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Looking For A Silver Lining

I’ve spent the last few days feeling like we have a dark cloud over us. Dan had a couple of successful interviews for a job, but we’ve heard nothing as of yet, and quite frankly hope and enthusiasm are hard to come by these days. I don’t want to give up, but every time there seems to be a flicker of hope it is quickly extinguished by bad news. I continue to pray, to ask for help, but time is running out. We realize now that we will probably need to leave our home. That’s a tough one. It’s not about the house, home is where we are together, but nevertheless we worked hard and turned it into a beautiful home. I’m trying to grab onto anything positive these days, so I’m trying to put it in perspective. We needed to downsize anyway, the kids are out on their own, and with my bad knees the stairs become more difficult each day. It’s also been quite a while since I wrote about our business, the one we hoped to open. I think the situation we are in and a little depression began to push the dream away. We decided to grab onto the dream again. As my very wise sister said today, “God helps those who help themselves.”  So a new journey begins. We start Monday to figure it all out, and how to finance the dream. As we looked around our home today we realized how many things we have here that will transition well into the atmosphere we hope to create in our shop. So we build our lives again. I’ve been through some hardships in my life, some difficult and painful situations, but this is something I never dreamed we’d face. We are nice people, good people, all you can do is ask “Why?” Sometimes there are no answers.

I’m still working towards the show next Saturday. I’m producing as much as I can with Dan’s help. I hope to have a successful show. Did you notice? There’s that word again, “hope”. Maybe I’m not a completely lost cause.

A very old mirror I bought a lifetime ago. I’ve been carrying it around for years. The two smaller panels on the side had mirror in them in originally, but they disappeared years ago. I decided to again to use photos from Paris. I turned them sepia, cropped them into squares, and then had them printed to fit. The mirror had been a cream color. I had intended to just repainted but it was a mess, too many layers of paint. I stripped the piece down, primed, and then painted it in the Martha Stewart metallic bronze, with dry brushed highlights of a green-gold M.S. Pearl paint. It works very nicely with the sepia prints. The photos aren’t permanently attached yet, I have just a little work to do to finish the piece tomorrow.

 

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Creating With Heart

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Before I begin my rant, and there will be a rant, I want to acknowledge that I have touched on the following subject more than once before. (If you’re interested 4/23/13 I Am An Artist, 6/15 What Makes An Artist, and 7/16 We Are All Artists) When you post every single day for a year, and your brain is as full of knowledge as mine (a nice way of saying I’m getting older), there will be times that I may repeat myself. I can’t remember every single thing I’ve written about, but there are things that I am passionate about and things that get under my skin and I just can’t let go. Two days ago on Facebook there was a post about a photographer named Vivian Maier. She was a nanny by profession, but also a gifted photographer. There is a new documentary about her that opens this weekend. Ms. Maier was an unknown talent until a man named John Maloof purchased a box of negatives from a Chicago auction house in 2007. (One more recommendation from me about something to Google!) This morning while reading the NY Times I came across a review of the documentary and some criticism about Ms. Maier. I have in the past touched on the fact that I have no formal art education. My only exposure to an art class was in high school, and well, it was high school art. My teacher thought I was gifted and didn’t give me much in the way of guidance. I had upon showing her my work been allowed to skip Art 1. I now think that may have been a mistake. I don’t know the basics, but at this point I don’t really care. I could always actually take a class or read a book, but I am me, and that means I do everything my way. Some of the criticism leveled at Ms. Maier was that she had no formal training, and that she didn’t print her own photos (which I might add would be difficult because she is deceased), thereby she shouldn’t be called an artist, and also questioning photography as an art form.  Two days ago I wrote a post about the judgements leveled by other people. Why the need to demean this work? Any five-year old can take a photograph, but with an artist’s eye? Last night we watched American Idol (Yes, I am part of that demographic that no one cares about but still watches) Keith Urban made an excellent point. He told one of the contestants that you can sing from your head or sing from inside yourself, you are still singing the same words,but the performance changes. (Not an exact quote but the general gist of what he was saying) I am related by marriage to a very talented and successful artist. I love his work. He has been fortunate enough to have training that I have not. I don’t envy him, I admire him and have told him so. There was a point in my life ( before the blog) when I would use his talent as a weapon against myself, to further the agenda of “not good enough” that resides inside my head. I made myself feel inferior, that and another member of this same family called my work “primitive”. I would say to Dan, “Look how wonderful and talented he is. What could I have done if I had his training and family support?” That is a ridiculous question, it is the question of someone who doesn’t believe in them self. These days my mantra is, “Look what I can do when I’ve never had any training.”  (Thank you Mr. Urban for inspiring the following thought) I could paint with all kinds of skill if I had the right schooling, but my skill comes from my heart, and is God-given. Who gets to decide who gets the title? I see quite a bit of work in museums that I really, really dislike. It’s still art. The creator of that work is still an artist. The terms “outsider”, “primitive”, “amateur”, are words that I find offensive. Vivian Maier was an artist every time she pushed the shutter button, I am an artist every time I pick up a pen, a brush, a pencil, or for that matter a frying pan.

OK, got that out of my system. I managed to finish a few things today. I’m only posting one because there are five photos to go with it. Another box, this one done with scanned images of vintage French postcards that I own, decoupaged on painted wood, trim painted in the wonderful Martha Stewart Pearl Paints (Love them!)

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Pearls Of Wisdom

We often hear about wisdom that comes with age. My personal experience is that its true, at least for me, and at least in terms of how I view myself. I was talking to a friend earlier today, she is a wonderful, warm, loyal, and very loving person. She suffers from a terrible lack of self-esteem. She puts up a fairly decent front, but I know her well. She is several years younger than I, and I feel very protective of her. I was trying today to impart some of my hard-earned wisdom in terms of how I have learned to deal with my own issues. It has taken me a long time to realize that I will never be good enough in the eyes of some people, some who know me well, some who don’t but think they do. I have spent years feeling inferior, and I believe that in many ways most of us do. We live in a judgmental society, bombarded with ads of how we are supposed to look, dress and act. Family expectations based on who our families want us to be, but not who we are. Religious judgment, people who claim to love God, any God, but are quick to condemn their fellow human being. Not smart enough, not pretty/handsome enough, too thin, too fat, wrong color skin, wrong color hair, too old, loving the “wrong” person…I could keep going, but I think everyone gets the idea. Do we do it to make ourselves feel better? Think about what we are doing to each other. Think about times when you feel bad about yourself. Do you really want someone else to feel that way? We can’t make everyone happy, we have to make ourselves happy,  we should cut ourselves and others a break. I want my friend to realize, I want everyone to realize, that the only opinion that matters is the one inside your head. Am I perfect? Absolutely not! I am stubborn, and messy, I procrastinate, have absolutely no coordination, I eat out of stress, worry about everything and anything, continually leave every cabinet door in my kitchen open, I can be controlling, opinionated, have a sometimes foul mouth, have a horrific temper, and still frightened of far too many things in life. I am also very kind, considerate, compassionate, loving, thoughtful, creative, artistic, a terrific cook, inventive, generous to a fault, a good wife and mother and a bleeding heart Liberal. I’m working on a few of my issues, particularly the messy cabinet door opening foul tempered parts of me. The thing is that when you weigh the good against the bad, I’m a pretty decent person. Do parts of me bother others? Yes, but I have learned that it is their problem not mine. I can’t please everyone, neither can my friend, neither can any of you. Be nice to each other, be considerate, help one another, but don’t judge each other no matter how much you disagree with how the other person lives their life, it’s theirs not yours. Believe in yourself, make a list of your best qualities, and those you want to change for yourself, the person who matters most.

To my friend (and she knows who she is), it hurts me to see you in so much pain, as I said this morning, you keep telling me how “Amazing” I am, if you really believe that then you need to remember that my friends are “Amazing” too.

Tonight options. Working on stuff for the show next week. One photo I took in Paris, two identical boxes, two designs, two techniques. two lids, all interchangeable. Haven’t completely finished either, haven’t decided which lid will go with which box. One more fault of mine, sometimes I can’t make up my mind.

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The Hand Of God

Several months ago I wrote a post about my feelings of hopelessness due to our situation here. I received quite a bit of religious advice from people who read that post. At the time I said I appreciated the thoughts,prayers and support, and of course I still do. I bring it up because of some thoughts I had today. We spent most of the day in the car. We drove out into the desert to a place named Pioneer Town. It’s east of Palm Springs. Old westerns were filmed there in the 30’s and 40’s and the structures still stand. The scenery was starkly beautiful, pale sands, sage brush, and rocks and boulders changing color with the sun. Later we drove back to Temecula through a mountain back road, and again I marveled at beautiful skies and lush greenery. Finally we headed to dinner towards an incredibly beautiful setting sun. I do consider myself a spiritual person, it is just that like almost every other place in my life I am quiet. There are so many people who want to share their faith, or their version of faith with others. I am happy for anyone who has spirituality in their life, but I find that for me my spirituality is in the world around me and within me. I can sit in a church obeying laws of holy obligation, but my mind wanders. It is out in the world where I see, and hear God that I feel my faith. I have written quite a bit about feelings of poor self-worth, or lack of self-confidence in my artistic life. Tonight as I looked through photos I took today, and as I marveled at the magnificent sunset, the thought occurred to me that there is one way that my work will always be inadequate, but it isn’t because of lack of self-esteem. I just know that despite my talent, and no matter how hard I work, there are strokes of greatness that exist in nature that are beyond this world.

I didn’t have much time to work on art today. I worked a little bit on Mia’s portrait from last night, and a very small watercolor. I do however have a few photos from today’s beautiful drive.

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Writing By The Rules

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I received an email not long ago from the folks at WordPress. I’m sure many of you may have received it as well. It was about avoiding the grammar police. I didn’t read the email, although maybe I should have, but I’m pretty sure my grammar isn’t all that terrible. I did of course have English in school, but I finished school more than thirty years ago. Sister Charlotte, my freshman year English teacher was deaf. Seriously deaf. So deaf that we obnoxious young ladies of St. Scholastica would run our pencils along the grated book holder attached to the desk when her back was turned just to make sure. She was a very sweet old woman, far nicer than we probably deserved. It was the year in high school that we were supposed to be focused on grammar, but sadly we didn’t learn a lot. It was there however that I discovered my favorite book, Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte. All these years later it is still my favorite. I reread it from time to time for pleasure.

The other year in my academic life that was focused on grammar was seventh grade. Mr. Helms, a former Boys Town educator, was my teacher. We were terrified of him. Rumor had it that he killed a kid at Boys Town. There was a boy in my class, Austin H., a troubled kid who I later heard sadly died young. He acted out in class one day and Mr. Helms took him out into the hallway. I’m not sure what happened, but everyone swore there was blood on the wall. I don’t think he even noticed me, well except to call me Marion. Marion is my older sister, she is blond, I was not. Unfortunately seventh grade was also the year my eyes abandoned me. I desperately needed glasses. It took me the entire school year to convince my Mom that I was blind, so essentially I missed the whole year. I couldn’t see the board if my life depended on it, and I was far too afraid of Mr. Helms to talk to him. I suffered in silence. These days thanks to “spell-check” my spelling is usually correct. Except that once in a while it changes a word on me that I don’t catch until the next day when Dan points it out. I don’t know about anyone else, but I swear I read and reread several times before I publish, yet there it is, the wrong word. It happened to me just last night. As for the spelling, I recently heard about a German study that is going on. The German scientists are testing their theory that when we get older our memories fail not because we are decrepit (my word, not an official study term), but because our brains have so much information in them that it takes time to push through all the clutter and find what we’re looking for. (Again, me) I love this theory, it makes me happy. As for grammar, I have been corrected from time to time by my children. They are very smart and educated people, so am I, I just don’t put as much thought into sentence structure. I write like I speak, although I probably don’t use as many commas or my infamous ” …’s” when I talk. (Is there a name for …? Dot, dot, dot?? Is it etc.? I forgot, it’s in the back of my cluttered brain) I do care that what I write is readable but I’m more interested in getting the thoughts out of my brain and onto the page than sweeping through the cobwebs in my mind to remember that I am writing a really, really, really run on sentence.

This morning Dan and I had a wonderful hike through the lovely Santa Rosa Plateau. We were fortunate enough to see the vernal pools. Vernal pools, also called vernal ponds or ephemeral pools, are temporary pools of water that provide habitat for distinctive plants and animals. (That sounds really smart doesn’t it? It’s from Wikipedia.) We are lucky enough to have these pools at the Plateau in the Spring. We got out there at about eight thirty. It was sunny, but there was still fog billowing in from the coast. Just beautiful. I was inspired to try to capture some of what we saw in pastel. Pastels are not my strong suit. I find them a difficult medium and don’t understand why I torture myself with them. First photo is my pastel of the vernal pools. The second photo is God’s handiwork, I just snapped the picture.

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My Early Spring

We are finally expecting a little rain out here in Southern California I know for some people that rain isn’t very good news, but for me it is more than welcome. Aside from the fact that California is in the midst of a drought, I miss rain. I miss weather. I spent most of my life in Chicago, in hot humid summers, freezing cold winters, but glorious spring days, and crisp fall winds. I’m sure everyone who is freezing in the Midwest and the East must think I’m insane, but for me a little bad weather takes me home. It was overcast this morning and I was sure a few drops might fall from the sky, but by late morning the sun was in full shine. My sister tells me that they are expecting a snowstorm in Chicago this weekend. Dan and I walked this morning in the unusually cool air, and as we walked I, as always, admired the beauty that is around us. Yes we are very lucky to live where we live, where Spring raises her head just a little earlier than most places, but in my heart Chicago will always be home, late season snow storms and all.

Tonight just a little pen and ink, part of a thank you I need to send. The drawing inspired by a terrific book by W.G. Paulson Townsend, “Plant And Floral Studies for Artists and Craftspeople”. I loved the finished drawing, but I also enjoy adding just a touch of color with Photo-shop. Last week a package arrived with a small kitchen scale in it. I hadn’t ordered it, and I was quite puzzled at where it came from, there was no receipt included. After a few days Dan received a text message from his mother. My mystery gift was from her. My mother in law very generously wanted to help with my business, and said I could use the scale to help to figure out shipping. It is a very thoughtful gesture. I plan to incorporate the drawing into a card in the morning.2 26 14 (2)

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Also for tonight a touch of Spring, photos from our walk this morning. The Jasmine is in bloom, as is Iris, and quite a few flowers in my garden. A gift of hope for my family and friends due east.

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Progress Report

I think I may have dodged the flu bullet. Feeling much better today.

It’s been ten months since I began to clean out my “artistic fridge”. I bet you’re wondering how that inventory is going. I’ve hardly made a dent. Sure I’ve done a project nearly every day, all 308 of them, but I still have a lot of stuff. (Some of which are finished projects, still dragging my behind on selling) I have more than you can possibly imagine. I not only fill my studio until it is busting at the seams, but also both our two car and our single car garage, projects in the garden, and on the side of the house. If I died tomorrow my children would be buried alongside me in mountains of “stuff”. Today I began an attempt to rectify that. I am working on not one, but three projects today. All of them involve upcycling, or recycling pieces that I have gathered along the way one. I began working on a really cool old window, and a small door that at one time had two glass panels, one is still intact, the other was missing when I got it. Finally a very small piece of wood that was in the garage. Too small to be of any real use, but those who know me well are familiar with the sound of “I can do something with that.”, coming out of my mouth. I just hate to throw away anything that can be used. Here’s the plan.

Window number one. I broke the last of the glass panels out. I used a putty knife to get rid of all the loose chipped paint. I then sanded, and sanded, and sanded, trying to get to the nooks and crannies. For this one I believe I will be turning it into a very useful mirror. A mirror in the large center panel, and for the side panels, some bulletin board type pieces covered in fabric, and some hooks on the bottom. I may have to add a piece for that. Something that can be used in a bathroom or bedroom. The hooks for hanging necklaces and such.

Small door project. Again with some kind of useful bottom, possibly one of those boards with the ribbons that allows for tucking mementos in. For the glass part of the door I ordered two of my photos from Paris in poster size today. They won’t be ready until tomorrow, but I will choose between the two to put under the glass.

My small piece of wood. As soon as I laid eyes on it I knew. I’ve been pinning vintage book covers on Pinterest. I painted a watercolor the other night loosely based on one. This piece is the perfect size to replicate one of the covers. You can see them on my board “Books By Any Cover”. Incredibly beautiful work. I spent another twenty minutes or so sanding this piece as well.

Only sanded beginnings to share tonight, so I’ll post one of my photos as well. A photo I took last year in San Diego, just a reminder to those of you still in the midst of winter’s grip that spring will be here eventually!IMG_5558

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The Death Of Imagination

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A little bit of a somber post tonight, and for me out of the ordinary social commentary. Dan and I had a discussion this morning while walking, it was about imagination. The topic was inspired by my search for supplies provided by Mother Nature to add to my ever-growing ideas for the fairies I make. Not long ago I was asked by a friend how I get my ideas, and what inspires me. I touched on it a bit here in the blog. Then the other night a new friend asked why I make fairies, again I said that I’m not really sure. This morning as we walked along and I treasure hunted, I think I figured some of those answers out. I honestly don’t have any idea where much of what I do, or the inspiration for the projects come from except to say that they are from my imagination, and I believe that much of that comes from my childhood. We spent several years living next to the elevated train tracks in Chicago. Under the tracks there was nothing but empty space, weeds and occasionally trash.There was also an empty lot directly across the street. We played under those tracks and in that empty lot. We played house and pioneers amongst other things. We gathered sticks and rocks, and anything we “imagined” to be something else. We came home from school and played “school”. We read books voraciously, and added color to the black and white line drawings of coloring books. All of that activity spurred the growth of more imagination, and if you were like me and born with the drive to create it was fuel for the future. Several years ago my son commented that Dan and I must have been really bored growing up because we had no video games. I said, “We used our imagination.”  No there were no video games, no DVDs, and television was limited to the three major networks and a local channel. No one was telling us how to play, no one was putting the ideas in our heads. Violence on television wasn’t the realistic gore of today, unless of course we had on the evening news in which case we watched the war in Vietnam in our living rooms. There is so much trash filling our kids heads, so much “celebrity”, it isn’t reality. Sometimes I am shocked at how little class people show, how they debase themselves for their fifteen minutes of fame, it sends out the wrong message to everyone who watches it. My childish brain was full of scenarios of my own creation, and I didn’t have to grow up before I was ready. So much of what I do is born of the kind of childhood I had. Fairies? “The Fairy Who Didn’t Believe In Children” by Marjorie Barrows, a story I loved. I wonder how much time kids these days get to pretend to be something other than who they are, if they even know how. How much time is being spent with a good book in hand instead of an I Pad, or a video game controller? Who will write the next great fairy tale, the one that will last for generations?  We hear so much talk about what skills kids need to learn in school to be competitive in the future, I think maybe we need to add to the curriculum, a class titled “Imagination”, no books, no video, a room full of sticks and empty boxes, and inventiveness. Just imagine what could happen.

Last night I was juggling three projects. Tonight I’m down to one. I’ve put my suitcase box idea off for a day in order to cook something special for Dan for Superbowl Sunday. I focused on finishing the keyhole box, and I am again very pleased with my results. Instead of painting over the metal finish I added a scan of one of my vintage French postcards, and then on the other side I decoupaged a beautiful photo I took a few years ago. It is of a bouquet of dried roses and hydrangea. The photos are just beautiful and I’ve used them on several projects. One more vintage postcard, and the glue and burning metal technique for the back.

Just to make your mouths water “imagine” this: Korean Barbeque Short-rib Tacos, creamy homemade guacamole, a chipolte mayo coleslaw, and a lemon Sriracha aioli, and sesame seed, on small appetizer size corn tortillas. Amazing. Probably the best thing I’ve ever cooked. I think great cooks have a gift for inventiveness too.

A reminder of the front that I posted last night…IMG_5328

…The interior of the finished box.IMG_5343

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Mission Accomplished!

Three days in and I’m finally finished with this project. As I said last night I will never be able to charge enough to cover the amount of time I’ve spent on this project, but I had a few mishaps along the way, as well as some areas where I rethought the way I was doing things. I’m pleased with the finished project. In all there are thirteen pages in this miniature accordion folded book. Each about the size of a business card. It has a velvet ribbon inside to keep the accordion in place, and the same ribbon to tie it shut. I’d really like to expand on this idea. The one I created for Dan has photos of us, and more personal notes and quotes. As I thought about the piece today I thought it would make the perfect vehicle for a romantic proposal. I may offer them with blank pages for personalization, places for photos, song lyrics, anything that someone might want to add to make it a really special gift.

I admittedly have still not really bitten the bullet and put any of my art up for sale. Dan and I talked about my artistic insecurities again this morning. I really don’t understand what’s fueling these feelings at this point. I’ve produced a lot of work I love including what I did tonight, but I can’t seem to shake the insecurity. I’ve mentioned before that I’m a good cook, actually a really good one. Last night we had dinner at the winery. My food was good, not great, but considering how fussy I can be it was really good. I got up this morning determined to recreate last nights meal, only better. I didn’t hesitate, it never once occurred to me that I couldn’t do it, I recreated that dish and it was better. I am completely fearless in the kitchen. I want that fearlessness when I pick up a brush as well as a spatula. I’m going to put at least five pieces up tomorrow. I need to force myself to get over the hump. I know that as I move forward there will be judgement and rejection, it’s part of the game. I just need to find that belief in myself so that what anyone else thinks won’t matter so much.1 26 (2)

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Labor Of Love

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I am still in the midst of the project of last night. As so often happens to me, I have fallen in love…with this project. I am spending entirely too much time on it to ever see a profit, but I honestly don’t care. I love creating, I love drawing, I love painting, I even love sanding wood. When I find a project that really appeals to me I can very easily get lost in it. Dan often remarks to me that I need to consider my time when I am calculating a price on a piece that I’m going to sell, but it just doesn’t work that way. I never think of myself as an “hourly” employee when I work. As for price, well, every piece is priceless to me. I probably won’t ever get paid back for all of the time I’ve spent on art, but I earn so much more in pleasure and satisfaction. Some things are so invaluable that they can’t have a price. There is no cost to be placed on my thoughts, my visions, my inspiration, there is only in the end the work. My satisfaction comes from knowing that someone else buys the work, loves the work, and shares the work with the people that they care about. Somewhere out in the world something I created is possibly the thing that someone else in the world treasures, and that is payment enough. For this piece I can only hope that it speaks to some romantic soul who wants to express them-self but doesn’t have the words, or the creativity.

Speaking of romantic souls (me), I met my husband twenty-eight years ago today. It was like a bolt of lightning then, and the sparks are still flying now. I’m calling it quits for the night. A romantic dinner for two at one of the local wineries awaits me. It means my project won’t be finished for another day, but for now my priorities and expressions of love are elsewhere.

Photos of project in process, one finished card, and my beautiful flowers from Dan from this mornings Temecula Farmer’s Market.1 25 (1)

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