Seems every time I think I'm going to be able to stay put, something happens that forces me to take stock of our living arrangements and start packing. Usually it's about the environment: too noisy, too small, lousy/noisy/weird neighbors. Sometimes it's about how much it costs, either due to a rent increase or our income has decreased. My husband is a freelance writer, so at times when the markets change, like these days, for instance, the writing assignments can drop off. This time, it's several of the above factors: we recently got a new neighbor in the other side of the duplex we live in, and we are flat out just NOT compatible. She's noisy, busy, has many visitors, keeps late hours, and if she has a building project (which seems to happen fairly often), she doesn't really care if we're tired of hearing hammering go on after 9 or 10 at night. Our landlord doesn't seem inclined to enforce the noise rules in the lease, so...what's a family to do? In addition, work is low, the rent is very high (it's a grand a month), and not particularly conveniently located. But the last straw really was the electric fence that the landlord saw fit to put around the perimeter of a small plot of trees he's decided to grow for sale, just to keep the deer out...and failed to put a warning sign on the damn thing. Hubby and Girlchild were out taking a walk around the grounds last week and she accidently touched the fence...and ZAP. Surprise, surprise. I emailed the LL about it and he didn't even have the decency to reply, much less apologize! I was, and am still, completely dumbfounded at the audacity of his lack of forethought. We aren't the only folks here with children, either. One has to wonder whether he'd like a nasty little lawsuit if a child gets hurt on his silly fence; and for that matter, there are MUCH more low-tech, people-friendly ways to keep a few deer from munching on his precious seedlings, not to mention cheaper alternatives. Evidently LL doesn't have the brains the good lord gave a slug. Or doesn't give a damn.
Whichever it is, we are moving. As luck will have it, we got a chance to rent a place in a brand-new apartment complex that is for low to low-middle income families, and we just heard today that it's 99.9% sure that we have gotten in...with a 3 bedroom townhouse for $400 LESS a month than we are currently paying. With central air conditioning and plenty of storage and good-sized, well-organized rooms, all new energy efficient appliances, off-street parking, and lots of other amenities. Needless to say, we are thrilled...and now I have to pack up and get moved in about 3 weeks! Oy.
Interesting fact about me: I've moved more than 50 (yes, that's right, 50!) times in my life. Many of these times were during my childhood, but a good many were during my adulthood too. I have come to positively despise the whole process of moving. Even thinking about it gives me a headache. Makes me tired. Yet...here we (must)go again. The one thing that will make it bearable is that it is an improvement from where we are in terms of rent, and oh YEAH, my daughter and son-in-law and grandson are going to be living in the same complex! Yay! I don't get to see nearly enough of them as we currently live on opposite sides of the county and have to drive quite a ways to visit. My little grandson is 17 months old and growing up so fast, and I'm glad I'm going to be able to visit with him more, plus my daughter and I are pretty close. Plus Girlchild will get to see her mother more this way too. Everything seems to have fallen right into place, but I am keeping my fingers crossed that everything keeps on moving along positively. I won't feel "safe" until we've signed the lease.
It's late now and I am dropping in my tracks, so I will add more in a couple of days.
Nightowl zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz....
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Never clean a soupcan lid with your bare hands!
One would think by this age, I'd have a lick of sense. And I usually do. Just not today.
Fixing supper, I opened a soup can, one of those pull-top types, and as I always do, I took it to the kitchen sink to rinse it off before putting it in the recycling. Something I've done hundreds of times without incident. Ordinarily I use a sponge or brush to clean off the food, but I stupidly decided to use my bare hand to help things along. WRONG. Don't you know I cut the crap out of my index finger on my right hand, and bled like a stuck pig all over the place. Scared myself silly. I'm not afraid to see blood, but it came out so FAST. Sheesh. I even thought I might have to have my husband drive me to the ER for stitches, but I did manage to get the bleeding stopped, and I think I'm going to live. Here's a funny aside: my DH cannot!!! handle seeing blood, his or anyone else's, so I had to bandage myself so that he wouldn't see me bleeding all over and pass out, which is something he's done a few times (don't tell him I told ya! he really doesn't think it's very *ahem* masculine to fall on the floor in a crisis, poor guy;).
Lordy, lordy. Can't do dishes for a few days (OH DARN!) or do much in the way of artwork or stitching or needlefelting or nuffin! So I went to the library and got 4 books to read so I won't go nuts or watch too much TV. Sigh. Tomorrow's a busy busy day, too, so I think I'm going to hit the sack and catch some Zs.
So much for catching up! Oh well. Could be worse. Have a great day tomorrow folks.
Fixing supper, I opened a soup can, one of those pull-top types, and as I always do, I took it to the kitchen sink to rinse it off before putting it in the recycling. Something I've done hundreds of times without incident. Ordinarily I use a sponge or brush to clean off the food, but I stupidly decided to use my bare hand to help things along. WRONG. Don't you know I cut the crap out of my index finger on my right hand, and bled like a stuck pig all over the place. Scared myself silly. I'm not afraid to see blood, but it came out so FAST. Sheesh. I even thought I might have to have my husband drive me to the ER for stitches, but I did manage to get the bleeding stopped, and I think I'm going to live. Here's a funny aside: my DH cannot!!! handle seeing blood, his or anyone else's, so I had to bandage myself so that he wouldn't see me bleeding all over and pass out, which is something he's done a few times (don't tell him I told ya! he really doesn't think it's very *ahem* masculine to fall on the floor in a crisis, poor guy;).
Lordy, lordy. Can't do dishes for a few days (OH DARN!) or do much in the way of artwork or stitching or needlefelting or nuffin! So I went to the library and got 4 books to read so I won't go nuts or watch too much TV. Sigh. Tomorrow's a busy busy day, too, so I think I'm going to hit the sack and catch some Zs.
So much for catching up! Oh well. Could be worse. Have a great day tomorrow folks.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
WIPs Pics
Here are some pics of things I've been working on, some to be listed on etsy.
Green Circles
Green Circles detail
Green Circles detail
JOY!
(we can all use some of this!:)
Lavender neckpiece WIP
made of wool, needlefelted by machine
Needlefelted Leaf: I am planning to embroider and/or bead it for a brooch.
Back of leaf: it's subtle, but I like this side too.
Purple Tree
detail
Red Tree
detail of red tree
These are some of the works I have been putting finishing details on...backings and hanging loops, mostly. Now that I look at them again, I'm pretty proud of them! What do you guys think?
Gotta go for now, I want to get some etsy listings done today.
Peace xoxo
Monday, September 14, 2009
Finding creative spark when the fire's burning low
I've been feeling just a tad stretched thin lately. I'm sure everyone has these times, when you have to dig deep in the bottom corners of your inspiration pockets to come up with something to just keep putting one foot in front of the other. I've also been doing a lot of thinking about what's important to me to pursue and what I can dispose of to make way for new "inventions." Have I mentioned I'm a bit of a packrat? I'll be willing to lay money that there's a few more like me out there, and you know who you are;)
Believe it or not, about a week ago I got rid of a pile of bottle caps I've been saving for mosaic. Now this may not seem like a big deal, and in the overall scheme of things it's not, except that it's the first time in a long time that I have given up on pursuing something artistic or crafty. And I mean a long time. So it was something of a minor victory for me, in a couple of ways.
I don't believe in spilling my guts all the time, that gets old and can become an end in and of itself, and I like to think I can find better things to do with my time. Plus I hate to be a whiner. However, I can honestly say I have been through some real intense crap in my life, ever since I was born, and I kid you not. Alcoholism in the family, child abuse and neglect, a marriage that turned abusive, divorce, and some pretty screwed up emotional issues, not only in myself, but also in my kids. Domestic violence does a huge number on the heads of women and children, and it takes a long hard climb to get up and face the world coming out of such a marriage. Years and years of problems and therapy and problems. Big ugly scars. Recovery is possible, and I'm happy and proud to say that I am recovering (still) and so are my kids, all grown now, but it does take work.
Anyway, one theme that has always been part of my life is poverty. I didn't realize, as a very young child, that we were poor. My parents never let on to that, although to be fair, they were a little busy with all the other things going on and going wrong in the family. Appearances were kept up. There were standards, customs...manners. In many ways we grew up very much like other kids; we went to church (if not very often); education was important, especially since my parents, both older than most of my friends' parents, had not been able to finish school in their youths. They had both survived the Great Depression and wanted us to graduate from high school, and I know my mother wanted me to go to college. But underneath the facade of being a normal American family in the fifties, sixties, and seventies was the fact of a chronic lack of money. I didn't know it when I was little, but looking back through the lens of life experience, I can see that things were hard. We always ate, and we had clothes, and had a car. I'm thankful my parents were able to at least give us that, in spite of all the things they did wrong to us.
Poverty has different effects on different people. When my father died just before I turned thirteen, my mother must have been terrified about the family finances. She was left alone with three daughters at home, the youngest severely mentally handicapped. My father had been the one that stayed home and took care of the house and kids for a number of years, while my mother worked. Now she had to quit her job, and apply for Social Security for survivors (my father was disabled and on SS before his death). And we were on welfare, although I never knew that until much later when I was grown. But somehow she kept it together for us and we still had food, shelter, clothing, and some money leftover for some of the niceties of life. My mother tended to spend first and make plans later. Never once did she share the burden with us, which cut both ways: she did it to protect us, I know, but I never learned how to handle money before I grew up. I went out on my own without a clue how to balance a checkbook, how much living was going to cost me, nothing. I was lucky in that in those times, it was possible to get a factory job at minimum wage (which in 1973 was $2.00 an hour!), and be able to afford to live, pay rent, and eat. Try that now. Not gonna happen. But anyway, I didn't begin to feel the pinch of poverty until...I got pregnant, got dumped by my boyfriend, and wound up on welfare. From that time to this, poverty has been my constant companion and worry.
Poverty gets into your mind. It's like a parasite that you don't necessarily know you have; it affects you in ways you don't perceive or ways you can hide - from yourself as well as other people. Poverty causes shame, and shame can cause people to do many things they wouldn't want to do, and wouldn't have to do if they had adequate funds to keep the wolf from the door. I have been barring the wolf from my door for a long, long time now. Anyone besides me watching the TV show "Hoarders"? Well, poverty is often the demon that drives hoarders to hoard. Not always, but often. You want to gather up what you can when you can, in order to have enough when cash runs low or out. For some folks, like my mom, this is expressed in poor spending decisions. In other people, that urge, that thrifty, frugal character trait, just gets kicked into high gear, gets perverted. Of course, there is a lot more to the hoarding disorder, but I can definitely see how it can get started.
I did say I'm a packrat, didn't I? Well, I am, though I am not a hoarder, thank goodness. But over the past dozen or so years, maybe even further, I've collected a whole lotta stuff for my artistic urges. Mostly it started with my interest in sewing, which I learned when I was a young teen sewing my own clothes with my big sister's help, on our old treadle Singer. I don't know how old it was, but I know it was always in our house as long as I can remember. I even remember putting the needle through my finger when I was a tiny child of maybe two years old. Boy was I scared! I don't know what scared me more, the blood or my mother discovering what I was up to! So I've had a long love affair with fabric. I love the colors, patterns, textures. There is something seductive about a bolt of uncut cloth, such possibilities! And when I was grown, I got into making quilts in the early eighties, so I had an excuse! I bought fabric. I kept all my scraps, no matter how tiny. I "inherited" fabric other people were getting rid of. I still have some of that fabric, going back even into the late seventies. What can I say? It's like paint to a painter. Oh dear...did I mention I also have paint? At least fifty bottles of craft paints, probably more. Plus oil pastels, chalk pastels, markers, pens, pencils, brushes, etc. Sketchbooks. Construction paper. Scrapbooking paper.
And then there are the calenders...I buy beautiful calenders because they make me happy. Every month a new work of art, or photograph of gorgeous natural scenery. However, I have a difficult time giving them up when it's time to hang a new one. There are some great works of art in there! Plus often I've kept records of events that occurred during the year, such as when we got the first snow, saw the first flock of geese returning in the spring or leaving in the fall, when the crocuses first popped through the soil in spring. Last year I recorded a rare event that I may never have again: I saw an indigo bunting, a male, at my bird feeder one day; if you've ever seen one, you'll know why I was so excited. They are absolutely breathtakingly beautiful, truly indigo in color, and they are getting more rare. I had never seen one before, and I don't think I'm likely to again, so it was something to record. Thus I don't throw calenders away. I always have good intentions of cutting them up and matting and/or framing the pictures for my walls...yet I haven't done that. I probably have at least ten packed away. (never mind that I don't have a clue where, mind you)
There are the kids' outgrown clothes - the special items - that I've hung onto for sentimental reasons. Baby gowns that they wore. Tiny shoes. A raincoat or some overalls from their toddlerhoods. Now that they are all grown, I've been giving these things to them, but for a long time they were just packed in boxes that I never seem to have an attic to store them in. I've moved a lot in my life, and some of the boxes I have now have been moved multiple times and go back some thirty years.
I have bought a ton of yarn over the years. There must be a couple of well-packed cartons of that hanging around my closet. I used to crochet a lot; now it's a sometime thing at best, but I have trouble getting rid of the yarn because you never know when the urge will hit and I wouldn't want to be caught unprepared! I have a huge box of sewing patterns, some brand new, never used or cut, and many of them vintage. Hell, some of the fashions are back! I might want to make a caftan or a peasant blouse, or a tunic with bell sleeves, you know? I'll be ready for the next fashion trend for sure.
Glue. Glitter. Pompoms. Popsicle sticks - I bought a box of a thousand back in 1985 and I have yet to use them up. LOL! Lace. Trims. Buttons. And then there are the BEADS...
I could literally open a bead store. I am not lying. I can't even buy any more beads because I already have pretty much everything out there. Glass beads, mostly. Vintage and new. Hanks and hanks of seedbeads. Swarovski crystals. Lampwork beads. Czech pressed glass. Indian beads. Big beads. Small beads. I once bought 50 pounds of beads in one fell swoop - yes I did! I could bead everything I own and still have beads leftover. I have so many I can't even have them all available to work with, because of the sheer overwhelming quantity of them that are still packed in boxes from my last move. Have you ever moved a box of glass beads? They are HEAVY.
Tools, sewing machines, and a felting machine. Polymer clay, a pasta machine for polymer clay, and a toaster oven for baking it. Wool roving in all colors of the rainbow, plus white, and wool dyes to dye it myself. Items I've collected to recycle into art, or use to produce art (like phone books for pressing leaves! can you believe it?) On and on it goes. Picture frames. Children's books I like for the art. Supply catalogs. Beading magazines. My current favorite mags, "Cloth, Paper, Scissors" and "Quilting Arts". Anything that I find visually appealing. I am a color junkie. I'm constantly looking for visual stimulation, and this leads to more collecting.
Somebody stop me, please!
So...going back to the collection of bottle caps that I brought up way earlier in this rambling confession of my poverty-driven, anxiety-ridden excess...it was a really exhilarating feeling, putting my bottle caps in the garbage. (our recycling center doesn't take them, sheesh) It was oddly freeing. I felt lightened, even though I have a lot more stuff I want to sort out and dispose of, donate, give away. It was, in short, a big step. You see, I feel the effects of the times of lack that I've endured, both during my childhood and my adulthood, and too often in the past I have coped with the anxiety of no cashflow (raising kids on one's own requires determination and sacrifice, and often welfare, alas) by accumulating the tools and materials of my artistic trade to excess. But that comes with a price that has nothing to do with the cost of whatever it is:
Too much is, well, too much. Sooner or later, you run out of room. And you lose things, because so much is packed in boxes that you forget what you have and where the hell you put it. Or you think you know where it is, you can picture in your mind (or so you think) where you last saw something, only to find when you go there that what you want isn't there at all. Frantic searching ensues, often followed by a)mess-making, and b)frustration, and c)a complete brain shitstorm. And re-purchasing something that you KNOW you own but can't find at the moment. Only to find it next Thursday, in a different box in another closet that you could swear you haven't touched since 2007, so how in the world did you ever think you'd seen the damn thing recently anyway???
You get my point. Phew.
Some of you know what I'm talking about only too well, and you know who you are. And this brings me to my recently-acquired new philosophy of life: LESS IS MORE. I must admit I was quite shocked when this occurred to me, but there it is. Less is more. Let me give you an example: less fabric is more opportunity to use it, because you don't have to search through the last three decades of accumulation to find that snippet or fat quarter or two yards of whatever gem it currently is that you just found the perfect project for (after all these years). And another: Fewer bottles of paint to choose from means it's much more likely that half of them won't be dried up, have permanently stuck caps, or separated/settled/changed from beautiful pink to something that more closely resembles baby vomit. Same with glues. If I had a buck for every damn solidified bottle or tube of glue, I could go buy some more...er....glue:D And so on and so on. I'm sure you can come up with your own examples. But the biggest thing of all that I am just beginning to discover is that the less stuff you have to wade through to start working on or continue a project, the more time you have to actually create.
And what in the world does this all have to do with finding one's inspiration when you're feeling tapped out? Here it is: whatever it is that gets you going again will be right at your finger tips and you'll know where it is when you empty the pockets of your smock and find nothing but lint balls, looking for that spark. Because the spark is there somewhere. It would just be a shame if you burn down the studio with it because you have so much stuff.
So, while I'm waiting for the next inspiration to present itself, I'm going to go sort out another box and see what I can give or throw away. I'll then be able to clear not only my cluttered space but also my cluttered mind. And that, my friends, will free my mind to fan the flames of creativity when that little spark emerges to begin making art anew.
And now it's deep in the quiet hours of the night. My family is sleeping. I'm getting ready to hit the sack myself. One final thought I'll share before I go:
What the hell should I do with the dozens of used/damaged/obsolete CDs I know I have? He he...maybe we should have a CHALLENGE...hmmm. ;)
Night folks. Sweet dreams.
Believe it or not, about a week ago I got rid of a pile of bottle caps I've been saving for mosaic. Now this may not seem like a big deal, and in the overall scheme of things it's not, except that it's the first time in a long time that I have given up on pursuing something artistic or crafty. And I mean a long time. So it was something of a minor victory for me, in a couple of ways.
I don't believe in spilling my guts all the time, that gets old and can become an end in and of itself, and I like to think I can find better things to do with my time. Plus I hate to be a whiner. However, I can honestly say I have been through some real intense crap in my life, ever since I was born, and I kid you not. Alcoholism in the family, child abuse and neglect, a marriage that turned abusive, divorce, and some pretty screwed up emotional issues, not only in myself, but also in my kids. Domestic violence does a huge number on the heads of women and children, and it takes a long hard climb to get up and face the world coming out of such a marriage. Years and years of problems and therapy and problems. Big ugly scars. Recovery is possible, and I'm happy and proud to say that I am recovering (still) and so are my kids, all grown now, but it does take work.
Anyway, one theme that has always been part of my life is poverty. I didn't realize, as a very young child, that we were poor. My parents never let on to that, although to be fair, they were a little busy with all the other things going on and going wrong in the family. Appearances were kept up. There were standards, customs...manners. In many ways we grew up very much like other kids; we went to church (if not very often); education was important, especially since my parents, both older than most of my friends' parents, had not been able to finish school in their youths. They had both survived the Great Depression and wanted us to graduate from high school, and I know my mother wanted me to go to college. But underneath the facade of being a normal American family in the fifties, sixties, and seventies was the fact of a chronic lack of money. I didn't know it when I was little, but looking back through the lens of life experience, I can see that things were hard. We always ate, and we had clothes, and had a car. I'm thankful my parents were able to at least give us that, in spite of all the things they did wrong to us.
Poverty has different effects on different people. When my father died just before I turned thirteen, my mother must have been terrified about the family finances. She was left alone with three daughters at home, the youngest severely mentally handicapped. My father had been the one that stayed home and took care of the house and kids for a number of years, while my mother worked. Now she had to quit her job, and apply for Social Security for survivors (my father was disabled and on SS before his death). And we were on welfare, although I never knew that until much later when I was grown. But somehow she kept it together for us and we still had food, shelter, clothing, and some money leftover for some of the niceties of life. My mother tended to spend first and make plans later. Never once did she share the burden with us, which cut both ways: she did it to protect us, I know, but I never learned how to handle money before I grew up. I went out on my own without a clue how to balance a checkbook, how much living was going to cost me, nothing. I was lucky in that in those times, it was possible to get a factory job at minimum wage (which in 1973 was $2.00 an hour!), and be able to afford to live, pay rent, and eat. Try that now. Not gonna happen. But anyway, I didn't begin to feel the pinch of poverty until...I got pregnant, got dumped by my boyfriend, and wound up on welfare. From that time to this, poverty has been my constant companion and worry.
Poverty gets into your mind. It's like a parasite that you don't necessarily know you have; it affects you in ways you don't perceive or ways you can hide - from yourself as well as other people. Poverty causes shame, and shame can cause people to do many things they wouldn't want to do, and wouldn't have to do if they had adequate funds to keep the wolf from the door. I have been barring the wolf from my door for a long, long time now. Anyone besides me watching the TV show "Hoarders"? Well, poverty is often the demon that drives hoarders to hoard. Not always, but often. You want to gather up what you can when you can, in order to have enough when cash runs low or out. For some folks, like my mom, this is expressed in poor spending decisions. In other people, that urge, that thrifty, frugal character trait, just gets kicked into high gear, gets perverted. Of course, there is a lot more to the hoarding disorder, but I can definitely see how it can get started.
I did say I'm a packrat, didn't I? Well, I am, though I am not a hoarder, thank goodness. But over the past dozen or so years, maybe even further, I've collected a whole lotta stuff for my artistic urges. Mostly it started with my interest in sewing, which I learned when I was a young teen sewing my own clothes with my big sister's help, on our old treadle Singer. I don't know how old it was, but I know it was always in our house as long as I can remember. I even remember putting the needle through my finger when I was a tiny child of maybe two years old. Boy was I scared! I don't know what scared me more, the blood or my mother discovering what I was up to! So I've had a long love affair with fabric. I love the colors, patterns, textures. There is something seductive about a bolt of uncut cloth, such possibilities! And when I was grown, I got into making quilts in the early eighties, so I had an excuse! I bought fabric. I kept all my scraps, no matter how tiny. I "inherited" fabric other people were getting rid of. I still have some of that fabric, going back even into the late seventies. What can I say? It's like paint to a painter. Oh dear...did I mention I also have paint? At least fifty bottles of craft paints, probably more. Plus oil pastels, chalk pastels, markers, pens, pencils, brushes, etc. Sketchbooks. Construction paper. Scrapbooking paper.
And then there are the calenders...I buy beautiful calenders because they make me happy. Every month a new work of art, or photograph of gorgeous natural scenery. However, I have a difficult time giving them up when it's time to hang a new one. There are some great works of art in there! Plus often I've kept records of events that occurred during the year, such as when we got the first snow, saw the first flock of geese returning in the spring or leaving in the fall, when the crocuses first popped through the soil in spring. Last year I recorded a rare event that I may never have again: I saw an indigo bunting, a male, at my bird feeder one day; if you've ever seen one, you'll know why I was so excited. They are absolutely breathtakingly beautiful, truly indigo in color, and they are getting more rare. I had never seen one before, and I don't think I'm likely to again, so it was something to record. Thus I don't throw calenders away. I always have good intentions of cutting them up and matting and/or framing the pictures for my walls...yet I haven't done that. I probably have at least ten packed away. (never mind that I don't have a clue where, mind you)
There are the kids' outgrown clothes - the special items - that I've hung onto for sentimental reasons. Baby gowns that they wore. Tiny shoes. A raincoat or some overalls from their toddlerhoods. Now that they are all grown, I've been giving these things to them, but for a long time they were just packed in boxes that I never seem to have an attic to store them in. I've moved a lot in my life, and some of the boxes I have now have been moved multiple times and go back some thirty years.
I have bought a ton of yarn over the years. There must be a couple of well-packed cartons of that hanging around my closet. I used to crochet a lot; now it's a sometime thing at best, but I have trouble getting rid of the yarn because you never know when the urge will hit and I wouldn't want to be caught unprepared! I have a huge box of sewing patterns, some brand new, never used or cut, and many of them vintage. Hell, some of the fashions are back! I might want to make a caftan or a peasant blouse, or a tunic with bell sleeves, you know? I'll be ready for the next fashion trend for sure.
Glue. Glitter. Pompoms. Popsicle sticks - I bought a box of a thousand back in 1985 and I have yet to use them up. LOL! Lace. Trims. Buttons. And then there are the BEADS...
I could literally open a bead store. I am not lying. I can't even buy any more beads because I already have pretty much everything out there. Glass beads, mostly. Vintage and new. Hanks and hanks of seedbeads. Swarovski crystals. Lampwork beads. Czech pressed glass. Indian beads. Big beads. Small beads. I once bought 50 pounds of beads in one fell swoop - yes I did! I could bead everything I own and still have beads leftover. I have so many I can't even have them all available to work with, because of the sheer overwhelming quantity of them that are still packed in boxes from my last move. Have you ever moved a box of glass beads? They are HEAVY.
Tools, sewing machines, and a felting machine. Polymer clay, a pasta machine for polymer clay, and a toaster oven for baking it. Wool roving in all colors of the rainbow, plus white, and wool dyes to dye it myself. Items I've collected to recycle into art, or use to produce art (like phone books for pressing leaves! can you believe it?) On and on it goes. Picture frames. Children's books I like for the art. Supply catalogs. Beading magazines. My current favorite mags, "Cloth, Paper, Scissors" and "Quilting Arts". Anything that I find visually appealing. I am a color junkie. I'm constantly looking for visual stimulation, and this leads to more collecting.
Somebody stop me, please!
So...going back to the collection of bottle caps that I brought up way earlier in this rambling confession of my poverty-driven, anxiety-ridden excess...it was a really exhilarating feeling, putting my bottle caps in the garbage. (our recycling center doesn't take them, sheesh) It was oddly freeing. I felt lightened, even though I have a lot more stuff I want to sort out and dispose of, donate, give away. It was, in short, a big step. You see, I feel the effects of the times of lack that I've endured, both during my childhood and my adulthood, and too often in the past I have coped with the anxiety of no cashflow (raising kids on one's own requires determination and sacrifice, and often welfare, alas) by accumulating the tools and materials of my artistic trade to excess. But that comes with a price that has nothing to do with the cost of whatever it is:
Too much is, well, too much. Sooner or later, you run out of room. And you lose things, because so much is packed in boxes that you forget what you have and where the hell you put it. Or you think you know where it is, you can picture in your mind (or so you think) where you last saw something, only to find when you go there that what you want isn't there at all. Frantic searching ensues, often followed by a)mess-making, and b)frustration, and c)a complete brain shitstorm. And re-purchasing something that you KNOW you own but can't find at the moment. Only to find it next Thursday, in a different box in another closet that you could swear you haven't touched since 2007, so how in the world did you ever think you'd seen the damn thing recently anyway???
You get my point. Phew.
Some of you know what I'm talking about only too well, and you know who you are. And this brings me to my recently-acquired new philosophy of life: LESS IS MORE. I must admit I was quite shocked when this occurred to me, but there it is. Less is more. Let me give you an example: less fabric is more opportunity to use it, because you don't have to search through the last three decades of accumulation to find that snippet or fat quarter or two yards of whatever gem it currently is that you just found the perfect project for (after all these years). And another: Fewer bottles of paint to choose from means it's much more likely that half of them won't be dried up, have permanently stuck caps, or separated/settled/changed from beautiful pink to something that more closely resembles baby vomit. Same with glues. If I had a buck for every damn solidified bottle or tube of glue, I could go buy some more...er....glue:D And so on and so on. I'm sure you can come up with your own examples. But the biggest thing of all that I am just beginning to discover is that the less stuff you have to wade through to start working on or continue a project, the more time you have to actually create.
And what in the world does this all have to do with finding one's inspiration when you're feeling tapped out? Here it is: whatever it is that gets you going again will be right at your finger tips and you'll know where it is when you empty the pockets of your smock and find nothing but lint balls, looking for that spark. Because the spark is there somewhere. It would just be a shame if you burn down the studio with it because you have so much stuff.
So, while I'm waiting for the next inspiration to present itself, I'm going to go sort out another box and see what I can give or throw away. I'll then be able to clear not only my cluttered space but also my cluttered mind. And that, my friends, will free my mind to fan the flames of creativity when that little spark emerges to begin making art anew.
And now it's deep in the quiet hours of the night. My family is sleeping. I'm getting ready to hit the sack myself. One final thought I'll share before I go:
What the hell should I do with the dozens of used/damaged/obsolete CDs I know I have? He he...maybe we should have a CHALLENGE...hmmm. ;)
Night folks. Sweet dreams.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Nature's Eye Candy
Wow, where do the days go? This week we're getting back into the groove of school...Girlchild began 7th grade on Tuesday. I could sleep for a week, but that would be such a waste! So many projects, so little time!
I thought I would share a couple of pictures I took last weekend from just outside our front door overlooking the woods just beyond the bounds of our rural townhouse complex. We had a drenching rain, a real opening of the clouds that lasted only a few minutes, and then the sun came out. Now we have lived here three years, and we've seen a number of rainbows...we seem to be uniquely set up for them given our wide expanse of sky from west to east. It was late afternoon, and I knew the conditions were right, so I grabbed the camera and went outside, and just look at the intensity of the colors in this rainbow:
I must say, this was the most spectacular rainbow I have ever seen in my life, bar none. Not only was it unusually intense in color, it was HUGE. The above picture was facing northeast, and the other end of this bow was all the way to due south. And yes, we could see both ends of it, but for some odd reason all my pics were only of the left end. But it always amazes me to see rainbows, and I must be blessed because I see them quite often, several a year.
That's all I've got. Still have pics to take of work and etsy listings to do. Plus this week, I have been needle-felting skellies, inspired by Pam over at yoborobo. That's right, Pam, it's all yer fault. :D Pics of those tomorrow.
Night yall.
I thought I would share a couple of pictures I took last weekend from just outside our front door overlooking the woods just beyond the bounds of our rural townhouse complex. We had a drenching rain, a real opening of the clouds that lasted only a few minutes, and then the sun came out. Now we have lived here three years, and we've seen a number of rainbows...we seem to be uniquely set up for them given our wide expanse of sky from west to east. It was late afternoon, and I knew the conditions were right, so I grabbed the camera and went outside, and just look at the intensity of the colors in this rainbow:
And here's a shot to show how big this puppy was:
That's all I've got. Still have pics to take of work and etsy listings to do. Plus this week, I have been needle-felting skellies, inspired by Pam over at yoborobo. That's right, Pam, it's all yer fault. :D Pics of those tomorrow.
Night yall.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Finishing what you have, and so on
Well, the week has passed swiftly yet again, and I am beginning to contemplate starting some new projects. I don't know what they are yet, but I'm not worried about that yet. I still have plenty of pieces that I have yet to finish in order for them to be ready for display, photographing, selling. I have managed to sew backings and hanging loops on 3 bead embroideries this week, and I am proud of myself for this small accomplishment. Considering the many distractions and impediments that have thrown themselves into my path in the past few days, I'm a bit surprised that I have been able to do this much!
Girlchild, my 12-year-old granddaughter who lives with us, is in the throes of last-week-before-school-starts boredom. Believe me, there is no one in this house who won't be glad to see Tuesday morning come. She has filled several sketchbooks over the summer. Her drawing is so incredible...she draws anime characters, and I kid you not, you can't tell them from the real thing, that is the ones in publications or in productions. I've watched her do them from scratch, and I'm blown away. I have to start scanning them so that she can put some up in my etsy shop, to sell prints. Here's just one:
Pretty good, eh? Makes me wish I had tons of money and could send her to a great art school. I'm so proud of her! Okay, enough gushing. Even if it is totally justified, lol!
Tomorrow I will be taking photos of the bead embroideries I finished off this week, and then I can share them with you all. Right now, it's past my bedtime, incredible as that sounds. I took some antihistamines and they're kicking my butt.
Night, yall.
Girlchild, my 12-year-old granddaughter who lives with us, is in the throes of last-week-before-school-starts boredom. Believe me, there is no one in this house who won't be glad to see Tuesday morning come. She has filled several sketchbooks over the summer. Her drawing is so incredible...she draws anime characters, and I kid you not, you can't tell them from the real thing, that is the ones in publications or in productions. I've watched her do them from scratch, and I'm blown away. I have to start scanning them so that she can put some up in my etsy shop, to sell prints. Here's just one:
Tomorrow I will be taking photos of the bead embroideries I finished off this week, and then I can share them with you all. Right now, it's past my bedtime, incredible as that sounds. I took some antihistamines and they're kicking my butt.
Night, yall.
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