis Communities website: http://praxiscommunities.org/archives/author/jholliger

3. The Blessings of Maturity March 1st, 2014 At Trinity Lutheran Seminary 2199 East Main Street, Bexley, OH 43209 in Columbus, Ohio sponsored by the Spirituality Network.

Sessions Offered   I: 10:30-11:45 II: 1:00-2:15 III: 2:30 –3:45
The Travelers Ahead: Blessings of Maturity I & III
Contemplation Led by John Holliger Using lovely music interwoven with readings and John Holliger’s beautiful photographs, this quiet session invites us to reflect on the wisdom and blessings of maturity.
http://www.spiritualitynetwork.org/artigras.html

4. Button Up Gallery is my representative where there is a regular rotation of new work. Here is there website: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Button-Up/315850891802122

Elder Trees: The Poets and Mystics of the Forest.
excerpts about the exhibition from the Photographer, John Holliger

This exhibition is at my Studio and Gallery in Delaware, Ohio by appointment.

These photographs were created in a classic manner: in silence and solitude, waiting, patiently waiting. The Star’s colors change moment by moment, touching and blessing here, creating deep and shallow shadows there. Sometimes the Star creates colors with sweet darkness, other times revealing the soft pastel Love that fills all.

I hope the viewer will gaze upon them in the way they were created: in silence and solitude, slowly, waiting patiently in to enter the world of the photograph, open-hearted to the deepest interior, fragile places of the heart, that need the Star’s healing touch. The photographer is mystically touched and healed in new and surprising ways each time I gaze upon them.

I often return to “The Sycamore” by Wendell Berry, because in his thoughts in the company of woodlands, I am reminded of the life I desire: a life of kindness, patience, thoughtfulness, and gentleness.

The Sycamore by Wendell Berry
In the place that is my own place, whose earth
I am shaped in and must bear, there is an old tree growing,
a great sycamore that is a wondrous healer of itself.

Fences have been tied to it, nails driven into it,
Hacks and whittles cut in it, the lightning has burned it.
There is no year it has flourished in
that has not harmed it. There is a hollow in it
that is its death, though its living brims whitely
at the lip of the darkness and flows outward.

Over all its scars has come the seamless white
of the bark. It bears the gnarls of its history
healed over. It has risen to a strange perfection
in the warp and bending of its long growth.

It has gathered all accidents into its purpose.
It has become the intention and radiance of its dark face.
It is a fact, sublime, mystical and unassailable.
In all the country there is no other like it.
I recognize in it a principle, an indwelling
the same as itself, and greater, that I would be ruled by.
I see that it stands in its place, and feeds upon it,
and is fed upon, and is native, and maker.

1. The Golden Tree, and the grasses are in the Star’s soft, evening, amber Light; a Love that heals and comforts. Here is a portrait of an ancient tree’s Presence. Delaware Lake State Park, Ohio.

“I go among the trees and sit still.

All my stirring becomes quiet

Around me like circles of water.

My tasks lie in their places

Where I left them, asleep like cattle.” Wendell Berry

2. Clingmans Dome. The Great Smokey Mountains, elevation 6,643. Arriving at 6 am, the enormous Earth is rumbling, rotating for her Star to make her appearance. Most bundles of photons [light] racing out in all directions from the Star miss the Earth and continue their journey beyond our galaxy of 100,000 other Stars and beyond the 100 billion other galaxies.

Those photons that touch the grasses and spring flowers and bleached, bare trees on Clingmans Dome, are transformed by the grasses and buttercups into their own unique, new photons of light and sent forth in all directions as colors, green and yellow and white. The bundles of energy that are bouncing and reflecting at 6 am are eerie and unnerving at this elevation; a quality of Light not seen anywhere else.

The earth and her Star have so many intimate secrets of allurement and attraction for each other, much as two lovers develop their own language of delight and flirtation; “come closer, I’ve missed you so much.” Perhaps this is our inexplicable attraction to these trees at the summit of Clingmans Dome and the unexpectedly embracing light.

3. Letting Go I was exploring a narrow winding road early one morning. The fog and mists were disappearing, as the Star appeared and sent her clear photons of energy, of Light, from the low horizon. The duck weed of he Killbuck Wetlands lit up as I've not seen before. The bundles of energy from the Star were glancing across the top of everything, as that morning's gentle touch of blessing. The crisp air and lighting of mists and fog made the clarity even more striking and welcomed.
So often there have been times when I have lived in the confusion and uncertainty and not-knowingness that are half of life. And then it's as if I am in a plane taking off on a cloudy stormy day, and unexpectedly the plane rises above all the clouds. I'm in this clear and brilliant Light. The fog and storm are now below me.
There are times in this life when we find ourselves in thick fog and then we receive the gift of clarity. From where we receive this gift of hope and insight we do not know but we sense in our bones that all of life comes from the Great Mystery, the Beloved One, who made us, and loves us, and travels the ways with us. Why the fog and the moments of brilliance come to us when they do are best left as they are: the Beloved Mystery in which we live.

Maybe as Thomas Merton writes it's in a flight of birds, the play of children, the lifting of fog for just an instant, but every once in a while we catch a glimpse of the Cosmic Dance which we are already within. We are within a much larger Mystery of Love and Beauty than our tiny mind could ever imagine.
Seeing the brilliant light on the trees with their roots sunk deep into life, touches the same Presence of love and healing and Presence that my life is also, already, deeply rooted in. There are invitations to join in the Cosmic Dance all the time, and the best response is to let go of my seriousness and fear , and join the in the Dance that is coursing through my blood already-- a beautiful truth from Thomas Merton's the Cosmic Dance.
Wendell Berry writes of this spiritual practice of letting go.

“How long does it take to make the woods? As long as it takes to make the world… It is always finished, it is always being made. What is the way to the woods? How do you go there? By passing through the narrow gate on the far side of the field. Why must the gate be narrow? Because you cannot pass through it burdened.” Wendell Berry

4. You Are Not Lost. The Olympic Peninsula Rain Forest, Washington. Stepping to the side off the path, walking along a little hint of a path of pine needles, there appears an elder tree, committed to her place long before I was born and living generations after me. I am spellbound by her gentle arm, pointing the way along the faint path, long familiar to deer and other neighbors for generations.

Here are the possible lines told by the first elders who lived here, to their sons many thousands of years ago. Perhaps as part of the boys initiation into being men, here is a wisdom of what to do when they had lost their way.

Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you

            Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
            And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
            Must ask permission to know it and be known.
            The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
            I have made this place around you,
            If you leave it you may come back again, saying Here
            No two trees are the same to Raven.
            No two branches are the same to Wren.
            If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
            You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
            Where you are. You must let it find you.

                                                                 “Lost,” by David Wagoner

5. Touching Ever So Softly. Dawn’s soft light is touching hemlock clusters, reflecting in the waters of the Au Sable River Trail near Grayling, Michigan. After hiking a famous park nearby and about to leave, a park ranger told me of a trail that was very close but largely unknown. If I loved water, which I do, just drive 2 miles to an unmarked trailhead to the Au Sable River Trail. The one trail curves and winds through waist high fern where the Star’s light lands on the forest floor. But at the base of many stands of 100 year old hemlocks, little light filters to the forest floor and thus I came upon a beautiful sight ancient hemlocks surrounded by no ground vegetation, but lovely carpets of amber hemlock needles.

A rustic bridge only inches above the slow moving river provides a steady place for a tripod. Arriving before dawn and using my flash light to find the way to the bridge, I witnessed the beginning of a new day together with the Au Sable River. Out of darkness the Earth turns and the Star slowly rises and lights the clusters of Hemlock reflecting in the clear waters; one photograph is created every 20-30 seconds. The morning light changes colors that quickly. To move from one image to the next is to be held in place by amazement. Once a place to photograph and watch is found, then one stays put, and watches to see what unfolds, powerless to have any effect, a very humbling spiritual practice; to wait and watch for what unfolds.

6. Every Which Way. Here is such a creative tree, twisting and curling, through one opening, then another, encountering her own obstacles of herself, finding ways around, interweaving her longing for life and Light. She looks finished even as she continues creating new paths. She has a sister beside her, who looks like a Bodhisattva, a Buddhist holy woman. Such eccentric beauty along an unassuming trail in North Carolina. Later I remember this remarkable quotation by Gary Snyder.

“… let there be really old trees who can give up all sense of propriety and begin throwing their limbs out in extravagant gestures, dance like poses…. holding themselves available to whatever the world and the weather might propose… They are like the Chinese Immortals, to have lived that long is to have permission to be eccentric… To be the poets and painters among trees, laughing, ragged, and fearless. They make me almost look forward to old age.” Gary Snyder

7. The Warmth of Fall Trees. There is a rare space in late fall when the red and amber leaves have fallen. Their colors are warm, inviting a walk as they make that comforting soft crunching sound under foot. The hidden colors of the red oak’s bark become visible as the youngsters of the woods hold onto their bright tan leaves. I imagine they are comforting to each by enhancing each other’s life, with no thought of time passing or judging the variety of colors created with such freedom of imagination. They remind me to practice the beauty of their wisdom: holding on and letting go are practices based upon readiness.

8. Mystery of the Coming Day, Fog At the Star’s Appearing on Killbuck Wetlands

When we are young it’s as if we are in a row boat on a sunny, cloudless day. We see the island we are rowing toward. We define our life and our purpose by where we are not: that island. But then life happens, and it’s as if a very thick fog now surrounds us. We can no longer define ourselves by where we are not, that island, but we define ourselves by who we are in this moment, where we are, compared to where we are not. We live now in this moment, attentive to the movement of the wind and the water around our row boat. At certain moments in my life I am drawn to photograph the fog covering the Killbuck Wetlands, the gullies, or valleys. Here is another wonder filled mystery; how will the day unfold from the fog? At 4:30 am the Killbuck Wetlands are thick with mystery. In the second half of life, not-knowing-ness, uncertainty, mystery, open-heartedness, and not-so-sureness… fog… are no longer fearful but contain unplanned possibilities. Sometimes I lay out on the floor a collection of my most recent photographs and wonder, what does this collection tell me about my longings, about… what I am seeking at this moment, of what is going on inside me? I am mystery to myself.

9. Beginnings and Endings. The rail fence “ends” and the bird house were nailed to the tree more than a generation ago, before I was born. I can be humbled and confident that this is true, when I am gazing on the layer upon layer of lovely lichens, so thickly accommodating each other on the ends of the rail fence… maybe they have been growing since the tree’s own birth. The oak accommodates the nails. Her immune system has dispatched the red fluids of antibiotics to surround the foreign bodies, the nails, and so she protects and heals herself. There has been no year in which she has flourished, but what these nails required the surrounding protection of natural antibodies. She has worked the nails and the birdhouse into her purpose. What in my life have I yet to work into my unfolding flow and purpose: to learn how to love.

The little Spirit of Poverty community says bi-weekly, “We confess we do not know how to love. Withholding ourselves makes us beggars in Life.” Maybe the Earth is our best Wisdom Teacher for learning how to love.

10. Silencio. Sycamore trees prefer to make their lifelong home beside a stream or river. In the late fall and winter when the leaves have fallen, the white branches of the sycamore light up. It’s as if someone flipped on a switch and the white bark of the twisting sycamore stand out from the surrounding oak and maple, whose bark can be so dark and grey.

Route 715 is rarely traveled, with plenty of places to pull off. Considerable time and patience and conversation with the trees reveal their best side. In this classic photograph we can see beyond the twisting white sycamore branches to a few colorful branches that have held on. The grey sky was avoided but the effect is to create a soft, diffused dome of light. Many times the soft and gentle effect of a grey sky is just what my heart needs—“Be soft and gentle to yourself. Slow down.”

Give yourself the gift of Silencio.

11. The Loving Neighbors

Rhododendron thrive in the shadow of much larger trees like Birch and Aspen. They give to their larger neighbors the retention of moisture in the soil, and to us the beauty of the huge clusters of flowers in June. Good neighbors give and receive, back and forth with no one keeping score. Love and patience and thoughtfulness and kindliness are the ways they live, Loving Neighbors. Here they are waking up with the blue color of night, still hovering and blessing, as the soft yellows and ambers of dawn begin to touch and comfort. They live beside a little stream called Troutsong in Boone, North Carolina.

12. la quietud (stillness)

These sharply defined trees are committed to this frequently flooded portion of the Killbuck Wetlands near Cemetery Road, just north of Shreve, Ohio. The Star has disappeared beyond the horizon. Now the silhouette of the trees and their reflection of utterly black enhance the blues of the sky, and the sky enriches the black silhouettes. No words can add to the beauty of their Stillness, la quietud.

“What do the tall trees say

To the late havoc in the sky?
They sigh.
The air moves, and they sway.
When the breeze is still, then they
Stand still. They wait.
They have no fear. Their fate
Is faith. Birdsong
Is all they’ve wanted, all along.” Wendell Berry, “Sabbath Poems”

13.        Lost in Wonder. I’ve developed a quickly moving right foot, able to move from accelerator to brake in a split second, at the same time that I am keeping track of the side of the road and whether there are cars behind me. If cars, then I pull off immediately and let them go by. It’s a practice developed in the Smokey Mountains, where along the Newfound Gap Road, there are frequent signs encouraging slower drivers to use the pull offs, to let others to pass.

Driving from open fields into a cluster of forest and woods, I glance to the left and saw this rugged path, covered in yellow from trees of yellow, just after a light rain.

With moisture every color is highly saturated, and the dark trunks turn black. With   eyes looking in all directions, the car finds her place to rest. Lost in Wonder, lost without a care, I saunter along the path.

“Saunter” in old English refers to a person on a holy pilgrimage. I have the need to practice sauntering, on a regular basis, not walking or hiking, but a leisurely stroll, listening for our muse, without any goal to be reached except to be Here. “Sauntering…” something to practice without ever expecting to get it “right.”

14. Spellbound by Beauty. The Killbuck Wetlands Trust is the largest wetlands in the state of Ohio. Here is a spot on Route 62 south of Millersburg that I return to 5-6 times a year, before first light, in storms and heavy rain, as the Star’s light fades into sweet darkness. The wetlands are dotted from Killbuck north, here and there, to Wooster, and over to Delaware. The Star has just risen as storm clouds move off to the right. Return and return and return… to a county where everyone waves, most especially those in horse drawn carriages. When I pull off the road several times a police car has stopped and asked if I was OK. An unknown man walked over as I’m waiting with my tripod, and tells me story after story of the pond before us.

Return and return and return until you are the land, and the land is you, and everything and everyone belongs because we are all One.

                                What gift does your tree have for you?

Gary Snyder on Trees and the Human Community

The human community, when healthy,  is like an ancient forest. The little ones are in  the shade and shelter of  the big ones,  even rooted in their lost old bodies. All ages and all together growing and dying…

But let there be really old trees who can give up all sense of propriety and begin throwing their limbs out in extravagant gestures, dance like poses…. holding themselves available to whatever the world and the weather might propose…

They are like the Chinese Immortals, to have lived that long is to have permission to be eccentric…

To be the poets and painters among trees, laughing, ragged, and fearless.

They make me almost  look forward to old age.