An interesting day already. Just as I completed the last word of a long daily post about Hapi and his trust issues, we heard a massive "boom" that shook the house everything went dark. It is an overcast day outside, and no power means living in darkness in this house. The volume of the boom shook not only the house -- it shook me! It sounded like it happened on top of my house, not far away. Scary, like a bomb. The birds screamed, the dogs barked, and I bet the cats skid under the bed upstairs in cartoon style. Though still in pajamas, my first reaction was to dart over to my neighbors' house and see if they lost power, too. I knocked on the storm door and was relieved to see the wood door was already open. "Come in!!" came a voice from the back living room. I hurried back to find my neighbor reclined in a chair, grateful that I was there to help her in getting out of it. "It's electric," she explained. We laughed at the thought of her sitting in it until power came back on. She insisted we call the police, so she handed me the cell phone. "You do it," so I did. Naturally the police asked if we'd called the power company. "Ummm...no...I don't have their number," I said, feeling stupid. The nice police man said he'd let the company know and we hung up. I went home to grab my coffee and almost dead cell phone, and was greeted by another pajama clad neighbor on the sidewalk. Then another neighbor in her car stopped to see if we'd lost power, too. Then came the big fire truck and then the electric truck. Then kids, students, on bicycles. Kind of embarrassing as pajama wear is not what I usually wear to school (though might look better than some of the get ups I get into in the morning during the busy school year!) We finished laughing and went back to our respective houses, and I cleaned cages in the dark. It was too quiet. Hapi contributed to a few rounds of "If you're happy and you know it, click your beak" by singing his version of the third line "If you're happy and you know it...show it." Still, the quiet disturbs me. I am a noise polluter. Can't help myself. He asked for toast, and I told him he couldn't have it yet. We were really roughing it. Pilgrim style, but they probably had toast. Finally the power returned, and I see that my post did not save. Probably for the best -- for all I know my unintelligible morning rant caused the darn power burst! Power restored, computer back on, and the dreaded quiet is again corrupted with sounds from PBS. I am left with great appreciation for my awesome neighbors. We are all single women, and make each other feel less alone when things go wrong. Our neighborhood is like a village and it makes all the difference in the world. Years and years of laughs and memories make my neighbors family. Can't imagine being anywhere else! Off to figure out this fine Friday. Hapi just said "Oh, sh**t." A little delayed, but appropriate for the way the morning started! What will you make today? Well, yesterday went fine! My friend and I went to the photo place and the first few pictures that were taken came out well enough to call it done. I am relieved. Cairo was a very good boy. I think he likes days out, as he's had two in a row now and has not stopped talking when he gets home. He's a sweet, gentle, very perceptive bird. The only person he really ever bit is my ex-husband, but that's another story. Back to art. All day, with a little domesticity tossed in for good measure. The pain levels are really high today, making being a couch potato very tempting, but I can't do it, even if I am on vacation. Slacking in the couch now is synonymous with being really sick, and I don't want to let my brain go there ever again if I can at all help it. No total defeat. That ugly place of sheer disability might come again when the meds stop working, but until then it is just not allowed! Yoga pants, though, are fully acceptable. So, today I am looking up ways artists have described living with pain in their artwork. In the past few days a couple interesting links came my way that has made me want to find more. Artist Mark Collen put together an exhibit based on the pain others were experiencing, profiled here by the New York Times, and the full online exhibit site is here. There is a public board on Pinterest dedicated to this topic, here. It isn't just physical pain that is fodder for intriguing art, as photographer Christian Hopkins has dealt with his depression through creating these eerie and expressive photos. On a bright note, it seems that these artists are on to something --here's a Canadian study that assessed the positive role art can play in an artist's adaptation to living with chronic pain. Happy Thursday. What will you make today? I love serendipity. Coincidental occurrences that feel like they are not at all coincidental. Yesterday was one of those days. After cleaning my house like a over caffeinated maid with OCD on Sunday, I wanted to get new dog beds for the Herd. Seeing as Toby shows little respect for domestic textiles, I have a budget that I stick to as it makes not sense to spend a lot of money on something that has days, if not hours, before it is..ahem...baptized, and washed. Ruined quickly. Dear Tilly is a tiny doggie who needs a good cushion under his bony butt these days, so to pet stores I went on Sunday and Monday. Didn't find anything. Yesterday I got a coupon in the mail for a shoe store I rarely go to, so I checked their website to find that they have shoes that fit my deformed right foot in black, in my size. I've the same shoes in white and bronze, but really wanted black. So, Cai and I hit the road to the Meadow Glen Mall in Medford. The clerk saw Cai and immediately grabbed her phone to show me her Amazon parrot, and we had a nice bird mama chat. Really nice person. I then hit Marshalls, to find three PERFECT doggie beds for $7 each in clearance. Woot! Divine. After returning home, I was being hit by a sense of the "lonelies' that sometimes comes on in the summertime when I am not distracted by work. I like being alone and having time to rest, clean, and do things I need to do, but miss the fun I used to have hanging out with my best friend, who recently moved out of state. She "gets me" and knows me better than anyone else. We have a shared history that goes back to first grade. I taught her children in school. We were born within a mile of each other in another town, and have a very similar sense of the world. Since moving away, we don't talk very often and I've kind of let her go as she is exploring a new avenue in her life and didn't seem to need old friends. Has felt like I've lost my right arm in a lot of ways, but I understand why. Sigh. Wouldn't you know, she called. She was in town for a few days, so we were able to go out and catch up. Reconnect. Have a few drinks, lots of laughs, and lots of mutual understanding. Best of all, she's in town when I have to tackle something I really, really hate -- having my photo taken. I've always been camera shy, but since gaining a boatload of weight from medicine and disease, every photo of myself I see makes me want to cry. Who is this squinty eyed, raggy, fat, wrinkled old bag? My friend gets why I am so apprehensive about having to do this. This isn't about vanity -- it is about having to see physical changes happen that are evidence of the march to being Sick and facingThe End of Being, and marching there alone. Being unappealing is a curse to bear in this culture we live in. Despite my efforts to not buy into the beauty standard, it is part of who I am and when I see my own image, I cringe. My friend agreed to come with me for moral support. This is so very helpful. Having her there is guaranteed to mean laughter will be with us, and it will go ok. It is highly serendipitous that my buddy is in town at this moment when I truly need to have her company. But then again, maybe there are no coincidences after all. The photo is for professional use, but it also has another purpose. I am bringing a bird with me, either Cai or Kizzy, as my birds are a major part of who I am, and take some attention away from my prednisone fattened head. I want to have a nice photo of me and each of my long-life birds so that when I am gone, the photo and my notes about each bird are passed along to their new "parront"owners. As a reminder that they were loved like children, and deserve the same kindness and respect that human children are due. I live in fear of the birds falling into the wrong hands and being mistreated as they live out their long lives. They are vulnerable. They have no control over how they are treated. Will they be cared for well? Or ignored, forgotten, and seen as a burden? Will whoever takes them on treasure them, or resent them? Misunderstand them, and abuse them? Make their lives heaven, or hell? Will their next guardians give each one a piece of bread in the morning so they can have their "toast?" Will they make sure they have fresh water and healthy kibble? Lots of fresh veggies? Frequent showers? Hugs and playtime? Will they develop their own special bonds with these babies? Having a human face to put with their "first home" might underline the fact that these birdies are loved and treasured, respected, and can mean the world to the next owner, should they allow it. I swear I will come back and haunt anyone who ever hurts my birds -- will be good for the new owners to know what their ghost looks like -- at least at this point in my life. I am sure when I am a ghost I will be even older, uglier, and scarier! Gray morning, up early to get my trash and recycling to the curb. It is amazing that if I don't put it out, the truck is here at 6:30, even when 7:00 is supposed to be their earliest pick up time. If I do get it out there by 6:30, the truck comes at 4pm. I wonder if they have a scout car preceding the truck? Yesterday I worked on a canvas collage and something odd happened. I want to do a series of skull images just for fun (irony not lost on me.) I sketched out a skull image, and found myself collecting bone colored paper rather than the whimsical palette I'd envisioned. The sketch itself was "off," but I plowed ahead and kept following the trail to see what happened. Right now I don't like the results, but that is okay. For some reason I had to make it, and every piece doesn't have to work out. Art is like that. False starts are fine as long as we don't feel the need to over commit to them out of loyalty to a bad idea, or guilt over lost time or materials. It has taken me a long time and lots of failed art work to get to this place. Wasting precious time and even more precious fabric is sad. It used to really bother me. Sometimes though, the creative genie has left the building and it is hard to rustle up the right mojo to get good work going. At school I feel bad for my kidlets as they are expected to turn their creative brains "on" and "off" on command like a Pavlov dog in the 48 minutes that I see them. While good training for a puppy or a mature artist who is cognitively trying to develop a new approach to their art process, it doesn't necessarily address the natural way ideas and art comes and goes in an artist's mind. I try to be mindful of this in the classroom and let kids find their good place with a project. Sometimes it takes a different route than I expect to get them there. Happens to me too. Last night I didn't sleep much so anticipate a butt dragging tiredness today. I am still paying physically for a much needed cleaning marathon on Sunday. Arms and hands were throbbing last night, waking me up several times. I have tingling and weakness in my leg, arm and hand muscles, too, which is new. Overuse, but also a sign that I have some atrophy going on. If you don't use it you lose it, and with RA you can't always use it because of pain and mobility issues. I am so grateful that I am able to do a little more this summer, though, and will gladly take the payback. Looking back a few years scares me. The disease was so unmanaged that it wreaked havoc in my life in ways I couldn't even see until later. This is a condition that effects body and mind, and is insidious in how it causes decline. I have to work hard daily, and pray the meds continue to work, to ensure a decent quality of life. I think the biggest factor in the change is having a medication that works (at least somewhat.) Rituxan seems to be effective, at least for now. I don't want to think about what will happen when my body finds a way around this one. Hopefully there will be a new medication or treatment available then. A couple weeks ago I bought a 10 pack of small stretched canvases, and I feel good to play all summer. PLAY! See what happens! Get stuck. Work through it. Experiment. Branch out. Feel good and enjoy the time I have to be making things, as I never know when it all will stop. It feels like musical chairs, really! And there is time for less than perfect art. What will you make today? It's here! It's here! My Etsy shop is here! I celebrated Independence Day by re-photographing a bunch of smaller works that were on my website and making an Etsy shop. I've had the shop since 2007 -- yes, 2007 -- but hadn't used it yet. Over the next few days I will be adding, measuring, and weighing pieces so they might go to their forever homes. It's nice to have a place online to put them, "out there." I am impressed with how Etsy works. It is easy to use and has many possibilities for people who make things, and also people who make things that help others make things, which is very intriguing to me. This morning I woke up at 5:10 a.m. by an insistent Tilly who needed to go out Right Now. Of course, once he was out he spun right around and came back to the door, barking to come in. He toddled off to his doggie bed and is again asleep. The birds are waking up, with Hapi emitting a soft "Want to go to school?" Sorry, buddy, no school today. Actually, I am not very sorry! the weather is cool and manageable without use of air conditioning. I love this kind of summer. Great sleeping weather, great work outdoors weather, yet rainy enough to stay in and get things done, too. Today, as always, the primary focus must be on domestic survival tasks with hopes of catching up enough to allow art time into the day. So much to do! What will you make today? Yesterday was a mixed bag kind of day. I never got to do any artwork as the things I had to do gobbled up all my energy. Good news is I did a few things that needed doing, bad news is that it put me in a very, very low physical state that even scared me. I don't scare easily about my health -- I expect to feel like crap all the time now as it makes life more predictable! I planted a new rosebush as all but one of my existing ones fell victim to the winter, along with a pretty caramel lilly and a delphinium. Happy to notice a little tiny rose bush I bought at Market Basket is also thriving. It is half white and half pink. Hoping it will grow and bloom this summer. I love roses -- they take care of themselves most of the time, and pruning them is such a Virgoan thing to do. So much detail! I next mixed concrete patch and attempted to fix my messy foundation. Hoping it works, if it doesn't, I will try something else. I had fun doing it -- very much like sculpting. I think I can do this all the way around the foundation and will feel good that I didn't have to call in the pros. Hoping, praying, it doesn't just fall off the wall...! I've been thinking of how I hope to proceed with professional development in the next few years for a while now. I try to expand my art making with PD as often as possible to keep me excited about the process and find new techniques along the way. Mass Art doesn't have any classes that I'd like to take, despite having a course credit. I want to become an English textile artist (ha!) and thought City and Guilds would be a good route, but after carefully looking at the coursework, feel some of the activities and goals are too basic and I've done much of it on my own. Today I came across this -- the Gail Harker Center for Creative Arts which offers online courses and workshops. I found the piece I put on this page today particularly compelling as an example of a project that transcends media to live in the world of "art" -- not just textile work. There are individual workshops and course programs available. Not sure if my town would approve a certificate program, but it might be worth a try. The program is based in Washington State, so I could potentially go there more easily that the UK, and it might be just the right fit. Excited! I hope everyone spends Independence Day celebrating their right to do whatever makes them feel unique and happy in this world. Here's wonderful quote that says it better than I ever could: “I must study Politicks and War that my sons may have liberty to study Mathematicks and Philosophy. My sons ought to study mathematicks and philosophy, geography, natural history, naval architecture, navigation, commerce, and agriculture, in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry, musick, architecture, statuary, tapestry, and porcelaine.” John Adams, Letter to Abigail Adams, May 12, 1780. What will you make today?
Another GORGEOUS day in the Boston area today. Dry air, bright sun, blue skies. I hope all the peeps who are celebrating on the beach or at cookouts this weekend have a blast! Yesterday didn't pan out for fighting my Domestic Battle, so it is continued today. Hoping to get some serious work done on my art tomorrow and am thinking of that as the carrot to get me through the drudgery of today. Oh, Toby. I overslept with very vivid dreams again, like a movie. My alarm went of at 5 and I returned to sleep a bit, until the macaw yells got too loud and woke me up a couple hours later. I dream such vivid, strange dreams that some days I wake up exhausted. They are like movies. In color, tons of detail and plot twists, very bizarre. Because it is still fresh in my mind and was pretty complex, I'm describing the dream I had this morning here before it recedes back to the land of forgotten dreams. Very surrealistic! I went into the gym of my elementary school (the building is on the endo f mystreet, though it is no longer a school.) I was looking for my sewing machine and my adult black bicycle that I'd left there earlier in the day. A conference of some type was in full swing, and I asked a few people but no one saw either item. Fast forward to being on a ledge of a big abandoned house high up somewhere, but I knew it was in Reading. There were lots of people there. I went into the house, through the window, where more people were sitting around talking. Some were preparing a big meal. I talked with a few of them, then fast forward to being in a car driving away from the house, up a hill, into a horrific snowstorm. Then down a hill. Curvy roads, unfamiliar natural landscape. So much snow -- feet of it -- coming down at once. Yet the car kept going forward. Fast forward to walking in the crowded gym back at the school, still looking for the darn bike, being told to talk to Manny (who the heck is Manny?) then back to the house. Then I was in an empty hallway looking at an exhibit of a small military boat about the size of a zodiac. It was all sheet metal, painted white, with military numbers on it. About four people could sit inside. I was reading the tag on the display, then was called away by a postman who came up and showed me his dog. It was a black dog with a little white on its muzzle. The man was about 7 feet tall and at first he scared me. He told me how the dog was abandoned and he took it in, and then found out it had diabetes. We talked about it, then he said goodbye and left. I continued to walk inside a hall outside the gym at the school, then fast forward to going up a city sidewalk. It was really cold. I fell, and was laying on the ground face down (but I wasn't really me anymore...I was someone else.) Freezing. No coat. About five kids were sitting on the ground selling gum to passers by, and one of them helped me up. Everything was blue and icy. As we were walking I learned that it was 2025 and I was in Paris. It was cold. The kid took me back to the house that I'd been in in the first part of the dream. They were some religious group that believed in an obscure prophecy and were discussing it and passing out coffee and espresso in big bowl-like cups. I felt like I didn't fit in at all, but they tolerated me and were polite. I could see them all sitting around a table getting ready to have dinner and they were reading some religious text, something like grace. They were passing around papers that had illustrations of moon phases and planet locations on them. I knew it wasn't for me and that I didn't want to join them. I still wasn't "me," though, I am not sure who I was. Finally I said I had to get going, and got up to leave. The young boy who brought me there walked me out. As I left, I realized the building behind me was St. Agnes Church, which owns the school building and is also at the end of my street. I was talking to a parent of one of my students. I then I was again in the car, in the snowstorm. This time though the surroundings seemed more familiar and less exotic. As I was waking up I reminded myself that my sewing machine is in Wakefield at the gallery and I do not have a black bike. Believe it or not, there was more detail than that, but this is what I remember now. I am sure some dream analyst could have a lot of fun with this. I haven't a clue -- all I know is it is exhausting to think so much while sleeping! Every now and then I write them down as they are so vivid and strange, it is interesting to keep track. I wish I was a surrealist painter or filmmaker! I could use this stuff! What will you make today? I need a nap! Finally cracked the nut on printing cloth with my Epson printer yesterday! Turns out two layers of freezer paper are strong enough to carry the fabric through, and I'd been printing using the wrong setting. Instead of card stock, it should be set to ""premium matte." I'm still scanning copies directly to fabric rather than messing with other images yet, but am happy to see it is working. I printed several sheets of very fine white cotton yesterday and the results are fine. Now, if I can only resolve the CIS system issue...awaiting a reply from the company, inkproducts.com. Not impressed with the service on this one. I can't imagine being able to generate my own cloth this easily without hassle and without excessive cost. I am planning on having a yard made by Spoonflower.com for comparison's sake, but feel that what I have running at home now will let me have some serious fun. Time to try printing on all sorts of materials -- chiffon, silk, polyester, interfacing...anything is possible!! LOVE this printer! Today, sadly is the day I have not looked forward to since being home. While I've touched up a few areas of my house in the past six days, I can deny the need for some serious floor washing no longer. Oh, Toby, Toby, Toby. This morning Tilly goes to the beauty salon, and I will scrub the floors of the house. All of them. Something has to give with my thirty five pound mobile sprinkler system. Last night as I slept he creeped out of the room and painted the town red again, well more like yellow. Yesterday afternoon while I was working on my artwork he snuck up to my bedroom where there was a half full box of milk bones on a window sill (the pups get a "nite nite cookie" at bedtime.) I say "was" because he knocked it off the ledge and ate them all. Every. Last. Cookie. I tried to explain the lack of a bedtime snack to Ellie and Tilly, but they looked at me sadly as though I'd eaten them. I really don't know what to do with this dog as it is getting hard to live with him on a daily basis. Even if he goes outside once an hour he still goes the bathroom in the house. He will go where he sleeps, eats, and on anything vertical. He selects books from the bookshelf, pawing them onto the floor to use as a target. He jumps his short self up to high locations to retrieve trash, then drags it across the floor like fresh killed prey, and pees on it. I can tell he's done a naughty thing too late when he growls at it and kicks his hind legs to extend his mark zone. I've tried doggie diapers, but he manages to slip them off and deposit them on my pillow (unused, thankfully) as if to say "Nice try!" I've made doggie wraps, same thing. I've kept him leashed, and he has peed on my leg, after coming in from outside! I guess he loves me. I've saturated every surface with "Doggie No Mark" and I seriously think he just laughs. I tried crate training him years ago, and he did get used to it, although his crate and crate bedding needed to be cleaned and washed every day, which was more difficult than cleaning the floor. I find I am constantly cleaning, one way or another, and since he and his better trained sister are inseparable, it seems cruel to keep them apart. It isn't fair to Ellie to get peed on in a crate, though, which has actually happened. Toby has even peed on her head when we've been out for walks. How can one dog be so much of a handful, yet still lovable at the same time? I've grown used to having da Pugs sleep with me. Toby hogs the bed, too -- but he is the best snuggler in the bunch, and like a clumsy shadow he escorts me down the stairs should I get up in the middle of the night. Can I sleep through all night through his tantrums, banging, and howling as he adjusts to his crate again? Can I keep up with the daily laundry? Maybe this summer is the time to do it. Can I sleep without my big lug acting like a heating pad on just the right spot on my back? He will be nine in a couple weeks, qualifying as a senior doggie, and has Addison's disease, is deaf, was treated for Lyme, and has chronic ear issues. How much longer will he live? Do I want to have his last days spent living in a crate and feeling rejected? With my luck (or should I say HIS luck) he will be a Guinness Book qualifying pug. Maybe I could live in a clean crate and give him the house. He's already marked it as his own, anyway. I wrote this less than eloquent poem about the Tobster a while back, and am adding a couple lines today: Odor producing Poop piling Puddle making Sound barrier breaking Electric cord sparking Fur ball growing Skin itching Wallet draining Bed space hogging Scratch making Paint peeling Trash flipping Patience killing Sick inducing Rub demanding Bath avoiding Leg kicking Cookie stealing Lundry creating Stink sharing Food filching Wall marking but lovable, Toby. What will you make today while I am cleaning after the Tobster? Cheers! It is kind of like survivor's guilt. My ex-husband used to dread me starting a long school vacation as I would get stressed out. Why? Wouldn't everyone want to have summers off? Of course. But they don't, and knowing that friends and family do not have the luxury of so much time off, I would put immense pressure on myself to do too much. After all, I was off, and should have the time to do it, right? I should be "working" like everyone else. My ex-husband also thought my artwork was busy work and I was wasting my time making things. This didn't exactly help me feel good about spending time on art throughout the summers. Cleaning the house? Yes, that was Practical. Art? Not so much. It never stopped me, though, as I completed the most work while I was married. Art therapy, for sure! Artists often tie their value to external rewards, such as income, reputation, and even notoriety. While these things can be fun, they never quite measure up to the internal reward felt by making a well resolved, nicely crafted work of art that can surprise even the artist with it's visual effect and intensity of meaning. That is one attitude I appreciate from Amanda Palmer's book "The Art of Asking" (I feel like a bit of a broken record here by citing her work yet again, but consider it a cue to read the darn thing if you haven't already!) Creating is a reward in itself. It is good for the soul, the mind, the body, the heart. Growing as an artist and producing work contributes to society at large in ways that are not easy to tabulate. Let others decide what the art is "worth" -- its value is secure within the artist that makes it. "Take the donut." It feels silly to realize that the artistic time I've had during "off" summers as a teacher has often been laced with a type of guilt. While others toil away in jobs they hate and take short, exotic vacations, I've become aware of the need to push back the little voice that says "Can't you get a job for the summer?" Relatives in my own family have said this to me, even when I was so sick with RA I could barely leave the house. I haven't even taken a vacation requiring travel anywhere since acquiring my birds -- where else would I want to be but with them, anyway? Fast forward to now. I've become accustomed to using time whatever way is needed. Through the school year I teach -- a lot -- between my day teaching assignment, adult classes, and student lessons. Not much time for art, though. While I've been able to keep the iron consistently in the fire one way or another and complete half of a large piece this year, I haven't had the time or mental energy to "go deep" and resolve the second half of it. By "working" as an artist, maybe I can better help others do the same with their ideas? I don't see how some art teachers can not create artwork at all. How do they understand the process? The pitfalls? The challenges that are inherent in not just making a "thing," but in making an Art Thing? It is important for art teachers to create deeply, grow their "inner artist" and make it more of an "outer" one. This summer I plan to do just that. For the first time in years I do not have that "I should be working" anxiety because I know I am working. Every day. "I will not feel guilty!" (from "Ukelele Anthem.") Rome might be burning on the domestic front as there is ALWAYS enough to do to keep me busy around the house, especially when living with Toby da Pug, but during this summer months I will happily play my fiddle and hope for the best. What will you make today? |
AuthorAmy Ropple is an artist and art educator who believes engaging in visual art can make life happier and more meaningful. This blog is a daily journal of creative habits and interests, as well as reflections on living with chronic autoimmune disease. Archives
January 2017
CategoriesDisclaimer: Yes, there may be parrots on this site. I live with five of them and they tend to work their way into everything I do!
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