An Opening Follow-Up

The only thing that makes me feel better (when I'm incapable of drawing) is writing.... So consider this a heads-up.

The Art Center has my apologies for being the 'artist' it assumed would be a good gallery draw. I have failed it.

My gallery opening was so bad that I jokingly asked the handful of attendees that trickled in that afternoon to please sign my guestbook at least twice just to make me feel like less of a failure.

It wasn't for lack of trying. I'd hyped the whole thing on Social Media. I'd sent MULTIPLE invites out to family, friends, and fans online. Larry organized an incredible event with printed programs and platters of fruits and cheeses and crackers, and even a vase of fresh flowers! And he even commented ahead of time that we should wait to unlock the gallery doors at the last moment to drum up anticipation. "Make 'em wait in the hall to be surprised!," he said. So I knew he was expecting Great Things. It made me wonder if his expectations could possibly be justified! I was already anxious. I hadn't slept for days, going over in my head the presentation I would give when it was my turn to introduce myself and say a few words about my work.

There was a printed program!

But I needn't have worried. The event was so ill-attended that it was laughable. And afterwards I took Larry aside and thanked him for putting together the reception in my honor. And I apologized for being such a disappointment to him and the Art Center. It was all I could do not to cry....

I went over it all in my head. I reminded myself that it WAS summer after all. And even though the day was rainy, it shouldn't have surprised me that few would care to spend it -- a Saturday in July in Minnesota -- indoors at a gallery opening. And again I berated myself for having the balls to think mine was an event worthy of anyone's attention. Take THAT, Ego!

But ignore all of the above for a moment.

Bottom line: I regarded this gallery thing as my introduction (finally!) to my fellow artists at the Art Center, who all think of me as the Leaf Lady who draws kooky faces on leaves. In October I will have been at the Center for three years (if I remember correctly) and yet I still feel like a Newbie there. Like the dorky kid still hoping for a seat at the Cool Table. And I thought this was my opportunity to say to them all, "I may draw on leaves now, but I'm so much more than this, see? Can I be an artist with you guys?"

And fresh flowers!

The handful of attendees at my opening included a couple strangers and a family that I'm friends with. No one was there that I danced with in my Eeyore jammies at the Art-a-Thon. No one was there that I've shared space with at the Studio Crawls. No one was there from the other gallery events that I've attended. No one was there from the Art Center at all, except for Larry (the host).

And Paul.

Paul Boecher is an incredible artist who teaches at the Art Center. His was the gallery opening that originally set the bar for me. (A presentation! a crowd!, a reading! live music!....) And like everyone else, he had no reason to take time out of his summer Saturday to come see my work. But he did. And when he showed up, it put tears in my eyes. He looked at my work and then talked about it with me. There's SO DANG MUCH I don't know about art, and Paul was kind enough to point out things I was doing that I wasn't even aware that I was doing. Things associated with 'design elements' and 'repetitive line' and other stuff I am completely unfamiliar with. Things I like to tell myself I would've learned had I been fortunate enough to go to Art School. He made it sound like I'm fancier than I am, more than just someone who likes to draw. It was a humbling conversation....

When the afternoon was mercifully over, I made James take me out for a drink. We talked about it for a bit (or he listened while I talked about it for a bit) and then I went home and curled up inside myself. The hubris! What was I thinking?

The show is open for another few weeks. And I should be there daily to share my work with the occasional Art Center visitor who stumbles upon my display and may want to meet the artist. But I've been unable to return to the gallery. I don't want to look at the art that wasn't worth celebrating, does that make sense?....

Someone recently shared a quote with me: "Instead of asking yourself, 'why is this happening to me?', try asking, 'what is this trying to teach me?'" And I have been thinking about this. Every day. And one of the things I'm learning is: just because someone is Family, a friend, a fan, a customer, a member of my 'tribe', or someone from the community I've personally called Home almost all my adult life, I cannot assume that I deserve to be a blip on their radar. They have their own priorities, and not everything is about Me.

And the other things I'm learning: I apparently have to work much harder on my friendship skills. I have to try harder to be more approachable and more likeable. I have to try working with my studio door open, even though I cannot work that way. (I can't; I've tried.)

And I have to ask myself if I'll ever really be a good Art Center fit....

...

A BIG P.S.: If you were one of the few people there, you have my heart in spades. I love you to the moon and back. Thank you.

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!

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.

 ...

My First Ever ART-a-Thon!

I like to think I was a derring-do-er.

Like back in the day when I was a single mom, a Festival shop builder, a 'step-out-of-my-comfort-zone-and-rent-a-studio' artist, a 'travel-by-myself-to-England' girl, a 'college-at-age-50' student....

I don't derring-do much anymore. In fact, these days, the derring-do-iest thing I can think of is to sign up for as many straight hours of art and creativity as I can hopefully manage via the RumRiver Art Center's upcoming 62-hour ART-a-Thon event.

When I initially heard about it I thought, "How fun does this sound?? SIGN ME THE HECK UP." And only later did I remember that I like to sleep.

A lot.

No; I mean A LOT. Like if this was the 62-hour Sleep-a-Thon, I'd frippin' WIN it.

So what was I thinking?....

Actually, I was thinking about hanging out with creative people non-stop for an entire Friday-night-to-Monday-morning weekend.

And I was thinking about 'arting' alongside some curious adults and kiddoes who perhaps have never 'arted' before.

And I was thinking: "Hey -- I'm 62, and there are 62 hours in this -- it just sounds like something I'm meant to do."

And -- perhaps most importantly -- I was thinking about what it would be like to be that young woman again, the one with crazy hair and bags under her eyes from staying up all weekend drinking pots of coffee and playing with pencils, instead of the grandma she is now that needs her sleep. (I swear that crazy girl is still inside me somewhere.)

Anyway. I signed up for all 62 hours and am keeping my feathers crossed that I can manage them all without snapping at anyone, locking myself in my studio with a book, or falling asleep headfirst onto my art. Maybe I'll shop for some silly pajamas for the overnight hours. Maybe I'll locate some chocolate-covered coffee beans for extra 'awakeness.' Who knows? But my plan is to do ALL the hours. All the HOURS. All. The. Hours.... (Just typing that made me shiver....)

The ART-a-Thon is open to the public and will be held from 6:00pm Friday, March 15 until 8:00 am Monday, March 18 -- again, that's 62 hours of continuous artmaking! -- and is an event to draw attention to and benefit the RumRiver Art Center (a non-profit that is close to my heart).

As stated in the link above:

'There will be a variety of art activities to participate in throughout the 62 hours, including wheel throwing pottery, drawing, watercolor painting, acrylic painting, hand-built pottery, polymer clay, mosaic art, stained glass, weaving and more! Everyone who comes to the art center can contribute to our three collaborative community art projects that will be put on display at the art center when finished. The projects will be a stained glass mosaic window, an acrylic painting, and a hand weaving. We will also have a canvas that will be painted continuously for the full 62 hours.'

And YOU can help in other ways:

• If you live close and would like to, please visit the RumRiver Art Center during the ART-a-Thon and say hi! Take a tour, check out what the wonder-filled place has to offer, see my personal studio, make some art, help ME make some art! (Go **HERE** to get directions, more info, etc.)
• SPONSOR ME or one of our other artists! (Go **HERE** to sponsor an artist)
• Make a donation. Every little bit helps! The Art Center does so much for the local community.
• Take home a piece of my work. My plan is to create one new art piece every hour I can manage to stay awake and upright! All will be for sale.

This is the first time I've ever participated in an event like this and I'm looking forward to it! I have no idea what to expect. Care to join me? If you can't be there in person, no worries; I plan to live-stream and Tweet my progress!

And in the meantime, I welcome ALL suggestions for how to keep this old young girl awake and working!
...

Good Question

Last week I stayed with my parents at their house Up North, and at the end of my visit my dad drove me home again. Too late I realized that we'd passed the turn-off to the Rum River Art Center and my little studio, and I said so aloud, adding, "If I'd thought about it sooner, I would've had us go there so I could show it to you." I knew he was in a hurry, so I didn't expect him to turn around and really go there! But it was an enormous pleasure for me to unlock the door to the Art Center and invite him in, the guy whose opinion matters more to me than I can begin to express.

I showed him the large classroom space as we approached my studio door, and I heard him chuckle when he saw my busy window full of my drawings and comics and doodles. And he chuckled again when I opened the door and turned on my light. "So this is it! Well, you sure have a lot of stuff...." I do. And I expected a comment like that. My little room is cluttered with art supplies, show materials, product displays, and art on the walls that I find comforting and inspirational. It's somewhat of an 'organized' mess....

Inside the door on a little table were some leaflings that I'd recently created, spread out on craft paper and awaiting more of my attention. Dad said, "So you work on your leaves here...." And then after a pause he said, "Do people really buy these?"

I get that question a lot, usually from well-meaning family members (and my tax guy, who I suspect is surprised that anyone buys anything from me at all). The first time I heard it I was a bit offended, but now I understand.

With his question, Dad was trying to wrap his head around why someone would buy a leafling because THEN what do they do with it? I've been asking myself this question ever since the first customer picked one up and asked me how much it was. But I've since gotten lots of answers. And I would've shared them with Dad that day if I thought there was time. So instead I just laughed and said, "They do. And no one's more surprised by that than I am."

I've had people purchase leaflings for all sorts of reasons. Many have gone on to frame one or display it in a shadowbox or tuck it behind a picture on the wall. A friend of a friend bought five and hand-carried them to Glastonbury Tor as gifts for the other attendees at a spiritual get-together. Three siblings who lost a nature-loving sister to cancer bought one to leave at her gravesite. A young woman toted one on a hike to the Grand Canyon and then made a wish before sending it over the edge. Another left her purchased leafling on the Gun Flint Trail in memory of her father, who enjoyed hiking it. And these are just a few of the stories I've collected over the short period of time that I've offered these creations....

I wonder just how satisfying these explanations are, really, to anyone but myself. Do they really address my dad's query?

People who follow me online respond to my leafling images in a way that both pleases me and surprises me. And when they hold one in person, the reaction it gets is too heartwarming for words. What IS it about them?? I have no idea....

But I'm just the messenger, the middleman, the conduit. What do I know?

...

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.
...

My Head is Gonna Explode....

Thinking about you. Thinking about LIFE. Thinking about the planet. Thinking about EVERYthing.

So. Much. Thinking....

When the *boom* comes, it'll be epic....

When James came home early yesterday and found me staring into space, lost in some big-ass thoughts, he found me my shoes and my keys and my cap, pointed me in the direction of the studio, and sent me on my way. I'd been home for four straight days, trying to tidy up around here because there's just so much that needs doing. But even though I started out strong, I petered out fabulously and was pretty much just walking around in circles by that time, putting stuff in places where it didn't belong.

It doesn't help that there's the usual outdoorsy stuff now (garden tasks, chicken chores, etc.). In addition to the spring house- and yardwork, there's also the non-stop, stressful, Big News (every day's a new crisis!). Way too much to take in and process; my poor head's all over the map! So hiking to the studio yesterday was apparently just what I needed.

It was late in the day and the rush-hour traffic was loud, but I was able to ignore it as I walked slowly along the river in the shade of enormous cottonwoods, stopping to collect leaves and maple keys and to appreciate the spirea in bloom.... The art center was dark and silent when I arrived. I unlocked the door, breathed in the heady fragrance of paper and creativity, and sighed a big sigh. Of contentment, maybe. Relief.... In the few hours that I was there, I did nothing more than add to my sketchbook, really. (And it revealed to me some surprises, as always. Thank you, blank paper, for all that you do....)

And now today I'm ready. As soon as I press the 'publish' button on this entry, my shoes will be on their way again. North along the river walk, through the colorful tunnel, past the Four Silos and across the overpass, to the art center. To my Safe House, my sanctuary, my place where the world can't find me.

May I never ever run out of rent money. Ever.
...

And the Envelope Goes to....

Me and my Avery rocked the Crawl. (Thanks for your help, Avery!)

In my last post I wrote about my preparations for the North Artists Studio Crawl. And in this post I'll tell you how it went. (Spoiler: it was magickal.)

As prepared as I was for it, I got very little sleep the night before, as until nearly 5 a.m. the morning of the Crawl my head was a big old mess.

I'd decided earlier that day to try something unusual, something I first tried at Fest last season wherein I let people take Leaflings home with them for an exchange of whatever they personally thought was fair. Because I didn't want them to feel judged for their donation, I offered them a plain envelope at the time of the exchange and asked that they put in it whatever they wished and I wouldn't open the envelope until after the weekend. Also, I assured them that I wouldn't know which envelope they were responsible for because all the envelopes look the same and would get mixed together in my take-home bag so I wouldn't know whose was whose....

As you can imagine, the Fest 'experiment' was eye-opening. The Leaflings folks could choose from at that time weren't framed or anything; they were loose leaves that I'd individually embellished and carefully protected with a sealant. Each weekend after Fest I'd go home with about a dozen envelopes, and James would open them for me, mostly because of my rule to not personally take money for magick, but also because I was afraid to be disappointed.

Many of the envelopes contained single dollar bills. And many contained much more. As promised, I didn't know who was responsible for which particular envelope, except for the time a well-dressed woman chose four Leaflings and paid me in pocket change, and I only know that because I could hear it jingle as the coins were dropped in the envelope. At least two others refused to follow my rules and instead forced me to take their money (which happened to be a significant amount). And the only reason I could think of was that they didn't want their generous donation to be anonymous; they wanted me to know exactly who was responsible....

These delightful folks made my socks go up and down!

At the end of the Fest season, I was surprised at the amount my Leaflings brought in. What would have been just another ordinary year for me was significantly up for a change, and it was all due to the Leaflings and their magick.

It was then that I began to wonder what a whole year of similar exchanges would be like. Which is how I decided to make this year The Year of the Experiment.

The Art Crawl would be my first opportunity to try it out. But with only a few hours before the Crawl began, my head was all over the place about it. I wondered: what if no one 'got' what I was doing and why I was doing it?, what if I try to describe to people why it is that I make my Leaflings and my words don't make sense?, what if the Crawl goes by and no one takes a Leafling home?, or what if they're popular and afterward I discover that all the envelopes are empty??....

Friends visited. (Love you, Sue and Aina!)

I knew what I needed to make monetarily from that Art Crawl to break even, and I was confident that the Universe did, too. That morning as I hung the framed Leaflings on their display grid and fanned the individual ones out in their antique display case before the Crawl began, I made eye contact with each one. We had an understanding. And they had jobs to do. I trusted that each would make a connection with THE person meant to take it home, and in so doing that person would make a fair exchange.

I wasn't sure what to expect from an Art Crawl as I've never been part of one before.... I assumed a Crawl was meant to be more of a 'meet-and-greet-the-artist' and less of an opportunity to make a sale. Yet sales were made. A number of people understood how much my Leaflings meant to me and why I was creating them. And by the end of the day I had a dozen envelopes and some very rewarding memories of some very magickal interactions....

And more friends. (Love you, Suzanne!)

The next day was the same. Once again, friends visited to help me celebrate my first ever Art Crawl. I confused them with the whole envelope thing, but in most cases they obliged and indulged me.... My eldest grandbug, Avery, was there to help me that day and I was more focused on entertaining her than I was on selling my work. Still, at the end of the day I was surprised to discover that there were as many (or more) envelopes in my bag as there'd been the day before.

I crashed on Monday, as usual. And it wasn't until sometime that afternoon that I felt human enough to begin sorting through things from the weekend. And there was the stack of plain brown envelopes, waiting to be opened....

Just like after Fest, I planned to have James do the dirty work when he arrived home that evening. But then it occurred to me that I was separating myself from a very important step in my experiment, the part where I personally accept the exchange. If this was something I was going to do in future, I'd have to learn to carry the whole thing out from start to finish.

This classy lady made my day! (And this sassy kid did, too.)

So I poured myself another cup of coffee and sat down to that stack and prayed aloud over it. I promised the Universe that I'd be grateful for whatever came out of those envelopes. And the first envelope I opened made me cry. Not because it was so bad, but because it was so generous.

Opening the envelopes was humbling. There were a LOT of tears. And, not surprisingly, there was the Empty Envelope. I seem to recall an Empty Envelope last season at Fest, too. It was like a physical reminder to me to accept the bad and the good without judgment.

When I'd opened them all and tallied everything, it took my breath away. I was stunned. And so dang grateful that I cried. Because of those leaves and the effect they had on my visitors, I did more than just break even.

I also learned a LOT. And I was filled with hope.

Now as I look back on my experience, I can't help but read the signs and determine that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be right now, and doing exactly what I'm supposed to do. I couldn't have imagined this a year ago.

And it stuns me to think that this all began with one leaf.

And one wish.

...

My First Ever Art Crawl

The North Artists Studio Crawl occurs this weekend. I've wanted to be a part of it for years, and now I am, and I invite you to attend. 

But I won't be displaying and sharing the kind of work I normally create. I'll be sharing something so close to my heart that I find it hard to talk about....

For at least a year I've felt 'called' upon to draw faces on leaves. It began not long ago when things like climate change and the current political administration began giving me anxiety attacks. Getting outside helped to calm me. And soon I was collecting leaves that 'spoke' to me and taking them home. 

Drawing faces on them soothed me. As I drew, I imagined each one absorbing my wishes for the planet (or the friend that was hurting, or the stranger that was afraid, etc.), and then I imagined it going on to spread its energy for Good as I released it back into the wild. (I originally wrote about doing this here: The Leafling Story. It was the start of something precious and humbling.)

For weeks now, in preparation for the Art Crawl, I've been creating leaflings like crazy, and then trying hard not to let them go. I've also begun to frame them. (Have I told you that it's been suggested that I frame them?)

I love how they look framed, and I think others will love them, too. But it's not been easy for me. By putting them under glass I feel like I'm trapping them somehow! And I know it's silly for me to feel this way; well-meaning friends have assured me that their magick will still be free to escape to do its thing. Still, I'm not 100% convinced.

Up until this morning I was busy papering frames and adding little hangers. And now today I'm sort of anxious.... Maybe it's because for once I'm rather prepared instead of burning the midnight oil before a show. Whatever the reason, I feel like I'm circling a big old panic attack. Not about the crawl itself! I'm excited about the crawl! And right now I should be typing in all caps and exclamation points about how excited I am, seeing as how I've WISHED for this.

No, there's other stuff contributing today to my mood. Stuff that's out of my control. It's coming from all directions, and it's making me want to take the leaflings that I've worked so hard on and put so much magickal energy into, break their frames, and release them to the wind.

Which is why I'm at home today and not at the studio, vacuuming and organizing like I should be doing. It's the only way to keep them safe for the weekend....

Those leaflings have big jobs to do and they know it -- I've written before about why I now make them and what I think they're meant to accomplish -- and I swear I can hear them shouting to me all the way from their frames at the Rum River Art Center. They're reminding me of that creative soul in ICU right now, fighting for life. And the stranger battling deep depression. And the friend who just lost her son. And the loved one undergoing chemotherapy. And the people without hope, the butterflies fighting extinction, the bees wasting away, and the planet that's raging against the human inhabitants determined to harm it, and the fill-in-the-blank(s).... So, so, SO much healing work to do! And they want to get started....

It's a constant struggle for me to shut the door on all that breaks my heart. I know I have to. And some days are worse than others. Sadly, today is one of them, and it couldn't come at a worse time as I've got tons to do to prepare for this event. Yet, all I want to do right now is draw on leaves and let them go.... To feel like I'm helping somehow.

Perhaps that's why I'm typing this; sending out a silly distress signal in hopes that a few folks will see it, identify with me, and show up this weekend. Not to view my art, necessarily, or even see my corny little wonder-filled delightful sanctuary studio space. But to exchange a hug. 

And to help share and spread the magick by taking home a leafling*.

Yes, I know they're just leaves. But they're magick. I know they are.

*Deep shaky breath*

What a tangent! Forgive me. This post was originally supposed to be about the Event, about how great it will be, and about how pleased I am to be a part of it. 

That being said, here are some links to the North Artists Studio Crawl (HERE) and a map (HERE) so that you can either find me or avoid me (haha). Fourteen studios in the North Metro area (with 32 featured artists) will be open to the public both Saturday and Sunday, April 1st and 2nd, from 10AM to 6PM. All the artists are amazingly creative, talented, and WAY more emotionally stable than I am. I promise. 

And I promise, too, that I'll get a dang grip by the time I see you there.

I promise.

...

*P.S. My leaflings are available for adoption. YOU get to determine what one is worth to you. Don't worry; I won't put you on the spot. Instead, I will hand you a plain envelope. You are then welcome to put an amount you're comfortable with inside the envelope while I'm packaging up your leafling. It will all be anonymous. Unless you really want me to, I'll have no idea what's inside the envelope (or who's responsible for it) until after the day's over.... Fair? I think so. :)