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Midland, Texas, United States
My name rhymes with "Lisa," I live in Midland, Texas, because it's warm and the mortgage is cheap, and no, my hair is not naturally orange. The EGE--The Ever-Gorgeous Earl--is my husband of 34 years. I have the best job in the world because I get to call up artists and ask them nosy questions and then write about them. In my spare time I write. Yeah, I know that's kind of pathetic, but what can I say?

FAQ's

Monday, February 28, 2011

Podcast with Suzi Blu

When I read Pam Carricker’s new book, Art at the Speed of Life, I was struck by what contributor Suzi Blu said about living A Big Life. So of course I had to call her up and ask her about it. To find out more about Suzi and her art, go to her blog.


PhotoCard: Her Disappointment Was Palpable

Sunday, February 27, 2011

My Brain on Coffee

OK, so it's only on half-caf, but still: The EGE goes to Starbucks to get coffee for our Sunday morning and brings back the New York Times. I'm taking a break (from working on the book, which means I'm putting in a load of stuff to dye/re-dye (trying for a more vivid orange for some of his khakis), and still reading these, and I sort the newspaper--I sort it according to the stuff I'll read first (the stuff that takes less time and has less inspiration), and I happen to open the magazine and see this:


And my brain just goes nuts. Because while I wouldn't want any of this stuff if they gave it to me (unless they gave it to me in raw parts: I suspect the pricetag would prohibit any joy I might have in getting to disassemble it myself), the ideas it sparks--for how I could do this better/cooler/more colorfully, and with STUFF I ALREADY OWN, is just overwhelming. I can't explain it: I don't like this stuff, and it's not the layout or the colors or the model or any of that. It's something that the act of seeing this stuff sparks in my brain, connections forming, neurons firing. Maybe nothing will come of it, maybe something fabulous will come of it. That's not really important. It's that moment of inspiration, of seeing something that sets off this surge of creative energy.

How does this work for you? For me, I jump up and kind of pace around the room. I talk reallyreallyreally fast, my scalp tingles. The ideas zip around like crazy. The EGE is used to this and just watches and listens as I riff. I grab some stuff I have and show him how I could use it and blather about what else I've got that could work. I tell him, of this thing when inspiration hits, "It's not better than sex, no; but it's in second place."

It's a measure of his fabulousness that he thinks this is perfectly normal.

OMG. I'm Dyin' Here.

OK, so not back to work quite yet. I was reading email and followed a link (Note to Self: You know better, fool) and found myself at #damnyouautocorrect. This is the hardest I've laughed in months. I have tears rolling down my face and will never, ever, be able to hear the word "platypus" again without falling on the floor. Go immediately.

Wait! Not immediately! First, go pee. Then finish that cup of coffee and set the mug somewhere else.

Ready? Got some tissue for blowing your nose? OK. Now go here.

Today It's All About The Book

I've done the first 45 pages and am taking a break. The plan is that today I'll go through the manuscript with a highlighter, little dots, and sticky notes; and then tomorrow I'll type up notes about each place I marked. It's stressful because I'm afraid I'll miss something (sure, a copy editor has gone over every page, but when you used to teach college comp and are just maybe the tiniest bit anal about stuff like, oh, semicolons, well: knowing a copy editor has gone over it doesn't mean a whole lot, especially if you've had one in the past who didn't know the difference between "lie" and "lay." This is the sort of thing that haunts my sleep, as you might guess).
Still, I'm having fun re-living our travels from last year. Way more fun to re-live them this way--sitting in our bright living room sewing annex with classical piano solos on the iPod, fresh coffee, all the cats being cute and crazy because the weather's shifting--than it would be to actually be waking up in oh, say, Warwick, Rhode Island, Home of the Skankiest La Quinta on the Planet.

Plus My Fabulous Editor, Tonia, left in some of my favorite bits--always cool to find those. With my horrid memory, editing is often like reading something for the first time--I feel like I should take notes, like, "Oh, that's cool--I should write that down."

Duh.

OK--back to work. Hope you have a wonderfully productive Sunday of your own~~

PS--Don't forget to check your local thrift:  Sundays are half-off-clothes-days at my local Goodwill. Maybe yours, too?

XO

PhotoCard: Gladys & Charlene

Another one of those photos where you're sure The Rest of the Story includes at least one body in the basement.

Saturday, February 26, 2011

Clarice Washes Her Face

I kind of doubt that anyone else find cats washing their faces as amusing as we do, but here you go, anyway~~

PhotoCard: Ghost Children

Friday, February 25, 2011

One of Many, Many Projects in My Brain

I've got ideas jumping around in there like popcorn today, and I should be in there doing something instead of sitting here, but I wanted to share this cool idea. I had a ton of these t-shirts I dyed:
I love the fit and color but not the neck, which is too high and tight, not unlike an out-of-date haircut. 

So I trimmed the sleeves and cut the band off the neck of a test shirt, and it was cool. But when I washed it, the cut-off part wanted to roll out in an unattractive manner.
What to do? Beads, of course! Everything's better with beads! I'll sew them around the problematic front of the neck, and then we'll see.
So that's one project I want to do today. Quick and easy--seems like I should have time for that, right?

Snort.

What projects are in your brain today?

It's Really Real!

The thing about the whole writing-a-book process is that it's so long and drawn-out, at least in places, that you often kind of wonder if there's really going to be an actual book at some point.

And then one day, out of the blue, the galley--what is now called "the thumbnail," apparently--arrives on your porch.
It came on Wednesday--The EGE found it when he came home from subbing. I hadn't been out all afternoon and so hadn't seen it. And now, two days later, I still haven't opened it. I have a lot of work to do, reading the whole thing, making notes, etc., and I don't want to open it up until I have time to focus on it. This week there was a big interview on Monday, a podcast on Wednesday, and there's another podcast today. After that, I think, I can pack up the galley and some stickie notes and a highlighter and go to a coffee shop and work for a couple hours. On Monday, maybe? I don't know; work is a lot busier than I anticipated, and now I've got to figure out how to create some sort of loose schedule and get some balance. 

PhotoCard: Gert at Camp

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Podcast with Keith Lo Bue

Here's the coolest thing about my job:  many, many years ago I saw Keith Lo Bue's work and was just blown away. Wow. What amazing stuff! I looked and looked at it and wondered about the mind that created such intricate, imaginative, wonderfully detailed pieces.  What I wouldn't give to talk to this guy, ask him questions about his work, find out what inspires him.
You know?

In the intervening years, not only have I gotten to interview Keith and ask him a bunch of nosy questions (the results will be in the next issue of Belle Armoire Jewelry, on newstands next Tuesday), but I've met Keith in person and been entranced by his speech and slide presentation at Adorn Me! last year in Houston, done some little videos, gotten some great photos. 

And now we get to talk! He's in Australia, many miles away, and it's astounding that our conversation sounds as clear as it does. The few little hiccups are not Keith; they're Skype. And that intermittent little roar in the background is, I think, traffic noise--he's in Sydney, so he has actual traffic, as opposed to me: I have just wind chimes.

Anyway, Keith is a delight. He's even more fun in person--and yes, he does give great hugs and cheek kisses, an art form unto itself, as any Southerner will attest.

Enjoy, and go here to look and be enthralled~~ 

PhotoCard: Creepy Kid

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Some Musings on The Creative Life

My Fuzzy Wuzzy

Even typing that makes me snort. Goodness.

And let me say right here, right now:  if I get sick with a cold, I know exactly when I got it.

At 9:16 this morning. From A Child. Oh. My. God.

So I went to see my ob/gyn this morning. This is what I hate about the whole Melanoma Thang. Even though it's over and done with and everything is fine, I still have to Watch Stuff. So whereas, in the past, I would just let things go until it became obvious I needed to have them checked, now I figure I'll just get it over with right away. Just to be safe.

Sigh. Whatever. At least I like my doctor and his fabulous nurse/office manager/saint, Lori.

So I go in this morning, which is not my choice because I Do Not Do Mornings. I tell everyone this, and I stick to it:  I work in the mornings. I do not make appointments. I do not leave the house.

Except sometimes. And it was either go this morning or not until next week. This afternoon is full of meetings and interviews, and Mendez doesn't work on Fridays because he doesn't have to, and he's somewhere else on Tuesdays and Thursdays. So I rush around and go, consoling myself by taking the iPhone and the daily calendar and figuring I can get at least something done while I'm waiting. Except I forgot the cats. He now has his Grandcats living in the office--the cats of his son. (He also showed me a dog whom he refers to as his brother:  it's the dog of his parents. See why I love this guy?)

I'd forgotten that Dulcinea and Googly and the other two (we haven't really met yet, so I don't know them) live there now, so I had to talk to them, of course. And then the woman who was ahead of me got called into the exam room, and she told her son to Wait Right There. A kid. In the room with me.

Yikes. I SO do not do kids. I always just ignore them, and they usually avoid me. It works out great for everyone.

But this kid didn't get the message that I was ignoring him, and he goes, "Hi. Hi! HI!" So I have to say, "Hi," back, right? And then he shows me his trucks, which make cool noises. Too bad for me that I'm a sucker for cool toys, so I start talking to him about the trucks. He's a really cute kid with his hair gelled up to a point. He is, he tells me, five. And he asks if he can sit by me, which is pretty astounding, as kids usually look at me and either 1) cry or 2) puke. He did neither. He talked about the back page of the magazines, the ones where you see how many odd things you can pick out in the picture. And he had a runny nose and got a tissue and then asked me to take him to find a trashcan to throw it away. He found a monster there and had to show me that, too (an art deco print on the wall--she did look kind of creepy, actually).

And then Dr. Mendez came out and sat down and was showing me the iPhone photos of his family (not his human family--he skimmed over those, knowing I'm not going to be ooohing and ahhhing over the grandbabies) and the new members (the newest Granddogs are a rescue dog and the puppy they got to keep her calm), and then I had to show him photos of Clarice. My New Best Friend wanted to see, and he remarked that she really was a fuzzy wuzzy. This is true. He wanted to know what other photos I had and helpfully skimmed through them, demonstrating 1) my total foolishness in the face of a smart, cute, charming five-year-old and 2) his familiarity with the iPhone. I played the video of the California Honeydrops for him, and he immediately began bopping and dancing on the carpet.

At about 9:16 was when he sneezed.

And then his mom came out of the exam room, and he ran up to her and pointed to me and said, "SHE HAS A FUZZY WUZZY!"

Imagine, if you will, the hilarity that ensued. I am so glad I had the photo of Clarice to show her.

StudioWear Tuesday

It's supposed to be in the 80's again here today. Yay! No more layers, no more piling on the socks. I think if I stand on my tiptoes, you can see everything:
Tunic I got on clearance at Old Navy last year--bought a bunch of them and dyed them and did two rows of hand-stitching around the hem of each one and then--THEN!--realized they were about 2 inches too long:  they were kind of baggy-looking at that length. As I've said before, in my mind, I'm much larger than I am in real life. I wear things and think they're great and then see a photo and realize it looks as if the clothes are consuming me, as if I'm swimming in some too-large/too-long/too-baggy thing. Imagine my grumbling when I gave in and cut them all off and re-hemmed them, albeit NOT with hand stitching. Snort. I don't know if it shows up, but the tunic has lots of hand stitching in orange, plus orange buttons. This was how I entertained myself on many of our road trips last year.

The tights actually came in this color, from (shhhhh) The Dreaded Wal-Mart last year (the year before?), when they marked them down to $3 each and I bought all the orange, purple, and pink ones they had in my size. Duh.

And just let me say once again that size creep DOES exist--sizes have gotten way, way larger. I bought a cool, old, worn chambray skirt--long and funky, and it was going to be so cool. It was a size 10. Here lately, I've been having to buy size 6. Now, for years, when I weighed exactly what I weight now, I wore a size 10 or 12. Loose, but not huge. This skirt must have pre-dated even that--at least 30 years old, I'm guessing--because the size 10 is tight around the waist. I know it's not me--I have that dress I made in jr. high, and I can put it on and have a pretty accurate idea how my body has changed in the intervening 40 years (not much, actually, except for, you know, gravity and wrinkles and stuff, because I never had some fabulous figure back then). So, no--it's not ME. It's some insidious plot, I think, to keep us confused about what size we wear. I think they hope we'll buy two of everything just so 1) we'll have the size we need and 2) we won't have to make the effort to return anything. We'll just put the other one in our closet for Just In Case.

It's truly evil.

PhotoCard: As Long as They Don't Expect Me to Fly It

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

My Favorite Book Ever: Available for You!

I've told y'all many times about Native Funk and Flash, the best book EVER on the planet ever. See?
Imagine my delight to read the current Threads magazine, with a letter from the author, Alexandra Hart. I sent her a note right away and received a very gracious reply; we're working on some ideas for the future.


For now, though, you have a chance to buy a copy of this book, which has long been out of print. Here's what Alexandra says:


"The books are new, found in photographer Jerry Wainwright's attic, and will bear my autograph for whatever good that does. I'm passing them on for $50 with $5 for postage and handling (though I see "almost perfect" or "collectible" copies advertised for up to $150 on the internet). Tell folks to contact me by email at ahart[at]sonic[dot]net (to discourage phishers)."


How cool is that? Very, very cool, is how cool.


Now, you can find used ones for less, but you're not going to get new, and you're surely not going to get one signed by the author.


And you're not going to get mine! Oh, no--this is my baby, bought brand new the year I graduated from high school. I wouldn't even turn loose of it long enough to get it signed, no way. Ahhhh. I think it's time for another read (every couple years--fresh inspiration!)


XO

Monday, February 21, 2011

Wardrobe Redux: Clearance Coat from Old Navy

OK. So sometimes we go to Old Navy to see what they have that's 1) white 2) cotton 3) super-cheap-on-clearance. Like either of us needs another item of clothing ever, ever. But I can't resist, you know? I found this trench--sorry, no before photos, but just imagine:  boring khaki, with bright yellow lining. It was a tan khaki--I'm always explaining/showing the difference in tint to The EGE. What's apparent to me, colorwise, is, apparently (snort) not so apparent to other people. There is gray khaki, tan khaki, and green khaki. The gray can go blue or purple (semi-successfully), the tan can go orange or rust, and the green can go, well green. This was tan, with really BRIGHT yellow lining, so it went orange.
Not bright orange--you'll never get rid of the tan unless you bleach it or use color remover, and where's the fun in that? For me, dyeing is about seeing what colors I can create.

I was going to do some stitching all over it to sort of anchor the lining better, but I quickly decided that this isn't going to be one of those lovingly embellished pieces but, rather, something I wear all the time and don't want to worry about. When I tried it on, I suddenly felt all Columbo, rumpled and spy-ish. The EGE whispers, "Secret Squirrel, Secret Squirrel."


I replaced the buttons with some I covered with fabric I already had.


The lining wanted to hang out of the sleeves a little (it said to machine wash, but apparently they didn't take into account a slight shrinkage when they said that). So I stitched it in place, trying to copy the stitching in the coat. The two rows of stitching around the end of the sleeve are mine, done by hand. The other, on that thing--what's that called? Like epaulets for sleeves? That's what was on the coat already. It was fun trying to match embroidery floss to their thread--I could have sewn it on the machine but couldn't have gotten the chunkiness of the stitching. 
I love how it matches my hair. At least it matches my hair this week--next week, not so much (how I wish I could make my hair orange and have it STAY orange, let me tell you).

Wardrobe Redux: Black Silk Coat & Cat Fur

Good grief. While I was beading this coat, I kept the lint roller right by my hand and rolled it constantly so I wouldn't sew fine cat fur into the beading. I had no idea how much fur had gotten on there since I finished--the coat's been hanging high on a hook until we could get photographs, but Clarice's fur is so long and fine, it just blows everywhere. I'll bet I've inhaled and/or swallowed a TON of it already.

Anyway, here's the vintage (!) black silk coat I bought and have been working on. I beaded the collar and cuffs. I see the close-up photos are a little fuzzy, but hey--at least we got some photos, right?
 Who knows what I'm saying here.
 Picking off cat fur. Sigh.
Cat fur! Also beads--
the collar is a little more heavily beaded, but it's much the same.
It's very sparkly.


The tag sewn inside the coat. I know nothing about it, but I like its funkiness.

The Zachery Boys & Their Mom

The EGE's mom's birthday is on Valentine's Day, and this year all seven of her surviving babies gathered to wish her the best. 
From the left, there's Sam (who's my age), Jerry (with the hat), The EGE (3rd oldest), Carlos (in the back with the hair--he's the baby), Gab (with the black hat--he's the eldest), Terry (red shirt--Jerry's fraternal twin), and Putty, on the end.

PhotoCard: Hats Provide Better Posture

I've got all kinds of stuff I want to show y'all today--tons of stuff to do, an interview this afternoon, photos to take. We'll see how it goes, so check back, please.

So here's a PhotoCard to start your morning off--y'all are off work, right? Everyone else in my world is--husband (who's off to the dentist), editors. But that's OK--it doesn't feel lonely like it would in a real office because y'all are all here having a cup of coffee with me. Being all alone in A Real Office would be kind of creepy--you never know if the rats will run out and take over the coffee room.

Swallow before you look at the photo--if she strikes you the way she did me, you don't want a mouth full of latte--XO

Sunday, February 20, 2011

How You Can Get Involved

So last week I ranted a little about the complaints about the mixed media art community. Today over at CreateMixedMedia.com, I wrote a post about how you can get involved in making a difference and creating a community you love.

Now I'm off again--it's 80 degrees here today, and I'm going out in it.
XO

Friday, February 18, 2011

My Blog Post at CreateMixedMedia.com

As y'all know, I blog over at CreateMixedMedia.com, too. I don't anticipate much cross-posting, although that may happen for some things. Mostly, I think, I'll just try to remember to tell you when something's up there--it's usually every other day, or about 3-4 times a week, though, so I'm sure I won't remember. And aren't you surprised?

Today I blogged about giving your art away, and you can read it on my blog over there, The Creative Life. The post was inspired by my receiving a package yesterday from Lucas Albergaria. Go there to read about it and find a link and see more of his work, which I adore.
watercolor by Lucas Albergaria

A Little Cuteness for Your Friday

Deborah Dugan (our podcast from this week is here) sent me this video this morning, and I love it. Remember: when it comes to Our Feline Friends, we avoid the f-word. It's not f-a-t; it's the camera angle. Got that?

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Podcast with Deborah Dugan

[I LOVE this photograph! The colors are just perfect.]

Deborah Dugan's drawings and watercolor paintings make me happy. When I first found her blog, the painting of her dog lying in a chair just made me grin, and I knew then that Deborah was one of those people you want to know better. I was right; her enthusiasm for drawing and painting and bookbinding are contagious, and her voice is one I could listen to all day long. To see Deborah's work, visit her blog at Deborah A. Dugan: Occasional thoughts and drawings.

You Say You Want a Revolution.

Last week I had coffee downtown with a friend, and he mentioned the imminent closure of a local community college and bemoaned the lack of protest by students and faculty, pointing out that in, oh, say, some places in the world (other places, places that Are Not Here, in the US), something that impacted the lives of so many people would be a cause. You know: A Cause. People would protest, organize, try to do something to change things.

Here? Here, he said, we're too busy playing with our iPads. As long as our batteries don't run out and we have internet access so we can play Mafia Wars or Farmville or whatever inane thing is eating the brains of office workers everywhere, we're cool with the status quo.

I don't get it. No, I'm not politically active. I don't march. I don't protest any more. Oh, sure--I've protested. I got in the face of the Grand Whatever of the KKK when they rallied here back in the 80's, and I've got the photograph to prove it. (Somewhere--I've got it Somewhere.) I've spoken before the school board and written letters to the editor and argued with our district attorney, but these days I focus on what means the most to me, and that's all about creativity. My purpose in life is to encourage people to live creative lives. That's my job, and that's where my energy goes. Not earth-shattering, but vitally important. I really believe that. I applaud the people who are doing the other, big-picture work. And I do this.

So when my editors over at North Light Books offered me the opportunity to work with them on CreateMixedMedia.com, giving me the chance to find new artists and spread the word about their work and inspire people and help them tap into their own creativity, well. I was there! Yeah, buddy. Because during the many years I've been involved in the Mixed Media Community, one thing I've heard over and over, everywhere we've gone and from so many of the people I've talked to, is a low-level grousing about what gets put Out There. People complain that it's the same art all the time, the same group of "in" images, the same handful of artists over and over and over. I understand what they're saying, and I think they have a point, even though I understand one of the main reasons for it:  editors publish what they get, and if what they have is a lot of artwork that uses the same handful of symbols and images, what are they going to do? Alter it before they photograph it? And if the same artists are sending in good artwork every month, on the theme and on time, well-labeled, clean, ready to photograph? And they get other, fresher artwork, but it's not quite ready to be photographed, maybe a little glue-y or not quite finished? You get the idea.

Anyway. So I jumped at the opportunity to work on CreateMixedMedia.com, thrilled to have a chance to help shape the community I love by bringing in more people and introducing visitors to things they haven't seen before, people they haven't met, new stuff and new tools and, and, and. It's a chance to do podcasts and interviews that will have a much wider audience than I'd have on my own. And I just assumed everyone else would be thrilled to be involved, as well. I assumed that the people who had been complaining at the Way Things Are would be more than happy to help me make things They Way They Can Be, help me find new artists, show fresh work, scout out cutting edge stuff that I can, in turn, pass on to readers and visitors and to my editors. New trends, new ideas, new techniques. New stuff. Cool stuff! Stuff any editor would love.

Because, people, let me tell you:  the editors are not the issue here. I work with a bunch of them--the most-well-known editors in the business--and they're more eager than anyone to find and encourage new talent, share new ideas and techniques and materials. That's what they do. The problem? They also do a ton of other stuff--you wouldn't BELIEVE how busy these people are (for an example, check out one day's mail at the offices of Stampington, mail that will have to be opened and catalogued and sorted and routed before it can even begin to be chosen for inclusion in a publication)--and they don't have 10 hours a day to scour the internet and go to retreats and workshops looking for as-yet-unknown artists and way-cool techniques. They wish they did--they'd all LOVE it if they could spend their days finding cool people doing cool stuff. Wouldn't we all?

Alas, that's not the way it works. They need input, and I love helping. I love finding someone new and introducing them to someone else and helping out everyone in the process. It's like crack to me--or what I imagine crack is like: it's an immediate high, and then you want to do it again. I naively assumed other people would, too. So I set about asking people to get involved:  to do podcasts with me, to suggest their favorite unknown artists, to do Q&A blog posts about what they'd like to see Out There. If you're naive like I am, you'd think everyone would jump at the chance to have a positive impact and be given a chance to help make things more the way they want them to be. Fresh, new, inclusive. Right? Wouldn't you think that?

We would be wrong. Oh, sure--I've had a great response from lots and lots of people, and you'll be hearing from them. Absolutely. They're enthusiastic and generous about sharing and vitally interested in helping other people discover what their creative life can look like. I'm thrilled to be making contact with them, and their input is fabulous.

But it also turns out, sadly, that rather a lot of us like to complain about the way things are a lot more than we want to work to make them better. It reminds me of a scene in The West Wing that I'd tell you about except I don't know what episode it was or the names of anyone involved except Josh. Or maybe he wasn't in it. Maybe it was some other guy. Josh's ex-girlfriend--at least I think she's an ex at this point in the story, although it's hard to tell, really, you know?--the really annoying girlfriend who always looks drugged, is offered a job at the White House, and she turns it down, and it's suggested by some other character I don't remember that this is because she finds it easier to carp about what's going on and to throw stones than it is to work from the inside making the incremental changes that will lead to progress.

I think throwing stones is easier, too. I'm a world-class complainer, and I could easily make an artform of it. I could devote my days to pointing out what's wrong with stuff. I could rant! I could use my Big Words! In my spare time, I could post to Regretsy and People Of Wal-Mart (and, no, I'm not providing links) and that site with the sad and pathetic cakes. Complaining is, let's face it, fun. You get to vent and blow off steam about things that irritate you and need to be changed, and you get to be clever and snarky. People cheer you on, and they support your kvetching with some of their own. It's popular, and people love it. I get more response to snarky tweets and posts than I do to just about anything else I do online. I could so easily go that way and become Famous, with advertisers and guest bloggers and wow! Who knows? Maybe I could make The Big Bucks being a complainer, pointing out everything that's wrong and demonstrating how clever I am to have noticed it and brought it to your attention! And then I could write a book about it, a book that would make lots of money and where someone else would pay me to come do signings in fabulous and exotic locations that do not involve La Quinta Inns.

But, really, what would be the point? Griping about stuff isn't going to change it. It's not going to make people smack themselves in the forehead and then go do exactly what you want them to do. Chances are they'd like a little change, too, but no one person can do it all by themselves. For change to occur in any area--huge, big, life-altering changes in governments or little bitty inspirational changes in online content--a bunch of people have to work together. That's the way it works.

For me, I'm loving the opportunities that are presenting themselves with CreateMixedMedia. Last week in our meeting we said, gee, wouldn't it be cool to see everyday studios? Because we've all heard the grousing about how all we're ever shown are decorated, pristine, perfect studios that don't look like anyone's ever done anything in them except drink tea out of really cute cups.

And within 30 minutes, there was a Flickr group for photos of The Everyday Studio, and a week later there are almost 200 photos of non-frou-frou, often-messy, filled-with-inspiration working studios, with more being added every day. I love that! You can't imagine how cool that is to me--to have an idea for something that would be cool, that would make other people happy and give them ideas they can use in their own lives, and to have a chance to help make that happen in a much bigger way than what I could do on my own.

I'm guessing some of y'all are frowning about the comparison between the often-tragic, life-altering events in world governments and the comparatively very, very minor issues in the world of mixed media, but the larger point is that we are a society not of doers, but of gripers. We'd rather complain than do something. Ridicule someone else's efforts. We'd rather make fun of the way people dress when they go to the discount store than develop a person style of our own. We'd rather go to a website and snicker at the snide comments posted about less-than-lovely pieces of artwork than we would create our own Etsy shop and fill it with stuff we've made. Decorating a cake is a ton of work; making fun of someone else's failed efforts is not only easy, it's fun! Ridiculing, griping, complaining--it feels like you're doing something but without any real effort.


It would be interesting to find out what happens to the protesters in the Middle East, the ones who heartily took to the streets and courageously helped bring about change. Once the rock-throwing is over, if they're offered a role in the process, are they going to roll up their sleeves and get busy helping make things more the way they want them to be? Or are they going to go home and wait until they have another chance to yell and hurl rocks? 


Protest? Yes, protest is important. It's what gets people's attention. But once you've got that, do you just keep tossing rocks at their heads? Do you go home and wait for something else to complain about? Or do you roll up your sleeves and get involved?

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

StudioWear Tuesday

It's 80 degrees, the windows are open, I went out to the mailbox barefooted. What more can I say?
You saw this over-dyed thrifted skirt last week. Cheap cotton t dyed chartreuse--it actually matches a tiny bit of the pattern in the skirt. First time I've had on sleeves where I can see my tattoos in forever--I've missed them~~

Monday, February 14, 2011

What Love Is

You think I'm going to expound here on Love, right? Giving everyone the benefit of my years and decades of experience, my almost-34 years of happy marriage?

Nah. Not so much. Because, frankly, love baffles me. No, not what I, personally, experience as love. I understand that pretty well. But what other people identify as love. They say they love people--partners, family, friends--but they act in ways that don't seem to me to fit that at all. Women claim to love their husbands but spend hours with their girlfriends ridiculing him and enumerating his faults (or sitting in the teachers' lounge at school--holy moly! When I was subbing, I'd sit and listen to the women talk about their husbands and be absolutely dumbfounded. These people they were talking about were people with whom they lived ON PURPOSE. How could they possibly have chosen to spend their days and nights with humans who irritated them so thoroughly in every possible way?). Men claim to love their wives but see nothing wrong with an outside affair or two. Friends gossip and say hateful things, family members borrow money and don't pay it back. On, and on, and on. And this is love. That's what people say.

Love is an emotion, right? I used to believe that, just like most everyone else. But one of the Really Wise People I Have Known explained his philosophy:  love is not an emotion, but a decision. Think about it:  emotions are fleeting. Anger, irritation, joy, fear, sadness--those things come and hit you upside the head, stick around a while, and leave. Maybe, for some people, love does that, too=Love: The Drive-By Attachment.

I would argue that's not actually love, that feeling that comes screaming at you from out of nowhere, turns your world upside down, and then leaves without warning. You know, on the afternoon you realize your lover smells like old socks and has pores the size of Mount St. Helens and, gee, hasn't ever really done it for you the way Ralph did, anyway. You say, "Hey, it's been fun these couple of months, but I've gotta go see a man about a dog."

I believe love is a decision. Real love, true love. We're not talking about that first smack of it--that hormonal uprising, that can't-breathe-when-he's-not-around, can't-eat-can't-sleep-can't-think. I have no idea what that is, and while it was fun while it lasted, I've gotta say I'm glad it morphed into something else, because I really couldn't eat or sleep, and after 34 years of that, there wouldn't be even a shell of me left. Any fire that burns that hot? Nobody could survive for long. Staying up til dawn, spending hour after hour on the phone when you weren't actually together. Grinning to yourself for absolutely no reason.

OK. I'll stop now and spare you. Young lovers think we old people have no clue. We just smile to ourselves, hoping they come out of it intact. That thing--whatever it is--has to become something that will last. That's what I believe love is:  a decision you make that can last a lifetime. Think about this: maybe love is a decision, and maybe those other things that we think of as emotions are actually also decisions. Like happiness. Mark Twain might have had it exactly right when he said that most people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be. I think that's true--it's been true in my own life and those of people I know--and I think it's true for love, as well. And for sadness--not the temporary, crying-over-a-photograph sadness, but the deep-to-the-bones, shows-on-your-face-in-every-photograph sadness. And fear. Think about it: think about what it would mean if love and happiness and fear and joy were all decisions. You could feel fleeting glimpses of them as "emotions," but you could decide whether or not to embrace any one or all of them as a way of life.

Huh. That's something to think about, isn't it?

I read a piece in the NYT recently, an essay about how relationships are hard work. Everyone says that, about how relationships, specifically long-term romantic partnership (they used "marriage," of course) are really hard work. This writer argued that, no, that's not true, and argued that if your marriage (etc.) is a lot of hard work, maybe you chose the wrong partner. I asked The EGE about this, and we agreed that if by "hard work" you mean stupid stuff like, oh, not thinking of yourself first every minute of every day, and having to share the covers and maybe spend the weekend with in-laws who don't like you and having to pitch in to discipline the kids--if that's what you mean by "hard work," then, yeah:  marriage is hard work. But then so is life, if that's what you think of as hard work, and so is any job you're ever going to have or any relationship or ANYTHING. And, really, just face it: if that's your definition of "hard work," not only are you incredibly selfish and immature, but you're pretty damn lazy, too. You should get over yourself before you even THINK of establishing a relationship with another living creature. Don't even get a goldfish!

If, on the other hand, "hard work" means repeated rounds of counseling and trial separations, of tears and betrayal and mistrust, then, whoa. That's a whole nother thang, and that's what the writer was talking about and what The EGE and I agree is way, way beyond what you should expect from love. If you're making each other so miserable that third parties are regularly required to intervene, then how can you claim to love the other person? Love means (no, no! don't cue the music here!) adapting, changing, adjusting. If you love someone and want them to be happy and your habit of using toilet paper as a coffee filter just drives them insane, then what's up if you refuse to change? Come on, people--life is about change. Everything changes. And if you refuse to make adjustments so you can live happily with someone you profess to love, what's that really about? You claim you have to be you, but what it's really about is that you care about your routines and habits and quirks more than you care about being with this other person. Maybe with any other person.

Frankly, I believe lots of people are way too selfish and self-involved ever to be a part of any couple and should just admit it and join some club that provides clean, healthy sexual partners on a regular basis, presentable social escorts for business occasions, and someone to fill in for golf/tennis/bridge/bowling. I don't know any people like that, but from what I read, it's the New Hipness.

For the rest of us, though? Love is possible. The thing I tell people over and over is that it doesn't always look like you think it will. If you're thinking hearts and flowers and being swept off your feet, you may be disappointed. If you cut out a photo of a movie star when you were six and said the woman you marry is going to look just like her, you may need to rethink your priorities.

OK. Maybe I'll write more about this later. Who knows. I'm surely no expert on love, dating, relationships, marriage. Much of what goes on today in romantic relationships just really baffles me--having sex with someone you're not even sure you ever want to see again, going off for a weekend with someone you don't really like but who has money. I don't know. That sounds like business to me.

Here's what I do know. Love--and Valentine's Day and anniversaries and all that--it's not about hearts and flowers and candy and fancy dinners and long romantic walks on the beach. It can be about all those things, but those are just things. Love is when you care about someone else's health and happiness and well-being and moments of joy as much as you care about your own, when you're happy to do things just because you know they'll make someone else happy, and when that someone else does the same for you. I'm lucky in that the person who's my partner--my husband--is also my lover and my best friend. When people ask what it's like being together for over 30 years, I say it's been easy. This is true. Oh, sure, we've had tragedy: the deaths of people we loved. We've had the usual things with jobs and co-workers, money and being chased through Mississippi by rednecks.

Wait. Maybe that's not the usual.

But it has been easy:  there's never been a time when I've wanted to leave him, even temporarily. I've never thought I made a bad choice; it's always been a choice I'd happily make again. And given that that choice alienated just about everyone I'd known up until that point in my life, that's saying a lot. Did I wake him up this morning with breakfast in bed and a mushy card? No. I didn't even wish him a happy Valentine's Day because I was trying to put together a crate for a sick cat. And he may not get anything from me at all because I didn't buy a card and the UPS isn't holding up its end of the bargain on the whole delivery-by-Valentine's-Day deal. But so what? I don't think my failure at shopping is going to make him question my love for him. (After I get through with UPS, though, *they* are not going to be feeling the love, let me tell you.)

On this Valentine's Day, instead of waiting for someone to send you a thousand dollars worth of hothouse roses, stop and think about what love really means. Make a list. Ask yourself some questions. You might be surprised at what you discover. What does love mean to you? It's your decision.

Hello, Monday!

Whew. Aren't Mondays just amazing? It's like you go from zero (Sunday afternoon, all lazy and slothful (or whatever passes for slothfulness in your neck of the woods)) to 100 mph on Monday morning. I had plans for this morning, but then I realized I reallyreallyreally need to get the vet to come look at Cocoa, the Cat Who Isn't Ours but lives on our front porch and, we think, has gotten pregnant again and isn't doing well at all. I talked to her "owner" yesterday, and he said that the two times she was pregnant last year (so his kids, who are there every other weekend, can experience The Miracle of Birth (thank goodness he didn't use those words, or I might have suffered some sort of collapse, right there in his driveway)), she had "massive" miscarriages. She seems, therefore, to be a cat who most assuredly does not need to be pregnant. I've discussed this with my vet, and she agrees, but since I made the mistake of telling her right off that Cocoa belongs to someone else, she couldn't spay her without their consent. So yesterday, I got the guy's consent. He even, amazingly, offered to pay. I doubt this will happen, but it sure was nice of him to say it.

Cocoa feels horrid, and so I called the vet. Who said she would come out today. Which means I had to confine Cocoa so she won't wander off in the meantime. Which meant I had to go get one of the dog crates from the storage building. Somehow this crate got dismantled--they come flat, but you just lift one part, and the whole thing unfolds, and you hook the ends, and voilá: it's a crate. Not this morning. Somehow, since the last time we used the crate, it had come apart. As in: many pieces. It's not a flimsy thing. Not lightweight.

So there I am, out on the front sidewalk (having carried the folded-up crate through the carport so it wouldn't startle Cocoa by coming through the front door) in my flannel pj's in the cold, trying to assemble the crate without hurting my fingers--everything I do is about Not Hurting My Fingers. The right ring finger is going through The Change, and typing often hurts, so I'm very, very careful about what I do with them. Putting together a steel cage early in the morning in the cold does not come under the heading Taking Care of My Fingers, alas.

But I got it together, more or less. Something's wonky, but I didn't have time to come in and look at Clarice's crate and figure out what I was doing wrong. I think it's OK--she doesn't really feel up to trying to escape, anyway. I got her in it with food and water and a litter box and a blanket, and while she's Not Happy, Not At All, she's safe and secure. And I'm getting on with my Monday by finishing up the laundry that didn't get done yesterday, never mind that I have A Rule that I don't do housework stuff during the workday. Never mind that--I can't work with piles of dirty clothes in the office, and I'm not going to put them in the bin and then have to re-sort them later. So:  laundry. Laundry all over the office, in fact. Sigh.

I did some work over at CreateMixedMedia.com, and now the morning is gone and I haven't eaten breakfast or done those exercises (for the neck and shoulders--all part of the same thing with the fingers: arthritis is a pain, indeed, and doing what you can to make the best of it is tedious, and you wonder if it does any good. But what spurs me on is remembering what happened with my dad and arthritis and trying to do whatever I can not to go there, at least not for a while) or, well, much of anything else.

But! I do have some projects that are waiting for me, things I'm excited about (about which) and that I want to show you in more detail when I get a chance to work on them. I have all these ideas for videos and tutorials, but finding the time to do them? Man--I keep thinking I'll get to a place where I have Extra Time, and it just keeps not happening.

Anyway, here's what I'm working on:
This is an extra-large cotton trench coat I got for like $15 at Old Navy. I dyed it orange--it's a burnt-ish orange because it was khaki to start with. I can't do khaki. I don't know if you notice, but khaki comes in various flavors. The greyish khaki can be dyed blue (I don't do blue) or purple. The greenish can become green, and the tan can become burnt orange. You really don't want to try pink.

The sleeve lining was wonky, so I had to stitch that. Here you can see, in the lower left corner, the stitching that was on the coat, and then you can see how I'm duplicating (sort of) that with hand stitching. I finished that, and I covered buttons and sewed them on last night. Now I need to do some random stitching on the front where it's wonky--things are on clearance for a reason, and fixing them is usually a challenge. Fortunately, I love a challenge. Just not a HUGE one.

Then there's this--I showed you this brown linen skirt when I bought it a while back. I have some pink wool felt--from a pink blazer, I think, that I bought and fulled in the washer. I'm cutting out more circles and then will stitch them in place with green floss:


Then there's this, which is the project about which I'm currently most excited. I haven't even started on it yet, but it's going to be SOOOOOO cool. Can you guess what I'm going to do? It begins with this leather belt I got for $1 from the thrift:

Whoa:  sorry about the color. 
I obviously had the little camera
 on the wrong light setting when I took these. 
The rug should be fuchsia, more pink than this. The belt is dark brown. 

Ok--back to work! Hope your Monday is off to a fabulous--if speedy--start~~

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Things That Keep Me Awake at Night


GeoTagged, [N31.98642, E102.09382]

There's nothing else to say about this.

Podcast with Katie Kendrick

Every time I talk to Katie Kendrick, I get all these fabulous ideas racing around in my head. That’s how it is when you talk to someone really creative and inspiring: they spark your own inspiration and juice up your own excitement. Katie’s like that--after talking to her, I have ideas for workshops and retreats, re-fashioning garments and refining my meditation practice. Katie’s finishing up the process of writing her first book, Layered Impressions, due out from North Light Books in December, and she talks about what that was like, along with explaining her love of cardboard and talking about what it’s like to hit the rough patches of Female Middle Age (the word is "menopause," and it's nearly as scary as people think it is) and come out thrilled with what’s on the other side. Katie radiates joy and creativity and passionate living. 

Ways to listen:
~~Click the link in the sidebar, 
~~or go to CreateMixedMedia.com and click on "Meet" and then (duh) "Podcast Interviews." You'll be able to find this one there next week, along with others that are being added all the time--so if you missed some of the earlier podcasts, you can always check there. 
~~Or at my blog page over at the podcast host, Libsyn  
~~You can subscribe (free!) at iTunes for Notes from the Voodoo Lounge.

Whew. I list all these for people who might be having trouble listening--there's always another option.


Of course, you can listen right here, via this cute little player:

Studio Scarves

I think I mentioned (although who knows?) that I've been wearing a scarf around my neck in the studio. After buying all those scarves on the Big-Ass Eastern Road Trip, where I never had enough to keep me warm when we were out and about, and where scarves were on sale because it was getting to be what Those People Up There thought of as "warm summer weather," I amassed quite the collection and discovered that, if my neck is warm,
1) the rest of me stays marginally warmer, too, except for, well, my feet and my hands and my knees and maybe my ears and
2) my neck is happier. And, honeys, when my neck is happier, we're all happier

So: scarves for my neck!

When Traci Bunkers showed me the scarves she's been making, I squealed. Now, I can't knit, but I remembered a Steve Madden scarf I'd seen and loved. I bought the hat--you saw that photo--but didn't buy the scarf because it was about $50. Way too much for a scarf. But I was thinking, gee, maybe they're on sale now.  A non-knitter's version of Traci's cool scarves.

So we went to look. Alas, they were all gone, but Dillards did have some soft scarves on clearance, and I knew I could do something with them. I bought two and brought them home and went out to the storage building and brought in my Big Bin o' Fibers, with tons of cool and funky stuff--things I bought long ago and gifts from friends, like some fabulous hand-spun yarn from Reenie Hanlin. Then I got a big needle and started playing.

This is easy-peasy: you get a huge, big-eyed blunt needle--I had one here, but I'm guessing you'd ask for a giant tapestry needle--something with an eye big enough for your fibers and yarn. And just start sewing/weaving your fibers in and out of the scarf. I did this as randomly as possible--going back and forth, trying to keep the fuzzy parts on the front so they'd show.

The blue one before--pretty boring:

And after:








And on me:

The burgundy one after:





And then, just as I finished these, look what I got in the mail yesterday! I LOVE this:
Geri Herman read the note about scarves and said, "I whipped this up for you during one of our many snowstorms." Is that not cool? Go here to see more of her fabulous work.

Thanks, Geri!

How About a Little Music?


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