why is she successful and i'm not?

hello folks!

I want to talk about something

that's been on my mind lately.

The importance of making art

for the sake of making art.

Regardless of credentials

or recognition

or career path

or sales

or gallery representation

or status

or success

or failure...

Making art for the joy of making art.

Period.

Writing to write.

Painting to paint.

Singing to sing.

Many moons ago, 

whenever i would look at the artwork i had

just sitting around the house in boxes,

unsold

i would see this as confirmation

that i must be a failure as an artist.

I knew many artists who were selling,

who were in galleries

who were chosen to be published

in the art book of the year.

But i wasn't one of them.

So i was a failure as an artist.

Or at least i thought of my work in this way.

Still - i kept painting.

I kept writing

and sketching

and doodling

and drawing.

Many moons later,

i realized the importance of these

finished, unsold artworks

lying around the house in broken boxes.

I began to recognize the value of my work.

All my work.

The good, the bad, and the ugly.

It is necessary for an artist to make art.

A lot of art.

Bad, good, ok, crappy, beautiful, embarrassing, exceptional art...

ALL of this is necessary

to one's growth as an artist.

To developing your skill.

To finding your style.

Your comfort zone.

To knowing your happy place

and becoming more comfortable

in your not so happy places

if that's where you must go

to make the art that must be made today.

To write the book that must be written,

to play that song in your heart

that wants to be set free into the world.

I no longer question or doubt myself as an artist.
i am an artist because i make art every day.

I face those nagging fears

and dark doubts

about whether or not

my work is good enough -

and simply squeeze more paint out of the tube,

and continue painting.

My work is good enough.

And what makes it good

is not the quality of the final product

but the process itself.

The fact that i AM painting.

The purpose is not for me to paint a masterpiece.

The purpose is to paint.

To keep working.

Period.

Don't let the success of others

get in your way of making art.

Just make it.

Trust that it needs to be made.

xox

how art and Leonard Cohen heal my heart

hello everyone...

I am not a big fan of social media
and neither is this little bird,
even with the tweets. ;-)

This past Sunday was a difficult day,
but when evening came,
along with it came relief
that day would soon turn to night
and night into a new morning.

During the early evening,
I found my way to the blue room,
and played with paints and paper for a while.
(a great remedy for a sad heart)

If i was a doctor,
this is what i would prescribe to patients.
Solitary time
in a room with a view,
pens, paper,
and a box of Crayolas.
Maybe some music.
And some wine. ;-)

I was all over the place
with sketching and collaging and painting.

Like i had a thousand images in my head that wanted out...

Then i opened a book i had nearby
and landed on this page
and it was fucking poetic.
Don't you love it
when something comes together?
When you read something
or see something
or hear something
at what feels like exactly the right time?

Then i read this one...

What do i do?

i paint.

i write.

i listen to Leonard Cohen.

i count my blessings.

i see miracles in the every day.

Not in heaven,

but here.

In the every day.

i light a candle.

i pay attention to my breathing.

i walk along the ocean.
i read.
i remember.

i look at the moon & stars

and consider how minuscule i am

and how vast the universe is

and yet...

and yet.

xox

(what do YOU do?)

we miss you mom...

A year today since mom’s been gone.

At this exact time

one year ago

I held her hand

and reassured her

that she could go

and that we would all be ok.

A year ago at this exact time

it was sunny,

with a gentle breeze

and crisp autumn air

just as it is today.

One year ago,

as my father and I

walked back towards the car

with slumped shoulders

and tear filled eyes,

I saw two students from the nearby university

walking together with coffees at hand

sparkling eyes

smiling faces

and the contrast flooded my heart

with sadness

and wonder.

We made it past

the first Christmas

the first Mother’s day

the first birthday

the first death day,

and now,

we begin all over again.

Life is now fragmented

into before and afters

and when I look into someone’s eyes now

i can see they also have

a before and after

to live with

and it makes me feel

less alone.

write into the heart...

hello out there!

I am taking this e-course on writing

so i'm spending more time

with a pen in my hand these days

than a paintbrush.

It's all good.

Yesterday, we had to write about why we write...

here are some of my reasons:

 

I sat at the wharf this morning

with my notebook and a coffee at hand,

and i thought about the importance

of doing something we love every day.

And yet,

i realize this is a luxury. 

Many people in the world

are too busy surviving

to even think about what they love

let alone do it.

When i was younger

i used to feel guilty about having 

such a life of abundance.

About having so much in my life

when others in the world had so little.

At times, I purposely avoided too much comfort

because of the guilt i felt

at the unfairness of it all.

If there were 2 coats to choose from,

i took the uglier one.

The one that wasn't so warm.

When i ate dinner at the table with my family,

i always left a bite of food on my plate,

feeling guilty for having so much,

thinking that my intention to feed the world

would somehow reach the powers that be

and that the starving children would be fed.

Somehow.

I've grown since then. 

I no longer leave food on my plate

and i no longer believe

in the powers that be.

I believe change happens

when human beings decide

to make it happen.

When we decide to be less greedy,

more compassionate

less judgmental

more honest

less hypocritical

more loving to one another.

xox

This past May, the world lost a wonderful poet, George Moustaki.
This song was written in 1969, and the video is not the greatest quality, but i wanted to share nonetheless. I included the english translation below the video.

With my face of a foreigner

Of a wandering Jew, of a Greek shepherd

And my hair to the four winds

With my eyes totally waterlogged
That give me a look of a dreamer
That never dreams very often

With my hands of a petty thief
Of a musician and of a prowler
Who has been caught in so many gardens

With my mouth that drank
that kissed and bit
without ever satisfying its hunger

With my face of a foreigner
Of a wandering Jew, of a Greek shepherd
Of a petty thief and of a vagrant

With my skin that rubbed
With the sun of all the summers
and with everyone who wore underskirt

With my heart that knew how to make
Suffering a lot whom has suffered
Without making stories for that

With my soul that no longer has
the least chance for salvation
To avoid the purgatory

With my face of a foreigner
Of a wandering Jew, of a Greek shepherd
And my hair to the four winds

I will come, my sweet captive
My soul mate, my living source
I will come to drink your twenty years old

And I'll become the prince of blood
A dreamer or even a teenager
As you will like to choose

And we will make of everyday
all the eternity of love
that we will live till we die

and we will make of everyday
all the eternity of love
that we will live till we die.

Remembrance Day

Lest we forget...

get yourself a beverage...

Does anything in nature despair except man?

An animal with a foot caught in a trap does not seem to despair. It is too busy trying to survive. It is all closed in, to a kind of still, intense waiting. Is this a key? Keep busy with survival. Imitate the trees. Learn to lose in order to recover, and remember that nothing stays the same for long, not even pain, psychic pain. Sit it out. Let it all pass. Let it go.

- May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude

When I lost my job as a senior graphic designer

almost 10 years ago now,

it forced me into life’s deep questions.

why did this happen to me?

how could they do this?

where do I go now?

I wrote a lot

to try and appease the anger.

I cried.

I met with friends

who kindly reminded me

that I had so much going for me

despite this loss.

Friends who told me

that this may indeed

be a good thing, somehow,

and that there may be a light

at the end of the tunnel.

I made art.

I wrote more.

i considered my options

and then got angry again

at being forced into this new life

of financial instability

and insecurity

and fear.

The anger came in waves,

along with the hurt

and the relief

and the sadness

and the worry.

I was bitter

and swore that I would never work

for a large corporation

EVER. AGAIN.

I would find myself

another way to make a living.

I no longer knew

if I even wanted to continue being

a graphic designer.

This is what happens

when we experience change –

especially when the change

is not our choice.

We question everything,

including ourselves.

And through those questions

we often discover

our own truths.

Months later, I began to realize

that losing my job didn’t define me.

My reaction defined me.

How I chose to deal with it defined me.

I could wallow in my sorrow for years

and slowly disintegrate –

or I could put on my big girl panties

and get on with my life.

With MY life.

I slowly found my bearings again

and I began to discover

a sense of wonder for the world.

A deeper gratitude

for the simple things,

like a good book,

or chicken noodle soup in a beautiful cup...

 ...or rainy days.

I scattered my eggs

in different baskets,

and found a balance

between graphic design

and illustration

and office work

and painting

and writing

that allowed me to make a living.

To make a life.

I make less money,

but have more time.

I have less financial stability

but have more freedom.

I buy less things

but I lack nothing.

I love Mondays.

The idea of doing the same thing for 25 years,

all for the sake of yearly 5 star vacations

and a pension plan

makes me wanna shoot myself in the face.

I do not live my life for tomorrow,

because i have known too many people

who have not made it to tomorrow.

My friends were right.

Losing my job was a good thing.

(even if it felt like the opposite at the time!)

For those of you out there

who are going through difficult times…

take courage.

Trust that there are better days ahead.

Eventually, slowly, carefully,

the scattered pieces will mend themselves together again

and although your life will never be the same

it can still be a good, good life.