find the time

*

yesterday started out as an epic fail.  i painted my one-a-day, but i hated it.  i drank too much coffee, and got all fried out.  i was cold, and couldn't get warm.  the fire wouldn't start.  i felt too whiny to make breakfast.  for some reason, i felt paralyzed, helpless against the weight of the world, in an over-dramatic, woah is me sort of way.  and i guess, when it all came around, it was the usual gripe, the house is dirty, i miss my mom, and life is just sooo overwhelming.  yet somehow, magically (but just like every other time), the gentle coaxing of james and his total dedication to making things better turned the ship around, and by two o'clock we had managed to get going on some very necessary household management duties. we spent the remainder of the day cleaning and sorting piles, the piles that grow when you're just too damn busy trying to make a buck to spend any time on yourself.   spinning john prine and drinking cranberry wine, we sorted and swept and sucked the corners clean until we had made a serious dent in what sometimes seems like the bain of my existence: stuff.  and still, there's more where that came from!  who needs an armless mannequin?  a revolving darkroom door?  a kid-sized mattress? or an old chaise lounge?  certainly not me. now, if i could only find the time to figure out what to do with it all.

keep trying

*

i get jealous easily.  my mom used to too.  i get jealous of other people's accomplishments.  maybe it's human nature, but it's kind of embarrassing.  my mom, well, she was an overachiever, and so am i.  she was extremely competitive, and not just at yahtzee or scrabble, but at life.  she wanted everything to be perfect, exactly, and didn't stop at sub-par.  she wanted perfection so badly that it could be intense at times.  she would get real catty if someone achieved something that she wanted, or if somebody was a better artist than her.  it wasn't easy for her to admit failure.  nor is it for me.  it's not one of those qualities that i love about myself, but i do think i inherited it from her, and so i embrace it as something preciously human.  mom was a tough cookie, and that disguised her vulnerability well.  so i guess it's her that's still keeping me on my toes.  having a mother that's crossed over into spirit-hood is way more powerful than a nagging phone call or a guilty conscience.

I know i can't stop in the tireless pursuit of greatness, constantly working to better my skills.  because those skills don't work themselves.  and, honestly, it's not easy to get noticed out there.  mom tried for years to get her illustrations published in children's books, sending out packets upon beautiful packets, beating her head against one brick wall after another only to get no response.  i watched from the sidelines, cheering her on.  and so i guess maybe that runs in the family too.  just last month i got another politically polite refusal letter from another artist's grant award that i didn't win.  the first couple of times i cried.  but now, i'm used to it.  i've toughened up a little.  and i guess i realized, you can't win the big prize if you don't enter the race in the first place.  and so it goes:  try, try, and try again.

safety

*

Sometimes i dream of living in a simpler world.  I get fried out easily by the busyness of modern society, by the speed at which information and media proliferates.  More often than not, something on the internet finds it's way under my skin and can bug me for days. I get overwhelmed and burned out by traffic, consumer culture, and automobiles.  The buzz or flicker of a screen can really piss me off.  I want to yell STOP!  and have everything around me freeze until i say go.  but i know this idea of simplicity i have, well, it's just a matter of perspective.  

My late uncle earl used to reminisce often of his childhood at the turn of the century.  His life was anything but simple.  As a youngster, his sister fell ill from tuberculosis.  Without the aid of modern medicine, she died, leaving a lingering feeling of loneliness in Earl.  Della's son Cecil came to live with earls family, which added financial pressure during what was already a depressed time.  Earl delivered papers as a little boy to help support his family financially.  His first house had neither running water, nor electricity.  He told a story once of walking the family's cow the six long miles from Ferndale to Bellingham when the family moved.   I can hardly begin imagine that happening today.  I grew up with push button heat, a machine to wash the dishes, and a car to drive me around.   It reminds me to be thankful for what i have in this modern era, rather than resentful of what i don't have.  I know i get the privilege to choose how simple i want my life to be.

fantastic

commission

 Just the other day, James called me a "blue collar" artist.  It's true, he said insistently.  Who works the way you do?  And maybe it's true.  I paint by the hour, I paint commissions, I paint on the cheap, I paint by the people for the people.  I haven't exactly made it big by art world standards, or even had a major solo exhibit in a gallery, but in my own little world, i do believe i have made it.  I've made it because i don't have to clock in or answer to anyone but myself and my clients, most of whom are friends.  Its a good life.  And I believe it's the only sustainable way to make it as an artist without "striking gold", so to speak.  I mean, you do the math: in this shriveled economy, it's a hell of a lot easier to sell ten paintings at sixty bucks than one at six hundred.  And so that's how I roll.  I work like anyone else who works.  I don't need high prices to inflate my ego.  Nope.  Because painting is my job, and i'm fast, efficient, creative, and damn good at it.  Take today, for instance.  I whipped out this little ditty of a commission and then spent the remainder of the day hand-lettering a sign, in the sun with the chirping birds and the sleeping dogs, neighbors and friends stopping by to chat over the fence.  Fucking fantastic, i tell you.  Fucking fantastic.

lasting impressions

gosh, the last couple of days there has been a lot of weird energy swirling around.  sometimes, negativity surges and creates what feels like a vortex.  it's hard to get out unscathed.  

for example: last night, a fight broke out in the bar, at the door right behind my stool.  it seemed contagious, like wild fire, and soon, bystanders were throwing what seemed like unsolicited punches in undeserved and unsuspecting directions.  luckily, i wasn't hurt.  i just stayed in my seat and pretended to be invisible.  but that's not to say that it didn't affect me, or leave me feeling quite haunted.

and then today, i had some weird customers in the store.  i had a fighting couple, whining at each other like immature brats, in front of me and their kids.  and then there was the nasty lady, looking for something specific,  who seethingly remarked at our recommendation,"i don't go there, it smells like cat piss".  and that's just the tip of the iceberg.  

i try not to let that stuff bother me, let it roll off, shake it off, but i can't say that it doesn't affect me. because i'm pretty sensitive.  it leaves an impression, a lasting odor, like a skunk hit by a car and rotting in the ditch.  and most of all, it makes me wish people would just try to be nicer to each other.

effortlessness

*

sometimes it's easy to have a good day.   today was easy, and good.  i am thankful for those kind of days, the days where i don't worry, days that i breeze through.  last night, with a little wine to do the coaxing,  i gave my major soliloquy over a bag of chips in the kitchen.  i told my story to james, in a way i never really had during our ten years of being together.   i remembered me before: my teenage years, my coming of age, the fine details, the gritty details.  i remembered in ways which i hadn't in so long.   moments, so many moments i've shuffled into the closet like a pile of dirty laundry i didn't want to air out.   it feels nice to lighten the load a little,  to let some stuff out, and to enjoy the simplicity of my new life, my adult life,where my sole purpose is to live in the now, to be nice, and to enjoy the smiles of my neighbors, promises of kindness like the budding blossoms on an apple tree, as spring in the valley comes optimistically upon us all.

nuance

*

today in conversation, i was explaining why i started the one-a-day up again.  i compared it to exercise.  i found that when i worked out my "artist muscles" regularly by painting every day, it was easy.  i had a flow, and found that i worked faster and better than ever.  ideas kept coming, like the siphoning of a hose. but as soon as i stopped, i stopped. i took a long break, a six month break.  i hardly picked up a paintbrush, nor did i have any desire to.  trying to start again was nearly impossible, excruciating, painful, like the first day of athletic training after a long summer off.  i looked at other people's art longingly.  i was out of shape.  i had disappeared.  where had i gone?

needless to say, it feels good to be back in the saddle again.  the work is different, new.  it references all sorts of disparate influences throughout my life.  i feel more freedom to change from day to day.  i'm not so terrified by a blank canvas.  i don't need to paint it exactly how my eyes see it.  and more than ever, i see my mom coming through, clear as a bell, in the nuances i've developed, the tricks i learned as a little girl watching over her shoulder, as she carved in ivory or washed in watercolor.  no mom, i haven't forgotten.   i'm just beginning to realize, to see her influences carved into me, in the same way the ocean carves the sandstone rock walls: slowly, yet determinedly, dramatically, over time.