In The Moment

I have fallen off of the face of the earth.  Forget about making art, blogging, cleaning, gardening, socializing and shopping.  I’ve been on duty 24/7 making sure that a sock, my underwear, or a fallen bird does not end up inside of that freckled little tummy. I have spent hours attempting to coax him through his fear of the unknown just to take a brief trip around the corner, and laughing as he runs through the sprinklers or jumps into the shower with me.  For the past three weeks I have exhaustedly fallen into bed each night, and all has been amazingly quiet.  If I should awaken, and can manage to open an eye, he is either curled around Bo, or his white triangular silhouette stands out against the dark room as he sits, observing his surroundings.  There are fresh puncture marks on my hands and arms, thankfully there are none on the furniture, doors, or walls.  He literally lives to eat!  No meal lasts longer than 30 seconds, and nothing is beneath him for a tasty treat.

Poor little Bo has just a few hairs left on a tail that is the perfect target for those puppy jaws that clamp on for a herky-jerky ride about the room. All the while Bo is looking back  with panic as he attempts to figure out what to do about those sharp little teeth that could just as easily be sunk into the skin underneath that hair.  Somehow I think that Bo might actually be enjoying this as well.  That soft sweet little dog has taken on a new role.  He is now the BOSS!  He has been known to send that exuberant pushy little creature squealing for help.

He is now king of the couch, the one who decides whether or not the new underling will be allowed to join him.    He has also taken on the responsibility as keeper of the chews (an item he could take or leave until roughly 3 weeks ago).  At any given time you might find him chewing on one of them while he hides 2 or 3 more under his flowing white coat.

Tough on the outside, but so soft-hearted, Bo is Quincy's perfect pillow who cleans that little dog's face every time an opportunity arises.  The first night Bo kept those puppy cries from turning into full-out howls, offering a low growl whenever it started to get out of hand.  When last night's bedtime arrived I called and called, but there was no puppy to be found.  Soon Bo led me down the stairs to the corner where Quincy was quietly sitting, waiting for his escort.  Just imagine my delight this morning to find Bo lying across an item of my clothing  keeping it from being torn to shreds by Quincy’s needle-sharp teeth.  And yes I know that the only way that clothing could have been transported out of the laundry basket was within the mouth of a mischievous little puppy.

Yes, there are a lot of other things I could be doing.  But right now I think I’ll just sit back and enjoy the show.

Uncommon Therapy

Oh what a wonderful therapist she was! So inventive in everything she did. During graduate school she never missed a study session. Her 3,000 hours of internship was seamless and, stressful as it was, she was absolutely the best study partner anyone could ask for in preparing for the written and oral state licensing exams. Her style was unique, her techniques absolutely original. Her charm and energy captured the hearts of both children and adults, bringing them in to see her long after their therapy was over.

It is difficult to believe that at one point she lived with such reckless abandon. She loved leading anyone who would follow on a wild chase. She possessed the most amazing ability to dart from side to side, then would suddenly reverse her propulsion to throw off any lagging followers. How she loved to sing! Quite frankly, I was a little jealous. She and my husband had quite a thing for singing together. She would never sing with me, only him (darnit!). In her younger years she managed to create a hole in a man's waterbed and flooded the bedroom. I constantly worried that one day her wild spirit would land her either in the hospital or in the back of a paddywagon.

Oh how she adored children. She never had any of her own, and adopted every single one who walked through her door. To their delight she showed them cunning tricks, would overturn the games they played, went on long walks with them, and ALWAYS listened. Kids knew they could tell her anything and they didn’t have to worry about her telling a soul.

She hated having to miss a session and, without a doubt, genuinely loved her work. I will never forget the time she was sitting as close as possible to a grieving woman whose daughter had just died. The tears flowed for an hour and she never left her side. I did not realize how drained she had become by the experience. When the next client, an adolescent girl, came in and sat down she jumped into her arms and laid on her back to be held like a baby. Her adoring fans brought her bones, toys, clothing, and even homemade dog cookies.

Izzi was absolutely THE best dog anyone could ever ask for. She was my soul dog and my clients and I were blessed to have her for almost fourteen years. She has only been gone for one day, and everyone will miss her. Thankfully, seeing her in my mind's eye is extremely easy to do because she has always had my heart.

True Confessions

OK, I’ve got to tell someone other than my husband about this. I have committed a major faux pas, and am in big trouble. It certainly wasn’t intentional, and it’s too late now to own up to it. If anybody has any suggestions as to what I should do, I would certainly welcome them (I think).

So here goes, I’m not going to name names (waaay too embarrassed). A few days ago I was visiting some of my favorite blogs. I had been to a workshop a few weeks earlier and went to the blog of a fellow attendee just to see if she had posted any photos of her completed projects. Sure enough, there they were. This blogger actually attended the same workshop for the second time a week later. Her work was beautiful and, following good blogging ettiquette, I left comments. I told her how much I liked what she had done and asked if she would like to share the technique that she had used on one of the pieces.

The very next morning, as I was perusing the newsfeed on my facebook page, the very first item I saw was written by the teacher of the workshop. Evidentally she had gone to the same blog and, rightly so, was complaining bitterly about anonymous bloggers who ask her friends to share techniques they learned in her workshops when they didn’t even pay for the workshop, and on and on. Ha! I thought...whoa.…hmmm the light came on. I hurriedly checked out the comments I had left the previous evening and sure enough, there it was…ANONYMOUS. (woopsie). Now I don't know about anybody else, but I frequently have difficulties trying to enter my name and blog url when I leave a comment. I thought I had done it correctly.....really!

To top it off there were another 20 responses from other facebook readers adding their two cents about this despicable anonymous blogger. “they’ll get theirs,”karma”, “shame,” “bad,” “awful,” (you get the idea). WHAT HAVE I DONE??? The only nonjudgmental comment was from the sweet woman with the blog. She was of the opinion that it was probably someone who didn’t know any better (bless you).

Now I just have to wonder what the teacher and those twenty other women who left the disparaging comments would say if they found out the truth. Well my lips are sealed. Just the thought of those stones all raining down on my body truly does leave me mute.

Turning Sixty

I will be reaching the age of sixty in two more days. For those of you not there yet, and myself as well, before I was so close, that seemed so...well.......OLD! I'm not so sure about that now that I have reached this part of my life. Convincing those younger than forty-five of that fact is fairly impossible. I received an email today. It wasn't sent for my birthday, just a monthly newsletter that contains a poem each month. This poem is the perfect summarization of how I try to explain the process of aging to my much younger cohorts. In my estimation it has much to say about the creative process as well.
Deliberation (Rumi)Deliberation is one of the qualities of God.
Throw a dog a bit of something.
He sniffs to see if he wants it.
Be that careful.
Sniff with your wisdom-nose.
Get clear. Then decide.
The universe came into being gradually.
Over six days. God could have just commanded,
Be!
Little by little each person reaches forty and fifty and sixty,
And feels more complete. God could have thrown full-blown prophets
Flying through the cosmos in an instant.
Jesus said one word, and a dead man sat up,
But creation usually unfolds,
Like calm breakers.
Constant, slow movement teaches us to keep working
Like a small creek that stays clear,
That doesn't stagnate, but finds a way through numerous details,
deliberately.
Deliberation is born of joy,
Like a bird from an egg.
Birds don't resemble eggs!
Think how different the hatching out is.
A white-leathery snake egg, a sparrow's egg;
A quince seed, an apple seed: Very different things look similar at one
stage.
These leaves, our bodily personalities, seem identical,
but the globe of soul-fruit
we make, each is elaborately unique.
(Translated by Coleman Barks, from We Are Three, Maypop Books, 1987)

Staying Small

A friend of mine made a beautiful point in the story he told about moving from Nebraska to Santa Fe NM. After all the work of moving he soon realized that a massage would be just the thing for his sore aching body. As the masseuse was working on him he said to him, where are you in there? Trying to find those muscles is like trying to find peas in a pod. You know, you’re just not filling out the edges of your earthsuit! This story beautifully illustrates a point that I believe is important in expressing your creativity. Are you feeling fully alive? Are YOU filling out the edges of YOUR earthsuit? Are you ignoring or not pursuing your creativity? On an even larger scale, where have you ignored or not pursued your dreams or passions?

It wasn’t always like that. There was a point when you were a complete circle. Who doesn’t love the three year-old who within the first five minutes of meeting you spontaneously tells you, hi, I like you! We all start out like that three year-old, but society (parents, teachers, etc.), and life experiences eventually takes that full circle and turns it into just a small fraction of what it once was. Children grow up with so many messages about what they should, shouldn’t, must, mustn’t had better do, or else! Who would like to become that full circle again? Maybe it’s time to pay attention to whatever is crucial to you to regain your self, your soul, or even your body back. Can you guess what one of the best ways to go about this might be? Creative expression of course!

What Creative Women Want

Imagine being surrounded by women who don’t even notice that you can carry on an entire conversation with yourself. Where hot pink M & M’s reign, and an abundance of other delightful treats abound. Laughter and soft chatter flows, and topping it off are elegant surroundings full of fragrant flowers and delightful hand-crafted decorations.
A bright pink box , along with a program promising creative inspiration, lunch, tea and dinner. How will we pack all of this into the 12 short hours ahead?

You can’t wait to see what treasures are contained in this colorful box , and your curiosity is suddenly drawn into the moment when you lift the lid, delighted to find the contents tied up in this ribbon exclaiming HELLO! Amy’s surprise will just have to wait for another day.

Is it better to give or receive? BOTH OF COURSE! The best part of giving is making it yourself for one of God’s delightful creations – The Swap.

Yes it is trimmed out in pale pink marabou fur and chandelier crystals. Priscilla’s fabulous birdhouse has found a special place in the art room where it inspires with memories of her, and the camaraderie of other creative women.

Time for refueling, and a little shopping to get those creative juices flowing.

No, I did not take this from the tea table. What do you get when you combine colorful plates and tile nippers? Ask The Mosaic Queen who provided the frosting for our own unique creations.

Tulle, vintage ledger paper, photos, ribbons lovely strips of lace…Kristin knows just what creative women who have been working hard for ten hours need to keep them going.

If you haven’t guessed who really knows what creative women want, this beautifully dressed French dressmakers form might give you a clue. It belongs to Kim of course, HOSTESS EXTRAORDINAIRE!

Professionals

I am looking forward to August when I will be attending a two-day workshop taught by Judy Wilkenfield. Judy is an incredible assemblage artist who has been published in Susan Tuttle''s Exhibition 36 Mixed Media Demonstrations and Explorations. In preparation I was recently reading Judy’s blog which led to my typical habit of bloghopping to Judy's listed blogs and the websites of other artists.. Wow, what an awesome way to make a living! I feel such envy and admiration for Judy, her many talented colleagues, and all of the other writers, composers, and creative individuals who are making a living with their god-given talents in a creative venue. It really left me pondering just how they find success.
At one time these people were amateurs who eventually patterned their behavior in the same way as any other professional. What was once an avocation became a vocation, and these writers, painters, composers, and other creative individuals spend their days performing their jobs in the same way as any other professional might. Unlike the amateur, these professionals work for money, they come to work every day no matter what, and are committed to being on the job all day. They master the necessary techniques of the job, and are relaxed enough to have a sense of humor, and be open to praise, criticism, and failure.
On the other hand the amateur does not have to show up every day, or stay on the job all day. Mastering the technique of his art typically does not happen because resistance keeps the amateur from committing the time and energy to his art. Paradoxically he may overidentify with his art, yet has no sense of humor about failure, nor is he open to criticism. In fact exposing himself to judgment in the real world often keeps the amateur from getting down to the business of creating.

I can't say that examining the process of becoming a professional artist makes it any less glamorous in my eyes. I am still envious and admiring, and would welcome the opportunity to step into their shoes. I do love to make art, have never really considered it as a profession, and firmly believe that adopting the professional's work ethic can only improve my skills. For many simply sitting down to do the work is one small step in the right direction. Even more important is not allowing the fear of criticism to become paralyzing. Consider what failure can do for growth. Have you learned more from doing something correctly, or from your failures? Without being open to criticism there will be no growth or mastery. The professional did not arrive to his destination overnight. He or she succeeded by taking baby steps.

oh, by the way ~ I came to another interesting realization. It doesn't look like I will ever become a professional housecleaner!