Lessons in the real world

I had to go in for jury duty this week and I was really ticked off about it. Not because I don't feel a civic responsbility to participate in the process, but because I did, in fact, do my duty with our call in system in this state. The last summons I received (until this recent nasty-gram) was almost two years ago. As required, I registered by phone and dutifully called every evening as required to see if my group had to report. At the end of the week, I was informed by the nice bot voice that I was free as a bird, my duty complete. Six months later I receive a nasty postcard that suggested I was in big trouble for blowing off jury duty and I'd better call and fix this mess. I phoned, and explained that I had dutifully called every lousy day, then called my boss to her know I'd be in the next day, blah blah blah. I still had my old calendar with all of the details which sufficiently convinced the jury duty lady that I was telling the truth. She noted they had no record of my efforts, to which I asked what kind of record either one of us might have given that it's a phone-in system! When I asked how we could fix this, she said she'd just throw my name back in the pot and I may get summoned in as soon as six weeks. I was willing to do it again just to avoid even the appearance of not following the rules. This is what you do when you are the daughter of an Air Force drill seargent that beat the crap out of you for seventeen years...you follow rules come hell or high water in the hope of diverting attention or trouble. The next summons I received was a year later, last month, which basically read "You are in really, really big trouble and you no longer get to call in. You get to COME in to the scariest ghetto Superior Court on this particular day and time!"

On the day I reported, I got lost AND was late. I am never late. I was terrified, even at my age, that I was going to get my behind chewed by a judge, both for being late and for supposedly dodging jury service. Neither happened.

What did happen was that I was fortunate enough to meet a woman who lived, as she called it, "in the 'hood." We talked all day about her experiences with prejudice. I found our conversations enlightening beyond anything I expected. I marveled at her ability to relay these stories in such a calm manner. I personally would have been a sobbing heap of anger had I ever had to deal with the circumstances she relayed. There are so few miles between our homes, but our lives are so very different. While I have always appreciated the fact that I grew up so incredibly poor and had a really, seriously crappy get-beat-at-least-weekly childhood, I got out of that mess. This woman and her husband are raising two children in a neighborhood where gunshots are heard frequently. She told me it's much better, with gunfire heard only about once a month now as opposed to the previous daily experience.

That's the real world. I am grateful for my life. I am grateful for the experience. Thank you, Naisha.

Reasons for finishing the studio

Last week I discovered that my 62 year old aunt is dying of cancer. I can't keep up with the politically correct phrase du jour so, knowing that I'll offend someone, I'll just say that she is mentally handicapped or challenged. Sheila is like an upbeat six year old, having successfully completed public school, married a man with similar challenges (who has since passed away) and has held a job (albeit subsidized by the government) for her entire adult life, rightfully proud of her accomplishments. Her social worker, group home staff and Hospice worker told me that she was well aware of her illness and the expected outcome. But when I visited her, she told me that she was going to "fight this thing" because she had a lot more living to do. For her, living has been simple, but enough to be content. Other than her job, she has never had any hobbies or any friends outside of work. Life has been pretty much sitting and looking out a window, but that has been enough for her to be very, very happy. I wish life were that simple for me sometimes.

I started thinking about how happy she's always been, just sitting in a room and listening to people chat (chiming in every now and again, but that was rare). You could see her mind start to wander when she was no longer able to follow the conversation, just sort of tuning out and looking away. I thought of how much time I've spent tuning out and not really doing anything to make myself happy when I have the luxery of the time and the means to do something about it. I don't want to wait until the big tick-tock of life's clock is gonging louder and louder with the alarm about to go off, too late and wishing I had done more. I told Sheila about how I had quit work to pursue more time with art, which she thought was just great.

I felt like such a big phony and realized it was time to kick myself in the behind, stop talking about it and do something.

Today I picked the colour for my studio. I've made some lemonade, put on ugly clothes and am going into the room that had housed my youngest one for so many years and I'm scrubbing the walls so I can paint them this week. The internet provided a lot of motivation as I was able to see the studios of a number of other artists, and I'm ready to go. Yeehaw!

Then, I'll make something for Sheila.

No wings or stupid party hats!

If I make anything at all that incorporates wings and a stupid party hat, someone shove me in front of a bus.

Back to art, as scary as it is

I left my office job in July of this year with three goals in mind - be a more hands-on mother so my son could have a more normal and happier childhood than I did, have a home that is more organized and clean so we don't spend weekends trying to convince ourselves that our errands, if done together, are quality family time, and to get the ball rolling on my art. I've managed to do a better job of the first two, but continue to put my art on the back burner. I refuse to wait until New Years Day to declare my intention to stop that and will begin today.

Cruising around the internet for motivation for studio designs, I stumbled on the sites of other artists. I am starting to feel the wriggles of confidence in my work when I see that of others. Not that their work isn't good; I've always believed that art is created in part out of the compulsion to create, not for commercial success or the kudos of those who look at the work. But I start to feel just a hint more as if I may really have a skill for which I don't always have to apologize. Lord, I hope I'm not going to make an enormous ass of myself by showing others my stuff.

Two years ago I attended an art-for-sale show that I saw advertised in a popular magazine. There had been many articles over the years on some of the artists who would be showing/selling that day, so these were not casual home crafters. I found one artist whose work was absolutely fascinating. The pins, or brooches, were painted in magnificent detail on a thin material and then coated with what appeared to be a very thick layer of transparent acrylic...something like that. While I was absorbed in looking at every single piece, two older and very unkind women stopped, looked, and started sputtering about how they "would never pay these prices for this kind of stuff," along with other rude comments. I couldn't stand it and asked them if they were aware of the fact that the artist was sitting right there in front of us. They just stuck their snotty noses in the air and grumbled as they walked away. After I got over the shock, I looked at the artist and asked her how she keeps from bursting into tears when someone is so blatantly critical of her work, and she replied that she's just gotten used to it and realizes her taste in art isn't always going to be the same as that of those who are looking. Still, I can't get over how rude people are these days. Oh, and I bought three of her pieces. So there, old bats!

Time to work on thicker skin. That, and building a potato launcher for defense attacks when insulted so harshly. I suppose I could be arrested for assault. Maybe I could just stash really foul perfume to zap insulters with as they pass. That could be fun. Project of the day: select studio paint colour. Woohoo!