{a little weekend adventure & miss scarlet's school of patternless sewing}

Hello, darlings!

I know I’ve been away for a bit, but I’m back! Last week, I had a horrible flare-up of my fibromyalgia, to the point I could barely get out of bed! I spent the time watching my favorite TV shows on DVD (Chuck &, you guessed it, Fringe!) and reading in bed, which was pretty nice! It’d been a long time since I allowed myself to just be…and the relaxation therapy worked, because I felt better a few days later. And then this week, I was down with a stomach bug for 2 days! Phew!

Sundays are my favorite days of the week, because I spend the time in my favorite coffee shop with my dear friend Judi. She clips coupons and I play in my journal or write stories, and we always end up wandering around the East Valley on our “grand adventures” that usually begin with me going, “Let’s go to Mesa,” and then we just see what we find!

One Sunday, we found an amazing vintage thrift shop that is just perfect! They’re still working on it, but the place is magical! (It’s called The Good Store Thrift, if you’re in the area, right on Main Street) I just adored the shop, and kept talking about my paintings…and something tells me I should bring in some photos, just in case. Who knows what could happen!

I love being impulsive and unpredictable on my Sundays. An idea will come to me and I’ll just go for it – and that’s what happened last Sunday. A bit of back-story: I live very close to a magnificent used/new bookshop called Changing Hands. After being in my apartment for days with my flare-up, I decided to head over there and wander around; they have amazing books and also a great gift area – it’s the kind of shop where you can find Kelly Rae Roberts, Donna Downey, and Papaya! gifts, as well as all sorts of fun things that come with an indie bookshop.

When I walked in, there was a fun, crafty display for Kathy Cano-Murillo’s book signing the next day. What fantastic news! I’d always meant to grab her first book, but the desire got lost somewhere, so I decided I’d go the next day to her signing and grab a book. How fun, right?

So, last Sunday, I told my friend we’d be stopping by there for the signing.

Let me say this: Kathy is adorable. Adorable! She’s so animated and full of life and just sparkles. I first met her last summer at CHA where she was running a make-and-take with her wonderful craft line – and I learned the merits and joy of glitter! She just has this energy about her that made me have to grab her new book, Miss Scarlet’s School of Patternless Sewing.

I finished reading it last night.

Oh my goodness, darlings, you need to read this novel!

First off, the women are smart – Miss Scarlet has two science degrees. Mary Theresa works in computer programming. I mean, when do we get to, as women, read novels with smart girls in them? Just because we love to craft does not mean we don’t have minds that can grasp complex ideas – have you ever tried to engineer a journal or skirt from scratch? I’d like to see some of those nay-sayers do that!

Second, there’s a whole lot of heart. I wish these women really existed so I could run to Glendale and sew with them. The characters are fleshed-out, brilliant, funny, and true. I love the positive attitudes and the organic progressions of all of them as the story goes on – there’s nothing forced, and the blossoming of each woman is magical!

The story is one that we, as artists and crafters, know so well: Miss Scarlet loves to sew – feels it in her blood – and decides to go for it. She creates items for an Etsy shop while working two jobs in fashion to pay the bills. She loves her family but feels they don’t support her dreams. She’ll do anything to get to that next step, to “make it.” But the moral of the story is this: don’t forget who you are in the process.

Which is a very important idea to remember. Miss Scarlet has ups and downs throughout the novel that I can defiantly relate to. My own parents were exactly thrilled when I left my “normal” job to pursue art full-time, and I’ll occasionally get The Talk from them about sustainability and stability. But when you feel something in your soul, you have to go for it, and I’ve learned that it all comes from a place of love.

And here’s the kicker, the ultimate sign of a good book: the end made me cry. Not sad tears, but OMG this book was wonderful and I actually feel real character resolution. Which is why I felt compelled to get up and write this blog post – because I think everyone who does an art or craft or anything because it makes their soul sing, should read this book! You’ll be inspired to not only go for it, but do it in style!

{setting sail on my little boat}

On Tuesday, Tina and I headed to the other side of Phoenix for a mixed-media get together started by the amazing Dina. Despite getting a bit turned around on our way there, Tina and I made it to the little scrapbooking/mixed-media supply shop hosting the group.

And what fun was to be had!

 

Photo by Tina. Aren't you glad you're not the only one that takes over the table when working in your journal?

Three tables, women with paint, brownies on the counter, laughter in the air. We all pulled out our journals -- a myriad of kinds, some made the weekend before in Kelly Kilmer’s classes, others started during a class of Dina’s, full of paint or paper or tape -- introduced ourselves, and got to play.

We shared supplies, showed others new things they could try, got ink all over our hands. I finally found a place that could refill my Copic markers. There were baskets of colored waxed linen thread, paints and papers and inks and stamps. Racks of beautiful large sheets of paper along a wall.

 

Pic by Tina. I'm in purple. I really want one of those little lab-coat thingies...it would have saved mine and Tina's shirts...

But the fun was to be had simply laughing, creating, and chatting with other women who have the same loves. Who read the same magazines and blogs, who want to expand their artistic abilities through experimentation and community. We all had different styles and experience levels, and yet in that room, we were all the same. Just women having fun creating art.

my page from that night. i went a little overboard with the glimmer.

I took the time to chat about my most recent issues and what I should do. I think most of the video workshop I’ve written came from conversations a few months ago, and I went forward off my own passion -- something I don’t regret. But as I sat through the first week of it being announced, I found a black cloud gathering above my head. I wasn’t having fun. After the stress of the website and blog (and the time loss from a massive migraine), I needed a release, and wasn’t finding it.

It took a lot of advice, letters from friends and strangers, and some soul searching to really figure out where I am and where I want to be. I’ve had the amazing luck of now working with some women to design banners and blogs for them (and I have never felt so valued and capable before!), but have missed the play. I think the other night reminded me of that.

So I’m putting the video workshop on the back burner. It’ll be self-paced and available later this spring, but for now, I’m following my joy and developing and writing the art journaling workshop I’ve had in mind since October. I’m even pitching it to be taught here in town. I’m painting weekly and making journals just for fun (and throwing them on Etsy as they roll out of the Closet Studio). There are tons of projects and opportunities going on here behind the scenes.

In planning on offering my little class from the first round of 21 Secrets (for $10!), I discovered a way to create a social network like a Ning site here on my own server, and have bold ideas on where such a place could go. Clubs and classes and secret things! I need to get back to my roots, to who I am and the art I love to create.

And I feel less fear twisting my stomach in writing this than the month I spent working on the video workshop.

So bear with me as things continue to morph and grow and expand and take shape. I’ve set sail on my little boat, but this time, I’ve got a sat-phone and some amazing friends on speed dial.

{a brave, foolish, amazing thing & a giveaway!}

As soon as Monday rolled around, and my self-declared vacation was over, I launched right into 2011 like a rocket heading for the stars. Just after Christmas, I was wandering Target and found a cute planner designed by Egg Press for Blue Sky, and just knew I had to have it. I’ve always loved the layout of Blue Sky planners (monthly tabs with the weeks right after each month!) and the colors used for the planner, as well as the paintbrush-drawn look of the cover and interior accents, just called to me.

There is also a healthy amount of teal, which is my favorite color!

When I sat down at my desk on Monday morning, I went through all the projects I have on my plate and pared everything down to urgency. What needs to be done now, and what can wait until next week? Which items are time-sensitive? Or which will help preserve my sanity by getting me off the computer?

I then broke the major projects down into smaller, bite-sized pieces and jumbled them up. For example, this was my Monday:

• Type up and send out article outline to CPS (yes! I did this! And I’m staying positive about what this even though I have a healthy dose of fear!)
• Work on printer issue
• Set eyelets in binder journal pages
• Free bookboard (it’s all recycled - I freed it from countless salvaged 3-ring binder covers)
• Write video workshop chapter 3

I like to vary what I’ll be doing in a day in order to keep my attention bouncing around - and thus, my mind making connections through unconnected work - and keeps things manageable. While I have, in the past, binged on finishing one project in one day, I find this varied approach not only keeps me up and moving around, but allows for a larger degree of flexibility. Last night, after working for about four hours, I found myself really, really tired, so I laid down for a nap. I call these my Spoonie Breaks, and can definitely tell when I skip one because all my aches get worse! But when I woke up, I didn’t feel any better - in fact, my stomach was upset! So I decided to relax and take it easy. Of course, this meant I missed out on much of yesterday’s to-do list, but knew it would be okay since I could simply move things around and throw a few on Friday.

I purposely leave Fridays open, not because I’m taking the day off, but because, even if I’m trying my best and am feeling good, I often take off for a movie or walk or bike ride to clear my head, and that means little bits get dropped. So Fridays are my pick-up days, when I grab all those loose ends and tie them together.

Anyway, I slept in. Like, really slept in. Which moves everything around on me and has me scrambling to get things done today so tomorrow isn’t so jam packed with things to do!

The nice thing is, every night, when I go to sleep, I do so with a smile on my face. I’ve accomplished something that day, gotten a bit done. There’s nothing more satisfying than crossing off everything on your to-do list - that simple motion, the line through letters, it can be such a high! I fade off to dream land exhausted but happy, knowing I’ve made a few more baby steps towards my dreams and goals for this year.

I’m working behind the scenes to put up some items I’ve wanted to make and share for a long time. And while I’m scared things won’t sell or that I’m not good enough an artist to sell prints of my work, I’m going to do it anyway because I’m finding the things that seem to flow, that put themselves together with little effort, are the things I am supposed to be doing.

I wrote all that above earlier today, before I got started printing samples and taking photos. While I was standing over my art table cutting prints down, I began to shake. That voice in my head began to speak:

"Think of all the ink you're using! It's expensive! Is it worth it?" 

Yes. I said back. I think it is. 

"You should just stop. Who are you to sell prints of your artwork?" 

But I knew this fear, this shaking, meant I was on the edge of something wonderful. So I worked through it. Kept staging photographs and fixing things up and listing items. Even after my back started aching and I'd been at it for hours, I pressed on through the fear. 

All the artwork I've put up in my Etsy shop is special to me. They are pieces that showcase my metamorphosis, my rebirth in the desert and the refilling of my soul. I am a different woman today than I was before, earlier this year, and I know I'm only beginning to scratch the surface of what I'm capable of. 

To celebrate this newness, this braveness I feel, I am hosting a give-away. What do you win? Three prints of your choosing from yours truly, to help share the journey. 

To enter, simply comment here and answer the following:

What brave, foolish, amazing thing did you do today?

It can be small. Huge. A baby step or a sentence scrawled in your journal. Whatever you feel was the most difficult, liberating thing you've done. 

This is open until Saturday at 12pm MST. Good luck!

(And don't forget to check out the details over at Etsy!)

{yet high in the clouds (#reverb10 - 4)}

December 4 – Wonder. How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year? 

When I lost my job, I threw myself into my art. While I’d come to art in an enchanted kind of way, learning from memories of my mother and I painting on the kitchen table when I was seven or eight, I approached it in mostly the same manner I do anything - a perfectionist’s eye. This isn’t a reiteration of day two’s theme, that I get in my own way, but rather a statement of fact. Art came to me when I was still in college, stayed with me along the string of jobs I took after graduation, held my hand as I decided to leave corporate life for various part time jobs centered around things I loved - creativity, books, conversation.

Being self-taught meant I followed along the edge of the rules, learning most of them from others. I copied what I loved, I read books, watched videos, kept a narrow view of what could be done based on what had already been attempted by others more learned or experienced than me.

I had begun to open up to the wonder and splendor of the world during college, when, walking down the wide sidewalks of downtown Chicago to classes, I had to slow down. There was no choice - my bursitis had gotten worse, sending tendrils of pain through the joint and down my leg, sometimes so bad, I’d walk with a limp. My knees ached. While others my age could walk fast and run bits and had boundless energy, I took naps during the day, moved slower, left classes early because I couldn’t stand to sit at a desk for longer than an hour.

Sure, I was playful and fun and laughed, but there was always this undertow of despair and sadness lurking under the surface. I struggled - hell, I still struggle! But I had yet to really go into myself and figure things out.

And then, I was drifting. Aimless. So I created and read and relaxed. Allowed, even praised the slower pace in my life. I no longer had days spent in bed, crying because I couldn’t move. I no longer felt my life consisted of work and rest as it often had before. And while things were hard and prescriptions expensive, I let myself grow some roots and be.

I began meditating again. Reconnecting with the Divine. Admitting I’m not in the driver’s seat on this crazy ride. I was loose yet connected. Grounded yet high in the clouds.

And I stopped reading those tutorial books and looking at the art of others and everything else I’d been using as a guide for my creativity. I started to experiment. To keep a log-book of what I discovered. I learned that there is no end to the imagination. Or the heart.

I reconnected with friends. Laughed and shared meals and amazed myself with the things I thought up. No longer limited by what had come before, I spread my wings and tried new things. Not just artistically, but socially. And with foods! And experiences!

I kept my chin up and noticed the clouds in the sky. The shadows buildings cast. I’m reminded on something I read about how the autistic mind works - non-autistics see what they’re used to, what has a mold in their head. Autistics see what is. They see those ships on the horizon because they don’t have filters like others do. And this year, I decided I wanted to see those ships. I wanted to see something and wonder how it could be different. How it could exist. Where else it could go. What else it could do.

And as I drove across the world, through thick forests beginning to shift and change, across great plains with windmills in the distances, to a land vastly different than I was used to, I was overcome with the wonder of the world I live in.

Call me silly, but I don’t want to change a thing.

{the friendship bracelet}

 

I was out walking the dogs when I heard voices coming from my neighbor’s porch. It’s nestled under the stairs and front porch of the apartment above, lined with cacti and plants. I found her sitting out there with the three girls from upstairs and her granddaughter, a bright 10-year-old wild with energy and climbing all over the porch walls. 

Spread out on the table were pieces of gessoed canvas, watercolor crayons, ribbons and threads and markers and cards.

How could I happen upon such a magical, artistic glen right next to my new home?

And so I grabbed my paints and stencils and journal and joined them. We shared dinner and drank margaritas (well, the adults did!) and talked about life and creativity. One of the girls is a reflection of me at her age, back when I was in high school and covered in beads, speaking Japanese, and wishing I could visit Japan.

Near the end of the night, when the girls had left, the little one asked me to braid her a bracelet with embroidery floss. My grandmother used to buy me floss and I’d sit in the summer with threads safety-pinned to my jeans, twisting and tying the threads.

And there and then, I decided I wanted one to wear myself.

The next morning, after running some errands, I ran into her again.

“I want to finish my bracelet,” I said to her, walking towards the patio.

“Who is it for?”

“Myself!”

She stopped and looked at me. “You can’t make one for yourself! It’s a friendship bracelet.”

I decided, as I finished it, that I was going to give it to myself as a friend. I am so loving and understanding of my friends (I strive to be, but I can’t say for certain since I’m only on my side of my friendships!).

So I am now treating myself as my own best friend.

I have a fantastic, wonderful best friend back in Illinois name Jun. She’s the sister I wish I had, a woman I adore and love and wish were here with me. We have a lot in common but enough different so that we’re always discovering new parts of ourselves through each other. We’re accepting of each other’s flaws and imperfections, and are comfortable in silence.

With her so far away, I am going to be my own best friend. When I have a negative thought, I’m going to pull from that amazing friendship I have with Jun to be gentle with myself, comforting, accepting. But also encouraging and real.

And every time I look at this bracelet, I will remember all this. All I’ve experienced, and all the friends out here I’m beginning to bring into my life.

{a letter to whispering trees}

A few days ago on Twitter, Kerri and I were chatting about talking trees. How they sway in the wind, fluttering leaves rustling together to create nature's wind chime. My mother, in fact, used to set me under trees as a baby, the leaves a perfect mobile. Our conversation got me thinking about how, in a few weeks, I'll be leaving Chicago to move across the country to Phoenix, and how the trees I love so dearly will be left behind. Kerri's suggestion was to take pictures of my favorite trees to take with on the move.

I thought about that, about all the things I'm leaving behind, not only physically, but mentally and spiritually as well right now in my life. My art is going through a change, a passage that seems so important yet scary at the same time, I often don't know what to do but keep moving forward. When reading last night, this passage from one of my favorite books, 'Dance of the Dissident Daughter' really resonated with me. Sue Monk Kidd writes:

The only way I have ever understood, broken free, emerged, healed, forgiven, flourished, and grown powerful is by asking the hardest questions and then living the answers through opening up to my own terror and transmuting it into creativity. I have gotten nowhere by retreating into hand-me-down sureties or resisting the tensions that truth ignited.

I thought, Isn't this what I'm going through? Passing through my own truths -- about life, family, art, love, attachment -- and coming out the other side with more heartfelt, expressive art? The pieces I've been doing lately, on loose pieces of canvas, have become some of the most earnest pieces I've ever done; in fact, the one I constructed last night brought tears to my eyes as I finished stitching on it.

Wanting to be near the trees and grass and earth beneath my feet, I grabbed my journal, camera, and book and ventured outside. I wrote those passages that really mean something to me in my journal, bringing in this bit of twig -- it was there, right where I decided to sit, as though it was always supposed to be with me.

But after taking photos for awhile, I realized no picture could do these trees true justice. So I switched settings over and began to film, the lyrics, "Don't let this fading summer pass you by," hitting me so hard as I wrote my little letter, I cry every time I watch this. This is art-as-film, not a tutorial or vlog, but me expressing myself as best I possibly can as the sun sets behind me and another day begins to end.

{a chicago & artist love letter}

taken on State St. in downtown Chicago

When Dawn got in my car on Thursday, us meeting in person for the first time, it felt...right. I expected some kind of, not discomfort, but an acknowledgement that, while I’d spoken to this person on the phone, Skype, and via email for years, I’d never physically shared the same space with her.

But when I drove up and she jumped in, it felt like we’d been getting together for years. There was no awkwardness, no adjustment phase, just two girls going out to have some fun!

There are just some people you click with, that get you and you get them. What’s lovely about Dawn and mine’s friendship (and this is only one example out of many!) is that we both bring different things to the table artistically. Sure, we overlap in areas, but I still have so much I can learn from her and her from me (hopefully!). Our styles aren’t really the same, the supplies we love are different, but our approach to art and journaling aligns perfectly.

Thursday was spent in downtown Chicago, at a huge 2-story Blick, then over to the first Paper Source. We caught a yummy lunch in-between and I introduced her to Frango mints (the best chocolate mints, still made by Macy’s, but a Marshall Fields original). We drank Starbucks together and chatted about life and art and family while trying to get through rush-hour traffic.

But on Friday, during the Artist’s Vendor’s Fair, she truly shined. It was in the way she smiled at a little girl looking at the Doodle Diaries. How she was patient when students came up to ask what they could look forward to the next morning, at her first class — the first she was to teach in-person.

I loved being able to show her around, to help, to be there for her, especially since I’ll be leaving Chicago, the city I was born in, went to college in, have walked through. Being able to share it just before I left really cemented how much I’ll miss this place despite hating the snow and weather. There’s a lot of history here — both sides of my family are from here, have deep ties to the city we call home — and while most is good, there’s just enough negativity to drive us across the country.

Maybe I’ve romanticized this place. Perhaps it is nothing more than metal and glass climbing towards the sky, highways and tollways twisting across the landscape like slithering grey snakes. I love how the sky can be a perfect blue with white clouds. The forests kept in their fenced preserves. The old buildings and streets I can rattle off in order. The giant library I lived next to, gargoyles protecting knowledge from the roof.

And I was able to share a slice of that with a friend I feel I’ve known my entire life. My last gifting of the city I know and love before I put it behind me and head towards the sun — and, ironically, the same city Dawn lives in.

For now, I’m happy and hopeful and grateful for the two days I spent in the company of an artist friend. 

{traveling through farmland}

Between here and there, the land is flat.

The stretch dotted by broken fences and falling barns, wood naked from years unkempt in the rain bowing under the weight of roofs missing shingles. They fall, heavy animals no longer able to go on, their desolation somehow graceful.

And hope comes down the slope of a slight hill, a silo reaching for the cloudless sky. There are still small farms here, children playing out in the front yard when school's out of session.

But these sights can't keep my attention for long. I spill open my bag.

The road is surprisingly smooth for being a narrow two-lane snake of state highway, but I'd left my scissors at home, afraid they'd be taken away if my bag was searched. It remained in the car, intention taken by reality. The scraps are in there somewhere, too complicated for the mindless entertainment I require.

I feel like a reporter, chronicling every move. The visit. The ride. A stop at Sonic (my first; defiantly journal-worthy). What I see out the window, flying by as I head for home.

There is magic out here. A peace and simplicity my heart enjoys, but would soon bore of. I am a city mouse, needing dirty sidewalks, hole-in-the-wall coffee shops, three-story used bookstores with aisles so narrow, my shoulders brush spines on each side. I travel alone but am never lonely; conversation with strangers has always been easy for me, and I collect the stories like they're precious stones.

Out here, there are only phone lines dipping between poles, wide, waking fields, silos and chipped equipment. Beauty and amazement stretching far and wide, missed only as my attention returns to the journal, to the doodles and words and colors I apply.

The car drives closer to home.