Charlotte Bronte is Non-Plussed and other Events

Oh man.

Being an artist is exhausting.  The good exhausting.  The kind where all you do is think about the next thing you're going to do, and plan how to do it and what marvellous things will happen because of it.

It's a little like a massive crush, only it's different.  It's a little like being a stalker, but it's different.

What I think I look like when 
I try to make new friends.

It's kinda like meeting Jennifer Lawrence, and then finding out she is moving in two houses down from you, and you're quite certain you'd be BFFs if only you could have a meaningful conversation, only every time you try to talk you sound like a super weird stalker-crush-girl, instead of sounding like Adele or like, Beyonce.

Yep.  Story of my life.

How I really look when 
I meet new friends.

Anyway, I've been spending all sorts of time at the studio.

Friend:  Hey! How's the Art-thing working out?
Me:  It's amazing!  I love it.
Friend:  How often do you get to the studio?
Me:  Like, every day.
Friend:  Wow! That's a LOT!
Me: Well, I believe many people work 5 days a week?

But guess what?   I'm excited to get to the studio every day.  I did some terrible art, and I kept it! I didn't beat myself up for making something "bad" because I am not living for the 15 minutes I can do art between the 45 other things I'd rather NOT be doing.

I put it up even, because you have to do bad art before you do good art.  So it's inspiration to see how I'm coming along. Plus, it takes much longer to make shitty art than it does to make good art, so I figure it should be up on display just because it took so dang long to finish.

Why? Oh, because you take a perfectly good piece, destroy it to the point that it could be salvaged, then do something really dumb and make it worse, then leave it alone for a few days.  And then try to fix it by doing something stupider, and voila: bad, long-taking art.  It's much simpler to just do it right the first time, but there's no growth in that.

I've been listening to TONS of music lately because ... well, because I can.

There are two songs that, since January, have been coming on at least thrice a week, each.  "I Can See Clearly Now" (Cliff), and "Sittin' on the Dock of The Bay" (Redding).  At restaurants, in the car, in the grocery store, at the coffee place, in friends' cars, in other countries, at public events... those two songs are haunting me and I think it's because one is about being in the middle of stagnancy (Dock of the Bay, I'm looking at you!) and then letting go of toxic shit, and being able to see the world differently as a result.

It's bizarre.  I don't even listen to "oldies" stations-- but these songs have even been on our public (talk) radio station.

And then, I turned on the CBC to hear a discussion panel on the Bronte sisters.

PS, I despise the Brontes. When I had to read Jane Eyre in my Lit 101 class in Uni, I wrote essayS on how Jane Eyre is an anti-feminist text wrapped in a "progressive for its time" package, and how women today should never read it lest they be swayed into submission by an idea of Love that is superficial at best.  Mr. Rochester, you smug bastard, you only fall in love with plain Jane AFTER you are blinded and no longer have to deal with her dull looks.  Oh, and Jane eats that shit UP.  BAH!

Even Charlotte Bronte is disgusted 
by the Universe's pedantry.

And just as I was about to change it, the speaker said "Oh well, as happens when you have a grand plan that you don't really want to do; it fails and now you can do what you really wanted to do.  For the Bronte sisters, their idea of being teachers was just because they yearned for the independence writing would ultimately give them... (and I kinda stopped listening because SHEESH!)"

Universe, it was cool when you were sending me messages through song.  It is ironic and uncalled for to join forces with the stupid Bronte sisters to ensure I get it.

I spend days at the studio, working.  I spend my weekends with my kids and hubby.  I spend my nights doing other meaningful work, like prepping for my upcoming seminar I was invited to teach, on self-kindness.  I'm putting final touches on some pieces for my very first art show.  Exciting times.

Annnnd, I am also found looking online for Great Dane (or other giant dog) breeders that want me to have a studio dog.
 (Don't tell Husband, ok? He gets a little crazy when I bring it up.)

To make sure I run into this song even more often, here's a link to "I Can See Clearly Now" by Jimmy Cliff.

I took the kids to their respective camps this week (it's March Break here) and "I Can See Clearly Now" was playing when I walked into the art camp for my son.

Like, really?

When he finished his week of art we had an interesting conversation.

Kiddo #2:  Mom, Katherine says I'm an artist.  Is that true?
Me:  Of course it is!
Kiddo #2:  Well, but I thought I was a hockey player.
Me:  Of course you are!
Kiddo #2:  So I can be an artist and a hockey player?
Me:  Yep.  Just like I can be an artist and a teacher and ... really good at getting lost.
Kiddo #2:  Oooh, you're REALLY good at getting lost.  What am I really good at?
Me:  Math.  You're really great at math.
Kiddo #2:  I know, but I mean, something I'm not supposed to be good at, like how you're good at getting lost.
Me:  You're good at unflinching honesty.
Kiddo#2:  Oh yeah. And toots.  I'm really good at toots.

I've got to change that kid's diet. 

Coming Out Of The Painted Closet

There has been a lot of deliberate silence from me lately.

And by lately, I mean, the last 2-3 years.  Years.  That's a long time for someone who talks (almost) non-stop, or at least communicates, non-stop.  An eternity, almost.

Ha.

I have been silent for a few reasons, some of which are legitimate, some are just lame.  For starters, 2015 started in a pretty shit-tacular fashion; my job and my children's school closed up shop.  Like, we found out on December 23rd, while on Christmas vacation, via email.  Ouch.

So I spent much of January and February licking my wounds and trying not to lose my shit in public.

I was so damn angry.

But then, as my children seamlessly transitioned from one school to another (as children will) I started to re-evaluate my life.

I shouldn't make it sound like I did all this soul-searching and life-changing all by myself.  Oh no, there was a lot of "let's go back on the meds" and "let's get a therapist" and "maybe a shower might be an achievable goal for this week?"

So yeah.  That's fun.

But while I was having breakdowns and/or breakthroughs, I just kept coming back to art.  I mean, maybe that sounds stupid, but like, frick.  Where my usual mode of self-expression seemed to have always been WRITING, suddenly there was nothing to write.  But I still had shit to process.  So, paint seemed to make sense.  Real sense.

Like the boy from "You Belong with Me" by Taylor Swift.  (I decided that song is really about a gay boy who is in love with his best friend (who keeps dating girls)  and who should be gay, too)...

I dare you to listen to the lyrics to that song again without knowing in your soul that the narrator is a boy.

 Click here to read the lyrics and be forever changed.

So I was like that boy from "You Belong to Me"  in that I knew something was up, but I didn't know the True truth.

Signs You Might be An Artist

1.  You constantly represent what is going on around you visually, on any available, preferably plain surface.
2.  You have various art supplies in your car/on your person at all times, for "art emergencies"
3.  You actually HAVE "art emergencies" 
4.  You often say things like "Oooh! That smells like purple!"
5.  Even during terribly difficult times, when you can't get past the hurt and sadness, you always have canvas.  You always have a brush and a pencil and a mason jar of water.

And here I am.

But if I'm gonna be painfully honest, teaching has always been an important part of my life because it was always this "sure thing."

I chose teaching as my career because it was a good paying job that would travel well (I have a penchant for moving), and has good benefits and a pension. So, it was good for now, and for the future.

If you want to look at it another way, Teaching was the reliable, never-cheats boyfriend that your parents like, and who doesn't have any tattoos, and maybe wants to get married and have kids, but only when you're ready.  He's the Steve to DJ Tanner. 


And Art.  Art was always that hilarious, never-commits, makes fun of your dance moves until you storm off because it's not funny anymore, kinda smelling' like weed or booze or boozey-weed, or maybe just weird, like, bologna.  This one is like dating Haymitch from the Hunger Games. 

So it makes sense I would be besties with Art, but that I'd marry Teaching, right? Because obviously you should always have crazy friends, but you need to make sure you are stable and prepared and responsible for the future, right?

Only, I kept saying things like "This isn't worth the Hours/money/stress."  Even though I loved the kids, I loved the school, I loved my administration (or at least 1-2 of those at any time haha), I wasn't in love with it. 

I feel like when something is RIGHT, when it's your passion, when you're telling your honest, real truth, the hours/money/stress are completely worth it.  When your heart is exhausted from doing what's right for you, you are happy.

When you are exhausted trying to be something you're not, you're angry, bitter, ugly, anxious, depressed.

I dunno. Maybe the metaphor isn't as right as I thought it would be because, even though I am a great teacher (she said modestly), it's just not enough.  Oh, that damned word 'enough.'

So, last fall, I started really thinking about what Enough would have to look like.  It stopped being about money, or prestige, or needing Fame or ...  Enough started looking like peace, acceptance and being myself. 

I made a list of all the things that make me feel good.  Then I made a list of everything I do every day.  Then I compared those lists and cut accordingly.  It was liberating.  It was positive.  And it seriously cut my rage waaaaay down.   

I really started to think about it and realized that Art is the best friend who has been there all along.
Been there all along.  Shit.

Like Rapunzel figuring out she's the lost Princess, I was overwhelmed by all the Art memories I suddenly had.

I took every Art  course through to the end of high school, even went to a second high school to get the university credit Art class.

I spent my college student loan money on Prismacolor markers (that were $6.00 each!) because they were so amazing and coloured beautifully and SHADED!, even though I was studying radio (do I have to lay out there that there was no reason to buy markers for any radio classes?)

The first class I enrolled at university was a crazy full-credit drawing class that I adored, even though my majors were French and English language and literature.

Art was there when I didn't get into teacher's college the first time.  Art was there when Husband broke up with me because he wasn't "ready to date the woman he was going to marry." Art was there when I moved to France and was so homesick I could hardly breathe.  Art was there when I celebrated friends' weddings, my wedding... it was there every day, in every class when I taught about anything, and everything.    Art was the reason I started making clothes for my daughter, which turned into a design studio for sassy children's clothing.

Art (or creativity) is there in everything I do, even this blog.

So, like, what if I finally, after all that, after all these years of writing, and teaching and having a lovely life, what if I actually just did some art. Like, became an artist? Like, what if I had a place to work and I worked and sold art maybe like, twice a year, at a show that I host?

What if I made art that is for me, and if people like it, great, and if they don't, great.  And what if whether or not it meets anyone's approval is really just secondary because the first purpose is to create with courage.

And so, obviously, I had to tell my Very Best Girlfriend and my Sister before I could broach the subject with Husband.  And so, obviously Very Best Girlfriend and Sister both looked at me like the "big news" I had to share was the equivalent to telling them the sun rises in the morning.

Me:  Sooo uh, like, I, uh, think I'm gonna be an artist.
Sister: ...
Me:  Like, instead of teaching.
Sister: ... (looking around for hidden cameras) But you ARE an artist.
Me: No, like for reals.
Sister:  ...  OH! I get it.
Me: Huh?
Sister: Oh I get it.  You're the GAY kid!
Me:  Uh, no?
Sister: Yes. You're that gay kid who is SUPER gay and everyone knows you're gay, but you don't know it. Only with Art.
Me:   Gotcha! 

Now I get why I always understood teenagers: we're all pretending we're not what it looks like.  

But the most amazing part was when I (still scared, still thinking I was going to sound rash and crazy and infantile) told Husband.  I said, "Um, so like, what if I actually was a, like, uh, artist?"

And he looked me in the eyes and said, "Well, if you're going to do that, you'll need a proper studio."

I nearly dropped dead.  Not that Husband isn't supportive (we never would have worked out if he hadn't been) and not that Husband isn't a fan of me trying new things (see prior parentheses), but he is also careful and thoughtful and not prone to getting swept up in emotions.

And he was immediately on board.  Say what?

So, with more and more courage, I told my folks (my parents are so proud of my efforts they make cheerleaders look bored and non-committal), my brother and my kids.

Here I am.  Shouting what is obvious to everyone but me, to everyone (but mostly to me).

I'm here.
I'm an artist.
And I'm getting used to it.