And just like that, fallow turned to useable soil. I have a theme for my current study module, I have samples started and planned out, all I need is time and reasonably good health to get there. It is a very convoluted answer to the assignment's request, but I think it fits enough to move forward. 

But the snow.


​It snowed last night and now it is sleeting/raining/vomiting on top of about 8" of the stuff. Looks like misery incarnate to go out there. It is going to freeze though, so there is a lot to be done. Plow came (thank you world for that) but unlike other storms where the snow will melt or can be picked away at, this one has a tight timeframe with freezing temps on the way, turning the whole mess to ice. Yet every time I want to really complain (this is a whine, not a full out complaint, if you can't tell the difference) I think of my amazing neighbor Mary who, at an age above 80, still insists on shoveling herself, and it is a game to try to get out there before she does. She is a tall, strong woman, who has survived both polio and cancer, and handled the latter with such grace, strength, and positivity it seemed like she was shaking off the common cold. I am in awe of this woman and her quiet, kind, reserved manner. Always thoughtful with her words, never judgemental, always assuming the good and offering a smile and sincere kindness at every turn. She is an amazing woman who has served others her whole life, as her stellar nursing career lasted longer than I have been alive. Now she cares for her sister, who is also an amazing woman, and plays with the house furniture like it is a dolls house, always making new arrangements and, of course, moving everything herself despite offers to help. I am thrilled to see that their puppy Mia has bonded closely with her, and they are clearly a team. It is great to see the love fest between them - she so deserves it! Mary is one of those rare people who one feels honored just to know, and I realize how lucky I am to be her neighbor. 

I better stop writing and get my arse out there before she does. I want to do her steps :) 

​Cheers. 

Being an artist can be challenging. It is fantastic to be able to make meaningful art things and spend time lost in the process. It is so interesting to bring to life ideas that had no form before. To always be learning new processes, absorbing new ideas, and to always be changing, means though,that the road is not always a smooth one. 

There are dry patches during which I can sense that my art is changing in terms of subject, media, or style. I could still be making pictorial fabric collage quilts like I did when I started years ago. I loved making those and felt extremely satisfied with the results. It felt right to keep going with the medium. I could still be making giant paper collages on canvas like I did in the early 90's. Loved them too. I could be doing tight counted stitch work like I've come back to time and time again (therapeutic, perhaps?) But it never feels 100% right to move in a backwards direction with hopes of finding artistic satisfaction. 

This is one of those fallow periods. I look at the past year and see it as a series of dabbles into new and renewed processes (English Paper Piecing, weaving, bead making, collage, fabric printing, etc.) rather than creating large "successes." That is hard to take in some ways as I have always valued productivity as an important part of the art journey. Certainly there are health issues that have impacted my ability to devote the time I'd like to my artwork, but that is not all that is going on, here. 

As part of the current Embroidery course I am taking through the School of Stitched Textiles, I have been presented with an idea that I just haven't been able to make work. I have tried multiple subject matters only to find that the initial enthusiasm was a mirage. I am feeling pulled to do machine embroidery drawings - something I have yet to really focus on -- but keep procrastinating. I take little baby steps, then run screaming in the other direction looking for laundry to do, or maybe a dishwasher to empty. I have seen others do such lovely machine embroidered work, I am both intimidated and put off from the experience. It is logical, but irrational. I do not want my pieces to look like things I've seen, I need to find my way of using the process so I feel like it is mine, and this course will help with that. So why is it so hard to jump in and do the work? 

Plain and simple, fear. Fear that the work will be ugly, not match my expectations, not "say"what I want it to say. Fear that it is so different from things I've done before that I "lose" artistic continuity. Fear that I won't enjoy the process or results. That it will feel like "work" rather than the magically escapist journey that art has been for me in my life.  I have to remember that it is just fear, and no matter what medium I try, the art will be mine, and to move forward in baby steps, a little every day if needed until the creative rocket launches and I just can't put the work down or walk away from it. It is bound to happen. 

For me the answer in times of artistic transition has been to be gentle, and lower my expectations, but make sure I continue to "show up" and do the work, even if it is less than I theoretically agree with. One night a week and time on weekends, for now, are devoted to this new direction, more if it takes off. At least one other block of time is devoted to what I call "R&D" -- more playing and dabbling without the expectation of Art. This has taken the form over the past week of playing with vector drawing with hopes of exploring digitally cut collages using a Cricut machine.  I am fascinated at the intersection of technology and fiber processes, as one is slow and methodical, the other is fast and provides immediate gratification. What an odd couple. I think this is the path I've been on for a while -- dabbling with digital embroidery, now digital cutting, as well as digital fabric printing and using the materials in more laborious, meditative processes. 

The fun part of being an artist is getting seemingly lost in the nooks and crannies of the journey...not knowing exactly which way to create, not seeing through the fog that is created by having so many potential directions. I know that I am very, very fortunate to be where I am, and have to keep the faith that through time, baby steps and effort, I will be able to look back and see that I ended up in the right (and only) place I could. Cheers. 

New year, new energy, blah blah blah blah. 

I slept 15 hours last night. 

Alas, I woke up without an alarm, and felt rested for a good fifteen minutes before the mind foggy tiredness crept back in. Here's to hoping I can salvage this weekend and the pets will forgive my lapse in attentive catering.  Tilly and El slept too, so at least they won't be holding a grudge. 

Some thoughts this fine morning as I drink strong coffee with hopes of physical and mental revivial:

Guinea Pig. I never knew I needed a guinea pig in my kitchen. I had a rat visiting my kitchen without permission and thought I needed to move as a result, and finally killed it (and his brethren) with brutal snap traps, putting Rodent Trauma on the list of things I'd like to erase from my mind should a sci-fi drug to do this becomes available. Horrific experience. Now, I look to my left, and there is a very corpulent rodent happily nibbling alfalfa on a piece of unicorn covered polar fleece, taking breaks to wash his little face with his little pink feet and showing me his tiny rabbit-like mouth, which makes me squee like a five year old.  Welcome, Piggy. I named him Basil, but have to admit, Piggy is sticking. Hope he stays for a while. Who knew? Age 51, like guinea pigs. New knowledge. 

Letting things go. Over the last year I have let go of a lot of things as my health has felt like it was getting worse. Guilt over not creating art every day was the biggest monster, and I focused each day on just getting through it, caring for my birds, dogs, and cats, and spending time with people I love. I fully understand how my dad's life grew smaller and smaller as he dealt with this plague (or something similar) so that all he seemed to do after a certain point was lay on his bed and watch t.v. It is downright exhausting, mentally and physically, to be in pain. The fatigue piece of the arthritis is an additional piece of the puzzle, and I can see that it has increased dramatically over the last six months. In my mind I would say "Yeah, so it is pain, so what, can't change it, move on..." and just keep pushing. Somewhere over the last year, the bag burst and I became just too tired to do anything. I've spent my creative time over this year experimenting a lot with computer printed fabric, English paper piecing, bead making, and very little else, and there have been no "grand pieces" to leave my studio wall. I get angry at the fact that I now have the tools and materials that I need to make the art I want to make, but my body doesn't give me the time. One of life's ironies, and I have to make peace with it. 

Small accomplishments matter. I go to work, a lot of people with the scourge of RA can't. I love my job, many people hate thiers. I walk my dogs after work nearly every day and multiple times on weekends, and try to give them as good a life as they can have. I have amazing friends and family who add color to an otherwise monochrome world. I have to remember that my "baseline" for an average day is an accomplishment in itself, sometimes. 

I haven't given up yet. Despite the want, I have not sold all my machines and fabrics and gone to live in a hut somewhere in Aswan, though the thought has crossed my mind. New meds might come out, or I might have a period of less disease activity so that I can do better and more. I am enrolled in a great textile course that is challenging me to think and create in new ways, and haven't given up the creative journey quite yet. That in itself is an accomplishment, I think. Cheers to 2019.