Have been working on a new piece, and as always, it is an abstract reflection, or maybe a shadow, of what is happening in my life.  I start with an idea that is somehow compelling and develop it with layers and layers of choices, winnowing the idea down to what it needs to be for me to be happy with it. Not an easy or short process. It feels good to be engaged in a big piece again, in any art again, after the recent couple of months. This piece is different than anything I've ever done, which intrigues me. Whether it is genuine growth of more selfish delusion is yet to be seen. I will sequester to chambers today to hopefully finish machine stitching it so I can go deep with embellishment. 

I was expecting to be shattered like glass when Tilly died. Instead, the large block of marble that I am cleaved under the heavy blow, leaving large chunks of person all over the place. It hasn't been pretty. Maybe it is that my health has been less than marvelous this spring and summer and I am feeling weaker than normal, or maybe my sense of normalcy was dependent on my little furry soul-kid.  The daily routines of caring, loving and protecting a little animal like a maltese are so deeply ingrained. Many people can't understand this, and at this point I don't expect anyone to. Simply put, that dog made me, me. Because of how he made me laugh every day, and because he smiled back and made my life full of love and joy. And lots of frantic worry at times, can't deny that at all. So much love and daily joy, though, that having that ripped away at the moment of his death was like having a duct tape band aid ripped off my heart. A lot of me went with him. And I don't feel right, or like myself, without my little boy pup. 

Time heals all and I expect this to become more manageable too. It has only been a little over a month. It has been a miserable month, though, filled with sudden jags of breathless tears that come on like tropical showers and leave me dumbfounded at their power. Two steps forward, one step back, and on the back steps, I'm better staying in my house alone not peopling. 

A couple weeks ago, I started looking at Maltese available through adoption and rescue. Just looking, I thought. Ellie da Pug is clearly depressed. When I go back to school she will be alone all day, and I worry about her longevity in this situation. I found no doggies that could live with cats and other dogs under the age of 9 that didn't have medical problems. This led me to look at puppies. Not to ever replace my Tillman, but to ease the pain of the loss. You can't be bawling and feeling like a cracked statue with three pounds of white fluff is kissing your face. Yes, I am desperate for relief from this Maltese-free environment. They are little joy machines. 

My neighbor Anne suggested a puppy weeks ago when she saw me not moving on the wa
y I wish I could have. I declined the idea, facing thoughts of betrayal to my pup. But with school coming and the thought of Ellie in a house without canine companionship on the immediate horizon, my sense of duty and irreverent living kicked in. Yesterday morning, I committed to a 9 day old maltese puppy in Pennsylvania, and thanks to another great frien
d who agreed to help shuttle the fuzzy muffin up here, it is rather doable. So, here is to Teddie, a little girl who will be about 4-5lbs and will be my next canine antidepressant. I really have no clue how else to resolve this discomfort and unsettledness except with loving another dog. Sorry universe and world!  End of September she will be here, probably making me wish I never ever did this until she settles into being a lovely trained adult. Pray for us all. ! 

N



​Last night Tim and I went to my Happy Place, Hampton Beach, at sunset. It was beautiful. Very few people on the shoreline, the entire space bathed in a warm, orange glow. It was perfect -- with humid (but cool) air creating an ethereal fog. I stood for a minute ankle deep in the frigid water, looking at the expansiveness of the empty sea and sky, and just thought of how much I loved my dog. Just let myself think about it. I talked to him in my head, and told him the same things I told him when I held him in my arms as he was passing. I put a small bit of his ashes into the ocean and watched as they were pulled into the sea by a retreating tide. I prayed that my sadness would go with them.  Hoping my silly ritual helps in some small way. We humans really don't know a thing about life and death at the end of the day, do we? Now whenever I visit my special place and look out to the ocean, it is that much more special. 

The art I am working on has to do with the supposed appearance of things and the supposed permanence of what we think of being our lives. What an illusion. It is based on a still life photo of several small objects in my home that I set up on a bookcase in my bathroom because I liked them. I saw them every day, and they became a regular part of my surroundings. Organized. Complete. The setting of my story. I photographed them and transformed them into a fabric piece, all the while thinking about why in a sort of unconscious, nebulous way. There will be hand stitched text in this piece, and it is coming together. Sort of a "still life," sort of not. 

And then, the (un)expected happened. My books became too heavy and the little curio bust was knocked to the floor. It's base cracked and flaked apart. The order I got used to proved itself to be a temporary one, and while I rescued the statue and I can still keep it, it is not the same and never will be. 

See where I am going with this? Hopefully, the piece will relate all of this when complete.  Until them I am letting it bob in the waves of my unconscious and trying to just push forward and get the darn thing done. ​Cheers!

Thank you, thank you, thank you...to everyone that has been so kind to me as I come to terms with the loss of my little white puppy. To some it is a simple, expected loss, but as I have known it would be for his entire life, losing his little spark in my life was like losing an essential part of myself. It's been a "two steps forward, one step back" sort of process, and each day gets a little better. Focusing on trying to play catch up for the rest of the summer will keep me busy enough, but I have to be prepared to acknowledge the "punch in the throat" feeling that comes from time to time. I can't thank my friends and family enough for the support they've given during That Week from Hell (losing Til and being hospitalized) -- talk about difficult. Am trying to put a good spin on things now, so that good things will follow. Very relieved all of this took place during vacation.

It feels like school is right around the corner, now, and there is a lot to do before then...including...drumroll...

Launching my Patreon! It might end up looking like an artistic Girl Scout Cookie stand, but I am aiming for authenticity, and am trying to develop "art things" that patrons would actually like and be able to use. It is challenging to know what people might like to receive in return for patronage, and I am sure the tiers will develop over time to be more varied and appropriate. My biggest challenge is making a welcome video as I am not gifted with moving images (!) and abhor my own appearance on film of any sort. If this is created, expect to see lots of animals moving around, and lots of still images of my work. I am sequestering myself to Caffe Nero almost daily to work on this and am optimistic that it will be a fun sandbox to for me and others to play in. 

​
One big part of the Patreon will be an exclusive Facebook group for members to share their work, their ideas, their creative problems, and find support for their creative ideas (and lack of therin.) I can not teach much more in person due to the physical limitations of Arthuritis, so am hoping that a "Virtual Classroom" might work as an adjunct to my artistic life. I will be posting ideas and resources to the page and hope to cultivate a community of like minded artists, textile and otherwise.  Other tiers include monthly calendars featuring curated sets of links to artists' work and/or creative ideas to try, digital art images, and more.  Maybe even the occasional webchat or webinar lesson. The biggest challenge I have so far is finding ways of getting images of my art on the Patreon page itself. On my "to-do" list. 

I was shooting for an August 1 start, but it will be more likely be September 1, if I want to make sure things are ship-shape. As always, I expect life to get in the way. It always seems to do that! 

I would LOVE to hear from people about the types of things they would like to see as Patreon "things" from me -- what would be meaningful to receive for pledges? Physical things? Digital Things? It is new territory for me, and many artists.

Amanda Palmer, Queen of Patreon, has written about finding that place in yourself where it is ok to "Take the Donut" -- accepting things from others -- and finding value in what you do as an artist. I find this very hard to do, so starting a Patreon is extremely challenging in this regard. We shall see...

​Cheers!

Summer feels like it is really here, now. The front, side, and back yards are embarrassingly overgrown with weeds and grassses, and the air conditioners are running overtime, trying to keep up with the humidity.  It is green, hot, hazy, and damp. I pull the new long curtain across the window in what was an art room in my house, and now is a bedroom, and I take another nap. Too hot to do anything else, and the pain feels worse in humid weather.  Sadly I feel like the great build up of positive motivation I had as school drew to a close got kneecapped.  Grief is real, folks, even for a dog. Especially for a dog. 

Today, though, I pushed myself to be productive. I organized and submitted my preliminary classwork for the second module in the School of Stitched Textiles course. Later than I thought I would, but then again, everything is later these days. I finally am feeling physically better, back to my "normal" (meaning still in lots of pain, but not "sick" with other problems.) This is my first free week of summer. I "should" be going deep into a new piece of art, taking the time I never have all school year to develop meaningful work that I care about, that challenges me and helps me understand and survive in my world.

This is hard to do with my heart living in a very sunken state. The reality of no more Til, ever, is hitting home now that the chaos and distraction of a hospital stay is behind me. I dreamed that he was still alive and felt so much happier in the dream, then woke up only to realize he was long gone, out of reach, into infinity and beyond. This gave way to a brutal cry that was hard to control. I know it's going to hit me from time to time, and that grief circles around with a mind of its own. I know logically about grieving loss and have done so many times in the past, but am very shocked at the sense of loss I am feeling. Most of the time my logical self prevails, but grief can be irrational. He very well could be the last little dog I'll ever have, and that thought both scares and reassures me. It is weird. 

Yesterday Hapi started barking like Tilly, then said "Till..." and stopped. He has howled like Tilly did when I closed the door and left for work in the morning, and recently even has brought up some of the dearly departed Toby sounds, too. He recreates the sound and feeling of my little complete family, which will never be the same again. Ellie just moves from room to room with me, laying down near my feet, and quickly falls to sleep. She doesn't really seem to mind being alone. Everything changes, my logical brain reminds me, and things can't be the same forever. All while my broken heart begs to hold my little pup one more time. 

I think about next steps. Continuing to get used to the lack of endorphins that surely were created every time I looked at Tilly, let alone interacted with him. Giving myself space to have one less creature to care for and worry about. Try to work on the medical bills left behind from the experience of having a little fella with a bad hip, rotten teeth, and a liver shunt. Try to be mature about this and not see it as a major life issue. People lose dogs all the time and it sucks, we know it. Don't dwell. 

Or, I briefly let my brain wander to think about getting a new puppy to care for, so that Ellie won't be alone in the fall, so that I can feel that happiness again. Then I realize that this is selfish too, as I question my ability to care for another dog for its lifetime due to the medical problems present in my own.  And, I don't want rebound-puppy, as that is very unfair to all concerned -- and I don't know how any dog could compare to Tilly. I looked online at older rescue dogs, and was put off with the medical needs they seem to come with. Eventually I did look online at puppies and felt relieved when they were way out of my price range. Decision making not needed. Back to trying to get used to life without my little furry prozac. 

I better go outside and pull some weeds.  My eyes are leaking again. 

Getting there. Without warning the predictable path of my summer, including carefully scheduled weeks of classes and big lofty creative goals, rose to the sky and went "Pop!" last week. I am still assessing the damage, and also seeing the effects of massive help from my best friends.

On June 25, my beloved Tilly passed away. Those who know me and my pets know that Til was the most special of them all. We have been through thick and thin together, and just looking at that little ragamuffin would lift my spirits and bring true joy. A hundred times a day. Those little eyes held such conversations with me, and the one kiss on the cheek he infrequently gave out was a true delight. Yes, he was 15. Yes, I should have expected it. Instead, I feel like I've lived on eggshells for the last year knowing he could go at any moment, and just praying he wouldn't suffer.  And knowing how much I would when it was his time. 

He seemed a bit confused on 6/24, sort of weak after a bout of tummy trouble. Woke on 6/25 to find him in a puddle and not trying to get out of it. Made a vet appointment and despite the efforts of The World's Best Vet, Dr. Carol couldn't pull off a miracle. His little heart was slowing down, he was staring off into space. I could feel kim leaving.

He took a large part of me with him that I will never see again.  At least he did not seem to be suffering or in terrible pain, and it was quick rather than a long illness. I suppose we can't ask for more. The pain of losing him though is very terrible, and while I am getting used to a house without him, I will never be used to my heart being without him. 

On June 28 I woke at 1:30 am with a swollen elbow that felt like it was on fire. Bright red, extremely painful. Put an ice pack on it and waited to see what would happen. Went to Winchester ER, got ATB's. Couldn't tolerate them, ended up in Lahey (a much better hospital, IMHO!) for five days. Cellulitis, septic bursitis. Brutal experience. 

As I sat in my uncomfortable hospital bed, fighting with layers of blankets to stay warm enough when the chills hit and cool enough when they left, I cringed at thinking of the messy state of my house. I am disorganized and lately not able to keep up with everything that needs doing. RA has been out of control, and general life has been, well, busy way beyond my available energy supply. I left things around the house that shouldn't be left. I was assured it was okay by my friends that always make me feel like things are okay, even when I know they aren't.

I imagined my good friends going in to help with the animals and thinking that they were entering a crime scene in the movie "Seven." My pals would say "No problem" on the phone, stepping up to feed the flying dinosaurs in addition to the cats, guinea pig, and now just one little elderly dog. Neighbors making chicken and rice for her. My three pals coordinating who was visiting when to help out, despite their own extremely busy lives in which they are overwhelmed, too. 

Feeding the pets was not all they were doing. 

When I came home on July 2, Tim had said "You aren't going to believe this," and he was right. My dear, dear friends had pitched in and cleaned every room of my house. Organized all my stuff - something I have a terrible time doing. Boxed things, bagged things, moved things, and cleaned things. Every piece of clothing hanging on the back of my bathroom door (oops...but I do that) or found elsewhere, along with linens, brought to a cleaner and washed & dried or dry cleaned, hanging on a new clothing rack. New towels and a new bathmat greeted me in the bathroom, along with a tub that sparkled. Because my bedroom is upstairs and the bathroom downstairs, I face a fall risk every night...and they fixed that, too. They put a really nice twin bed in the art room right next to the bathroom, under a homasote design wall (feels so studio-living, mannn). New sheets, pillows, the works. The old, barely working ac's were replaced with new ones, and lots of really hard-to-do yard work was done. The refrigerator was stocked, there was plenty of water. Everywhere I looked things were orderly, clean, and organized.

I cried. 

Unfortunately I am extremely stubborn and HATE receiving help. I try so hard to be self-sufficient that I feel any kind of help means I am "less than able" and "less than acceptable." Just the way I am.  Having RA with the looming threat of disability can make me want to be superhuman, I guess.  Works fine until you are feverishly locked in a hospital room with a large area of bright red cellulitis spreading around your abnormally hot and swollen elbow, praying that the infection doesn't spread to the bloodstream, wondering how the hell you are going to clean up the house when you get home with an arm that won't bend or work right. And thinking of your deceased pup. Not a happy place to be. Did I mention that I had to cold-turkey stop prednisone, when I've been on it for literally years? 

Thankfully Tim was off work this week, and so kindly helped me feed the birds, pick up stuff at the store, and check in on me for the first couple days. I needed his help. It is so hard to need help from others to care for the parrots. I see them as a luxury, and choice, on my part -- not someone else's problem. To have friends that cared for them made me extremely grateful.  

To have friends that also cared for me enough to give up their weekends and give me a "domestic restart" after a hospital stay is overwhelming to say the least. I do not know what I can do or how I can ever properly thank these amazing people who did this. Their generosity is beyond belief. I still can't believe it. My amazing art friends sent beautiful flowers, and my sister visited with candy, and I know there were many people concerned "fighting" this infection with me. I thank you all, so so much.

Now it is July 5th, and I am here, figuring out what to do next. I broke down and restarted prednisone today, and the side effects of an abrupt stop in taking this wicked drug are slowly receding. Am hoping that tomorrow I will be strong enough to really feel better, to not feel like I did today. Getting itchy to get back to the artwork, which is a good sign, I suppose. What doesn't kill us makes us stronger, and this:

"It’s an insane world but in it there is one sanity, the loyalty of old friends." Ben-Hur

Limped to the finish and now summer is officially here! A busy summer filled with classes for kids, and classes for adults, both here and at Artists and Craftsmen in Saugus during the slow days of August. And, hopefully, lots of time for me to indulge in some deep art time. Yum on that! 

This has been a physically challenging year for me. My feet HAVE failed me now, and along with disc issues in my lower back, the only position that is truly comfortable (i.e. minimal pain) is laying down. Even then my feet throb sometimes so I have to get up and stretch. I was talking to a very wise and kind friend last week who suggested I look at how I am managing my energy. She suggested - gasp - that I might NOT have to go through the entire work day banging around on concrete with basically broken and inflamed feet and sore legs, thereby, possibly, letting me hold on to enough energy and brain cells to have a life when I get home. On too many days this year I've had to get off my feet too soon after getting home, and "carrying" constant pain around is plain exhausting. Having no reserve adds to the domestic chaos in which I live, too. In the discussion with my friend, the idea of a  - gulp - wheelchair, for work and any other time I have to walk more than the dogs can handle, came up. I won't lie, I cried.  Just a bit, then she began pointing out all the ways it might help me catch a break from the constant pain and focus energy on other things.  

As anyone with RA can tell you, the first research factoid you find online after diagnosis is that 50% of patients end up not being able to work in 5 years. The next is that you will end up in a wheelchair. The next fact, that I have been forced to question, is that due to the new Wonder Drugs (called Biologics), this rarely happens anymore. I've been optimistic despite "burning through" all the biologics on the market. I'm still working, loving what I do, and walking.  Despite the fact that every day is filled with miserable pain.  Will be celebrating the 17th year of internal combustion this August. 

Imagine that feeling when you've dropped something heavy on your foot. Now imagine dropping it on both feet, and then having the pain not fade away. Ouchies.  The brain learns to use distraction as a pain management tool, but it is exhausting. I've reached a point where I am just so, so tired of carrying all this pain around I need to do something. My good friend got me thinking. maybe she is right? 

I want to be a better teacher, I want to be a more productive artist. I want to spend less time prone and more time living. As I might have written before, my dear Dad had something that was labeled "migratory arthritis" (which is not a "thing") and had multiple lower back issues, as did my Mom. I watched him become unable to take more than a few steps without pain and gradually became someone who laid down and watched tv all the time. I hate tv and can't do this! 

So, at my appointment with my rheumy yesterday I got another healthy wallop of solumedrol iv and had The Discussion about Mobility Aids. My doctor thought it was reasonable to consider at this point, and gave me some pointers as to how to go about it. She thought a scooter or electric chair would be best, even if it isn't covered by insurance (which it won't be because I do not have an upper spinal injury.) A manual chair might be covered, but she said it will take six or more months and several tries with the insurance as they do not like to authorize them.  She said also with RA my wrists, hands, and shoulders are vulnerable to damage. 

I am trying to see this as not a last-ditch effort, as in "I'm IN a wheelchair now." I am going to try to look at it as though it might just help me do more than struggle with pain. I've often thought of going to the museum but said "No way" when looking down at my feet. Or to Hampton. Or or or. During the day, having it on hand might save my feet steps and reduce the abuse they take all day long. I am afraid of losing conditioning due to using one, but do not see me using it all the time or so often that this will happen. Just distance walking, I think, or blocks of back-to-back classes at school that keep me on my feet for hours. 

So, the "invisible disability" (which is very visible to me every day before I put on my shoes) may now become a little bit more visible.  It is scary, and for some reason embarrassing, as I feel a little bit like I am "giving up" in not letting this freaking disease control my life. But, it is also a little relieving, as it has been a tough year. Yes, as we get older we all get aches and pains, but this is much more than that, and I have to learn new ways of dealing with it.  

Some art blog, huh? It is what's on the mind, and has to be dealt with. Now, on to a busy day thanks to the solumedrol. Bless you, steroids, bless you. Maybe they will kick in and all of this will be nonsense by tomorrow morning.  A girl can dream!

Four busy, mostly voiceless weeks as spring has sprung and I try to keep up! The kids at school are looking --- and behaving -- very rough around the edges...they are tired. I am definitely rough around the edges and ready for summer to come. The expression goes "There is no tired like teacher tired," and it is true. I save a really exciting unit for my 7th graders until this time of year, to hold their attention, and hope it works its magic this year, too. How many days?!

New things are on the horizon for me and my art, and hopefully it will include artists that want to connect up and share, too. More coming this summer. Suspense!

Will be dropping off a textile art piece to share for the 375th "Paint the Town" exhibit this week. It may or may not be finished at this point, not saying, but it will be done by drop off time. The photo to the left is the digital print I began with, and it shows my little house on one  of the oldest maps in Reading.

​I like the piece and it says what I wanted it to say -- that living in good old 01867 has really been ground zero in my world, that my center never shifted -- even when I was living in Istanbul or Somerville. Home is here, in this old house, on this old street, a few doors down from the school where I am fortunate enough to now teach. I have memories of my Irish Grandfather living in Reading when I was little, and us walking together from the candy store near the depot, and him covering me with his jacket when it started to rain. Of my mom and me sneaking to McDonalds for a picnic lunch (and to feed the pigeons) when other 5 year olds were in kindergarten, and I had yet to start school. Of church fairs, school open houses, and the lights on the common. All of it. I have so many memories, and as a friend once said, "have the deepest roots of anyone she's ever known." I don't know why. Mom and Dad Ropple are buried up the street, and I can still bring flowers from their yard to their graves (as Dad requested.) I can be woken up by sunshine in my bed in the same place it was 45 years ago. Now, though, I share the room with my pups and cats, not my poor sister who always was more organized than I was!

​Most of all, I can be part of teaching kids here -- an honor that I will never ever be able to understand. I used to walk my dogs around Parker before being a teacher, in awe of the building and the unbelievable people who staffed it. Once I'd started to study teaching, I distinctly remember telling my dog that "One day, after I teach for a long time somewhere else and get good enough, maybe, just maybe, I can teach here." My boxer girl said "yeah, right," and was not too worried about the chances of that happening.

The school, under the leadership of Jack Delaney, was iconic in so many Reading kids' lives. Fast forward twenty five years and I still shake my head with wonder at the role I've been given, and perpetually question my efficacy. Teaching is truly the toughest job you'll ever love. To all the kids whose needs I did not meet, I give you a heartfelt apology and hope you were able to find it somewhere else. For those of you who I can or could help, I am grateful for the opportunity.  I am grateful now, too, that our school has an outstanding principal, Richelle Shankland, providing true leadership and devotion with humor, professionalism, and sheer talent. We are so lucky to have her. 

As Reading turns 375, I think of all my memories, which condense into such a short time compared to the town's long history, and am grateful that I was able to stay.  A little town, a strange town, my soul's Ground Zero.  Happy Birthday, Reading!

On a roll! Really enjoying making samples for the School of Stitched Textiles class. Spent last night drawing with my sewing machine and really getting into it. Practicing cross hatching and translating pencil marks into free motion stitches. Vacation = art time. More today and then figuring out my entries for a couple upcoming art exhibits. RA takes its toll, but I am determined to not let it take over everything. Lately it has felt like all the good things in life are being gobbled up by the constant pain monster, but luckily vacation has arrived in time to snatch me from its jaws. Alternating "have to do's" with "want to do's" this week, and not giving up. Amazing what a little rest can do for a mental outlook! Amazing how different my pain levels are when I can move and function at my own pace and not stomp around on cement floors. Sigh.  I think that makes a biiiiiig difference. 

So sad to see Notre Dame burn yesterday. Medieval masterpiece, subjected to yet another rebuild. Eerie photos and films showing smoke filling the unburned interior made me think back to medieval times. I am glad it will be rebuilt, but sad that "The Fire of 2019" will be added to its history. 

Had a fun Sunday at Todd Farm Flea Market. Dear friends had a table and were hawking antique and modern goods. I hung with them and appreciated the environment in which everyone appreciates the old, the worn, the historical. The junk. Will be joining them the Sunday after Easter again.  It might lead to me having a place to pass on all the cool things I like to "collect." I have too many interests and too much stuff -- it would be great to thin the house of stuff I am no longer passionate about. Adam Ant pins and concert books, anyone? Yes, it is time.  Make an offer, world. Single records from the late 70's and 80's? Ditto. Parrot salt and pepper shakers I never used? Bye bye. Giant chrome boxer hood ornament I gave my mom more than 20 years ago, and has been gathering dust ever since? See ya. Laughs will be had for sure.  I am filling Homegoods bags and am quite impressed with my "stock" so far. One man's trash is another man's treasure, and all that. We shall see. Maybe it is all trash!

In any event, I am inspired by the amalgamation of historical things on tables at a flea market. Like a timeline of treasures, of joy, of history. Perusing the tables is like stepping into a dream where time periods collide and memories float. Different objects trigger thoughts of childhood, ancestry, travel, and more. It can be overwhelming to think about all the "stuff" we take in because we "love" it. Or maybe it is just me? Worth is subjective and the joy of finding something unique and special at a place like this is priceless.  Will be fun to sit on the other side of the table and see others find their gems. 

​

Slowly but surely New England is crawling from the wreckage of winter. I've spotted crocuses and a few daffodils poking their little leaves through yet untended mulch, early explorers checking in to see if it is safe to fully bloom. We've had a couple really pretty days that are encouraging. As the saying goes, slow progress is still progress. 

This applies to my current art, too. Winter often brings me a creative stall-out. Maybe it is the darkness, the cold, the early nights. Once the sun hangs around a little longer, I can find more minutes to throw towards current projects. I am really excited about the recent direction my art bus has decided to take, and am looking forward to finding a few hours this weekend to develop some samples. Finally a solid direction. Being an artist, or maybe a fiber artist, is like that -- we can fiddle with techniques, make fragmentary attempts at making Real Art, capture potential ideas in sketchbooks and on napkins, get super animated about an idea one day only to find that it isn't what we thought it was, the next. It is a windy road. When the right idea catches up with the right materials, and suddenly the dotted line becomes solid, it is a good feeling. 

Throw in a lack of time to take this journey, though, and what was unpredictable poor health becoming the predictable norm, now, and I value having a creative direction more than ever.  I rarely sit and stitch for hours lately as it is taking me longer to get through all the regular things that need to be done for basic living. I am slow. I've gained weight. This new, heavy, always-in-pain me feels like I am always struggling.  I know part of the answer to feeling better is to spend more time actually working on my art, and hope that as the days get longer, this is possible. One foot in front of the other, snatching minutes of reasonable health like a crow devouring a day, I am surrounded by fabric, threads, and beads galore in my living space and they keep my imagination alive. No, it isn't clutter. It is a visual filing system! 

Taking the School of Stitched Textiles class has been very helpful for me in that it has presented me with an artistic theme as a challenge that I've had trouble getting my head around. It is great to be challenged to really go deep and think about what I make, an create from a place of narrative instead of just exploring new media, which I have been doing for the past couple years.  I feel like I have a theme now that is leading me in a new direction that will let me combine media in ways that will bring surprises and test limits. Now, just to get the actual work done! Game on! Cheers. 

That feeling of winter hibernation seems to be lifting, thankfully. Despite having a light winter with very little snow (knock on wood) it HAS been a long, cold, dark winter and I am glad to see it go. Onward to spring! The sun is up and out ahead of me this morning as I sip a coffee and wait for the morning pain and stiffness to move along. And wait. Might be a double cappuccino morning today. 

As my friends know, I'm a frequent Facebook user. I check in a few times a day, noting interesting posts, keeping in touch with friends and family in ways I would not otherwise be able to do. I learn things, too -- so many things! Great art links, Squeeze links, book links, bird links, now guinea pig links. So much information is out there and FB is one avenue that provides it. Do I trust all the "news?" No. Do I see amazing art and learn a lot? Yes! 

Which is why I found it laughable that I had a realization recently that I do not really represent myself as an artist on Facebook. I have always lumped my personal in with my artistic, as they are all lumped up within me, but have had this other page with art on it and very few posts. When I view other artist's facebook pages, I am always impressed with the clear stream of artwork - no parrots, no guinea pigs, no posts that are angry about losing time to chronic pain. Just art. This blog is evidence of the identity mish mash - as has been pointed out to me by at least one unpleasant reader. I whine, whine, whine, then mention art, then whine again about how I can't do all I'd like, then whine again. And mention a parrot or five in the process. Is it possible to separate the art from the person? Should there be a difference?  I ponder. 

So, I have renamed my "Amy Ropple" facebook page which I considered to be my "Art" page, but had almost nothing on it, to "Amy Ropple Artist" and will be hopefully streamlining what I post on FB in a more organized way, and sharing more art in the process.  So if you are into my art, but annoyed by the rest of it, "Like" and follow THAT page instead of my regular one. I have to make a conscious effort to post there as I am so used to having one page up and running, but think over time it will be worth it.  Next big job will be to figure out Instagram, as that is where all the "kids" and my friends are at (lol!)

It is spring at Ropple Manor, and as I write the monotonous shrill of unrequited Quaker parrot love is filling the air like sandpaper on silk. It. never. stops.  My two boys, Boncuk and Zaza, are in love and bonded, but lately Zaza has taken to pouncing on Boncuk and plucking his feathers, pecking at him, and being too dominant a partner. I separate them, and they both scream. I put them together, and they scream. Basically they just scream. This is an unpleasant fact of spring, but I still will take it over the cold of winter. Cheers! 

The creative whirlwind continues! 

After three great days at school filled with drawing, weaving, digital art, and fun middle schoolers, I was given a two day reprieve to attend the National Art Education Association national convention in Boston with my colleague.  It was filled with ideas for new approaches to the methodology and content of what I teach, and getting to spend literally hours in the vendors' hall learning about new materials (and collecting more than a few samples!) was inspiring. Watching hundreds, or thousands, of art teachers get into the same thing was great, too. I am grateful to have such administrative support that would send us there to keep the creative fires burning in our art rooms. 

In addition to all of the learning, I was happy to make a few new connections with places where I might be able to connect with as an artist. More details to come, after a few proposals get mailed out...cross fingers!

The drawback to attending this jam-packed couple of days was the physical and mental payback. Slept like a zombie, and am still recovering! Unfathomable tiredness, full on body pain (imagine a really bad flu, here), and a massive back up of things to get done this weekend. Ugh! It was worth it, though. I love Boston and spending time there is fun and visually entertaining, to say the least. I brought one of my little sketchbooks and did some stitching into it during some down time, which helped keep me awake. I hope to be more charged up by tomorrow, as today I still feel like I'm at about 40%.

Happy day yesterday with my virtual pal April the Giraffe. For the second time she waited until a Saturday to give birth. Yesterday I watched with thousands of others as little hooves emerged from her nether regions, followed by a nose, the head, the shoulders, then whooooosh, the rest of the new little baby giraffe. It is a very special experience to be able to watch such a beautiful event. Is it worth the drive and time to go to the animal park to visit the mama and baby in person this summer? Mayyyybe! I wanted to see the last baby but never did...here's another chance? If I can dare to take it, and risk being on the road for a long time in a car and getting hit with incapacitating fatigue and/or pain. Such is life...always a risk that planned trips and events will become difficult and unenjoyable at minimum, dangerous at max. Still...that mama giraffe face is the sweetest thing I've seen since Tilly's morning yawn. 

Onward to a St. Patrick's day that will hopefully be filled with a balance of art, rest, and the domestic duties that are mandatory for basic survival. Cheerio!