January

It's cloudy again.  And winter, although we've seen only a light dusting of snow here in Delaware. The rare days of sun, even those days were the sun is out for a five-minute pass-through, these days fill my soul during the interminable grayness of of January and February.
So, I stay inside, reading and writing, and the unending drudgery of unpacking boxes.  Usually unpacking means simply "to put away."  but in this new apartment I have coalesced 20+ years of living and accumulating in a large house into a 1000 square foot apartment.  And what has coalesced into the remaining boxes in the attached garage is purely and simply "art supplies."
The life of an artist is fraught with the overwhelming realization that everything is "art supplies."  empty toilet paper rolls?  Art supplies.  Old earrings?  Art supplies.  Crumpled tissue paper?  Art supplies.  You get the idea.  My Art Supplies garage runneth over.  There's no room for the car, but there is room for more Art Supplies.  And the part that whelms me over, is that sorting through all of those are supplies entails handling them, individually, and usually more than once.  This takes "Swedish Death Cleaning" in a different direction.
Usually the above-mentioned Swedish Death Cleaning involves making hard decisions about purging possessions that the Heirs definitely do not want, need, or desire.  Such as grandmother's china; the silver; crystal; furniture that has been in the family for aeons. 
Sorting Art Supplies is much more fun.  The question of "does anyone in the family want/need/desire this old brush" is moot.  This is now a personal loss of Extreme Magnitude, because I can still USE that brush.  Along with 79 other brushes I have collected over the years.  Collage papers, printed instructions on making quill pens from goose feathers, trying to decide if dried watercolor tubes can be rescued, sorting water containers, old acrylic mediums, emails about shows -- all of this requires introspection, thought, and more than anything else, decision and letting go.
Now, granted, much of this is just "stuff."  Replaceable, duplication, and more-or-less unimportant.  Clothing, furniture, kitchen ware, this can be recycled to someone who can use it.  Much of Art Supplies is unimportant to anyone else unless they are also artists and creators. And getting rid of, recycling, giving away, re-purposing, donating, call it what you will - being shut of - Art Supplies feels like a denial of one's own Creativity.
It's hard.  It's tearful.  It sucks.  It's necessary.  It's drudgery.  It's January.

Why I Write

Ok.  I'm not sure what just happened.  Today is January 21, and I SWEAR I just posted my earlier blog only last week.  But, suddenly, it's 19 days later!  What HAPPENED???  Think I've been caught in a time warp . . . where is Spock when I need him?

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, or in this case, the apartment, I've been busy.  We've had unseasonable warm weather, followed abruptly by unseasonable cold.  I'm discovering cold drafts I didn't know existed, but I am watching the setting sun move farther and farther north on the horizon.  The massive exterior repairs on my apartment building, started before Thanksgiving, ended last week (to my great relief), and the new year is definitely upon us.

I've been thinking a lot lately about poetry, how it's written, why it's written.  A friend at my writers' group asked me why I write the poems I've been sharing.  I could only explain, that the greatest impact on how I write has come from the oldest poets, not their personal ages, but the ages in which they wrote.  I love the Icelandic sagas; anonymous Irish poetry and ballads, the Epic of Gilgamesh, and especially, Beowulf.  My favorite translations are the older ones; their rhythm, language, internal rhyme schemes and alliteration.  I was introduced to Beowulf in high school, senior English.  A classmate had memorized several lines of Beowulf and would recite it before class as we were settling for roll-call.  The line that stuck with me for the last 55 years has been "when twilight deepens to dark in the sky."  (This is the J Duncan Spaeth translation, by the way.)  Poetry is aural -- to be fully appreciated, it must be HEARD; to be read with the ears as much as with the eyes.  Withing the somber setting of Beowulf introducing himself to the king, Hgrothgar, this line is inserted.  I have the instant image of this dusk in my mind, thanks to the original writers and to Dr Spaeth, and hearing it recited brings me inner joy.

That's key for me -- image.  A poet must be concise in language, for the reader can tire and move on. I write fairly short poems, usually around 20-24 lines, so I have to get the images across quickly and succinctly.  And, more than anything, I want the reader to think, "oh, I hadn't thought of it that way!"
Our instant connections through internet means we are bombarded with information, news, views, cute puppies, and much, much to ponder.  There comes a time in my day when I simply want to relax, to let images was over me, and ponder, and mull.  Poets, more than any other writing genre, observe.  They observe people, they observe things, they observe their world.  And they share their observations quickly, with force and conviction, rhythm and rhyme, feeling and nuance.  Many of us had to memorize poetry in school.  And whether poetry, or song lyrics, there are memories conveyed within the lines as we remember and recite.

A good line or phrase, whether in poetry or prose, stays with us; and those words evoke other times and places and people.  It is the observation that sticks, whether it's crowds of daffodils, the great silkie, twilight, or a wine-dark sea, we just say "wow."

I'm Baaaaack!

I'm BACK.  Yes, it's been quite a while, and all I can say is that Things Happened.  It's been four years - a long four years.  Since last I blogged, there have been a lot of changes in my life, Heraclitus notwithstanding.  Briefly, my husband's failing health resulted in his death in July of '17. Since then, there has been an unceasing progression of change, which sees me now living in Milford, DE, and having my house on the market.
I worked through grief (yes, it is unending, but it changes with time), shifted my art studio around several times, decided to move, joined the Board of the Mispillion Art League, got rid of furniture, minimalized (THAT task is never-ending!), and joined a small group of artists at the Art League in putting on The Big Draw DE 2019.  That last event took place over the entire month of October, involved a number of art organizations throughout the state, and led to 50 free Saturday events for families and minimal-cost workshops and classes for both children and adults. And we're started planning for The Big Draw DE 2020.
Downsizing has its advantages, and its disadvantages:  a continuous evaluation and decision-making Adventure into "do I need this? . . . Really??"; where did I put my . . . ?; and What Do I Want To Do For The Rest Of My Life?
Creativity, as well as decision-making, can be as physically tiring as digging holes or carrying boxes. And I can provide personal affidavits as to the number of naps I am taking now.  Eating for one is a challenge, especially since cooking on an electric range is a new headache.  Making a smaller space work is interesting, since I moved from close to 3000 square feet to just over 1000. So, it's not just about taking my favorite chair, it's where to put it!  And finding the laughter on some days is extremely difficult.  Luckily, there are friends I can rely on to lift my spirits, as well as offer rides to the beach to watch sunrises.
But the BIG news is about Creativity. I am setting the studio up in the second bedroom of the apartment, and planning new work.  I also joined a writers' group - the Milton workshop - in November.  And while their theme is "just finish the damn novel," they are supportive of my poetry.
I've been writing for 40-odd years on a fairly consistent basis,  Most of it has been for personal consumption, and I've never really submitted it.  Until this week. I broke through the wall of my privacy, and sent a submission off.  We'll see where that takes us, but as I hit the SEND button on the laptop, there was a simultaneous feeling of elation and fear. Heady stuff.
Stay tuned! The Adventure Continues!

Heraclitus

It's been a while since my last blog post, and, suffice it to say, a lot, a lot has happened.  The Greek philosopher, Heracletus, said the only thing that is inevitable, is Change.  (I paraphrase, but essentially, this is true.)

In the last year, my life has essentially changed.  After a period of declining health, my husband suffered a stroke over Labor Day.  We were able to get him to the hospital quickly, where he was diagnosed with a full right-side stroke.  In other words, he was completely paralyzed on his right side.  It happened that quickly.

Fortunately, the ER physician was able to administer a powerful anti-coagulant, in hopes of counter-acting some of the stroke effects.  This is crucial for anyone who suffers a stroke caused by a blood clot:  quick treatment is essential.  Because he was treated within 3 hours of the onset of the stroke, he had a chance of partial recovery.

That was Labor Day.  It is now 3-1/2 months later.  He has been receiving physical therapy 3 times a week, along with nursing and home health care.  Yesterday, for the first time in over 4 months, he was able to stand from the wheelchair to the walker, and then transfer to the car.  His physical therapy is not over, by a long shot.  But, he is now more mobile, and able to finally get out to doctors' appointments.

That's enough to about him.  What has happened to me has been strange and unexpected (to say the very least!)!  As his physical ability declined over the last year+, I have had less and less time in the studio.  Understand, in many creative activities, the creator needs extended periods of time to get lost in the process, to touch the edges of the unknown.  The priority of care over-rides studio time.  There is a gradual eroding of me-time for the care-giver, something the care-giver, herself, has difficulty noticing.  Liken it to watching children grow:  it is easier to see growth in a child when one only sees the child occasionally, than when one sees the child daily.  We simply don't notice it, at least not until the shoes pinch.

As primary care-givers, our focus is on the Other, not on ourselves.  And our creative lives suffer.  The studio becomes more of a store-room than a creative space.

I'm putting you on notice:  I have cleaned out the studio.

Randall still requires care, and probably will for the rest of his life.  But, that's LIFE.  As he and I adjust to new schedules, new routines, new habits, our schedules become more flexible in allowing creative space to develop.

I'm coming back.

A Really Big Shew

It's been a long two weeks!  The annual yART sale (art in the Yard) was held over the Labor Day weekend, here in Bethany Beach.  I had made my lists, checked them twice, then checked them twice again, and packed the car.

The odd thing is, it has been over 5 years since I was last in an outdoor show, and we have gotten a new vehicle since then.  And (of COURSE), what fit nicely in the back of the old vehicle didn't quite fit into the back of the new one.  (Why was I surprised?)

Many people don't realize that it takes two or more hours to set up for a show.  Erecting the canopy, setting up the display racks and screens, arranging the art, making sure everything is labeled and priced, it is all a LOT of work.  The big trade shows that folflow conventions will take longer, since their booths are much more complex, but for a local art show, two to three hours is about right.  And having help, especially help that can take direction, makes the job shorter and simpler. And having a plan in one's mind makes it that much simpler.  And, Trust Me, a show that opens at 10 always has people wandering through an hour early.

We were fortunate to be able to erect the canopies the day before -- took a good hour off our set-up time on Saturday morning.  And we were blessed with beautiful weather!  Warm and breezy on Saturday, and definitely hotter and more humid on Sunday!  By the time we were breaking down the show, all of us were wilting.

The yART Show is small, as shows go, limited by the size of the courtyard of the private home where we set up.  There was face-painting and art for the kids, music, lemonade and Boy Scout popcorn for everyone.  No one asked me to tango (can't imagine why . . .) but the music was fabuwous.

Outdoor shows are always iffy -- we are so dependent on the vagaries and whims of the weather.  Being near the ocean does allow us a modicum of cooler air, but it always depends on which way the wind is blowing.

Since the last show, I have added watercolor sketch-books, journals, a new line of notecards, glicee prints, and NEW WORK.  I'm attaching photos to give you an idea of where Artistic License is taking me.

This one is Five Condos.  It's 24x30", and you can see some of the collage underneath the color.  This second one is North Sea, same size as Five Condos, but a portrait format, rather than landscape.

I have finally gotten everything unpacked and back into the studio.  And I have been laboring to put things away.  Don't remember whose Law or Paradox this is, but "things expand to take up the available space."  And the studio looks like it!  New projects and canvases seem to proliferate at night, when no one is looking.  And, I SWEAR Hub is lurking, and looking at shiny pretties.

Summer is the biggest season for outdoor art shows; yART was the only show I did this summer.  I have to honestly say, I don't know how artists manage when many shows involve travel and back-to-back weekends.  I know how tired I was with just one show!  As artists, we tend to work in the solitude of our studios and sketchbooks.  A show, especially one as welcoming as yART, is an opportunity many artists need, to visit with people and get feedback.  True, we tend to listen to the little voices in our heads, but occasional reality checks (especially from children) can send us in new directions.  And I've got a bunch of new ideas fermenting.

Hub

Well, i'm counting down to a short week until the Big Labor Day Extravaganza known as yART - a two day art show in Bethany Beach.  It's been a number of years (at least 5) since my last outdoor show, and to say I'm a little anxious might be a bit of an understatement.

It's not that I am really anxious, it's just that i don't want to forget anything!  You know the feeling -- going on vacation and forgetting your clothes, arriving at work still wearing your bunny slippers, forgetting where you've parked when you have three half-gallons of icecream in the cart.

My anxiety is not about the big things -- canopy, screens, art.  It's the Little Things, that proverbial 10% of your work that takes 90% of your time.  Do I have pens?  receipts?  lunch?

To digress a moment, we have a resident puka, Hub.  For those of you not in-the-know, pukas, also known as pukkas, are alternate-reality beings who can slip in and out of our dimension, easy-as-pie.  Sometimes known for their mischievous qualities, they find shiny things, like marbles, keys, coins, jewelry, to be Very Attractive.  Let's just say, if you find your keys misplaced, an earring suddenly gone from where you left it, or if you have lost one or more of your marbles, you probably, in all likelihood, have a puka.

The most famous puka, Puck of A Midsummer Night's Dream, is who we think of first.  But not all pukas are as human-friendly as Puck.  They respond favorably to milk, sweets and respect.  I'm not sure about chocolate, but what is there to not like about chocolate?

Anyway, we have a puka.  And, Hub is partially responsible for my anxiety.  I mean, what would he find so appealing about a caulk gun?  A roll of velcro?  A receipt book?  Suffice it to say, after asking nicely (many times) and gifts of marbles, I have successfully negotiated an exchange.  Caulk gun?  Check.  Velcro?  Check.  Receipt book?  Double-check.

I shudder to think what other found items he has, squirrelled away on the shelves of his room, that I have not yet missed.  But, it is very important for me to stay on his good side.  So, i'll leave him some cream in a saucer tonight, before I go to bed.  And possibly a cookie.

And, by the way,  I do really have copious lists of things to find and do, before next Friday.  But, I hope to see YOU on Saturday or Sunday!!

yART is coming!

Yes, it's been a while since I last posted.  There is news!  The annual yART (yard + art) show will be held from 9-3 on Saturday and Sunday, August 30 and 31, at 33258 Kent Avenue in Bethany Beach (it's just South of the Library).  I couldn't download the flyer, but it is a great opportunity to see local fine artists who create works in glass, oil, photography, acrylics (that's ME!), jewelry, soapworks, metalcraft, clothing and other fine arts.

I will be showing my birdhouses and new work in flowers, abstract seascapes,and figurative paintings.  I'll also have giclee prints, notecards and a few other neat things for sale.  And, this show has taken a lot of work to get together.  You know, spending time in the studio, creating, mixing, collaging, is where I get my energy recharged.  The ability to simply BE in space, allowing the mind to play with "what if?" is exhilarating.

Unfortunately, I can't really say the same thing about the labor in getting ready for a show.  Lists, lists, lists.  Do I have this?  Is everything priced?  Are things bagged?  Do I have bags?  Do I have receipts?  Pens?  Change?  Lunch?  On, and On, and On.  Luckily, most of the paintings were done by mid-June.  It's the other 10 percent that's taking so much time!  That, and changing my mind (which a lady is allowed to do!  As often as necessary!).

the yART show is important to me for three reasons:  first, it's an opportunity for me to see old friends who know the value and JOY of creating; second, I was invited.  Yep!  this show is by invitation-only for the artists, and I was INVITED!  (What an ego-boost THAT is!)  And, third, tho' not necessarily third in a priority sense, the Chinese auction will benefit the Bethany Beach Volunteer Fire Company.

Those of us who live full-time in resort communities know how important it is to have a strong Fire Company, especially during the major resort season.  And the fact that they are a Volunteer Company, adds to the drama.  They pay the same amount for a fire truck, a breathing apparatus, an ax, as do the bigger companies in the cities, where tax monies are available to support their expenses.  Our Volunteer companies face a bigger challenge -- they do not have the same access to greater government funding, and the members all have other jobs and careers that they willing set aside to answer the call.  These men and women are SUPER.  They care.  It doesn't matter if you live here or are passing through.  They come when called.