I Survived the ART-a-Thon!

Behold: Pajama Girl!

I did it! I stayed awake, I was creative, I finished the ART-a-Thon. And then I slept my life away! And now, looking back on it all, I see that I should've done some things differently. But it was an experiment, right? And next year I'll know better.

I keep forgetting that I'm not a kid anymore, even though my head still thinks I'm one. And my goal was to stay awake and be productive for all 62 of the ART-a-Thon hours. But what I hadn't counted on was the fact that on the Friday that it began I'd been up all day preparing for the event.... Oops! So already I'd been awake for almost 12 hours and the thing hadn't even started yet....

But that was OK. I decided I'd pace myself. This couldn't be any worse than the final 3-day weekend of Fest with its crazy crowds and subsequent pack-up/tear-down after the last cannon of the season. Right? I could do this.

I'd packed clothes and toiletries for the whole weekend. I brought a pillow. I threw together some snacks and oatmeal packets and a book to read if/when things got quiet. I purchased an Eeyore cosplay costume to wear as comfy clothes when I got to the point where fabric was too painful to wear. I thought I was pretty prepared!

The mural takes shape

And staying awake all that first night was not as hard as I thought it would be. There was lots of camaraderie. People were there drawing, painting, laughing, talking, and listening to music. And I was there with them.

An idea was sketched out on a large canvas mural, and by midnight parts of it were already taking shape as artists painted in their takes on historic local scenes.

For much of that night I drew in my studio and watched the mural progress. Then at midnight a jigsaw puzzle was brought out and I applied myself to the finishing of it. Fellow artists called it a day and went home to comfy beds, remarking on their way out that we'd never get that puzzle done before morning. But we did!
 

I did manage to get some art done!

Before dawn arrived I freshened up and changed into Eeyore. The costume wasn't meant to be jammies but it was as comfortable as jammies, and it wasn't long before I became recognized as Pajama Girl. I'm not sure if Eeyore was a good idea or not.... Coffee arrived just as the sun was coming up, and I stood at one of the windows in the North Studio with a cup of it and watched the sun rise. It's one of my favorite times of the day to be there....

And soon the first full day of the ART-a-Thon began. It was a busy day! But I did manage to get some drawing done. My goal was to create something every hour, but I was too busy for that.... 

That evening my local grandbugs Avery and Erik joined me while their parents went out for dinner. Together we learned how to operate a floor loom, played with Polymer clay, and made our marks on a community canvas. James joined us later and the four of us played Pictionary together on the paper-covered art tables. (Avery drew fun portraits of me and James.) It was just the four of us, and soon we were all roaring with laughter, and the fun didn't stop until nearly midnight when James left to bring them home and tuck them in.

Guess who these two are?

Avery makes her mark on the community canvas

All that laughing and silliness gave me my second wind, but not for long. By 4am on Sunday morning I was seriously down for the count and decided to break my ‘sleepfast’ by crashing on the floor of my studio for a bit. I threw down my yoga mat, set an alarm on my phone, and tried to sleep, but I think I was just too overtired. After an hour of fighting with it, I got up, changed into normal clothes, washed my face, and prepared to continue ART-a-Thoning, but I was at the point then where my body was wide awake but my brain was full of cotton. I laid down again and was out.

There was quite the crowd!

A couple of hours later, James was knocking on my studio door with a gift of breakfast oatmeal from our favorite local diner. The oatmeal was HEAVEN so my stomach was happy, but the rest of me felt awful. I think it would’ve been better if I’d foregone the nap and simply forced myself to stay awake.

It was soon obvious that Sunday would be the busiest day of the whole event, even though those of us who were trying to be arty for every hour of it were exhausted. I was no longer playing the part of Pajama Girl (Eeyore needed laundering….) and was instead now cast as simply one of the volunteers. There was a steady stream of visitors and a WHOLE LOT OF KIDS. Instead of working on my own creations, I gave directions, handed out pencils, cleaned up messes, re-papered a table or two, dumped out dirty paint water, etc.….

Erik was a natural on the loom

Once again my grandbugs joined me. And once again we had the world's best time.

We learned how to make and operate a little tapestry loom out of cardboard, watched James’s glassworking demo, and learned how to do an acrylic ‘paint pour.’ Avery attended Larry’s drawing class and drew, outlined, and painted a picture of Blarney Castle in honor of St. Patrick’s Day and  Erik added huge swaths of rows onto the community handweaving project. Once again, they were just the burst of energy I needed.

When all was finally over and I returned to my studio to get my gear together, what should I find on my drawing table but an incredible letter written by Avery and Erik that broke my heart wide open. And suddenly the ART-a-Thon (to me) was more about the time I spent with my grandkiddos than it was about how long I was able to stay awake and be creative.

No surprise: it took me a good part of the following week to recover! But already I look forward to next year when I can do it all over again. And maybe they'll do it with me. And maybe my faraway grandbug Abigail can join us. Because that would be AWESOME.

 ...

A Little Update

I'm currently over my eyebrows in a watercolor class that I'm in absolute love with, taught by a beautiful friend whose amazing work makes my socks go up and down. I'm easily the slowest student in her online course, I'm sure, probably because I'm completely out of my element there (ACK! Color!). But I've chosen to temporarily forget all that I've taught myself over the years and become a blank canvas (pun intended) and start from absolute scratch, as if I'm finally in Art School learning the basics....

But this class isn't the topic of my post. (I promise to give it equal time here so you can see how things are going.) I watch the lessons online and do my homework during studio time so as to be completely uninterrupted by housework and pets and fill-in-the-blank. That's been my plan all along, anyway, but I find that I'm still frequently interrupted. Only this time by leaves....

I'm pretty sure I'm spending precious class time on them because I'm anxious as hell.... So much is going on in the world right now that I'm really really not OK with, and I don't know what to do. I don't know how to help. I don't even know how to help MYSELF. The best I can come up with is to just breathe....

So when the real world intrudes in my head, calling a halt and just breathing has been a helpful reboot of sorts. But then I have to pick up again with something soothing that I am comfortable and familiar with.

When I'm 'leafing' (just coined this now and it makes me smile), time stops and a conversation starts. It's a convo at its most basic, between me and Everything Else.... It's like the Universe or whatever takes over and creates while my overactive brain enjoys a break, just floating in an imagined blackness like an untethered astronaut staring at stars and listening to the sounds of her breath.... I need to be in that peace for a bit before I can start entertaining thoughts again. Which might also explain why my class progress is slow....

My leaves are getting the paint treatment now because my watercolors are front and center at this time. The results please and soothe me. And I want to share them with you. What do you think?

(P.S.: Since writing last, I've received all sorts of Studio Name feedback (thank you!!). And I've been holed up in my wonder-filled spot at RRAC, drawing/painting on leaves and contemplating my choices.)
.

It Certainly Is

I'm thinking about this today.

Not necessarily the 'supporting' part so much as the 'work' part.

Because I'm up to my neck in it.

And it's both exhausting and exhilarating. :)

...

The Annual A-Hah

I sell my work at one public venue a year. That's it. That's all I can handle at the moment. And that one venue is a Renaissance Faire. And Renaissance Faires have their own unique quirks that other shows do not. And in all the color and action and fun I tend to forget that....

Until every season when I reach that Point, that mid-season Crisis Point, where I'm awake all night stretched out in my sleeping bag on the hardwood floor of my shop staring up at the stars twinkling through the skylight in the roof and wondering what the frippin' hell was I thinking trying to talk up my art all dang day to drunk people who just want to see boobs and go home. And then I want to throw in the towel. I want to sell my shop and use my inventory as fire starter. I want to punch people for a quarter and make some real money.

I reached that Point last weekend. And I should've expected it. It was a 3-day weekend that started out hot and humid, and that first day drained my energy well completely. Then the rest of the weekend was cool and autumnal. Crowds appeared for the first time in the season. And Depleted Me had nothing to give them. That should've been my heads-up. I should've expected The Feeling. The one that's like wanting to jump off a cliff because hitting bottom would hurt less.

I caught myself in mid-jump this past week and I 'talked' about it. Actually, I posted my feelings to Facebook. But not in a BIG way. Just simple. I said, "I've reached that Point in the Fest season. The one where I doubt everything and suspect that what I'm doing is not what I'm supposed to be doing...." And I got some responses. Comments from friends ranging from, "Breathe. Relax! You're doing fine. You're right where you should be." To, "Enough! Time to stop all this introspective psychobabble double talk." I found myself feeling like the quiet kid at the table muttering, "Nobody likes me," and hearing, "Nonsense; snap out of it!"

Some were sympathetic. A few friends really validated my feelings. One said, "Thanks for standing up & saying what I think several other people are afraid of saying at this point of fest. It's honest." And another, who is probably as intimidated (I suspect) by my tell-it-like-it-is friends and their comments as I am sometimes, emailed me privately to say,

"My thought is that we all should change and grow. Maybe, just maybe, it is time to grow beyond the booth at Ren and see where the growth/change takes you. It does not stop your creativity, only channels it differently. I would miss your shop, but I have been one of those who mostly lusts after and rarely affords your awesomeness. But, I am a very tiny, tiny corner of all of this.

"In my maturing years I am learning that change, while scary, usually brings me to a better perspective and usually a more content life. And most importantly the decision should be made after Ren. After the mind and soul drain have recovered. If it feels right after all that, then take a deep breath and do it.

"Not being an artist myself, at least not one that will ever sell anything, I cannot advise you in any way on how to share your creativity, but you are part of an awesome group of creative people and I just have to believe that one of them "knows the song in your heart" and can help you find the way.

"Anyway, that is what is in my mind and heart after reading your post. Muddled and jumbled as it is, listen to your heart and be open to what it is telling you."

THIS is the dialogue I'd hoped to start. THIS was how the conversation was supposed to begin. I wasn't fishing for compliments or pats on the back or hang-in-there-you're-doing-fine's. I didn't intend to set myself up for the snap-out-of-its and it's-all-in-your-imaginations.

I told my FB friends that I'm not so much questioning being part of Fest as much as I'm questioning HOW I'm a part of Fest. That I wish sometimes there was something else I was good at -- juggling, tin-whistling, anything! -- as owning a shop and investing time and money in creating a product is an expensive way to get together with my friends and be a part of the world I love.

I couldn't be more confident that making art is what I'm supposed to be doing. And I'm pretty sure that being at Fest is where I'm supposed to be. (If I wasn't there every weekend of the season, when would I see my pseudo-Tribe?) However, selling my art at Fest is where I'm all confused.

I should've phrased my status update differently. I should've said something like,

"Fellow Fest Creatives: Do YOU ever reach that Point? The one where you doubt yourself and your work? The one where you find yourself desperately trying to close a sale to keep yourself from feeling like a total failure? The one where you can't imagine what made you think that creating what you create and trying to make a living from it -- and at a Faire, no less! -- was a good idea? And what things do you do when that Point is reached? Or do you see it coming and head it off at the pass? What buoys you? What keeps you going? What makes you continue to put yourself out there and risk more rejection?"

You'd think after doing this for nearly 30 years I'd have a clue. And it embarrasses me to say that I don't, that I still hit that Point and wonder what the hell just happened, that I still struggle.... 

I get that beer and turkey legs and bawdy stage shows that never change appeal to all but art is subjective. Not everyone I meet is going to respond favorably to what I do. And of the few who do respond well to it, few will purchase. And of the few who purchase, even fewer will buy more than one piece. (I love other artists' work, too, but buying, framing, and displaying more than one print is something I've yet to do, so I totally understand this.) And of the few who wish to purchase and can't afford to, few will take advantage of the less-expensive alternatives I offer. So in the end, my bills are pretty much paid (barely) every year with $1 bookmark sales, most of which are only made after I mark them down to 50-cents and offer to include the sales tax. That's how it goes. That's how it goes for ME, anyway. And it's been that way every year no matter how I try to spin what I do, no matter how I try to change up my product line to appeal to (hopefully) more customers....

And then the occasional fantasy of walking away from Mayfaire and just hawking for James overcomes me and I get an adventurous tickle in my gut. Especially when I remind myself that there are other alternatives now, online shopping alternatives, for example, which would allow me to sell my work without having to vie with boobs and turkey legs for my customers' attention. And then I go on to imagine that I'd still be able to throw on a costume, see my Fest friends, and feel like a part of the Clan but it'd no longer cost me a fortune to do so and I wouldn't spend any more angst-filled seasons wondering what it is I'm doing wrong....

...How cool would that be, really?.... 

(*blink*)

It'll always be this way....

(*blink blink*)

...And I should accept that....

(*blink*)

...And if I can't accept that, I should keep trying on that walking-away-from-Mayfaire fantasy and see how it feels.... How comfortable it feels....

(*blink*)

Well, huh....

See what happens when I write to you?

I learn stuff.
...

Overfreakinwhelmed

'Tis the season.

Of excitement and anticipation and doubts and second-guessings and assorted heebie-jeebies.

Of 'I-Can-Hardly-Waits' and 'I-Hope-My-Garb-Still-FITS.'

Of 'This-Is-What-I've-Been-Looking-Forward-to-All-Year's.

And WORK, of course.

Lots and lots and LOTS of work....

WorkworkworkworkWORK.

Woooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooork.

*Sigh*

I hardly know where to begin.
...

The Christmas Conundrum

This reminds me: Holiday baking! Gah....

In an email to friends recently I wrote that the older I get the harder it is for me to like this time of year....

It's not the snow; I like a change of seasons, thank you. It's the holiday commercialism. It's ads on television telling me to buy a car for everyone on my list. It's me second-guessing myself.

It's Time getting away from me and all of a sudden Christmas is here and I've got all of five minutes to get everything done. It's my kids having a million places they've got to be for the holiday and so I take Tumbledown off their list so that they're not run so ragged.

It's knowing my grandbugs will be spending almost an entire week opening gifts day after day from people who just want to see them smile. It's me wondering what that does to a kid after all....

Self-Doubt and Sleeplessness

Eeyore understands -- :)

The last two weeks have been sponsored by the letter 'i'. For 'insomnia'....

(Sigh.)

This happens to me every summer prior to the start of the MN Renaissance Festival's season. Even though I know to expect and prepare for it now, being in its throes gets harder every year.

It's all due to the fact that even though I'm physically exhausted at the moment, my thoughts are a perfect storm.  There's so much to do, order, create, organize, scan, clean, print, package, sew, launder, frame, sign, number, count, fill-in-the-blank. The list is endless and intimidating! And then I have to go and add to it a plateful of self-doubt with a side of longing-to-rewind-Time-and-do-all-sorts-of-things-over.

I look at the recent work I've been so happily creating and I suddenly dislike it in spades. It's not good enough. It's all too whimsical or something. Too light! And too cartoonish, maybe. I imagine harsh public scrutiny. I compare myself unfavorably to creative friends I know who really ARE artists. I imagine few sales for the millionth Festival year in a row....

I find myself wanting to rewrite my history. Insert some stuff in there that never happened but should have. How would things be different now if I'd gone to Art School, learned to use the correct materials, learned to do things the right way, found my style? Would I have a healthy respect for my work now and not see it as simply lucky scribbles? Would I finally view it as Real Art, worthy of payment, and stop giving it away? Would I be able to call myself an artist and not feel like a liar?

I know it's just my inner Mean Girl. I recognize her voice. She's taking advantage of the fact that I'm too tired right now to fight back and I know this. As I try to fall asleep at night she hits me with her best shot -- over and over again -- and I just lie there and let her.... I've learned over the years to anticipate this, too. (Again -- doesn't get any easier.)

Do other creative people feel this way, I wonder? Do they share these doubts? And if so, what do they do to silence their inner critics?

What am I saying? Why don't I just ASK you: You're creative, my friend. I'm in awe of everything you do, and you know it. Do you experience what I'm describing? And if so, how do you handle it?

Waiting on your every word,
~me.

...

Fantasy Meets Reality

I'm ignoring the signs....

Prior to my recent Grandbug trip to California I'd pared down my luggage to the barest of necessities: a few shirts plus the jeans on my legs and the shoes on my feet. It's not like my daughter didn't have a laundry room, right?; I could always wash, rinse, and repeat. Yet, surprisingly, my carry-on was as heavy as ever.

It couldn't have been just the baby clothes and gifts I was bringing with me. And what would normally have been a library's worth of books had been reduced to a Kindle, so it wasn't that. And I hadn't bothered with shampoos or curling irons or jackets or boots. So what was my problem??

Art supplies.

In my happy little fantasies I'd imagined Time standing still for the duration of my visit, and I saw myself spending endless hours sitting in a quiet room watching a napping baby and drawing everything about her. How hard could it be? I was away from home with nothing to do and forever in which to do it. (Just writing those words gives me pleasant goosebumps.)

On the plane to California I wrote out long lists of ideas that I planned to flesh out, knowing that in the pockets of my luggage were pens and pencils and pleasantly blank pads of bristol board. Had I remembered a straight-edge? Had I packed the kneaded erasers? Should I look for a pencil sharpener at the airport? It was all too exciting for words.

And then it wasn't.

I got to my destination and spent my time there doing everything else but think about art. It was as though just the thinking about it was enough. My energy had dissipated....

Yes, the snowcapped mountains and jack-in-the-beanstalk-sized trees were big old inspirations (not to mention the fairy face of my grandbug!), but I took photos galore of them all and never thought to capture them on paper. I wonder why?

Maybe it's because my hands wanted to be filled up with a sleeping baby instead of erasers and pencils. Or because my eyes were afraid to focus on a sketchbook in case they missed something. Or (more likely) because I hadn't realized just how fast that week would pass.

I'm sure it was all those things and more.

What I DO know for sure is this. Being home now has made me anxious. Great bucketloads of work have filled up in my absence and I've got art commissions to create. Gardens have gotten underway and are flourishing. Weeds have established themselves fabulously. Unfinished projects are tapping their feet. It all needs attention and there's only one Me.

And when things get this overwhelming, all I can think of to do is read.

No help at all. But it makes me feel better every time. Until I stop reading and realize that the brewing storm in my head is about to reach its boiling point.

...

Baby Steps (it's not what you think....)

You thought I was going to write about grandbugs, didn't you? Surprise! :)

Tomorrow I teach my first resin class. Which is really my first class about anything. Ever....

It really is a baby step for me because 'teacher' isn't a word I'd use to describe myself.

But, surprisingly, I'm not too apprehensive about stepping out of my comfort zone and doing this tomorrow. Probably because my students are James's fellow glassworkers, people I know and are relatively comfortable with. Plus, James will be there, too, and I'm confident he'll pepper my presentation with humor and fill in any blanks I fail to cover.

I'm interested to see how it goes, actually, and am looking forward to an afternoon spent with creative friends who I'm sure will take any info I give them and spin it into their own unique magic.

And who knows? Maybe this baby step will really be a giant leap for me. Maybe even into something altogether new.

Keep your feathers crossed!
...

Fairy Post

All you need is:

faith,

trust,

and fairy dust!

~*~

Love and sparkles,

the Tumbledown Fairies

Moving Through the Doldrums

Ahoy! There be a light at the end of this tunnel!

I've been trying to sleep my life away, apparently. That's what I do when I'm dealing with The Downs. Depression just paints everything nap-colored. So it's doubly difficult to accomplish anything when the down-and-dirty Downs are running amok. But I tried. And since this blog is technically a 'studio blog' about art and stuff, I thought I'd share with you what I've managed to create in spite of The Downs.

My eldest daughter is expecting her first child in April, and I found myself recently trying to decide on a shower gift for her. I, of course, wanted to give her the moon! But I can't, so I turned to art instead. (Please know that in my head, art is rarely if ever an appropriate gift. When a customer tells me that the art they've just purchased from me will be a gift, my stomach ties itself in knots. Art is terribly personal. It's not a one-size-fits-all kind of thing. It has to fit the giftee's style.)

Creating something by hand is the only way I can afford to give a gift of quality. There are those in my Girlz' extended families who can not only buy the moon itself but also the one-of-a-kind crackers to spread it on, and I can't compete with that. But I can give my he'art.' My mom reminds me that what I've created will be an heirloom, that my grandkids will one day as adults look at my work and think, "My grandmother MADE this. For ME." And I try to imagine it, but I can't. I've made what I've made because it's all I can give. I like to hope it's enough, but in my head it's no moon....

So I thought long and hard about what I'd create for my Eldest -- a fierce go-getter who has run a triathalon, climbed a mountain, and gone to hell and back again via Iraq. Her nursery plans are all about Adventure and Travel, and the room will be in hues taken from antique maps. I liked the limitations; it'd narrow down my choices and rein in my imagination. 

Scrapbooking pages with the Equator all lined up.

Keeping her theme in mind, I began to collect my ideas. My first step was to find a frame that I could afford, and the Universe kindly led me to a gilded triptych with a parchment-colored mat. And then I found scrapbooking paper designed like old map pages. Things were coming together. When I got home, the first thing I did was to line up the equator of my three map pages so that they flowed from left to right in a grand arc, just like a globe. Then I secured them to the frame's mat with art tape.

Cute and sweet meets mischievous and adventuresome.

All the while I was doing this I toyed with characters. Since my daughter and her husband have decided not to know the sex of their baby prior to birth, I chose to use an animal character in the picture I'd design for them. I wanted something that would seem cute and androgynous, something that could appear in an adventure theme and still look sweet even while it's climbing a mountain or wrestling a bear, something that would be appropriate in the nursery of either a boy or a girl. So I chose a mouse. And because of the theme, the mouse would have to be doing something over-the-top. And because of the triptych frame, it'd have to be doing it in threes.

Tinting the drawing with pencil.

My first idea was a mouse in an old-fashioned hot-air balloon (in keeping with the old-fashioned-ness of the gilded frame and the tea-stained map pages). I sketched an idea directly onto stiff watercolor paper and made everything larger than the 5x7 mat opening because I wanted the final work to sit on top of the mat and look 3-dimensional. Then I outlined the sketch in waterproof marker and delicately tinted it in colored pencil.

Background bits are removed so the map can show through.

My next idea was to put the same mouse in a boat. Again I sketched my idea onto watercolor paper (this time using a lightbox to illuminate my original mouse-in-a-balloon drawing under a blank sheet of paper to ensure that both drawings would be similarly sized). Then I inked it and tinted it in the same shades as the balloon drawing. Nothing too girly-girly, nothing too testosterone-y. Mostly everything was in gold parchment shades with the occasional salmon pink and seafoam for some color relief.

So now I had travel by air and travel by water. The third scene in the triptych would be travel by land. I began to sketch out a mouse on a camel, only I changed it immediately to a giraffe for the bright yellows and interesting pattern shapes. But it didn't take me long, however, to dump the idea of the third sketch altogether in favor of a verse, something in the middle that the other two drawings could point to and frame. I figured I'd search for a cool quotation on the Internet and so I left the verse for last....

I <3 the 3-D effect.

When the drawings were colored, I trimmed them from the watercolor paper with cuticle scissors and then cut the interior background bits out with an X-Acto knife so that the map would appear behind the designs proper. Then I stuck little foam scrapbooking stickers to the backsides of the drawings to make them 3-dimensional and secured them to the map pages on the triptych frame.

My attempt at writing verse. :)

Then there was the problem of the verse.... I looked all over the Internet and couldn't find just exactly what I wanted, so I decided at the last moment to write something my own self. I printed the words onto parchment-colored linen paper, then trimmed the verse to look as though it had a deckle edge. I gave it the same 3-D treatment by elevating it above the map page with scrapbooking stickers. Then all was framed.

Voila.

So that's that. A bit of sunshine managed to part the clouds of my Doldrums and help me create a little something for my future Grandbug that I hope will make a mark on his or her heart. Or at least remind them once in a while that they can do anything. Because they can.

Of that I have no doubt. :)
...

Renaissancey Ramblings

Mayfaire in the rain -- :)

Only two weekends of Fest left. I can't say I'm not sorry.... It takes so much out of me to do this for the entire Fest season, and I half wonder if it'd be any easier if I did the Circuit and made every weekend a Fest weekend. The thought gives me the shivers. I'm sure I could do it, but I doubt for very long.

 

Autumn is my favorite season of all, and by the time Fest is over for the year I've pretty much missed its highlights. My gardens have peaked, the leaves have turned, Indian Summer has left the building -- the works. I'm still in a sort of post-Fest recovery when my birthday comes and goes and Halloween appears. But I know if I didn't have Fest to do come August every year I'd miss it in spades. It's just that now that I'm older, it's more difficult for me to Do It All.

 

This year, Fest has been sweet and rather uneventful. And as usual, I've learned a lot. I've learned that framed art is a luxury few can afford in a crappy economy, and that my lifetime customers will purchase from me regardless. Some have even saved money to commission something special. Others have drawn during the year and are eager to show me their work because I've specifically asked them to.... Some new customers are now my friends and have already visited me multiple times. Why someone would pay the admission price just to see me and have a Scotch Egg is unimaginable, but there you have it.... Strangers have stopped in for a smile and a hug. Little kids have stopped by to tell me what books they've read since I asked them last. And some customers have even brought me books(!) because they know how much I love them, bless their hearts.... The people I meet and take the time to get to know -- no matter how difficult that is for me -- are some of the most amazing and heartwarming folks on the planet. But it took stepping out of my cocoon to learn that.

 

The remaining two weekends will be easily the busiest by far unless weather interrupts attendance. Barring that, I expect to be pulled thin and feeling especially apologetic. Friends and family often wait until the last minute to attend, and by then I barely have time to wave and acknowledge them let alone enjoy a proper visit, and I feel bad when I can't give everyone my undivided attention. But it is what it is....

 

And -- believe it or not -- I'm already planning for and looking forward to next season. :)

...

An INFP Tries to Make a Living

 

The MN Renaissance Festival is my big show of the year, my only show of the year, the one that pays my bills. Sort of.

 

My goal every spring is to be so ready for it that I can spend my summer days curled up in the hammock with a stack of comic books until the day arrives when I have to leave for First Weekend. But that's never happened. A more honest scenario goes thusly: Spring and summer both get away from me and I suddenly realize that all is now down to the wire, and 'being ready' will mean working 24/7 until the first Opening Cannon is fired.

 

Of course, it wouldn't be Fest season without this rush-and-panic. Sometimes I suspect it's even necessary, as the work spent getting ready keeps me from thinking too much.

 

When I first fantasized about becoming a full-time artist, I imagined myself cocooned in my cozy house, creating whimsical drawings, and -- I don't know what -- telepathically sharing them with people, apparently.... It never occurred to me that most of the work I'd be doing would be non-art-related. Or that a BIG part would involve interacting with people. Why I never thought of this embarrasses me now. Did I really assume those things would take care of themselves?

 

When it finally dawned on me that being an artist meant selling myself as well as my work, I assumed I'd eventually just get used to it. But I've been doing so now for over 25 years, and if nothing else, interacting with people has gotten more difficult. Even though I haven't a bit of 'actor' in my DNA, I keep telling myself that my game face is a role of sorts, and to wear it I have to get into character. But I have no idea what a confident and extroverted Artist looks or sounds like. However, I do know what it feels like. It feels fake.

 

I've been told I pull it off -- mostly from folks who only see me once a year standing behind my Festival shop's counter. None of them know me well enough to tell that I'm a quarter cup short of a panic attack.

 

If you shared a weekend with me at Fest, you'd wonder why I make such a big deal about what it takes to do it, as nothing much happens there than me standing on my feet all day and smiling at people until my face cramps. But I tell you what: Once I'm home again on a Sunday night I have all I can do not to go to bed for the rest of the week. I'm laid up with whole-body inflammation, I swear. Two days of people takes the stance-and-circumpoop right the heck out of me.... 

 

These days before each weekend now I 'armor up.' I ground and center, I dust off my attitude of gratitude, I thank the Universe for giving me the opportunity to live my life the way I do, as being personally vulnerable and exposing my work to the opinions of others is a small price to pay for this lifestyle and I know it. In comparison, the office job I once endured brought me way more money, certainly, but it also brought more health problems than I knew what to do with. I will never get rich drawing fairies, but it's still a dipped-in-gold improvement. And for that I'm eternally grateful.

 

I love being a part of Fest. I've always loved it! And I hate that in order to participate I have to gear up for it in spades when I know that, as always, it will prove to be all sorts of rewarding and magickal and amazing.

But for this INFP, it's one of the hardest things I've ever chosen to do.

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The End-of-Summer Crazies

I'm so overwhelmed!! Can a season be any busier for me?

I can't begin to tell you all that's on my plate right now. The days that are all about finishing and finalizing drawings, about working out the logistics of printing and framing them, about questioning and second-guessing them as product designs (this always comes at a time when I'm over-frippin'-whelmed about my art). The hours spent feeding hungry, hungry caterpillars or releasing butterflies. The stolen moments spent babysitting the grandbug. The money worries and time constraints and sleepless nights. The lawn that needs cutting (still!), the areas of it that need mulching (again!), and the garden that's absorbing its harvest because I've yet to pick it. Chaos! Just know that I'm walking around in circles, wringing my hands.

Which just adds to all the panic, of course.

So out of desperation I've been sticking an occasional foot across my path and tripping my own self up with some small comfort rituals. Like tea with milk and sugar (not sweetener!). And stolen moments reading picture books (Mercer Mayer!). And the writing of lists.

I never realized how important lists are to me. Not for informational purposes so much as for their comfort value. I'm not organized enough to use them properly: I make them and lose them and accidentally throw them away or find them again ages later and realize then that I have no idea what they're even lists of....

And now that I'm aware of their importance, I try not to be without paper and pencil at all times, or at least have my smartphone handy so I can record stuff until I can transcribe it. Making lists clears my head. Or perhaps it just tricks me into thinking that all may be filling up with clutter and chaos around me but at least I can organize my thoughts....

Lately I've been busily making lists on everything from paper towels to kitchen counters to the backs of bills and even the back of my hand. Lists are everywhere here! On walls at eye level. On my drawing table, amidst the pencils scattered like pick-up-sticks. On art that is waiting to be scanned. There are even lists on top of lists, and lists that I've attempted to recreate because I can't find their originals. Solid proof of my frazzlement and my need to self-comfort!....

So because I don't want to bore you even more with all that's going on at the moment for which I'm frantically making lists, here's a -- list! (:->) A list of ten magical things about my yesterday:

1. A morning spent reading picture books to my grandbug.
2. The discovery of a perfectly preserved dragonfly the size of my open palm. (It's now on the shelf over my sink....)
3. A phone call from my dad. It's usually my mother who calls me, so hearing his voice on the phone was a pleasant surprise. (And I made him laugh. Priceless!)
4. Reading a spectacular book -- Shirley Jackson's 'We've Always Lived In the Castle' -- all in one sitting.
5. A lunch of stale theatre popcorn. (Love it, can't help it, don't judge.)
6. Receiving an email from a special friend from whom I haven't heard in months.
7. Finding a ten-dollar bill in a pocket that I'd thought was empty. 
8. Treating James to supper with my found money, and then being given a free dessert by the restaurant manager. (Awesome!)
9. Coming home to an episode of Project Runway queued up on the DVR.
10. A few moments before bedtime spent working on a knitting project. There's just something so meditative about clicking needles and yarn passing through one's fingers. (It's like petting a cat.)

There.... I feel better now.... You see how much help you are to me? Stop what you're doing right now and give yourself a big hug for being such a good listener. Because sometimes I don't know what I'd do without you, my friend.

Enjoy the rest of this Friday and have a great Weekend.
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A Woman's Work is Never Done

What IS it about this topic??

I'm taking a friend's advice again this week and once more treating my studio like the job it's meant to be. I say 'once more' because I used to do this, a few years ago when I decided to become a full-time artist.

 

At first, spending days on end in the studio was a breeze. I'd left my job (for health reasons) after a July holiday, and being at home then after years of crazy overtime was like being let out of school for summer vacation. Euphoria! My days were spent playing.

 

But it wasn't long before I settled into a routine. Stuff piled up around the house. Because James was employed part-time and away from Tumbledown for most of the week, I began to imagine that what he was doing was more 'real' and important than what I was doing, and I felt guilty. To justify my time at home (not to mention the fact that any money I was bringing in was sporadic at best), I tried to pick up the slack and pinch pennies. I did the house- and yardwork as best I could. I planned and planted a vegetable garden. I dried clothes on the line. I cooked from scratch. And soon all those tasks became my priority. (Not to mention being frugal is hard work!) And then my grandbug was born and art went way, way down to the bottom of the list....

 

Part of my problem is that I'm a woman, and women just naturally think they have to Do It All. And part of my problem is how I was raised. My mom won't remember this, but years ago when I began a new job I made the mistake of saying in front of her how happy I'd be to begin sharing the housework and childcare with my spouse, now that I would be working as many hours a week as he was. And in true June Cleaver fashion, she corrected me. There'd be no sharing. I was expected to Do It All.

 

And men -- up to and including those of my generation -- still live by different standards, even if they think they don't. If you compared my artist partner to me you'd see it at once. James nurtures his creativity first and foremost. He has no problem getting out of bed in the morning and going straight to his workspace without feeling the need to mow a lawn or wash a dish. Because in his mind, both he and his creativity are just that important. And an unmown lawn or unwashed dish doesn't faze him. Not like it does me. To me, that dish is proof that my nest is a mess. And that means there's something wrong with me.

 

To his credit, James is more than willing to share the work around here, but keep in mind that he's also a lifelong bachelor. And no offense, bachelors, but y'all gotta admit that your idea of 'good enough' isn't quite up to female standards. (To a woman, there's nothing comfortable about living in an Animal House....) And making him share the work seems hardly fair to me, seeing as how he has a job outside the home (these are my rules; they don't have to make sense).

 

Anyway, all this is making me think about those artists who've inspired me over the years who are men. Men who were left alone to happily draw and dream their days away because there was a woman in the background somewhere taking care of things. While those guys were busy creating, beds were being made, children were being nurtured, meals were being put together, a home was being kept. But did the creative women have someone doing that for them? How many times have I heard of women getting up at 4 A.M. to write at the kitchen table before sending their kids to school? Or drawing at night when they slept? (Even I've done that....)

 

When a new artist friend of mine recently blogged about what she called her poor time management skills, her words agitated me. I'm sure her time management skills are exemplary. I'm sure she's a skilled multi-tasker! It's just that, being a woman, she's probably already got more than enough on her plate.

 

Believe it or not, I've tried writing about this topic at least a dozen times and nothing I say about it seems to make sense, at least to me. Bottom line: Women shouldn't have to carve hours out of their sleeptime in order to make art! But aside from discovering a househusband somewhere, or hiring a staff, I'm not really sure what to do about it.

 

Any suggestions?

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My First Tattoo, Perhaps?

I learned something big recently. BIG big. Big like an a-ha moment, only all in caps and exclamation marks -- A-HA!!! -- with clouds parting and sunbeams piercing down like swords. Oh, and choirs singing, too. And pointing their fingers.

Wait a minute... At me?

But in hindsight I see now that I deserved it.

What happened was this. My friend Sue and I went to a theatre performance one evening together recently, and I stayed in her guest room afterwards and tagged along to work with her the next day where I stayed until James could fetch me. (Why I did this is because I'm currently without wheels, but that's beside the point.) Sue is a librarian. And we all know about me and books. Being 'forced' to spend an entire day in a quiet building surrounded by floor-to-ceiling shelves full of awesomey awesomeness is about as close to heaven as I can imagine....

During the course of the day, Sue walked some of her co-workers back to meet me. One was her best bud at the library, an artist named Maren who is married and raising a family. Since Maren seemed to have the time, I invited her to sit at my table, and the two of us talked about art. I learned that she attended art school and that her mother is an accomplished artist. And I learned that although Maren knew of her mother's talent, she hadn't seen much of her work until recent years. Impressed with what she saw, she asked her 80+-year-old mother (who apparently has never worked outside the home during her marriage) why she hadn't continued with her art after Maren and her siblings were all grown and gone. And her mom's response was, "But who would've cared for the house?"

Seriously?

This was choir-and-cloud-parting Moment #1.

Apparently I was a little shaken by her mom's statement and wasn't entirely focused when Maren continued talking, because I recall her asking me questions and me answering them apologetically. As in Maren asking, "So you do art full-time?" And me answering, "Haha, yeah! But I wouldn't recommend it unless you wanted to be really, really poor." Maren said, "When I get home from work at night, the last thing I want to do is try to get in the Creative Zone. You're so lucky to have your entire day for art."

....!?

You know that THX surround-sound bit at the movie theatre where a crazy loud musical chord narrows itself down to its essence and focuses like an ice-pick of tone right in your sternum? Only it's painful in a sweet and harmonic way, like you're not sure you can bear it but if it's gonna kill you then what a way to go?

Behold choir-and-cloud-parting Moment #2.

I don't even think I said anything more to Maren after that. If I did, I was just going through the verbal motions. Because it'd occurred to me moments earlier that Maren and others like her -- creative folks all wishing years of their lives away to that day in the future when they can do what they dream -- all trusted me to be using my time wisely. And in my head I'd already fast-forwarded to the end of my own personal movie to the scene where my daughters ask me why I didn't do much with my art after they both grew up and left home, and my old self answering with something totally banal like, "But who would've cared for the house?"

I was Maren once. I knew women who spent their days making art. I hated them and worshipped them and would've sold my soul to be them, and in my head I imagined them happily living my dream and reveling in it, wringing their hands in creative glee behind my back while I paid my workin' girl dues. Those chicks owed it to me to be making the most of their amazing good fortune! And if I'd even suspected that they were spending their days folding clothes or polishing silver, I'd have called the Time Police and had all those blessed creative hours revoked.

So, wow.

In the space of just a few weeks I've met two strangers who've both looked me square in the eye and challenged me to not disappoint them. I'm sure that wasn't really what they were doing, but that's definitely the message I got. And now I think of that message often.

"Disappoint none. For in great freedom lies great responsibility."

Yikes. And I'm serious when I say that those words are something I should write on my bathroom mirror in chapstick, or spend a year creating a needlepoint sampler out of, or tattoo backwards onto my forehead just so I have to read them every day, especially when a dust bunny taunts me and makes me go hunting for my broom.

Because it's not about the housework or the fill-in-the-blank. And it's not about how poor I am, but how LUCKY I am. And it's all about the art and about the complete freedom I have to pursue it. And it's about remembering my young self who spent countless hours wishing the years away until she could be where I am now.... So you might say there's a third person begging me not to disappoint her.

And she's the most important one.
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In Denial (or Happy Skinny Tuesday)

Days like today, being as they're all Mardi Gras-ish 'n stuff, are harsh old times for one (meaning me) to be on a weightloss program....

When asked recently by my daughter if I'd guestpost a Little Something to her blog (it appears today, so check it out) I wracked my brain looking for a topic -- until I realized that Fat Tuesday was just inches away and then it all came together. The food especially. I'd write about red beans and rice, shrimp and crayfish, spicy homemade jambalaya, and crazy voodoo hurricane drinks -- sweet!

Yeah... no. Probably not a good idea.

Of course, I did write about the food. (I couldn't help myself....) And doing so made me crazy hungry. I knew it would, just like writing about it NOW is making me crazy hungry. So I'm back-pedaling. And trying to focus instead on a 'thought-filled-vs.-tummy-filled' version of Fat Tuesday....

In my youthful church-going days I routinely met the Lenten season with the promise of giving something up for forty days and forty nights. Usually chocolate, as it turns out. (Although one year I did manage to give up television, which I'm still pretty proud of). And now I can't hear the word 'Lent' without thinking of the word 'denial.'

And because Fat Tuesday all snuck the heck up on me this year and Ash Wednesday is just hours from now, I'm forgoing much of the party suggestions I guestposted about and am taking time to give the season some serious thought. There'll still be food, of course. And denial. Both at the same time, in fact (stick a trinket in a doughnut-hole and call it King Cake, why don't we.... hooray). But it's now an alternate version of denial that I'm busy pondering.

A thoughtful friend offered a suggestion this morning that ignited a little fire that's been getting warmer by the minute. She said, "How about focusing your art for the next 40 days on a theme of giving up, or release?"

How about that? Great idea! 

So that's where my head is at as I type this. Her suggestion was just the kick in the seat of the pants that I needed. (And I promise that anything that comes of it will be shared with you here, 'k? So stay tuned!)

And while I'm deep in creative thought today, why not check out my dear daughter's blog and enjoy? And if you've got some fun Fat Tuesday party suggestions, PLEASE share! :)
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