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!

Acceptance. Maybe.

What does it mean to truly be accepting of a reality that can't be ignored? I think of the movie title "I'm Dancing as Fast as I Can" -- and feel like this is how I have approached things in my life lately. Keep all the balls in the air at once, and make it happen.  Tired? Just. Keep. Going. Feeling physically sick? Just. Keep. Going. Stressed out? Just. Keep. Going. Overwhelmed? Just. Keep. Going. Eventually you get through things by putting one foot in front of the other and just making progress. 

Have been told since birth by culture that it is possible to do anything and everything, and this has become an internal expectation, to some degree. One of my students commented on their supposed ability to "Go out there and influence the world" in big ways, saying it was a lot of pressure and was an unrealistic expectation to begin with. Wise words from youth! While I know I will never be an NBA star or neurosurgeon, I realize I have placed a lot of expectations on myself to "be" a lot of things in my little world, and while I love all the things, I might have developed very unrealistic expectations along the way.  I have so many interests -- passions, really -- and try to learn and do as much as possible with the little life I've been given.  

But there are limits.

Looking back at the past few months I see that I have physically hit the wall with an unending RA flare and biologic medications that are not doing much of anything. Every day has been a difficult mix of severe soreness and stiffness, lots of jarring pain, and fatigue. Oh, the fatigue. My response has been to respond to the physical situation only when against the wall, when pushing back has become almost impossible. Have my expectations for myself changed, along with this uptick in disease activity? Nope. Why should they change? We have to have goals, right? Always strive to do better, be better, live better?  My strategy has been to fight against the limits, alone and hard, but I think I need a change from that, now. 

What has changed is an increase of a feeling of futility, negative thinking, and depression. There, I said it. It has been a rough few months, folks.  The "D" word.  Maybe it is the RA, maybe it is the weather and time of year. Maybe it is a lot of things. My art space is underused and disorganized. I have about five sketchbooks and writing books underway, and a daily planner that I have abandoned for a month.  I have scoured the Internet and voraciously read amazing art books. I have ideas, so many ideas, but the energy, time and space to bring them to fruition just hasn't materialized. It has made me sad.

I feel like my ability to “do it all” has changed. I want to be able to teach more, do more, live more, but just can’t see beyond the next nap I have to take.  I am a disappointment to myself, and hate the fact that I am not in control of my own time and physicality. I know it isn't "my fault" that I am not up to snuff physically, but that doesn't change the fact that I am not functioning at 100% right now.  That I can not seem to eek out the time and space to create the artwork that I dream about. I feel like that past few months have been a battle between functional survival and the need for sleep. It is hard to think about art when your brain is so, so tired and your body is aching all over, every day. Every day.  Think Maslow's hierarchy of needs, here.

The effects of carrying around pain and exhaustion are cumulative and I think I've just hit the wall.  It IS depressing to not be able to do what your heart and soul needs to do to be happy. I have seriously thought about giving up all my art stuff -- selling off machines, fabric, beads, everything -- and just starting over as a non-art person. Would there be less stress and less pain? Maybe, for a while.  Just focusing on basic daily needs would be enough. For a while. 

But I know that can't happen.  I am too entangled in my love for threads and artmaking to walk away. It is my support beyond all others. I think that I just need to acknowledge that I've crossed a line with this health thing, and it is starting to get the better of me. If I am not careful, the guilt over not being artistically productive will eat away at my sense of self. It already has, to some degree. I have to let go of the guilt and personal artistic expectations that I've held onto for so long, and realize that getting anything done is an accomplishment, no matter how small. I can't compare what I do now to what I used to do, as the me that is forced to accept limits is not the same person. Who knows...maybe if I lower expectations a bit, more might be accomplished? 

The purpose of this post is not to complain or solicit empathy. I just feel the need to explain my lack of productivity, mostly to myself, and this blog is my vehicle for doing that. While it should be showcasing recent artworks on a monthly basis, it feels like one long whine, caused by the friction of looming physical decline. 

All of this being said, I am still working - most recently on a series of stitched still life pieces of, of all things, my kitchen knife rack. The irony is not lost on me. I'll be participating in Wakefield's Art and Edibles art show this week and these pieces will be on display. I am not sure they are really "finished" as they are samples for my UK textile art class, but the current form will just have to do. 

Like a lot of things, I think. Cheers. 

Day 1 of February vacation, and it is off to a good start! 

Last week my dear neighbors gave me a large, beautiful sideboard. They had it moved into my cluttered, disorganized and mostly cabinet-less kitchen, where it now sits empty, waiting for me to sort all my kitchen stuff and make sense of it all. It is perfect! It has set into play a cycle of much needed domestic reorganization and attention. Things have gotten very stale, messy, and tired in my house, and sometimes I get "stuck" and forget I can change things around here. I often live in "daily physical survival mode" and just have to leave things the way they are, as there are no physical resources available to do anything. And I HATE to ask for help.

The bird room is connected to the kitchen, so I began there. Made room for my little kitchen table, which honestly I have not seen in ages due to me piling stuff on it. Now I can enjoy sitting with the birdies, and they seem very happy with the change.  Add to it a lovely recliner my neighbors also sent over, and I may never leave the room again! Since I rarely watch TV anymore, I am not in the bird room much. Now I have two new reasons to be with my feathered friends from time to time. Can sit and stitch with my feet up sometimes, instead of being hunched over a table. Improvement!

Then, it hit me. I made a spontaneous decision to do something that I thought would be an all consuming, never ending task: changing old, yucky bookshelves over to new, clean ones that are not overstuffed and sagging. It has bothered me for, well, years, yet I never had the fortitude to just plan it and do the much needed task.  I walk by the bookcases multiple times a day, and seeing the mess was a visual bother, several times a day. The bookcases were purchased a lifetime ago and the white laminate was veritably curved from the weight of too many books. I had them when I was married and lived in an apartment, and they came with me to this house. They have been bumped, jostled, broke, "fixed" and even disrespected by Toby da Pug. They have been a fixed part of my surroundings -- so fixed I hardly saw them anymore.

I love my books. All of them. They deserved better, and I deserved to look at better!

So, on a whim, I actually asked my friend Tim to be a partner in crime in an IKEA marathon day, and we actually did it. Driving to IKEA, surviving the showrooms and self-service furniture hunting, packing the car, driving back, unloading, assembling, emptying old shelves, bringing them outside, going through every book and 'thing' that has been crammed on the old shelves. I saw "we" -- but really all I did was navigate a little, hold doors open, and move the books. Tim did the rest, bless him. The little I did resulted in enough visible evidence in my knees, ankles, and feet last night that I did too much. Which really is the pits, as I used to be able to do my own assembling. Sigh.  I am so grateful for Tim's patient, kind nature through all of this. He did a fantastic job putting them together without a gripe or complaint. 

The new IKEA bookcases are strong, clean, and beautiful. My books fit really well and even my special collection of books on Ancient Egypt are together again in one place. As I put each of the volumes back on the shelf, I really considered whether I needed it or not -- and all but four made the cut. My books are part of me, and are there to spark a thought or inspiration as needed.

It feels miraculous to see these few little changes adjust the feeling of my living space. I am a rigid creature of habit who tends to question change, and the need for it. I am like my father -- I can tune out things in my environment that need doing too easily to the point where they are no longer a problem. This has both god and bad repercussions.

It feels like a little fresh air has been pumped into the staleness, and I feel more empowered to tackle other areas in my home. My goal, as always, is to tame the domestic tiger so that I have more art time -- and these little changes seem to point in that direction. My brain wants to get every little organizing task done today, NOW, but my body fights me literally every step. Progress will be slow, and I have to accept this. But, at least, there is some visual improvement. 

And my books are happy to have been held again, even if it was just to move them to a new shelf. 

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. 

Where did this month go? I seriously think I slept through it. All of it. I remember a few bits and pieces of things outside my pile of pets and blankets, but not very much. Extreme fatigue is an ugly thing. Marathon sleeps are all that I could do to manage the pain and exhaustion levels of the last few weeks. Not to mention the holidays! And, there is so much work, both creative and otherwise, to be done. NOW.

I remember a swinging bash with my ladies celebrating Tilly's 15th birthday and Barbara's 60th, with laughs and love for pups and peeps all around. I remember thinking about what I will do for my upcoming course work for the SofST, but not actually getting to much of it. Like snowflakes piling up outside, the clutter and chaos inside my den of hibernation has accumulated as I gave into my need for soul-drenching sleep. And now, it is time to shovel, whether I like it or not, or feel up to it, or not, or can walk well, or not. 

I am looking at the trainwreck of my kitchen, listening to my birds chatter away, thinking "What the hell happened?" I now have a guinea pig named Basil living on my kitchen table with a wire pen on the floor. Hay has made a negligible difference in the mess. Seems like the piggy just kinda showed up one day and became family. The bird cages need scrubbing, the perches need sanitizing, and my GOD the floors need washing. I try to enjoy coffee while the meds kick in so I can get to some of this stuff. 

Ah, but Christmas is over. Buh-bye expectations, and planning, and being torn in a dozen directions at once. It was a very nice few days, almost perfect, really. Nice time with my sisters with no fighting, a Christmas Miracle in itself. Got to spend time with my nephews, now young men, and appreciate how grown up they are. Watching them, thinking back to the past 22 years of Christmases, seeing them all grown up (almost, Alex!) was like being surrounded by ghosts and shadows. Where are the piles of toys? The Christmas mass re-enactments by Mamu when he was four? The Santa trail? The years from baby hood to toddler hood to young kid hood to ugly, grumpy teen hood seem to fly by like pages in a flip book, with a shining photo like this at the end. I love my boys. Beards and all.

Had to laugh that Alex picked out socks for me that have a quilter with a bun on them and the saying "You crafty bitch,"  and Matt found socks with famous artworks all over them for me, too. I am all set because of their thoughtfulness. Happy that Matt was so happy with his Lord Hobo themed gift. Finally we have a common language again, and it isn't pizza like when he was three. Hoping to take him to the Taproom while he is home from school. 

Now on to the New Year, filled with new challenges and hopefully less body degradation, though I doubt that very much.  Waiting for the back shots to kick in. Trying to make the most of every day. And sleeping. Ah, delicious sleep. Peace out.  

​Another Thanksgiving has arrived! A time to stop and think a bit about all the good things that are in our lives, instead of what seems to be an incessant focus on the challenging, ugly, scary, and unjust truths that seem to populate our world every other day. As I sit with my coffee, Hapi emits his first ever turkey gobble -- I kid you not -- as my friend Jeannette made the sound repeatedly in front of him on Tuesday night. This bird is too smart! I am thankful for my silly friends who put up with me, you know who you are!

Little Boncuk has flopped to the floor after taking a bath this morning, and waddled out to see me in the kitchen. I bundled his little wet self into a scarf and cuddled him dry. When all his feathers are in he pretends to be a fierce and feral thing, but I know his secret. After a little feather mishap with some adhesive material a few weeks ago, he lost quite a few flight feathers, and his flight has been limited until they come back in. He flies a few feet and unceremoniously plunks to the floor, and scutters over to me for a pickup and cuddles. He has earned the nickname of "my little sticky pickle" because of this unfortunate incident. This has shown how much he still loves a good kissyfest. He is on my left shoulder now, being the sweet little snugglebug that I brought home eleven years ago. Nothing like a quaker parrot -- the maltese of the parrot world. Tiny but strong and very independent! I am thankful for my fur and feather babies, the ones here and the one who has passed since last Thanksgiving. Miss you, Bobo. 
​
Am mustering the energy to get organized and bake a little this morning. It is bitter cold outside (temps in the teens) and the smell of apple pies in the oven will be lovely. I don't want to watch or hear the news, or even read much of Facebook. It bothers me that once again the nice little town of Reading, MA has made an impression on the national news for something negative. This time it is being shown to the world on CNN and NPR for being an intolerant, racist community due to repeated acts of graffiti. People who live here know different, but it is painful to see just the same. 25000 people in this town, and all it takes is a fraction of 1% and a sensationalist press to cause mayhem. Sign of the times, for sure. Despite this, I am thankful to live and work here, to be able to meet amazing young people every year who continue to give me faith in the future.  

The current Tuesday class is proving to give me a run for my organizational abilities and makes me feel like I bit off a bit more than I could chew with it. Instead of focusing on one, two, or three different bead mediums, silly me decided to toss in four: paper, fabric, clay, and sculpey. This has resulted in accumulating a lot of stuff and having a very crowded work table! I would love more time with each technique as I feel like I am just scratching the surface with each. I particularly like the fabric beads as they are fun to embellish with glass beads...the possibilities are endless. Oh, what I would give to just stay in today and have some dedicated, uninterrupted art time. I am still working on with English Paper Piecing (our last class) and am feeling very creatively scattered right now, with little time to organize. Add to this I have received materials for the second module of the School of Stitched Textiles C&G course, and I'd love to immerse myself in this challenge, as well. I am thankful for having more things to do to fill my days than there are hours, as the alternative would be even more suffocating. 
Had a short pain management appointment yesterday that proved to me what a farce the entire system has become. Into the office, pay a fee, pee in a cup to ensure that I am actually taking the meds I am given, and a brief interaction with the twenty-something nurse practitioner who prints out my prescriptions. I ask her about how the state mandated system is going for her patients, and if she has had to reduce pain meds for her patients in ways that she feels are unfair. She says yes, that it is terrible, that she has had to cut people's medication in half, leaving them in pain and unable to work. She shrugs and says "It is hard for them, it is hard for me, but our hands are tied." I asked if the office has seen an any pain related suicides and shared some statistics that I learned recently, and was told "Not yet that I know of..." A very sad conversation that was way to casual to make me feel comfortable. Medicare patients are soon to be hit with changes that will leave many chronic pain patients without the meds they may have been taking successfully for years because of a decision made by insurance providers and others who do not have medical backgrounds. Criminal. I am thankful that even though I have a very stubborn and painful condition, I am allowed by Big Brother to have the medical support I need to remain as functional as I can be. At least for now. 

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! 






 

Too many choices for too little time. Sometimes I think I'd be happy returning to my 8th grade artist self, who lugged around a torn plastic drawstring bag that had held back-to-school Levi's and was then repurposed into a needlepoint supply carrier. I had about six colors of yarn, the inexpensive bulky polyester yarn available at Zayre's for a dollar a skein, and several thick pieces of plastic canvas, maybe a fragment of the Real Canvas bought at the little needlework store uptown. I had books from the Reading Public Library from which to learn every needlepoint stitch imaginable, and I had time. Hours and hours of time. My mom used to say "You will never be bored," and she was so right. 

Fast forward forty years and I could survive artistically for months in my house with all the supplies and materials I have. It is gross, actually, and it amazes me when I find that I do need to go to a store to actually get something for a class or project. And yet...what am I creating? I currently have a few small things in the works, and a couple Grand Ideas on the wall. And samples for classes I am teaching.  Because of health (and age!) I need more rest than I used to, and productivity is down. I have to accept this. I write about it here a lot as if seeing it in writing makes it real. I am scared that time is running out. My hands are becoming more stiff, sore, and are noticeably changing shape. This scares me. I think we all are, in some way, racing against time as we get older. It becomes harder to take time for granted.  It would be so easy to stop thinking about creating things, to just exist amongst the bird chatter and kitty meows, and the daily dog walks. But I can't. 

The ever-elusive great idea looms around the corner, just up the road a bit.  If I can ever get to it before it disappears, I have a piece to make. Very often it slips into a doorway as I approach. When I am not engaged in a larger, more complex piece, I feel less happy, less centered, less fulfilled in my own life. The ambiguity of not being engaged in the dialogue of creating is anxiety producing.  It is these times when I break out a new media or try to learn a new technique, which adds to the chaos of options that exist all around me in my art space. Maybe...if I just had canvas and yarn, I'd be making more work? Hmmmm...

Sometimes all I think I need is thread and cloth to be happy. Ok, and beads. Can't forget them! But would I get bored with such limitations, or would I get more creative with them? Hard to tell.

So, on this extra-long day due to Daylight Savings Time, I hope to see beyond the material gluttony and work on chasing down the next lead that I've been given for a "real" piece of art. I have images pinned to my wall, calling out for new experimentation and new results. Art in a transitory time, amidst the tactile riches of the 21st century. At least until Tilly needs a nap. Cheers.