I don't know if I will ever become a blogger. I think I'm just too private. But I'm not that private. I'm a quiet but open book. Maybe I'm just not very social. I don't like putting stuff out there for no reason. I just always feel like I'm talking to myself and I already have plenty of venues for talking to myself. Journals. Stacks of journals. 750words. My life that happens mostly in my house with my kids. I always talk to myself while I work on creative projects.

Hmm. I just felt like I should log something on here. I have completed several paintings. I made a jumpsuit for my daughter who has some sensory issues and has a hard time finding pants she can tolerate. That was fun because I used wooly nylon thread in my serger and hadn't ever done that before. I think she will actually wear it!!!! This is big, people.

I have been jonesing to sew in a bad way. I realized I haven't sewn anything substantial since my lingerie class and that was six months ago! Terrible. I seem to only be able to focus on one thing at a time and I don't know if I just like to do too many things, or if I subconsciously decide to switch gears when I get that point where I know I would get better and break through a wall if I kept going. I kind of think it's the latter. That sucks. I don't know what to do about it though. This whole time I haven't been playing violin. I was keeping up with playing about once a week, and then I got really into painting and just didn't do anything else when I had spare minutes. But I think about it ALL THE TIME. I need a new E string. I suppose that is my justification for not playing. Then I just had to sew, like right now. So I did that, and now I'm dying to find a cheap old vintage machine and learn how to fix it up.

Honestly, this feels like I'm lamenting whether to paint my fingernails, my toenails, work on my tan, or perm my hair. Stupid shit. White man problems. Really though, I wonder why I can't just stick to one thing. I want to be a pro at something before I die. I need to quit sleeping. That would really help a lot.

I scored a bunch of black knit cotton tonight! I will make awesome stuff with it. It's a lot too, so I can experiment. I need long sleeved shirts, so that will be the goal. One is normal tshirt fabric and the other is more gauzy and stretchy, but still has some body. Cool. I almost bought a vintage Singer sewing machine for $10 but it was missing the bobbin case and the foot pedal was coming apart so I passed. But I'm keeping my eye out. I also recovered the seat of a chair the other night. That was fast and fun.

Last night I woke up in the middle of the night because I had a terrible dream that my girls were torn away from me and eaten by zombies. They were screaming for me and I had to decide if I should sacrifice myself to go to them and comfort them for the last seconds of their life. It seemed like I should, because how could I go on carrying the pain of hearing them scream for me and not going? I hate zombie crap. It is not my thing at all. I think I had that dream because I couldn't sleep so I stayed up looking at stupid facebook and people went to the zombie walk. I don't know.

Mahlon has been gone on a trip for 5 days and I've been rocking this thing by myself. I just have to say. Rocking it. Missing him though.

Naia and Josie are obsessed with making videos of their littlest pet shops and creating little tiny props for them. It is pretty cool. Naia also likes making speed drawing videos of what she makes on her DS art program, which is suddenly some pretty amazing stuff!

Life is good. And strange. That is all.

In the Thick of it.

Tonight I worked on my two paintings for Mindy's class. One I was loving and one I hated. Not just dissatisfaction, but a venomous, angry hate. Both paintings are so similar, it is stupid. I realize I hate this girly, tidy, cutie pie character because she is too sweet. The point of the class is to remember our innocent childhood selves and create from that place. To paint for the joy of it and not to fret and edit everything down. I start to think maybe I can't recall that time. Maybe it was too far back. Maybe I was born with worry and mistrust. I think I hate this girl because I never was her. Wearing a frilly skirt with a ribbon sash? The bright colors. She is way too optimistic. Too good. Not rebelling against anything. I collaged in a piece that will become a big white dandy owl with purple boots. It also toned down the brightness and I have hope for it now.

Piece number two, I fell in love with. Really hard. She is a girl with a big, sad, moon face. No hair yet. Sketchy antlers. I saw her carrying a pack on a stick and quickly added it. I put a pink ball in her hand. She is the child I was. Dreaming of running away into the forest. Holding my favorite silly gift from my dad. The Pinky Ball. It was stamped on the ball in fancy script so that was what I called it. When I lost that ball in a monstrous bush of thorns, I cried and tried far too hard to retrieve it. It cost exactly eighty eight cents because it was from Boyd's 88 Cent Store. Dad bought it for me on one of our sporadic weekend visits. When I lost my Pinky ball, I knew I wouldn't be able to bounce it everyday and remember that weekend. I could get another, but I'd had that one for close to a year. We'd bonded. I loved its patina of dirt. I had grown too fond of it. It became my very heart, always in my hand or my pocket. I knew that it didn't make sense. This proof of my melancholy preciousness. It was a mirror of desperate, clinging, sadness.

Similarly, I let myself fall too in love with the deer girl. I got very precious with the lace on her dress and I know she needs hair, but I'm afraid to lose that fragile homeliness that I love about her. She might be too cute, which is what I hate about the other one! I added a house she is running from and a tree. Need more trees. Also, it is getting too bright. So yellow! I want to give her stringy hair. I like to give my characters big noses and thin stringy hair like I had. And slutty makeup and sadness. I might be slightly fucked up, but this is what I need to work out and it feels good right now. Maybe I'm not ready to make those frolicking innocent girls. These are closer than anything I've ever made before anyway.

So, I wrote this a while ago. 6 weeks or so? I never posted it because I didn't get around to adding in the photos. Now I can't find the photo of the finished deer girl with hair, so I'll have to take another. These are the little things that halt me. Little tiny peas under my mattress. They stop the flow and start the downward spiral that end in me feeling like everything is nothing. None of it is anything. What is the point? I hate you, peas. I'm chucking you out. Flipping the mattress over to get at the tiny pea though, that is quite a process. It's worth it though. I carry on.

After the Honeymoon

I've been painting. I've been actually quite good about journaling and making things. Still not where I want to be, but worlds better than before. I thought maybe I should look for another online workshop. I discovered there are a zillion of these things. Many that are similar to what I just took. I can't imagine that many people really want to learn how to paint a pretty girl. I didn't take one of those classes, but so many of them are like, "Hey you funky, arty, hippie lady, come learn how to paint and at the same time you can solve the mystery of finding your purpose and heal all your wounds and be a completely fulfilled person!" Barf!

I believe in that, I really do, but looking at it marketed directly to you as a shiny product is kind of gross. I feel cheap and dirty. Also, I discovered that many people get addicted to taking class after class. They are obviously searching for something they will not find by emulating someone else's art. But just the same, they are obviously getting something out of taking all these classes. Maybe they just feel like they are doing something by signing up. A few people admitted to sometimes not even getting around to doing the work. I feel bad blogging about other people's business like this, but it affected me. Squashed my mojo a little bit.

I don't want to drown myself in other people's style and not be able to find myself under all those layers. However, I don't want to hide from what is out there. I love being inspired by soaking up art. I like finding new techniques and tools and new ways to use them. I just don't want to rely on jumping from teacher to teacher. It's a fine line, I suppose. One needs the community for support and the amazing networking opportunities. However, it sometimes can be too much and become a thing, in and of itself, without much backbone. I'm going to spend some time just creating and challenging myself to see what I can come up with. I guess I'm surprised that my further foray into art has inadvertently made me feel like more of a consumer when my goal was to be productive. As the worn out adage says, there are two sides to every coin.

On a Roll

I have been participating in an online painting workshop called, Paint Your Story. Mindy Lacefield is our instructor. It is so much fun! In this class we are reconnecting with our 7 year old selves and loosening up our control, being free and just painting from the heart. We are also learning some fun shading techniques and using bright colors. Honestly, between this and whatever clicked for me at my second ArtFest, I am the happiest I have ever been. I feel strange saying that. I said it to a friend, out loud, the other day. It felt so bizarre to say. People can get so comfortable in the habit of complaints. It seems like such a huge statement. It's because I'm creating every single day. Almost, anyway. When I wake up in the morning, I'm excited about what lies ahead. For some reason, I'm not as worried about things working out. I have faith. Me. *I* have faith! I never have faith.

I have been re-watching Twin Peaks. It is a bit of a crazy experience. The first time I watched it I was 15. It was on broadcast television before Tivo and Netflix. My friend would tape it, and we would study the episodes at her house. It is such a nostalgic experience, but it's a nostalgic show. Everything feels like a half forgotten dream. It was taped in the 90's with a 50's feel. It's romantic and ridiculous, and I just love it. It makes me laugh and cry, and I love that I still love it. It's such a part of me. It is perfect that I'm watching it right now, while I'm reconnecting with my whole self. The self that loved this show when I was an angsty teen. I used to stay up half the night making art. I'd paint my face and take self portraits. I'd dress all crazy with one of my best friends, and we would go out and pretend we were tourists, talking in a made up language. We would steal things. Dare adults to confront us. I snuck out my window in the dark, just to feel the darkness. The hum of the street lights. We would drink in the woods. Dare our bodies to keep up with our hearts. Scratch ourselves until we bled. We may have been stupid, but we were fearless. My only fear lived inside my house and I seemed to think that anything happening outside of it was something I could deal with as long as they didn't find out. It is a theme that won't die in my life. The childhood I had compared to the childhood I am giving my kids. Trying to both shed it and appreciate it.

Naia's reading seems to have clicked a bit more. She doesn't love math, but she isn't completely flipping out when we do it. As always, she is curious and vibrant and in love with life, critically thinking about every little thing we encounter, so I am not so worried about her being on her own time table. Josie is having fun at school and is very best friends with a few kids in our neighborhood and I think summer will be full of play date swapping, impromptu sleepovers, bike riding, and all sorts of childhood perfection. Our house is shit, as usual, but it could be worse. We aren't in a 3rd world country. Our mortgage is fairly cheap. We have all the important things.

I might actually try to dig out my bravery and bust out some stuff to sell at Last Thursday. I can attach all my fabric flowers to ponytail bands, make a bunch of underwear, and if I tape up my hula hoops, I could sell them too. If I sold hula hoops with bootie shorts, Oh My Golly Gosh, that would be fun.

ArtFest Afterglow

I really need to get my ArtFest thoughts down before they all fly out of my head! It is nice being on the Facebook group because I can read everyone else's blog posts and see it through new eyes. I truly am saddened that this was the last year. However, I feel so blessed that I discovered it in time to attend the last 2! It feels like the stars aligned to get me there. It happened at a time in my life when I could afford to do it, my kids were old enough to be without me, and I was already in the frame of mind to work on myself. A friend asked me to go with her and then she changed her mind but my mind was made up! It had become my own personal spiritual retreat. I will have to find a substitute for next year. I went alone both years, and for me I think that was an important part of it. I've always been introspective and introverted but not shy. There was an abundance of beautiful souls to connect with when I wanted, but none that expected anything from me. I felt so grounded and confident in who I was. The first year I had that nagging voice in my head saying I was a phony, pretending to be a "real artist" when I was just a wannabe. This year, I was in a place of really accepting myself and being happy and grateful for where I am on my path. Returning this year helped me see how much I actually have grown.

Last year was my first time, and I had my stuff packed probably 2 weeks in advance. I was giddy and weepy and just chomping at the bit. This year, for some reason, I almost wanted to skip it. I forgot to mail in my second payment (I thought I had, but I either lost it or the check got lost in the mail.) Either way, I thought maybe it was a sign. Maybe I shouldn't spend the money. At some point I realized I was being overly hard on myself. I felt like creatively I hadn't made very much progress since the last ArtFest. I expected that I would have accomplished more. Made some huge life changes or something. There was a bit of me that thought I didn't deserve to go. I recognized that bit as being the horrible nasty beast within that needs her ass beat down now and then, so I pulled myself up by my bootstraps and committed to going. I packed all my stuff in the 2 days before I left. I even got up in the middle of the night and banged out 42 fabric flowers for trades, which I didn't do at all my first time.

I feel a wee bit bad because I passed up a few requests for a ride share. I traded the opportunity to make new friends, extra gas money and saved carbon emissions for 4 hours (each way) of peace in the car! What if the person was an energy drain? What if they hated my music? What if they had to pee every 30 minutes? So I went alone. I really relished it. I sang at the top of my lungs to all my favorite songs. I stopped at a Kwik-E-Mart in a podunk town for bad coffee and people watching. It was a good call.

Here's a little anecdote from my drive. A couple weeks before I left, my mom told me a strange thing had happened to her. She saw the end of a rainbow. Quite literally, it was 10 feet away, right next to her in a field. I chalked it up to another of my mom's woo woo, hippie, chakra, crystal, faerie things. She is very much into all things metaphysical. It's to the point that I get a little eye-rolly at stuff I would normally be fairly open to. Anyway, as I'm driving, it is sunny and raining as per usual for spring in the Pacific NW. In the field next to the highway, sure enough, there sits the end of a rainbow. Right next to me, glowing up the field like a disco. Stranger still, I could see the other end off in a field farther away. As I drove on, eventually the end of the rainbow shifted and occupied the lane next to me. I was starting to get a little shaken by this. It was just so surreal. But then, I drove straight through the rainbow!  There was so much mist in the air, and it was so sunny.  I was surrounded by all the bright glowing colors. I could hardly see the cars in front of me because everything was so illuminated. I felt like I might get sucked up into it and wind up in a strange land, like Glomer from the Punky Brewster cartoon, or Rainbow Brite. Very bizarre! I now declare, I've been kissed by a rainbow. My mother is thrilled.

So, fast forward to ArtFest. I didn't take many pictures, so I'll just blab. My room was in the same building as last year. 202, but I only had 1 roommate instead of 3. Cindy from Tuscon. She was the sweetest! Every night we would chat and when she started to yawn, I would slip out and not return until 1 or 2 a.m. I just hope I didn't wake her when I snuck back into bed. How could anyone want to sleep!? There were people to meet and projects to be done. I brought my sewing machine and worked on my lingerie class homework. I finished up the jacket I started in December. I thought I would paint, but after intense classes all day, I felt like I needed a break from those projects. I did some writing and mindless coloring. Friday night I went to the bonfire and talked to old acquaintances from last year, roasted myself a hotdog and drank a PBR, took in the bubbling excitement around me, met my soul sister who I had so much in common with and am excited to keep in touch with (and also turned out to be staying right next door to me), made some wonderful new friends, was serenaded by banjos, and stared at the surf. On the walk home, I realized I wasn't quite ready for bed, so I took a detour and went for a midnight stroll around the officer's houses. I wanted to let my mind wander and my thoughts settle into the places they needed to be. I absorbed the stars and the chill in the air. I savored the insignificant vibration of my minute body plodding against this massive earth. I pried apart the layers of shadows and light. I was floating in a bubble of safety and possibilities. Free. Being in a mountainous place butted up against the sea, surrounded by happy, grateful, inspired, creative souls is pure magic. I met so many absolutely lovely people. The energy was positive and powerful. These feelings, more than the techniques I learned, are the things that really stick with me.

Jesse working on the demo.

Onto the classes! I took Jesse Reno's 2 day painting workshop, "Freedom to Create." It was one of the classes that scared me the most. I took it to shake myself up. I haven't painted on a regular basis since my oil painting classes in college. I loved them, but I sure don't consider myself a painter. I knew there would be "real" painters in there. But from what I knew of Jesse Reno's style, he would take us outside our comfort zone and make us really face ourselves and Hell Yes, I wanted in on that!

Sewing is my main passion, but it can get really damn crafty and kitschy, as well as stuffy and perfectionistic in that realm. I don't hold much love for that craft-kit/perfectly-mitered-corner feeling, and I have been wanting to open up and pull more artistry and fearlessness into my work, so I felt it would be meaningful. It resonated for me in many ways. One of the paintings I worked on started to click and I had that out of body, in the zone, amazing feeling where it's just coming through me. I live for that. But then, I came to a wall and had to decide where to go from there and how to wade out of the muck, and that was amazing too! He gave me some good feedback that felt very validating and gave me some helpful suggestions. I don't know if I've ever met anyone who says "dude" so much.  It's cool though. He is adorable and giggles randomly! He reminded me so much of Naia, my 9 year old daughter. I think they would get along famously. I say that as a compliment to them both. Amazing raw spirits.

Jesse's finished piece.

Two of my pieces. Step one: creating a layered ground by painting with your hands.

My paintings at the end of day 2. Left is nowhere near finished. Right is almost there.  

On the last day I took "Wild Things" with Clarissa Callesen. We made frankensteinish creatures out of porcelain doll parts, found objects, and stuffed animals. I was so looking forward to this class. It was fun and playful and light. I'm comfortable sewing and doing 3 dimensional work, (and we got to use torches!) It was a nice change from the inner turmoil and challenge of the previous two days. Torching pretty doll faces and scorching teddy bear fur is addictively fun! I love the little beastie I made. My grandma called her a changeling. She's right. The poor dear was left out in the snowy woods and needed a metamorphosis so she could drag herself out. I think she's still a little too cutesy.

Clarissa's amazing face painting skills, up close and personal. Too bad I forgot how to focus.

On Sunday morning, before I hopped onto the highway for home, I went down to the beach and happened to discover the old Kinzie armory. It was deliciously hollow and creepy. Nobody else was there, the surf was booming loudly just over the bluff, and I had to tear myself away from all the textures, colors, and gorgeous weirdness. Anywhere graffiti had been was painted in over in these random blotches of color. The huge, looming, starkness of it, and it's purpose... All the sharp corners, and the lack of anything to soften it other than moss, rust, and slime mold really sucked me in. I didn't want to leave but, a tiny logical voice was nagging that it's maybe not the best place for a gal to be all alone. Here are some photos I snapped. 

The puddle! No, I did not go in there.

Mold? Fungus? Perfect place for a fashion shoot.

 

Driving home. Sun, snow, and mist.

My favorite keepsake. The ArtFest manicure. I resolve to work to maintain it.

Catch Up

Dearest Blog,

Please accept my apologies.  I forget about you.  I only use you when I need you.  I feel no loyalty.  This is a one way relationship.  You'd totally break it off if you could and go hook up with some hipster sewing mommy blogger who keeps her weekly blog dates and appreciates you for taking it all and never asking for anything in return.   You are like my high school journal.  I only come to you when I'm sad.  I'll try to be more giving in the future.  I will do what I can to try to stop double spacing between sentences, but that's a hard, hard habit to break.  I hope you sang that last line to yourself. 

Just to make myself feel good, I will now list some accomplishments that I mentioned starting earlier.  I finished the vest, but it needs some tweaking which requires ripping out hand stitching, trimming seam allowances and possibly fiddling with the darts.  But I have worn it twice.  It just isn't perfect enough.  I finished the stripey skirt and the hideous muppet coat.  I even have pictures of Rose wearing it at Burning Man, which is honestly, pretty amazeballz.  I may never get there, but my work has been liberally covered with playa dust and fire singed.  Also lost and returned and wept over.  Ahhhhh.  I hemmed Jen's bridesmaid dress.  Not very satisfying other than the fact that I think the finished product looked pretty darn professional, I was glad to save my lovely friend some dough, and she repaid the favor by taking my children to the park so I could sleep off my hideous flu.  So good!  Silver lining #2 in that situation was that I actually accepted help.  It is so hard for me to say, "Oh yeah sure, come save my ass.  I feel like I was hit by a truck."  Usually I hear, "Oh no, I'm fine" coming outta my mouth before I even know what happened. 

Now I'm working on a jacket for myself.  I think it's going to be pretty cool.  Still need to make a top to go with the skirt.  I mended a bra strap yesterday. 

I've made some decent strides on the violin.  My old practice videos are painful to watch.  More painful than the current ones, which are still painful.  Better though.  I think I need to cut back to every two weeks.  It has been working out that way anyhow for whatever reason.  Illness, teacher playing with the opera, whatever.  It is nice that it's flexible.  Every two weeks gives me enough time to take a couple sewing days a week and not feel guilty.  Not guilty, per se, but like I need more practice time.  Although it also gives me that much more time to practice something wrong and then it's permanently ingrained into my muscle memory.  I haven't had the heart to tell Luke though.  Every time I think I'm going to tell him, he puts lots of thought and effort into something or tries to teach me how to breakdance, or gives me one of his long drawn out monologues about the history of music theory and what it all means mathematically and I just can't do it.  We've talked about how I wish this was part of something more meaningful though and how it feels kind of silly and frivolous.  If I was playing with other people, in a band or an orchestra, I think it would be more satisfying and I would learn more.  He thinks I should pursue that, but I just don't have time in my life.  And I'm a full grown adult beginner.  Nobody knows what to do with that. 

Lately I've been playing the violin parts in recorded songs so I can play along with music instead of just playing alone with nothing to go off of.  Sometimes when I play a solo violin piece, I don't like the song very much, so I memorize the notes and start playing it faster just to get through it.  I'm missing the musicality of it.  I am fully aware that I'm doing that.  It's just hard not to.  And there is so much nuance to master.  The bow can do so much, and I don't have that down yet.  I do love working on it though.  Sometimes it feels extremely selfish though, and I don't even have time to practice with a band or an orchestra, so I'm a little bit afraid to get better.  I feel like I'll get better and then get bitter.  My fear of success, it is such a beast.

I have a full page-long list of creative projects that I've started or want to start.  It is really bad.  I am committing to finishing what I start, and realizing I need to get more organized.  I'm never going to be the kind of person that does one thing at a time, but I have to make some of my big ideas actually materialize.  Adult ADD or just scatterbrained, disorganized, creative weirdo?  Who knows.  I'm off to organize my page of projects into categories and then prioritize them.