I Survived the ART-a-Thon!

Behold: Pajama Girl!

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

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

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

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

The mural takes shape

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

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

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

I did manage to get some art done!

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

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

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

Guess who these two are?

Avery makes her mark on the community canvas

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

There was quite the crowd!

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

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

Erik was a natural on the loom

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

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

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

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

 ...

A Leprechaun Tale

A couple days ago I mailed each of the beloved grandbuglets a handwritten note.

The note explained how 'Grampa James discovered a leprechaun hiding in his sock drawer and how he'd agree to free it if it gave him a gold coin for each of the grandbugs, and so it DID, but the next day when he checked on the 'gold' in his pocket, it wasn't gold any longer.' And enclosed with the note was proof: a fat plastic coin with a shamrock stamped on it.

On Saturday James and I FaceTimed with our local 'buglets, and the first thing the 4-almost-5-year-old did was muscle her little brother out of the way in order to hog the camera and demand, "Grampa, did you REALLY see a leprechaun? How big was he? Was he the size of a crayon? Did he have a little green vest? Did he look like this?" And she held a grocery store ad with a Lucky Charms character on it up to the camera lens....

I'd made up the story, but now poor Grampa had to confirm it (oops). To his credit, he winged it beautifully, describing in grand detail how he'd bargained with the leprechaun, and how it begged for its freedom, and how surprised Grampa was to discover the next day that what he thought was gold wasn't gold after all.

All the while he talked, she listened intently with eyes wide, eyebrows high, mouth turned down at the corners. Very intense. And there was a long pause afterward while we sensed the gears turning. Then, in a stage whisper: "Grampa?.... Did you fall for a leprechaun TRICK?"

(We were so delighted by her response that James and I roared with laughter; I hope we didn't embarrass her....)

I suggested we could all set a trap for the sneaky thing, but how would we do that?? And she flew off on a Rube Goldberg tangent: "We could hang a cage from the ceiling and run a wire from it over to the wall and then run the wire across the floor and then when he walked by he'd trip on the wire and the cage would come down and catch him and then I'd grab him and say, 'Give me TWO GOLD COINS -- one for Grampa, one for Gramma, one for Miss Lily, one for Boo, and one for those cute little birds that always try to snackle your fingers off.'"

(SO generous. And to those horrid piranha birds, too, bless her!)

And there you have it: a tale about my brush with the gold at the end of the rainbow and the magick it made one Saturday night. And now I hope some of it's rubbed off on you.

May all your Erin Go Bragh-ing go well today, my friend. And may 'snackle' forever be a word in your lexicon.

Slainte.

...

Winding Down....

Princess Ariel (aka my eldest grandbug) meets a real mermaid

As always the season has been an emotional rollercoaster. It began at "I'm not sure I can do this", quickly roared along to "What do I think I'm DOING??", and now the final stretch is saying, "I'm glad this ride's coming to an end! (But I think I'd like to do it again. Just give me a year so my heart goes back to normal, 'k?)"

Seriously, halfway through the run this year I wasn't sure how I'd feel at the end of the ride. 

Even though I've willingly gotten on the thing annually for nearly 30 years, it still scares the poop out of me. But it also thrills me, makes my heart beat faster, opens my eyes wide, and gives me that feeling that 'if I can do THIS, I can do anything.' 

Granted, in the Grand Scheme of Fest, what I do personally is the equivalent of the Tiny Tots Coaster at Father Hennepin Days. But I look around at all the other crazy-ass X2 riders and feel like I'm part of this group of daredevils, some of whom willingly do this all year long.

And Ivy the Faun, too

This year I really thought long and hard about my role at Fest. About whether or not selling my art was what I'm supposed to be doing, because I don't do it very well. Time hasn't given me a handle on it like it should. I look at my time spent at Fest proper and even in my own head I don't see myself as an artist selling art. I see myself as a human connecting with humans (which is something I don't do very often just because that's the way I am). I see familiar faces, folks who return year after year, customers who've become friends, Fest friends who've become customers, the offspring of each who now visit me, too, only now everyone brings their friends. And I look at that filmstrip in my head and I think, "What's wrong with this picture?...." and I say, "Absolutely nothing. But there is something missing, and it's the selling of art."

And just as I typed those words, all of a sudden the picture in my head stood on its head. Everything I thought about Fest did a flip-flop. And I thought, "What if this isn't about the big You and what I can sell to You. What if it's about me and what You bring to me? What if -- in my little world -- this isn't about selling art so much as it's about me learning something from You?"

And with her brother (far right) making music with Alan-a-Dale

Hmmmm..... Head went all 'splodey there for a second and I had to step away from the keyboard and refill my coffee.... But now I'm back.

So, let's just say that if Fest (for me) isn't about the art, then it must be about the connections, right? And if that's the case, then guess what? Fortunately for me the Universe has seen to it that while I'm busy stepping out of my comfort zone talking to people each season, I'm also selling enough of my work to allow me to ride the ride again next year. How cool is that? (So dang grateful, Universe; big thankyous!)

And that works for me.

Each year I'm sure I come to this conclusion in some way, shape, or form, so forgive me if I've just repeated myself yet again; it takes multiple times of the Universe hitting me upside the head for things to sink it....

And I also think it took a walkabout with my Minnesota grandbugs for me this year to see the situation from another POV. There's not enough magick and wonder in the world is how I see it. And being a part of this wonder-full Village allows me to introduce all my 'buglets to creative and magickal folks who still see diamonds when they look at the stars.

And that's a Very Good Thing.
...

Bunnies and 'Bugs

I was all set to work on The Daily Blogsketch today but have been in the deepest of brain fogs. Not even a pot of Company Coffee (aka Real Coffee Percolated in a Pyrex Pot On The Stove instead of my usual lazy-ass Spoon-of-Instant) has been enough to clear it....

So as I sat at the table with my cuppa and my sketchbook, nothing came to me except thoughts of my faraway grandbug. And then it occurred to me to write her a letter. And that changed to a card. And before I knew it, I'd pulled a sheet of scored linen and began a drawing on it.

And here's what I came up with -- a sketch of this year's Bad Bunny as it nibbles the dandelions in my lawn.

I hope she likes it. :)
...

Good Advice

I'm not away. Just busy. And this week has been overly stressful....

My family's been aware of the goings on here, and yesterday my eldest Grandbug told me (complete with wagging finger), "Gramma, just try to forget your troubles and have some fun today!"

Good advice.

So she and I spent the afternoon together at The Pond Near Her House. We sat on the wooden dock and 'took the pond's temperature' by dipping sticks into the icy water. We looked for floating snail shells and fished for mermaids.

Fluffy cotton-candy clouds sailed by and blocked the sun. "Gramma, if you could ride on one of those clouds, which one would you choose?" I picked one and she picked the one right next to it so we could hold hands together while traversing the sky.

My cell phone rang and I answered it. It was Grampa. With a little wrinkle in her forehead, the Grandbug watched me converse, then when I ended the call asked worriedly, "Does this mean you have to go home? Because I don't want you to go home!"

There would be no going home yet.

Hours (and a bit of sunburn) later, there was bubble stuff and sidewalk chalk and the sharing of Freezie Pops. "Gramma, how about you taste my purple and I taste your yellow?" Ants were studied and leaves were picked apart. Airplanes were watched as they cut across the sky. Would they fly through our clouds, we wondered? Nope. Whew!

A most excellent day. And when I returned home again, I discovered my troubles had pretty much taken care of themselves.

Her words were more than just good advice. They were absolutely magickal.
...

The Magic of Mail

The folks at Punchbowl (who supply the info for my Let's Party! blog widget) tell us that today is 'Thank a Mailman Day,' and you can read all about it by opening this link or scrolling down the righthand side of this blogpage.

Learning about 'Thank a Mailman Day' today made my heart do a little wiggle. Because I seriously love mail. Love it! Even the typewritten word gives me palpitations; it suggests handwritten secrets and sparkles and surprises. :)

Ever since I was little, mail has mesmerized me. I realized its awesome potential even before I could write my own name....

The Christmas Conundrum

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

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

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

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

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