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Regaining Control

I woke this morning and realized I had a decision to make. I could either continue on my current course and find myself falling deeper and deeper into a depressed state about my work, or I could change myself once again. I am seven months into this year-long project, seven months that have changed me in countless ways, not only artistically, but on several levels. In the last few weeks due to things here at home, my Dad’s fall and subsequent issues, Dan’s unemployment, and our business, I found myself feeling anxious and somewhat depressed. I was beginning to lose ground on everything that I have achieved for myself. As excited as I am at the prospect of having our business open, I’m also feeling tremendous pressure, and then what do I do? I add more pressure by signing up for a show. I realized this morning that I was pulling away from my new-found confidence and falling victim to my own self doubt. I have made about thirty-five fairy ornaments in the last three days, but haven’t been doing any art. As I explained to Dan today, while I care very deeply about everything I do, these ornaments I’m working on don’t have the same meaning for me as my other fine art does. I called them “crap” today, which is wrong. They are beautiful, and I truly do spend entirely too much time on them, they are art, but not the art I want to do. I had a little meltdown yesterday. I was working on the ornaments feeling anxious about not having enough done, because I really want to make money for Christmas, and feeling pressure to produce for my project, and of course the million other pressures I put on myself day after day, and I began to cry. I went to my room and just sat quietly for a moment, then came down to tell Dan that I needed to get out of the house for a while. I just needed to clear my head. As always he is wonderful and understanding, and he took me out for a cup of coffee. I came back feeling a little better, and went back to work on the ornaments. I did take time to create the gift certificate I posted last night, but I was still unhappy. It wasn’t by any means my finest work. This morning’s decision was to not give the power back to the me that was never good enough. I do need ornaments for the show, and to hopefully sell on etsy, but I need to give myself the time that I cheated myself out of for far too many years. I took an hour this morning to sketch, and then I worked all afternoon making fairies. I quit at six, Dan and I made dinner together, and then I painted while we watched a movie. A jam-packed day, but a far more satisfying one. I just need to make sure that when I’m juggling too many balls I make sure I’m the one on the top.

I mentioned a few weeks ago that I like drawing and painting ordinary objects. I have a nice collection of depression glass. In that collection I have a couple of really cool kitchen pieces. The one I painted tonight is an old ice breaker. It still has its original green glass bowl. A watercolor.

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Hello, I’m Brian’s Mother

As I said the other evening, I am always honest in my blog writing. Full disclosure here. The very funny remark I attributed to my son last night about glitter being the herpes of craft supplies, should actually be attributed to the very funny Jim Gaffigan. When I told my son tonight that I had quoted him in my blog he was horrified. First because he said if I had told him I was going to quote him he would have told me the line was from Mr. Gaffigan, but I think even more so because I am exposing his secret to the world. Yes, he has a mother. When Brian was a little boy he was very attached to me. So much so in fact that Dan thought Brian didn’t like him. How quickly things change. By the time he was nine Brian was distancing himself from me. How I missed those cuddles with my little boy. It was in those years that the head bob began. This was Brian’s way of allowing me to kiss him. I’m not exactly sure when he passed me in height, but as soon as he did he began the practice of bowing down just enough for me to kiss the top of his head. I had spent years doing an annual art project with Jessica’s class. Brian stopped me by the fourth grade. Things have improved in the last few years. My little boy is now a man. He still doesn’t seem to want his friends to know I exist, but he has grown a little more affectionate with me. About a year or so ago I did him a favor. I don’t even remember what. What I do remember is that when he came over to hug me in thanks, I freaked. It had been so long since he came near me I wasn’t sure what was going on, I could say so much more, but I know without a doubt that he won’t be happy with the little bit of him that I have exposed here. All in love my son

I spent my day making fairies once again, so another ghost of projects past. I took an old flatware box and gutted it. Turned it into a box for pretty writing materials for a friend. She loved it. Hopefully tomorrow I can get back to some art that is just for me.

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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…

A Distant “Goodbye”

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As the day draws nearer to my Dad getting the keys to his new place, I find my mind returning to thoughts of he and my Mom. I won’t get a chance to say goodbye to their home. I live too far away, and well, if you regularly read my thoughts, you know that money is tight. Going home isn’t an option. Tonight as I prepare dinner it is just Dan and I. The kids are grown. Brian is still here, but as young men often do, he is out more than he is in. We are in the kitchen/family room together, Dan watching the television and reading, I am cooking, painting, and writing all at once. There is a comfortable silence wrapped around us, one that two people who know each other so well, and love each so much can be content in, like a well-loved blanket. From time to time one of us speaks. A comment from him, or me asking his opinion on the piece I am working on. Satisfied to just be with each other. It makes me think about my parents. I’m sure they had evenings like this in that house. I am also sure that since my Mother died my Dad has longed for those evenings. Life moves, and although all of us moving through it have emotion, there is no emotion in time. Even though Mom has been gone for six years, the finality of her house no longer there for me to return to makes me sad. In a way it is like losing her all over again. But again there is time. It is time for life to continue there, another family will move into that house, another family who knows nothing of us or who we were as a family will make new memories there. For them it will be a new place, for me it will be the last place my Mother lived. One thing I have learned, particularly in these last few years, is to value these moments, these quiet evenings, because they won’t always be here. Each of us will have those moments of great loss, remember to hold on while you can.

On a less melancholy note, I am just about finished with my clock/bookcase. I say “just about” because I need to cover the back of the door, but it is a detail that isn’t important for tonight, and I need to add one more piece of trim to a shelf. What I am thrilled about is how it has turned out. The vision in my head is complete. I have so often mentioned that I love to do things for children. This is one of those projects. I’ve written so many posts that I don’t recall if I have ever written this before, so please forgive me, but then again it was one of the greatest compliments of my life. My Mother told me that she wished I were her mother, because of all the things I loved to do for my children. I am me because of her. I want to do things for as many children as I can. I am so excited about this project because there isn’t a doubt in my mind that when children come to our shop and see the enchanting world inside the clock, they will love it. When I had finished the clock face I was happy with it. However, the inside of the cabinet was empty. What to do? I had in mind all along the “Hickory, Dickory, Dock rhyme in my head. Inspiration struck. Why not a secret mouse house in the clock? First floor, the garden. Second floor, the main house. What to do on the third floor? It came to me last night. A bookstore, just like the one I will be opening. The mice are made of Sculpy, and the rooms are full of things I found in the garden, or leftovers from other craft projects. There are a few things that I think every child needs: discipline,love, and imagination. I want to spark a little magic in their minds.IMG_2118

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Finally, tonight a piece of work that isn’t mine. My friend, Gabby asked me for an art lesson. I’ve mentioned Gabby before, she is nine. I have been asked to teach before, but never felt comfortable passing on my “I’ve never had lessons, have a million bad habits, don’t really know what I’m doing, flying by the seat of my pants” art. For Gabby I’ll make an exception. We did a lesson in watercolor. Gabby’s Waterlily.IMG_2087Gabby did a beautiful painting.

It’s Almost Time

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Scrambling to write at the last-minute. I spent the entire day again working on my grandfather clock project. I couldn’t be happier with how it is turning out. I’m not quite ready to reveal it yet. I have some final touches that I will take care of tomorrow. I want to thank everyone who reached out to offer support after reading my post of a few days ago. I am very nervous heading into business, actually incredibly overwhelmed, but I think it bears repeating that with Dan at my side we can do anything. I have so many thoughts about how we should do things that I’m finding it hard to rein myself in. I guess what it comes down to is that I am terrified but also very excited at seeing our dream come to fruition. This piece I have been working on is just an example of how much I care about what I do. I want every detail to be perfect. I just have to move past this fear of failure. I don’t really blame myself. We aren’t as young as we use to be, and it will take very penny we have. It’s a difficult decision to put everything on the line.

For tonight I am posting an older watercolor. Talk about fear, this is a painting I did from a photo I took while sailing with friends in San Diego. I hate the water, I can’t swim, I have taken lessons twice and failed both times. That isn’t surprising considering my lack of coordination, and that I don’t like water in my face. Dan says I remind him of a cat. I did go willing on this sailing trip, as long as I have a life vest, I’m good. I love taking photos on the water.

Tomorrow my finished clock. It’s almost time…get it? I know, it’s late.Watercolor

Nonsensical Doodling

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I’m a smart woman, an obviously talented woman, there isn’t too much that I can’t figure out…well OK, perspective, dancing, reading instruction manuals, my singing voice (if you can call it that), and football. I can however still manage to draw, to follow Dan on the dance floor to a certain extent, granted I may bruise a few of his toes, read the instruction manual twenty times until it sinks in, manage to sing along to Carole King or Carly Simon when no one is listening, and identify knee injuries when football players get knocked down (six knee surgeries, what can I say, I know a torn ACL when I see it). There is one thing I just can’t get a handle on. I’m ashamed to say its fourth grade math. My friend Gabby is nine, she is a very smart little girl. This morning she was stumped on two problems from last night’s homework and asked for help. “Sure”, I said, confident that I could help. Then I looked at it. Oh no, fractions! I have helped Gabby with homework before, it is always math. It usually goes something like this.

Gabby:  “Jackie can you help me with these problems?”

Me: “Of course I can.” Then I look at the problems, tell Gabby how to do them, and then…

Gabby: “I don’t think that’s right. I think this is how you do it.”

Me: ” You know what? You’re right.”

I don’t even know why she’s asks me.

This morning was no different. I saw fractions, visions of Sister Aloysius popped in my head, and I panicked. I grabbed my phone and called in my mathematical “go to guy”, Dan. I explained my dilemma. After he finished laughing he told me how to do the math. It’s pathetic, and embarrassing when you are my age and can’t help a nine-year old with their homework. It makes no sense to me at all. I don’t understand how an intelligent adult can’t do fourth grade math. I am sure however that there are plenty of math geniuses out there who can only draw stick figures. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

I had a very busy day planning for business. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do tonight. I’m tired. My body is still protesting the falling back of the clock. It is actually refusing to listen to the clock. As a result I have been up before five every morning this week. I think my body clock and my brain need to have a conversation about how tired my eyes are. I also think that the fractions caused some temporary brain damage. I sat after dinner and played with my pens. A nonsensical doodle is the result. I started drawing with no idea of where I was going to end up. In the end I began to think that it looks a little like a Dr. Seuss. The drawing looks like it is running from the page. Maybe if the Cat In The Hat needed a book-plate…

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As Scheduled

I finally set some time aside to make my art a priority, sort of. The truth is that Dan made me do it. We went out for breakfast for our daughter’s birthday. (Happy Birthday to my beautiful, talented, and oh so smart daughter!!) We did a little grocery shopping, and then I came home and began to clean. Dan stopped me. He told me there was nothing I was doing that he couldn’t do, that I should do my work. (Now you know why I love him so much!) I did at least have a plan. I began implementing some of it today, and beginning tomorrow we will be working on a schedule for me, for my stuff, and together for our business. We have an existing home office which happens to be across the hall for my studio. We will officially be setting up shop tomorrow. I think there are times when life isn’t going as expected when you sort of lose your way. You can get swallowed up by the events that you have no control over. I think we’ve been drowning in it. I think like many people we have been waiting for things to return to the way they should be. I know how smart my husband is, and I know how hard he works. It seems so obvious to me. I never thought he would be out of work for this long. I think we have been holding back on moving ahead with a lot of things because in some way it would be as if we were raising the proverbial white flag, giving up, admitting that things will never be the same. The truth is I don’t want things to remain the same. I want to move ahead to the future I know awaits us. Time is a wasting, and we need to focus.

I am really excited by ideas that I have to do with my grandfather clock project. I worked on several pieces tonight. They are currently in my oven. I won’t give away too much yet, but I think when it is finished it will be pretty cool. So for tonight an older piece. An altered art piece I made for Jessica’s birthday a few years ago. Altered art is difficult for me because there are no rules. I’m a rule girl. I don’t break the law, I don’t color outside the lines, at least I never used to, trying to get past that. I may have to add a little something to tomorrow’s list of what I need to accomplish.

Altered Art Projects (51)

 

It’s Just Overkill

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There’s a song by the Australian band Men At Work named “Overkill”. There is also a really terrific acoustic version by Colin Hays the lead singer who wrote the song. Dan says that the song reminds him of me, particularly this stanza:

Especially at night
I worry over situations
I know will be alright
Perhaps it’s just imagination

It is true that I worry entirely too much. I think some of it is motherhood, but most of it comes naturally to me. I remember laying in bed at night as a kid and fretting over the next day. I was so shy, and also a very easy target for some nasty kids, so school was something I dreaded. It’s funny how music entwines itself into your psyche. Sunday nights CBS aired Mission Impossible (the television show not the Tom Cruise stuff), I hate the theme music. It was the last thing I heard before going to sleep to start another school week. I’ve had trouble sleeping my entire life. I will often toss and turn trying to sleep but my brain just wont shut off, or I wake in the middle of the night worried over something I forgot to do.  For years I kept a pad of paper and pen next to the bed so that when I thought of something I needed to remember I could write it down. I couldn’t turn the light on because I shared a room with my sister, so of course I spent ten minutes the following morning trying to decipher what I wrote in the dark. The upside is that I have an amazing memory, the down side for my family is that I NEVER forget anything. I worry over the big things and the very little details. My daughter is newly married and very happy so I shouldn’t worry right? She works late, drives home alone, and walks to her apartment, all of which equals…you guessed it…worry! My son is twenty-three and still figuring out his way in the world…big worry. He is an extremely intelligent young man, funny, personable, and I don’t mind saying quite handsome, but still I worry. I want him to be happy. When you are a mom you want to do so much for your kids, happy is the one thing they really have to do for themselves. So could someone please tell me how to close off the maternal part of my brain? That’s not all, of course not. I worry about my husband, my dad, my sisters and their families, my friends, my cats, my, my, my, everything! For myself? That is an easy one. My art. I worry that I won’t get it right. That the damned perspective is off once again. That the painting looks flat. That the portrait doesn’t look like the subject. I could continue but I’m sure you get the idea. Tonight I was worried about my son. That affected my painting. I couldn’t concentrate. Now I’m worried about the painting, the perspective, that the rose doesn’t look enough like a rose…blah, blah, blah. I really wish I had a way to tell my brain that Brian will be fine, that the painting isn’t that bad, that tomorrow is another day, but I don’t. So tonight,

“I can’t get to sleep
I think about the implications
Of diving in too deep
And possibly the complications

Especially at night
I worry over situations
I know will be alright
Perhaps it’s just imagination

You can look up the rest, or download the single. It’s a really great song, and its way better than the theme to Mission Impossible.

Tonight a watercolor. My amazing husband bought me flowers when we were in Paris. I even managed to sneak a few dried petals back with me, and of course the bag.

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One For The Books

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082 I’m sure everyone who reads this blog knows by now that our upcoming business will involve the sale of books. I may have even mentioned it myself. (After two hundred plus blogs I sometimes forget what I’ve talked about!) Dan had an e-reader, it came in quite handy when he was flying for business. When he got an  iPad he passed the e-reader on to me. I never used it, not once. We probably have upwards of three hundred books in our home. We are readers, our children are readers, and that makes me very happy. I like the feel of a book in my hands. I like to open my cookbooks and see crumbs in the crease of the binding. Books are magic. They can transport us from our everyday lives to the other side of the world. A good book can touch every human emotion. They can make us happy, sad, scared, enlightened, and take us to places we never knew existed. Yes an e-reader contains words, but there is something so special about a book. Have you ever picked up an old book to find an inscription inside? When I give my grandchildren books I want to be able to write a message inside the cover. I want to bend the corner where I left off. I want to highlight the sentence that spoke to me. E-readers have their place. It’s just not my place.

My daughter was invited to a baby shower recently. Along with the invitation she was given a book-plate. A small sticker to place inside a book for the new baby, but what I really loved about it was that it offered the giver of the book a place to write why they chose that book. I think it is an extraordinary idea to share something so precious. To be honest I would have a hard time picking one book for this assignment. For tonight more book-plates for our business.

I also had the pleasure today of dressing two very special friends for Halloween. To my favorite zombies, Gabby and Kingston, I hope you had a lot of fun tonight.

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A Matter Of Taste

OK, so I once again made an empty promise to myself. I didn’t begin working on my project until after seven tonight. As always I had the best of intentions….no excuses, just didn’t get to it. I did however spend a great deal of time putting my work in my new presentation portfolio that I received as a birthday present (thank you Dan). My old portfolio is at least thirty years old, the plastic pages were cracked and the zipper quit years ago. Over the last few months I have accumulated quite a bit of work and it needed a home. I still need to get extra pages for the new one. I am proud to say it is full right now. For my project tonight I began another acrylic painting. I so loved the results of my vintage shoe form painting from the other night that I have decided to do a series of paintings based on some of the vintage collectables I have. Warning: If you collect anything thing that has the name Bradford Exchange, Village 56, Thomas Kinkade, etc., you might want to stop reading here……………….. Have they gone yet? I mean the Disney people, the Precious Moments people, the people who collect any of the previously mentioned highly collectible, mass produced…crap. Sorry, I just feel that way. I don’t want to acquire number 121 of 500 of this year’s Christmas Village. I would never deny anyone the right to their own taste, but I really just don’t get it. I have seen just about every Disney movie because I have children. I love the classics, I particularly like the Genie in Aladdin. Robin Williams was great. I love Beauty and The Beast, The Little Mermaid and Cinderella. The Seven Dwarfs creep me out, particularly Dopey, he reminds me of a friend of my Dad’s when we were growing up. (Let’s see if my sisters know who I’m referring to.) My favorite character has to be Winnie The Pooh. No reason, just look upon him fondly. He was our high school mascot (be nice, it was an all girl Catholic high school, Pooh was as manly as we could get) I like Piglet, Eeyore (who I believe may be part Irish. I believe this based on my previously mentioned theory of glass not half full, not half empty, shattered on the floor because I’m Irish), and love the rest of the crew of the Hundred Acre Woods too, but not enough to have them on my fireplace, or on my toaster, or my bath towels, or God forbid, my pajamas. I had a Pooh collection once, but I was seventeen not forty. Again, I will defend your right to personal taste, but Precious Moments, really? I’ve been in houses where it looks like the gift shop at Disney World. I’m sure that these same people would come in my house and look at my vintage wooden shoe forms, and my McCoy Pottery, and the rustic industrial stuff and think it is…crap. That’s OK. Actually my Dad said something years ago about my house. He said it was full of shite (Irish for, well I think you can figure it out) I heard this from one of my sisters. He found out that I heard it and called to apologize.  I was quick to agree with him. I said, “Yes Dad, I know, and it’s my shite and I like it.” I don’t think he knew what to do with that. I ‘m not offended if someone doesn’t look favorably on my taste, its mine, remember the “no peer pressure” I wrote about last night? I meant it. I like being different, I don’t want to have the same house with the same stuff as everyone else. I hope I haven’t truly offended anyone. (I feel Catholic guilt creeping into my brain as I write.)  Anyway…I have some very interesting, well-worn and well-loved pieces. I think they deserve to be preserved for all eternity, or at the very least until my grandchildren throw them away. I only managed to color block a canvas for the painting, nothing worth posting, so I decided to throw another old favorite piece of art on the blog. Many, many years ago I came across a photo of Donald Sutherland in a magazine, his face was emerging from the dark. I loved it. A pencil portrait.

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