We're all elders in training, keeping adventure journals

​There are times when I get an idea in my head and I just can't shake it....it will bug me and bug me and won't let me BE until I go and do it​. Since starting my daily practice of collage and mark-making, I've only found myself coming up with more​ ideas, not digging deeper to find inspiration. You know, those frustrating days when you sit down to work in your journal and can't come up with anything. Nope. Haven't had that. It drives me a bit crazy at times, but now that I'm writing things down, I no longer worry that I'll forget all these possibly-wonderful ideas!

​Things have been...difficult...for a little bit around here. After weeks of declining health and energy (remember all that fatigue I was feeling?), I finally found out I was having a negative reaction to some medication. Did you know generics differ from each-other and the original medication by 15%? Yeah, neither did I! Thankfully, I've been detoxing from it, and am feeling soooo much better (hence blog post; I have four of them slated and half-finished for next week!). I swear, I lost my mind for a little bit! 

One of the things that helped me see clearly once again was a women's circle I found out about when I went on an adventure to see some live music at a friend's house (live music is magical; if you can ever see it, even if it's a small group or music you *might* not like, do it anyway). I was able to drag myself out on Tuesday night in what I call Studio Chic, aka paint-covered yoga clothes, and found myself diving into the conversation and practice in this circle of women. Most know one another through their Kundalini yoga practice at a local studio and ashram; I've been interested in it ever since learning Carissa is actually a non-teaching yoga teacher in the same tradition! ​

​Seated on the floor, we went through basic breathing and movement exercises to warm up, and I found myself able to focus for the first time in weeks. We followed with a vocal meditation -- and in the space of moments in the Present, an hour-and-a-half had passed. 

The line in the doodle above stood out to me (as well as the woman leading the activity) -- that we are elders, just in training. That when we meditate and pray today, we're sometimes sending those messages we needed in the past. Or maybe today, we're praying for the Us of tomorrow. But we always have a line to the elder we will become, a way to connect to the Self that has the answers we so desperately seek in the present. ​

​No, time is not a straight line (though if you're a Doctor Who fan like me, you're already aware of this fact!). 

I began my letter skeptically, then remembered -- I had gotten a message from a future me while writing my daily pages a few days previous, being told about the Artist in me (something I will need another blog post to expand upon!). She told me what I should​ be focusing my attention on, working through, and that the Work is what matters. 

My Moleskine sketchbook has become my Adventure Journal; I work in it daily, and carry it with me wherever I go, pulling it out to record where I am, what I'm experiencing. It's a lot like a memory device; I can better recall an event if I was drawing/doodling at the same time. And the cover is quickly being taken over by stickers from the indie bands I've seen in the last month (as well as an art sticker of my own!). ​

​I doodled while the Love Leighs played Thursday evening, on my friend's front porch. Dawn recently posted her own scribbles and said: "I’ve realized that if I do them in a more scribbly way, the form is more forgiving and I’m not so worried about making them “perfect”." By doodling and scribbling, I feel like I captured their movement, their melodies, their words, the way the faerie lights made them glow, how two of them weren't wearing any shoes. I journaled a bit about how music in such intimate surroundings feels like a connection through the years, back to an earlier time, before the internet and YouTube and downloading CDs. When people would gather and sing and play and share life. 

I ended my night drinking the remainder of a friend's bottle of wine straight from the bottle (and shared it with the band's upright bass player). As my conversation ebbed and flowed outside the front door, the players changing as the night wained, I found myself peeling off the label and slapping it in my journal. On-the-spot journaling, indeed! ​

Of course, I had to share my doodle with the band. It's not my best, but they were still touched. And I'm feeling more and more alive as I bring together art and adventure and a body that's no longer fighting against me. ​

The Picture of Our Lives

I read a blog post -- the link escapes me, now -- about how we present these images of ourselves on Facebook and social media that can be created for 'likes,' images of a together-life. It got me thinking of something I encountered recently that had me realizing social media and blogging is only one aspect of our lives...we want to be positive and upbeat, shading all the amazing experiences we're having. ​

But what about the rest of it? What picture of our lives are we painting? ​

You may see photos of me art journaling with friends, or off at CHA, yes. But what you don't see are the text messages to friends having to cancel on friends. The tearful breakdown I had walking from the convention center to the hotel, camera gear and junk on my shoulders, the longest walk in a long time fraught with pain and limping and the solid wall of a flare-up. You don't see night spent curled up in a chair because of overwhelming fatigue and a headache that appears, nearly every night, around 6pm. 

​You don't see the depressive moods that come on at any moment --  I recently read the best quote about chronic pain and depression (the entire article is well worth the five minutes it'll take you to read): "...chronic pain may cause secondary depression (wouldn't you get depressed and down if you were hurting constantly for months or years?)..." How I can suddenly turn sad and have to force myself to not sign onto Facebook because I always post sad things that I regret hours later. 

​But that doesn't mean I dwell. It doesn't mean life is full of acceptance. Sure, I spent two hours in bed watching silly 80's BBC shows this afternoon, but I also went out for lunch with a friend and worked on a painting for an hour. I'm curled up in my chair again, but my Couch Box is next to me and I'll doodle & draw in my art journal for a little bit. 

​Life isn't all or nothing. It is living in the moment and enjoying the best of each we're given. Perhaps we could all be a little more honest when posting, showing our true, messy, broken selves -- and all the beauty we can create from it. 

I was given fabric pigtails tonight to make me feel better. It's amazing what a bit of shimmering fabric and a sense of cuteness can do!​

Reflecting on 28

​Last year, after seeing Elsie and, well, Elise, reflect on each year upon their birthdays and create goals for the next year, I decided to make a list of 28 things I'd like to accomplish while 28. 

And then promptly forgot about it. ​

When I started using my Moleskine again last month, I rediscovered the list, and was surprised to find I had unconsciously accomplished many of the goals I'd made!​ I can't even describe it...as I went down the list and checked things off, my jaw dropped...and knew I'd just made a tradition I'd continue for the rest of my life. 

(The quote on the left is a John Green quote, from one of my favorite novels, The Fault in Our Stars.) ​

I did write an e-book this year, over 120+ pages of my favorite art journaling techniques, Going Further​.

While I didn't teach a camera class, I did tutor Roben-Marie in camera work and editing. ​

I taught at my first retreat in December. ​

I visited Roben-Marie & Carissa in Florida, and my best friend from HS/College Amber, in Los Angels.​

Art Journal Diary made me $1000 in one month (It was one of two high-profit months for me!)​

Born Brave was born as Creative Warriors in the beginning of 2013.​

I sold a few prints at First Friday this month...

... & hung five paintings at a gallery in downtown Phoenix.​

I swam in the Atlantic twice. ​

​I have made way more than three new connections this year!

Since going gluten-free in September, I have lost 23 lbs and gone down 2 dress sizes. ​

I adore my long, wavy hair.​

I have experimented with oils, pan pastels, and texture mediums. ​

Since teaching regularly in-person since last year, I have become oh-so-confident at sharing what I know with others. ​

I may not have biked in the mountains, but I did spend four days in them. ​

Jen is an amazing mentor and friend! ​

I've chatted with and helped a few others with their journaling. ​

Carissa Paige is a soul-sister in so many ways, renewing my faith in finding those who just know you​. 

I have connected with others, set up an alter, and replaced my saints' medals. ​

My stock of flowy skirts has increased by three. ​

I can only imagine what 29 has in store for me!​

​(My darling parents bought me a new cup (if you've met me IRL, you've probably seen me with a blue plastic cup in-hand, as I bring it everywhere...but it broke in December, and then I left it at Frenzy Stamper, so yay...new one!) and some Molotow paint markers. YUM!)

A lesson in self-love

Sometimes, my FMS likes to show me who’s boss. 

We usually get along — I make a point to say I live with FMS and not suffer from it — and I can go on trips or spend my days out or painting, have fun as long as I acknowledge my limits (I talk about how I cope in Creative Warriors, and one of my most important tools, Rest Stops). Yes, I’ll have some days that are harder than others, but overall, my health has vastly improved ever since I went on an adventure, stopped consuming HFCS and fake sugars, and cut gluten out of my diet. 

Any illness or upheaval in life can steal any sense of control we have in our lives. Vanessa just wrote a touching and heartfelt post about her recent health issues and her experiences during it all — I really recommend it, because she just…she had me in tears by the end. 

For the past couple of weeks, the fatigue component of my twin diagnosis of FMS/CFS (fibromyalgia/chronic fatigue syndrome) has been kicking my butt.

When our bodies begin to act in a way contrary to how we’d like, we can respond with resentment and frustration. We grow up thinking we are in control of our bodies, but the mind is only one component, and while we have the strength of will to keep going during difficult circumstances or bright joys, our bodies will do what they need to do in order to keep us alive. They are marvelous machines, able to do so many things (like creating life — how miraculous!). 

What do we do, then, when they aim to misbehave? 

Mine is teaching me a much-needed lesson on self-care and love. 

I need to stop being frustrated and angry with myself. 

I am doing all I can, getting done all my work, still enjoying art and friendship.

So why should I let this fatigue get to me? 

Why should I let it get me down? 

I fear people may think me lazy, or life may be passing me by.

But we all need to learn how to live as we’re meant to.

And if that means I’m spending more time caring for myself, forgiving myself, loving myself,

then perhaps I’m beginning to learn the lesson.

I brought joy to my insomnia last night by journaling. Materials used: handcarved stamp, washi tape, Cat's Eye ink pads, collage papers, MS Paints, pencils, neon oil pastels, Moltow white paint pen. 

Self-Portrait Love Letter

For the retreat, I developed something new, allowing myself to feel my way through the content of a class rather than think; what did I want people to learn? How could I make it easier for them to get from Point A to Point B? How could I help to transform the negative self-talk I heard not only during the weekend, but from artists and crafters along my teaching travels? 

This happened just after the hike and short nap I posted about yesterday, but I still felt self-conscious. It's hard to stand in front of a room of people, of women who have become friends, and teach. Fear grips me - what if they don't like it? What if my message doesn't come across? What if, what if, what if!!

I need to learn to Trust the Process. I heard that going around the room as my students reached the awkward stage, when they were let go to start finding themselves on the page (once the instruction portion was over), and I found it so easy to remind them that it would be okay, that if they kept going, experimenting, drawing, painting -- if they kept going, it would turn out wonderful. Why do I find it so hard to follow my own advice? 

Which is funny, because I told them to imagine the women they were painting their best friends. What would you say to her if she said she was doing things wrong, hadn't accomplished much, was too overweight, too thin, too this or that or not just right? You'd comfort her! So comfort YOU!

I adore these. I can look at each and know exactly who painted each. I can see their personalities jump off the page, see all the colors they love, how some are wild and some are inside the lines, still learning to break the rules. And to think, they didn't like painting, or never thought they'd be able to draw! 

Looking over them makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, reminding me why I go up there, every time, vulnerable and frightened, but knowing we all need to Trust the Process.

I'm terrible at taking photos while I'm teaching! Here's my sample, halfway through the class. I had to paint up on a window! I usually get to a certain point when I stop demo-ing and start walking around, so she's not finished yet! 

They certainly had fun using the Catalyst Tools I have....to create hair, texture, and make marks on the paper! They're soooo useful and versatile!

Check out the gallery of photos below! I'm so proud of my girls -- you all did so amazingly well! I love you all! 

(BTW, one girl finished hers and posted a finished image -- isn't it amazing?)

I'll be teaching a version of this class on Sunday, here in Tempe, if you're interested! We'll have a ton of fun!

Aravaipa Canyon Love Letter

Oh, my darlings, I have so much to share with you! My computer is full of photos, from my last bookbinding class, to the amazing results of the mixed-media portrait class I taught at my first retreat....but for today, for the magic of 12-12-12, I thought I'd share the magic of Aravaipa Canyon, where the retreat was held. It's a magical land where no cell phones, iPads, or internet work, and you're forced to take pause and really connect with the others around you, as well as yourself. 

The ranch is reached by driving along a dirt road, mostly one-lane, up and around the mountains of the range. I was so glad to own a 4-wheel drive vehicle!

This was taken on the way out, but can you see the other side of the road? *laughs* I was cackling and giggling with joy when I drove through the creek to reach the ranch, and then again on the way out. The road's to the left, after you drive through. (I had to back up and speed up after I took this photo, as my passenger reminded me I needed speed to get through the foot-to-foot-and-a-half deep creek!)

There is a forest out there, up and down the mountains, where I swear, faeries dance with the spirits of native americans still dwelling in the forests and mountains of their people. 

Can you imagine them, here, on these mushrooms growing from the side of a tree?

Spinning webs around these dormant branches? 

There's a stone labyrinth out there, that takes longer than you think to get around, with a little alter in the center. I was reminded that these circular labyrinths used to represent the womb of a woman, back in ancient times, and all her creative potential. How we have to navigate through the twists and turns of life in order to create. 

In a place like this, how could I not take pause and go Still? I'd found autumn at last!

And then, I'd look up, and be reminded that we were in the middle of a desert. Those mesas and saguaro, so ancient - did you know they don't get their first arm until they're 100 years old? 

We hiked through the woods and suddenly, came out upon this beautiful vista, this part of the creek where the banks were covered in long grass, where the breeze was gentle and the trees swayed and rained down leaves on us as we lay down for a little nap... (This is my favorite shot; who would have thought I'd be taking photos like this when I started playing a couple years ago?)

It was as if the creek made space for all of us, letting us rest. The water was cool and clear, and I splashed in it, watching the droplets reflect the midday sunlight like snowflakes or glitter falling to earth. 

Our view. I suddenly was in love with Arizona.

I felt full of magic. 

I then went back, back to the world, and gathered up that magic to spread to my students, encouraging them to draw and paint and find the same joy I do in moving around paint and pencils and marks. I'll share all that tomorrow. For today, reflect on Stillness, on Wishes and Dream and Imagination. On Magic in your life, in Deep Play, in Calm.

Meanwhile, elsewhere:

I'm curating this week on Crescendoh, sharing a new Art Saves story about how art got me through panic attacks and changes after my concussion, and sharing my favorite links on the web. 

Check me out on this week's podcast of Adventures in Arting with Julie Balzer! I'm interviewed with my dear friend Roben-Marie. 

Shining From Within...

I've always been captivated by the moon, that milky white light, the way it cuts through the cold on a clear winter's night, or seems to radiate heat in the height of summer. When I was younger, I set a jar of water, scented with rose oil, out during the full moon, hoping to capture a bit of its magic. I kept the jar for years, opening it every so often to smell the moon-rose water inside. 

I lost it in the move out west, the magic used up, gone, only drops left inside. 

I've found myself playing, looking at the relationship between color and shape, putting together elements in my journal that I feel would produce simple beauty, evoke emotion. There are pages I spend hours on, and others I put together over weeks, finding little bits and scraps that would work amazingly well together. 

It's almost like going on a scavenger hunt, long-winded with the prize of a loved journal page, finding all those elements that are supposed to fit, work together. Plucking pieces of the Self from a pile of papers and scraps and left-overs from other projects, bigger projects. 

It's how we piece ourselves back together after a stressful event, a long trip to our Soul Home we avoided for so long, we needed to go far, far away to find ourselves again. All those pieces of our True Self shed and forgotten, dropped for shinier, newer toys. But those new things may not be the best for us, or feed our ego instead of nourishing us, and at some point, we're left alone, grasping, in the dark, for those true bits, hoping to light our Soul Light once again, glowing bright against the darkness.

Take time today to be Silent. To sit with yourself and listen for those words of wisdom, those answers you already know. Collect together the yearnings of your true nature, put them together, shine from within.

little grey and white feathers mark the way

It was the third time I’d walked out to find one waiting on my path. 

Curious, I bent down and picked it up, grey and white, freshly shed from the wings or tail of one of the pigeons that come to rest in the courtyards of our apartment complex after digging through the dumpsters of near-by restaurants. 

(I assume this is what they do; I have no knowledge of their movements other than seeing them flapping by, walking around, chased off by dogs on walks…)

I never really paid attention to such things, random feathers or animals crossing my path, until I encountered both while wandering the woods of central Florida with a girl who walks with animals and sparkles like a little pixie faerie. Now, I find myself gathering all sorts of random bits — stones and sand, feathers, twigs, leaves, all placed in my art or on an alter that’s quickly swallowing up the top of an old white dresser. 

But this third time, I knew it was a sign. I called her, asked, “What do pigeons mean?” 

“Finding your way back to the security of home, returning to what you’ve forgotten, the strength of family,” she surmised from that much-loved edition of Animal Speak (I bought her the pocket guide before I left, a perfect-sized little book that fit into her backpack). 

At the time, I thought it meant my physical family, but now…I think the message goes a little deeper than that. 

 

One of the things I discovered by going outside myself, leaving my day-to-day surroundings, was I’d lost myself somewhere along the way. 

I used to write poetry and prose to connect with my deeper self. I’d swirl in long skirts and sit on the warm grass of parks, nestled under trees, and work on things. On writing and homework and drawing. I’d sit on the beach and write scripts and shove my shoes in my bag so I could wade out into the surf. As a child, I played with spirits and faeries (I met my Grandfather for the second time when I was six or seven, when his spirit tossed me into the air and I shrieked with laughter), created magical kingdoms, and made costumes from whatever I could find around the house. 

And somewhere along the way, I lost all that. 

 

There are things I don’t talk about much. Large chunks of my life left offline, mentioned with hesitation. What if they don’t believe me? What if they don’t like that sort of thing? What if they think I’m crazy?

Pieces of my Wild Soul hidden in my mind, shared only with close friends. Bits that scream to be let out against the fear that kept me quiet. 

But if I remain silent, scared, and fearful of judgement, then what does that say to the girl just discovering this of herself? What does that say to others who may feel as I do, believe as I do? 

So here’s a piece of my truth:

I hear stories. Lots of stories. Feel emotions and sometimes hear my name breathed into my ear as I fall asleep. Questions asked. Conversations overheard. 

From Spirit (or ghosts, or souls-on-Earth).

 

It’s been my experience, from an early age, that many people don’t take kindly to the little blond girl with an angel guide as an imaginary friend, who knows things about you you’ve never told anyone else. Who claims to have chatted with relatives long-gone. I’ve been told I’m going to hell by a little boy who attended a religious school, scoffed at by a woman sitting in front of me on the train, laughed at by friends who think tarot cards are to play with, not respect. 

(They asked me why they couldn’t touch them, what the Big Deal was. I could see Spirit and Fae trying to help from the corner, telling me to be strong, to be confident in my own abilities.) 

While my religious and spiritual practices are eclectic at best, with a place for the Virgin Mary, the Buddha, those many-faced Hindu goddesses, it’s been a long time since I identified myself as Christian (but still love church…a loving, soulful celebration of God? Definitely my thing!). 

I don’t mean to talk about religion all the time, now that I’m shifting and changing, sliding back into my own sealskin, long lost and hidden behind the mountains of lessons to be learned, but I know that my artistic practice is unfolding, sprinkling Spirit and inspiration across all I do. 

And it’s time to pull the intuition into all that I do. 

 

I truly believe that those who listen to Spirit, or God, or the Goddess, who take the time to be still and dive into the depths of their own Wild Souls, practice the core of wabi-sabi — that is, they go with the flow and, while they may find forks in the river or waterfalls to survive, they have grace; their faith and confidence help them tackle bigger challenges. 

It was harder for me to dive that deep when I was still acting as I thought I should (oh, that terrible word that enslaves so many!) instead of remembering that smiling, always-laughing girl of my youth. But now that I’ve reconnected, I am finding things come easily. My life is full of happy accidents, serendipity, and just right moments. In fact, every day this week is busy with projects, adventures, and paint on my fingers. 

Now, every time I walk to my car, or grab the mail, to walk and search for the treasures of nature I find myself drawn to use more and more of in my art, I smile at the feathers I spy in the grass. I’ve started my journey home to my heart, to my True Self, and know I’m on the right path when those little grey and white feathers mark the way. 

"feathers on my path" 12"x12" mixed-media on wood. available.