Check back with me in a week.
Sunday, December 28, 2014
2015: The Year of the Awesome
I haven't posted in over a year and nobody cares but....next year I'm blogging. It's happening. So that I put something, even if it is just a bad blog, out in the world. This counts for the last week of 2014, so technically it is not a new year's resolution, so maybe I won't count down until I break it. Maybe..
Check back with me in a week.
Happy Christmas!
Check back with me in a week.
Saturday, October 5, 2013
Thank God for Pinterest and Poverty
Not really poverty. But my husband and I are going through a tight money time, you know, college student tight (what happened??? I graduated 7 years ago- how did I not equate marrying a later-in-life college student to going through this again? lol way to think think things through). So as a result, I'm becoming college student creative to get things done--in a way I didn't have to when I was there myself.
I went through college before the credit crisis, and I worked a lot to fund my schooling, so banks just loooooved to give me credit. I never really thought about it before, but I never worried about not paying my bills or not having money or waiting for cash from my parents. Cash from my parents was always a nice bonus, and don't get me wrong, I *always* panicked when my credit card bill came. But ulitmately, I worked, and I enjoyed the luxury of being able to go buy materials and books whenever I needed to-- as long as I got out of work before the stores closed.
It made college different for me than for a lot of students, particularly my fellow art students. Already prone to being an over-prepared hoarder, I had professors who taught all these great alternate media and encouraged experimentation. And I hated running out of this that I wanted for how I wanted to do things. I rarely had to figure out how to finish something when I ran out of materials or money. I graduated with a creative degree and I certainly developed my creativity, but only in a limited spectrum. I have a vivid memory of walking into a studio and talking to another student who was figuring out how to unify a series in which, on the first two or three paintings, she had covered the entire canvas in gold leaf, corner to corner, 3 inch square by 3 inch square. They were lovely. She then ran out of gold leaf with 1 painting left. I didn't understand then why she didn't just go buy more. I do now. There was no more money.
I still have a lot of the extra materials I bought in college, buried somewhere under the materials I have accumulated since. Must admit-- I *may* be a material girl. Or a material whore, whatever. Lots of great ideas float around in my head and I rush out to buy all the stuff for it and then it languishes because I run out of time to make whatever it was. Often because I have rushed out to buy all the stuff for the next idea I have. Same thing in my kitchen---tons of spices and mixes and ingredients, lots of peanut butter sandwiches eaten.
For the last month, there has been no excess to buy materials. Or crazy amounts of extra food for the three hour cook time recipe I found for every night of the week (we have plenty of money for food, but I stand in the grocery store and look at my cart and know that i know that i know I will not cook all those meals before the food spoils). And I'm going crazy. For the first 2 weeks, I could hear my soul screaming 'you're crushing my creative spirit! I will never be an artist if you don't let me go buy the stuff to do this thing I thought of-- I can't write it down and do it later, it will not be as good!! How could you let yourself get in this situation where you would do this to me?!?!?!?!'
Then last week, I looked at the pile of stuff in my living room (I have piles everywhere, organized priority. If it is really important, I leave it where I will trip on it. Priority B goes on top of usable surfaces, Priority C on non-usable surfaces, directly on top of priorities D-J. Priorities K-S are partially under there also, having once been priority J or above, and then having toppled over because spray paint, involved in almost every project, is in a round can specifically designed to not stack well. Especially after I cannabilized the cap for another project. Priorities T-Z an neatly packed in boxes covered from the inside in spray paint. I wonder why that is??) and decided, perhaps, if I couldn't buy stuff I could use some of the stuff I already have. Shocker, right? An artist making things? I was pretty sure my art degree qualified me to make informed purchases, because I have done that quite successfully for 7 years.
And it feels better. Turns out it may not have been my creative soul screaming at me to buy shit. Imagine that. May have been my laziness. May have been the 'ooooo shiny' distractedness every artist has. But the end result was that I was accumulating and not creating. I had realized this in the kitchen slightly sooner. I just hadn't applied it to everything else. And much to my husband's chagrin, I still have prioritized piles everywhere. But most of them are in process now. Side note? Spray painting things right (i.e. so they neither run nor permanently bond to the stuff around them) takes for. ev. er. but I'm getting excited about finishing projects and deciding if they are worth trying again and improving and making more my own.
I feel hopeful about making things and having real ideas of my own again. And my credit cards will be just fine without me.
I went through college before the credit crisis, and I worked a lot to fund my schooling, so banks just loooooved to give me credit. I never really thought about it before, but I never worried about not paying my bills or not having money or waiting for cash from my parents. Cash from my parents was always a nice bonus, and don't get me wrong, I *always* panicked when my credit card bill came. But ulitmately, I worked, and I enjoyed the luxury of being able to go buy materials and books whenever I needed to-- as long as I got out of work before the stores closed.
It made college different for me than for a lot of students, particularly my fellow art students. Already prone to being an over-prepared hoarder, I had professors who taught all these great alternate media and encouraged experimentation. And I hated running out of this that I wanted for how I wanted to do things. I rarely had to figure out how to finish something when I ran out of materials or money. I graduated with a creative degree and I certainly developed my creativity, but only in a limited spectrum. I have a vivid memory of walking into a studio and talking to another student who was figuring out how to unify a series in which, on the first two or three paintings, she had covered the entire canvas in gold leaf, corner to corner, 3 inch square by 3 inch square. They were lovely. She then ran out of gold leaf with 1 painting left. I didn't understand then why she didn't just go buy more. I do now. There was no more money.
I still have a lot of the extra materials I bought in college, buried somewhere under the materials I have accumulated since. Must admit-- I *may* be a material girl. Or a material whore, whatever. Lots of great ideas float around in my head and I rush out to buy all the stuff for it and then it languishes because I run out of time to make whatever it was. Often because I have rushed out to buy all the stuff for the next idea I have. Same thing in my kitchen---tons of spices and mixes and ingredients, lots of peanut butter sandwiches eaten.
For the last month, there has been no excess to buy materials. Or crazy amounts of extra food for the three hour cook time recipe I found for every night of the week (we have plenty of money for food, but I stand in the grocery store and look at my cart and know that i know that i know I will not cook all those meals before the food spoils). And I'm going crazy. For the first 2 weeks, I could hear my soul screaming 'you're crushing my creative spirit! I will never be an artist if you don't let me go buy the stuff to do this thing I thought of-- I can't write it down and do it later, it will not be as good!! How could you let yourself get in this situation where you would do this to me?!?!?!?!'
Then last week, I looked at the pile of stuff in my living room (I have piles everywhere, organized priority. If it is really important, I leave it where I will trip on it. Priority B goes on top of usable surfaces, Priority C on non-usable surfaces, directly on top of priorities D-J. Priorities K-S are partially under there also, having once been priority J or above, and then having toppled over because spray paint, involved in almost every project, is in a round can specifically designed to not stack well. Especially after I cannabilized the cap for another project. Priorities T-Z an neatly packed in boxes covered from the inside in spray paint. I wonder why that is??) and decided, perhaps, if I couldn't buy stuff I could use some of the stuff I already have. Shocker, right? An artist making things? I was pretty sure my art degree qualified me to make informed purchases, because I have done that quite successfully for 7 years.
And it feels better. Turns out it may not have been my creative soul screaming at me to buy shit. Imagine that. May have been my laziness. May have been the 'ooooo shiny' distractedness every artist has. But the end result was that I was accumulating and not creating. I had realized this in the kitchen slightly sooner. I just hadn't applied it to everything else. And much to my husband's chagrin, I still have prioritized piles everywhere. But most of them are in process now. Side note? Spray painting things right (i.e. so they neither run nor permanently bond to the stuff around them) takes for. ev. er. but I'm getting excited about finishing projects and deciding if they are worth trying again and improving and making more my own.
I feel hopeful about making things and having real ideas of my own again. And my credit cards will be just fine without me.
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Characters
A long time ago, a counselor warned me that I was not living life but rather watching over it, narrating it as it goes by. I didn't see that as a problem then--I would not say I had truly lived life at all up to that point, and witnessing it so very closely at last felt a lot like living. Sometimes I feel the depression encroaching again, and instead of being so very grateful to be near life, I painfully miss living it.
I can't explain where the change begins or where it ends. I don't know when I stopped observing life and started living it, or why that stopped coming so easily. But I feel very overwhelmed and far away. In these moments, it becomes second narture to narrate and observe again, compare life, deconstruct life, scream at life but do everything but live life.
I suppose selfishly I hope this will make it easier to make things again. After all, seeing through the lens only should make it relatively easy to mimic the lens. But what about my friends my dog my family my husband my God? What happens when I step out permanently this time? They will notice, they already have.
I read Where the Heart Is. I used to stop every time that movie came on lifetime. It is one of a very short list of books that translate perfectly into movie form. Having read the book, I don't think the movie missed anything-- if anything, the characters are richer (except for losing Americus's menagerie). And I think of how Novalee simply is in most of the story. She doesn't think about being too much or too little, she simply is and does and provides and makes this incredible life out of nothing, so grateful for the tiny outpourings of a million strangers, and never worries about being less than until the last moment. And then of course she panics and sends Forney away but it is all so very perfect, and you don't realize until she does, sitting in that car outside the motel, that she considers herself less. And you never think about how incredible it is that she doesn't pass an ounce of that to her little girl, no matter how deeply it is ingrained in her. I imagine after she declares her love to Forney she never again worries about being less and simply lives. I suspect Lexie also simply lives and basks in her good fortune at having made a family out of luck and a genuine heart. How do these women stop themselves from getting lost as so many of us less fortunate get lost? Or those as unfortunate, for that matter? How do they neither become paralyzed in self loathing and fear nor become complacent and live of the system?
Why can I not learn to become unbroken in the way they are unbroken?
And why can I not frame my life without a story from another's mind?
Why do I not live my life as fully as characters on the page of a book?
I know. I don't want to put in the time. I still see that regrowth as time lost, time that would be more productive if I were already fixed, not in process. And I know how very stupid that is, yet I yell because, I don't know, maybe fixed me will come lead current me and the time lapse will close in the paradox? So what do I do to jolt myself into mental presence and stop narrating?
Evidently, I narrate louder and pray that that works.
I can't explain where the change begins or where it ends. I don't know when I stopped observing life and started living it, or why that stopped coming so easily. But I feel very overwhelmed and far away. In these moments, it becomes second narture to narrate and observe again, compare life, deconstruct life, scream at life but do everything but live life.
I suppose selfishly I hope this will make it easier to make things again. After all, seeing through the lens only should make it relatively easy to mimic the lens. But what about my friends my dog my family my husband my God? What happens when I step out permanently this time? They will notice, they already have.
I read Where the Heart Is. I used to stop every time that movie came on lifetime. It is one of a very short list of books that translate perfectly into movie form. Having read the book, I don't think the movie missed anything-- if anything, the characters are richer (except for losing Americus's menagerie). And I think of how Novalee simply is in most of the story. She doesn't think about being too much or too little, she simply is and does and provides and makes this incredible life out of nothing, so grateful for the tiny outpourings of a million strangers, and never worries about being less than until the last moment. And then of course she panics and sends Forney away but it is all so very perfect, and you don't realize until she does, sitting in that car outside the motel, that she considers herself less. And you never think about how incredible it is that she doesn't pass an ounce of that to her little girl, no matter how deeply it is ingrained in her. I imagine after she declares her love to Forney she never again worries about being less and simply lives. I suspect Lexie also simply lives and basks in her good fortune at having made a family out of luck and a genuine heart. How do these women stop themselves from getting lost as so many of us less fortunate get lost? Or those as unfortunate, for that matter? How do they neither become paralyzed in self loathing and fear nor become complacent and live of the system?
Why can I not learn to become unbroken in the way they are unbroken?
And why can I not frame my life without a story from another's mind?
Why do I not live my life as fully as characters on the page of a book?
I know. I don't want to put in the time. I still see that regrowth as time lost, time that would be more productive if I were already fixed, not in process. And I know how very stupid that is, yet I yell because, I don't know, maybe fixed me will come lead current me and the time lapse will close in the paradox? So what do I do to jolt myself into mental presence and stop narrating?
Evidently, I narrate louder and pray that that works.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Grown Up
I know this isn't entirely unusual, but I spent my entire childhood wanting to be a grown up then spent the last several years as a grown up wishing to be a kid again.
I then noticed that being a grown up is actually kind of more fun.
I'm happy to finally be one.
When I was a kid, sure, there were chores and rules, but essentially, I did whatever I wanted. Which, after the age of 12 (thanks to orthodics and some se-r-ious blisters) was sitting on my butt alone and reading. Until I couldn't be around people (much) anymore because I felt so very awkward in the real world, acting on my own. I didn't want to grow up because I didn't want to have to interact and go to work and not live in those little worlds defined by other people.
After I grew up, I moved in and out of the real world, grown up land. I could function when I had to, but I chose to live in worlds created and defined by other people. I think the reason I did that was because I didn't believe I could define a world myself. I thought that I lacked the power and the skills and the money and the time and the drive.
But I don't.
And that is pretty stupid to live by.
And guess what? Eating my vegetables tastes better (and my teeth don't feel gritty like when I subsist on sugar) and I feel better. And my back hurts less if I don't lie in bed and watch TV all day. And I like people. I like my friends and my family. To be honest, I always have but I was pretty sure they didn't like me. But guess what else? They seem to. And paying my bills sucks, so do doing the dishes and keeping the house clean, but I like my life better if they are. And best of all? It's MY life. Not a screen writer's. Not an author's. Not a fictional character's.
And not an intangible dream.
And not an impossibility.
Don't ask me why I didn't like being grown up before. The whole point of growing up is that you aren't powerless anymore. And I didn't get on board with that right away. But I think I'm there now. Of course, I have the attention span of a fly sometimes, so I might need to put a post it on my computer to remind myself. But honestly? That frittata that I just made myself was both healthy and delicious. So maybe it's worth being an adult, so I don't 'have' to microwave all my meals :)
I then noticed that being a grown up is actually kind of more fun.
I'm happy to finally be one.
When I was a kid, sure, there were chores and rules, but essentially, I did whatever I wanted. Which, after the age of 12 (thanks to orthodics and some se-r-ious blisters) was sitting on my butt alone and reading. Until I couldn't be around people (much) anymore because I felt so very awkward in the real world, acting on my own. I didn't want to grow up because I didn't want to have to interact and go to work and not live in those little worlds defined by other people.
After I grew up, I moved in and out of the real world, grown up land. I could function when I had to, but I chose to live in worlds created and defined by other people. I think the reason I did that was because I didn't believe I could define a world myself. I thought that I lacked the power and the skills and the money and the time and the drive.
But I don't.
And that is pretty stupid to live by.
And guess what? Eating my vegetables tastes better (and my teeth don't feel gritty like when I subsist on sugar) and I feel better. And my back hurts less if I don't lie in bed and watch TV all day. And I like people. I like my friends and my family. To be honest, I always have but I was pretty sure they didn't like me. But guess what else? They seem to. And paying my bills sucks, so do doing the dishes and keeping the house clean, but I like my life better if they are. And best of all? It's MY life. Not a screen writer's. Not an author's. Not a fictional character's.
And not an intangible dream.
And not an impossibility.
Don't ask me why I didn't like being grown up before. The whole point of growing up is that you aren't powerless anymore. And I didn't get on board with that right away. But I think I'm there now. Of course, I have the attention span of a fly sometimes, so I might need to put a post it on my computer to remind myself. But honestly? That frittata that I just made myself was both healthy and delicious. So maybe it's worth being an adult, so I don't 'have' to microwave all my meals :)
Thursday, November 24, 2011
I come with a learning curve....
I have recently realized I have a *bit* of a superiority complex. Not really shocking if you know I'm an only child, and whether you have the spoiled only child experience or the little adult only child experience, most parents of only children are convinced their kids crap pure gold in one way or another. Not blaming, not complaining, simply stating. That being said, I have spent years not noticing because it was relatively well-masked. Or so central to my thinking that I became blind to it. One or the other.
I mention this because I have also, recently, said a few things that could be misconstrued. Possibly some major things. Possibly major life-changing things that 'misconstrued' is an understatement for, but this is the internet and I'm viewing this as a verbose sketch pad, so....the specifics aren't really applicable. Besides, me being me, experiential repetition is the ONLY way I learn, so rest assured that this has happened in multiple scales lately. It also isn't a new thing. Previously, I have always justified myself by telling myself I was always a few steps ahead and the party in question would understand if they could just have the same beneficial long term perspective I did. In hindsight, that *might* be the superiority complex talking.
Looking objectively at the situations, I was forced to admit something. Me talking is a lot like when I'm driving. I have no idea if this is something other people do, but as I'm driving along- particularly for a couple hours+, I tend to pace myself with other cars. It helps me not speed (as much) and I have this idea in my head that if I'm speeding with other people, I'm less likely to get picked up. (not that I speed much, but in truth, I also tend to lag and I really hate cruise) Anyway, sometimes, I'll stay with another car for a while. I wonder about the people in it and invent places where they are going and pretend we really are traveling together. Then they turn off. (Jerks.) (Now who am I traveling with?) And I remember that I knew nothing at all about them. We just happen to be traveling some of the same roads at the same time at a similar speed. Yeah, my conversations are like that too. We happen to be talking about similar things in the same vicinity at the same time. But the other person has no idea what is happening in my head, and I tend to be filling in some details and then responding to that. Shooting off in some other directions without at all explaining where I'm headed.
Thank God my closest friends know/are learning that. (And it is Thanksgiving-- I am really truly blessed with great friends and family and a new job. Seriously- Thank God.) It might be time for me to acknowledge that as a flaw and maybe try to be less of a conversational lone wolf. Perhaps me talking would end better that way.
I mention this because I have also, recently, said a few things that could be misconstrued. Possibly some major things. Possibly major life-changing things that 'misconstrued' is an understatement for, but this is the internet and I'm viewing this as a verbose sketch pad, so....the specifics aren't really applicable. Besides, me being me, experiential repetition is the ONLY way I learn, so rest assured that this has happened in multiple scales lately. It also isn't a new thing. Previously, I have always justified myself by telling myself I was always a few steps ahead and the party in question would understand if they could just have the same beneficial long term perspective I did. In hindsight, that *might* be the superiority complex talking.
Looking objectively at the situations, I was forced to admit something. Me talking is a lot like when I'm driving. I have no idea if this is something other people do, but as I'm driving along- particularly for a couple hours+, I tend to pace myself with other cars. It helps me not speed (as much) and I have this idea in my head that if I'm speeding with other people, I'm less likely to get picked up. (not that I speed much, but in truth, I also tend to lag and I really hate cruise) Anyway, sometimes, I'll stay with another car for a while. I wonder about the people in it and invent places where they are going and pretend we really are traveling together. Then they turn off. (Jerks.) (Now who am I traveling with?) And I remember that I knew nothing at all about them. We just happen to be traveling some of the same roads at the same time at a similar speed. Yeah, my conversations are like that too. We happen to be talking about similar things in the same vicinity at the same time. But the other person has no idea what is happening in my head, and I tend to be filling in some details and then responding to that. Shooting off in some other directions without at all explaining where I'm headed.
Thank God my closest friends know/are learning that. (And it is Thanksgiving-- I am really truly blessed with great friends and family and a new job. Seriously- Thank God.) It might be time for me to acknowledge that as a flaw and maybe try to be less of a conversational lone wolf. Perhaps me talking would end better that way.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Starting Small
Friday, May 13, 2011
15 Failed Operas
So I have been feeling a bit overwhelmed lately.
Maybe more than a bit (btw, to do lists should probably be a big no-no for me. They get impossibly long and binding....and I get rather, well, frustrated).
And I keep looking at my art and it's slow progress, the lack of time I have for it; and I feel like a total failure. Then I look back at the times in the past where I felt like a total failure; and I realize that I was producing WAY more work then than I am now. Then I REALLY feel like a total failure. Artistically anyway.
And I'm reading this book. (I'm always reading some book. I'm beginning to wonder if I ever actually have any original thoughts because I begin so many sentences with 'So, I'm reading this book.....' Then I remember I'm a painter so it doesn't really matter if I quote a lot of books.) In the book, it says that Verdi wrote 15 epic fail operas before Rigoletto. And he was 38 when Rigoletto finally made it. So I realize: I'm good. I have like 10 years to write 15 operas. That is totally doable. In 11 years, maybe I'll be a failure. But I have a lot of time before I find that out. I just need to keep working. Keeping making those little things that fail and hope they turn into bigger things that fail. And then hope that they multiply into more things that fail. We'll see how I feel about them all failing in the morning, but I think that I can do this keep on trying thing. I have no idea what I'm doing, but I'm also artistically really young. I'm ok with still being a little lost.
Meanwhile, I really want to name my next body of work '15 Failed Operas'.
Maybe more than a bit (btw, to do lists should probably be a big no-no for me. They get impossibly long and binding....and I get rather, well, frustrated).
And I keep looking at my art and it's slow progress, the lack of time I have for it; and I feel like a total failure. Then I look back at the times in the past where I felt like a total failure; and I realize that I was producing WAY more work then than I am now. Then I REALLY feel like a total failure. Artistically anyway.
And I'm reading this book. (I'm always reading some book. I'm beginning to wonder if I ever actually have any original thoughts because I begin so many sentences with 'So, I'm reading this book.....' Then I remember I'm a painter so it doesn't really matter if I quote a lot of books.) In the book, it says that Verdi wrote 15 epic fail operas before Rigoletto. And he was 38 when Rigoletto finally made it. So I realize: I'm good. I have like 10 years to write 15 operas. That is totally doable. In 11 years, maybe I'll be a failure. But I have a lot of time before I find that out. I just need to keep working. Keeping making those little things that fail and hope they turn into bigger things that fail. And then hope that they multiply into more things that fail. We'll see how I feel about them all failing in the morning, but I think that I can do this keep on trying thing. I have no idea what I'm doing, but I'm also artistically really young. I'm ok with still being a little lost.
Meanwhile, I really want to name my next body of work '15 Failed Operas'.
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