Kristine Dizon: Hello, my name is Kristine Dizon and I'm the CEO and founder of The Modern Artists Project, Today, I'm with John Sonofmel, who is a songwriter, poet, writer, and radio personality from Hayward Wisconsin, who spends his winters diving into frozen lakes and spends as much time as he can performing his songs about northern life and his fascinating if tumultuous life journey through life. He rejoins Wilmore on the scenic route for an extended conversation about finding solace in freezing waters, performing at homegrown and through the pandemic and future projects. Thank you John for joining us today. John Sonofmel: Oh, thank you, Kristine, for having me. It's a real pleasure.
KD: Yeah. And what's crazy is that when I first saw you work in Hayward, Wisconsin, it was one of those things that I thought was so interesting because with your particular segment, I felt like there was so much that you had to say. Could you tell us a little bit more about your journey that led you on this path? JS: Huh? Well, I think it goes to where I settled because I call Hayward "Wayward" because it feels like putting down roots is something I've never done before. So, when friends of mine ask, "What are you doing living in a small town in the northern Midwest?" because a lot of them knew that I had said I'd never planned on returning to the Midwest. But as a friend of mine said, "What does the prodigal son do? The prodigal nature has to return home." And so I felt like now I can't imagine being anywhere else. But I might have just forgotten the question that you asked. KD: I know it's one of those things that, I mean, you're very creative, and the idea of relating your life to your art, to your poetry, to songs. What I'm curious about is what led you in this way, like what got you turned on by it? JS: It seemed like the only thing that made sense, Kristine. In the first ten years of wandering, the only constant I had was my creativity. In those first ten years, I had maybe twenty different jobs, from catching chickens to late-night janitorial work to working on fishing boats in Prince William Sound and the Aleutians, and even having my own little coffee shop out in the pseudo bush of Alaska. And the only constant in all that time was these cheap wire-bound notebooks that I would just fill with drivel. I wasn't really pursuing anything artistic then, unless sanity is a pursuit, because I really had no idea what I was doing. I spent a couple of years in university, and the more classes I took, the more I wanted to major. So instead of studying and honing a focus, it just broadened it. I remember when I turned 21, I said, "I dedicate this decade to gathering as many experiences in as many different realms as possible, whether on the side of light or on the side of shadow." That's what I was really after. I thought, how do I know what I want to do with my life unless I go see what other people are doing? And how do I know where I want to do it unless I go see where other people are doing it? I thought it was just going to be a studious trip for a few years, but it ended up becoming the gathering and living of those lives. I didn't know you could make wandering into a vocation, but it seems to inform what I do. I'm so grateful and fortunate to do that because one of the most important aspects it has taught me is how much we disregard this ancient notion of personified fortune. I remember this was really driven home when I was living in a little Kurdish slum in Istanbul. I was afforded opportunities in that city because of the place I was born, largely because of the color of my skin and because I present as a male. I was given opportunities that no one else in that neighborhood would get, and it was solely based on where I was born. KD: Oh, wow. JS: You know, because I was an American, I could travel there, and I wasn't confined to the precepts of other cultures. It's a scary notion because, all of a sudden, you become almost a blank slate, and it almost drove me mad. I would go from this place, which was a pretty rough neighborhood, but it also had working-class families and stuff too. And you could hear, I don't know, half a dozen different languages in these little narrow cobblestone streets and these old 500-year-old buildings. I'd go from that very low-rent district, because I like places where the rent is low, to some of the richest residences in the world to train dogs or to gather material for a freelance article I was doing. And it was just that juxtaposition of wandering from this place to that place and thinking, wow, I am here because I'm light-toned, because I'm a male, and largely because I'm a white male. That privilege just smacked me right in the face. This was over 20 years ago when we weren't really, I mean, was white male privilege a big thing back then? It wasn't as prevalent, but it still was. I remember hitchhiking out west in the nineties, and that same thing would hit me. I thought, if I were a woman or a person of color, I'd be thinking twice about doing half the things I'm doing. KD: Yeah, and you've said so much about your early experiences and the idea of wandering. Coming from a fellow wanderer, or as I call it, meandering, I love meandering and just trying to find different places, make different discoveries, whether near where I live or in a different country. One of the things that strikes me is the idea of spending your twenties consciously saying, "Okay, this is the moment where I am going to do all of these things. I'm going to have as many experiences as I can. I'm going to find different ways to explore," whether it's through different occupations like chasing chickens, painting that picture for us, or doing janitorial jobs. These different types of jobs shape who we are. And for example, a lot of our culture today sometimes pressures creatives or artists, suggesting that if you're not having your big exhibition by age 23, you're a failure. This creates a lot of stress about what success looks like. I feel like, with what you've mentioned about Istanbul and all of these experiences, it's not just about the things we accomplish but also the things we experience. It's about realizing more of who you are in different places versus where you are at home. You can correct me if I'm wrong, John, but it seems that your journey was more about personal growth and understanding than about achieving specific milestones. JS: Yeah, because I think the divine wants for me to do my job, and whether that job is, it's really about cultivating contentment. A lot of that wandering was fueled by discontent and a shady background. I brought up the foreign so quickly because I believe it's about bringing the foreign home to the familiar and the familiar back to the foreign. It's about being able to look at the world with new eyes. That's what we're here to do: grow. I believe we all have the propensity to grow as creatives because we're all creative. Boy, I don't know if that's narrowing it down any. KD: No, it's great. One of the points you brought up is the idea of discontent and finding an outlet to create. With those spiral-bound notebooks that aren't so expensive, it's not like buying crazy instruments or large expenses, but finding a way for your expression. Could you tell us a little bit more about that journey from discontent to finding contentment and perhaps peace with oneself? JS: Yeah. I grew up with a sense of shame, which wasn't really placed there by my parents, and I don't know if it's a cultural thing. I grew up in a trailer house next to a tire retread plant where my dad worked. The only kinds of guys you could get to work at a tire retread plant were outlaws and ex-cons because it was such a nasty, hard job. And I always loved those people, but somewhere along the way, I got this sense of shame. I don't know where it came from, and I don't want to blame anything for what I'm perpetuating. Somewhere along the line, I picked up on that and cultivated a sense of shame about it, and that's what I wanted to run from. My initial forays into wandering were just about getting the heck out of there. That's when I started buying those little wire-bound notebooks, not thinking that it would lead to anything. But it seemed to enhance a calmness when I could sit there. Then, the world didn't seem to spin so fast. Overwhelm found an outlet, allowing me to sit calmly and just write a few sentences. I burned a huge, 3-foot-high stack of them a few years ago because they were just terrible. But the product of all those words was the initial seeds of contentment. I really feel that because I used to get into trouble, and that also cultivated and enhanced a sense of shame—getting kicked out of a town, ending up in jail. Those are not things you want your mother to know, especially when you're 40 years old. We tend to romanticize the troublemaker these days, but it's not okay to romanticize the troublemaker or the outlaw. There has to be a way to bring them back into the fold without undue incarceration. And I think that's what I try to speak to a lot, and that's where the reverence and cultivation of contentment come in. That's what I'm after because happiness comes and goes, and it's all so fickle. But I know that the one thing that feeds contentment is a sense of accomplishment. And for me, it just happens to be, right now, in writing a song, a poem, telling a story, or performing it. Whereas before, I loved late-night janitorial work and catching chickens with all these tough and hardened farm boys. I used to think of art as a noun, as a product. But now I think, no, it's not a noun. It's an adjective. It's not what we do that makes something art; it's how we do it that makes it artful. I've seen people walk across the street, and I'm like, that's artful. I think there's a certain degree of contentment we have to muster in order to act artfully. KD: No, and I think these are really great points with what you've mentioned. There's so much to unpack here—the idea of how that journey and these different experiences shape us. I know for a fact that, you know that song by Johnny Cash, the one about being in jail because he killed a man? JS: Oh yeah, yeah, I just played it yesterday, and I do my own version of it. But yeah, Folsom Prison Blues. KD: Yeah and it's so crazy because it goes back to what you talk about, this romanticized vision of being a troublemaker and how that translates in our society and who speaks to that. When you think about these different experiences, one of the things that's very touching for me to hear is the idea of having more compassion and not having our society see these boundaries. People make mistakes—I'm not trying to justify criminal behavior—but people do make mistakes. The thing is, because of that one mistake, or maybe two mistakes, or however many mistakes we make in our lives, that doesn't define who that person is in that moment of time because we live through different versions of ourselves. So, for example, the version of who you were 10 or 20 years ago, or who I was 10 or 20 years ago, is different from the version we see today. I feel like, in a sense, by addressing these issues, you're able to connect with people in a different way. You're also taking those personal experiences that seemed negative at the moment—because living in the moment can feel like a bad film where all the actors are miscast, and you think someone should fire the director. What I love is that you took those experiences and created something really organic with your writing, your poetry, and your songs. How did that help you in terms of cultivating those experiences and being able to share them with people? How have you found that to be a connecting experience? JS: First of all, I had to own it and inhabit it. It's not that I had to do all those things in order to write from a sense of redemption, just like Johnny Cash didn't have to go to prison to write "Folsom Prison Blues." He spent less time in jail than most people think—just a couple of weekends or maybe a night—yet he captured it in this iconic song. What I've told others is that you don't have to wreck yourself by romanticizing the criminal or the outlaw. But there has to be something at stake, and that's where anything artful we do sprouts from a seed into a bloom. What's at stake is usually what we find reverent because we're here to fall in love with the world exactly as it is. I really feel that. It doesn't mean we condone anything unjust we see in it; it just means we accept the world as it is, and we accept ourselves and our place in the world. We then ask, what can I do to add to the beauty in this world? Because I know what I've done to add to the profanity in the world, and that's just compost. So, profanity is just another stage of reverence, but it needs to be composted. Then, what comes up out of that is the bloom because, man, it's all holy or none of it is. We're all here as an unending expression of creation, of creation's continuing unfolding, however that may seem. There's so much out there—just turn on a news channel, and we can be overwhelmed. I mean, I get overwhelmed on a daily basis with with just how seemingly wrong things seem to be going. But I, I, but in the moment I'm like, okay, well, how can I attend this moment? Will I bring my best self to this next moment, can I tend this currency with, with compassion and care? Because if, if we really are circling the drain, then I wanna circle the drain with love and care and compassion and that makes a difference. KD: Yeah, and I agree with you. When we think about our contributions to art, it's one of those things that sometimes, when we have a dream or want to express something—whether in the form of words, sound, outward movement, or expression like dancing—finding these types of outlets is crucial. It sounds like the outlet you found has served you well throughout your career, allowing you to share with and speak to different communities. I know for a fact that sometimes young artists, and I'm not saying that I'm old or that you're old, but young people, right? No, but in the sense that, okay, if I want to create something meaningful, maybe I should break up with someone or fall in and out of love. But that kind of thinking can become superficial, like, "I have to put myself in these experiences to create." Whereas the experiences you've mentioned, like the different interactions you've had through your wandering journey, those are organic. Those are things you can actually speak to from the inside. JS: Yeah, because I had no idea what I was doing, and I probably have even less of an idea now. But I know that connection is where creation happens. Usually at my shows, whether I'm telling a story, reciting a poem, singing, or performing, I try to remind people that while they're here, they're all on assignment: to meet at least two people they didn't know before they arrived. I want that cultivation of connection to extend outwards because that's how I've made a living, whether through janitorial work or catching chickens—it's always about cultivating connection. So to younger artists who are thinking, "How do I navigate?"—I'm 57, and I wonder how I even got here—but it's all about finding and fostering those connections. What do I want to do? I would say, man, just cultivate connection, whatever that is. If it's to a particular form, for me, the initial thing was all about linking words together. I never thought in a million years that it would lead to writing things other people would want to hear. I just saw it as an outlet. It brings me back to what others have said: when you're attracted to something, whether it's a song, an art form, or a person, cultivate a connection to that. That's your spirit telling you where it wants to go, and your job is to follow that. It may lead to something. But it's like Kurt Vonnegut said: "Chase an art form, cultivate some form of expression, not with or without any hopes of it becoming or turning into a vocation, but just for the fact that it makes life a little less harsh and a little easier to live." When I was down and out, which happened a lot in my twenties, life felt like a roller coaster. The one thing I knew I could rely on was that blank page. I could just go there, and it seemed to placate something in my wilder nature. I didn't have to go out and get into trouble. I could sit and write instead of chasing something or getting into trouble. KD: Yeah, no, this is really great. I think the advice to let things happen as they come and not try to force things is important because, for example, you found words as a way to express yourself. I express myself through sound and words, and being able to cultivate those things in a meaningful way. I know a lot of the time, the hard part about our industry—and I say our industry in regards to the creative industries because I feel like we encounter a lot of the same problems but in different ways—is the idea of young people who want to be writers, who have dreams of going to New York and really living this life. But at the same time, they fall amiss because, as you've mentioned, it's important to say to the audience, "Meet and say hi to two people you don't know. Connect with those people." That's how you create community, right? And it's not a huge ask. It's not like saying, "Okay, after the art, now we're going to shake hands with everyone and exchange business cards." It's about doing things in a way that makes it achievable for audiences. They can think, "Okay, I can say hi to two people, no problem." And those two people create that connection, which then has a domino effect. How have you found, in regards to your career, your development, your direction—this beautiful, organic growth throughout your lifespan—that has led you to this point? What types of advice would you give to people to have that sustainability to continue creating the things that you do? JS: Wow. I'd say, by and large, really cultivate listening skills. I don't know how good of a listener I was as a youth. I guess I did listen because I picked up a lot, but I just remember about 12 or 13 years ago, I had ended my last foray into trouble, and my mom said, "Hey John, you know, your dad always had one wish for you—that you would finish your college degree." And I was like, man, I don't want to do that. I had no interest. But then I thought, alright, this guy worked 20 years at a tire plant so that I could have opportunities he never had. So, I went back to school and finished in two years with a degree in English Lit and a writing minor. It really helped me hone my skills. I got to go back to the crucible of education as an older guy and really take those skills on. While I think some of my best songs were born before that period, going back to school helped me focus. I can't entirely say that because there are some really good ones written in the last couple of years. So I'm like, how does that happen? It's almost like saying, "Yeah, I like the earlier stuff better," like we often say about artists. But yeah, that whole sense of listening to creation as it unfolds is key. As one of my favorite poems by Jerry Graham says, "Something catches, something catches," and that's the thing. She goes on to say, "Nothing will catch you, nothing will let you fall." There's so much to unpack in those two little lines—nothing will catch you, and also, yes, the void catches you. Nothing will catch you, nothing will let you fall. KD: No, this is really great, and I think the advice you're sharing is invaluable. The idea of education and the value we place on it is so important, but also realizing the right moment in our lives when we're ready to internalize it, right? Because with what you mentioned about listening, I feel like we can all listen more. It's not just superficial listening, like hearing the words and saying, "Okay, right," but really understanding what those words mean and internalizing them. That is a skill that people sometimes take for granted. It's like, yes, I can hear, but when we think about different levels of listening, that's something really different. Especially within sound studies, they talk about this all the time. One of the things I thought was really interesting was when you shared the idea of your audience and how you engage with them. The idea of relatability is so important. For example, your audience, you know the language they speak, and you know how to connect with them because you also understand culturally where they come from. Being able to have that connection with them already is crucial. Now, do you feel like sometimes, when we think about the direction of how digital media has exploded, right? With all of these social media platforms and all of these changes, sometimes subtle changes that you don't notice right away. How do you feel like that's impacted the industry? JS: That is tough because it continues to unfold and change so fast. It's almost like a friend of mine, an amazing painter I knew in Istanbul, once said, "John, with so many more ways to communicate, is there really that much more to say?" And I'm like, yeah, so that's one aspect of it. But there's another aspect that says there are so many more opportunities unfolding, especially with the explosion of digitization of multimedia and all that. It means—I just, I mean, just right now in my head, I went to what David Bowie said over 20 years ago. The interviewer was saying, "Well, the internet, you know, it's just such a great thing." And he said, "Oh really? Oh, it's a monster. We have no idea what this monster is going to do." Essentially, it's up to us to decide what we want to do with it. But I find it incredibly bewildering to navigate all the fields. In some ways, it's a dilution of messaging because there's so much being thrown at us all the time. And so I think it's even more important to cultivate those listening skills. When we hear something that speaks to us, we need to pay attention to what our gut is telling us about it and really hone in on that. KD: No, and I, oh sorry, go ahead. JS: No, no, go ahead. KD: No, no, no, this is great because when we think about the overwhelming nature of things, it's a challenge. For example, you want to have time to write, and I want to have time to practice. It's one of those things. But at the same time, when we think about the entrepreneurial aspect of what we do, a lot of people shy away from terms like "marketing" or "promoting." They might think you're selling out, but it's really about creating community. If you have a show, you don't want just three people in the audience, like Grandma Sally with her cane and one functioning eye after cataract surgery, Bob in the corner having the time of his life, and some random kid who walked in by accident. I know I'm painting a very detailed picture here, but the point is, we want to share our work with more people. As an introvert and someone who has had to develop these interpersonal skills, I feel like we need to tell people that it's okay to talk about and share their stuff. Have you encountered that throughout your career? JS: Yeah, I do that, and that's what I find kind of hard because I maintain a social media presence as a way to be visible. If you want to make a living at this, you have to put yourself out there. There's a degree of promotion, marketing, and reaching people, and I find that incredibly overwhelming. I do all of it on my own, so I flounder more than I swim through the seas of multimedia. Words and imagery matter to me, so I'll look for the right photo and write a little snippet to post on Instagram or Facebook just to engage. I never thought I would share songs with people until I wrote the "Tala Basha Shuffle" about that old Kurdish neighborhood. When I finished that song, I was like, "Oh, I like this," because it gives people something to chew on. I like what Dylan said about songs: if someone's going to take the time to listen, I want to give them something to chew on. Whether it's engaging on social media or anything else, I want to give people something to chew on. Then, if they come to hear me, they'll know that I'm going to give them something to chew on here too. I like the expression of ideas and being an antenna because that's what we all are, right? We're all connected, and in the 21st century, digitization has made this connection even more evident. It is a monster, but it's okay. KD: It's okay. When I think about the internet, it's like, now that we're talking about monsters, I can just picture my laptop growing these big hairy ears, the camera turning into eyeballs, and the keyboard turning into teeth. Right? I can definitely see it. It's like a monster. Let me add to the analogy here: it's a monster that you have to feed a little bit. You don't give it too much food. You have to make sure it's okay and happy, making sure it doesn't turn on you, right? Because you turn on people and even animals, we have to make sure that the monster is kept at peace. That way, we can live at least decent lives as artists. Now, the last question I have for you is about the industry. If you look at the statistics nowadays, a lot of people pivot. Not saying pivoting is a bad thing. It's like meandering, wandering, trying to figure it out. But a lot of the time, the reason why people pivot is because pursuing a career like this has a high risk. It's high risk in the sense that you're going to have great months, maybe, and not so great months. In regards to that, what type of advice would you give those people? JS: Huh? Well, for me, I live really close to the bone, and I cannot stress the importance of good fortune enough. I feel like I've been blessed with fortune. Not that I have a fortune or anything, but a friend of mine approached me to buy a little parcel of property where my girlfriend and I built a timber frame with another guy, 20 by 24. I don't have running water out there. I live really close to the bone because I really like what I do now and I'm willing to go to any length to keep doing it. I've slept in my van at 10 degrees, just detuning my guitars and stuff so that they're okay in the temperature. In those slower months, I want to make sure that I have enough for the next hump, and so far, that's worked out. So budgeting is really important, and realistic budgeting. Also, how can I pivot? What else can I do to keep manifesting a career in the arts? Because that's what it is, and it's multifaceted. What I love more than anything else is when I talk to others who are in the same boat, and they whisper, "Hey John, we're all making it up as we go along." And I really like that because there's freedom in it. There's a promise in that, and the promise is that it may not work out how you initially envision it. That can become as much of a prison as anything else if things have to go a certain way. That's why it's important to keep our antennas attuned to the world around us and to our own natures. As much as digitization is the norm in the life of a creative, you have to be creating content and promoting it to some degree. However, the real muse is outside our doors. It's in the woods, under the blue sky, under the clouds full of rain, and under skies full of stars. Finding balance is crucial. As I go through different facets of trying to keep this boat of mine afloat, I'm finding that I can't pivot or change direction if I don't stay balanced. That balance happens on a financial level, an inspirational level, and a social level. We need quiet time to create, practice, and put what we have to offer the world into forms that fuel connection. We also need to make time to put it out there and promote it. So it's, it's like all these different hats and it's a juggling act, but we can't juggle if we're not balanced. I find that for me, the balance comes in extended periods, even if it's just a walk, and being able to find the foreign in the familiar. If I can look at the same tree and notice something different about it, or just a blade of grass or a stone, it's all alive and it's all there connecting to us. Creation does not happen, life does not happen without connection and whatever we can connect to around us. The monsters that we create digitally are forms of connection, but they are virtual. They do not replace the hand-to-hand, the branch-to-branch, the airway-to-airway; they cannot replace it. So there has to be that balance no matter how much we juggle, especially with how much we have to juggle these days. KD: Oh yeah. No, for sure. And I agree with you. I think this is actually great advice to leave with our listeners. So, John, first of all, thank you for joining us today and for sharing your experience and thoughts with us. We look forward to seeing the amazing things that you continue to do for our community. JS: I look forward to seeing more from you as well, Kristine. It has been a pleasure meeting you and learning about all the things you do to foster your own career and help infuse life in others as well. You are obviously excelling at it, and I really appreciate that. So thank you. KD: Thank you, John, for supporting this show by listening and sharing it with your friends. If you liked this podcast, please rate and write a review of how the show has helped you. This will help us increase our visibility nationally and make an impact on the profession. If you would like to hear more about any specific topics, please email us at [email protected]. I would love to help support your community in all artistic disciplines. Thank you.
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AuthorKristine Dizon is a multi-faceted performer, teacher, writer, author, linguist, and entrepreneur. She is Founder & CEO of the Music & Language Learning Center, The Modern Artist Project and co-founder of the Gran Canaria International Clarinet Festival and American Single Reed Summit. She is an artist for Uebel Clarinets and Silverstein Works. Learn more at www.kristinedizon.com. Archives
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