Superwoman Sucks - A Lovely Rant

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The indecent pace at which I have been working of late has led me to one conclusion:  Superwoman sucks.

She's a giant liar.  We can't do it all, have it all, serve it all, and smile while we relax around it all.  Yet I uphold this ridiculous ideal that I should smile happily while I work 10 to 12 hours in a day, come home to serve supper to anyone waiting for it in the house, do the laundry, find time for my artwork, mark papers, then go to bed until the next day when more of the same awaits me.

Solution One - continuously use this blog as my personal Complaint Department.
Solution Two - quit my job, become a working-at-home mom and focus on my art
Solution Three - quit whining and merrily go about my life while finding engaging moments I can savor and carry a gratitude attitude

Wish I hadn't thought of Solution Three.  Now I have to do it.  FINE.  I'll do it happily, too.

Ranting ends here.

Teetering

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It's been a month since I posted!  How did that happen?  All I did was blink!  Well, maybe I did a little more than that....  Let's see...  Over the past 3 months... produced 52 paintings... had my first showing... started back to school... aha!  School - the Time Bandit.

When I was small, we lived in Naramata.  My parents were renting a vicarage, complete with a huge backyard where inviting leaf piles were demolished by yours truly in the fall.  I went to Kindergarten down the street, and of course there was a playground there.  The inviting wooden teeter-totter beckoned me continuously, and one day I spent more time on it than perhaps I ought.  When I finally returned to the house, my mother had the questionable pleasure of removing at least a dozen splinters from my hiney.  Yay for modern, splinter-free playgrounds!

Since the last few days of august, when I started back to school, I have felt exactly like my 5-year-old self on that teeter-totter; completely off-balance.  It's taken me a month to get the proverbial splinters out of my own behind well enough to sit and paint or blog or do anything other than mourn the loss of free time that was the gift of summer.  Silly girl!  I have discovered that it's better to stand in the middle of the see saw than sit on one end - especially when you play alone. 

Thank goodness I have the right shoes on for balancing - good grips and support.  Those lovely grips come from my quiet time in the morning.  I have committed to getting up between 5:30 and 6 daily to spend some time in prayer before beginning the day.  It centers me, reminds me what's important, gives me time to dedicate myself to my most important relationship, and helps me "get a grip".  The support in my shoes comes (of course!) from my family and dear, close friends.  Daily my husband and daughter and I spend evenings catching up and encouraging one another - what a great way to end the day. 

I'm still learning about balance.  For a while this month, I surely felt as though I were falling off one end.  I like the middle better.

Ironing Board Nemesis?

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"Here you go, Mom - I made you a picture so you'd always look at it and think about how mad you got!" She announced with great pride in her merriest voice.

I'd been working for 4 days on a painting.  4 days!  I'd read up on this neat-o technique that I just couldn't wait to try.  Got out the canvas I'd been saving, the glass beads medium that cost me an arm and a leg, and a whack of paint.  Off I went, playing and developing and turning this blank bit of taut cloth into something that I thought was going to be the best thing I'd done yet.  I was so thrilled with the way that this piece was turning out!

I carefully placed the acrylic skins where I wanted them, attending to details and making sure that things were "just so'.

I poured on a layer of polymer medium to make the watery part of the painting shiny and crackly.

I put the piece in the laundry room to cure.

On the ironing board.

Which wasn't level. 

Which made the dang polymer bleed a thick, pimply line of gloss into an area it wasn't SUPPOSED to go!

Well, that did it.  My perfectionist self reared its ugly head and started procuring (in a muttery sort of way) that colorful vocabulary that is rewarded in childhood with Ivory soap.  I picked at it.  I prodded.  I examined.  I fumed.  I criticized.

I did the dishes and vented to my family.

My husband took us for ice cream.  He's my hero and that's all there is to it.

Darling girl that she is, my daughter drew me a picture to commemorate my first "mistake", which now hangs on my basement wall beside my work area.  (No, really - nothing like this has happened in my 5 years of painting!)  I am standing beside a wilted painting, arms ended in tight fingers, and above my head is a pitch-black squiggle of fuming anger.  I have on the most impossible frown.  I'm also 25 pounds lighter.  It's a great picture.

The erroneous painting cured, and through some creative miracle hidden from my understanding, I was able to salvage the piece.  It may even be accurate to say that it looks better than it did before Mistake Day.

And now I have a wonderful hand-drawn "snapshot" of that moment when I perfectionism won out over the beautiful influences of crooked ironing boards.  (What a good reminder that I don't need an eraser.)

A Mantra for Tenacity

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The first invite to share my work in a marketplace was offered recently, as some of you may recall.  This morning, when I opened my email, it turned out that this offering was rescinded since so many of the vendors are having financial trouble and are pulling out of the fair.  What a disappointment!  My heart skipped a beat, to be sure.  I was so looking forward to being there!  I spent about 5 minutes wallowing in that lovely pool of self-pity that we all enjoy now and again, and then I pursued other avenues.  What else was out there?  Turns out that people get ready for Christmas artisan fairs right about now - in August!  It's so hard to wrap my head around that one, but I suppose it makes sense.  "Be prepared" thought the ex-girl scout.

I can't say this getting-off-my-hiney-after-having-been-kicked thing is a habit yet.  I have too often let fear stand in my way.  I suppose that's why I have only begun to share my artistic work with the world this year.  It's my full intention to make it a habit, though, let me tell you.  There's no way that setbacks will ever keep me down again!  At least, that's the plan.  Marva Collins had it right when she said, "Fail to plan, and plan to fail."  How's that for a little well-worn teacher-speak.  It works for me!

What is your tenacity mantra?

Toast and a Post

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I just threw some Midnight French Toast in the oven.  Yesterday was my husband's first day working from home.  His company recently decided that having a real office with real rent was really boring, and told it's people (the ones it didn't "lay off") they'd have to work at home.  Although it left us both feeling apprehensive (we are not fans of change), it's fun having him here.  His breaks mean popping into whatever room I'm in for a kiss or a little conversation.  So I made gingersnaps, attempted cornbread, and put together some Midnight French Toast for breakfast today.  It's really nice to have your best friend at home - and at the same time you are home!  A double blessing, to be sure.
I wonder if baking for our families is something of a lost art, like letter-writing.  (I can't remember the last time I spontaneously sat down with any sort of frilly stationary to write a letter with a PEN - not counting the thank you notes I wrote after the wedding). I did just pull the French toast out of the oven, though, and my family is merrily munching away.

My mom stayed home with us kids, and although it meant a lot of sacrifices for my folks, she always had ready for us the yummiest food.  Pea soup and cornbread for lunch in the winter, hot chocolate with tiny coloured marshmallows after school, and the cookie jar was bottomless.  I have a very different lifestyle.  It's hard to measure up to what she did for us - the house is never clean enough around here - but I try to cook and bake for my family as much as I can.  It's a little like painting in the kitchen.

You don't need an eraser

When I was a little younger - say 20, 25 years - I spent a lot of time drawing.  My family liked what I did, of course, and while I was pleased by this, the back of my brain told me that they were supportive because they had to be.  After all, they loved me - didn't they have to tell me they liked my creations?  Ah, the wicked tricks my perfectionistic mind played on me.  Luckily, I never let my doubts stop me from creating for personal pleasure.  I drew, wrote poetry, sewed - anything reflective and quiet captivated me.  But to create to share?  I never thought I was "good enough" for that.

Enter Ms. Gearhart, grade 10 English.  Something about her led me to open up and try things that I don't think I would have otherwise tried.  I wrote most of my poetry during the three years that she was my teacher.  It was a juicy time and I think it was then that I began to question the idea that no one else would be interested in the things I created.  Could it be possible that I was capable?  Her encouragement and support led me to think that I might like to be a writer when I grew up.  As it turned out, I became a teacher instead.  Something great about teaching is the variety of activities we get to plan out and take part in.  I get to teach writing, and I get to write.  I get to teach art, and I get to share my creativity on a small scale.

I have been teaching for ten years this fall.  It seems like a very long time, and simultaneously not long enough.  Each class I have worked with has provided me with the opportunity to grow and learn alongside them.  For many years, one of my mantras has been: "There are no mistakes in art - you don't need an eraser".  It's easy, as the teacher, to talk more than you listen.  It wasn't until two years ago that I really listened to myself.  I am so glad that my ears finally began working.

The freedom I have begun to experience through this idea has offered me a kind of "lightness" that I have never before experienced.  What I needed was permission from myself to make mistakes.

Can you do without your eraser? 

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Zoning In #2

"Make a list," said the book I read on blogging.
("Make your own," say I to you dear reader....)


10 things that inspire me:



10. The yeasty smell of my mom's fresh bread

9. Conversations over tea, lingering and sweet

8. Other artists, daringly sharing

7. The Rockies, majestically pointing heavenward

6. Flowers, vaporous colour in summer fields

5. Weather, which is so fickle in these foothills

4. Trees, to which I feel akin

3. My daughter, who wonders

2. My husband, who is so joyful

1. God, who gives me the ability to be inspired in the first place

Art in action

It's great to watch people on fire. When someone burns with passion for what they do, they exude a kind of joy that people just have to look at. I got to be in a room full of passionate people last night.

The fundraiser for "The Subliminal Rabbit Presents" was packed with people. The passionate energy created by the fiery people in the room was even more fragrant than the appetizers they served. So many people in the community pulled together to donate all kinds of wonderful things as both door prizes and auction items. Incredible hand-painted clothing, original gallery-quality photos, pen-and-ink work, a wine-making kit, gift cards for services like massage - even a brand-new mountain bike! I believe the evening was a marvelous success and surely hope that these folks who believe so deeply in their work were funded handsomely.

When people come together around something they feel strongly about, so many wonderful things can happen. I was honored to participate in something bigger than myself last night. Thanks again, Jean, for involving me in your dream!

Waiting.

It's true! I didn't know what to paint for a few days... Then, out comes this drippy business over there. How did it happen? I waited. Not the kind of waiting where I sat on the couch and twiddled my thumbs, although I have to admit to having done that for at least a few minutes while hemming and hawing. This was active waiting. I got opinions, I leafed through art books, I had some quiet thinking time and some not-so-quiet thinking time. Then, out came 3 new works. (The next two I'll post soon ...)

Waiting is fun! Not the passive kind (the kind I brought up in the beginning of this post), but the assertive kind. So, I wait on my family when I do dishes or cook a meal. I wait on my students when I organize a field trip or spend extra time outside of school listening to them. I help a stranger out by holding the door just because they are there and I was the first one through. Waiting is fun. Hard work kind of fun. The rewards far outweigh the cost.

How much time do you spend waiting?

Merry merry

"A merry heart is good medicine."
Many days in my childhood, my mother used that beloved quote hourly. She even had a little tune that she would sing just to make sure that it really, really stuck with us kids. Usually she'd sing this lovely ditty as we were in the midst of learning some character-building lesson or other. Ironic, no? She was right, though. (It's true! Moms know stuff!)

How do you keep your heart happy even in the midst of trials? Create! Run a marathon! Read a book! Spend time with people you love! Looking at life as a chore is a guaranteed way to clog the arteries of a happy heart. I'd rather avoid a heart attack. I have more than one happy place - here I share with you the evidence of one of them.

Where's your happy place?

Organic and Human

My historical creative journey has been a long, long, long one. If that journey were a string, I am sure it would easily stretch from here to the moon at least 5 times. Now that the string has found it's way back to earth once more, I do believe I have managed to tie a knot that will anchor it properly to my heart. Isn't it lovely when you have someone to show you how to tie those knots and keep them tied? Frederick, you tie the best metaphorical sailor's knots in the whole world.

For my 38th birthday my folks had me, my husband and daughter over for dinner. They man a lighthouse in the middle of their street, lovingly guiding all who enter through life's ocean. I was touched this weekend when a fellow sailor was viewing my work and made two observations - he called it, "organic" and "human". Certainly I think both apply. The creations I have photographed seem hard-done-by somehow, not being allowed to show themselves in their truest forms. They boast wires moving in spirals, lost buttons found and held in hugs of paint, abandoned moss meant for seasonal decoration adopted into landscapes, sunlight and branches bursting from canvas.

I marvel at how fellow sailors in different waters can alter the courses I plot. This traveler certainly can record in her captain's log the day that same fellow sailor inspired me to get my organically human work out of my basement and into some fresh air.
Thanks, Jean.

Zoning In #1

Ever had a passion? Not the kind you read about in Harlequin romances - I mean a passion. It puts a smile on your face when you go to sleep and keeps you company when you wake up, follows you through the house, gets in your car, goes to your work, permeates your conversation when you are talking about unrelated things. I'm uberblessed - I have three. My God, my family and my art.

Arcylic paint is candy for my soul. Wires and buttons and scraps from magazines make my fingers tingle. I get all excited when I find old tins - the innumerable uses! And bits of yarn! I get all tongue-tied just thinking about it... (some of you are wishing I would find more yarn). I come alive after 11 at night - the hour The Zone and I are one. Blessed Summer - the season that brings my Zone and I together. I get to go to my own place - do you? If your zone hasn't found you yet, put out an ad. It's not as dangerous and the personals, and you don't have to kiss any frogs in hopes of finding your prince.

May the force of The Zone be with you always.