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Self Esteem By The Numbers

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I seem to be on a recurring theme these days, but I did something yesterday that made me question just how much I believe in myself. As I said last night I had a little battle waging in my head between my “not good enough voice” and my inner cheerleader. (I am so not a cheerleader, quite frankly I lack a certain amount of enthusiasm, but that is a topic for another day.) I thought that I had to a certain extent conquered my feelings of inadequacy, but I was wrong. I put a piece of work on etsy yesterday. It is part of the fairy making I do. I hesitate to call it a craft, I think of it as art. Don’t get me wrong, I have great respect for craftsmen and women. I think the word “crafter” has gotten a bad rap. Unfortunately thanks to shows of a certain caliber, crafting is far too often associated with items such as my most hated craft, the crocheted toilet paper roll cover. (I just had a visual image of one and cringed) I know there is a market for these kinds of items, I think it may involve blue hair of some sort, but I cannot think of a ….I’m sorry, I have no words. I feel that strongly about them. To get back to my point, there are many fine crafts people, people with envious skill and talent, and their work is art. I hereby decree that artists and true craftsmanship be one and the same. (I can do this because I should be ruling the world) My piece is a fairy playground. It took vast amounts of creative imagination, hours of intricate work, and numerous hot glue burns to create it. When I began to list it on etsy the doubt began to creep in. Materials ran me roughly twenty-five dollars. I originally thought to list it at $100, its one of a kind, unique, it’s art, but then “not good enough” spoke up. “No one will pay that much.”, or “It only cost you $25” (not including the day and a half labor). I’m sure you get the idea. I listed it at $65. When I told Dan he said I was crazy. Later in the evening I went back on etsy. I didn’t sign in, I just wanted to see how long it would take me to find my item in the search engine. I came across a fairy house created by another artist. No fairies, just the house. It was more than three hundred dollars. Yikes! Those must be very rich fairies, like Trump fairies. It was beautiful, but I couldn’t believe the price. Then I thought to myself, “This woman values herself, and her work.” I showed it to Dan, and then I raised my price to $95. When I told my saga to my daughter this morning, she too pronounced me crazy, and said $95 is too low. I haven’t changed it, but it did get me wondering about the connection between my pricing and my low artistic self-esteem. I always under price myself. So I guess I have to ask myself just how much my self-esteem is worth?

Something a little different tonight. Theresa gave me a pot of beautiful little daffodils today. I was out most of the day, so I decided to do a quick watercolor of them. I really didn’t care for my finished painting, but then I began to play with the Photo shop filters. I found several that I liked, suddenly I didn’t think the original was so bad. I’m going to post the original, one with a poster edge filter, and an eggshell crackle finish. I’m not sure which I like best.

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3 4 14.JPG poster edges3 4 14 egg shell crackle

The Positives

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Last night I said I would look at my work over the last (almost) year to find the positives. I am horribly hard on myself. As I said last night criticism sticks in our brains, it’s a scientific fact. What the piece about criticism I watched on Sunday Morning failed to address was whether our own criticism of ourselves sticks as well. I am here to say in my own private not so scientific study ( which means I talked to myself, Dan and our friend Lori), we do hang on to our own criticism. I think we are harder on ourselves than anyone else. But that begs the question why? Are we innately self-critical? Or are we the product of societies influences? Obviously mass media has a great influence, as do our parents, our friends, our teachers, the list could continue. How does it start? I again will make assumptions. My Mom spoiled my Dad horribly, I think Dan would be happy to agree that I do the same thing. I learned it from my Mom. My Mom was also very insecure…ditto. I knew that as I headed into motherhood. I tried my best to instill confidence in my kids. Did I succeed? Yes and no. Why? Because my children grew up watching me. I was very nobly self-sacrificing, not such a good example to set. That is why I am now on this journey of self-discovery that I should have been on twenty years ago. (Kids, if you’re listening, take time for yourself. Giving all of yourself away no matter how well-intentioned sets a terrible example, and in the end everyone pays.)

Has anyone noticed that I’m avoiding the question at hand? The homework I assigned myself? In my defense I will again explain the Catholic thing. I feel guilty if I feel like I’m bragging. If my history serves me right the original verse reads, Our Father who art in heaven, guilt is part of the game, Thy forbids some fun…oh come on, I’m just kidding. ( I’ve served my time, thirteen years of parochial school, I’m entitled.) Anyway, here goes….

I have discovered that I have a real talent for pen and ink.

My work is so much more alive, more textured, richer. I discovered how much I enjoy working with just a palette knife.

I’m actually finishing pieces. For so many years I left work half done in fear of being judged. This is one where I still struggle a bit, but again, acknowledging the problem is part of the solution.

If I actually take my time (and give myself the time) I can do some really nice work.

I’ve heard so many people say how hard watercolor is. I find it incredibly easy and enjoyable.

That very nasty word, perspective. It’s getting better, and more than that, I’m getting less hung up on it.

My biggest accomplishment is that I no longer feel like I need to be a human copy machine. Art is meant to be expressive, not replace a photograph.

These days I’m struggling on so many levels because of other stuff going on in my life, but I’m still doing this every single day.

As I try to write these positives, I find the little voice on my head saying, “But what about….?” The voice of “Not good enough” is making a case for herself, dropping negative bombs in my brain. Not today. Enforced self-esteem, that’s what I need.

Tonight a watercolor. New issue of Country Living arrived in the mail, this painting is inspired by a photo in the magazine.3 3 14

The Men In My Life

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My twenty-fifth wedding anniversary is four months from today. If you read this blog you know how much I love my husband. However much I love Dan there are other men in my life. I’m not talking about my Dad, although I do love him. Brian is one of the great joys of my life, but I’m not talking about my son either. There are two men, well maybe three. I believe I may have mentioned two of them before (after more than three hundred posts I just can’t keep track), there is “Bob” as in Redford. I’ve loved Bob since I was ten, even though he is the same age as my mother, and he is looking older. We watched “All Is Lost” last week, and Dan was only too happy to point out how much better he is aging compared to Mr. Redford. I had to agree. There is also “Bob Jr.”, a.k.a. Brad Pitt. Brad reminds me of young Bob, so he too gets a little piece of my heart. My other man is chef Tyler Florence. This isn’t a physical attraction (although he is cute), it’s definitely food related. As I so often mention, I love, love to cook, and I am really good at it, but when I am in a quandary and not sure how to make something, Tyler is my man. He never fails me. Tyler offers me security in my little corner of the world, my kitchen. No need for concern because Tyler’s advice is only a few computer clicks away. I have also mentioned that one of the great things about being artistic is that if I see something I like I can pretty much make it for myself. I saw a photo in a magazine of Tyler’s kitchen. He has a chalkboard wall, I have a chalkboard wall, but he had a pig on his wall, and I loved it! My chalkboard wall isn’t quite as big as Tyler’s, but I also had a large chalkboard hanging in my kitchen. I made my own pig. He is fairly close to Tyler’s, the best I could do from the small photo I had. I had a long day yesterday, not enough sleep the night before, and as I wrote last night, I stayed overnight in a hotel with Dan. Our hotel room had a window that overlooked a parking lot. A parking lot that was lit for the World Series. The light coming in over the curtains was so bright we couldn’t sleep. We were both up on and off all night. I decided to give myself the night off and instead post my pig. Thank you Tyler for the cooking advice, and thank you for my pig.2 25 14

Addicted

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Did you hear the ringing? That was me admitting to phoning it in tonight. My “to be continued” from last night is still on hold.  The reason? More than a year ago Dan bought me seasons one and two of Downton Abbey. I’m not a huge television watcher, and very particular about what I watch. I knew I would like Downton Abbey, and honestly have put it off for a year fearing the worst, and I was right. I’m addicted. It has literally taken over my day. Late in the day I realized that I needed to tear my eyes away for a moment and work on something for tonight.  Dan paused the DVD long enough for me to run up to the studio and grab supplies. I was going for clay of some kind, but spied a linoleum block in the cabinet. It’s been awhile since I’ve played around with carving linoleum so I decided that I’d do that. As I was leaving the room I saw a heart-shaped Nicho (a Mexican tin art formed box) and decided that was what I wanted to do. A simple design that took way too long because my attention was elsewhere. The idea was to make a reverse block print. I like where it’s headed, but on printing with the block I definitely think it needs a little more detail. Some of what I carved in got lost in the ink. I did take one of the prints and add a little color and wrote something to put in the empty space I created in the center. I think I’ll play with it a little more tomorrow.057 That is of course if I can get my fix, only a few episodes left (at least until I get seasons three and four), back to reality, art, and windows tomorrow!

Superstitious

I’ve never been to see a psychic. I’d like to say it’s because I don’t believe in psychics, but the truth is that I’m not sure if I believe in them, and I know myself. I have a very active imagination, and as I have mentioned more than once in past posts, I’m Irish. (If you happened to have not read it, it means glass not full, nor empty, because the glass is shattered on the floor.) I’ve always been afraid that if I heard something that wasn’t good I’d obsess. (I’m also phenomenally good at obsessing.) It would rule my life, no matter how much I would try to convince myself that it was nonsense there would be that little corner of my mind that would poke its nasty self into my every waking moment. It’s much the same with superstition. We’ve had a rough year, and the disappointments, bad luck, and struggles continue and seem to have no end. (Dan does have a promising job interview on Tuesday, but I’m honestly afraid to be hopeful.) In the last few days I’ve been writing about the never-ending window projects. I left them alone yesterday, I needed a break. Today with fresh eyes I went back to work on one of them. This would be the larger of the two that I intend to turn into sort of a jewelry/mirror/memo center. A place where you can check hair or makeup, choose your necklace, and read your to do list before you have to run out the door. I coated four of the triangular shapes with magnetic paint, and then on top of that a few coats of chalkboard paint. The two side panels will allow for tucked in memos, I plan on covering them tomorrow and adding ribbon detail, and finally the center, which will become a mirror. Except this, I bought a door mirror to cut to fit the center. I’ve never cut glass. I watched a YouTube video which of course made me an instant expert.  I broke a piece off. Seven years bad luck. Then Dan came in. He has cut glass, successfully, but not this time. Four breaks. So basically right now we are looking at another thirty-five years of bad luck. (Openly groveling for all reading this to wish me good karma.) Do I believe in the superstition of seven years of bad luck for a broken mirror? Seven years times five? Not to mention we have to try again tomorrow!!! I’d like to say no…but there is that nasty little corner of my mind….

So here is what’s happening so far…IMG_5625

I leaned the window against a mirror in my guest room. (Notice the magnet) Still much to do, but I think you get the idea…

…to be continued.

Labors Of Love

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The windows, or should I say the window? Don’t ask. I have now spent days and days on it. I’m not done. I think it will be beautiful when I’m finished (apparently sometime around the end of eternity), but as I said last night, I can never charge enough to make up for time and effort. I think at this point I’m earning about maybe a dollar an hour on this one. Dan labeled it a labor of love today, and I couldn’t agree more. I love what I do, and I love to see the work come to life. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll be finished with it tomorrow.

For tonight, a labor of love of a different kind. I looked at the photos on my phone, and I found a lovely picture of my friend Gabby, who just celebrated her tenth birthday. Gabby is a beautiful and special girl, and it really was a pleasure to do this drawing. I need to tweak it just a little in the morning, it’s now ten thirty and my eyes have called it a night. I’m excited for Gabby to see her portrait, which of course means that a portrait of Kingston can’t be far behind. (You know, the brother-sister stuff, can’t do one and not the other.) IMG_5597

Who I Am

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I think I was born with a “No Compete” clause. I have no competitive edge, none. It doesn’t mean that from time to time people don’t annoy me enough to make me want to prove something, that is a whole other animal. Maybe that’s why I shy away from promoting myself. A few things brought this to mind tonight. First on the list is that I happen to be watching some of the Olympic coverage. I marvel at the athleticism. (We all know by now that I have none.) In college I had switched majors to advertising, a young and stupid move. Not that I couldn’t have produced some fabulous ideas, I come up with some pretty amazing ones all the time, if I do say so myself. It’s just that there aren’t too many careers as competitive as advertising, I’d have been eaten alive, unless of course someone pissed me off, then it’s game on. There was also a conversation that I had not once, but twice today. I have three sisters, when everyone starts to talk I quiet down. With Dan’s family, everyone talks over one another. They are quite good at it, and amazingly all know what the others are saying. I’m not loud enough for that. I don’t even try. Another reason is that last night a friend (well-meaning of course), wanted to know how to post a comment on this blog to tell the world how (her words) AMAZING I am. While I very much appreciate the sentiment, I would be mortified if someone wrote that. This isn’t a self-esteem or self-confidence issue. I am old enough to realize it’s OK to say that I’m talented without feeling like I’m bragging. It’s a fact, I do indeed have a lot of talent (not downhill skiing talent, but talent none the less), I’m just not comfortable shouting it from the rooftops. It’s not who I am. Thanks to age (and this project), I am more and more comfortable with the idea of myself as an “artist”. I spent a lot of years feeling like a fraud. Claiming to be an artist, but feeling like I didn’t have the pedigree. Well I do have the credentials,( just ask God, he gave them to me.) I’ve always loved being able to do the things that I can do, I’ve always longed to do other things that I can’t do, (No, not downhill, but maybe figure skating, or even walking and chewing gum at the same time without requiring knee surgery.) I’ve just always felt that as privileged as I am to have the skills that I have, I realize that they are skills that many other people are blessed with as well. I have from time to time been accused of “showing off”. It couldn’t be farther from the truth, because the truth is that I enjoy using my talents, every one of them to do things for others. Whether it is cooking a beautiful meal for friends or loved ones, painting something for a friend, or (my favorite) making something as a gift for a child, it’s never about, “Look what I can do.” It is always about my love of giving, of making someone happy, or hopefully making a difference in someone’s day, or a child’s life. That is who I am, no rooftops required.

Back to readying things for our business. I completed last nights pen and ink. It will be used as an award for one of the promotions we want to run with local schools. The second piece tonight is an idea I “borrowed”. Not the artwork, that’s me, although it was inspired by an old vintage book, but the idea for the product it will become. My daughter was invited to a baby shower. The guests were given a label and instructed to put it inside any book they might purchase for the baby. It had a place for the baby’s name, and who it was from, but my favorite part was where the guest was supposed to say why that book in particular. I loved the idea. I love children’s books and love to give my favorites as gifts. I wish I knew who to credit for this lovely idea, unfortunately I don’t. I do think it adds something really special to the gift of a book, and I think a book is the best gift one can get. My finished pen and ink, and watercolor, and pen on Bristol board with a little bit of computer help on font.

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Reality Sets In

I’m struggling tonight. Parenthood never ends. I offered help to my son last night as he prepared to move on to bigger and better things. He and his friends rented a truck for 7a.m. this morning, and despite our earlier suggestions that he just might want to pack, he waited until the last-minute. Youthful optimism and inexperience were the order of the day, Brian turned down my help, but later once the enormity of the task at hand hit home, he finally caved. I’ve moved thirteen times in my life. Dan is an Air Force brat, and I’m sure doesn’t even have a count. Essentially we know what we are doing. It had to be near ten when I began to help, Dan wasn’t feeling well and went to bed, and Brian? He had his fill at about ten forty-five. (To his credit he had been working for about three hours before I came in.) As for me, Mom, tenacious, stubborn, hard-working, and did I mention, Mom? I worked until one fifteen, until I forced myself to go to bed. When he came for the final push this morning things were well-organized. Today we helped with the moving in, and tonight I shed my first tear when I started to make dinner and realized that Brian wouldn’t be here later to rummage through the fridge for a late night snack.

As for the other part of my day, breakfast with Gabby and Kingston, it was wonderful. To begin with I gave King his painting from last night. I got more from his response than I could ever possibly ask for. He is a very happy little boy. We decided based on the painting to write a story together. Its something I did with my daughter. I would write a line, then she would write a line. Kingston and I wrote our first two lines this morning. I also made them a favorite of mine from childhood. My Mom would soft boil eggs, cut the tops off, and place them in egg cups. She would make toast and cut it into “fingers” for dipping. They loved it, and loved it even more when I told them how we would turn the empty egg shells upside down and try to trick my Dad into thinking he had a boiled egg. Hearing them laugh is the best way to start the day.

I wrote my post a few hours ago, knowing that at some point I would hit a wall. The wall has arrived. I’ve spent the last two hours working on a pen and ink, but I just can’t go on. I’m much, much too tired. Here is my incomplete pen and ink…to be continued tomorrow…IMG_5514

This Is Your Captain Speaking…

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I think I’m losing my mind. The blowers to dry out the ceiling and floor were supposed to be turned off this morning, but guess what? They will be on until Monday. The title of my blog tonight is an effort to explain what we are living with. Dan described it best. You know when you’re in an airplane and there is that constant droning noise from the engines? That’s it, now multiply it by a thousand. Non-stop noise, twenty-four hours a day since Thursday morning. Our cats are completely freaked out and skittish, I have had a headache, and Dan doesn’t want to be in the house. We managed to spend a good part of today out of here, but we’ve been home for a couple of hours and I am nearing the edge. I am rushing to type this post so that we can go upstairs and shut the door, and pretend we are flying to Paris.

Yesterday I had some inspiration. I was looking at a beautiful cloudy sky and thought I’d like to paint it, but not in color, in shades of gray. I chose acrylics as my medium. I looked through the multitude of cloud photos I have, but instead of settling on one in particular I just let the brush and paint flow. I went back and added some highlights in a few of the white spaces. I really like the painting, although I wouldn’t mind a little more texture. I am particularly happy with the hills. The area around here in Temecula is full of granite, and I think I really captured the way they look. I’ve done a few watercolor figures in shades of gray and I’d like to explore it a little more but with oils. It’s a wonder I could paint at all with the noise. I long for Monday, and silence.2 8 14

It’s Raining, It’s Pouring…

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” Into every life some rain must fall.” I don’t know who said that, and I really don’t care at the moment, other than to say that it’s been torrential here, and I don’t think that rain was meant to come from my dining room ceiling. Things were slightly better today, and all that means is that the guys that are repairing my house don’t have to cut out a piece of my ceiling, or a hole in my studio wall in order to get to the damage in the bathroom. Meanwhile we are suffering through noise I haven’t lived with since I lived eight minutes from O’Hare Airport in Chicago. We have in our dining room four contraptions meant to dry out the ceiling, and a few more upstairs running to dry out the floor. Non stop noise since seven this morning, and they won’t be off for three days. To say our nerves are just a little frayed is an understatement. Nothing like feeling like you live inside an airplane hangar to ease our stress levels. I spent much of the day listing on etsy, fairies for the most part. I am aiming to get prints up as soon as possible, but I am still in the process of figuring out watermarks. I think much like yesterday my work today is inspired by what I’m feeling. I want and need serenity, quiet, and peace. I am a person who enjoys solitude, who loves quiet, who hates noise. I don’t know how we’re going to make it through the next two days, but I guess after the last ten months we can do anything. So here is my imaginary place of quiet in watercolor.2 6 14