{what I've learned about journaling with a friend}

It's taken me a week to post these photos, but better late than never! 

There's something magical about journaling with someone else. There are a few things you need to be comfortable with if you're itching to do this. Here's my little list:

1. Be comfortable with creative silence. (What happens when we get into the flow? We don't talk, we focus. You may spend hours sitting at the same person and speak three words. You need to be comfortable with this, with being social without speaking. I love that I can be around my art friends and get into what I'm working on without worrying about making them uncomfortable, and vise versa.)

2. Be excited about trying new things. (Becca pulled out a baggie of feathers, and I now have a pink one taped in my journal. I love seeing what she's up to, and we share supplies, paint, papers, bits we've made, etc. In fact, we usually are excited about something and bring enough to share with each other!)

3. Be comfortable with your own work. (I never feel pressured to make something awesome. I just have fun, and bounce around. Sometimes, I'm painting the entire time, sometimes I'm simply sketching.)

4. Know what you love. (It's easier to go journaling with someone when you know what you love and can condense it into a container easy to carry around. You really learn what you "need" in order to journal and what you can use when you're at home.)

Becca and I journal in public every week, in a popular cafe. We've had people stop and chat with us, ask us about our art, page through our journals. The employees know us because we're the ones that spread out and clutter the table with paint and markers and bits and papers. We're always respectful of the space we're in, and endeavor to leave it as we found it. There's something about being out in public, in watching people come and go, in mugs of tea and the best damn pastries I've ever found. I wouldn't trade it for the world. 

(I am so in love with Thickers, particularly painting them a color to match the page I'm working on. Thankfully, the font I like, in white, is only $2 at Big Lots. I really should grab myself a new package before tomorrow morning's journal time...)

{art journal + inspiration book = ?}

Not that I’m happy about a certain bookstore chain biting the dust (in fact, I had a few months left of my Plus membership), but it did help to spur on this new wave of journaling juju I’m working through.

You see, Becca and I visited the nearest Borders still open, which was near her place, but 40 minutes from mine (I’ve become a huge fan of used bookstores in this Borders-less era, which works since I live across the street from one of the best-known used/new indie bookshops in the state) and wandered the very crowded store for whatever we could find. Being as I work for myself (scraping by as I continue to morph and change and figure out my place in this digital artistic landscape) and Becca is underemployed in child-care, there wasn’t much we could afford — Amazon has lower prices, anyway — but we could afford the magazines.

I haven’t really been into womens’ magazines past Bust and Bitch — two amazing publications, the later of which is a non-profit media machine funded by women all over the country — only buying, and this is fun, Japanese fashion magazines for years as I love Harajuku fashion, as it is. But my darling Florence Welch of Florence + the Machine was on the cover of Nylon, and at 40% off, I simply had to have it.

Let’s backtrack a bit. This isn’t a story that can be told linearly, rather, my mind doesn’t think in a straight line — what is that quote? Time exists so things don’t happen all at once?

"The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once." - Albert Einstein

There we go.

A month ago, I went to Art Unraveled to meet up with Dina and finally get to meet Traci in-person, and got the chance to page through the Journal Fodder Junkies journals while the other artists were speaking.

(Rice asked questions of the artists gathered, about inspiration, which you can see here. Extra credit if you can spot me for a few seconds!)

I think I’d already been thinking about how my journals had gradually moved away from where I started; a few years ago, I decided to stop using magazine images in my journals, and even did a radical experiment of creating an entire journal without any outside imagery. It wasn’t that I don’t like journals with magazine bits in them, just that I was in a different place — I, personally, didn’t like the aesthetic in my own work.

From an entry back in 2009:

So, today, I sat in the studio, turned up my iPod, and started painting. It looked great. And then, I kept going, and going, and BAM -- I could feel the teenager inside me screaming and crying, telling me to destroy it. "No, I can't do that," Older Me told her, "It is valuable in it's imperfections. It shows us what we don't like." "But we know what we DO like," she shouted back. "Why can't we just go back to that? To the way it was?" "Because how will we grow?" I said. "I was getting bored with acrylics and paintbrushes and drawings." "Then pull out the magazines," Teenage Kira advised. "You thought you were being all smart, deciding to not use them, but you really do like them sometimes." So I did. And made some awesome pages.

Oh, how clever I thought I’d been. But, in looking through those journals, with all those scraps of paper from the places they’d been, found walking around the block (Dave had a quote about this, about walking around your block and picking up the bits you find before getting started in the studio), I recognized a yearning that beforehand didn’t have a name, that I was missing that bit of journaling that more resembled a book of inspiration than a painting on each page. I knew, then, that I’d be taking a new turn by going back in the past — think of it this way; I was using something I learned in school I never thought I’d ever use. We’ve all had moments like this, that surprise at using knowledge we thought useless, that we’d never visit again.

Except now I’m a new me, which means it isn’t the same person looking at the prospect of using magazine images in her journal, so it’s turned into something new. Instead of being a journal full of only paint and artist’s pages, it is now a place where anything I find inspiring is taped or glued down right beside experiments with stencils or even the stencils themselves!

And I like this hybrid return to my roots. It coincides with some soul work I’m doing with the blog, and my identity on the internet as part of Gwen Bell’s Align Your Website. I told you last week that I’d be making changes in real-time, and you’ll soon be seeing the bare-bones as I work to figure out the content and framework for a new digital sanctuary.

As part of this, I’ll be stepping back from social media (such as Twitter & Facebook), so if you’d like to visit or keep in contact, check in here or the weekly newsletter. I’ll be posting daily, either long or short bits, and sending out the newsletter. And as True to You 2’s last lesson will be posted on Monday, I’ll be back to offering videos. I don’t know how long I’ll be taking a break from social media, but figure I’ll know the end when it happens.

{shifts and changes and new ideas...just what a journal is for!}

lost stars; 10"x8" mixed-media on gesso board

I've been trying new techniques, playing with new and loved materials, and grabbing new tools. It's fun -- some are things I've used before and purged from my collection when I moved on to newer, shiny-er things. Others are brand new, interesting, lab experiments in a studio done in vivid Technicolor. I used my first Shiva Oil Paintstick on the painting above, creating a creamy layer above some paint. And while having to wait 24 hours for it to dry (though I'm thinking I may start leaving things outside to dry in this 105F heat) kinda cramped my usual style, I loved going back over it with more paint, more materials, blending and discovering and smiling through the whole thing. 

I like trying new things. But this new shift feels like another step in the road created by my move, when my style shifted and flipped and took me along on the ride. 

You may recognize this as the self-portrait I used in my last video. I decided to keep going, working over it and then re-drawing it with a Stablo pencil (which has become a favorite, as it will write and draw over ANYTHING). This page was done entirely with a palette knife. 

I've also started playing with soft pastels again, and have found that there is a difference between the cheaper ones and more expensive ones. I started with an inexpensive set and found, as you can see above with the magenta, that they spread a lot. Which some people like. But I was looking for something a bit between that and how Caran d'Arch crayons spread when you use your finger on them. I've discovered Prismicolor NuPastels, and love them. I'll post pics tomorrow of a page with those. 

I love love trim that is more crocheted or lacey than any other. And why not paint over it? Create something entirely new? I just love how I kept going -- I didn't say, "There is trim here. No paint, please!" I simply treated it as another collaged element of the page. 

More paint. The hearts are the discards from punching shapes with my Cuddlebug for tags. Why not keep them? I'm finding I'm drawn more and more to discards, small bits, and odd, ripped shapes. For awhile, I was into using scrapbooking or patterned papers in my journal, and then painting over them. Now, I want what's left over when I've finished something else. 

And while the drawing may be in a style totally different (it was a blind contour from a photo), I love it. I love not only the idea that it is me, as I am, not how I would like to be, but that all the materials and ideas and application and colors are just as much a part of the portrait as the actual drawing. At first, I was unsure. Scared. Is this art? Is this good? We can often ask ourselves such things when something so drastically new comes from us, but as I learned today, you never lose what you've done before, not completely. It simply shifts and grows and takes you for a ride. 

You simply need to be willing to get on. 

{shots around the studio}

{two finished journal orders waiting to be packed & shipped}

{a journal page; the fabric is a shape cut from some Amy Butler fabric I got on clearance}

{journal page worked on with one of Krista's awesome foam Prima stamps}

{the other side of the spread with collaged bits}

{piece of dyed muslin I stamped and stitched to a journal page with pearl cotton}

What is on your table today?

{contemplate, plan, doodle, and dream}

So, uh, hi everyone! I'm still alive. I think this may be one of the longest times I've gone without blogging. It wasn't really for any other reason than feeling I had nothing in my life worth blogging. But as I look back on my week now, I realized two things: 

1. I totally had stuff to blog about.

2. I need to take more pictures, because wordy posts can make your brain hurt. 

Not that I don't love writing. I can write for hours without a break, just letting the words flow. In fact, this morning, my mother was telling me about a book she downloaded to her Kindle. 

"There were all these errors," she said, then explained them. "Kira, you're such a gifted writer. You should be submitting your stories to the Kindle store." 

"Naw," I blushed. (I am one of those people who can't take a compliment; I get really uncomfortable and shy!)

"You could just change the names and publish them!" she smiled. 

And I love that my mother knows the stories I spend my nights writing aren't original pieces of fiction (sidenote: I've been working on the same fan story for about two months, now, and it's at 35,000 words. I'm a wordy girl!). But her comment got me to thinking: Why not try to write something original and submit it? There's something that tells me I'm GOOD at this -- that I can put together words in an eye-pleasing way. That I can pull you into a story. So why haven't I done this, yet? Why haven't I gone ahead and tried? 

Anyway, there's one thought rattling around in my head! 

--

I also headed over to Glendale with Tina for the area's mixed-media meetup group thingy (collective, right?). We always get there early because it's either get there an hour early and wander around the shop, or get there late because of rush-hour. I'm pretty sure everyone else in the group is from the west valley, but I've never been one to shy away from something fun just because of a little drive. 

As always, it was fun to hang out with all the gals. Tina has some photos on her blog, as do Dina and Julie (who was our special guest!). And remember that starburst stencil I used? I know someone asked me where I got it/who made it. Turns out it is by Crafter's Workshop, who's owner, Jamie, came to our little shindig as well and gave us stencils. YAY! How can you turn down free stencils? She's such a sweetie and her company makes the best stencils ever, so head over there and check them out! 

--

I've had a few deadlines this week, and a few more things moved around, so I never know if I'm coming or going! I did, however, get things done early (shocker!) and am now reading things over, formatting stuff, and taking many pictures to really get the best one instead of the one I quickly snapped. 

As for my journaling/art/paintings/creations:

I'm going through an awkward growth phase. I'm flipping back and forth to work on several pages at once, and my new explorations have the thick stretched and bulging so much, I can't use the elastic to keep it closed anymore! I'm trying to figure out a way to put all this newness into words I can share with you, but until I can, I shall leave you with some photos of the pages I'm working on/have recently finished. 

Maybe, tonight, I'll sit down with my notebook and try to figure this all out. I know it's something new and exciting and amazing, but haven't been able to do words -- just images and little doodles and things here and there. A painting is taking shape in my mind, an idea, a bit of wonder. I just need to be open to it all. 

--

Here are two final bits of stuff! (can you tell how cluttered my head has become?)

1. I've put up the button journal I made as the example for my Button Journal Workshop on Etsy. It's such a darling little thing, and when I made it, I was originally going to use it, but then I found some things to make a new journal and am going through this odd patch, so it needs a home!
Sold before I could post this!

2. I've started a side-project called Born Brave. It's a newsletter of sorts -- more letters & essays. A diary of possibility & living with chronic illness. I've gotten tons of emails and comments over the years about how, by sharing my story, I've inspired others to try. And I've written essays on creativity and chronic illness for years, just never knew where to put them. Why is it paid? For two reasons. A. Because I get really personally -- more so than I ever have in public before. A letter system like this keeps the actual content off the internet. B. Chronic illness means no insurance, tons of doctor's appointments, and meds. And I'll be honest, I'm struggling on that point. I'm hoping to get guests to write essays and letters, too, and if this grows large enough, be able to pay them for their help (right now, they will get a month free). 

Have I talked your ear off? Or your eyes, since you're reading? What do I sound like when you read my words in your head? 

Ahem. I'm going off to contemplate, plan, doodle, and dream. I'll catch y'all tomorrow. 

with love, 
Samie Kira 

{two amazing lessons on one adventurous night}

The cover for my new (next) journal is drying, and the sun’s casting a warm glow over my little area, so I thought I’d pause from picking the PVA from my fingers and finally sit down to write this post.

It’s a week late, as in the events in it happened a week ago, about 30 minutes from now, but I haven’t really been in the mood to write it until now. Forgive me if I ramble, or get deep; I’m writing this as I think, more like telling a story to a friend rather than writing a concise blog post.

Then again, I treat this blog as an open letter to a friend, or to myself, beginning with art six years ago.

There’s this thing in Phoenix called First Fridays. I heard about it pretty soon after I moved here in October, while searching for artful gatherings near me. It’s described as America’s largest self-guided art walk, with galleries and shops opening their doors to a wandering public looking for a good time and great art. There are vendors at several points along the way, and a free trolley helps you get around.

Last Thursday, I was watching Up. And you know the beginning, the part that makes you cry? It also made me realize that the way I was going, I’d have dreams painted on all my walls and never have done one of them. So I decided there and then that I was going to do First Friday. I’m usually hesitant about such things, not because I don’t like crowds or adventures, but rather know I’ll pay for a long walk and physical activity the day, or days, later. A nice little Fibromyalgia parting gift.

But I was going to do it. I had a back-up Vicodin in my pocket, and packed my purse with my journal, a handful of art prints, my wallet, and digital camera. I also packed my younger brother, K, in the car, and we drove to the Phoenix Art Museum to park and catch the trolley. I don’t really know the area, so I figured this would be the best way to go.

So we grabbed a map and stood in the crowd waiting for the East trolley. And that thing was packed as tightly as a Japanese train during rush hour (I presume; I’ve only ridden the Japanese train system during their 9pm rush hour, so the earlier ones could be lighter. Then again, I doubt that very much!). We were the first two to have to stand, and so we rode on down to Roosevelt holding onto the gold bars running above the seats that were smudged with fingerprints.
 

We didn’t really know where to get off, so I suggested the second Roosevelt stop. Why? Because it looked close to stuff. So we waited and soon were released from the trolley in a gush of human traffic, running into those collected on the corner. We were bombarded by hand-outs and fliers from all sorts of people, our hands quickly stuffed.

But it wasn’t until we began wandering down 5th Street that we really realized where we were.

A magical, awesome land.
 

I don’t really know how to describe it other than to show you photographs K took, as he lifted the camera from me sometime on the trolley (note: I wish I had the names of the artists pictured here, but since I wasn't paying attention, I didn't grab cards from all of them). Which was fine, as I was jumping after everything. There are little coffee shops (one sold coffee and crapes!) and tiny galleries where the owners sleep in the back rooms. Giant covered front lawns cluttered with mismatched picnic tables. Back lots with more art to see or bands to hear.
 

People were selling paintings and prints, jewelry and sculptures made from found objects. One woman had several hula-hoops with ribbon wrapped around them. The night was warm and all around us, conversations blended into that rich background that makes you feel more alive just through knowing there are others around you. You could close your eyes or look up at the stars and just feel the creative energy saturating your clothes, your very bones.

I quickly reconized the need to carry a water bottle, and bought one at the coffee and crepes place. K declined. And then, suddenly, we came upon a table covered in cupcakes, water bottles, and --

“Or any of this stuff!” the girl said. “We don’t take money, only trades.”

“And no cell phones,” the second one added.

K laughed. “People have offered you their cell phones?”

“Yep!”

“What’s all that?” I asked. The first girl had a flashlight pointed at a pile of seemingly unconnected junk, random bits you’d find at the bottom of your purse.

“Things people have traded us.”

“Well,” I said, “Those cupcakes look delicious.” I quickly balanced my purse on the table and began digging through all the papers and fliers we’d already collected out of wanting to avoid confrontation, looking for the pile of prints I’d shoved in ‘just in case.’ I pulled out You Can Fly and handed it to the second girl. “Here. K, do you want something?”

“That bottle of water,” he replied.

“This is so cool!” the second girl said, once her friend shined the flashlight on the print. I smiled, K opened the bottle of water, and we continued on.

“I can’t believe my art just bought you that bottle of water,” I told K.

“I know. It’s awesome.”

And he drank half the damn bottle right there.

--

We stepped up onto the high patio of a print shop, where K looked through screenprinted t-shirts. I eyed the decorated flasks in the corner. Outside, on the patio, a DJ changed songs, the beat vibrating through the brick shop.

“These are cool,” he said.

“They’re screenprinted.”

We walked back out into the heat of April in the desert. As we hopped down, K said, “You should do that, Sam.”

“Right. With my little Yudu.”

“It would be really cool.”

I laughed into the night air.

We walked back towards the corner where a company was handing out free cans of something called Sun Drop. I took the offered drink, and so did K. As we neared the corner and the amber light of a streetlight, he held his out.

“I got diet.”

“Good,” I smiled.

We switched drinks and popped open the tabs. It wasn’t half-bad.

--

We entered a white building with chipping paint, deep red showing through the cracks. A fence inside guided us around to a gallery area, where paintings and pieces from all sorts of mediums stood freely or hung on the walls. Right next to the entrance sat a grey box with

THIS WAY TOWARD ENEMY

stenciled on it. It was painted on all visible surfaces.

K laughed at the mirror and camera installation that showed your image over the word SUSPECT.

We went up a staircase to nowhere, descended, and headed back out.

--

Across the way, an open field boasted tented stalls of all sorts of things. K pulled out the camera while I explored one covered in pink. Another had hand-made jewelry that took my breath away and made me regret not pulling any cash out of an ATM before driving down. A display of brass stencils caught my eye, and as I went through them, I remarked,

“Wow. I had about 500 of these in Illinois.”

The owner sighed. “You should have put them on eBay!”

“They might still be in the garage,” I replied.

I grabbed a card after running my fingers over darling earrings, the pang of not being able to bring them home with me a pain that would remind me for next month.

--

We crossed the street to where a band was playing in front of a record shop.

As I walked through the latticed walls covered in paintings, I couldn’t help but feel small. Not in stature, but talent. And here’s where the first amazing thing of the night happened.

Instead of feeling hopeless and depressed, I felt empowered.

Why? Because seeing the work there, being in front of the paintings and saying hello to the tattooed artists who probably have jobs during the day and do this on the side, or struggle by on sales alone, showed me what is possible. I remember reading an interview with Pam Carriker, and the intro said, “She has 20 years experience in art.”

20 years? How can I possible think my art now can be compared to anything like that after only 6? Yes, some people succeed overnight. Others need practice and passion. I was wailing to Lia one night a year ago and she told me, “You know, it took Sabrina [Ward Harrison] 10 years to make any money off her books.”

And walking around, seeing those pieces, I realized I’m only in my artistic infancy. I’m just starting, drawing stick figures with my fingers in kindergarten. I have so much yet to discover and uncover in myself. There’s so many things I need to go through in order to get the rich stuff out. And I’m doing the best anyone wanting to be an artist can -- I am making art every day. A sketch here, watercolors there. Maybe some writing in my Harajuku Lovers composition book Lia sent me to fill with new Arizona dreams. Other days, I’m experimenting with the laugh and disregard of rules of a mad scientist.

Maybe it won’t happen today or tomorrow, but it will as long as I keep showing up. I love the paintings I do now. I love the paintings I did last year. And I can see, when looking between them, how much I’ve grown and learned. There’s a adage in the TV business that goes like this -- in order to get a writing gig in TV, you have to submit a spec script (a script of an episode of an established show in the genre you want to write for). And everyone tells you you don’t submit your first or second or even your fifth. You submit that sixth one, because every one before that was just for practice.

I’m pretty sure it’s the same for art.

--

Our finale for the night was the Firehouse, where artists from all over sell their artwork, jewelery, clothes, and other odds and ends. I walked around and felt like I had to do something. Like this was one of those moments I could either grab for or paint on my walls.

“How does one get to sell stuff here?” I asked.

I got a card. And an enthusiastic, “We’re always looking for new artists!” before we left.

And we were just about to turn and walk to the trolley stop when I noticed there was something pointing to the back lot. Hugging the side of the building was a path lined with roses and bushes growing over a lattice fence. We came out into an area with a stage and chairs and couches set out for the audience. Not knowing what we walked into, K and I took a seat.

Now, you know that feeling I had earlier? That push to go outside my comfort zone and do something? Collect stories instead of pictures on the walls?

I just knew it was going to get me into trouble, because not five minutes later, I was randomly chosen to go up on stage. This wasn’t a volunteer thing -- this was a, “We’re going to pick you and you’re going to do this, damnit!” kind of deal. And I didn’t know what we were going to be doing until I climbed up onto the stage -- and I can still feel the embarrassment tingling across my skin as I write this -- and found out...

Oh, you thought I was going to tell you, didn’t you.

I will reveal this: the second amazing thing that happened that night. A piece of advice for all you afraid to do things you feel in your heart in fear of being embarrassed or laughed at. For those moments when you feel like a moron and want to shrink and hide.

I’m pretty sure -- no, positive -- it is nothing bigger than participating in an orgasmic moaning competition on stage in front of 50 strangers and your little brother recording the whole damn thing on the digital camera he lifted from you an hour ago.

So next time you’re frightened to do something in order to save face or avoid embarrassment, think to yourself, “Is this more scary that what Kira had to do?”

Yeah. Didn’t think so.

And it wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. I didn’t come in first, but wasn’t last, either, which is a plus. And the rest of the night, I was laughing and smiling because nothing could touch me after that.

--

My brother opted to keep my door prize. And the camera. He said, “I’m so showing this to mom when we get back.”

“Uhh...just as long as it doesn’t end up on YouTube.”

He gave me a wicked smile as we reached the corner where the trolley would be picking us up.

It was across from a Light Rail station.

“Next time, we’re taking that down here,” I said with a tight smile, still wondering how I could get the camera back. “Cause we could have stayed so much later.”

--

K gave me the camera after I revealed, as we sat on the trolley back to the art museum, that I had the dongle that plugged into the computer at the bottom of my purse.

He asked for it back two hours later.

--

The next day, I walked into the bookstore and gave my number to the guy there I’d been crushing on for a few weeks. After the night before, what was a little flirting?

(And if you’re reading this, why haven’t you called? And if you did, why no voice mail?)

Perhaps that’s the final lesson. That you can have all the practice in the world, get rid of the embarrassment from your life, but in the end, you’ve gotta own it. All of it.

So stop painting pictures on your walls and get out into the world.

It’s waiting.

{a whole bunch of little things...}

Phew! Working on the netbook is the most frustrating thing of my day thus far. It takes FOREVER for things to load...it took 15 minutes to start up properly! But until my tech support arrives, I'm without my lovely, pretty desktop. *pets silent machine* I did take over one of my monitors so I can at least post; the tiny screen may be great for writing and surfing the net on the go, but the entry box for Squarespace on it is MAYBE three lines long...*sigh*

So, some quick updates and eye-candy are in order! 

First! I made a little vid with the netbook. I don't have my editing software on here, but wanted to play with a camera angle so....here you go! 

(I actually posted it on Saturday...after waiting an hour and a half for it to save!)

Second! 

I've put two original paintings up on Etsy. I've been prompted, seperatly, by two friends to do this, so I'm closing my eyes and putting it out there and am forgetting about it. I'm trying to value myself and my artwork more and this is one way of doing that. 

(roadblocks & strengths on Etsy)

(when our hearts are full on Etsy)

Third! I've been using my Tumblr as a photoblog, since it's super easy to snap and post from my cell phone (whereas Squarespace doesn't have an Android app yet!). I try to post once a day, something I'm working on or the view of my desk...stuff like that! 

Here's the address again: Journal Girl Loves...

I'm kinda taking this time without the constant hum of my desktop running in the background to stay off the internet and really create. I grabbed a good book from the used bookstore, have my sliding door open, and just got a box of goodies -- a nice, big order from the Shoppe at Stampington. So this girl will be off creating and playing and relaxing. I call this Creative Rejuvination and often come back from such breaks with tons of new ideas and stuff to share with you! 

I'll be back tomorrow with snapshots! For today, enjoy some yummy trims. Mmmm! 

PS. If you need something from me, please send an email! I don't have my pretty organized mail program right now, so I will admit I'm behind on things! Don't feel like you're being a pest -- I appreciate the help so I can help you!

{a little wish can certainly come true!}

\

There are six magazines on a special shelf in my bookcase.

There isn’t anything special about them -- they aren’t collector’s editions or in perfect shape or boast the signature of someone famous -- but they’ve been carted across the country, kept in various shelves or boxes, and are always clutched, when taken from the shelf, close to my chest.

These are the six, including the one I received in the mail today, that I have been published in.

Allow me a moment to let that sentence sink in.

That I have been published in.

As far back as 2007, I wanted to share what I was discovering with the world, to spread all those wonderful things I was doing in hopes of inspiring others. I’ve been pretty fearless with my artistic explorations -- this may be the result of never have learning the rules past elementary school art classes. The only teacher I had was myself -- this is back in 2005, before all the YouTube videos and amazing books we have now. There wasn’t much out there, and I wanted to change that.

I published a few issues of a ‘zine called Page by Page. It was then that I had this particular dream:

You see, the tag-line for the Melange section in Somerset Studio is ‘A lively romp through journals, zines, and art adventures. And when I held issues of my self-published little magazine, I thought,

I’d love to be on the pages of this!

And since then, I’ve had an artist’s profile in Art Journaling, journal bags, essays, paintings, journal pages -- all these amazing, wonderful opportunities -- including a lovely interview -- me, interviewed! -- in the current issue of Artful Blogging with my amazing, talented friend Roben-Marie (who I met when I interviewed her for the last issue of my little ‘zine!).

When I opened my mailbox and saw my contributor’s copy of Somerset Studio, with my article in the Melange section, my heart just soared. Sometimes, the route to your dreams takes the most serpentine path, and even after all I’ve accomplished -- all that is on my plate, all the projects and wonderful things that are happening around me this year, right now! -- I remember me, all those years ago, wishing to see my artwork on these pages. And not only that, but my work was chosen to be an artist’s paper. Imagine my glee!

So let me give you a little advice:

Do it.

I was afraid. I had Dawn and Roben-Marie tag-teaming me a year and a half ago to send my journals in to Art Journaling. They told me to just do it -- send them in and see what happens. What did I have to lose? And so, with my eyes closed and fingers crossed, I packed my journals into a box and sent them off.

At the beginning of the year, I submitted work to a new editor. I was scared! And almost didn’t do it. But then I remembered I had nothing to lose. I wouldn’t gain anything unless I tried. How do we grow unless we take that next step? I don’t mean just for getting published -- and let me tell you, it doesn’t magically make you feel validated or silence your inner critic forever or get you thousands of followers -- I mean for ANYTHING on this little art ride we’re all on.

So stop thinking about doing it and do it. I will tell you: I have worked with many editors and they are all sweet, amazing, passionate people who want to help you get your art out into the world. You have NOTHING to be embarrassed about. Don’t think your art isn’t good enough or that you’ll be laughed at -- these women are such kind spirits, they’ll hold your hand and help you through.

And then, one day, you’ll open your favorite magazine and your little wish will be true...in full color.