the 's' word

Ah. They mentioned snow in last night's news. First time this season. I am working on acceptance. But first, a final look at Fall in the Northeast, Who would want to live anywhere else?

Ask me again in February. :)

morning 10/20

morning 10/19

morning 10/17

art-onomics

So, the economy crashes, big time. Banks getting swallowed up by other banks. Money being air lifted into the stock market. 401K's going from retirement funds to Christmas Clubs. And here I am. A woman who left a secure government job so she could set up her little white tent on various curbsides and sell her handcrafted goodies. Oh, lovely. Now what?

So, I was anxiously waiting for reviews from my cohorts in the field after this weekend of Columbus Day festivals. When I first entertained the idea of doing this for a living, it was the salad days of the Clinton administration when there was a lot of money around and people were throwing it at you. I was giddy with the possibilities back then. I stayed in the "real" job for a few years while I learned the business and then shot out of there like a I had a cannon ball up my butt. Never looked back. Until this week.

The weather was absolutely perfect, so if sales were bad it was not going to be for any extraneous reason like rain or wind or snow. There are several schools of thought on how the economy affects art shows. Some think that the folks who have money to blow on things they don't need, will always have it. Some think that when times are tough, people stay away from festivals so they won't be tempted to spend when they should be saving. I think that when times are tough, people come out to distract themselves from the news. And they buy things to comfort themselves, to cheer up. It's like the old parable about if a man has 2 coins, let him use one to buy bread to feed his body and the other to buy jonquils to feed his soul.

I love that.

So, anyway, it seems OK. You always have some artists who do better than others. There is a huge show at Letchworth every year that we have tried 3 or 4 times over the years. My friend does enormous sales there and he had a record weekend this year. We tank. Every time.So we skip it now. Some other friends did very well there, also. Fine art at St James Ct sold well to the big ticket crowd while mid priced art didn't move. Artisans with functional craft with a mid price range did great. Jewelers either did fabulous or lousy. It always seems to be that way with jewelry. A whole bunch of folks doing a traditional show in Lafayette sounded really pleased for the most part, a few made record sales. It is reassuring.

I have 4 or 5 CHristmas shows in the next 6 weeks. You know people will buy stuff at the Holidays, but what kind of world will we have when my first show hits a week after the election? Will people be excited and hopeful? Worried? Battle scarred? Angry? Happy? Sad? Reassured or nervous? It will have an enormous impact, I'm thinking.

I'm hoping that the first week free of ads and debates and polls and uncertainty will bring people out to the bazaars and gift shows with lighter hearts.

I'm hoping for customers who will respond to the spirit of the artists, their color and whimsy.

I'm hoping that everyone has enough coins for bread and that we can be their jonquils.

morning 10/16

morning 10/15

morning 10/14

at the edge

Yes, I should be in the studio. I will be. But first, we took a walk at the "other" park, LaSalle. This is not an Olmstead. That one is a few feet away, Front Park-a small, unpretentious place that has been savaged by border crossing expansions over the years.

LaSalle was a dumping ground 90 years ago and the city rehabbed it, I believe. Now it is a simple. elegant place, known mostly for the gentle winding path along the water



that the locals often use for exercise



and it has cozy spots to sit by the water and think



a baseball field



who's on first??

It's a peaceful place to start the day



and now I'm ready to face the studio.

Wave goodbye to Canada

morning 10/13

homage

We are blessed to live between 2 beautiful parks designed by Frederick Law Olmstead. On a perfect Autumn day, the one you want is Delaware Park. This is just one teeny part of it:

























Thanks, Mr. Olmstead. Not bad.

morning 10/12

"happy?" anniversary

It's the 2nd anniversary of the October storm. I've written of it before. The cold darkness for days, the snap and whoosh of the limbs through the night, the devastation in the morning, the struggle for the remaining trees to recover. The first October after the storm was devoid of color in the city. The leaves did not burn with color, they faded, turned brown, shriveled and fell to the earth in defeat. I wondered if we had lost a season. If we would never again enjoy the audacious riot of Autumn.

As we got close to home after vacation, I started to wonder about the trees. The midwest had splashes of color here and there. What would our little corner of the world be like? We got home late at night, but in the morning our bedroom was filled with the kind of light that only comes through the filter of yellow and red and orange leaves. They were back.



The huge tree across the street was slated to be cut down. There was an outcry. They actually cut one limb off before they were stopped. Give it a chance.



Her colors are subtle but defiant.

The trees I'm most happy about are the smallish ones in front of the house. I had frantically gone from tree to tree trying to shake or bat or sweep the snow from branches. It had to be a sight. Most of the attempts were futile, but those two trees were young and still small enough that I could wrap my hands around the trunk. I shook them all through the night until it got too dangerous to be out there.



My babies. Heh.

On the long drive home, we talked about where else we would live. Did I like the Bay Area? Well, of course, but the seasons. I need the 4 seasons. They are so defined here, each one so extreme, almost cartoonish. The Winter with its gray skies and blankets of snow and ice. Spring with its mud and sweet air, ice melting in the streams, bright green poking through brown. Summer hot and sunny, green, the Lake warm and glistening. And Fall. Bright with color, the sun's angle lower but still warm, the sky seeming bluer against the trees, a hint of cold in the air at night. I need it. There is something spiritual about it, I said and Russell agreed.

I may feel less spiritual in February. I'll be grumbling about being cold, I'll be aching to be outside. I'll be tired of boots and coats. But today? Today I am grateful for the simple things almost lost and the graceful, determined orbit of our lives.

morning 10/11

morning 10/10

back to it

I feel like we were never gone. How funny that is. I'm back to work at the theater and getting ready for the Christmas shows, connecting with some shops that want my stuff to sell.

But first, I have to get the studio re-organized. The frantic dash to the finish as the Summer shows ended left my poor workspace in total disarray. I doubt I could sit and make anything at all right now. I'd never find the tools! So, Saturday I am devoting to organization and cleaning.

I've been researching libraries with gift shops and learning about how to develop wholesale accounts. All with an eye to marketing my book pins. It will probably have to wait until the 1st of the year, though.

Practicing photography with my new morning discipline is helping me zero in on what kind of photos I want to use on the journals. I haven't given up on that idea. In fact, I'm more into it than I was at the beginning of the season. I think I'm going to wrap photos around a piece of book board and mount it unframed on the cover. At least that's how I'm seeing it now. I doubt I'll have the idea totally formed in time for the holiday shows. Still can't decide whether to print the photo on regular photo paper or "artify" it by printing on handmade paper. WIll it even print on hmp?

And I need to design some Holiday cards. I may resurrect the cast paper dove and mount it on a torn paper collage instead of a solid color. Hand letter "peace". Could work.

I have a month before the first show and then they come at me fast. almost every week. Oh man.

I need a vacation.

morning 10/9

morning 10/7

morning 10/6

fast forward

I left Oregon and the blog with a heavy heart a few days ago and now I'm home. In my big leather chair, a cat on each arm of it, typing on my laptop, waiting for The View to start. As wonderful as traveling can be, there is joy in simple routine, in comfy chairs and purring cats who bat at the cursor as you type. I missed it all.

So, we went home via San Francisco which makes perfect sense in Russell's world. I just ride along. There are good friends there we wanted to see. We passed through Ashland, Oregon, known for its Shakespeare Festival. Really charming town. I want to meet the folks who live here, though. Check out the guy on the porch:



On the way, Mt Shasta played hide and seek along the curving roads. Last time we came through here, the mountain was obscured by haze. It actually disappeared. Weird. So, I was happy to see her in the sun.




We got to Vallejo in the evening and I have to agree with Russell that the extra hop was worth it. Rambling conversations, laughter, breakfast, hugs, friends.



A stop at a park for Jake, the view was for me



We decided to go as far as Reno, stay the night, and then drive through without stopping except for naps. Oh man. OK. We got up early, resolved to our fate. The scenery was beautiful



the rest stops not so much




We drove by the Bonneville Salt Flats in Utah. I had never seen that before and it was crazy. I had to google it on my iPhone while we were there, to see if this used to be an ocean or something. No. It somehow evaporates into salt, renewing itself every year. Something like that. I have it on my list of things to learn about. Not sure how it relates to Great Salt Lake, I assume it does.



A lot of driving and a Wyoming sunset farewell to the mountains before we hit Nebraska



We started to see signs of Autumn. Not the riot of everywhere color we have here, but beautiful, unexpected moments tucked into the hills.



We skirted a storm in Nebraska, hoping that our turns wouldn't take us into it. We lucked out. The clouds stayed off to the side and we drove away in the sunlight.



It was debate night and we really wanted to see it, but assumed the best we could do was get a take out dinner to eat in a parking lot and find the best radio station we could in order to hear it. But there, in Eastern Nebraska, at a truck stop, we found the TV on in all the public areas and in the restaurants, all tuned to the debate, all being watched in respectful silence by all sorts of folks. It was wonderful. Granted in NY there would have been talking back and popcorn tossed at the screen and drinking games around words like "maverick" and "change". But here, in a place that I guess is what they mean when they say " the heartland", truckers and young couples holding hands and families hushing their kids with promises of ice cream and seniors parking the RV for dinner and a couple of old hippies on a road trip, listened. Just listened. Gives ya hope.

On we went, fed and informed, into the dark night. I hate night driving, It feels like I'm in an endless dark tunnel and dawn will never come. But Russell likes the quiet, the lighter traffic. And he is refreshed by a 30 minute nap. Sleep usually eludes me. I read by flashlight, watched Desperate Housewives on my laptop, recharging the battery in Iowa. (Iowa has the best rest stops.) We were dotting the "i's" again, going the other way, and when we hit Illinois, I started to get excited about getting home., Chicago would mean it was 8 hrs away. A manageable number of hours at last.

Friday night, we pulled into our street. Jake awoke, sniffing the air, his tail thumping. If I had a tail, it woulda been thumping, too. We dragged most of our stuff in, just dumped it in the kitchen. Morning would be soon enough to deal with it like grownups. The cats came out, tentatively. Silent. I picked up Scooter and he glared at me. Silent. No purr. Limp. Refused to snuggle. But he couldn't help himself and soon he was purring and giving me Eskimo kisses. Mandy waited patiently, head cocked, looking puzzled. Who are you and where is the lady with the canned food? But she. too, caved in and purred and snuggled. Of course, they then proceeded to follow us around the house complaining in cat language. They're entitled.

Russ calls from the kitchen. Did I see what was on the counter? A note signed by the cats, scolding us for being away so long, next to a loaf of fresh baked banana bread. The note let us know that we didn't have to go shop for breakfast stuff and, sure enough, in the fridge is milk, eggs, half and half. And a container of homemade gumbo.




In the last few hours of the trip, when I was longing for home, this is what was waiting. Not the house. This. Friends, neighbors, my blessed real life. As if to put a exclamation point on it, within a few minutes of settling back in, this e-mail from another friend:

I just let Foster out and the neighborhood felt right again. The van across the street and the lights on....I'll sleep better tonight.,

Some people said to us how lucky we were to be able to go away on such a long vacation. Yes. But the real luck is what we have every day, right here. At home.