Getting Ready to Dazzle with Magic

I’ve sat down to write a blog post a few times this week. 

And haven’t posted any of them. 

Ever since my experiment in staying off the internet for a week, I’ve found myself less and less drawn to the computer and the internet. Instead, I paint, draw, experiment, and create. There are notes for projects scattered all over the place, plans being drawn up, ideas being nurtured before being shared with the world. 

So many of you wrote, on the last post, that you, too, get sucked into the internet. In chatting with students at my live events, I’ve heard that many go to blogs to be inspired, and spend so much time doing so, you’re not doing any art of your own. I challenge you to do a day without the internet. I know when you’re creating, and you get stuck, you jump online to find something inspiring to get you over that hill of Resistance. I encourage you not to. Instead, get a snack, talk with a friend, take a walk, and then come back to your piece. Get over that hill yourself, with your own ideas, style, and approach. That, in a nutshell, is innovation.

 

Yesterday, as I drove home after a hectic, frustrating, hour-long-omg! visit to the DMV, an idea popped into my head. An idea so strong and so vivid, I frantically searched for my phone and called someone I know is supportive, amazing, and would give it to me straight. 

So as I drove home, I spilled the idea out to Roben-Marie, gesturing with my free hand when I could (stoplights only, please!), smiling so wide, I thought my face may split. And at the end, I said:

“I just had to get it out. I had to share it with someone else. Have you ever had an idea hit you so strongly like that?” 

And she has. Just look at all the plates she has in the air (I cannot recommend her shop and classes enough, but I’m biased! We met when I interviewed her for my still-on-hiatus ‘zine, an interview I had to do because I love her art so much!). 

She was everything I needed. A sounding board. A friendly ear. And she was just as excited as I was, by the end of the call (in fact, I have a text from her this morning asking how things are going!). 

We all need friends like this in our lives. A friend we can call out of the blue who will listen to our ideas, help us narrow them down, and give the pros and cons, if need be. I’m sure if my idea had been one that wouldn’t have worked out, Roben would have told me, then helped me reshape it into something that would. Find a friend like this — a sister, a mother, a childhood pal — and let them hear your ideas, no matter how crazy they may seem. Sometimes, crazier really is better!

 

But I’m moving slow. This isn’t out of fear. In Reverb, by Gwen Bell says:

“If there was ever a time to slow down and stay focused on just one element of the business at a time, this is it. Practice mindfulness, simply staying present in the moment. Trust that all is unfolding as it should.”

(She is another amazing woman I wholeheartedly recommend. You can sign up for her daily newsletter here. It’s worth taking the time to sign up and read, for a few minutes, every day.)

 

That’s what I’m doing. A few things a day. Writing the ideas that come down on notecards or in my binder. Spending time refining my art and learning new things (you have no idea how much taking a simple drawing class has changed my approach to art and improved my flow. If you can take one at a local community college, do it.) . 

 

A huge part of it is Born Brave. I’m hoping to start the new YouTube channel this week, or the beginning of next week. Speaking to artists and journalers with chronic illnesses is so important to me, I’m betting half the bank on this new project.  

The other half is being bet on a Ning. I announced this yesterday via Facebook, but have learned that you may not see all of my posts over there unless you visit my page (I’m learning new things about social media and marketing every day!). There is so much I want to create over there, just for you, that I’m going all in. 

My chips are on the table. I have enough meds for two months. My bills are paid. And while it’s scary in the OMG-my-stomach-is-in-knots-and-my-skin-is-tingling way, I’m still going for it. 

I’m working behind the curtains like the Wizard of Oz, getting ready to dazzle you with magic.

The Magic of Magic + [how to] covered shipping boxes!

{my birthday present; a fujifilm instax mini 25!}

Today started in a rush. 

Last week, I forgot to go to class, so I wanted to make sure — doubly sure — my alarm went off and I headed off on-time. Leave it to me to be fumbling at ten to eight, cursing my need to change my purse, as I wouldn’t be able to stop for my new favorite drink. 

Oh, yes, I have a new favorite! I gave up Diet Coke a little over a week ago after doing some research on the connection between aspartame and pain levels (thank you, Melissa, for linking me that first article!); I’m still going through a bit of detox, as I’ve drastically cut down on how much pop I drink, but I think it’ll be worth it in the long-run. Anyway, favorite drink! It’s this all-natural pomegranate green tea — a perfect combination of healthy and yummy and all in a mega-can for $1!

As I was running late, I was bummed that I wouldn’t be able to stop for one (another thing I’ve started doing; visiting the grocery shop every day instead of stocking up). Then, yay! The piece I was working on, drawing and shading a sphere with charcoal was going well. Boo! The box looks horrible and frustrated me to the point I wanted to cry. 

Then I went to my car to be greeted by a warning from campus security — apparently, you need a permit to park in the college parking lots! Still fuming from my sad box drawing, I crossed campus to get more information, a permit, and an ID. An ID that looks silly because the woman forgot to mention I had charcoal smudged all over my face! 

Then, magic of magic, I started to smile as I headed home. 

I don’t know when this happened, really. It might be the wind that’s been sweeping through the valley all day that reminds me of those breezy days back in Chicago. Or maybe it was the absence of the pain that’s been plaguing me since Saturday. Whatever it was, I felt calm. Happy. Boppy (this means, to me, that bouncy, happy feeling that gets you bopping up and down in the driver’s seat as you “dance” to the radio!). I chanced upon my Magic Happy Drink at CVS for less than $1 each, grabbed a bright copy of Nylon (one of my favorite magazines to both read and cut up for my journals), and curled my eyelashes for the first time. 

My car got a nice, VIP wash while I doodled in my sketchbook in the warm sunshine. My studio was cleaned and a new lightbulb was found. Most of my alter was set up. 

And as I sat down to get working in my journal, the film for my pretty birthday present arrived (3 days after my birthday!). Looking at the ridiculously-sized box used for such a small item, I found I didn’t want to throw it away. I’ve already tossed a few, and wondered if there was a way I could use them in my studio to organize my daily photo habit and growing collection of found papers and scraps. Want to re-use shipping boxes, too? Here are two ideas for how you can re-cover them for use in your studio! 

 

Click the image -- it gets bigger!

1. Cut the flaps off your boxes (but save them to use as dividers when you’re done!)

2. I found that Eco Green Matte Artist’s Medium worked the best for this project. It’s the same consistency as Modge Podge, more-or-less. 

3. Spread glue on the vintage wallpaper, then burnish it to each side, wrapping it over the top and bottom. I did with in 4 separate pieces. 

4. For this box, I decoupage dyed paper towels down on the cardboard (these are just the paper towels I use to dry my brushes, etc, that I save, just in case!).

5. I then added a layer of tissue paper I wrote across with Copic markers. 

6. The finished boxes — the wallpaper’s around all four sides, and the decoupage was finished with a final paper towel layer. 

I plan on cutting down the long flaps to use as dividers between months or colors or type! I don’t know, yet, but had tons of fun making these!

As I slipped into bed for a nice, mid-afternoon nap after taking a break to read for a little bit, I couldn’t help but smile and think: 

Today’s been pretty perfect. 

Just goes to show that even the most rushed, frustrating mornings can give way to joyous afternoons. 

All the windows in my apartment are open, the wind whistling through, taking with it all the negativity, doubt, and depression that’s lingered for far too long. I’m cold, just a bit, but bundled, smiling, and writing before heading back in for more creating. 

The Magic of Process (& playing in someone else's sandbox for awhile)

Even when you reach that point when you like most of what you create, you’re still going to make things you don’t like. 

There’s little that can excite me more than a weekend spent outside creating art. As we spread our supplies across the long table under the awning, little dogs ran around, growling at each other as they played fetch. Every so often, one would drop a little pink ball at my feet, and I’d pause paging through Traci’s new book to throw it at one of the cinder-brick walls that helped fence in the yard. Becca played in her journal, an altered children’s book rich in texture I keep telling her she needs to gather together to teach, music pumping from her iPhone. 

(And I’m a little jealous, as I’d love to play in Instagram and Hipsmatic as she has the past few days.) 

I’m working on a large parent sheet of my favorite paper, Stonehenge printmaking, laying down stencils I’d packed in my bag at the last minute before heading out that morning. Our artmaking was delayed as I visited my friend Dawn in town as she finished her latest project — painting those unsightly utility boxes at the corners with her trademark bright color and amazing lettering. But now I’m in flip-flops at the end of Becca’s table with my favorite spray inks, letting them mix on the paper. 

And then I’m playing with the printing plate I made from craft foam saved from the closet in the colorful room named “the office,” rubber bands coming off as I brayer on paint. 

It isn’t working well, but it’s working. 

The afternoon passes much like this. Becca works in her journal and I play around making marks on the giant sheet of paper. I try several of the methods outlined in Traci’s book, getting lost in the thrill of making new marks, brayering down layers and layers of paint over ink. Writing with fabric paint on laminating sheets since we can’t find the transparencies. Gluing foam shapes to sheets to make little repetitive patterns. Drawing with puffy paint and glitter. I’m getting my hands dirty and laughing and enjoying every minute of it. 

And when we break to run off to Jo-Ann’s to return something (which they wouldn’t take back, to our infinite sadness) and grab a bite to eat, I look down at what I’ve created and cringe. 

There are bits I adore. Little squares of space that, on their own, are amazing and fun and lovely, but when added into the whole get lost. I don’t like it. The finished piece is anything but satisfying, and I only add a little bit before we head inside where artificial light replaces the setting sun. Even in the heat of the desert, we have early sunsets in the winter, still surreal after over a year here. The thought that I’ve been sitting outside in the beginning of February in jeans and a sleeveless blouse only reminds me of the timeless nature of my new home. 

I don’t work on the piece again. The magic of the Process is gone. I move on to other things. 

That’s how it goes sometimes. I’m reminded of the lesson I learned awhile ago: not every piece of art you create is going to be good. In fact, most will be bad. Bad, bad, bad. But there’s something redeemable in every thing you work on, every time you put pencil or brush to paper. This is what I want to remind you of, that the magic of Process is the real juice of this creative life we’re living, and without it, you’re just making things to finish. Where is the thrill of discovery in that? 

I think this fundamental relates to another piece I’m working on for you about doing art as your job, in that once you start making things to finish them, to show them off, to gain followers or sell things, you lose your edge and stop having fun. 

I cleaned my art space today and pulled out this piece. Looking at it, I realized why I didn’t like it as a whole. It isn’t the colors, or even some of the doodles. It’s that I was playing in Traci’s sandbox and it’s time to give it back to her. Oh, I won’t stop making marks or experimenting with the tools she’s given us in her new book. But I can’t possibly create something I love when I’m playing in someone else’s sandbox. It’s theirs. Their heart and love and inspiration goes into it all, and I can’t possibly replicate that. And I don’t want to. 

No. I’ll keep playing, adding in more and more of myself until the dough tastes delicious when I lick it off my fingers. Just a sprinkling of her and all those others in the world that inspire me, multicolored dots added to the batter created of myself. 

I take shots of those bits I like, print them off, and get back to work. 

{sitting down to get to (creative) work}

I've been working on entries and realized I needed to get this burst of advice out, first, before I can go on in my narrative. Oh, I've been feeling so wonderful and happy and creative lately, and hope to pass these feelings along to you! 

me, sitting down to sketch for a new painting.

“There’s a secret that real writers know that wannabe writers don’t, and the secret is this: It’s not the writing part that’s hard. What’s hard is sitting down to write. 

What keeps us from sitting down is Resistance. “

Steven Pressfield, The War of Art

Sitting down to work is, for me, the hardest part. 

Once I sit down, things flow. I may hesitate a bit, or feel some resistance, but am working — paint on my fingers, sketches drawn, pieces created. 

(For more on resistance, I really do recommend Steven Pressfield’s The War of Art. It is one of my top books on creativity.)

On some days, even getting up can be a challenge. When we’re not feeling well, or are blue, or may be sore, we snuggle down into a comfortable position, perhaps in blankets or on a couch, and don’t want to move an inch. Perhaps work has been extra frustrating, or that drive home has sucked up the last of our energy. And when we’re in these periods of low energy, whether physically or emotionally, the last thing we want to do is get up and make art. 

I know, for me, it’s a battle of wills — that is, me, the artist, and me, the woman with FMS. I want to do things. I want to get up and work in my journal. I want to throw paint on that big canvas I haven’t even taken out of the bag after three months. But the idea of getting up is difficult because it means moving and an outpouring of energy I’m afraid I don’t have. And when this happens a few days in a row, we’re apt to get angry at ourselves for not “doing more.” 

There’s the urge to rationalize; I can work over the weekend. I was tired and couldn’t get up. I had too many things to do. 

Then there’s the urge to blame someone else. Anyone close to us can become the reason we didn’t get to do all those creative things we were planning on doing — others impose on our plans and we jump at the opportunity to get out of working on something, only to regret it later. 

Then there’s the urge to simply be angry with ourselves once we take a moment to look back — either prompted by catching sight of our creative space in the corner of our eye or someone we see online. 

And suddenly, we wonder why we didn’t get up in the first place. 

“So you see the imagination needs moodling — long, inefficient, happy idling, dawdling and puttering.”

 Brenda Ueland, If You Want to Write

If You Want to Write is another of my favorite books on creativity, and on those days when I don’t seem to make it to my creative space, this quote calms me. It’s one of quiet reassurance, that maybe, just today, I did all my creative work in my head.  

Do you remember daydreaming as a child? Do you still find your mind wandering to color or image or far-away lands? What would our creative dreams be without those dreamed up while awake, prompted by a color or image or beautiful piece of fabric? 

When it comes down to it, if we were all action, all the time, we’d soon run out of things to craft and paint. Instead, we’d be moving, moving, but never really saying anything at all. 

“It’s vital to establish some rituals — automatic but decisive patterns of behavior — at the beginning of the creative process, when you are most at peril of turning back, chickening out, giving up, or going the wrong way.” 

Twyla Tharp, The Creative Habit

I think Twyla Tharp says it best. Without a ritual, without that push against resistance, we’re more apt to let the days pass without paying any attention to our journals and paint brushes, markers and scraps of paper. If each time you make a cup of tea, you sit down to write, then soon, you’ll easily make tea and write. If you get up and walk across the room, you’ll be more apt to sit down and get to work. 

Or get to play. Whatever it is that brings you joy, you simply need to get up, walk to your creative space, and take a seat. 

{a photo trip to Sweet Salvage}

My carpel tunnel is acting up like crazy, and typing with a brace on is difficult, so why don't you wander with me through Sweet Salvage on 7th Ave? 

{an attempt is simply an unfinished canvas -- my final 2 canvases for Out of the Journal August!}

  

An attempt is simply an unfinished canvas. 

But it is a started one. 

I’ve never worked on the thicker canvases before, but they’re on sale this month at my local art shop, so I grabbed two smaller ones on Saturday, intent on working and finishing them on Sunday. 

Except I ended up creating text and rendering video from 9am to 8pm yesterday, with little time for art (I did, however, take a much-needed nap, choosing sleep over art — rather, my back chose sleep over painting); I worked on one of the canvases while filming a bit, using the extra paint (I hate leaving paint un-used on a palette!), but that was pretty much it. I didn’t have time, then, until this afternoon to work on the other, and according to Dina, starting a canvas counts in our little challenge, here. 

So here’s some retrospecting: I really like where August took me, art-wise. 

In my journal, I’ve gone from full-on art journal to part-art-journal, part-inspiration-book, inspired by the journals of Dave of the Journal Fodder Junkies (I met him, and Eric, quickly at Art Unraveled, and was able to page through his journal during the book signing event; out of all the artists there, he was the only one doodling in his journal — something I tend to do a lot!). There are sketches, paint, papers collected from all over, journaling, magazine images, etc. 

My paintings, prompted by our little challenge, grew more and more abstract until, with these last two, I was paying attention to direction and movement within the brushstrokes. 

And then, there was last week’s, with the big, bold imagery and colors popping off the canvas. 

I’ve been having so much fun being looser with my work, adding soft pastels and oil paintsticks, and oil pastels. Drawing and bending and moving. It has just been so much fun! I really will be finishing these canvases soon, and hope to have them, as well as a few of the other completed pieces, in my Etsy shop by next weekend. 

Until then, I’ll be in the editing bay, finishing up the media for True to You 2. By the end of all this, that workshop will have nearly 5 hours of video content, not to mention 18 worksheets and a 70-odd page PDF. Phew! My longest and most detailed workshop to date!

Consider this an amnisty post -- if you've participated in the Out of the Journal Callenge and haven't commented, or if you haven't for the final week, please do so on this post. I'll be drawing a winner tomorrow!

{finding my doodler spirit}

 

I’ve never considered myself a good doodler. Honest. I just don’t feel that I have a large enough internal doodling encyclopedia to create anything varied enough to not be boring. 

A couple months ago, one of the women at the mixed-media group I attend told me about this new pen she’d purchased off someone’s recommendation (and I’m sorry; I don’t remember the teacher’s name!) and how she loved it. “It wasn’t expensive at all!” 

When I started college, I got my first fountain pen. Nothing fancy or expensive, just a lime-green one I would write with. It feels cool to write with a fountain pen — if you’ve never tried it, you’re missing out! There is just something almost magical about writing with a fountain pen, the way the ink swishes from the nib, a smooth, continuous stream that isn’t dry like a ballpoint or even slick like a gel pen. But smooth. Flowing. It almost lends itself to transforming even your grocery list into a piece of art. 

But I lost that pen. And forgot the magic. It was replaced a few years later, and I carried it in my purse when I moved out to Los Angeles for a bit. It was snuggled in the little purse next to my very first visual journal, where paintings about airplanes and oceans were sandwiched between notes and plot ideas for scripts. I remember asking a writer for an autograph and having to say, “It’s a fountain pen!” when he tried to sign the program (Oh, Eric Kripke, I’m sorry for throwing that curve ball!). 

That, too, was lost. 

I never thought of applying a fountain pen to art until that meeting, in July, when I was reminded of the magic. You can draw with them? Many artists actually do? The only talk of ink with drawing I’d seen was from my own experiments writing and doodling on journal pages with a dip pen, and a few weeks over the summer when several people were discussing Noodler’s Ink. 

Why not? my inner voice asked. You can save up and get one and see what happens. 

I haven’t bought art supplies for myself in three weeks, darlings. Three glorious, fountain pen filled weeks. And I don’t regret it at all. 

The doodles on these journal pages were done as I sat idly in the morning, curled on myself, letting my mind wander. Each gesture, when I draw or write with my Lamy, is exaggerated. Swirls and swishes and hash-tag lines. Want a thicker line? Press down. Thinner? Less pressure. You don’t need much for the black ink to come out, and it works over anything. Magic. 

If you’ve read my post from today’s newsletter, you know how odd it is, to write that you don’t need a certain supply to make certain art. But I wanted to write this post, in conjunction, to show that when you have saved up, when you’ve waited and researched and gone to finally get that supply, cherish it. I wasn’t holding off on doodling or drawing because I didn’t have the fountain pen, but I sure am awash in joy from holding it, even if I’m writing my day’s to-do list. 

The pen I purchased is a Lamy Safari fountain pen, which costs $35. I also use a converter so I can draw & write with Noodler’s Bulletproof Black Ink.

{when everything clicks into place}

(unfinished. I don't know how I feel about her, yet!)

This week nearly killed me.

I’m not exaggerating, though there are no near-misses, major accidents, or life-altering events. Instead, it was the slow burn of a 400m dash with hurdles along the way.

Lots and lots of hurdles.

When I thought I’d surmounted one, another was ready to hit me in the face. I tripped over a few and ended up tangled in the metal bars on the ground, knees skinned, head reverberating from my teeth slamming together as I fell. Halfway down the track, I was bruised and bloodied with tears falling from moist cheeks.

And while I was getting back up and trying again and again, I wondered:

When do the hurdles go from creating a stronger you to a sign from the universe that you’re on the wrong path? 

For the last three days, I’ve been asking myself this question. At what point do you give up and throw in the towel? Walk off the track with mangled hurdles in your wake?

I think a lot of us go through periods in our lives when we ask ourselves this very question. When you’re wondering if giving in is the easy way out or the right way to go. I’ve learned I work best when in the flow, when working in-line with the Divine. But I think I’ve also taken this to mean that when I’m not in that flow, I’m not in-line with my destiny. And we hear this all the time, from self-help and creativity books. That inspiration pulls you where you need to go. 

This is not always the truth. Sometimes, you’re going to get beat up and bloody and right when you’re strength is waining, everything clicks into place. 

My plight was centered around technology. Technology I know how to use. Stuff I love doing and have for the past seven years (which means I graduated from college five years ago and wow). Stuff I want to take to the next level. And I pushed myself so hard, so very, very hard, that I’ve been sobbing, on and off, for the past week. I’ve shattered like glass. My stomach has been in knots so tight, I’ve had to force myself to eat because it was painful. I’ve not been sleeping. My pain has been at record high levels.

Stress is horrible, my darlings.

But I got it to magically work today, my deadline. I sang to the heavens and began to loosen up. I worked for seven hours and am sitting here finished. It is done. On time. Quality work.

I’ve gotten down the track and come out to clear space. It is time to take care of myself, tend to my wounds, and realize that, from here on out, it’s a piece of cake when compared to the stress-colored hell of the past month.

And damn if that isn’t a wonderful feeling. 

(And here is my first canvas from this week!)

I’ve only gotten two links this week for the Out of the Journal Challenge, so give them extra love. My second canvas is ¾ of the way done -- but remember, it’s about progress, not a finished product, so I am excited to say I’m still on track!

More Fairytale work from Sandra!

Marcia's done great work, but I'm linking to her whole blog because it's so inspiring!