Three More Good Things (one word: Squam)

Despite a tiring, rainy day outside, I'm feeling happy and shiny in my soul because I'm off to New York this weekend for a long awaited visit with a friend. The weather forecast is calling for coldish weather, but the lows don't go below 20 degrees (Fahrenheit). After enduring single digit temperatures for a few weeks this winter, anything above the teens feels manageable. So while I'm gallivanting around Brooklyn and soaking up the goodness, here's your second tidbit of soul sunshine. (Don't miss the first part. It's a good one.)

I actually have three things to tell you about today.

First is for those of you who attended the Squam Art Workshops (SAW) last year.


Liz Kalloch (also known around blogland as Athena Dreams) has pulled together a wonderful opportunity for 2008 SAW attendees: the First Annual Squam Art Show: A Vision of Squam. This show is open to anyone who attended or taught at the 2008 Squam Art Workshops. "This show is meant to be the story of how your work may have shifted and grown, how your lives as artists were perhaps changed, how the experiences you had at Squam in 2008 may have allowed you to see your work in a different way, how each of your artistic communities have grown and expanded and finally, what kind of work came out of your experience," says Liz.

The submissions deadline is April 30, 2009. (That may sound like you have plenty of time, but don't be fooled. Mistress Spring has a habit of flitting in and out of the month of March, tempting us all to distractions like flowers, flirty dresses, and cupcakes. The end of April will be here before you know it. So get to it!)

The jurors for the show are Susan Schwake, Liz Kalloch, and Mary Jo Monusky. The show will be held at artstream Gallery in Rochester, NH and opens on September 1, 2009. All of the details about submissions and the show are available here.

Secondly, this is for those of you who attended SAW last year but may feel a little shy about entering work in a juried show. (Like me!) Liz has also put out a call for a Collective Media Submission. All 2008 SAW attendees are encouraged to submit something to this category. Here's how Liz describes it: "These pieces will all be hung in the gallery like prayer flags, like meditations on a moment, like beautiful memories, or maybe even like cocooning butterflies." Doesn't that just sound too lovely not to be a part of it? Submissions for the Collective Media Submission must arrive at artstream Gallery by August 1, 2009. Again, you can find out more here.

And thirdly, this is for all of you who didn't attend the Squam Art Workshops last year. What about this year? Want to try your hand at knitting, painting, or songwriting? How about a class on storyweaving, mixed media art, poetry, outdoor sculpture, jewelry making, or photography? There are even classes on tapping into your creativity and slots for open studio time.


There are two sessions of SAW this year. The Spring Workshops will focus on fiber arts (with a few other types of classes thrown in for good measure) and will be held June 3-7, 2009. The Fall Workshops are more multi-faceted and will run September 16-20, 2009. You really need to check out the website to get all the details. Because the goodness runneth over!

I had mixed feelings after attending SAW last year, all based on my own conflicted feelings and issues. The event itself is fabulous. Over the past five months, the experience has had time to mature and mellow, and to develop a nice patina. I've realized that despite my feelings of isolation while I was there, I was actually developing new friendships that continue to grow and deepen. So I'm looking forward to going back this September. In addition to spending time with these friends, I'm looking forward to playing with paints and words, all mixed up into one messy, thrilling experience.

If you're intrigued, I hope you'll dig a little deeper and consider attending. Registration has been open for a little while now, and spaces are limited. So if you feel this opportunity tugging at your soul, don't dismiss it.

Okay, that's the Goodness Report for now. I'll be back next week with tales from the big city.

You're invited: Be Present Retreats

February is nearly over. Spring has been edging its way into this last week of the month, but I don't expect her to last. She's such a tease; here one day and then gone the next. And March is a mean bastard, full of bluster and the cold shoulder. So I'm not putting away my winter coat for flirty dresses just yet.

If you need something cheery and exciting to keep you going until Mistress Spring returns, I have some goodies to tell you about. Read on for the first one and then come back tomorrow for another.


My friend Liz Elayne Lamoreux has cooked up a new adventure called The Be Present Retreats. "These were born from the belief that creating is a meditation of the soul," Liz explains. "Each retreat will be an invitation to pause in your life and gather in a supportive environment filled with like-minded individuals in a creative, playful, and meditative atmosphere."

The first retreat is June 10-14, 2009, and registration has already begun. The June retreat is called Self-Portrait Excavation and is a retreat centered around the journey that is the self-portrait. Gathering at The Lodge at Gearhart's Little Beach on the Oregon coast (about 10 minutes from Cannon Beach), attendees will immerse themselves in paint and mixed media, words, photography, and the beauty of our surroundings under the guidance of Judy Wise, Jen Goff, and Liz.

It sounds like an absolutely magical and lovely time, doesn't it? I wish I could go, but alas, I cannot. But you? Perhaps you can go! (Do you hear it? That whisper telling you that this is just what you need? Just what you long for? Listen to that whisper. It is wisdom and kindness.) At the very least, find out a more and ponder it.

(see you tomorrow for another soulful treat!)

The Portfolio Project

image by Badgurl

Remember how I asked you to come back for this post if you like it quick and dirty? (Yes, I know: It's a stupid, base joke, but I can't help myself.) Well here you go, folks. You're just in time to play a great new game to help you overcome whatever has been blocking you from fulfilling your creative dreams.

The Jens Extradordinaire (that would be Lee and Lemen) got together and cooked up an idea they're calling the Portfolio Project. Here's how Lee describes it:

We came up with a 12-week action burst that would focus on daily production goals that will dramatically expand our body of work. This is a big game. What would your landscape look like, if 12 weeks from now you had 50 new paintings, or 100? If you had 50 new poems and short stories? What if they weren’t all amazing–don’t you think the odds are that plenty of them would be? That it would feel good to fish for the best from a vast ocean instead of a puddle of projects

The basic idea is to do your creating quick and dirty, not pretty and perfect. There is no room for perfection in this game. Just create, create, create, and see what comes out of it.

Ms. Lee is producing a series of podcasts exploring the ups and downs of the Portfolio Project. They're chockablock with little nuggets of wisdom and encouragement, so I highly suggest that you check them out and consider subscribing to find out when she posts a new one.

I'm starting to play the Portfolio Project today and invite you to join me and the others. The beauty of this game is that you can start when you want and make up your own rules. I've decided to set aside one hour a day to work on whatever kind of writing I want, free from the worries and constraints of getting it "right" or being "good enough."

Call it a game, a self-help project, an experiment. Just don't call it a New Year's resolution; those things are loaded with fear and failure rates. Be kind to yourself and start writing, painting, drawing, playing music, taking photos, making collages, whatever creative pursuit suits your fancy. And let us know how it's going.

Tell Your Story: An Interview with Jen Lee

The magical Jen Lee, photo by Jen Lemen

Some things I love:

• new friends with old souls;


• beautiful creative projects;


• learning how to do something new; and


• getting to the heart of a story.

This audio interview that I did with the radiant Jen Lee envelops all four of these things. First of all, my lovely new friend Jen has a wise soul that practically glows with creativity. To create this interview, she taught me a thing or two about using Garage Band on my new Mac. But the best part of this little interview is getting to hear a piece of Jen's story, including how and why she created Don't Write: A Reluctant Journal and Solstice: Stories of Light in the Dark, two projects that are still available for purchase on her website. (Each are part of limited edition runs, so don't wait to order them!)

Treat yourself to a warm beverage, close your eyes, and allow yourself to soak in Jen's voice as she talks about having the courage to write and making our voices heard.

(Once you click through to the audio link, just click "Play" to listen to the interview online.)

The Life of a Writer

me and my love, selves portrait; rockport, massachusetts, october 2008

Some Days
by Billy Collins

Some days I put the people in their places at the table,
bend their legs at the knees,
if they come with that feature,
and fix them into the tiny wooden chairs.

All afternoon they face one another,
the man in the brown suit,
the woman in the blue dress,
perfectly motionless, perfectly behaved.

But other days, I am the one
who is lifted up by the ribs,
then lowered into the dining room of a dollhouse
to sit with the others at the long table.

Very funny,
but how would you like it
if you never knew from one day to the next
if you were going to spend it

striding around like a vivid god,
your shoulders in the clouds,
or sitting down there amidst the wallpaper,
staring straight ahead with your little plastic face?

---------------------
"Some Days" from Picnic, Lightning, by Billy Collins, © 1998. All rights are controlled by the University of Pittsburgh Press, Pittsburgh, PA 15260. Used by permission of the University of Pittsburgh Press.

Online source: Academy of American Poets, http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19753

On Being Good Enough and Getting Better

image by mandj98

A new friend recently wrote about the fear of not being good enough. She'd entered a plein air competition and then felt sheepish when she saw her paintings next to the others. She writes:

and then friday came, the night of the exhibit opening, and my inner gremlins attacked. as i walked through the exhibit all i wanted to do was rip my paintings off the wall and run away. i didn't even want to go and ask the gallery director how long he would be keeping my paintings. i was embarrassed and frustrated. my paintings stuck out, they didn't match the style or execution of any of the others. and i had priced mine several hundred dollars higher than the others. despite how good i had felt about my accomplishments before, my confidence was washed down the toilet during those few moments stuck inside the poorly lit gallery.

. . .

on the drive home i mustered a question to my hubs through trembling lips, "i'm really not that good am i?" his reply was sweet and honest, "you are good, i think you just need to enter contests that showcase more work like yours." i know that he's right, but for a girl who doesn't even know what my style is for sure... it's hard to know which direction to go in.

I'm really not that good, am I?

Isn't that the question we all ask? Isn't that the little voice whispering in our ears all the time? Nudging us right before we fall asleep, when we try something new, when we share our heart's passion with others? Sometimes we can silence that voice: when we're deep in the throes of joyous creation or having ridiculous amounts of fun. But then we come back down from our high and that voice, that question, is right there waiting for us. How many times have I asked myself that question in a small, scared voice?

I'm really not that good, am I?

And then, when we're fortunate, our husband, our friend, our dentist, our sister, our teacher, a stranger, answers with kindness. They tell us the only truth that matters. They say, "Find your place."

We don't want to be told to find "our place." To put someone "in their place" is to humble them, to humiliate them, to show them where they belong, which is clearly not as high as they had hoped.

And yet, aren't we all searching for our place? The space in which we feel seen, heard, understood, loved?

Maybe nothing in life is about being good or bad, better or worse. Maybe it's all about finding our place: the place that feels right for us and fits our current style, our current needs.

In many ways, I'm not a competitive person. The very premise of a contest chafes against the magnanimous part of me that believes in equality, freedom of expression, beauty of individual choice. Some things have clear demarcations: The fastest runner wins the race. Some things do not: How do we judge who paints the better painting, who writes the better book?

And yet, relativism is a house built on shifting sand. If everything is good, how do we get better? I'm not a competitive person until I'm competing with myself.

I recently submitted an article and was told that my opening "wasn't going to cut it." I was embarrassed, but realized that the editor was right. 

I wailed about this humiliation to my husband, who is always my rock in this sandy desert. I was upset that my article wasn't good enough. On top of that, I was upset about being so upset.

"Why am I so fragile about things like this?" I asked, mostly rhetorically.

"Why wouldn't you be?" he replied, almost rhetorically.

"I should be a better writer by now!" I lamented.

"Why?" he challenged me. "How much better do you have to be before you're as good as you think you should be?"

"Just a little better," I said with a slight smile. I was thinking of this line, often attributed to the very wealthy Andrew Carnegie:

"How much money is enough?"
"Just a little more."

After I got over myself, I reworked the article. And the full irony of the situation dawned on me: By worrying about the pain of not being good enough, I was missing out on the experience of getting better.

There is a big difference between the voice that asks, "I'm really not that good, am I?" and the one that says, "I want to be better."

Squam Interview on BlogHer

me, as seen by beth from more doors

I was tickled pink when Jen Lemen asked to interview me about my experience at Squam Art Workshops for her Art & Design column on BlogHer. You can read it here.

I'm concerned that my last post about Squam makes it seem like I had a lousy time there. That's not true. As usual, the truth is multifaceted. The truth is, I did feel socially awkward and like I didn't get the experience I'd hoped for. The truth also is that I met some wonderful people, made some exciting new friends, and learned a lot about art and myself. It's all the truth. The truth is messy. And I'm (learning to be) okay with that.

So if you're feeling like a social misfit and want someone to commiserate with, read my last post. But if you're wondering what it was like for a word-loving writer to be thrust into the woods with more than 100 image-making artists, read the interview.

A Peak into Squam

Nestled in the woods on the shores of Squam Lake sits Brown Betty, my home for the duration of Squam Art Workshops. There was cabin discussion over whether Betty is named after the dessert or the teapot. (And apparently, Brown Betty is Black-Eyed Susan's pseudonym.) I'm sticking with teapot. Either way, we all agreed that she was lovely.


Adding to Betty's rustic charm was her stout green icebox...


...complete with ice harvested from the lake last winter.


My bed upstairs in the rafters had an impressively warm down comforter, which was especially helpful on that first night with its frost warning. If only we'd discovered the glass storm window for the door downstairs before the next morning, things would have been a little less alfresco.


More reflections on SAW to come, I'm sure....

Observations upon returning from Squam

morning fog on Squam Lake, Holderness, New Hampshire

• My fight or flight instinct is stronger than I realized. I tend to want to jump ship as soon as I get frustrated. (Thankfully, my painting teacher talked me through it and kept me from ripping up my painting and fleeing for the safety of my cabin.)
• I loved being around so many artsy women and gleaning fashion tips from them. I want to start layering shirts, wearing dresses over jeans, piling on the necklaces, wearing my hair in pigtails (which I did), and being just as fun and funky as I've always secretly wanted to be been, without worrying that anyone will think I look "weird."
• Almost everyone deals with personal doubts and gremlins.
• New Hampshire is beautiful.
• I should take bug spray with me next time.
• Several of my blog crushes know who I am!
• I underestimate myself.
  
• I now know what matte medium is and how to use it.
• Getting a cold while in the middle of the woods is not pleasant, but neither will it kill you.
  
• Having your ears completely clog on the plane is very, very, very, very frightening, especially if you're claustrophobic.
  
• Being stuck in a tiny water closet in a cabin is also very frightening.
  
• Listening to your body is some of the best medicine.
• I'm ready for Autumn.

There's so much more I could -- and should -- say about my experience at SAW, but I'm still processing. Getting sick while I was there is making it harder than usual to jump back into life after being away. But I wanted to peek in and say hello. I'm back. I'm here. The rest of me is just trying to catch up.

Where (and how) are you?

It's All Happening: Mondo Beyondo Update

heart in Union Square, San Francisco

At the beginning of the year, I wrote a retrospective on 2007 and a Mondo Beyondo Prospective for 2008. (Find out more about the Mondo Beyondo concept.) I named 2008 my year of Opportunity, Abundance, Prosperity, Plenty, and Creation, and made a list of intentions for how I want to live and what I want to do. I also named and claimed some Mondo Beyondo dreams for this year and beyond. I'm amazed and joyful and humbled and pleased to see several of them coming to fruition.

I wanted: "to start creating mixed media art and find my own path as a visual artist." Next week, I'll go to my very first art retreat, where I'll take a painting and mixed media class. I'm also taking a travel journaling class and attending the Superhero Life workshop. I'm particularly excited about this last one, as it's being taught by the Super Duper Andrea Scher of Superhero Designs. I met Andrea very briefly at the BlogHer Swap Meet this summer and can't wait to learn from her. Plus? Her lovely assistant will be Jen Gray, who I "know" through blogging and a few emails. (It's hard to know if the word "know" is really the right verb in these cases, isn't it?)

And as if that weren't enough, Jonatha Brooke will be providing camp fire music, Boho Girl Denise will be running around taking artist portraits, and Kelly Rae Roberts, one of my favorite artists, will be hosting a discussion about living the creative life.

But wait! There's more! I was serendipitously connected with Kelly Barton of Camp Indigo Soul to share a rental car between the airport and the camp. After connecting with her, I realized that she is the woman behind one of my favorite Etsy shops. And speaking of serendipity, I'll also get to meet the inspiring Liz Elayne Lamoreux of Be Present, Be Here and The Little Room Etsy shop. (Remind me to tell you the funny little story about how we "met" online.) I'm also looking forward to meeting Kirsten Michelle from In the Land of the Lovelies.

I have a feeling that once I get back from New Hampshire, I'll be gushing about all of these women and more, as well as the whole Squam experience. (fair warning!)

I wanted: "to uncover and be at peace with my decision about having a child." Although I haven't reached a decision or a place of total peace yet, I have had a major epiphany in this realm, which has helped me to understand the swirl of emotions surrounding this issue for me. I'm not ready to tell that part of my story yet, but the plot is definitely taking a few twists and turns.

I wanted: "to spend a week at a writers' retreat somewhere beautiful, comfortable, and nurturing." Earlier this year I reconnected with a writer friend from college (hi, Jamye!). Several months ago, she asked if I would be interested in joining her and some other women on a writing retreat. The details are still unfolding, but it looks like this little dream will come true the first week of November.

At least one other Mondo Beyondo dream is in the works and looks like it will become a reality. And that's just what I can see. What if all the others are unfurling in their own way and time? I don't know where my dream cottage is yet, but I'm sure it's out there.

There is more of the year behind us than in front of us, but there's always time for dreaming and scheming. What are you up to lately?

Laundry: A Poem

image by charlie cravero

I'm trying something new tonight: sharing a poem with you. Seeing this artist's rendering of dryer lint reminded me of a poem I wrote in college. The scene that unfolds in it is fictional, but feels very real to me.

I'm rather shy about sharing this with you. Poetry is like singing for me: I enjoy it, but haven't the faintest idea if I'm any good at it. With my narrative non-fiction writing, I can usually get a handle on things and decide if a piece is good, or at least passable. But my own poetry leaves me baffled. I know I like some of it, but I have no bearing beyond that. Perhaps therein lies my answer: If I like it, it's good (enough) for me.

And so, I stand up and sing in front of the world:

Laundry

The agitated sloshing of cold water Tide
Is white background noise
To accompany silent swirling snow outside.
Two chairs from the door, resplendent in purple polyester pants,
And a gold paisley shirt
Plumps a sitting woman, serious about her breathing.
Across the room, brown and stout, the change machine crouches.
A small boy, same shade as the machine, though slighter in build,
Reaches on tip-toes to feed it a limp dollar,
Laughing with accomplishment as four shiny quarters clatter
Into the curved cup.
In the corner, farthest from the windows
(Though the fluorescent lights allow no shadow)
Entwines a couple, as agitated as my washer.

A harsh buzz,
The spin cycle stops.
Time to dry.
I open the smooth white lid to towels and shirts
Stuck, wet heavy cold, to the pin-holed sides of the steel tub,
Like people pressed to the walls of that amusement park ride
Spinning wildly and the floor dropped out and your face flattened
With the pressure.

The lint in the tray is soft speckled grey:
Leftovers of some stranger's laundry.
I'd like to keep it --
Collect the lint of a hundred machines,
Weave a familiar eclectic sweater
To wear when the wind threatens my warmth.
Instead, not to look odd in front of the wheezing polyester woman
(now sucking on a soda)
I toss it away and heap
My own into the dryer.

In the corner, the couple giggles.
The little brown boy stares until
Mother reprimands,
Her arms full of kiddie clothes,
A yellow, green, and white box of fabric softener wedged between her chin and chest.
The boy spies Polyester's Mountain Dew and clamors
For more change.
Another washer shutters to a stop.
The girl of the couple swings her tight acid washed jean hips to the machine,
Peers inside, unsure of the next step.
I wonder if her man will strut to her side and save his distressed damsel;
But he just stares at her backside leaning over the open lid.

A click and a beep.
My towels are warm and fluffy,
But too worn
For a Downey advertisement.
My basket piled full of woven lint,
I set it on the orange plastic scoop chair beside me.
The smell of static-electricity,
Like metal-vegetation:
Tiny crackling sparks as I pull apart
Washcloths and socks,
Pillowcase and bathmat.
The mother drops a small pair of overalls
And the boy asks me, "Do you have a quarter?"

Saturday Sayings: Never resist

image by ladnlins

You should never resist the temptation of painting a rainbow.

~Aude Kamlet

What Makes a Good Novel?

photo by a trying youth

Back in November, I lost my mind and decided to participate in NaBloPoMo and NaNoWriMo. Now, NaBloPoMo, or National Blog Posting Month, wasn't too bad. I went a little batty trying to come up with a new blog post every day, but I did it.

NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month, was a different story. The goal was to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days, with quantity trumping quality. I made it to 4,626 words. Which is exactly 4,626 more than I'd written before NaNoWriMo, so I'm considering it a success.

Some interesting characters sprouted up in those nine pages, and I may go back and see what they're up to. There's Anna, an American living in London. And Ian, a Scottish guy who sells puppets in Covent Garden. I know, the puppet thing is weird. I have no idea where it came from.

To gear up for NaNoWriMo, I bought No Plot? No Problem!, written by the event's founder, Chris Baty. He suggests creating two lists to help figure out a vague plot direction. The first list is what makes a good novel, and the second is what makes a boring or depressing novel. Of course, these are completely personal and need not be based on anything more than an inkling, a whim, or a fancy.

Like the puppets, I was surprised at what appeared on my lists.

What Makes a Good Novel

• Strong plot (a page turner)
• Interesting characters
• Relationships
• Satisfying, happy endings
• The feeling that I could live in the novel’s world (and do live there while I’m reading it)
• English setting
• Good (but not extensive) descriptions
• The passage of seasons
• Believable dialogue
• Intellectual pursuits
• Intersections of multiple story lines
• A sense of mystery and intrigue
• Romance and true love
• Unexpected connections
• Drama
• Comedy

What Makes a Boring or Depressing Novel

• Long-winded passages of description of scenery and setting, especially if it involves directional attributes like north, south, east, or west
  
• Too much death
• Industrial topics
• Obviousness
• Adventure stories of man vs. nature
• Anything set in a jungle
• Plots with such a wide scope and so many characters that I need a legend to keep it all straight
• Heavy historical perspective
• Most detective mysteries
• Ghosts, demons, and monsters
• Violence
• Bad character names
• Ugliness

Reading over these lists again, I can see there are no hard and fast rules for my preferences. I've enjoyed a few historical and adventure stories in my time. And sometimes a happy, satisfying ending feels too cliché.

What would be on your lists? Where would you put the puppets?

Green Birds of Your Youth

photo by babasteve

To A Daughter with Artistic Talent

I know why, getting up in the cold dawn
you paint cold yellow houses
and silver trees. Look at those green birds,
almost real, and that lonely child looking
at those houses and trees.
You paint (the best way) without reasoning,
to see what you feel, and green birds
are what a child sees.

Some gifts are not given: you
are delivered to them,
bound by chains of nerves and genes
stronger than iron or steel, although
unseen. You have painted every day
for as long as I can remember
and you will be painting still
when you read this, some cold
and distant December when the child
is old and trees no longer silver
but black fingers scratching a grey sky.

And you never know why (I was lying
when I said I knew).
You never know the force that drives you wild
to paint that sky, that bird flying,
and is never satisfied today
but maybe tomorrow
when the sky is a surreal sea
in which you drown...

I tell you this with love and pride
and sorrow my artist child
(while the birds change from green to blue to brown).

~Peter Meinke

I love this poem, even though it ends with a sense of loss. Meinke envisions the girl growing up and losing her childlike faith and wild abandon. The fantastical green birds change to a more subdued blue, and finally to a common brown.

Why do green birds sound so outrageous? Maybe it's because those of us who live in the Northern Hemisphere don't see a lot of green birds. Perhaps we picture sparrows and robins when we think of birds. But green birds exist! Some parrots are vivid shades of green. Even the more common male mallard duck has a brilliantly metallic green head. No, green birds are neither impossible nor improbable. Green birds are real. As are red, blue, and yellow birds.

So what is Meinke getting at?

All too often, the artist that lives within us fades away as we age, consumed by responsibilities, self-consciousness, and well-meaning —- as well as ill-tempered —- adults. We let fear, social propriety, and the search for perfection stand between us and our natural desire to create.

Although the poem ends with sorrow, I take it as a cautionary tale and a reminder that it doesn't have to be this way. The gift of creation -— whatever form it takes -— is an enigmatic present. It is a gift that is given to us, but also one that we are delivered to by way of our choices. Like a muscle, our creativity strengthens with use and atrophies with neglect. Creativity is like a language: the more we use it, the more we can understand and the more we can say with it. Like the ideas of faith and love, it is simultaneously an intimate and elusive entity.

What are the green birds of your youth?

Two of my faves: Kelly Rae and Suzi Blu

Continuing yesterday's art theme, today I'd like to introduce you to two mixed media artists that have caught my eye and tickled my fancy. These women inspire me to keep trying my hand at art, even if I feel silly or stupid or completely lost about what I'm doing.

begin today, kelly rae roberts

The first is Kelly Rae Roberts, whom I discovered via the ever-enlightening Jen Lemen when she did an interview with her back in May. (Go read it to find out how Kelly Rae transitioned from being a medical social worker to a working artist.) Then visit Kelly Rae's website, her blog, and most fantastically, her etsy boutique to browse and buy prints (or originals!) of her work. Her art is both soothing and empowering, at once joyous and melancholy. I haven't bought any of her pieces yet because I can't make up my mind which ones I want! But I must stop delaying because some of my favorites have been sold out. So if you see something that you fall in love with, snap it up! (But not before I do...)

Walking with Stars, by Suzi Blu

I stumbled upon the second artist just a few days ago. I think I found a link from another blog, but I'm sad to say that I forget which one. As her website states, Suzi Blu "is a mixed media artist who documents her life through vlogs on youtube and sells artwork on eBay." Her YouTube channel, Suzi Blu Tube, features shorter versions of the videos found on her site. Her videos combine art tutorials with fun inspirational messages that make you want to run out and be an artist, both on the page and in your daily life. Suzi Blu sells her original work on eBay and sells some prints in a CafePress shop. (I like the wall clock.) Of course, she also has a blog. Oh, and a cat named Pooh, which is a good reason to like her, I think.

What artists are inspiring you?

Making Art: a beginning

Back in the middle of August, I wrote about the struggle to get my inner artist to come out and play. I was just about to embark on a little art project that felt huge to me. I'd signed up for a Postcard Swap hosted by Karen of Chookooloonks and was both excited and petrified. I wrote:

All I know is that I'm supposed to mail out 11 hand-made postcards in two weeks. And I don't want the recipients to be disappointed. As I fretted over this a few nights ago, a poem came to me, just a few lines long, but perfect and complete. I haven't written poetry in years and was surprised by its appearance. I'm taking it as a gift that I can use to anchor my vision for the postcard. At least I have a starting point now.

I may have had a starting point, but I was still tentative (read: terrified) about this project. I'm embarrassed to admit that I didn't manage to mail out my postcards until much later than the official mail date. But I'm proud that I overcame my fear, made 11 postcards, and sent all of them. In the end, I think I probably overthought it, as I too often do. I was so worried about what others would think, about whether or not my efforts would be good enough, that I squelched my creativity and paralyzed myself.

I made a few different designs, including one collage and a watercolor sunset, but I mostly stuck with the design that involved the poem I mentioned. This was the simplest of them all, and also my favorite. I'm sheepish about sharing it, especially given how simple it is. After so much handwringing and navel gazing, I feel like I should have something grander, more complicated, or more sophisticated to show for it.

The theme of the postcard swap was "Beginnings," which turned out to be perfect. I'm really just beginning to explore the idea of making visual art. I'm more of a words person. So it's fitting that I incorporated words as the central element of the postcard.

Now, without any more stalling, here are three versions that show the evolution of the same basic design. These scans don't do the color justice, but you get the idea.

Small is Beautiful

See that new button on the side of the page? Isn't it lovely? In a land where bigger is constantly touted as better, and size matters most in everything from McMansions to McMeals, it's nice to remember that small can be beautiful. And I'm not talking about in a good-things-come-in-small-packages-diamonds-are-forever kind of way. (Although good things often do come in small packages. But diamonds, while hearty, are not indestructible. But I digress...)

Inspired by their session at BlogHer '07, Rachelle Mee-Chapman (a.k.a. Magpie Girl) and Jen Lemen are reminding us that blogs (and other endeavors) don't have to be big to be beautiful. Behold the Small is Beautiful Manifesto:

• We believe stories are valuable, no matter how many people read them.
• We believe following your passion is more important that watching your site meter.
• We believe in the handmade, the first try, the small start, and the good effort.
• We believe that small is beautiful.

Find out who else is part of this little neighborhood, consider moving in yourself, and check out the Rachelle's Small is Beautiful Saturdays.

Waking up to the light

My favorite thing from Friday's walk: Fire hydrant with pebble jewelry
(All photos in this post taken with my groovy LG enV cell phone.)

I always wake up to summer too late. More than any other season, summer passes me by. I see it coming as spring days grow longer and warmer. I try to take in the leafy green trees, the flowers, the sunshine, the fresh fruits and veggies, the outdoor concerts, the lemonade and iced tea. But the hot days of June, July, and August are mostly a haze of extremes: sweltering in the humidity or feeling cut-off from the real world in climate-controlled (but blissfully unsticky) buildings.

When the end of August rolls around, I abruptly realize that summer is nearly over. Autumn is my favorite season, the time of year I look forward to most, so I don't really mourn summer's end. Still, as September arrives, I suddenly feel greedy for warm, fresh air and the feel of sun on skin. And the shorter days throw off whatever vague sense of time I have. I never stop being shocked when the sunlight fades before 9:00pm. All winter long the little window of daytime baffles me.

I walked out to the mailbox on Thursday in a tank top that exposes much more skin than I usually show in public. It was late in the day, but the air was still hot, and a warm breeze wafted over my shoulders. In that moment, I felt like I'd been absent from summer all season, absent from my own body for years, absent from such corporeal pleasures for a lifetime.

As this summer fades, something inside of my body is waking up. I needed a haircut a month ago, but have a sudden resolve to let my hair grow long for the first time in 13 years, even though I know that shorter hair works better and is easier for me. Logic and reason (and my hairstylist) tell me to stick with what works, to keep my fun, flippy style. But I yearn for the feeling of my own hair on my neck. I want to draw up my locks in my hands, tie a loose ponytail or let them fall through my fingers. I want to flick my hair over my face or over my shoulder and flirt with my husband.

Why this sudden need for flowy femininity?


I have a tan right now for the first time in at least five -- possibly 10 -- years, mostly by accident. Even though I'm naturally very pale, I used to turn such a lovely golden color in the summer. But many factors drove me inside over the years: fear of skin cancer; an irrational and growing fear of bugs that buzz and sting; no longer having a swimming pool; working in offices; weight gain that makes it embarrassing and uncomfortable to be out in the heat.

But a few weeks ago I forgot to wear sunscreen to the garden center and ended up with a slight burn that faded to a light tan. I know it's not the best skin care regimen, but I think the sunlight did me some good. I think it nourished something in me, reminded it to grow, to stretch toward the light.

The long, fuzzy days of summer

Celosia (cock's comb) and ornamental chiles at Ligonier Country Market, August 2007

I've been twitchy and buzzy for days. I can't focus, can barely think, and keep swatting away distractions and negativity like flies. And like flies, they keep coming back.

Ideas swirl around in my head, floating up to the surface, sometimes bobbing around haphazardly -- maybe running into a buoy or dinghy -- before losing air and sinking again. I can see them just under the surface, but can't make out the details.

On Saturday I found some relief by getting out of the house and doing instead of stewing. (ha)After three weeks of failing to get up early enough for the Ligonier Country Market, I finally made it. I'm not a morning person at all, and my desire for local produce and baked goods was thwarted by staying up until the wee hours and having no chance of getting to market.

I've been having trouble with farmers markets in general lately. Two weeks ago I tried to go to the Tuesday market on Wednesday. The following week I tried to go to the Thursday market on Wednesday. Clearly, both of these should have been open on Wednesday! I was beginning to think I just wasn't meant to have fresh veggies.

But this weekend I prevailed! I wanted to get to Ligonier by 10:00am, but my body told me that was just silly after going to bed at 3:00am. I managed to get up by 10:00 and got there around 11:15. I only had 45 minutes to zip around and fill my arms with goodies. It was blazing hot and some of the selections were limited, but it was well worth the trip. I think the trick is to get there when they open around 7:00am. (Geez -- maybe I should just stay up all night and then go!)

I was giddy at the delightful sights and smells, drunk on local flavor. I bought a bunch of flat-leaf parsley for 75 cents; a pint of grape and pear tomatoes; green beans from an Amish family; homemade lavender soap; a loaf of potato bread; raisin-filled cookies for the hubby; a delicious raspberry-cream-chocolate pie from Sand Hill Berries; a lunch of tabbouleh, spinach and feta pie, and baklava from a Greek food vendor; and not one but TWO bunches of gorgeous fresh flowers, one of luscious lisianthus and little white hydrangea, and a glorious wildflower mix that includes plump sunflowers, jaunty zinnias, and shy snapdragons.

I also lusted after a gaggle of hand-knitted, felted purses by Toni of Raggz. I'd link to her website, but she doesn't have one yet. I'm encouraging her to get one ASAP so I can tell everyone I know to buy a purse or three. I'm not a purse kind of gal and typically can't find one that I really like, but I wanted to buy everything in Toni's stall! (For more Raggz goodness, check out my flickr set. If you see something you'd like to buy (for yourself or for me!) -- contact me and I'll connect you with Toni.)

Raggz creations at Ligonier Country Market

Toni was also kind enough to offer to help me learn to knit if I wanted to sit with her some Saturday. I've been thinking about learning to knit for awhile now, so when I won the book Knit Wit from Felicia Sullivan's Friday giveaway a few weeks ago, I figured it was time to take the hint and try it out. I found a local yarn shop (also named Knit-Wits Inc., incidentally) housed in a little red school house. (Photo at left is from their website.)

I think I could fall in love with yarn. It's yummy. The inside of Knit-Wits was like a candy shop. I wanted to gobble up all the rich colors and textures. I'm not sure if I'll ever love knitting, but I may just start collecting beautiful yarn and displaying it as art. I have a feeling I've hit the tip of the needle (har!) with this knitting and yarn thing. Something tells me that there is a whole knitting community, even yarn cults, out there. It's the fuzzy underbelly of the arts&crafts movement.

The kind lady at Knit-Wits told me about the boutique's knitting lessons for $15/hour. I think I'll do a lesson or two, especially after trying to use the book, which was--how do you say? Hard. I think the book is pretty well-written. But learning to knit from a book, especially when you've never even held a pair of knitting needles before, is like learning to use American Sign Language from a manual. (Trust me, I've tried it.) It's nearly impossible to teach a three-dimensional activity from two-dimensional illustrations. Then again, I'm not so great at anything involving spatial relation skills, so I enlisted James to help me decipher the pictures. With his help, I managed to "cast on" using the "long tail method," but had trouble with the actual knitting of stitches. And I didn't even attempt purling. My favorite part of the night was watching James puzzle out the directions, do his best to knit a row of stitches, and then say, "But what do I do NOW?"

I find myself asking that question all day long: What do I do now? My Saturday outing was lovely, but I still can't focus. I keep waiting for my head to quiet down so I can think. I hear that knitting is a good balm for such brain buzz, but I have a feeling that's true only after it stops feeling like trying to "floss your teeth with your toes," as Knit Wit (the book) described beginning knitters.

Are you clear headed or fuzzy these days? What's in or out of focus for you?

All that glitters

You know that girl in your head who tells you can't do it, so why even try? Well, I know that she's a liar, but she has me petrified. I'm not mad at her, because I understand that she's just scared and doesn't want to see me fail. Her scope is so limited that she can barely imagine the possibility that I might succeed, or at least have some fun along the way. I feel bad for her (let's call her Violet) because she usually sits alone, cautiously looking around, making sure that nothing will force her out of her comfortable little corner. Violet is extremely suspicious of the other girl (let's call her Phoebe) who lives across the way, in another corner.

Unlike Violet, Phoebe doesn't usually stay put. She's all over the place, flitting here and there, running about laughing, even venturing over to Violet's corner and inviting her to come out and play. On a good day, Violet does. And each time it's like discovering a whole new world. "Look at this!" says Phoebe. "Isn't it beautiful? Isn't it fun? Aren't we wrapped up in the joy and wonder of it all?"

On those good days, Violet responds, "Yes! I never knew it could all be so marvelous! How could I ever think that my one little corner was enough?" And she and Phoebe hold hands, laughing, skipping, just living and breathing pure magic.

But on the bad days, Violet, who has a pessimistic and mean streak, looks at Phoebe and says, "What's the use? What's so great about any of this? You keep trying, but it's just so hard sometimes, isn't it? Wouldn't you rather take a nap, Phoebe?"

Phoebe is fiercely independent and annoyingly optimistic, but even she can't hold out forever. Most of the time she simply tells Violet that she loves her and will always welcome her to come and play. But sometimes, on the worst of days, Phoebe takes Violet's gloomy advice and retreats to her own corner, drifting into an uneasy sleep.

__________________________________

A few weeks ago I signed up for a Postcard Swap hosted by Karen of Chookooloonks. The idea instantly thrilled me for two reasons. First of all, I love the idea of taking online community off-line into the "real" world. What an interesting way to connect with strangers who share at least one common bond (reading the same blog). The concept is fairly simple: Create a batch of handmade postcards using your medium of choice, mail them out to the 11 people on your list, and receive 11 little works of art in return.

The second reason I was excited about this is that I needed an art project to jump start me. I've mentioned before that I started dabbling with watercolours earlier this summer. I'm sad to say that I've only painted once since the class ended over a month ago. I want to paint and try new art forms (at this point, most art forms are new to me), but I never seem to get around to it.

I think about it a lot. But it just seems like such a hassle. I have to work on the dining room table, which means I need to put the kits in an upstairs bedroom, otherwise they'd be covered in paint and glitter . (Okay, I don't actually have glitter. Should I get glitter?) I tell myself that it'd be so much easier to paint and create if I had an art station in my office. That way I could make a mess and not clean it up if I didn't finish a project in one sitting. "If only I had a studio," I tell myself, "I'd create more."

But the real truth of the matter is that I'm scared. When I first started painting, I had no visions in my head of what I wanted to do. But very quickly -- surprisingly quickly, in fact -- I started to have ideas and inklings about what I'd like to see happen on the page. But I'm new. So new that I often don't have a clue about how to achieve my vision. I don't even know what materials to use. Heck, I don't even know what materials are available. I'm pretty sure that some of my visions aren't suited to watercolour, but I don't know what I need.

All I know is that I'm supposed to mail out 11 hand-made postcards in two weeks. And I don't want the recipients to be disappointed. As I fretted over this a few nights ago, a poem came to me, just a few lines long, but perfect and complete. I haven't written poetry in years and was surprised by its appearance. I'm taking it as a gift that I can use to anchor my vision for the postcard. At least I have a starting point now.

I'll share it -- and the postcards -- with you after everything is mailed out. In the meantime, tell me, how do you get your own artist to come out and play?