#saveaustralia, #please

Yesterday I had a moment of self-awareness that shocked me.

I was in the grocery store, choosing fruit and veg for some healthy eating in the New Year. Thinking about the future, my goals, the hope of getting my life together and my body back in shape. The sun shone outside; icicles dripped. I felt a moment of joy! And then -- boom! -- I was aware once more that everything is in upheaval.

Everything.

The world and its inhabitants are screaming and I can hear their cries, feel them in my bones. From the 'roos in Australia to the children at the border and everything else in between, pain and anguish and crippling anxiety are EVERYwhere. And I looked at the basket in my hands with its net bag of clementines and its selection of Greek yogurts and wondered just what the heck it is I think I'm doing, anyway, going about my life's business, choosing next week's healthy foods? 'Staying calm and carrying on?' Just trying to push away the existential dread a moment longer?

The artist Amanda Palmer shared some words today on Facebook from Australia where she and Neil Gaimen and their son are staying currently:

"...walking down the streets here feels surreal...look to the left and people are wearing masks, look to the right and people are in restaurants, ordering cocktails and pasta. it’s all just so weird."

I knew exactly how she felt in that moment. As the lyrics go, "how can we sleep while our beds are burning?"

It feels sinful to rejoice in the melting of icicles when such incredible pain and fear and freaking destruction is occurring everywhere. And even though thoughtful friends continue to admonish me to step away from the news and get off social media, I can't help but feel that to look away -- even for a moment of self-preservation -- is the height of privilege. Those koalas clinging to burning trees, those human beings forced by the fires to flee to the sea -- THEY can't look away.

And here in the States all is focused on politics, the upcoming election, Tweets and under-the-radar actions by our president that I swear are going to bring us to war. The Big Distraction, when we could be helping somehow....

I found an article earlier today written by a wildlife refuge center that included links to knitting/crochet/sewing patterns for things like 'joey pouches' and 'bat wraps,' items that are needed by rescue agencies and veterinarians during this crisis in Australia. (If you're interested, here's a link to it.) And I think it says a lot that there are small, invisible, deeply-caring people like myself going crazy right now making tiny mittens for tiny bears. We want to DO something!

And the people who have the power and money and pull to REALLY make a difference? They are off filling their bladders for more pissing contests....

God/dess help us all.
...

BOOM! -- 2020

Today I feel a LOT like this little chickadee I witnessed on New Years Eve, so dazed and bewildered after accidentally crashing into my mother's patio door that it had all it could do to sit upright again without my assistance. And I blame it all on what I call the promise of my 'hibernation season' and the ultimate reality of it....

What was I thinking, anyway? On the heels of Fest came birthdays and my much-anticipated Halloween, followed by ramping up production again for my final art show of the year, then said art show occurring on the same weekend as Thanksgiving.... But I'd no sooner returned home again from the art show than I hopped a plane for Arkansas to spend as much time as possible with my Eldest and her family. It was a wonderful whirlwind! And during my absence James planned a Christmas vacation for the two of us to our favorite destination, hoping that by 'running away' for the holidays we could finally recuperate by avoiding all the usual Christmas stress.

So no sooner was I home again from Arkansas than James and I flew away. We'd purposely made zero plans for the holiday, hoping that our respective families would carry on without us. But if we thought we were making things easier for anyone, we were mistaken....

Christmas was just waiting for us when we got back. Family obligations were so immediate that I didn't even unpack (still haven't, really), just grabbed my suitcase and headed north until New Years Eve. Snow buried us. New Years Eve blew past us. And New Years Day found me finally home again and toasting the new year with the champagne James had bought for the night before. And suddenly I felt like I had been picked up and thrown into 2020. So much so that today I am that bird in the photo, blinking confusedly and wondering what the hell happened.

I slept until noon today, my first day alone at Tumbledown. And I'm tip-toeing and whispering in my shadowy house. There's no TV, no music, no lights. No sound save the click of my fingers on the computer keyboard. Even my Zoo is being especially gentle with me. It's like my normally exuberant Petz can sense that my nerve endings have been sanded raw and my brains are still addled. All around me Tumbledown looks like it did back in October after the end of Fest. As if I haven't had a moment since to deal with the after-season chaos....

When I think of my year, when I imagine it in my head -- all the months stretching out like a Year-at-a-Glance calendar -- October and November and December are empty. Blank. Like a hibernation period in my imagination. Full of rest and recuperation, and days when I can happily create, bake, decorate, dream, listen to carols and make handmade gifts while the snow falls outside, enveloping me in my cozy cocoon. I don't know why I still see it that way because it's never been that way, yet every year after Fest I still look forward to the fantasy of it with delightful anticipation.

All the additional unnecessary stress I caused for myself in the final weeks of 2019 did one thing positive, though: it shook every one of my cells by the hair until their eyes rattled. It spun me around until I had no idea which way I was facing. And I don’t think I’ve ever approached a New Year from this perspective before. 2019 ended seismically and chaotically and without any seasonal traditions to hang on to, and now 2020 feels like I'm still buried deep under the mess of it all even as the dust continues to fall and settle.

So here's to the dust settling already! And to the promise of a new year and a fresh sheet of paper. I am interested to see what transpires from here, both personally and artistically, and I look forward to sharing it with you.

Happy new year, my friend! Thank you for being in my life.

...me.
...

Dark Autumn (and Baby Steps)

Oops....

I haven’t written since Fest, have I? 

My excuse is always that so much happens there that I get overwhelmed when I try to tell you about it; I just don’t know where to start. (If you're wondering? It was a good season for me. And I learned a lot about myself, as always.)

Perhaps I should hunt down my notebook, the one in which I jot down EVERYTHING that happens there so I don't forget, and then take the time to pen an entry for each day of the show, highlighting all the incredible magic that occurs there at Mayfaire.

Because then perhaps I can describe for once just how incredibly overwhelming (and overstimulating) a season there can be. And it starts like a storm First Weekend, and there’s no time to recover until the whole dang crazy tempest is over for the season. 

And then by the time I’m ‘myself’ again, my glorious October is almost over. Halloween is just seconds away and I’m unprepared! And then trick-or-treating comes, goes, and is gone for the year and I’m too tired to stay awake until midnight to savor the last little pumpkin spice (and pomegranate) bits, and the next day it’s like ‘anything Halloween’ is poison to me. Like anything Christmas-y is the day after Christmas…. 

But I love the grays and browns and introspection of November just as much as I love the fiery colors of October. And as long as the snow stays away until December I’ll at least have a few weeks of Dark Autumn to enjoy. 

So here’s to November. And to the days of Dark Autumn.

And thanks for reading. It feels good to write to you again.

...

A Few Thoughts About Fest Before the Season Ends

The 5th Fest Weekend has ended. I've yet to write a word about it, but isn't that how it usually goes?

I find that when I'm knee-deep in its season I have just too much to tell you and no words perfect enough to describe it all.

And now we're two weekends away from The End.

Before I know it I'll be bidding farewell to faraway friends too busy now packing up their tents and yurts and campers before heading on to the next Faire to do more than hug me and say goodbye.

Where does the time go??....

I'm learning a lot this season.

Like I couldn't continue to do what I do without repeat customers who like my work enough to annually add to their collections. (This never ceases to amaze me. I am so GRATEFUL for them all.)

And I learned to throw some of my pre-conceived ideas out the window. That the unlikeliest of customers may just be a kindred spirit in disguise, just waiting for me to initiate a conversation and turn them into a friend. That exhausted or drunk or cranky person may just need to see someone smile. And -- holy CRAP -- hugs really are MAGICK.

As always, I'm reminded that people are fascinating. And it doesn't take much to draw them out and discover just how interesting they are. It helps that after I tell them how I'm currently doing business I can just shut up and stop trying to sell them something. I love that part. And I've found that sometimes after a good conversation together that person will just grab something and buy it. Why, I wonder? Is it a souvenir of our interaction? Was it really that meaningful?? And then it dawns on me just how invisible some people feel and how grateful they are to be seen. But then I'm saddened a little to think that just really SEEING another fellow human being is monumental enough to be a superpower.

And the children.... When I was first introduced to Fest I was a young adult and the event was so monumental to me then that I promised myself I'd be a part of it someday and now I have been, for almost 35 years. But what must it look like to a young and open and impressionable mind that still believes in Magick?? I've met countless kiddos this season who have asked me the most brilliant of questions, mostly about my butterflies, of course. But thus begins some amazing conversations! And after a day of experiencing the Festival, many return before leaving for home and I kid you not, I get HUGS and THANKYOUS and fervent promises that if I ever need someone to pretend to be a dragon and stand outside my shop and tell people to 'come inside and see the best art in the WORLD!', they're my champion.

The hell?? How did I get to be so lucky!?

So many beautiful things, and odd things, and extraordinary things, and head-scratching things, and mindblowing things happen to me during my Fest days that I've taken to writing as many of them down as I have time for. Maybe I should turn them into a book someday.... 

And I'm sure I learn the same things every season, but they're always big revelations to me. And I wouldn't have those revelations, I don't think, without Fest in my life.

Two more weekends left and then I'll have to find places again for all my Fest flotsam. And then I'll have to wait a year to relearn the same lessons. And that's OK.... And I'm so grateful that late in my Fest life I struck upon a business model that works so well for me that I can let it go off and inspire people while I just listen to them and find out how fascinating they are.

It seems to be THE magickal combination that's Just Right.
...

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!