Where is your heart, America?

More innocent lives lost. I didn't want to face it, think about it, much less write about it. How in our country with all its beauty and freedoms could there be another devastating school shooting? How can we as a country let this keep happening? Because we all know, it's not just about guns and gun control. 

It's about fear and anger. It's about a total lack of leadership in all our branches of government. The legislative branch is too busy filling their own pockets with corporate bribes to do what they are voted into office to do: help everyone get health care, education and jobs. The judicial branch is too busy ruling in favor of gerrymandering and campaign contributions. The executive branch is in chaos because the wrong person is in the 'big house' due to a foreign interference.

Where, oh where is the true America?  I don't know. 

No one seems to know. And that, is the truly scary part. Because of that fear, I see people acting out in vicious ways. Threatening tweets coming from the top only lead to more viciousness and bullying all the way down to dear, sweet children dying.  

We're losing our way in this labyrinth of muck all around us. When even the Olympics is tainted by mean girl and guy commentators who care more about their outfits than the courage and strength and talent of the athletes, we've got a real problem.

Where is your heart America?

Our forefathers came here from a land where people were starving, beaten and jailed by the powerful English. They wanted freedom to speak, pray, live and love. They wrote our constitution to give us ALL the right to pursue happiness. 

Lately, I've been struggling to find it. I don't want to get mired down by the muck slung around by others. I don't want to shut down either. I've been avoiding my feelings because I don't want to take away from someone else's deep, deep loss by writing about how I feel about it. But I need to feel the deep sadness for those mothers and fathers and children who lost so much in Florida. We all do.

This loss hurts my heart. And my neighbors. And yours, too. 

And that's how I know our hearts aren't lost. I see it in the sweet face of my grandchild learning to count, my neighbors children walking their dogs and learning to drive, people stopping to talk on the corner and help others on an icy sidewalk.  

When I see those smiles, helping hands and friendly faces, I feel the strength and truth and roots of our hearts. It's my way, my small way to navigate through the muck and find my way back to love.

Creating Acceptance.

Ask someone to tell how they got started as an artist or writer or creative person and they'll tell you about their childhood. Some of the stories are beautiful childhood memories of a great auntie or teacher who saw their talent and helped them along. But most of the stories are memories of being different, feeling like an outsider looking in or failing. Good or bad, these stories aren't really about talent vs inability. They're about acceptance. 

Being seen. 

I love this quote from Art & Fear by David Bayles and Ted Orland:

“Becoming an artist consists of learning to accept yourself, which makes your work personal, and in following your own voice, which makes your work distinctive. Even talent is rarely distinguishable, over the long run, from perseverance and lots of hard work.”

I've spent my life in various stages of duck and cover. There are a lot of reasons for this which I won't go into here, but let's just say one big reason was that if I made myself invisible, I'd be more accepted.

But I was seen anyway. And it always took me by surprise when it happened. There was a little part of me that longed to be seen and a bigger part that wished to be left alone. I liked the quiet and calm and space. I still do. I believe that's what really drew me to writing and art making. 

It is a solitary sport where I get to determine the game plan. It's a safe place where I can accept myself, as I am today, where my voice whispers through the clay.

  

Being heard. 

Another quote I love from Ursula Le Guin:

"One of the functions of art is to give people the words to know their own experience. There are always areas of vast silence in any culture, and part of an artist’s job is to go into those areas and come back from the silence with something to say. It’s one reason why we read poetry, because poets can give us the words we need. When we read good poetry, we often say, ‘Yeah, that’s it. That’s how I feel.'

Sometimes, I forget how important it is for everyone to speak up. Lately in our country, we've been bombarded by voices. Anger. Pain. Threats. Fear. And especially, one loud voice crazy with denial, lies and madness. I get to a point when I just can't listen to any more. Then I realize the louder the voices, the bigger their need to be heard. 

Being accepted. 

As a writer and artist, I love my solitary, calm, studio work. I love to read and listen to music and stare out the window. But I also want my art and words to be seen and heard and accepted. In order to do that, I know I have to open my eyes, ears and heart not just to creation but to all that is created around me. Creating acceptance to the good, the bad, the ugly that I make and you make and all of us makes. 

I figure if I can accept the messes I create. (And I hate messes). I'll be better off and hopefully so will you.

Love, Art and Learning.

As I throw or wedge or paint in my studio, sometimes I forget how much I love what I do. It becomes work with all the pressures of deadlines, deliveries and performance. I forget or, perhaps, neglect to embrace the love, play and tactile enjoyment of my chosen field of art. Luckily, this weekend helped remind me.

Love comes in many forms. 

I took a chance a few months back and entered an entirely different kind of show. I've had gallery shows, craft shows, studio shows most of which require complicated steps to even enter the shows, much less get accepted and be able to show. 

For those of you who are not artists, I'll run through the usual gauntlet: do the work, get professional pictures of the work, put together a resume or artist statement, find a show/gallery that fits your work, fill out the entry forms(which can be complicated and digital), attach the specified size jpgs with specified labels, pay the 'jury' fee, send all the elements in by the specified deadline. Wait. Months later, you'll get an email with either an acceptance or rejection. You don't get the jury fee back, even if you're rejected. 

The Love Show 2018 was a breath of fresh air from the very beginning. 

All I had to do was be one of the first 200 to email them. I got an email back the same day with acceptance into the show. Months later, I was sent an email with basic show info, a consignment agreement, link to their label form. If I chose, I could send them a jpg of my work, donate $10 to help pay for the show, spread the word on social media and bring food to the opening. 

The opening was full of people. The food was a varied and fun potluck. But best of all the art was an amazing eclectic collection ranging from funny to inspiring. I love the Love Show!  

Will they sell my piece? I don't know. Right now, I'm just proud to be a part of it and to have let myself take the risk of doing something so different and yet, such a perfect portrayal of the true heart of making art. 

Art and learning don't always go together. 

I've taken many, many art classes in my life. Structure, assignments, competitions all take the heart out of art fast. That's why going to a workshop, even a free one with people that I know, can be stressful. 

This one was so much fun!

Oregon Potter's Association is making peace poles, like totems, for our Showcase fundraiser. In addition to working with schoolchildren, OPA offered this opportunity to their members, free! I've been part of many art organizations over the years, and this is the only group to offer a free workshop to its members. 

Over the years in these workshops, I've taught mask making and learned to make plates, tiles, and now a 3 dimensional totem sculpture. But the best thing of all is the camaraderie. Tools are shared. Stories are told. Laughter and encouragement are all around. Got a question? Just ask and you have 10 other people to help out. Whether it's about clay, dogs, kids, there's someone in the room with something helpful to share.     

Sharing. Love. Learning. Three words that I don't usually link to art. But they are the heart of true art.
   

(A special Thank you to Veronica and Carolyn for the workshop photos)

Creating with my Inner Gremlin.

There's so much chatter out there. Leaders trumpeting. Opinions clashing. Groups shouting. Social media adds more layers to the noise tracks I hear and even though I'm glad I live in a part of the world where all the voices are heard, it's still overwhelming. At times, I just have to shut it all off. 

But when I do, a strange thing happens, another voice comes on. That voice, that inner tape track has many names which are actually listed on Wikipedia. Some of the names are: inner critic, the perfectionist, the taskmaster, the guilt tripper, the judge, the destroyer and my personal favorite, the gremlin.

The voice of self doubt. 

This voice creates not just bumps but real road blocks to my creativity. It chastises me for not working hard enough and when I'm in deadline mode, to be careful not to make mistakes. If I don't have a show for my work, I'm lazy. And if I'm in a show and I don't sell enough, I'm a failure. It's a no-win situation, obviously.

And yes, I know this voice is not unique to me. We all have some version of Sister Mary of the Many Mistakes in our heads. Granted, for me, Catholic school sure didn't help but I can't keep blaming it all on the nuns. There are many schools of thought on where these voices come from: Freudian superego, Jungian animus or the primitive, reptilian brain. 

The sound of silence. Please. 

Even though I understand what, why and how my inner gremlin operates. It still gets in my way. I've struggled to shut it up in many ways. I've argued and meditated,  journaled and jazzercised, binged on caffeine and Netflix. But all that I found out was that fighting with the gremlin is really fighting with myself and that gets exhausting, not to mention silly and ineffective. 

So I asked myself and my inner gremlin, what can I do? I can give it a seat in my studio where it's comfy. When it decides to talk, I can decide to nod but not really listen. I can put on some music that we both like. Music seems to quiet the gremlin. And sometimes, it's a great distraction for both of us, because I've found my inner gremlin really likes to sing off key. 

I'm not crazy(OK, maybe a little, after all I am an artist) or the only one on the planet with a non-stop inner critic. Having doubts is part of life, so as long as I'm living, I'll try to accept it. When I hear the voice of my inner gremlin chatting at me and around me, I'll give up the fight and give it a new place to sit in my life. 

Creating and Walking.

I love to walk. As far back as I can remember, walking around the block, the neighborhood, the woods was one of my favorite things. Even in college when everyone else was whizzing around town in their cars, I walked. 

While walking to me is calming, please understand when I walk, I walk fast. I just love the feeling of moving through the air, past the houses and down the road at my own quick pace. It's exhilarating to breathe in the outside world around me as I exhale tension, stress and the monkey mind within. 

Seeing the world through new eyes. 

Yes, that's part of a Marcel Proust quote, "The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new lands but seeing with new eyes." A long time ago, I realized how easy it is to whiz through life without really living. I hung a copy of that quote on my wall to remind me to not just look but really see. It's not always easy. 

Walking through the park everyday, it's easy to slip into autopilot. Last week, I almost missed the great blue heron near the bridge, the egret on the island and the otter swimming by. But thank goodness I didn't because those birds with their ruffled feathers and the sleek, swiftness of the otter lifts my spirits and awakens my heart to the beauty of life all around me. 

Walking follows me into the studio. 

Creating is a step by step process. Some days it flows quickly and smoothly and some days it's a path filled with unexpected dips, curves and bumps where it's easy to slip and fall into frustration. But smooth or bumpy, it's still as essential to me as walking. 

Walking back into the studio this week after almost a month, I saw shelves of unfinished work waiting for me. Some waited patiently, some not. I had a few cracked, overly dry pieces that just had to be trashed. But I also had many begging for color. I put on the music, got out the brushes and painted away. Each piece was a step from the past into the present. What colors did it want? How many layers did it need?

I got my hands in fresh clay with only a foggy idea, like clouds in the distance, of what to create. A new mask emerged from the block of clay. Then with the leftover pieces rolled up, a new little creature took shape. 

I thought the painting would take most of the week, but I was done in two days! The new pieces popped up in one afternoon. 

Creating, just like walking, flowed at a quick pace this week and I'm refreshed, revived and relieved. And just like my favorite quote reminded me, I didn't need the landscape at the park and in the studio to change, I just needed to open my eyes. 

Bumping into the New Year.

I'd love to say my New Year is going smoothly. I'm contentedly working in the studio, churning out innovative, new work full of energy and enthusiasm. Sorry. I'm really bad at lying. 

Bumpity. Bumpity. Bump. 

I feel a little like Pooh bear going down the stairs with Christopher Robin. I'm seeing the world from a little sideways view, or perhaps upside down, and each step is definitely bumpy. I had a cold for a few weeks followed by the flu, so my aches and pains were real. And many days, I feel like Pooh, a little 11'o clockish.

I wish I had Christopher Robin around to bring me a balloon to grab onto and sail away into the bright, blue sky. I could wonder at the puffy, white clouds. Chat about honey pots and bees. And find myself a cozy spot to sit in the sun and pass the tea and honey, please.  

Pooh or Rabbit? 

I'm probably more like Rabbit than Pooh, actually. I'm usually bustling about, planning, making lists, throwing, trimming, painting and doing. Pooh is the essence of non-doing. That wonderful Zen idea of doing without pushing sounds so wonderful. I've always thought that was a great way to live life. Be mindful. Be in the moment. Be Pooh. 

When I'm sick, I can't help but not do. I'm in the moment because my body totally runs the show. When I'm hungry, I eat whatever it wants. If that's Nutella on toast for dinner or chicken soup for breakfast, that's what I eat. If it says rest, I rest. If it says, stare out the window, I stare. 

Not doing gets boring but maybe that's a good thing.

Rabbit, the go-getter of the group, never stops doing. But he also never, ever seems to be done. His tasks, lists, chores go on and on and on. It's exhausting and he's always frazzled and crabby. 

Pooh on the other hand, sits a lot eating honey under a tree. But when he does need more honey, he gets up and finds it. He doesn't plan or make a list or pack a bag or organize everyone around him. He looks up and down and around right where he is sitting. He figures it out, finds the honey then sits down and enjoys it.

I can see that sitting and staring outside on a window seat or under a tree can be a very good thing. 

No, I didn't get anything done in the studio in the last 4 weeks. But nothing bad happened. I sat and stared at the clouds, found some funny faces staring back at me from the tree branches outside my window and saw a rainbow pop up out of the dark, rainy sky.     

My work sat patiently, like Pooh under the honey tree, and waited for me. 

Even if the beginning of the year was a bit bumpy, I think I like being a little less like Rabbit and a lot more like Pooh. 

(Illustrations by Ernest H. Shepard)

2018 Word of the Year: Understanding.

This past year, the world just seems crazy. Charlottesville. Barcelona. North Korea.  People killing people and threatening to bomb the planet. I hear words of hate and anger and fear. I see my country being led by a small, spoiled, stupid person who has no love for anyone except himself. In spite of it all, last year, I tried to hope. This year, I'm trying to understand. 

I did not grow up understanding race or racists. 

I was brought up Catholic and my friend next door used to tell me how bad it was to be Catholic. I didn't understand how the church I went to on Sunday had anything to do with that. I felt sad. All I wanted was a friend. 

I didn't understand why bullets were flying through my Gram's front window and my Dad's hotel was surrounded by tanks in Detroit during the 1960's riots. I felt fear. All I wanted was for them to be safe. 

In college, I didn't understand why my new roommate couldn't be seen with me, because her friends were black and I wasn't. I felt embarrassed.  All I wanted was someone to talk to in class. 

I was the only girl in a family of boys, so I do get what it's like to be on the outside looking in.

So, I try to understand. 

This is what I do. What I've always done when faced with a situation, event or life change that's horrible, upsetting and crazy. I dig in and try to figure it out. I ask myself how did it happen and most importantly, why.

I read as many articles from as many sources as I can find. I ask questions. I read some more. I look back into my own personal experience and see what I can understand from it. I read some more. I seek out wise sources with a variety of viewpoints.

I try to see this old landscape of fear and hate with new eyes. 

My grandparents were immigrants from Ireland. They immigrated through Canada in the early 20th century. At the time, the United States had such an immigration boom they were not allowing any more people in who were Catholic, Jewish or African. Irish were called 'micks', Jews 'kikes' and, unfortunately we all still know what blacks were called.  According to a history professor, this huge immigration influx caused southern white Americans to band together forming many of the hate groups we are seeing again today. Confederate statues were erected to 'honor' their heroes. 

I didn't know or understand that since the turn of the 21st century, our country has seen record immigration again. This time the people coming in were Hispanic, Asian and Muslim. Once again, fear and hate raised its ugly head, the hate groups are banding together again and Americans are being beaten and killed.

Understanding does not mean accepting.

 

I may understand the facts and history but I still don't understand the 'why'. Maybe it's silly and naive but I don't accept why anyone has to be left out. Why one color, culture or religion is better than another or none at all. Why shooting each other leads to a better life for anyone. Why we can't all treat each other with respect regardless of our outside differences. 

I live in a place that honors freedom but no one is free to kill. I have rights and so do you, but no one has the right to violence of any kind. We are all here because we want a place where we can be free to live, love and be safe regardless of color, religion or gender. 

I understand fear, anger and hate. But I do not accept it. 

Because, you see, I understand that on the inside we are all created the same.

We all need to understand, that here in America, we all get to create the life we feel is right for us. We have laws protecting our freedoms of speech, religion and lifestyles. You get to choose. I get to choose. And we can all work, live and love together. 

Let's ring in a New Year with a new word to live by: Understanding.