earth day reverie

The 1st Earth Day was in 1970. I was in college (yes, I am veryvery old) and Ralph Nader was coming to speak. Back then, Ralph was all about Chevys and what was in your hot dogs and how we were polluting the air/water/earth. He had yet to run for anything as far as I remember. I had done my part, I thought, by infiltrating the St Patrick's Day parade that year with a "radical environmental group" , carrying a hapless trout in a big glass jar, "threatening" to dump said trout in the Buffalo River where it would surely die an immediate death due to pollution. After being politely led out of line somewhere on Main St, we proceeded to the river where we expected someone, anyone, from the media would be there to hear our pleas and give publicity to the river's plight. Alas, they were all otherwise occupied with the parade, finding the dancers and bands and drunks and shamrocks way more newsworthy. We were a sorry bunch that gloomy March morning and I can't for the life of me remember what we did with the fish.

Then, in April, there was Earth Day. The first one. This was exciting. The world was waking up, change was coming! ( I was veryvery young.) And Ralph was coming. He was young, too. He had a shock of dark hair and was perpetually disheveled and scholarly looking. A very romantic figure. I was scheduled to teach that day, earning student teaching credits but Ralph was coming. I called in sick.

I don't remember which building on the UB campus was designated for his speech, but it was overflowing so they put speakers outside so the faithful could hear him. And that was my karma. TV crews filmed the "hippies" on the lawn with their signs and balloons and baseball caps with leaves sewn on them. So it was that my beaming, innocent face became part of the local news that night. I didn't see it, but the principal did. A friend called to warn me. From then on I was known as the resident radical and barely escaped with my 20 credits. My friend teased me about that for years, bringing the story out for laughs and memories.

Almost 40 years? Impossible, I think. And what happened? I look around and see some positive change, but I know there is a hole in the atmosphere and the ice caps are melting under the polar bears. It makes me very sad. But the old girl keeps spinning, laboring under our weight and our carelessness. Mother Earth, wishing her kids would take responsibility. Giving life, beauty, even as she struggles



We old girls just keep on.

So, for both of us, do a few good things every day. Turn off the water while you brush your teeth, unplug your chargers, recycle, stop with the bottled water already. Just those few things, what a difference it would make.

Do it for your Mother.

new baby!

Russell comes home yesterday after a mysterious trip to Olean for "wood". Yes, I thought it was a long way to go, but we have a really really old house and a lot of the stuff we need to restore it cannot be found at Lowes, so the concept wasn't all that odd.

He brings in a big box and tells me he bought me a present. A present? In a big box? For what? He is smirking.

Totally clueless, I open it and there is the beautiful baby, skin like velvet, honey colored, nestled in styrofoam to protect her beautiful lines:



Pretty, isn't she?

This is a finishing press, used by bookbinders for..well, finishing...but when Russell saw it at the Book Fair we did last month, he saw it as a tool I could use for binding my exposed spine books. (Now I clamp them to a board with some Sears construction clamps to drill the holes, then I move them to the edge of my work table for sewing.) This press lets me do both without moving the components to different work surfaces, keeps things aligned and provides another pressing. It's a beautiful thing.

I would never have seen it that way, but he did. I would have been tied to the traditional uses of the equipment and passed it by. Now I'm thinking I can use it as an extra press for boards, too. Very cool.

The press was made by TeMPeR Productions. It is worth having just for the workmanship and the silky touch of the wood. All of his things are a joy to look at as well as being wonderful tools for the book arts.

You know, some men bring home flowers, candy, trinkets. My guy sees me and brings home a gift that speaks to my work, validates my progress, encourages me to grow, makes my days a little easier.

I guess I'll keep him.

5005!

That's how many times this blog has been viewed in the past year. Who are these people?

Granted, I can see that some hits came when people googled stuff like "what is the view from the attic in the movie "Clueless" or "room with an attic view". Sometimes they were looking for one of the sites I link to.

But, seriously, a surprising percentage of those stats came from direct hits to this blog. Let's see, subtract me and Russell and my brother and my kid and Max and a few friends in Oregon and some loyal friends, you still get manymany strangers visiting the attic. Pretty cool.

I was going to blog for one year, just to show a "year in the life" of an art carnie. But that exercise has developed a life of its own. I think I'm addicted. There are also a few friends who email me when I haven't posted for a few days. "Are you all right?" Heh.

So, whoever you are, thanks for stopping by. Say hello once in a while.

return to sender

Last night there was an email for me with the heading "travelocity confirmation" or some such thing and it was my son's itinerary for his visit in 2 weeks. I was beyond thrilled to see it. I had been waiting impatiently for him to tell me when he was coming. I replied with one of my usual sophisticated communications. I think it was about 15 "yay!"s signed "mama". And then I went to bed and slept like a baby..or like a Mom whose kid was coming home.

This morning, bleary-eyed, coffee mug in hand, I signed on to my email and there was a letter titled "travelocity incident" with an official looking number beside it and my heart dropped. What had happened. He wasn't coming? Aw, c'mon!

What I read sent coffee into my nose:

Email Correspondence
Response (Sharon T) 04/17/2009 12:50 AM
Dear Valued Member,
We received your e-mail, however, it appears to be meant for another party. Please re-direct your e-mail to the intended recipient.
Regards,
Sharon T
Travelocity Customer Service

Apparently, Billy hadn't sent the itinerary. Travelocity had. Oops.

Well, maybe I gave a chuckle to someone plugging away in a gray cubicle somewhere. I forwarded it to my son so he could snort coffee, too. At least I hope I forwarded it to my son. I may want to recheck that.

This brought to mind an email incident that changed the course of my book arts business.

Some years ago I did what all artisans are encouraged to do. I started a web business to sell my work. I was pretty naive about e-commerce, but I had visions of cash heavy envelopes stuffing my mail slot while I went about my business in pajama pants and a t-shirt, taking many breaks for coffee and TV. *snort*

What I sold the most were wedding guest books. They were quite the deal (pricing has never been my strong suit). The pages were personalized, there was a flyleaf with their names and the date and a quote they chose. But the biggie was that I actually made paper specifically for the book cover, often using flower petals that matched their theme. I think I charged about 50 bucks for them. I was crazy.

Well, I thought I was nuts until I started working with brides and saw what nuts really looked like. But that's another post. Let me tell you about my last bride.

Well, actually brides, plural. It was my first same-sex wedding book. The women were charming and friendly. We actually had a personal exchange going in the midst of the business. They told me about their love story, the wedding, their sadness about the reluctance of their families to accept them. Emails went back and forth as we decided on colors and how the book would be personalized.

They ordered the book in the Spring for a Fall wedding and we decided I would make paper for the book with petals from Autumn flowers in shades of gold and rust and soft yellow. I told them then that I would make the paper when those flowers bloomed and that they would have the book in plenty of time. And that, I thought, was that.

The first warning came in May. When would I send the book? OK, obviously the part about needing the flowers was missed. I responded, reminding them that (as I stated romantically in my "about us" on the site) the botanicals I used were from my own garden and, therefore, seasonal.

OK, they wrote, but when would they have the book?

Now, let me pause for a moment and re-visit the wacky brides theme. I can understand how a person would want to get details just right and I know a lot of advance planning is needed for most of a wedding. But the guest book? You need that on the day of the wedding. It doesn't need to be fitted or reserved or tasted. The worst part of doing the books was the nagging via email. Where is it? Where is it? OK, I am making something just for you, using all your very specific details. The color is sort of plum but more rose with a touch of violet. Flowers on the binding but not too big or too small and in ivory not white. No ribbon please, but some satin cord...blahblahblah. Yep, get that right out for ya. Remember, I was also making the paper. Aaargh!

So, I wrote to them again. I was making the paper from Fall flowers. It was too early for Fall flowers, in fact, the only flowers blooming at that moment were daffodils. I could make pretty paper from those, but realistically, just chill, plan your wedding, I'll send the book in September. Plenty of time.

But can we get the book early?

Sigh.

I responded with a suggestion that since there was obviously some stress happening over the book order, it might be an idea to make different paper. Paper that could be made from botanicals available now. I could make a pretty moss paper and use Fall embellishements.

No, we want Fall flowers. We'll wait. Perfect.

June 1st..Is the book ready?

I was juggling several Summer brides about then. Measuring silk calla lilies to exactly match a bouquet, shopping for flowers that looked Hawaiian for a destination wedding, picking red flowers to make paper for a rock singer's bride who was wearing a bright red ball gown. I was getting real tired of weddings. I responded to the women that perhaps they should consider looking elsewhere for their book since it was obvious to me that I would not be able to give them what they wanted (Fall flower paper) in the time frame they needed (now).

Folks, when you intend to forward a letter, you do not hit "reply". Bride #1 wrote to Bride #2 that she thought they were being scammed, That they should have known better than to just pluck someone from the internet. They would never see their money again. Stuff like that. Stuff I was never meant to see. But I did. It was a message from the Universe. Get out of this business.

I hit "reply" and wrote that although I didn't think they meant for me to see that correspondence I was glad I did because they helped me make an important decision. I was obviously not suited to work weddings. My personality was too laid back, I could not respond to the urgency the participants felt. I needed to work in my own time frame.

What I was saying in really nice terms was "Ya know, I don't need this crap". And I didn't. I thanked them for helping me get out of a business I was just not enjoying. I told them I had already credited their charge card. I wished them well. I provided links to other guest book makers. I said there were no hard feelings.

Oh, there were follow up e-mails. Apologies. Explanations. But I was feeling free. Custom work was too much like a job, I realized. Making books in colors others wanted, decorating them in ways I would never choose and then putting my name on it. No. I posted on my site that personalized books were no longer available, uploaded some pictures of books I designed that folks could buy if they wished, finished up the last of the orders and boxed up a rainbow of silk flowers I hoped to never use again.

And then I did a happy dance.

The women wrote to me a few times. Chatty letters. They obviously felt they had hurt my feelings, but they really hadn't. They had turned a light on for me. The last letter I got said they had postponed the wedding. It was now planned for Spring. They were hoping by then to have helped their parents accept them enough to attend the ceremony. I wonder how it all turned out.

As for me, I have never looked back. I only do custom work now for friends or if I get an offer I just cannot refuse.

Now, when something comes up, like a week of son-shine, I can close the studio door and not worry. Works for me.

Christine

We were not close friends. We worked at the theater together, shared some laughs, some stories. I enjoyed her, liked her very much, came to admire and respect her as she fought the illness that claimed her this week.

She wore black, loved rock and roll and her kids. She was irreverent, funny, smart and did not suffer fools.

The last time we worked together it was just the 2 of us. Improv. There was a seating snafu and she looked at me and said "Don't look at me", she shrugged and held her hands up and laughed and waved me in to deal with it. If you knew her, you got the joke.

She left early that night. She had just started chemo again after a year of believing she was free and she was tired. "I thought I'd get more time" she said, regarding the remission. "Maybe 3 years".

I told her to go home, rest, don't worry about me it's under control. "Rest", I said "So this time you get 10 years" and she looked at me with eyes that told her truth, hugged me and said goodnight. Thanked me for "always being so nice" to her.

I hoped for the best, but that look in her eyes stayed with me.

She was truly a warrior. Brave and determined. Losing the battle does not mean you were not a valiant opponent.

I'll miss you, kiddo.

travel plans

No, it is not too early to be planning our annual September road trip.

Yes, it is true I have made little progress getting ready for the upcoming shows.

No, we cannot go on vacation if I have a lousy season.

Yes, my success plan for this year was to have twice as much stock on hand.

No, I do not.

Yes, I'm going up to the attic and I will make many things every day from now on.

No, I won't but that sounded good.

Yes, I will share where we are staying: Donovan Place

No, I am not worried about being ready for the season.

Yes, I'm going to the attic right now,

light bulb moment

I'm at the computer getting things together for my Elmwood app and I see the A'town app on the computer's desktop so I opened it to see if I could use the same descriptions for Elmwood.

And I'm staring at stuff that makes no sense to me. The descriptions of the books are of work I did years ago. Huh? Was I having a mini stroke here? Then I remembered.

A'town still uses slides. I had forgotten about that. So, back in January , I quickly had some made up and went about the business of finishing the application. But when I looked at the slides, they were defective. I'm sure it was my fault, but the images were cut off at the corner, one of them wasn't cropped so the edges of the material was showing. Weird. Since I had, of course, waited until the last day, there wasn't time to redo anything, so I went into my stash of old slides and pulled some out. I used a couple of slides from years ago. I thought they'd be "good enough".

There are land mines in this business. One of them is cockiness. A show always lets you in, so you get sloppy when you apply. A few years ago I would have found a way to get the right slides made. This year I just sent what I had. It would be good enough. Except not.

A good lesson. Well, several actually. Don't get cocky and don't wait until the last day. Now this is something I know but it needs to be stamped into my spongy brain with a branding iron or something.

The branding iron today was a letter from Allentown with my slides inside. Sorry.

That's OK. You taught me a lesson, never a bad thing.

Plus, Roycroft said yes and Fairport thinks they have room for me. So I will have 3 shows after all and the one I lost was the least profitable of the 3.

Oddly enough, it's all good. Go figure.

a network

That's what we art gypsies have. Artists on the surface, carnies at heart, setting up our traveling shows, enticing you in with our cleverness. And all of us connected, somehow, by our addled creative brains and by a shared psyche that makes us feel at home under a 10X10 canopy. A network.

We share our frustrations and successes freely. Last year, a woman I mightily admire, who also exhibits as a paper artist, won best of show and, when her name was called, I sort of yipped and applauded wildly. A customer turned around and asked did I win? I said, no, someone I really admire did and she thought that was so special. Not in our world.

(yes, there are curmudgeons and unpleasant people, too. I choose to ignore them)

So, when I was feeling frustrated by the application process yet again, my friend Conard sent me words of wisdom and turned me back on the path. Then another friend, the memorable and talented Don Olney, husband of the equally talented and memorable Cheryl, sent words of commiseration and nuggets of an idea for alternative paths we can take.

I will connect with Don about Buffalo's Urban ARTisans, maybe send him scurrying off to book hotel lobbies all over Rochester. And maybe at Kenan we can schmooze about it over snacks in the parking lot. Network.

We are happy to be members of the new Burchfield Penney Art Gallery and, while visiting the gift shop, I was pointing at things and saying "Look! Annie's jewelry! Molly's journal's! Anne's photographs...and on and on" The shop manager said she was so impressed by the camaraderie and lack of competitiveness between the local artisans. Me too.

So, today, when I was comparing dates with someone else anxious about the Allentown notices, I found myself really hoping she would get in. It is her best show. Sure, I still want to open my letter and have that ribbon fall out (A'town has us wear these ribbons that look like you just were voted prized heifer at the fair), but I really want her to get in, too.

Because the network is made up of all of us, connecting, bitching, praising, gossiping, sharing, whining, celebrating. We need it, because nobody outside of this life could ever understand it.

We need each other.

bracing

Well, it isn't looking good for Allentown this year.Seems like most folks have their "yes" letters, but not I. This is not good because, if I remember correctly, A'town sends out the yes letters first, the no letters next. Not a good sign. And really unexpected. Since I'm pretty sure Roycroft will also be disappointing, I'm adjusting my plans.

So, with a deep breath and Conard's "don't angst" advice still fresh, I am off to the studio to get book pins ready for my merchandising blitz to libraries. If I get enough of them to bite, it will replace the lost A'town income. It would also be a cheaper way to sell my widgets.

Then maybe I'll contact those shops that have been wanting my things. Why not? I guess it doesn't matter how you sell your work, it just matters that you sell it.

Eye on the prize. Leave your angst at the door.

I'm trying. I am.

oh, my friends...part 1

My last post was the predictable application season whiner. Two of my friends from the art show world left comments, both of which were enlightening to me.

First was Terry, who writes a blog of his own about this crazy life: Changing Lanes

Terry's wife is a mega-talented bead artist and they travel about to shows together. I think Terry has called himself her "roadie" or something in the past, but I think he most likely is her rock. We commiserate at times about the irritations of this business. His comment reflected that and it made me chuckle.

Then there was my friend, Conard. With his wife, Sandy, Conard handcrafts beautiful leather items and has grown a solid business. I have known him for a long time now and he has been a trusted source of wisdom about this life. But there is more to him than wisdom born of 30 years as an artisan. I can't do him justice in a blog, but suffice it to say he is connected to this world and this life in a way that, to me, is a combination of hard-nosed reality and rich spirituality. We have had many wonderful conversations over the years that had nothing to do with art show life. He always makes me think, he turns a light on for me. His comment was to focus on the positive, visualize where I wanted to go, take my power back. As usual, a few words from him and I feel a shift. He's right, of course.

He made me think. Why the angst, I asked myself? Why the irritation with a process I have come to know very well over the past 10 years? And, since Conard had turned the light on for me, I looked around and there was my answer, smirking in the corner of my addled brain.. I'm a control freak. Oh, yes, yes I am. And this process is control freak's nightmare.

No control over your season, over your money, over your business. Ack! The brain rebels. Well, my kind of brain does.

But my friend is right, angst is counter-productive. Focus on what you want. And you will have control. Well, well.

There is more to say about art show friends. A comment by a gallery shop manager had me thinking about this as a topic the past few days. I will write about that, but these 2 buddies jumped the line. They both have hugs coming. :)

Terry and Betty

Conard and Sandy

a stamp and a prayer

That phrase keeps running through my head as I assemble my applications for the year. You jump through all their hoops...slides or CD's or photos. Pay now or pay later. Write an essay /write a description /write about your process /write about your artistic vision. SASE. Photo of you at work. Must be postmarked by. Must be received by. If you're late, you're toast. Or we'll charge you extra. Or we won't even open the thing.

So you send it all off, on time, and then you wait. You wait for them to get back to you while the clock ticks away and the opportunity to add another show evaporates as the deadlines whoosh by. So, if they say "no", you are staring at a gaping hole in your calendar. A hole that means, in effect, you're out of work.

I know I whine about this on a regular basis. My whining gets even more annoying when they want payment in advance. But this is the part of the business I hate. Hatehatehate. I've got a bunch of apps out there now and, so far, I only know the answer to one. And the season starts in 8 weeks. Ack!

Now, I accept that part of my problem is that I am not motivated enough to market my work though other venues like shops and on my web site. The few shops that have my stuff literally had to coerce me. Of course, when I visit a shop and see work by friends all lit up and saying "buy me", I realize I'm nuts. I need to work on marketing. I do. I will. Soon.

But, for now, I dash to the mail slot hoping to get a glimpse of what the future holds. Usually it holds a sale flyer from Aldi.

Oh, and note to the show organizers out there: My artistic "vision" is that I get to eat on a regular basis and, if I'm really lucky, pay the mortgage.

But, hey, take your time. No rush. I'll be over in the corner conversing with the Lord.

Buffalo small press book fair

Well, that was fun. This event would have drawn me, even if I wasn't part of it. Books, zines, prints. Heaven. No, I didn't make a ton of money, but I was surrounded by things I love and people who love the things I love. And it was walking distance from home. The organizer, Chris Fritton, does a great job. An artist himself, his love for the medium evident, his quirky, bemused exterior a foil for the disciplined organizer beneath.

The fair was at the Karpeles Manuscript Library Museum, a beautiful old church re-worked into a bright gallery. At setup, it was hard to envision what the the fair would be like. It was just tables and tables, row upon row, like a maze.




We were each to share an 8 foot table and it was a challenge to get all my stuff on 4 feet of space, but I did it



Then I had time to check out the museum before the people came. I was in awe of how things used to be built. The care and the artistry. We'll probably never see it again.





I got to share my table with the lovely Sandie from St Catharine's "over the ditch". She told me how most photos don't turn out so I shouldn't feel bad, but I managed to catch her during one of the 5 seconds she wasn't smiling and my shots of her amazing cards didn't come out at all. So I feel bad about that.



But I did get pictures of some of the other interesting, creative vendors all around me










That last picture is one of the printers/artists drawing in one of my books. I love that.

It was a good day, an inspiring day. Sometimes the best thing that happens at a show is that you get to feed your soul, stoke the creative fires, connect with like minded folks and get some encouragement. It was all that and I sold stuff, too. A good day for me.

People came from all over, filling the gallery, supporting artists that came from 2 blocks away, from 2 states away, from Canada. They experienced a thriving art sub culture, visited a vibrant, diverse neighborhood and an awe-inspiring gallery space. A good day for the city.

Great job, Chris.

24 minutes 'til Spring

Happyhappyjoyjoy

This has been one hell of a Winter. Not a whole lot of snow, but cold. Bone cold. Toes cold. Floors cold. The kind of winter that keeps you curled up in a chair with a quilt on you. That sends you to bed at 9, just so you can get under the covers. The kind of winter that exhausts you, just because you seem to be constantly dealing with it.

Yes, I'm sort of making excuses for why I haven't been better at getting ready for the coming season. But it is the first day of Spring and I feel myself thawing.

Of course, first I have to finish up the books for tomorrow. It's kind of nice, being able to focus on just one thing. I experimented with making an actual collage on canvas board to glue onto a book cover. The jury is out. I slapped it together, grabbing bits of ephemera from boxes and tins and bowls on my work table and it sort of looks like that. But I think it is something I want to pursue. Later. Right now i have to try to pry the one I did yesterday off the book and finish the others.

12 minutes to Spring. Maybe I'll go for a walk first.

getting out and getting ready

The Buffalo Small Press Book Fair is this Saturday and I need to get ready. But Spring is messing with me, so I need to get out, too. I compromised. An hour in the attic, an hour outside with Quincy. His first real excursion into the neighborhood.

I decided on two parks. A controlled stroll through Bidwell Parkway. He'll be a regular there once the Farmer's Market starts up again. 

It was muddy and we were the only ones there for a long time. He sniffed every blade of grass and was totally focused on exploration.  Finally, a couple with a boxer came, but warned us that their dog wasn't social, so Q could only watch from a distance.  We headed for the water.

As we pulled into LaSalle, I could hear a commotion, even with the windows up and the radio on. Quincy's ears perked up and his head tilted to and fro like a bobble head. I pulled over and there, smack dab between us and Canada, was seagull gathering of some sort. From the familiar intensity of the cries, I could only assume there was food involved, but there were hundreds of them. Flying and landing. Soaring and diving.  Calling, calling, calling. It was intense. Well, I thought, it is Spring after all.

A few feet further and more commotion. This time, honking. A flurry of flight and then this couple

content to stay behind and float and soak up the warm air. I imagined them chatting. I imagined them wondering what was up with those tacky seagulls.

While I focused my camera, Quincy was focused on the water and when I lowered the camera, there he was, under the railing, leaning over the wall, staring at a stick. A stick frozen into the Lake. A stick that was apparently calling to him. 

He was on a leash, but that led to even more horrifying images. I was able to pull him out of there without either of us having to brave an icy plunge. I have to remember that this is a puppy. A puppy with absolutely no concept of danger. Or height, for that matter. A puppy still small enough to scoot under the rail.

On we went, following the path along the water. (is it lake or river at that junction? I never know exactly where one starts and the other ends. I think at the marina?) One more feathered gathering. Ducks this time. Bunches of ducks. Horde of ducks? School? Herd? Whatever. Many. It looked like all these guys were finding spots of open water to float on. I wondered where they were all Winter. Boca? 

So, Quincy got to meet the neighborhood.  And I got to walk outside wearing a sweatshirt instead of a ginormous padded coat. There was open water on the lake and buds on the trees.

I think it was a good day. Yep, a really good day.

off to a good start

It's a "yes" from Kenan.   One down, millions to go. Or so it seems. 

The application dance slows for just a moment, takes a bow, then forms a circle for the next round.

Back to finishing the Canandaigua app. Cue the music...

"standing O" for American Style Magazine

The Publisher's Note from the current issue of American Style magazine:

I know, I know. The economy is tanking, people are worried about money, jobs and the dwindling balances in their 401(k)s, and suddenly we’re all a nation of savers, not spenders.

Admittedly it’s rough out there. But I really think it’s high time that we all just stop, take a collective deep breath and begin to focus on ways to be creative without breaking the bank.

Not possible? Au contraire! It’s a matter of choices. Do you really want to pull in the rug, bar the door and sit out the recession feeling sorry for yourself? Wouldn’t it be better to pull up the shades, let in the sun and channel your inner artist?

There are myriad ways to tap into the creative side of life. If you’re savvy about looking for what’s available at a price you can afford, you can soak up as much art and culture as your calendar can hold.

Think about designated free-admission evenings at museums, exhibition openings at local galleries and any one of the hundreds of craft fairs scheduled in the coming months all around the country and you’re off to a good start. Not only will getting out into the arts community give you the intrinsic pleasure of surrounding yourself with beautiful things, it carries an added bonus: you’ll be standing up for artists and arts organizations who, in these unsettled economic times, greatly need our continued support.

Now this has been my rallying cry for a while. You may be putting off buying that new TV or car or appliance, but you can bring home something fun and colorful from an art fair. Makes you feel good, it brings a little bit of the pretty into your life.

And we need to feel good. The news has jumped on this economy thing with a passionate zeal. I am not burying my head in the sand. I know there is trouble. But I would like to watch a segment on cooking that doesn't feature 8 ways to use leftover stale bread. I would like to watch a fashion show that isn't about how to look like a million bucks by buying clothes at Goodwill. I don't need to be clobbered over the head about the recession every time I pick up a paper or turn on the TV. I get it.

But most of us still have jobs, our homes are not in foreclosure, our banks have not stolen our savings accounts. Most of us are anxious, maybe a bit angry, but not yet desperate. Most of us still need a shot of feel good every so often.

I believe that there are 2 types of depression going on here: economic and psychological. I can't do much about the former, but this Summer, on city sidewalks with my cronies set up all around me, I really think a little bit of art and craft can help the latter.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

a night at the gallery

The inside of Grant Street Gallery is wonderful. A wall of windows, a wall of bleached brick, 2 white walls and a brown tin ceiling. I don't know what the space was before, but what it is now seems to be its destiny. The doors are old and the paint is peeling and I hope they keep it that way.




We set up simple displays of racks and tables, laughing and catching up as we went about the business of illusion. It is a joy to work with people you truly like. Hell, I actually love a few of them. 

There was even "Celtic Lemonade". That's Anne Bliss  in her great cap. Wish I could wear hats and look like that. If I wore that hat, people would cross the street when they saw me coming. Trust me.



The space started to fill with life and light and color and I knew I was going to enjoy this night, no matter the sales.




The core group of Urban ARTisans was represented:

Chary Robbins




Anne Bliss




Nicole Ambarchian





Anne Peterson




Paul Morgan of Avalon





Then there was me




and the wonderful whimsy of Carol Wannamaker's "Crow Biz"





the exceptional pottery of Steven Appler




Robin's fun and colorful Aremel soaps






T-shirts from CityLove




There truly was something for everyone, incredible for such a small show.

As night fell, the gallery became a beacon of light and warmth on the street, a block that had been dark and unwelcoming for years was now alive.




The coffee shop was filled with people and music, and many wandered over to see us when the guitar player took a break and announced our presence. All night, until the end, visitors came.





And they bought stuff! What more could you ask for?


A reclaimed storefront dressed up in its gallery clothes, spilling light onto the street, a hint of Spring in the night air, good friends and good art, green lemonade in plastic cups. I am shedding winter like a tattered coat and it feels really good.

object lesson

I had a revelation at breakfast this morning.



These are not pretty eggs. As much as I love to cook, I cannot fry up a couple of eggs and have them look pretty. The technique escapes me. So, I sighed and pondered the plate and a light went on. Those eggs were going to taste fine. The yolks were just soft enough for dunking, the whites had a slight crispy part underneath. I didn't burn the toast. What was my problem? Russell always tells me it doesn't matter, they taste good, but I had this cook's mentality. Or maybe I have an "artist who cooks" mentality. The color has to be right, the proportions. I have been known to add more corn to a recipe because there wasn't enough yellow. When I bring home a bunch of veggies from the market I sometimes arrange them in the drawers to showcase all the colors. It pleases me. I am, of course, whacked.

So, anyway, it came to me that I was applying this perfection principle to all the wrong things. Food is about hunger, art is about fun. Where does perfect enter this? Nowhere. Granted, there are manymany places in my life that could use a touch of perfectionism. I will attempt to redirect there.

Because Russell will always like what I cook and never notice the color ratio. Someone will love that journal that didn't come out the way it looked in my head. I've made enough stuff in my life that was made more interesting by slapping a piece of something over a mistake.

I guess what I felt was freedom. Freedom to enjoy the broken yolks in my life, whether they be art or breakfast.

catching up and gearing up

What can I say? It's been cold, I've been working a lot of hours at the theater, Quincy the pup needs a lot of attention. But this week my supplies started coming in and I have my first show of the year Friday so it's time to end the hibernation.

I haven't exactly been idle since last season ended. I got my web site up and running. 3 applications have gone out. I redesigned my business cards and packaging. But I haven't been in the studio except to clean and THAT was a massive job. So yesterday I went up and got 3 miniature books ready for the press. It felt good. Like stretching after a good night's sleep. Like walking off sore muscles. Like that first cup of Love Buzz in the morning. I remembered that I like doing this stuff.

Friday is a small show in a small gallery. Just 8 of us, but there is something special about the venue and the group. The group running the show is Urban ARTisans, 5 excellent artist/craftsmen who market themselves and their work by setting up in unexpected places to the delight of the people who find them in office lobbies and hospitals and, like Friday, in galleries. I am delighted to be among them this week, especially since a few of my favorite people are part of this group.

As for the venue, this is a story, too. The corner upon which it stands had been, shall we say, less than glamorous? Grant and Lafayette is a gritty urban corner in the middle of a poor, hard knock neighborhood. The main attraction had been Guercio's, an old world style Italian market that draws the "yuppies" from adjacent neighborhoods who drive or bike in to get good prices on truffle oil and imported cheese and scoot right home. But a year or so ago, a woman, grieving for a lost son, looked at this corner property that had been many things over the years and decided it was speaking to her. She made a coffee shop, a gallery and studios. People scoffed. Not anymore. Here is the story. It's wonderful:

Sweetness 7 and Grant Street Gallery

We went to the coffee shop yesterday morning and loved it. We saw a lot of people from the neighborhood there, people that you would normally see at Spot, the coffee shop in the "good" neighborhood, the trendy neighborhood. They were staying this time, not scooting home with a baguette and a chunk of fontinella. They were greeting friends and drinking really good coffee. You get no choice here, it's one coffee and it's really good. It was strangely relaxing to be free from deciding between Kenya and Zimbabwe, between vente and tall, "One coffee please". It's great. We had gone to Guercios for avocados and stayed for breakfast at Sweetness 7..an egg sandwich on a big, soft English Muffin roll, cheese oozing from the sides, a big sloppy slice of tomato. Yum.

So, one more coffee and then I go to work. It will feel good, I think, to shake off the Winter haze that has been clouding both sides of my brain, to think forward to Spring. I'm tired of being cold and I realize now I'm also tired of being lazy.

the windows of artspace

I'm one of those voyeur types who is fascinated by the windows of other lives. Not sure why, but I am drawn to undraped windows, by people who light up their rooms like a diorama for the world to see. You can imagine whole life stories based on how they hang the artwork or what kind of lamps are lit. Even tiny clues are fun to ponder. A purple glass moon hanging on a thread from a window lock. Tulips in a jar on a windowsill.

So, when we stopped for gas the other afternoon, across from the many-windowed facade of Artspace, it was pretty natural for me to grab the camera and try to capture vignettes. Who would have more intersting windows than artists?




What do the little hints reveal about the people inside? One looks like it has little stickers all over it. A child's room? How cool for a kid to live in an "artist colony". Are those little prayer flags?









I love that there are paintings propped up, facing the street. Look at me, they say.

Most likely, my imagination gives more color to the unseen lives inside than reality. But it's fun to picture, to make up a whole story based on the silhouette of a lamp.

and then you wait

After you google maps to see how close some of your friends live to the site, and you take a deep breath because at least they are safe, you wait. Wait for the reason a plane falls out of the sky. Wait for the list of names, a list with "many locals" on it. Wait for the next jolt.

Trite, but true, that "can't believe it happened here" feeling. So many times, tragedy after tragedy, watching the footage of strange neighborhoods in strange towns, dealing with the unexplainable. A safe distance between you and "them". But there are no strange names in the news this morning. No safe distance.

Life twists and turns and hands you surprises. An old friend in a ticket line, a big, red dog bed in front of the fire, a letter with good news, a sudden illness, a plane falling out of the sky, finding a child's long ago drawing of blue penguins.

It's all of a piece, I'm thinking. Pieces of a life, patched together. Light and dark. Joy and loss.

Things to ponder while you wait.

disturbing trend

When I first started doing art and craft shows about a dozen years ago, it was unusual for the organizers to require advance payment. If they did, I'd shine it on. It irritated me and made me feel not so good about the show.

Why? Well, come along with me and walk a bit in my glue spattered shoes.

First, let me do away with some urban legends. Contrary to what you may hear, most art show artists are not "rolling in it" and we do actually "work". A lot. For many, the business is seasonal and dependent on big things like the economy and the weather as well as small things like booth location. Every year is a crap shoot. There are no guaranteed pay days in this business.

So, with that out of the way, let's talk about my growing irritation with show organizers and the trend toward paying "upon receipt of application" instead of "upon acceptance". Well, actually, the phrasing says it all. They want my money, paid in full, while they consider whether or not I will actually be accepted into their show. This often takes months. Meanwhile, they have hundreds of my dollars, dollars I cannot use for supplies or taxes or other show applications. If I do not get accepted, that money was "spent" on nothing but padding the bank accounts of show promoters. Multiply this by a dozen shows, and now we're into thousands of dollars I have invested in show futures.

I am not a gambling woman.

Now, I could possibly accept this practice if they would simply shorten the time between application and notification. But the wait is usually months. A show I applied to in January will notify me in April. My $200 waits in their bank account until then. What are they doing during that time? I dunno. Enjoying collecting interest on the hard earned money of artists, I'm thinking. Oh sure, if I am denied, they will send me a refund. Gee. Thanks. Now that it's too late to apply for another show, maybe I'll do something frivolous with the money. Like, buy food?

I have tremendous respect and gratitude toward the shows that take your jury fee now, let you know within a reasonable amount of time whether you have been accepted, and then collect payment on a date previously specified. How civilized. How respectful.

You need the money early to finance the show? No prob. Have your jury set to go 2 weeks after the deadline and get the results out to us within a week. How hard can that be? I mean, you know that you will be having a jury, so let them know in November what the date is. If your deadline is, oh, January 10th, Tell them to be there on January 24th. That gives you 2 whole weeks to get your PowerPoint presentation or your slide show ready for them. Have your jury party, choose your artists, insert their names into the "to" part of the letter you have all nicely done up in your computer and send them out. By my calculation, you will then have been sitting on my $200 for just a month and THAT I can tolerate. What you are doing between January and April, now that confuses me.

Well, that's my rant for the season. I've ranted about this before. It just gets worse. I got out the application for a late Summer show this morning and saw that they , also, now want my money in advance.

I'm just glad the suppliers I use aren't asking me to deposit a thousand bucks with them just in case I decide to buy stuff. That could get scary. But that wouldn't happen. Because, you see, in the real world, when something has a price, and you pay it, you get something back. Period. They don't say they'll get back to you, let you know if you can actually have the item you paid for. That would be silly. That would be nuts. That would be outrageous!

That would be show fees.

is it just me?

These things just rattle around in my head, keeping me awake when I'm trying to nap.

How do we know the rodent saw his shadow? Does he point at it and shriek? Sniff it? Try to mate with it? What? A few old guys in top hats stand around a rabbit hole, looking officious, and declare yay or nay. I'm not sure what's worse. Old guys channeling the intimate thoughts of groundhogs or having every major media outlet covering it.

Super Bowl commercials cost a gazillion dollars and the best of what we get is raunchy adolescents fantasizing about naked race car drivers, breast implants, nailing your boss with a snowglobe to the nachos, men injuring each other with macho things like bowling balls and one for flowers that insults women in all their vulnerable places. Really? Who is the target demographic here? 16 year old boys? I got news for you. They are not going to spend money on your product. They're too busy trying to find naked pictures of ....anyone. I say next year all ads should be written by and for women. We watch the game, too, you know. We have senses of humor. Really. We spend money and you don't have to get naked for us. Really.

Why is my puppy afraid of dogs? He IS a dog.

If you know the answers to any of these things, please let me know. I need sleep.

taking a pass

So, yesterday I was supposed to bring stuff in for the Decorator Show House. I was pleased to be invited again, and I decided that this time I would follow through. That was 2 months ago.

Then my sweet dog died and I was busy crying all the time. The weather turned to the Arctic channel and my studio could be used to store meat. If we ate meat. I had 2 important shows to get apps out for and I made new stuff for that. I actually got my web site up and running. I was working 3 days a week at the theater. Then, in a moment of weakness, encouraged by people who love me and wanted me to stop crying, we got a new puppy.

Even with all that, I intended to get things made for the Show House. I did. It was going to be fun and I had plans to meet up with one of my favorite friends after the jury setup for coffee. Then I got sick. Oh, not tragically sick, just a flu/cold. The kind that makes you look at life with squinty eyes, causes your ears to ring so loudly you miss phone calls, puts a tickle in your throat that makes going to the movies a bad idea. Piffle. Still gonna do it. Even when the tickle turned to a wheeze and then a rumble, still gonna do it. I had a whole day.

I decided to take a short nap, recharge, and spend a few hours in the studio getting things together. Remember, in my life, procrastination is an art form. I curled up under a comforter in the afternoon sun and woke up, almost 4 hours later, in the dark.

Surrender. You win, life. Hot tea with lemon and honey coming up. Emailed my friend and rescheduled coffee. Bless her, she offered to schlepp my stuff in for me, but I told her I just couldn't make it happen.

It's a conversation I've had with folks in this business over the years. Creativity-v-necessity. Can a creative person lock themselves in a room and just "make it happen" by force of will? I don't think so. I have to go to the studio with anticipation and a brain that is churning or it is a disaster. I've tried scheduling my work. I've tried just sitting at the table in a Zen mood, waiting for inspiration. I've tried spending an hour doing routine "grunt' work, like cutting and hinging book board or just making covers. That's too much like a job. But when I'm having fun and both sides of my brain are awake, I can stay up there for hours and make things that I'm proud of.

So, I have learned to accept that I work my way, in my time, at my pace. I would probably be more successful if there was some self-discipline thrown into that equation, but then I might as well go back to government work. Many well-meaning people have offered suggestions about how I could/should handle this little business of mine. But, you know, the keywords are business of mine. For better or worse, richer (hah) or poorer (more likely), this little shop is mine.

Come May when friends are reaping the benefits of a lucrative gig at the Show House, I'll be attempting to lubricate these old joints well enough to actually kick myself. I know that. But this morning, with a puppy whimpering for attention, a head and chest stuffed with cotton, a warm bed beckoning me to return for more comfort, I'm taking a pass.

And waiting for inspiration.