Reality slap - ouch!

I started following the blog of my friend's sister, an incredibly inspiring and creative artist. Her blog referenced a number of other creative blogs and web sites, so I decided to poke around and look at a few. The first one has me hooked and feeling a little b*)%^$ slapped with the whiny stuffing knocked out of me. She responded on her web site to questions she receives from readers about, among other things, whether or not one can expect to make a living with their art or whether we must "live and breathe art" to get good at it. This writer is one tough cookie. She is very direct in her opinion that we must stop talking about making art and do it, exercising our artistic muscles every day as an athlete does. Her words had me literally sitting back a bit in my chair, a little bug eyed and feeling she was hollering at me. This is not a bad thing. I needed a good wake up slap.

I am motivated. Between the wonderful and kind encouragement of my friend Debbie and the kick-in-the-pants shove that I felt with this artist's words this afternoon, tomorrow begins a new commitment to art, creativity and no more excuses. Every day, I'll do something - an ATC, experimenting with a quilt square, sculpting a new piece for an art doll...this is going to be fun.

The only quilts I've ever made

Two posts in one day?!?

I've been thinking a lot about my friends today. I don't have many, which is funny given that I'm such a social beast. But I choose my friends wisely, which is why the very few close friends I have are so fabulous.

I've known "Curly" since I was about eleven years old. We met when we lived in the Philippines at the same time, both of our father's in the Air Force (my dad was enlisted and quite the rough type; her father was an officer - the subject of a spat or two in our younger days). We have such an incredibly close kinship. As we have grown older, we have become such incredibly different people. I think we love each other so much for the things that are different in each other, for the things we've shared as "sisters," and for which we will always remain the most dearest and special of friends.

Delia is wit incarnate. There is no better description. Good grief, we've seen some wild times with her life (mine is so incredibly vanilla by comparison). She is brilliant, passionate for things that REALLY matter (midwifery, parenting, human spirit...) and full of life in a manner that words can not adequately describe. We don't talk to each other often enough. When we do, it is the most lengthy and delightful blabberfest. We can't have a conversation that lasts less than an hour.

Deb, my beloved partner in stand up comedy. Good heavens, we can share anything. She epitomizes support, goodness and laughter. If I am ever, truly ever in a miserable mood, I know I can call Deb and be laughing in about one minute. That laughter carries me through any rough patch. Did I say she was funny? :-) Who else would let me set their bangs on fire? Or keep my children so I could flee the state for a few days? Or take me for my first trip to a spa and feel comfortable just sitting with me (and a number of indecent ladies!) in an over sized tub, or tolerate my houseful of cats with a nose full of allergies?

Harold. Does the husband count? My heart aches at the thought of my life without him. Thirty years later I'd do it all over again. OK, now I'm getting misty eyed.

This is the short list. I appreciate all of my friends, near and far, and wish everyone had a Curly, Delia, Deb and Harold in their lives.

Enjoying the little things in life

I love sitting in my living room and watching birds dance in the seeds I put out for them in a makeshift bird feeder (aka terra cotta dish on a PVC table meant for use poolside). If I am still, they hang out in large numbers for quite a while. I'm such a cheap date.

For the past two days I've observed a porker of a bird in the bowl of finch food. When the pigeons plop themselves down (and their cabooses fill the entire bowl), I have to go out and scold them for pigging out and shoo them away, but this guy is really pretty and has a beautiful song. It's quite extraordinary for us city slickers here in Southern California. I did a little digging this morning and identified it as a black-headed grosbeak. Apparently, they are referred en masse as "a gross of grosbeaks." Who makes up this stuff? Anyway, it's a pleasant departure from the zillions of crows that fly overhead every afternoon (I swear they circle the globe daily as I only see them flying northeast) or the flock of screaming, and I do mean screaming, wild parrots that call this neck of the woods home.

Who knows. Maybe the blue heron that flew in like a pterodactyl and scared the bajeebers out of me a while back will make a return visit to the wild kingdom that is my back yard. That's entertainment!

Big talent in modest packaging at www.fecher-gramstad.com

In 2005 I discovered the work of an amazing artist, Debbie Fecher-Gramstad, in (of all places) a shop in Downtown Disney. Watching me drool in delirium, my husband was none too subtle asking which piece I liked most, the favorite of which I received as a Christmas gift that year. To my dismay, I found the shop gone the next time I was on the hunt for another piece of her work. I found her website and sent an email inquiring about where else I might find her work. She replied with two lengthy emails filled with information, and thus began a long distance friendship with the most wonderful creative spirit and mentor. I can say this now because I asked her permission to post info regarding her site and she said yes, but that she wanted to be able to read this. :-)

There should be more Debbie Fecher-Gramstads in the world. I sit here truly at a loss for words to describe what it has meant to me personally to have someone like her in my life, particularly because we've never had the pleasure of a face-to-face meeting. I have three years (!!!!) of emails filled with evidence of her incredibly generous heart, words of encouragement like none I've ever received before, that have made me smile from ear to ear and cry with tears of gratitude at the same time.

As I read other "wanna be an artist" web sites, blogs or magazine articles, I know I'm not alone in my feelings of inadequacy. Art is so incredibly personal. Some people are compulsive about keeping a clean house, others about being the team-mom-of-everything-for-all-kids, or fastidious about entertaining like Martha Stewart. For me, my compulsion is creativity. Since leaving my office job last year, I've struggled with the response to the question, "So, what do you do?" when I am with my husband's gang from work. These people are former ambassadors, mountain climbers/college faculty, or published authors. How do I reply, "I am an artist?" I often feel like such a phony. I've received some odd comments about my work - people are so comfortable criticizing art! - and have not yet developed the requisite thick skin. I'm working on it!

Then there's Debbie. She has offered to have me come to her place in Washington to work with her as if we have known each other since childhood. She has encouraged me without being patronizing or condescending, and reminded me the importance of art to the spirit. She has actually (gasp!) asked my opinion about the topic for art classes for newbies like me. It is because of her that I put together my studio and have one of her pieces hanging right smack in front of my nose where I work to inspire me to move ahead, be bold and give it a whirl.

Debbie serves as a constant, "Pass it on!" messenger for me. Everyone should have someone in their lives to make them feel good about their passion. I am encouraging my son to take art classes with me this summer so that he remembers the joy of being creative and resists the urge to be self critical when it comes to his art. I will work with my niece this summer on art projects to encourage the same creative spirit in her.

Thank you, Debbie. You rock!

For anyone other than Debbie and I that may look at this, please check out her website and remember the amazing artist behind the work: http://www.fecher-gramstad.com

Was this blog supposed to be about art?

I find myself more exhausted being the mother of just one teen right now than I do find time for artwork. My son got on a plane this morning for Seattle with his middle school band & orchestra. I was fine for a while. Worry set in when I knew they landed an hour and half ago, but still no "We're here" message. I finally got that misspelled text message letting me know they were OK, and I was able to relax. Getting some housework done and knowing it would remain intact for three days is a glorious feeling. I don't know what made me look up in his bathroom when I went in to clean, but I did. And then I started laughing. What in heaven's name would cause a fourteen year old to even think of getting a single square of white toilet paper and sticking it to the ceiling over the tub? Just one. I don't even know how he reached. What a dork! It was good for a laugh, though.

I'll have a couple of days to work on some art. Yeah! Perhaps I'll have accomplished something by the time he gets home on Sunday. If nothing else, I will have been amused while scrubbing toilets.