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Finding The Right Words

There are many nights as I sit and write this blog where words fail me. I can’t quite think of exactly what I want to say, or exactly how to form the sentence to convey the point I’m trying to make. Eventually something comes to me, and for the most part I am happy with the outcome. Last night in my description of the glitter issues that confront my family I consulted a thesaurus looking for synonyms. I was trying to express just how defenseless we feel in the war against glitter. Tonight as Dan, Brian and I sat at the dinner table it became apparent that the glitter was already taking the upper hand. Each of us was sparkling. While that wasn’t surprising for either Dan or I, as we were both in the middle of the mix of my supplies all day in the dining room, but for Brian who had only passed through to be sparkling just proves my point. That’s when Brian came up with the words I was looking for last night. He called glitter the “herpes of craft supplies”. I couldn’t have said it better. I laughed at him and asked where he was last night when I needed him.

Dan as always is my extra pair of hands. He is doing all of what he calls the “grunt work”, but it is of immense help to me as I try to crank out as much work as possible. I  shouldn’t say “crank out”, I actually spend far too much time on each piece. When I stated last night that I don’t charge enough for my work I wasn’t exaggerating. I will fuss over the smallest detail, but I care so much about what I do that I can’t help myself. When it comes to pricing I agonize over it. I’m always sure that I’m charging too much…wait, not enough, but no one will pay that much, I wouldn’t pay that much, but it took me this (insert minutes) long, then there is “There’s always a kid with $5 , I need to have something they could buy”.  Years ago in Chicago I had my own business painting murals. My first clients lived a half hour drive from me. They wanted their “Hey, Diddle, Diddle” border reproduced on the nursery wall in a much larger scale. Get ready to groan, shake your head in disbelief, have your jaw hit the floor, I charged $250. That’s all. A week’s work, an hour drive daily, including supplies, for $250. Dan tried in vain to talk me into a price that was reasonable for the amount of work I was doing, while being fair to the clients. I couldn’t do it. As I explained to him, the wife was a social worker, and the husband worked at a grocery store. He tried to talk some sense into me, explaining that they hired me, that it wasn’t my problem what they could and couldn’t afford. I didn’t change the price. Apparently I have many issues, and much in the way of my favorite scapegoat, Catholic guilt.

We had other company in the dining room. Our cats are particularly happy. There are many small items for them to steal and bat around, or string to run off with. Mia loves it most of all, so much in fact that she likes to join us in the center of things, like the middle of the table, in the middle of my supplies.image

Tonight another upcycled project. One I like so much I may never sell it. An old box that I bought for a few dollars. Painted, decoupaged with one of my photos from France and some scrapbook memorabilia. Acrylic paint projects (12)

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IMG_2177But then again, I need the cash…now if I only knew what to price it at…

Blustery Day

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There’s an old song with a line that states, “It never rains in Southern California.” For the most part that’s true, but every now and then we have a day like today, a rainy, overcast, windy, and wet day, and I couldn’t be happier. That might sound strange to some, but for someone like me who grew up in Chicago, it’s a little taste of home. I’ve been in California long enough to be considered a Californian, but I’ll always be a Chicagoan at heart. I love the beautiful weather here in Temecula, but I really miss the change of seasons. There is something so magical about the first Spring day when it is warm enough to crack open a window. In Chicago that could be at forty degrees. Trust me, when it has been near freezing for months on end, forty is practically tropical. There is also that first day of Fall when the wind is just crisp enough to call for a sweater, or the quiet pristine beauty of freshly fallen Winter snow. I miss all of it. Yes, it is wonderful to not have to scrape the ice off my windshield, or to dig out a parking space, but there is something about the cycle of the seasons that appeals to me. Maybe because in a way we all live our lives in a cycle of seasons. I love the rebirth of Spring, and the maturity of Fall. There is an anticipation of the seasons that is lacking here. A few years ago when we were back visiting my parents, my kids were enthralled by a good old-fashioned thunder and lightning storm. I have memories from my childhood of standing in the garden during a Summer rain, when the air was warm and the rain water was cool on my skin. When I was a little girl there was a blizzard in Chicago, twenty-three inches of snow fell. I remember the snow over my head, and the games we played. My sisters and I built a house in the snow. We made a couch, a table, and I think even a television. I remember the thrill of running across the fence that had been covered by snow into the neighbor’s yard. Mrs. Hackel wasn’t very nice to us, and we thought we were so daring to run into that garden. Brian, my son, was devastated to discover upon moving to California that he was losing his “Snow Days”, bad weather free days built into the school calendar. Maybe it’s because I’ve been here in California for ten years that I can wax so poetic about those bad weather days. All I know is that when I have a day like today,  a day when you want to cuddle up inside with something warm to drink, and a good book or a movie, I feel nostalgic.

I had company tonight, and a rather busy day. As always looking through photos from something to paint, I came across a photo from my phone of one of my cats. I was trying to photograph Riley, and she became very curious. She put her face right up to the phone. Riley in watercolor and pencil. Riley is a Chicagoan too.IMG_1669

 

Out Of Focus

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An emotional roller coaster of a day. I said last night that my Dad was doing better, and he is as far as his injury. At least they have figured out what the issue is, or so they think, tests on Thursday will hopefully answer the question. The hard part is his confusion and fear. Shortly after my Mom died a friend said of my Dad, “What happened to the strongest man in the world? Samson has lost his Delilah.” My Dad is old school macho. He has very definite ideas of how a man should be. He does of course have a soft side. It’s just difficult to hear the confusion. Lots of phone calls back and forth from the hospital today. I am grateful to my sisters for being there. Someone has been with him all day. I just wanted to say “Thank You” to them.

I had a difficult time today thinking creatively. I looked at doing several projects, but nothing was really speaking to me. I printed out a handful of photos from my files, but just couldn’t find the motivation. I finally decided to work on one of the many wooden boxes that I have laying about. I have a very quirky confession to make. I so often speak of the “not good enough” thoughts that seep into my brain, but I realized tonight that it only happens when I am going to paint on canvas. When I work on “craft” projects, or painting furniture, I’m fearless. I never second guess myself. I think that I somehow in my twisted brain I have elevated painting on canvas to the epitome of artistic greatness. It’s ridiculous. I have done some beautiful painted wood pieces, but I never think of them as real art. I belittle the stuff that comes to me mindlessly, and the stuff that I imagine is harder, I condemn myself for not being good enough. (This is where everyone forms a line and takes a turn slapping me, all the while asking, “What the hell is wrong with you?”) There is nothing that I do that I don’t give every ounce of myself to. So why am I placing more value on one over the other? I don’t have an answer, and if anyone reading this has some armchair psychology that they want to pass on, please do. I am at a loss to explain my own way of thinking.  Its got to be the monkeys in my brain messing with me.

Another wood burning project, and those amazing Martha Stewart Pearl Paints. Love, Love, Love them. Project isn’t finished, much intricate work to do tomorrow.8 10 (5)Before with initial sketch

8 10 (1)Half finished project8 10 (3)And Mia, one of my cats, I don’t think she understands me either.

 

Inspired Day

I had a really productive day today. I started my morning in our beautiful garden taking photographs. I should say I tried to start my day that way. One of our cats, Mia, loves to come outside with us. We have three, all indoor cats. By mutual consent Mia has agreed to wear a leash and collar. (OK, maybe not so mutual, but I follow her upstairs by demand to turn the faucet on in the tub so she can drink, there isn’t anything mutual about that decision either!) Mia loves a good cat massage, particularly on her face. She followed me around the garden mewing until I gave in. I spent a good twenty minutes petting her until she decided she had enough. After Mia’s session was over, (no tip) I finished photographing the garden, and then I began finishing up last night’s portrait of my Mom. I really wasn’t happy with it last night, much happier this evening!2013 garden (24)

I wasn’t sure (as usual) what I wanted to do today. I was uploading the photos out of my camera and decided to use one of my photos for inspiration. Before I began working I looked at my daughter’s Facebook page. Jessica had posted some photographs from a trip to Venice Beach with her husband John, and their dog Otis. There was one in particular that I really liked, so that became my project. I have been really dying to get back to my paintbrush, but until I get an OK from the doc that my lungs are clear, watercolor will have to suffice. The painting of John and Otis didn’t take long, and I felt terrific doing it. I even commented to Dan how relaxed I feel in my work these days. Despite my evil nemesis, Perspective, and the unusually quiet “you’re not good enough” voice in my head, and my stubborn refusal to read direction of any kind, I feel like I am making leaps and bounds in my artistic confidence. So much so that when I finished John and Otis I decided to jump right into another painting. (I do want to catch up on those lost sick days) I looked through the photos from the garden and picked one of my Echinacea. I love the color, and wanted the challenge of painting the prickly tops. Success! By the time I was finished and looked at the clock it was after six. I need more days like today.

 

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A Missing Day

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I didn’t post yesterday, not due to illness recovery but because a household project very much got in the way. This wasn’t a roadblock that I threw in my own way, but something that had to be done. Just last week I wrote about not letting this blog turn into the Monday morning diet syndrome, I can’t let this happen. This project has become entirely too important to me. For the first time in my life I have a sense of accomplishment and true happiness. Like many people I spent years looking to others to make my life complete. It’s taken me a long time to figure out that only I have the key to make that happen. I’ve never felt the kind of pride I have in my accomplishments and in my work before. Of course I’ve done things I liked or loved over the years, but this is the first time that I have fought myself to make me a priority. I’m finally feeling better, there are no excuses to not get back on track. I find it ironic that tomorrow is Monday after my little rant, but it is, and I will start working on making up lost time. For tonight, after a very, very long day, I decided to just grab the watercolors and see where it led me. I was playing with color, still unsure of my project when I looked up to see Riley, my cat. She was laying in front of me in a rather cute position, problem solved, tonight’s subject, Riley.

No pencil sketch, just painting her as she lay.Image

Letting Go Of Perfection

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I never know from day-to-day what I am going to create, much less what I will blog about. Both projects are discovering themselves as my day goes on. I will have to be very honest here, both the art and the writing are on the top of my daily “to do” list, but both are the last things I do at the end of the day most of the time. Why? I’m still struggling with putting myself first and letting go of my duties as wife/mother. I’m still making sure the kitchen gets cleaned in the morning, and that there are meals on the table, and every other thing I can think of in between. I’m working on it, but without much success. I will continue to figure this out, and at some point (hopefully) I’ll learn to ignore that the floor needs to be swept. (Disclosure: I can’t eat at those restaurants where they have rude wait staff and peanut shells on the floor. I cannot stand rudeness, and absolutely cannot eat in a place that has a dirty floor. I don’t know why I feel the need to share this, except that maybe it lets you know me just a little better. One might think by reading that, that I am a neat freak. Far from the truth. My house is clean, very clean, well at least as clean as a house with three cats and a twenty-two year old male can be, but I’m messy. I think I mentioned that before, I mean the me being messy part, again for no particular reason…)

I brought all of the above up because I (as regular readers might know by now) am struggling with not being good enough or perfect in my art. Tonight I had a little breakthrough. I didn’t work earlier today because of anything more than it was really hot here today, and unusually humid. Hot plus humid equal lethargic for me. I just wasn’t in the mood. Not that I didn’t try. I made a few pathetic attempts at something with clay, and although I promised to put up all work, warts and all, I didn’t even come up with something I could photograph even as an attempt. So at the magic hour of seven p.m., which seems to be turning into my starting time, I began a watercolor painting. My breakthrough was that I didn’t sweat it at all. When I do a rough sketch for a painting I worry over every little detail. I measure and fuss over the drawing being just right. I didn’t measure tonight. I just sketched, and then I just painted. In a moment I had the thought that the reality is, unless I am painting a well-known monument, the people who see my work are more than likely to never see the photo I use as inspiration, or into my brain to see where ideas spring from there (God forbid!). I started out tonight feeling like I was doing homework again, but then I relaxed, I let the process and my enjoyment of it take over. The finished project, a watercolor and ink inspired by a photo I took in Carmel, California, isn’t perfect. The perspective isn’t perfect. I am not perfect, and I’m learning to be content with all of it.

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Old Lessons, and a Still Not Quite Complete Mia

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I finished Mia this morning. Still not completely happy with the drawing, but I think I might have done better drawing a white cat on a paper with color and highlighting with white pencil or chalk. It’s what I had done on the earlier post of the drawing of my grandmother. Sometimes its best to walk away from a piece and revisit it later with a fresh pair of eyes.

I had a realization this morning. Again, when I started this blog I was excited and challenged, but as I wrote last night I find myself not getting to it until later and later each day. I told Dan this morning that it is becoming reminiscent of high school. I did take art in high school. I wanted it as early as sophomore year when I had my first shot at choosing an elective. However, my dad didn’t see the value of it. My electives were gobbled up by sewing and typing/ shorthand, all marketable skills for a young woman who was sentenced to no more expectation in life than that of a secretary or housewife. (Typing? Yes, I’m that old. My high school graduation gift was an electric typewriter, the latest model of course!) Junior year left me open for an elective of choice. At that point my dad had three of us in high school and was probably too busy to interfere. What I should have done was take Art 1, the basics, but what did I do? I took a few drawings and a painting into Mrs. Miller’s office and told her my sad story. She looked at my work and put me right into Art 2. I lost the opportunity to get the basics. I didn’t know any better…..back to the project.

The first few days of this project I was anxious to get to work every day. I truly was excited about what I would do next. Then my bad habit of putting myself last began to creep in just a little further every day. Cleaning, cooking, bill paying, watering the garden and so on. Finding little ways every day to push it further away.  Just like high school. I was excited to get into art, more so that I had been allowed to skip ahead, but as time wore on I began to not do assignments until the night before. There was a girl in my class who quite frankly couldn’t draw very well. We both turned in assignments for a graphic design project, she got an “A”, I got a “B”.  I was incredulous, my drawing was so much better than hers, at least technically. When I approached Mrs. Miller to complain she said, ” No she can’t draw as well as you, but I can see how hard she tried. You have so much talent, but you did that last night didn’t you?” I had to admit I had. She said, “I know what you can do, that’s why you get a “B”. I should have learned from that, but here I am so many years later doing the same thing. I am cheating myself each time I do this without my full effort and attention. Yes, sometimes my life will get in the way. Today my son is sick, but there are more than enough waking hours for me to fulfill my promise in every way possible.

Thank you Mrs. MillerImage