It's Flying By!

Two weekends of the MN Renaissance Festival are behind me now -- they're going by so quickly! I know that by the time I have it all figured out, the season will be over. So my hope is to figure out a way to bottle all the love and support I get by sharing my artwork there, only so that I can parse it out over the rest of my year as needed. The relationships I've made (and continue to make) there fill my well and I don't want this wonderful feeling to end!....

If you're able, I hope you can visit me there at Mayfaire (shop #443) near the Queen's Gate and Crown Stage.

And just an FYI: I'm writing all about it on my FB page and my ko-fi page if you care to read more. And BIG THANKYOUS for following me.

<3,

...delayne.

Gallery Opening!

This. THIS is the reason there's been no blog activity for the last two months. 

The Rum River Art Center created this sandwich board for my upcoming event this Saturday in the Center's new little gallery. It gave me a shiver when I saw it.

"A Creativity of Muses." 

It will feature 'hand-drawn characters old and new, countenances that have inspired me, taught me, and occasionally frustrated me as I continue to learn, and some that have appeared like magic on my paper to lift me up and make me love drawing all over again.' So sayeth the blurb I wrote up for the Facebook event that I created.... (And I titled it thusly because I have no idea what a gathering of Muses is called, but if it's not a 'creativity', it dang well should be.)

As I type this, it's the Wednesday before the event, and I'm pretty ready for it, surprisingly. I've been gearing up for this ever since the beginning of the year, when I got brave, stepped out of my comfort zone, and asked director Larry Weinberg to set aside a month for me to share my work.

I could've had an opening at the Art Center ages ago but I kept chickening out. For one thing, I can't understand why anyone would take time out of their Saturday to attend (especially a summer Saturday in July!). Also, I don't know how an opening works exactly, since I've never had one before.

Since the new little gallery was christened in January, I've attended a number of openings there and they've all been cookie-cut from the same dough: there's a guestbook, some wine, other light refreshments, maybe some live music, the local press, a speech from the artist about their work, and then some milling and chatting. The end. Not that that's BAD; I've attended other openings at other places in Minneapolis and St. Paul and they're like that, too. But try as I might, in my imagination I cannot insert myself and my work into a scenario like that. If I did, I'd feel like I was playacting at being an Artist-with-a-capital-'A' or something. (Don't anyone thump me upside the head right now, 'k?)

I procrastinated for the first couple months after agreeing to this, thinking that I could just do what I've always done and chicken out. But then July got closer and I began seeing references to my upcoming show online, and then I had to proof a Press Release, and then I knew there was no running away from this. So in earnest I began framing, creating, agonizing, rehearsing, and experiencing the gamut of crap that plagues me prior to sharing my work with others.

I once thought that sharing one's work was supposed to be an artist's big goal. You draw, share, and (hopefully) sell and make money so you can continue drawing and sharing, right?

But I quickly realized that artists create just to CREATE. Because we can't NOT create. And if we didn't share our work and (hopefully) sell it (instead of destroying it or giving it away or something) we'd eventually be buried alive under our mountains of creativity and then our kids would have to deal with it all after the funeral.

And it's that 'sharing and (hopefully) selling' part that's torture. At least it is for me.... It's why I procrastinate, agonize, knuckle down at the last minute, and force myself to show up for the first weekend of Fest. I love Fest! But that is definitely not the part I love. But it IS the part I have to put up with in order to continue to do what I do.

I'm blathering, aren't I?

Anyway....

During all my preparations, I realized I'd have to eventually frame things. And the expense of going all fancy and having my work professionally framed scared the poop out of me! Especially since I have very little money and it'd take more than one frame to fill up the smallish gallery space. I wrung my hands about it, too, until one day when I was musing on money and capitalism and landfills and waste and everything else that gives me hives and makes me drink these days, I got the big idea to re-purpose already existing frames for this show. 

So I visited some thrift stores and stocked up on custom-framed work that already included mats and hangers. And then I removed the art and replaced it with my own.... 

In some cases, the frame was cool and the mat was cooler but nothing I had fit into it. And that's when I created new art. Art to fit. 

The act of doing this was like rocket fuel to me. I'd been given a strict set of limitations, and instead of shackling me they inspired me. I was reminded of the creative breakdown I once worked through by limiting myself to gray paper, colored pencils, and only drawing from imagination to create the 50 Fae that changed my life and my style. Like that time, these results made my socks go up and down!

In the weeks leading up to this opening I've kept the particulars about my show a secret, sharing bits and 'sneak peeks' about my new stuff online, trying to create anticipation and interest. I've kept it from James as well, and my hope has always been to hang the work myself in private and unveil it The Day Of so that even the folks at the Art Center itself are surprised by what they see and discover. (This veil of secrecy is vital. If I'd been sharing it all willy-nilly, then who'd show up, anyway? They'd already have seen the show....)

But I realized quickly that I need help getting it all to come together. So last night I shared my new creations with James instead of making him wait to be ‘surprised’ on Saturday. The big reveal was anticlimactic. And the result was that afterwards I just ran out of steam. I listened to music a while, flipped through what frames I’ve currently got, studied them critically (what made me frame THAT??), gave up on the idea of having a special new piece I’d hoped to unveil on the Big Day (insert eye-roll emoji here; pretentious much??), and I just made myself clean up, lock up, turn off the lights, and go home before midnight for a change.

 

And now this morning I woke and immediately understood that I’m making myself sick about this weekend’s event. I keep changing my mind, and creating stuff at the last minute, and trying to be clever, and worrying about running out of time. So today I’ve asked myself to just STOP already. Take a deep breath. Quit thinking this is important and start thinking that this is just the first of many future gallery shows where I can share new work and have it displayed somewhere for a month where I don’t have to find a flippin’ place to store it…

And now here I am. And I’m sure this blog post is the result of me just being exhausted…. So maybe the rest of the week prior to the event should be about napping, reading a book, and taking a bath.

...

Check out the Rum River Art Center (at THIS link) to find out more about this non-profit organization and all the good it does to bring art into the community. And you can check out its new gallery, too (at THIS link), to read about upcoming shows. Thank you!

Preparing to be Captured

A long LONG time ago I was brave, apparently

I follow him on social media and I read his posts, but last weekend was the first time I've spoken at length to Larry Edwards, one of our photographer regulars at Fest.

He visited primarily to offer his concern for something negative that happened in my shop the previous weekend (I suffered the downside of my Pay What You Wish idea.... it happens....) and had planned to purchase some art, and I suggested we trade: my work for his work.

And this weekend that might happen....

Rarely do I ever take a good photo. I think I'm allergic to camera lenses! I'll admit that it's not so bad now when all folks are pointing at me is a cellphone, but when someone who knows what they're doing points a badass lens at me, I immediately turn into Awkward Woman.

One of my Eldest's photos

My Eldest once took pics of me at Fest at the end of a cloudy day, while crowds were sparse and both of us were bored. Maybe I was tired. Maybe my sales were under par. In any event, I couldn't seem to smile much. I didn't care that the lens was staring me down. I didn't even care what I looked like....

But those PHOTOS! When I saw them afterward they took my breath away! Maybe it was because I trusted her and was comfortable with her? (Could it possibly be because she's female? Hmm....) Anyway, I swear I'd use them now for everything if I wasn't 20 years older than I was then....

Not so long ago, I participated in a photoshoot with a dear Fest friend who was having pics taken for a future book. I'd never done anything like that before, and the experience was surreal. Someone actually 'styled' me! But it was all fun and games (just acting natural with others in a group setting) until I was singled out and asked to pose.

I'll admit I have zero interest in The Spotlight. Even coached gently by my friend (who has TONS of experience with this!) I felt awkward and uncomfortable. Maybe vulnerable is a better word? All I know is that I'd rather have been enduring a root canal at that moment, and all I could think of was how I was disappointing my friend....

Twig the Fairy -- THIS is that friend!

I never once asked that photographer to show me what he'd taken. And when the book was published, I anxiously looked for myself in it. There I was, in a group photo, hiding behind my hand. No one would ever know it was me! (*whew!*)

This week, Mr. Edwards sent me a message: "Wear makeup this weekend if need be; let's shoot."

And I panicked.

The first thing I did was order a frippin' overdress in my post-menopausal granny-body size. Then I practiced making myself up to look 'glamorous.' Then I haunted the mailbox until the dress arrived, tried it on, saw that it FIT, breathed a sigh of relief!

But now today I'm taking a step back....

The hell am I doing!?

Mr. Edwards is a professional; his photos are incredible! And I'm a human bean; I look the way I look. And sometimes I even like the way I look.

James took this; it's not about my face maybe...

What would that future photo look like if I was just me? No makeup? (except eyebrows; I refuse to look like a sugar cookie in photos of myself....) Would I like it? Would it sadden me? Would I have to accept that THAT is the Real Me? Could I learn to be friends with that person? Come to terms with her? Embrace her?

Who knows if this will even happen. Fest is in its next-to-last weekend, things are brutal and busy now, and I'm the only one in my shop for most of the show day. I'd feel foolish if I glammed myself up and we weren't able to make the shoot happen. So how would it be if I just threw on my boy clothes and didn't care?

Hmmmm.

...to be continued...

Veronica Shafer -- Superhero!

Veronica 'n me!

As I stood behind my counter last Sunday at the Renaissance Festival, sharing a handful of my chrysalises and caterpillars with a few interested customers, a young lady in her teens entered my shop, accompanied by her mom and her two younger siblings. Veronica Shafer was there specifically to tell me about her achievements.

At the urging of her mother, Veronica shyly admitted to me that she'd successfully raised over 150 monarch butterflies!

And as if this incredible achievement wasn't enough, she then proudly told me about how she presented her project at this year's State Fair and won the Grand Champion award!

Of course, all of this made me do the happydance, as you can imagine. Ever since the summer I raised so many caterpillars that I was forced to take them all with me to Fest (just so my poor housesitter wouldn't have to deal with them in my absence) and people were curious about them and why I was raising them, folks stop in my shop all the time now to tell me about the milkweed they've planted and the caterpillars they're feeding.

(And I don't care who you are, one little kid telling you about how he raised a caterpillar until it became a butterfly will warm your heart and make your socks go up and down. I celebrate ALL the achievements!)

You can almost see her wings and halo in this picture!

But Veronica wasn't done yet.

She went on to tell me that she also approached her City Council, proposed that it take the Mayor's Monarch Pledge through the National Wildlife Federation, and suggested it create a pollinator garden at a local park, plant milkweed and native flowers in a nearby watershed area, and have an information booth at the local Fun Fest to educate the public about monarch butterflies!

And GUESS WHAT? -- her proposal was accepted! (Read about it on page 4 of Loretto's city newsletter!)

Veronica Shafer is a superhero. All the kiddos out there planting milkweed and learning about monarchs in school, all the kiddos looking for caterpillars and trying to raise them at home, all the kiddos who stop by now and share with me their monarch stories are superheroes. Knowing that they're doing this good work fills me with HOPE.

But here's the part that kills me with kindness.

Here's the part that breaks my heart and still gives me tears.

Veronica said she was inspired to do all this

because

of me.

The butterflies thank you, Veronica!

Once upon a time she came into my shop with her family and I showed her my brood of hungry, hungry hippos, and she became inspired. And I was completely unaware that all the while I was sharing silly stories about my monarch experiences I was actually making a memory for this incredible young person who is now going on to make a difference in the world as a result.

Wow.

I'm still... I don't know what... flabbergasted!

*big breath*

Anyway....

For the rest of that day after speaking with Veronica, I told EVERYONE about our meeting. Absolutely EVERYONE. And I'd end the story by saying, "Isn't this awesome!?"

And a dear friend whispered, "Do you know what's even more awesome, Delayne?.... That's only ONE that you know about."

...

Touched by Magick

Unbelievable. I just got off the phone and am still in a place of awesome, and I have to share it with you....

A bit of a back story: last Fest season a woman adopted one of my Leaflings, carried it home in its little black origami take-out box, and gifted it to her mother who lives alone. And her mother pored through the info that was enclosed, checked my website out online, and today ordered prints. It was while she was placing her order that Magick seemed to happen.

We talked about our unusual names and where they came from (her Swiss grandmother named her, isn't that cool?). I learned of the hand-carved wooden leaf she's had displayed on her wall for ages, one with a smiling face on it. She explained to me that her adopted Leafling sits snug in a candleholder on her table, so that she sees it every morning as she sips her coffee. And I learned that today is her day off; she cleans houses for a living, a job she describes as 'working with energy.' (This definition makes my socks go up and down; when I heard it, I began to sense that I was communicating with a Kindred Spirit.)

I wrote down her order and we exchanged addresses. When she heard mine, she immediately asked if I was aware of an old building here in my village that has been made into apartments over the decades. I knew just the one!, and we had a long talk about how I used to live there (loved it so much I wept when I left it), how her brother still lives there (he left once but couldn't help but return), and how the place is haunted. (I could write this whole post about that place, but I'll save it for another time.)

Our conversation was brief yet I found it so meaningful. I told her how pleased I was that we got to talk like this, and she said that there was a reason we connected instead of doing business-by-voicemail....

And now as I reread this post I realize how 'meh' I make this event sound, when really it was wonder-filled.

I rarely answer the phone because I fear it, yet today I answered.

And I'm glad I did.
...

The Experiment Continues

I did it. And I'm still doing it. I've taken my PWYW social experiment all the way to my biggest-ever show -- the MN Renaissance Festival.

And I wasn't sure what to expect.... Last season when I shared my leaflings there and asked interested customers to simply make a blind transaction (put whatever they wanted into an envelope while I packaged up their leaf), I was amazed at the results. The whole thing was just so interesting -- the good, the bad, the generous, the occasional empty envelope (!), the stories, the interactions -- it was a learning experience for me, and it tapped into what I've wanted to do with my art since Day One: Use it as a way to make a magickal memory through an engaging interaction, one that hopefully allowed me financially to continue to do so again. And again....

At the beginning of this year I asked James if it'd be OK if at every show I did -- big or little -- I asked my customers to pay what they wish for my work. Just for a year. Just to see what would happen. And if I noticed right away that this was a bad idea, I promised to immediately go back to selling my work at price-tag value. He gave me the thumbs-up without hesitation.

Since then, every show has surprised me. I've surprised myself! Talking to strangers has become easier (since I don't feel pressured to groom them for a sale), and my spiel never fails to start a conversation, one that I'm obviously passionate about. As folks listen to the explanation of why it is I'm doing what I'm doing, I watch their expressions change. They come right up to me and pay attention. Some are delighted, some are confused, some are shocked. Some think it's noble of me, some think it's 'ballzy' and immediately make a joke. One woman last weekend said, "You're either clever or very, very stupid." And I understand. Some seem afraid for me, especially when they hear that I'm a full-time artist and that I rent a studio and own a house that isn't completely paid for.

When asked what prompted me to do this, I tell them that right now my faith in humanity needs a shot in the arm, and that usually gets me a nod and a smile (because seriously, whose doesn't, right??). One tipsy gentleman found my words hilarious and assured me that no matter what I do, humanity is going to disappoint me. And to apparently prove his point he reached into his pocket and put something into one of my envelopes, saying, "Tomorrow when you open your envelopes and say to yourself, 'who's the asshole that gave me just a buck??', you'll know that that was ME." And he handed it to me as though it was an insult or a joke or something. Like he was somehow proving to me that everyone's a jerk just waiting to take advantage of naive people like myself. And yet, he'd just given me money without purchasing anything.... He wasn't an asshole at all. He was generous and supportive without asking for anything in return.

See? So interesting....

What that man doesn't know is that his lonely dollar wasn't the smallest or most surprising thing I discovered.* And his dollar donation to my social experiment said way more about himself than it ever said about me or my work or my naivete. I've thought about him often since then. And I hope that someday he quits thinking of himself as an asshole....

Each Fest weekend so far has surprised me by being more profitable than I have any right to expect. I've compared totals to what I would've made had I priced and sold my work as usual, and I've so far been coming out ahead. (Knowing this still gives me a little shiver. Is this just a one-time thing? A novelty? Could this possibly -- *eyes closed, fingers crossed* -- be my business platform going forward?) Even the weekend that I was absent and had someone else behind the counter, someone who isn't Me the Artist, someone who had nothing to lose by exchanging my work for an anonymous envelope -- even that weekend's totals surprised me. Biggest shocker: although I apparently sold all sorts of things for 50 cents, there were no empty envelopes. And although someone took home close to $300 of my work for far less than what it was priced at (no envelope held more than 10% of that total), the end results were still positive.

I've been fascinated. And people have been receptive. And I've been lucky. And people have been GENEROUS.

Two more weekends remain of this Fest season. Weather permitting, they're crazy busy weekends, ones that usually bring in the bulk of my seasonal income. And I'm going to continue with this experiment all the way to the end. If the remaining weekends follow suit, this will be one of my most successful seasons. And it has been less about selling my work than it has been about meeting new and interesting people and getting to better know my customers.

I am having the time of my life.

...

*(To YOU: please know how brave you were to write that letter telling me how much my work means to you and how apologetic you are for not having anywhere near the kind of money you thought it was worth. You thought I was brave, but you are the brave one! I love that my drawing went home with you, my dear. Enjoy it! And expect a big hug when we meet again.)

The Leafling Story

I don't have time for blogging today, I really don't. But it's time to talk about this. I just hope I can do so without sounding too stupid....

Not long ago, I had an emotional crisis while watching news reports about terrorist attacks and police shootings and Donald Trump, climate change, parents murdering their children, floods and fires and fill-in-the-blank. The whole world was in chaos and needed help, and here I was with nothing at all to offer.

It was about that time that I began creating my leaflings. I'd go for a walk, find a leaf, take it home, and draw on it; wash, rinse, repeat. Faces, mostly. Sometimes I'd write a wish on the back -- "Mother Earth, may your heart be healed" -- things like that. Then I'd release them on the wind to work their magick.

Doing this helped me. In my head I saw each leaf go on to spark a little change, even if all it did was fall to the curb and decompose. Then I began imagining that each was discovered by the one person who needed it most, someone who looked down at the earth and saw the earth looking back. I liked to think that that person was suddenly kissed by magick and began seeing the wonder and beauty in everything, and they began paying it forward. In my head I was changing the world one leaf at a time....

I know that my few friends and fans on my Facebook page like to know that I'm being creative, so I shared what I was doing on social media. Thankfully, it all got the reaction that I was hoping for. Nothing crazy, mind you; just a few folks being charmed by my efforts. The fact that I'd spent time creating these leaflings only to let them blow away was a big part of what charmed them.

It was suggested to me that I add a hashtag or my email address or my website URL on the back of each leaf, so I can hear when and if one was ever found, and also because people will want to know who the artist is. But the idea made me uncomfortable. I didn't want anyone to see my work and wonder about me; I wanted them to see my work and be filled with wonder.

Occasionally someone would comment. "I wish I lived in your neighborhood; it would be so exciting to look down and find one!" A friend wrote that he saw a stand of old milkweed with clusters of empty pods still clinging to their stalks and thought to himself, "Wouldn't it be cool if Delayne drew on one of those?", then went on to say that he'd simply walked away with a smile, telling himself that I'd drawn on them all. When I read that, it was like everything came Full Circle.

My leaflings were making their magick.

But it wasn't long before other comments surfaced: "I hope you're weatherproofing them somehow so they last." (But then they won't decompose; I'm trying to commit a random act of wonder, not poison the earth....) Or, "I live half a world away; I'll never find one!" (How do you know this? They're MAGICK.) Or, "Can I commission you to make one of these for me?" (You're talking about ME taking MONEY now, right?) Or, "Where do you sell these and how much do they cost?" (Yeah, you're talking about money....)

Here's the thing:

I'm just the delivery system. Mine is just the hand that helps the Other Side make contact. Some of us are already 'awake' and familiar with the divine, but others need a miracle, a bit of serendipity, something completely unexpected (like seeing a leaf that sees you back) to make eye contact and kiss them on the heart. To me, it's magick of the highest order.

And I sincerely believe that by working this way -- with fallen leaves and their impermanence -- the message is rather like a glamourbomb (look it up), free to decompose and release its wonder-filled stardust in the air like a perfume. Does that make sense?

That being said, let me repeat that I am just the delivery system. I'm assisting the Fairies, let's say. I'm a minor part of the team. And the thought of taking money in exchange for the small thing I'm doing gives me hives. Money is Donald Trump. It's greed. Yes, yes, I know that I call myself an 'artist' and that I try to sell my work so that I can live to do it all again another day, but don't think it doesn't bug me to have to do this. I've written dozens of blog posts (like this one) about my aversion to being paid for what I do and how bad I am at business so I won't repeat myself. Let's just say that if there was a way to do what I do every day, share my work with others, and still eat and pay my mortgage, I would do it.

But no. Money factors in here, so I deal with it as best I can. I sell my artwork. But this? This is different.

Because others have asked to see my leaflings in person, I've chosen to bring them with me to Fest this season. They're in a display case on my counter, and when people appreciate them I tell them the whole long story. Some get it, some don't. Some lecture me. Some roll their eyes.... I understand. In a place where NOTHING is free, where tickets for a family cost a fortune, where costumed street characters roam the grounds with tip baskets hanging from their belts and seed money tucked in their cleavage, where the smallest of interactions come with the expectation of reward, where food booths have tip jars on their counters next to the napkins, where you can't request a song without waving a five-dollar bill first, what I'm doing is so dang dumb that I can hardly type this without shame.

And smarter heads remind me that it's dumb. Like they did, repeatedly, this past weekend. "This is a business. Take peoples' money." And I really do listen, I swear; I'm just trying to take their advice in a way that is comfortable to me. And I think I've come up with a solution. Maybe.

For the moment, this is where I'm at:

• All the leaflings I create, starting today, will be gently coated with a water-based solution to protect their tiny faces and keep them looking fresh. (This way, should one find its way to you, it will weather the trip, thus allowing you to frame it, gift it, repurpose it, or release it.)
• And if you live 'half a world away,' you can still 'find' one of my leaflings, because I'll mail it to you.
• And you can commission me to make one if you need some magick in your life (or know someone who does). How much do I charge? I don't. (Read on....)
• And if you're at Fest and one of my leaflings 'calls' to you, then you're obviously the one meant to 'find' it. Give it a good home. (Read on....)

I never meant for these to be 'free.' (Magick isn't free; there's always a price.) But in this case I'll let you decide what this is worth to you and what you want to give in exchange. All I ask is that if you wish to pay me in real money, you do so without putting cash or coin in my hands. Give it to me in an envelope and I promise someone else will open and deal with it; I won't know if you think my work is worth 50 bucks or 50 cents or 50 paperclips, so there's no humiliation factor for either of us. Or make a donation on this site (I'll link a Paypal button or something here if/when I can figure out how to do so). Or do something else like rescue an animal, donate some books, read to a kid, fill-in-the-blank. Just move the magick forward, 'k?

Because the Fairies have given me a serious job: to begin their work in this little way and make sure it continues -- without pause -- to heal the Earth and its inhabitants one magick leafling/one kind deed/one act of wonder at a time.

And if you so choose, it can be your job too.

And we can heal the Earth together.

...

Addendum to an Earlier Post

My previous post on this subject may have given the wrong impression.... And I should remind myself (yet again) that it's neither fair nor a good idea to think aloud at the keyboard when I'm stressed and then press 'publish.' Not a good idea....

So what am I doing now? Adding to the whole thing. Writing more. Digging a deeper hole, maybe. But I hope not.

I've never wanted Fest to be about making money. That sounds silly, I know, since I'm a crafter there.... But since the very beginning I've not given a whole lotta thought to what I want from the place and what I can bring to the table.... Pretty stupid, I know. But I don't claim to be a businessartist.

No other Ren Faire makes me feel like this. I've visited bunches and I can take them or leave them. To me, the MN Renaissance Festival is a feeling, not a business. (Correction: It is a business, I know it is, I'm not 100% silly. I get that it's a business like Disney is a business. But I swear when I'm in the Magic Kingdom that shit is REAL.)

I've written before about what it was like for me to visit Fest the first time. I went there on the worst possible day, I swear. There was rain and mud and cold. But it was a perfect storm for me. Add the fallish weather, the low-hanging clouds. Cue the lute music. Curtain opens and there's Bruce Loeschen's amazing black-and-white half-timbered shop looking like something out of an old English high street. Candles glowing in its diamond-paned windows.... BOOM. I was home.

(Below is Bruce's own art of his remarkable shop as it looked back in the day. See what I mean??)

Art copyright Bruce Loeschen.

On a side note, you'll notice that I've still not managed to share much of my amazing trip to England because it defies description. Setting foot there was like revisiting a past life or something, a spiritual experience. It spoke to my soul.... Fest did as well. Just like in England, there were spirits there. Shadows. Threads of something ancient and timeless.... I can look at other Faires and see that they were once someone's idea, then someone's money, then someone's business on someone's land. They're an attraction like any other themed attraction. But not my Fest. Mine is a portal.

Since that first visit as a patron back in the 70s, my goal was to be a part of that magickal place, a part of that Tribe. But I didn't know how to make that happen, exactly, as I could offer it nothing. My abilities as an artist was all I thought I could bring to the table. So that's the direction I took.

Would that I had done my homework FIRST before leaping in with both feet. Instead of being a crafter I could have signed on to work for a crafter, and for the price of gas, a costume, a day pass, and a commitment I could have tested the waters. I'm sure a season of that nonsense would have knocked all the magick right out of me. As it was, my first year there as a bonafide crafter couldn't have been worse -- weatherwise, saleswise, stresswise, fill-in-the-blank-wise -- but that's another blog post. Even so, all that awfulness only anchored the magick in me more.

That's unfortunate, really. Because selling flat art there is HARD.

I'm convinced there's no dang way a flat artist at Fest can make a profit. Ever. I'm convinced! Not unless they're an incredibly savvy businessartist. Or not unless they're already popular there with a host of rabid groupie fans. (And in my head now I'm seeing Twig the Fairy repeatedly putting her kissprints on little canvases and making million$....)

Here's my hero hard at work. Photo is courtesy of his website -- loeschenart.com. GO THERE.

Recently I got an email from my Fest hero, the aforementioned Bruce Loeschen, the incredible pen-and-ink artist whose work inspired me to send a slide or two to the Fest jury waaaaaaaay back in the day. He's been retired from the Fest scene for years now. And when he mentioned the place in his email to me, he went on to describe working there as one of the hardest things he's ever done. Fest, for him, was similarly frustrating, saleswise, as it continues to be for me. I can remember our after-hours conversations about it, too, over wine and candlelight. At the time I couldn't imagine anyone visiting his shop and not falling under the spell of his work, buying it ALL, and making him rich.

I'll say again that after 30 years I'm no more popular there than I was as a clueless newbie setting up shop for the first time. Am I part of the Tribe? Via seasonal contract only, perhaps. I've made a handful of friends there that are family to me now -- castmembers, customers, fellow crafters, all of them have my heart, and I wouldn't give up our friendships for anything. Not all are local, and the Fest season is the only time I get to reconnect with them. They appreciate both me and the art I create. And I continue to slog away every season trying new things and hoping to sell enough to pay my bills.

That being said, I'm learning that reconnecting with them is my focus. It's what keeps me at Fest, trying to make sense of this art-selling thing. And I hate that there are Big Annual Fee$ associated with being able to do that, simply because I made the choice 30 years ago to be a crafter there.

Hmmmm. If it wasn't so greedy-sounding, I'd almost consider bumping up the price of hugs from 'free' to a quarter.

And maybe then I'd have a season where my Taxperson doesn't make fun of me....
...

Printing and Pondering....

Printing, printing, printing. And pondering.

A busy 3-day Fest weekend fast approacheth, and it's Wednesday already and I still don't know where to start.

My dear old Epson is inked and printing, so I am accomplishing something. But as I do so I'm far away in my head, thinking hard, and typing my thoughts in a blog post that I'll probably not publish as I can already sense it'll be too dang angsty....

But BOY. Does it ever help to write....

Each year I find myself trying something new and different, artwise, and sharing my fresh creations at my shop at the MN Renaissance Festival, which is the only art show that I do now. In some cases, my work is 'fresh' simply because my style has changed out of necessity; as I age I've begun dealing with issues like arthritis and poor eyesight and an unsteady hand.

But over the years I've also learned that I'm completely disinterested in revisiting subjects that I concentrated on earlier in my career -- photo-realistic pen-and-ink or pencil drawings that almost always generated oohs and aahs but rarely generated sales. Mostly I'd just hear comments like, "My little girl can draw like that! You should see the amazing portrait of *insert-name-of-current-popstar/celebrity-here* that she created -- it looks just like a photograph!" (Gah....)

As is expected (I imagine) of someone who never went to Art School, I went through a few phases. There was the wildlife phase, and the series of nudes, and the 'punny' stuff, and the art I was hoping seemed 'edgy' but really wasn't. I was still learning through personal experience and getting my forms down with the intention of eventually creating work that relied more on imagination and less on photographic reference material. I was making internal changes, too, of course. Discovering myself. Each fresh wave of work attracted its own set of critics and connoisseurs, but I never felt as though I'd really found my niche....

Then I was given a grandchild. And everything I drew after that moment became more imaginative and whimsical. Suddenly there was color! And an element of nostalgia. And in my head, my Target Customer became someone like myself, someone with childhood still in her blood.

THIS is where I want to concentrate the time that is left to me. I want to spend the rest of my art days drawing sweet and happy creations that make people smile and remember that there's more to life than working one's ass off chasing a buck. I want them to remember what it was like to watch clouds and whisper to butterflies, and to see the world with eyes as big as saucers.

I feel as though my art has taken THE right road now, finally. But I can't help but think that where Fest is concerned it's too late....

This is my 30th Fest season. During all my years there I've seen many artists come and go, folks that I tend to refer to as 'flat artists', who create 2D originals and prints that have to be framed and are therefore flat. Very few of us diehards still remain. I keep thinking that THIS is the year I'll get noticed, isn't that funny?, because if it hasn't happened yet it never will....

I've made many friends -- both castwise and patronwise -- over the years, and most of my time at Fest is spent reconnecting with them. Two customers spoke this year of how visiting me is 'like a show,' worth the price of admission. A castmember said that visits with me are a highlight of his Fest experience, and his wife adds that if she had to choose between me and my art, she'd choose time spent with me....

What does that say, exactly?

Some stuff I've known forever. Like the fact that I'll never be a 'famous' Fest face. Even after 30 years of drama and crazy in the same location in the same Fest neighborhood, only a handful of folks there even know who I am. And out of costume, less than half of those would ever recognize me. That will never ever change.

But what I thought of as my slowly-increasing circle of clientele isn't a customer base at all. It's a group of strangers-turned-friends to whom I stepped out of my comfort zone at one time and introduced myself. And, in turn, they liked me. And they purchased a piece of my work BECAUSE they liked me. And not necessarily because they saw my art, fell in love with it, and wanted yet another thing to frame and find space for on a wall somewhere.... So apparently I'm not selling art so much as I'm just meeting people and making friends.

That means it's not about my work at all.

Right??

This season especially, I'm fast-forwarding to the near future when the MN Renaissance Festival will be moving to a new site. The reason for the move is not my story, and you can find more info if you really wanted to. (Here's an article, for instance. And here's one, too....) But when I think about the expense of moving my shop or rebuilding, I get the heebie-jeebies. I won't live long enough to recover that expense, for one thing. And I'm at an age now where lugging marine-grade plywood and building a shelter to code isn't something I want to waste a minute -- let alone a summer -- doing. (And no, I can't afford to hire someone to do it for me.)

And seriously? If my art isn't Mayfaire's 'draw,' what's even the point? Why not just throw on a costume, scrounge a pass, and spend future seasons giving away free hugs? I won't make any money, but I won't lose any either.

And THERE'S a refreshing thought.

No more would I be paying a fortune every dang season just to see my friends. No more printing costs or building maintenance costs or lease fees or anything. And the funny part? Nothing would change. AT ALL. Folks would still find me for a hug. And they'd still not buy my work....

It seems like a win/win. And reaching that conclusion today makes my gut breathe a big sigh of relief. I think I've nailed it. I'm on to something! Granted, this has stared me in the face for decades now and I could've saved myself all sorts of time and money if I'd just made eye contact with it already. (I'm nothing if not unobservant and clueless....)

So!

I think this is IT, really. I kind of do.

And until 2017 -- which I'm understanding will be Fest's first season in its new location -- I'll keep paying big bucks to continue on right where I am, doing just what I do. And encouraging anyone who's always meant to purchase from me and hasn't yet to take the opportunity to do so NOW.

Because if I'm interpreting the signs correctly, that opportunity is packing its bags.
...

Reflections on 2nd Weekend

If 1st Weekend of the MN Renaissance Festival was a bit wonky for me, 2nd Weekend tried hard to make up for it.

It began showering me with blessings right away on Friday evening, from the huge dragonfly sunning itself in my ivy to the two bats that circled the interior of my shop before roosting in its rafters to the dear friends who kept me company until nearly midnight as I did last-minute work.

This was MADE for me!

Saturday began with the ever-appreciated coffee. A Fest friend who once caught me spooning granules from a jar of Instant has been hand-delivering a cup to me every morning now for years. And as if that wasn't enough, there was also a still-warm blueberry scone, and later a slab (only word for it) of banana cake and a homebaked loaf of quickbread so dang moist it wilted my princess hair just by opening the bag and inhaling its fruity fragrance. And I must not forget the ground cherries (or as I like to call them: 'sweet little fairy presents wrapped in tissue paper leaves').

Jimmy and his brother, both looking too sharp for words.

And that was just the foodstuffs. Did I mention the handmade woolen beret, complete with monarch butterfly charm? Or the surprise of the aforementioned princess hair? Or how about all the regenerating hugs. Or the visit from some fave customers who made my day by telling me, "Don't take this the wrong way BUT -- visiting you is worth the price of admission because it's like a show." (That comment still makes my socks go up and down.)

And the images.... I saw a woman wearing an octopus on her shoulder. And a tough-looking dad with tattoo sleeves and sunglasses carrying around his little daughter's American Girl doll. I saw familiar faces I haven't seen in ages. I saw my friend Jimmy in his wedding clothes, I saw my friend Jamie propose to his lady -- both gentlemen so dang excited to enter this new phase of their lives that their emotions were infectious. (I'm not used to guys like that. It was heartwarming. And a little heartbreaking, too....) And I saw the most beautiful Blood Moon rise over the Fest grounds just as our own Minnesota Morris Men glided -- haunting and bell-less and beautiful -- over the site, bestowing their blessings.

I reconnected with my favorite fairy ever on Sunday and also met her real-life fairygrandmother, whose wings may have been concealed, but her beauty and sparkles and grace and magick weren't. And I released a monarch at the end of the day and it brought back comedian Scott Novotne and his family! So even my butterflies brought me gifts.... I'm not worthy!

On his daughter Kinsey's hair is the butterfly responsible for my brush with fame.

As always, I learned a lot about myself on this second weekend in a row of stepping out of my comfort zone. Not necessarily good stuff or bad stuff. Just stuff.... A short-change artist took advantage of me earlier in the day, not surprisingly. A dear friend tried to buy me a beer and I somehow negated the gesture (how does one even do that?). And try as I might, I couldn't hide from the probing tendrils of the soul-sucking energy vampires that I swear descend on Fest every year and search out my heart. I think I'm prepared every season, too, and then BOOM.... There's a lesson to be learned there, obviously. Stuff to think about and put into perspective.

Mmmm. Home again. And in Recovery Mode.

By Sunday night I was as friable as a cicada husk, and getting out of garb was a big old effort. During the course of doing so, the resident bandersnatch began its lumbering ascent of the exterior of my shop, scrabbling and heaving itself to my roof before once again attempting to return to the crawlspace in my ceiling. I had hardly the energy to repeat my annual can-you-at-least-wait-until-after-season plea let alone try to frighten it away with the end of my broom....

It's now the day after. And even real food, rattie kisses, Epsom salts in my boiling-hot bath, and a good night's sleep haven't managed to repair me....

Yet....

Anyway.

According to my Fest friends and neighbors the weekend was $urprisingly $weet, which is so unusual for an early weekend, especially one that coincides with the State Fair. But it wasn't for me, which isn't so unusual. And once again I'm learning things about my art and what it brings (or doesn't bring) to the table. I'm not sure if I can put the lessons into words yet, but it's pointing to being less about my work and more about me.

And I'm not sure yet how I feel about that.

But it's giving me lots to think about....
...

A Weird & Wonderful 1st Weekend

Sweet little lion man!

First weekend of Fest has come and gone. I don't think I even tasted it....

Sadly, last Saturday -- Opening Day -- was the first time in 30 years I've missed an entire day of Fest when it was in progress. I did so gladly (there was a family emergency to which I gave my caring support), but missing that first day knocked me out of alignment with the Fest Flow, and being there on Sunday felt like I was in a parallel reality where I could watch and observe but not really interact. Friends walked past me. Familiar faces looked through me. I felt like my season needed a quick reboot.

Funny thing, I can recall years ago being 'kidnapped' during a Fest day and led to an on-site trailer backstage where Cast friends were taking a break from the dust and the heat to watch a movie. Actor Gerard Butler was in it and many of my female friends needed their daily swoon, apparently. Because I had no idea who he was at the time, this movie was meant to be my initiation, and so I politely hung around to appreciate a few of his scenes while James manned the shop (we both worked together in a single shop back then).

But being indoors on a Fest day and watching a movie -- even for half an hour! -- was enough to throw off my weekend, and I can still remember how odd it felt to return to 'work' again afterwards....

Last Saturday I'd gotten on-site after the evening cannon, so already I was confused. In my head it was the Friday before Opening Day. But that super-charged, storm-on-the-horizon energy wasn't there.... My shop already had a 'lived-in' feel to it, having been open to customers and friends for an entire day. The wonderful women who took over for me in my absence had made it their own, moving things around to fit their needs, setting up the counter to their own taste. Showing up now felt a bit like an intrusion.... 

Add to that the fact that, because of the previous day's rain, I was unable to drive on-site to unload, so many of my props, products, and costume pieces were left at home to avoid having to lug them all somehow on a shuttle bus from a far-away parking location. That meant butterflies as well. Things just weren't the same.

In addition to the 'surrealness' of missing Opening Cannon, it was doubly hard to come off a day of sadness and put on a smile. I'm sure no one I spoke to could tell how wonky my first day's experience was unless I told them so; I like to think I'm pretty good at hiding all that when it's necessary.

Still....

Even though I was there for Sunday only, I still enjoyed a lot of hugs and highlights: Familiar faces, folks I only see during the run of the show, customers who are like family now.... I held a sweet boy whose impending birth I kept a secret last season when his expectant mama shared with me her happy news. When we were finally introduced and I took him in my arms, she burst into sweet tears. Priceless.... I saw a ghost and took its picture!... And before the day was over, resident bat 'Bacardi' flew circles around the shop before tucking in behind my mirror.... It was a weird and wonder-filled day.

And when everything was over and I finally checked my phone, it was to discover that other Festfolke had posted updates and highlights, which were wonderful to see, as I didn't leave Mayfaire that Sunday other than to visit the privy. 

I learned via social media that some of the Usual Suspects weren't a part of Fest this season, and that broke my heart. And I saw tear-jerk-worthy posts from former Festies who spent First Weekend curled on the couch, wallowing in memories and wishing they were with us all on-site. It made me want to buy them all plane fare and comp tickets so that they could join us. I'd still do so if I could.

And now 2nd Weekend fast approacheth. James tells me I'll feel normal again once I return to my regularly-scheduled routine. He's right, I'm sure. And I'll take care to write again next week and share the highlights.

Until then, my friend! Huzzah. :)
...

Me and the 'M' Word

These are just Ones but they still make me nervous....

Exactly a year ago I wrote a pre-Fest post that I never finished and never published....

It was all about the 'M' word -- 'money' -- and how I just can't seem to wrap my head around it.

I joke that I'm allergic to money. I know people who are killing themselves to earn it, and others who are asshats because of it. Money makes me anxious, it keeps me awake at night. I hate thinking about it; it ties my stomach up in knots....

Yes, I get that money "makes the world go 'round" and all that. I may be silly but I do understand why it exists. And I do understand how ridiculous it is to pretend it's not important.

But dang. I wish it wasn't so necessary....

Now that the Fest season is looming again the 'M' word is uppermost on my mind. I'm forced to once again acknowledge that dollar sign, make tentative eye contact with it, awkwardly renew our strange little relationship and dance the uncomfortable dance of commerce. Because I have a business (if you can even call it that) Fest's seven busy weekends are essentially all about the Making of Money; there's no getting around it. And if I'm smart I'll figure out a way for the two of us to get the heck along. Learn those dance steps already. Take it to the next level....

Ideas for this year's products have been fleshed out, and now they need printing, packaging, framing. Sums are adding up quickly and I already have costs to recoup, more bills to pay.... I must sell my work in order to pay those bills. And then sell it some more so I can hopefully live frugally again for another year so I can do it all over again.

Fest -- aka The Minnesota Renaissance Festival -- is my primary gig now. I used to do other shows, but doing so took its toll, and now that I'm the age I am I find that all the travel and set-up drains me almost as much as the Meet-and-Greet. And although I can apparently act like an extrovert when necessary, the recovery time needed afterward is phenomenal, and I eventually discovered that Fest was about as much spotlight as I could take; the remainder of the year gave me barely enough time to bounce back.

But I couldn't give up art shows completely. Fest was my first, it's where I began. And I found that being somewhere where folks can find me, see me, meet me, talk with me, is somehow tremendously important to my sales (boom: my Catch22). I'd have thought just the opposite, frankly -- that I'd be my own worst enemy -- but my records show that I have far better sales when I'm in attendance and actively engaged than when I'm not. So it helps a LOT to 'gird my loins,' step out of my comfort zone, and make the most of every Fest moment, and I do what I can.

Even though Fest is seasonal and occurs for only seven weekends in the fall, it keeps my boat afloat from one year to the next. But just barely. And only if conditions are right. Throw in some bad weather (or a host of other unforeseen predicaments/situations) and the final numbers can be disastrous. It doesn't take much. Even an afternoon of Too Many Chatty Friends Crowding Out Too Few Buying Customers can send me over the money cliff....

I know I could do better. I'm just not sure how, exactly. I don't want to be That Artist who goes for everyone's wallet. I've been around artists like that, who can't bother to be nice until you show them the color of your cash.... I want those who visit my Fest shop to walk away with a good memory, even if they don't buy anything.

Well-meaning folks tell me that I need to 'take my business seriously' (I do, don't I??) and they offer me suggestions: Illustrate their e-story/children's book/graphic novel 'for the exposure.' Draw more birds of prey with 'something dead in their talons.' Create cartoony caricatures of impossibly-proportioned female superheroes, or draw manga/anime vampires, or otherwise fill-in-the-blank. Others tell me to suck it up already and sell my work as tattoo flash. Or design calendars, license my characters, do a Mary Engelbreit and create an arty empire!

The list goes on....

And I listen. I really do. All are sound ideas even if some of them give me the heebie-jeebies. Few of them interest me, though -- I want to draw what I want to draw.... Plus, the logistics of making their suggestions happen is all so weird and complicated to me. Tattoo flash? Calendar printing? Licensing?? None of those things just happen. They require something that I don't have. Money, for one thing. Connections, for another. And for the rest I really wouldn't know where to start.

Not only that but the seven weekends of Fest already feel like Big (Scary) Business to me. In addition to being around-the-clock work, they also mean having to step out of my comfort zone so dang far that I have to retreat to the rabbit hole immediately afterward. Plus, I get as much attention there as I could ever want in my entire life.

So it's my own fault that I'm not as successful as maybe I could be.

Imagining my art on Hot Topic t-shirts or in the pages of Faerie Magazine is both fun and frightening. And even the happy little fantasy of it in my head feels like too much attention. That Mary Engelbreit-like empire sounds terrifying, too. I can't help but equate it with being rich and famous, which to me is one of the Seven Levels of Hell.

I know I should be 'in it to win it.' Or if winning isn't my thing, I should at least run with intent. I have a business, after all; maximizing my profits should be my goal, right? But the money part isn't what's important to me about being an artist. Creating things that make people smile is. I just wish brightening a person's day could also pay an artist's bills....

It frequently frustrates me to be that person who can't seem to figure this art thing out, especially since I've been doing it forever and am still just as clueless. And it doesn't help that I'm surrounded by a host of creative folks who are winning the game. I know they're savvy and work HARD, yet in comparison they make it look like boom, boom, boom -- success! What does that tell me? That for all my decades of trying to do this thing, I still suck so badly at it that maybe I should just throw in the towel.

But I can't throw in the towel. I might not be a businessperson, but I am an artist. I love what I do! Especially when it brightens someone's day. When that happens, the feeling is inde-freakin'-scribable. It's as if my heart blew a gentle kiss and it came back full circle like a solid-gold boomerang at full speed to knock the wind out of me and fill me up again x 10. WHOOSH. I just want to do it all again -- wash, rinse, repeat.

That process -- idea, creation, share, surprise, smile -- defines my work and why I do it. Add money into the equation and it tips the scales negatively. Something doesn't work out right. Does that make sense? I can't explain it.... It's like I'm happiest when I'm creating art in secret, to be gifted to an unsuspecting soul who just needs a pick-me-up. I don't even need to see them receive it! I don't even need to know who they are. Just creating that art with the intention of sharing it is healing for me somehow; it fills my well, and I do it as much for myself as I do it with others in mind. Going on then to imagine that my creation will be just what that person needs when they need it most is satisfying to me. Almost like payment.

Almost.

But in the Real World it's not at all like payment. And payment is important.

Maybe I just need the right someone who can take what I do and make it work for me, financially as well as spiritually. Maybe I just need a big-ass dose of Art Management, or a semester of Biz101, or simply some sense knocked into me.

Or perhaps I'm just an artist who fears success. Ouch.

Still....

I find that rereading this post kind of makes me like myself. Go figure.

And that's a surprise that I needed today.
...

Catching My Breath

Fest is one big thing I love about my year, but it overlaps everything else I love about it, too. It comes just as my favorite season begins. And by its final weekend, Autumn is close to being spent.

Harvesting the garden, canning tomatoes, planning for Halloween, celebrating my birthday, just appreciating the Fall colors at my leisure -- all the things I long to immerse myself in get shelved or rescheduled or just plain crossed off my list as I deal with post-Fest nonsense: shop flotsam, heaps of costumes, boxes of dusty prints, art order follow-ups, the clearing out and closing up and securing of Mayfaire....

This year was no exception. But it was an unusual post-Fest time for me that involved more on my agenda than ever before, and today feels like my first real day to assess where I am in the grand scheme of my season. I'm upright, which is a good thing; but I can feel the annual bout of respiratory 'fest chest' dancing along the edges of my lungs. It's been there since September and greets me every morning, and so far I've managed to hold it at bay somehow while I deal with more important things that have filled up my days and made time speed by. Ups and downs, highs and lows; a rollercoaster Fall. I've tried holding it together, and I think I've done OK at it, too.

But it's already late October. The trees have peaked and shed their leaves. Mayfaire still needs putting to bed! The gardens do, too. My birthday's back there somewhere, and Halloween is already under way. And I can scratch 'canning' off my list again. I'm so behind....

Every year I imagine my Autumn to be a time of cocooning. A time of retreating and re-assessing, moving slow, going within. I look forward to battening down the hatches while outside the seasons change and eventually snow me in with my thoughts and blank paper. That 'nothingness' is the only thing that fills my well, and right now my well is so done.

But one doesn't need a full well to rake leaves, right? Or strip milkweed pods. Or put gardens to bed. There's a 'nothingness' in those tasks that can be fulfilling.

Full-filling....

Best get to them then. This well is bone dry.
...

Brainstorming with Butterflies

I've got some news.

The kind that came into my head just a second ago, it seems.

And it's still so fresh that I really shouldn't be saying anything about it, probably, until I've thought it through....

But when my head explodes with an idea, it helps me to write about it. And when I write, it helps me to write to YOU. Because you help me think straight....

This idea exploded in my head over the weekend, and since then all the dry tinder in my brain has caught fire. And after talking to you about it here I was originally going to ask for your opinion and support, but y'know what? Although you're welcome to weigh in (and I'll be monumentally appreciative if you do), in the end it's not going to matter one way or the other. Because I still want to explore this and see where I can take it....

That being said, here we go:

Generation 1 of this year's monarch herd here at Tumbledown has fledged, and we're already up to our necks in Generation 2.

Last year seemed to start late for us. If I remember correctly, Tumbledown saw nary an egg, caterpillar, or butterfly until late June or early July (don't know where my records are at the moment, so I could be wrong, although that seems accurate), and our final fledgling count was only in the 30-somethings....

A far cry from the nearly 300 that we'd raised just a short couple years prior!

But this season has so far exceeded my expectations. We've already surpassed last year's 30-something with Generation 1. And now there's twice that in my kitchen as Generation 2 gets underway.

Granted, I've gone above-and-beyond this year (in my opinion) to make sure we at least beat last year's numbers. I've haunted all dang sorts of swampy locales and lone milkweed patches in the search for eggs and larvae, and I've got the mosquito bites to prove it! I even frantically ran ahead of the City's municipal mowers recently as they prepared to coif the verges of my area's little walking path, the one that goes by Postage Stamp Pond at the end of my neighborhood. I've gotten GOOD at spotting caterpillar 'eatage' from three yards away, even without my specs!, and I returned home with another collection of eggs and hatchlings. Rescued from the blades of death! I felt proud of myself. :)

Individually feeding 60+ caterpillars takes time. For one person it's like a part-time job. I grumble about it, especially when I stumble out of bed in the morning and fumble for the kettle only to see an army of plastic beer cups full of caterpillars and caterpillar poop, and not a milkweed crumb in sight. In my head I imagine them raised up on their back halves, pointing to their gaping maws like Simon's Cat.... And then the kettle's forgotten as I step outside in my jammies to pick leaves and get to work.

I'm passionate about my monarchs. I always have been. And even more so now that their population is dwindling and they're in danger of future extinction.... I keep thinking I can do more!

And then over the weekend it hit me.

I can do LOTS more.

I can give them not only my time and my attention and the bulk of my kitchen. I can give them my ideas and my imagination and my art skills as well.

And I can start NOW.

Fest is just a few short weeks away, and I might not be prepared with everything that I've been brainstorming since the weekend's slap upside the head. But if you could only see what I'm imagining! -- products and artwork and seed packets, oh my; the sales of which will benefit the butterflies! The potential is EPIC.

And even if I eventually do a typical 'delayne' -- that thing of dipping my wings in the water before seeing the next big shiny Idea and moving on -- THIS is burning in my heart right now. And I need something burning in my heart again, dammit....

So that's it. My big idea. My news. It feels right. And I'm excited to explore it!

And I think I've got this guy's vote. :)

...