Earth Day 2019

 Mother Earth, this day

may all that dwell upon you

 

 

venerate your name. 

~delayne.

Working...

I love working 'small.'

And when I add words, I never know ahead of time what I will write....

This one surprised me.

I like it.
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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.
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Leafpower

It's been one of those weeks.

You'd think it was due to the rapid approach of Fest, but MNRF is the furthest thing from my mind lately....

No, there's been other stuff, hospitals and health-related stuff (not for me, for someone I love), and some crazy shenanigans in the White House, and things that have raised my blood pressure and made me question whether or not I went to sleep one night and woke up in a Stephen King novel. The kind where otherwise intelligent and empathetic people suddenly go off the rails and begin wreaking havoc for no apparent reason. Nothing makes sense! It was REALLY not making sense about this time a year ago, but this is off the charts now....

Anyway....

After a couple days of back-and-forth hospital visits spent in a car full of memories, remembering the past and wondering about the future, studying the physical effects of the passage of Time, and being waaaaay far away in my head, I finally got myself in to the Studio. I opened the door there and saw leaves EVERYwhere -- some awaiting their frames, some spread out on my little table, some raked into a pile on the floor, some in various stages of completion, others sticking out of books and bags and boxes, others decorating the walls. Their mess was everywhere. Their scent was glorious.

Dr. Leo Buscaglia

Walking into the room reminded me of an anecdote once shared on PBS by the late Dr. Leo Buscaglia. He told his audience then of his great love of leaves and how one Autumn friends of his raked up a whole yardful, carried them into his house, and dumped the lot onto his livingroom rug. (The camera was focused on some older ladies in the audience when he said this, and the looks of alarm on their faces was priceless. I was reminded of my mother. In fact, when I recall this particular program now, I sense her in the background behind me, aghast, just like those women. But then he went on to say that all winter long, he and his friends hung out in that livingroom, sitting in piles of leaves. Everyone laughed. The audience ladies giggled uncomfortably, perhaps imagining all the eventual compost. I'll never forget the anecdote, and I can recall that feeling of recognizing a kindred spirit out there in Television Land....)

He loved leaves, too.

After hanging up my backpack and sitting down to work, I found that I didn't know how to begin, where to start. Should I clean the room? Would that make me feel better? Make a list? (Lists always soothe me....) Turn on Public Radio and let Capitol Hill wind me up some more? A class of kids was noisily and animatedly creating art outside my door, so there was no chance to stroll around the classroom and get my bearings. I didn't even feel comfortable using the microwave out there for my tea, in case I disturbed them.

Then I remembered headphones. And the audio book I'd bought at a sale -- 'The Dark is Rising' by Susan Cooper (read it years ago and loved it). And soon I was caught up in the tale, and before I knew it there were gilded leaves in front of me, old and crisp things that were suddenly beyond beautiful. Even the imperfect and overlooked ones were now soothing my soul.

Things weren't perfect by the time I left for the day, but they were definitely better. And I'll take that! I'll take that and run with it.
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Coffeehouse Update

They're framed. And they're UP.

A mini collection of my '50 Shades of Fae' is currently displayed at Avant Garden, and I think it all looks wonderful. I couldn't be prouder!

I wasn't sure what to expect, exactly. This being my first time hanging my work in a coffeehouse, I was under the impression that I took my work there and hung it up my own self so no one would have to take time out of their day (or their busy schedule) to do it for me. But that's not how it's done, apparently. I was asked to leave it and trust that all would be done to my expectations.

When I got the heads-up that my work was in place and on display, James and I walked in to the Village to see it. Don't laugh, but I was a bit apprehensive. Originally my plan was to look at the floor all the way to the coffee counter where I'd order a beverage and peek obliquely around until I got my bearings. Perhaps this sounds silly, but just being in the same room with my work feels LOUD somehow, like I'm screaming for attention. (Yes, I want it to be noticed, but I don't want to be noticed. Does that make sense?....)

I needn't have worried.... I left my art in very good hands. And I made a video for my Grandbugs about the event in case you're interested. (It's not long, I promise!)

As I sat at the table beneath my work that morning, I couldn't help imagining those little faces watching happy customers, occasionally making eye contact with them, perhaps even generating a smile or two. I hope so! And I hope they continue to do so through this holiday season.

I'm LUCKY to have my work on the wall of such a cool place! Thank you, Avant Garden, for this opportunity.
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P.S. If you get a chance to and you're in the area, please stop at Avant Garden! You can find directions and info HERE. I recommend the hot spiced chai. Or the house blend, if you just want a simple coffee. Say 'hi' to the wonderful people there and take a moment to look at my work, OK? I hope it makes you smile. :)

Autumn, Art, and Avant Garden

I walked in to the Village recently to do commerce, and afterward treated myself to a bowl of tomato basil soup and a grilled cheese sandwich at Avant Garden Coffee House on Main Street. But lunch wasn't the main reason why I went there. The reason I stopped was to get a feel for the place.

My Youngest had made arrangements earlier for me to visit with the manager there about possibly displaying my artwork. She did this unbeknownst to me and told me later only after she'd gotten the OK; a surprise (a pleasant one) but it still put me a bit on the spot.... I have a heckuva time tooting my own horn, so it warms my heart to know that my Girlz like my work enough to talk it up. Still, this would now mean stepping out of my comfort zone.

I'd visited Avant Garden before, but not in recent months. And I wondered if my new work would be suitable.... Are little fae faces 'edgy' enough for a jazzy coffeehouse?

The booth I chose for my lunch was in a corner where I could survey the place. Markered names and handwritten suggestions to 'Make Art' and 'Earth Without Art is Just 'Eh' decorated the bricks on the wall next to me. Overhead were displayed framed hand-drawn designs of tattoo flash. As I enjoyed my tomato basil soup and listened to some jazzy 40s music I tried to imagine my work there, little fae faces looking down on folks with mugs of hot black coffee in their hands and interesting conversations on their lips. I think I could see it....

Walking home afterward was a treat. The soup was just what my tastebuds had been jonesing for. I had the sidewalks to myself, and the sky promised rain at any moment -- my favorite weather. I passed kids on the playground. I collected bouquets of fallen ginkgo leaves, perfect for pressing. In my head I was now busy imagining myself as a regular at 'the Garden,' stopping in with my sketch gear for a bowl of soup and some drawing time, or meeting friends there for coffee and conversation.

Edgy enough for a coffeehouse??....

It began raining as I opened the back door, and soon I could hear thunder. Good weather for being indoors, organizing my portfolio.

On the day of the appointment, my Youngest planned to meet me ahead of time so that she and I could go there to pitch my work together. But I forced myself to go alone. It's been years since I made the rounds with my old beat-up portfolio, and I cringe a little now when I think on it. About the chutzpah of my 20-something self back then, proudly showing off what was at the time some pretty crappy work. (From this age and this angle I know it was awful, but my young self certainly didn't think so. She imagined shaking the art world like a pitbull with a kitten. How ballsy. Did I really think I was All That? And if so, why can't I think so now?.... Hmm.)

Anyway....

I recall years ago watching a young person with a portfolio get on the Metro Transit bus I was riding, and I remember how fascinated I was by her. What was her story? Was she en route to an art school? Was she about to pitch her work to an art director? What wonders were hiding in that portfolio? Was art her job? And if so, how cool is that?? At the time I was commuting to an office in the City where I was a busy receptionist, and being a full-time artist was my happy little fantasy. That hip young girl with her portfolio gave my imagination wings....

So it was a proud moment for me when I walked in to the Village, carrying my portfolio. Past schools and churches and apartment buildings and offices, past dog-walkers and leaf-rakers and exercise-takers and lunch-goers. I wondered if they noticed me. And if so, were they thinking the same thoughts, pondering the same questions? Did they wonder what awesome creations were in my case?  Did they think, "How cool would it be to be a full-time artist?" When I walked past the area's School For the Arts, I imagined kids at their desks watching me through the window and thinking, "There goes an artist. And she's happy. I can be a happy artist, too."

I was happy. Still am, too. I met with a cool guy named Brad who looked at my work and was OK with it, so we talked wall space and contracts.

And then I had a chai and it was killer.


...
P.S. Visit Avant Garden's website (here) to see directions, pics, and a list of beverage items. Then go there to the brick-and-mortar store, say hi to Brad (or whichever Kindred Spirit is at the counter), order a killer chai, and look at some art. Who knows? Some of it may even be mine. :)

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.
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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....
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Over and Out (at least for a bit....)

Jesus....

I can't be on Social Media for a while. I just can't....

Is it just me, or is the whole world going to hell in a hamper?? First there was this story. Seriously? And then this story. Are you kidding me? Followed by this story. OK, now I'm DONE. Signing off for awhile.... I was only online this morning for a few minutes and that's just half of what my eyes saw, and I swear I didn't go looking for it.

Granted, it's already been a week full of What The Hell. But I was coping. And then this happened and I can't stop thinking about cartoonists being called out by name and brutally executed. Fellow artists! Murdered in the name of God. I can't wrap my head around it....

But I should probably talk about it. I have to do something or I'll burst into flame. Or disappear. The overwhelming weight of all this awfulness will crush me.

Thicker-skinned folks in my social circle have branded me the bleeding heart who plugs her ears and shuts her eyes and thinks 'rainbows' and 'unicorns' to keep from dealing with anything unpleasant. And I'll admit that's me. Absolutely.

But I wish it wasn't. I wish I could be the Angry One. Or the One Who Isn't Afraid to Speak Out. Or the One Who Makes a Difference. But I'm not. It all gets internalized.

And then I just get mad at myself for being so helpless. Do I really think that cute doodles of fairies and flowers is going to do anything, help anyone?? How can I think that what I do could ever make a difference?

Or -- wait a second -- is what I do just another way of me putting my head in the sand? How can THAT help anyone?? And how must it look when I post pics of fluffy bunnies and sassy fairies while everywhere the world is falling apart?

......Ugh....

And this is where things get squirrely for me, so I'll just walk away for a bit so I can deal somehow. Bury my head back in the sand.

But I appreciate being able to 'talk' to you.... Thank you for being out there somewhere.
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