I Think the Fairies Danced

May Eve came and went and my tired old self didn't observe it, sadly.

It wasn't that long ago that I would have at least lit a candle in its honor or something....

So when I left the house on May Day morning to set off for my studio and saw this cheerful gumdrop displayed front and center in my garden, I had to smile.

The fairies partied, apparently.

Or maybe it was just a mouseling. Or a squirrel. Dancing and feasting under the starry sky.

Either way, I wish I'd joined them.
...

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.
...

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!
...

You Say Goodbye and I Say Hello

This post has been a while in the making.

I was afraid to write it....

My last rattie, Max, passed away from old age the summer of 2017. I held him gently under my hoodie, next to my heart, as he took his last breath. The hurt never scabbed over....

I'd planned to wait a bit before adopting another, and that wasn't hard to do since none of the area pet 'warehouses' seemed to carry them any longer.

But then I ran across a single 'blue' rat pup in a mall store crowded with kittens and puppies for the holidays and my heart stopped. James tried to talk me into him but I was just too afraid to give my heart away again. And by the time I thought I was ready, he was already gone....

I was crushed! And I've regretted not adopting him ever since....

So imagine my delight when I visited that same store this past winter just days before Christmas (and exactly one year later!) and discovered this sweet little one. Just 8 weeks old, silvery blue!, a carbon copy of the one I let get away. The salesgirl there opened the cage and put him on my palm and my heart broke wide open.

And thanks to my James, he went home with me for Christmas....

I'm not a noob. I've had ratties almost all my adult life. I made sure to continue with the food he'd started at the pet store. I made sure to use aspen bedding. I let the new baby settle in.

I wanted to give him an 'M' name, like all my other ratties. And I thought it should be Christmas-related. I began making a list:

• Marley
• Myrrh
• Menorah
• Merry
• Mistletoe....

But that night I dreamed that I walked up to his cage, expecting to find him but finding my old Max instead -- alive and well again! -- and I said, "Max, what are YOU doing here??" And Max said to me, "I'm not Max. I am so much more." So when I woke, I named this little one 'Much.'

The next day was Christmas proper. My local grandbugs visited and longed to hold the new baby, but I kept them apart just to give Much more time to acclimate.

By that weekend -- just a couple days later -- he began showing vague symptoms: repeatedly digging in his ear, tilting his head....

I've fostered a rat that had gone untreated for an inner ear infection and it wasn't pretty. I like to think that I made the remainder of his life a happy one. Seeing signs that Much could be in the early stages of something similar made me panic. He'd have to see someone immediately.

It was the holidays. What vet could possibly see him?? James phoned the pet store; it was no help. The person there had no suggestions nor any recommendations of a vet in the area that could see such a small animal. I called the Animal ER and was told we could bring him in, but when we got there I was turned away at the desk. Only cats and dogs, said the person there, and I assured her that whomever I spoke to on the phone said they'd see him. After some behind-the-scenes questioning of the staff, Much was taken backstage and given a once-over....

The doctor who examined him said she could find nothing wrong, but that didn't mean there wasn't an infection in the inner ear. So she started him on antibiotics and we brought him home again.

And he was fine.

He was fine.

Until he wasn't.

We watched television together, curled up warm on the couch, and Much was on my shoulder, tucked under my neck, cuddled in my hoodie. I loved on him a bit, then returned him to his terrarium. And when I checked on him that night before bed, he was gone.

It was the last straw for me.

The whole day had already been sad and tearful and full of big disappointments, and this just put me into a tailspin.... just as I was preparing to say goodbye to the old year and welcome the new.

I believed then that Much was already ill when I adopted him, and I still believe it. But that does nothing to assuage my grief and disappointment. The only thing that even makes me feel marginally better is knowing that for the short time that he was with me he was loved COMPLETELY and will be incredibly missed....

Not long after his death Much appeared to me in a dream. He looked just like his little self, only 'different,' and I used his appearance as the basis for a story. And here it is:

A STORY

As usual, the old key budged stubbornly in the lock, and it was all she could do to get it to turn. Forcing it gave her some quick and heated attitude.

“No, no no…. Don’t let my New Year start on a crabby note,” she grumbled to herself just as the mechanism succumbed and clunked, and the heavy glass door opened with a gentle swoosh. She swiped the light switch with a mittened hand, illuminating the darkened North Studio with its long empty tables and upturned chairs. Immediately a wave of comfort washed over her and she silently thanked the Universe that – at least for the moment – she had the place all to herself.

Her moist boots squeaked across the cement floor. One more key, one more turn, one more light switch and her own little studio brightened to life. She inhaled deeply the smell of dry paper and dried leaves, her eyes taking in the chaos of creativity, recalling happily the recent time she proudly shared the little studio with her dad. After what seemed like a stunned pause he’d said, “Well…. You sure have a lot of stuff,” and her heart swelled pleasantly now just thinking about it. She did have a lot of stuff! And reacquainting herself with it all again after the bustle of the Holidays made her socks go up and down.

Immediately: backpack on the chair, jacket on the display rack. A quick glance then into each of the empty cups on her drawing table told her which was for beverages and which was for ink water, and she dropped a tea bag into the proper one before walking back out into the North room, filling the cup at the water cooler, loading it into the old microwave, and then setting the carousel atwirl with the press of a button. As the timer counted down, she leisurely absorbed her surroundings: the color and chaos of the big room’s furnishings, the smell of paints and brush cleaner, the echoes of laughter and creativity. What a pleasure to be there again after all the stress of the Holidays!

The microwave pinged. She carefully removed the steaming cup and gave it a sip before returning to the little room again and closing the door. Instead of clearing off the drawing table she simply pushed everything forward to make space before adding a sheet of cardstock and grabbing a pencil. It was a pencil she’d found on her walk there that morning, stabbed point first in the snow on the ground near the School of the Arts. A yellow #2 Ticonderoga that had been nibbled to death in the middle. It made her smile to see this and recall her own elementary school days a million years ago spent nibbling her own yellow pencils….

“Alexa, play some ambient music.”

A pause. A little pirouette of light from a device on her windowsill.

“Playing ‘ambient music’ on Pandora,” came a disembodied female voice behind her, and a selection from a fantasy movie soundtrack began. She picked up the pencil and drew.

The music made her think of mountains. And snow…. Friends on a quest, meeting adventure head on….

By the end of the lengthy selection she was surprised to discover that her hand had drawn a tiny creature with perky ears, a long tail and long whiskers, black button eyes goggling with curiosity… and little feathered wings.

And over the figure was a word balloon.

And the word balloon said,

“I am so much more.”

The End

...

Preparing to be Captured -- Part Two

I owe you an update on my last post of the Old Year, don't I? And I also owe you an apology for not writing hard and heavy about my Fest Season and the months that followed. So much Magick happened, of course, and I think I get overwhelmed then and just don't know where to start....

In any event, in that last post of 2018: two weekends of Fest remaineth, I was nervously preparing to be photographed at some point, I'd just Amazon Prime'd myself a costume dress so I could look like a girl in the pic if I wished, and I was learning that the weekend of the shoot would be the first iffy-weather one of the season.

So I packed layers and costume pieces and choices. I practiced my smile....

Then Saturday dawned COLD. I'd slept in a sleeping bag on my shop floor the night before and I swear when I woke that my bones were ice. I needed layers, so I opted for shapeless 'boy clothes' -- long-sleeved shirt, jerkin, leather vest, wool coat, leggings, boots, the works. I loved the look and I felt confident! But I'll admit: although black is my favorite color, it probably doesn't allow for a great picture.... (Except for that one above: a selfie put through the Prisma app. I love it.)

The day got busy and time passed and I forgot about the possibility of being photographed. And when I did remember, I rather hoped that Mr. Edwards had secretly taken his pic from afar so that I was totally unaware....

Although he insisted that he could make our shoot 'painless', when he did arrive I fell apart inside -- instantly filled with anxiety -- and the brief little session was everything I'd feared.

Stand here.
Turn this way.
Look at me.
Chin down.
Slight smile.
Give me 'coy.'

Ugh; I was my own worst enemy! I brought the anxiety, I brought the awkwardness....

Maybe it's the posing that breaks me? Maybe it's having to look right at the lens? Once finished, he turned the digital camera window to me and said, "See how nice this is?" as he zoomed in on my face. I already had my hands over my eyes. I couldn't look....

What was I so afraid I'd see, anyway? A panicked person trying to hide from the lens? The little girl who always looked so freaky in school pics?

I don't like this about myself. I've been this way FOREVER. Photo Day at school was almost as anxiety-inducing as Vaccination Day, and the resulting snaggle-toothed pics that the teacher would show off (with glee, I swear) in front of the class was proof positive that the camera and I were NOT friends....

Photo taken by and courtesy of Sarah D. Butcher

Not long ago, my Eldest (who takes amazing pics) took some candid shots of my parents together and made one into a large canvas print for them as a Christmas gift. Because she lives so far away she couldn't be there when they unwrapped it. But I was. Mom took one look at that photo and laughed her lungs out. Laughed so hard she cried! And then when she caught her breath again there were comments along the lines of, "Good gawd, what a sight!" and "Imagine having to look at THAT in the mirror every day, haha!"

I was CRUSHED.... Because when I saw that photo it brought tears to my eyes. Suddenly I  wanted to grab it from Mom, rescue the woman in that pic, shelter her from the laughter, and bring her home where I could look at her with love. Like she deserved.

Mom couldn't look at her own face in that photo without cringing and laughing with embarrassment. What was so funny, so cringeworthy about that face? Did mom look at herself and see her mother? And was that so bad?....

These are ALL my face. And that's OK.

I swear to God at the time I did not see myself in that moment. But I do now.... Just recalling it as I type brings to the forefront all the feels and confusion and tangles and knots about my relationship with my face and how I imagine others see it.

And what I'm learning could fill another blog post.

And maybe it will someday....

Mr. Edwards visited my shop on the final Fest weekend. "Well, you're off the hook," he said. "I didn't like any of the pics." Part of me wanted to say, "I told you so," but I didn't. I was secretly relieved, though.

He promised to return that final Sunday for another try but didn't make it out to Fest again before the season ended, and that's OK. Because between now and next season, my face and I have some inner work to do.
...