Apparently the reason that artists like coffee shops is because people who like spending money on art spend money in coffee shops. Since I am sans atelier I have been creating in cafes. Well, only one. And normally I sit in the back where I figure I won't bother anyone. But yesterday I was sitting in the window where the western sky bled in through the huge picture windows overlooking the bay. MInding my own business I cranked out a few quick cards. One lady asked me what I was making. I told her. Another lady walks up and asks me what I am doing?
Just making some cards.
L: Where do you sell them?
M: I don't right now.
L: Do you have a business card?
M: Not at the moment.
L: I would love to buy some of your work.
M: Let me give you my info on the back of this one. [I gave her the card with my name and number on it.]
L: Is 6.00 enough.
M: No it's too much.
L: 6.00 is a good price. I would like to contact you about more cards. I have a friend who is sick with cancer. I want to send her something every week while she is at Munson. I will call you by week's end.
Holy Crap! Is is just that easy. I never thought it could be. But I have been showing my work to people in the shelter and I've gotten a lot less nervous about it. So it was nothing to talk to this lady. Progress. All I have to do is get out of the way of my fear and there I go....
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Slowly building up speed
I've been without a studio space for months now. And the artlessness of my life is getting to me. So, slowly getting back into the swing of things with some cards and just making things.
I'm using a single box to work out of. It sounds like torture when you consider the scads of goodies in storage and the sprawling nature of my previous work. Somedays it feels like torture because I can't open a drawer and drool over the various bottles of inks in a double rainbow of colors. But it does force me to be focused on the art and not the goodies.
Oh yeah. That was a nod to growth ops. I hate them. I really loved being in my own little world trying to find the next drool-worthy project drenched with color and meaning. But I was in my own little world. I was getting too safe and too stagnant. Granted the past year and a half has been the most painful in terms of social awkwardness and identity of any year in recent history, rivaling the Angst-ridden middle school years. But I am learning.
I don't know what the future will bring. I am hoping that the next couple of months shows a path to settling in with a new circumstance. But that depends on wether or not my personal network is as reliable as it appears or if this too will be another growth op that leaves me in tears.
But I am at least making stuff. That is a good sign.
I'm using a single box to work out of. It sounds like torture when you consider the scads of goodies in storage and the sprawling nature of my previous work. Somedays it feels like torture because I can't open a drawer and drool over the various bottles of inks in a double rainbow of colors. But it does force me to be focused on the art and not the goodies.
Oh yeah. That was a nod to growth ops. I hate them. I really loved being in my own little world trying to find the next drool-worthy project drenched with color and meaning. But I was in my own little world. I was getting too safe and too stagnant. Granted the past year and a half has been the most painful in terms of social awkwardness and identity of any year in recent history, rivaling the Angst-ridden middle school years. But I am learning.
I don't know what the future will bring. I am hoping that the next couple of months shows a path to settling in with a new circumstance. But that depends on wether or not my personal network is as reliable as it appears or if this too will be another growth op that leaves me in tears.
But I am at least making stuff. That is a good sign.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Commemorate
To be mindful of or keep a live a memory. If you look at the latin derivative com is an intensifying prefix which is added to the noun memorae, a memory. When we commemenorate something we are makin a memory stronger.
Lately it would seem that I use jewelery and bead work to do that. No, I do not think that reinterpretting the things that my gramma handed down or finding things that fit her style and giving them a make-over will bring her back to life. The Force is not that strong with me. But it does help to feel her presence and remember the stories that I was told about her so that I can learn from her strong personality.
I've commemorated trips, friends and past relationships with some form of artwork. In the work that we generate we are telling parts of our stories. Sometimes it is the merger of past and present and at others it is the moment in time in which we are stuck. Those who experience our art may never hear the stories that we recount while we are creating but they do feel the impetus at the center of each piece. That is what speaks truth between two people. That truth is what comforts and consoles or encourages and extoles. It is for those truths that creative people manifest their work be they writers, painters, poets or sculptors or any other kind of artist.
Recently I went to Marquette. It has been 17 years since I have been there. While it has grown in economy and populace there remains still the essence of the city and landscape that I knew so intimately. There is age and there has been death in some of the landmarks and traditions. It has changed on its surface though not so much as to confuse. To commemorate the trip with my new boyfriend who met my old friends, we made a stop at a bead shop.
I had not expected to find one there since the other specialty craft stores are gone. But it was serendipity. I found purple seed beads unlike any that I have ever seen as well as some metallic green in a shade I can not describe. And for sweetie some unusual blues. How this will translate into jewelery I do not know. But I have taken the beads out to look at them and roll the tubes in the light to watch them glisten. I got a lot of beads for 11.00. In Traverse I would have spent closer to 20.00.
Lately it would seem that I use jewelery and bead work to do that. No, I do not think that reinterpretting the things that my gramma handed down or finding things that fit her style and giving them a make-over will bring her back to life. The Force is not that strong with me. But it does help to feel her presence and remember the stories that I was told about her so that I can learn from her strong personality.
I've commemorated trips, friends and past relationships with some form of artwork. In the work that we generate we are telling parts of our stories. Sometimes it is the merger of past and present and at others it is the moment in time in which we are stuck. Those who experience our art may never hear the stories that we recount while we are creating but they do feel the impetus at the center of each piece. That is what speaks truth between two people. That truth is what comforts and consoles or encourages and extoles. It is for those truths that creative people manifest their work be they writers, painters, poets or sculptors or any other kind of artist.
Recently I went to Marquette. It has been 17 years since I have been there. While it has grown in economy and populace there remains still the essence of the city and landscape that I knew so intimately. There is age and there has been death in some of the landmarks and traditions. It has changed on its surface though not so much as to confuse. To commemorate the trip with my new boyfriend who met my old friends, we made a stop at a bead shop.
I had not expected to find one there since the other specialty craft stores are gone. But it was serendipity. I found purple seed beads unlike any that I have ever seen as well as some metallic green in a shade I can not describe. And for sweetie some unusual blues. How this will translate into jewelery I do not know. But I have taken the beads out to look at them and roll the tubes in the light to watch them glisten. I got a lot of beads for 11.00. In Traverse I would have spent closer to 20.00.
Bavarian Blue
I love this piece. The locket was once Gramma Ada's and had a small fluer-de-lis that it used to hang from. I couldn't see using it in it's original brooch form so... this is the reformat.
Keeping everything in shades of blue and brilliant silver, I combined seed, facets and silver beads with the two blue stones. The blue stones are denim coral. What a surprise to find those in a little shop in Honor.
This is inspired by the wonderful region of America that I live in. Michigan is surrounded by beautiful lakes and I am fortunate to be close to Lake Michigan's shore. But I've also lived under Superior's unpredictable rule. The water will keep me here. It is hard to imagine living anywhere else.
 |
| Bavarian Blue |
Keeping everything in shades of blue and brilliant silver, I combined seed, facets and silver beads with the two blue stones. The blue stones are denim coral. What a surprise to find those in a little shop in Honor.
This is inspired by the wonderful region of America that I live in. Michigan is surrounded by beautiful lakes and I am fortunate to be close to Lake Michigan's shore. But I've also lived under Superior's unpredictable rule. The water will keep me here. It is hard to imagine living anywhere else.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Tanglewood Woes
It would seem that I am in a bit of a pickle. I picked up a drawing pencil for the first time in I don't know how long. Oh, yeah... well no, I guess I do know how long. I just won't admit to it. At any rate, the disturbing truth that made me put it down in the first place is still true. I have tremors.
I've noticed them getting worse as I sign checks and such. If I have to write more than a few lines I can't do so without my beautiful penmanship degrading into something illegibly geriatric. If I were 90 I could see my handwriting look like that. But I am only 40.
I believe that is part of what drives my style. Monet was successful in Impressionism because his eyesight blurred the crisp lines that mark Realsim. He painted what he saw. And if you think about that, he lived a difficult life. I used to draw long, crisp dark lines; now even the shortest line is, to put a nice turn on it... scalloped. Unfortunately, I need crisp lines. I am designing a tatoo with text. It needs to be crisp.
I have always known something was going to go. I think that is what I like best about rubber stamps. You can print anything no matter how your body betrays you. More precisely, betrays me at each turn it has thus far. But I don't really stamp anymore either.
Money and Body. It is a conspiracy to keep me a million miles from my goals. oh I know, Sweetie would tell me that I am the only thing stopping me. Still... I do not know how to overcome the most severe handicap that sits in front of me like an overstuffed Giant after a Lilliputian feast. And in some respects, one could hypothesize that this simply means that I am supposed to go through a different door. And that has worked so well. Anyone got some C-4?
I should be hip deep in the middle of NaNoWriMo. Hard to write "with a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes". And its hard to know if these things are obstacles or road signs. If it is a road sign then I am stuck at this fork. I don't want to go down the other path. It is a scarry place, dank and dark as any tanglewood and me sans machette or magestaff.
I've noticed them getting worse as I sign checks and such. If I have to write more than a few lines I can't do so without my beautiful penmanship degrading into something illegibly geriatric. If I were 90 I could see my handwriting look like that. But I am only 40.
I believe that is part of what drives my style. Monet was successful in Impressionism because his eyesight blurred the crisp lines that mark Realsim. He painted what he saw. And if you think about that, he lived a difficult life. I used to draw long, crisp dark lines; now even the shortest line is, to put a nice turn on it... scalloped. Unfortunately, I need crisp lines. I am designing a tatoo with text. It needs to be crisp.
I have always known something was going to go. I think that is what I like best about rubber stamps. You can print anything no matter how your body betrays you. More precisely, betrays me at each turn it has thus far. But I don't really stamp anymore either.
Money and Body. It is a conspiracy to keep me a million miles from my goals. oh I know, Sweetie would tell me that I am the only thing stopping me. Still... I do not know how to overcome the most severe handicap that sits in front of me like an overstuffed Giant after a Lilliputian feast. And in some respects, one could hypothesize that this simply means that I am supposed to go through a different door. And that has worked so well. Anyone got some C-4?
I should be hip deep in the middle of NaNoWriMo. Hard to write "with a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes". And its hard to know if these things are obstacles or road signs. If it is a road sign then I am stuck at this fork. I don't want to go down the other path. It is a scarry place, dank and dark as any tanglewood and me sans machette or magestaff.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Monday, October 25, 2010
technical difficulties ensue
Uggggghhhhhhh!!!!!!!
Just as we are heading out for some fall sight-seeing and I am in need of some photos of new jewelery the camer dies! The servos that operate the lens froze with the lens outward. Thought it was the batteries but it turns out to be old age. G double r "grr"! So sweetie goes out and buys a new camera and where is it always? At his house. Did we take it to the U.P.? No. why? Didn't know we were going. And where is my jewelery? Never where the camera is.
I'm sure it will be differnet when we get to the stage where we are in the same house. So I guess I am going to need some careful planning. Until then you'll just have to trust me that the last necklace, having a bit of a Russian Czarina flare to it, is stunning.
Just as we are heading out for some fall sight-seeing and I am in need of some photos of new jewelery the camer dies! The servos that operate the lens froze with the lens outward. Thought it was the batteries but it turns out to be old age. G double r "grr"! So sweetie goes out and buys a new camera and where is it always? At his house. Did we take it to the U.P.? No. why? Didn't know we were going. And where is my jewelery? Never where the camera is.
I'm sure it will be differnet when we get to the stage where we are in the same house. So I guess I am going to need some careful planning. Until then you'll just have to trust me that the last necklace, having a bit of a Russian Czarina flare to it, is stunning.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)