On Celebrating our Advocates

My three year old son is epic.  His whole world needs to happen now and with magical force and splendor.  He can be quick to lose patience in the quest for more, and more now.  He is not unreasonable, he is a compassionate little guy with the best of intentions.  Turns out, he and I, are not so different.    I've come to a humbling, and yet, totally necessary crossroads in my trail of making.  I've recently realized that I often forget how to, or rather, chose not to, celebrate the small joys of making.  The people that I make along with and for, and the people I look up to, deserve my celebration.  My own creations, my own attempts, deserve credit. I almost used the word victory, then I changed it to success, but I don't like either of those words for this occasion, because when you are speaking of people, success and victory should not be their adjectives.

Sometimes in the making, I am quick to get down on myself, and can even jump on the line "I am a failure".  It's an old friend who will almost always easily agree with me.  The thing that is embarrassing, and requisite of penance in my scenario is that sometimes I get so caught up in succeeding
(and not failing), that I forget people and think numbers.  Because, while it may be true that I am, in all earnestness, no stranger to failure, I've also had many times when there was meaning made between myself and another person. That cannot be accounted for in simple numbers.    It's okay for me to acknowledge success, and more,  I most certainly need to find and savor the joy in connecting with another person.  I need to take my time.

 I think though, that we live in a world that shouts the word, 'MORE!' a little too loudly, a little too often. I was grateful, surprised even, when a single person liked my brave women poster, or my first book enough to go to my site and purchase it, but I'm ashamed to say that the word that most easily came to my head after the excitement wore away was that four letter word, "MORE!"  But to what end?  Really.  To what end? and when would that word be satisfied?  I'm suspect that the 'MORE' would take us down a path that may eventually look great in numbers, but would be lonely in meaning if we didn't stop and shake ourselves a little, and look 'MORE' in the face to tell it that it is not the most important thing because we are busy celebrating other joys.

I've set myself to the task of celebrating each small thing. Though, of course, I do this pretty imperfectly.  I sent out five posters and five books this week, and while that will not make me rich, nor famous, I felt a happiness as I sent those things out into the mail.  People are worth celebrating.  Each person who steps out of the anonymity that is so easy to assume in this world should be embraced for their bravery.  It's been, dare I say, a miraculous thing these past two weeks as I've made very conscious efforts to change my attitude from that of inner critic, to that of a grateful celebrator.  It's taken bravery on my part to accept that I don't have to be incredibly critical of everything I do.  I can even celebrate my own creations, and then I can celebrate my own bravery.    

The thing I really want to say is that as I've done all this inner celebrating, I have felt an increase of real and sincere love for people I have not met in person.  I have become more interested in wanting them to succeed as well.  I have had a renewed faith in the power of our 21st century mode of connecting (online, etc...) because my feelings have become more real toward the people behind those profiles.  I'm trying to more deliberately thank my children, my husband, my parents, my neighbors, my online friends.

I feel a real love for the people who have supported me, both in person and online.  Going out of your way to support someone else is not something that anyone has to do, but the best part of us does anyway.  I want to advocate for the people who have advocated for me.  I want to be a part of their success and celebration.  I want competition, comparison and inner judgement to fade as I scrub out the bright creator I believe I am capable of being.  I want to take part in helping others celebrate what they are making of their lives as well.

Also, please note: I'm writing myself into being a better person, I'm far from there yet, so please don't take any of my writing as me thinking I've figured it out.  The input and comments I've received in the little time this blog has been up have been incredibly useful, paradigm shifting and perspective changing, so I hope this can also be a place where the conversation can uplift your maker's trail as well.  

On Distractions and Finding Your Space

My making was listless today, both in mind and in physical representation. I have some suspicions as to why, but also a lot of questions.  When I was in college I had a studio for painting.  It was a glorious space and once you got in the building and up into the big room with partitioned cubicles of drywall, no one knew you were there, besides the occasional janitor that tucked his head past the door to pick up a trash can.  Those were good nights where often I would stay until I could see the morning light peeking over Timpanogos. I played Sigur Ros and Belle and Sebastian loud into my headphones and painted, drew, stood back to look, sat on my metal stool and thought and got to painting again.  I knew it was a luxury then because I loved nearly every minute of my hidden maker's space, but boy, I did not quite understand what a luxury until I moved into a small apartment and had two kids.  I love my kids and I would not trade them for art making.  I am not an oppressed stay at home mom.  (I sometimes feel like I need to wear a sign around my neck here in Palo Alto that assures people of this fact,) but man, what I wouldn't do for a space that was all mine to create.

A very small space would do, but just one that didn't involve fingerprints in my painting by the next morning.  But, I need more than a literal space, I need a mental space that is quiet.  My life now sometimes feels like I am in an echoey room with a thousand bouncy balls pinging off walls and jumping in corners and there is not enough time between rumblings of the room to put them all at ease, rolling quietly around the floor.  Sometimes the rumblings are cause of my children, sometimes my husband, sometimes other work, sometimes neighbors and their kids, life in general, time, sometimes a house that needs to be cleaned, and sometimes, it is simply me.  Have I become afraid of the quietness and what I might create, or fail to create there.  Sometimes I do find myself with a chunk of time during naps or after the kids go to bed, and like a little squirrel, instead of sitting and ruminating with the thoughts in my brain, I scamper around.  I go to instagram, Facebook, news articles, a tv show, a podcast, a phone call with a friend... anything but the refuge of my own body and mind.  Sometimes I even work, write and paint in the midst of these interruptions, but I'm never fully present in my making when this happens.  It's like I start down a good path in a cozy little woods, but I keep walking back to check that it's still light out, until it finally does get dark and I find that I've piddled too much time wondered what might be, or who might be doing what, and now it is dark and I have to be done.

Why?!  I'm serious.  Why?!  I can't be the only one that this happens to, right?  What do you do?

It does take a concerted effort to get into the space of real and sincere creation for me.  It is a learned and practiced skill that demands the attention of all of me, and I want to be in the place because I want and need to create with sincerity, but yet, I find myself syphoning off pieces of my thoughts, energy, speech to places that cannot pay off a decent return.

I think of my best space of creation like a softly lit, white room that is immune to criticism, comparison, self-doubt and fear of failure.  Oh, it's a good place to be, where I feel quite myself, but right now, my biggest challenge is finding the courage to step in and shut the door tight, turn the music loud and paint those white walls until they say something.

Below are three pieces that I made in my studio.  I love these pieces because I can still remember just what I was thinking about as I made them.  They are each about a person I loved, and I felt like I wove our story right, even for just a few moments because I allowed myself to feel some very real things, both hard and wonderful, and then I made from that place.