Eleven Floors of Art

Yesterday, I went to visit the Artomatic in Arlinginton, VA. This is an event where an old office building is filled with art before it is torn down. In this case, the 11 story building housed over 1,300 artists. Imagining that each artist presented 10 pieces, that is over 13,000 pieces of art. I confess; I didn’t see it all. We visited about 3.5 floors before I experienced art burnout. I wish I hadn’t waiting until the last day to go, but had planned several days so that I had a chance to experience and savor all the art.

Well, maybe not all the art. One of the wonderful things about artomatic is there is no gate keeper. There is no juror inflicting his particular taste on the show. There is no austere woman telling artists they are not good enough. On the other hand, one of the bad things about the Artomatic is that there is no gatekeeper saying that someone might need to practice a little more before they try to show some work. Everyone and anyone can exhibit. This lack of a gatekeeper creates quite the diverse experience.

What I came to realize while wandering through is that I don’t appreciate most art. I don’t get it. I don’t think it’s beautiful. I could do without it. That said, I don’t believe my opinion on should make a difference to anyone except me (and maybe my husband who might be inspired to buy me artwork). I’ve often wondered what other people saw in the art they decided to hang in their homes. I have no love of pastoral landscapes or elephants working in India. I don’t want to continually look at scenes from city streets or people at work or play. I don’t want to take the time to delve into the meaning of a piece of art. I want to see it and have everything it is conveyed to me in a blast of wonder. Then maybe I’ll be interested in what the artist was thinking. As I wandered through the Artomatic, I felt like I was just walking through rooms of noise with the occasional moment of silence when I found the art that spoke to me. These tended to be macro-photographs of nature, serene natural or abstract paintings, trees of any kind and anything with beautiful lines or bold colors. In other words, art that felt soothing. I hate to confess it, but I also walked out being amazed at how much bad art there was in the world. That is a secret, mean thought, so please don’t tell anyone. However, whenever I have mean thoughts, I am rarely content to let them stand unassailed. I must investigate and break them down to their primal elements. After ruminating over this thought for a day or so, I finally came to an epiphany. Art is about taste. I know, that ‘s boring and unoriginal, but here come the original part. My artistic taste reflects my preference for how I live my life. I love being in nature and often long for the childhood days where I could be out in the world and never hear the sound of mankind. I love the quiet wind in the trees. I love the small changes that happen every day from the bursting of a flower to the sprouting of a fungal castle on a rotting log. Art is supposed to inspire emotion and I hate being riled up, sad or riddled with angst. I want to be soothed or humored. So of course I am not going to appreciate art depicting riotous crowds on city streets or profound political messages. However, I realize as an introvert, I am in the minority preferring to be away from people and the riot of life. The type of life I enjoy is directly reflected in the type of art I enjoy. And for other people, I am absolutely positive this is true as well. So people who love mankind and civilization are going to love art based on it. I am sure many of those people walk into the rooms where I linger and walk right back out again because they are bored out of their mind. That’s OK. More solitude for me. So, I am so glad I went to Artomatic for the sole reason that it allowed me to reach this realization. Without seeing so much art in one place, I doubt I would have muddled it out. The new look on art will also have bearing on the perception of my own art. When I show my art to people, everyone seems to love it, but few people want to buy it. I won’t deny there was a little sting in that. For many years, I have tried to bend my subject matter to more mainstream subjects, with the hope that I would make some sales, but I could never really get there. I don’t think I could paint a bowl of fruit if my life depended on it. The few mainstream pieces I have painted, I got through solely on the challenge of the work, not inspiration from the subject matter. My recent epiphany has led me to the conclusion that I shouldn’t try to change. There are people out there for me. They are just a smaller set of the population than the fruit and barn lovers and it will take longer for us to find each other. Thanks Artomatic for giving all those artists a chance to reach their people and for leading me to a new way of looking at art.

 Also, just a quick promo of the artists I know who displayed art at the Artomatic.

Jennifer Stone – Definitely one of my people
Blair Jackson – Not for me, but I could easily knock off 75% of my Christmas list in her art store.
Lisa M. – Her art makes me smile.

Harry Potter Tent

As I think constantly about writing, even when I am not writing, random thoughts often pop into my head. Here’s a sampling.

I have a tent. It is a two person tent and somewhat sentimental since it was the very first piece of camping equipment that was all mine and shiny new. That was over a decade ago now, but for one glorious summer I lived in that tent in adult summer camp, (AKA as a research assistant). A couple days ago, I set it up in the sunroom for Sabrina to play in. Little did I know that in the years since I had set it up, it had acquired a musty, pee smell. Don’t ask me where this smell came from since it has always been stored in a dry place and I don’t make a habit of peeing on or in my tents. However this smell has pervaded the sunroom and makes me completely glad I’m not obligated to sleep in the tent. It also brings to mind the tent in Harry Potter that is described as smelling of cat pee. The description passed over me at the time as something of little concern, but after having minimal contact with my own pee tent, I refuse to buy the idea that anyone could have happily cloistered themselves in a pee tent for any length of time. I’ll bet you it wasn’t “you know who” or horcruxes making them cranky, but the constant smell of cat pee. So if you are a writer, be careful about what smells you subject your characters to and be sure they react properly.

Next random thought: I am listening to Elizabeth Gaskell’s book, Wives and Daughters. There is a character who used to pride herself on her very pretty blushes. In fact, if you read literature of bygone eras, blushes were then often praised as a woman’s booty-liciousness is praised now. In modern literature a blush has been reduced to an embarrassing reddening of the face and is not considered an asset. Why is that? Well, I blame makeup. Between cover up and rouge, the only blushes that would be visible would be the ones from extreme embarrassment that would bring the blush right up into the ears. The last time I blushed like that was after doing something completely stupid and it was definitely not a “pretty” moment or result. So, moral of the story: Blushes are dead (so don’t write about them) and Booty-liciousness is in (so round out your prose to your heart’s content.)

Well, writing randomness is at an end. Happy writing or tweeting or facebooking or whatever. 

Moments of Bliss

I started going to a counselor today for anxiety. She repeated some of the same things I've been reading about in a book called Mindfulness. The idea of mindfulness is about living in the present, actually experiencing the moment instead of running on autopilot. How many times have you suddenly come back into yourself and realized that you drove all the way to work, but can’t remember the drive? Happens to me all the time. This book is about taking back your life moment by moment. It’s big on meditation and one of the meditation practices is about eating a raisin. In this meditation you use all your senses to fully appreciate the raisin. The idea is to be fully and completely present for the experience. But you don’t need a raisin or meditation for this moment. It happens all the time. Every time you take that first sip of the uber choco mega foamed crumbly carmel delight you get as a treat, you are fully present in that moment. It happens every time you take that first bite of a meal in a restaurant. First kiss! When you have that first kiss with someone really special, are you thinking about how you need to wash your car? NO! You 100% focused on the present moment and all the physical sensations happening. How about that moment when you first relax into your bed, snug under your covers ready to go to sleep? Makes me smile just thinking about it. There are a million moments where we are fully present and attentive, but the real tragedy is how quickly we let them go and move back into our harried existence. The second sip might as well be dishwater for all the attention we pay it. And how quickly the shine rubs off that new relationship. The instant you are comfortable in bed, your mind starts racing ahead to tomorrow. Instead of realizing how much we ignore in life, we seek out those moments by buying a super coffee treat every day, every hour, until the specialness has worn away because we are no longer taking the time to be mindful of the experience. Yet we remember those moments of mindfulness and seek them out and compare the rest of our lives to them. So, I guess I am saying to enjoy the second sip and the last sip just as much as that first sip. Extend out your moment of bliss if you can.

            Just a note on mediation. I made a commitment to myself to meditate every day for just 15 min. I kept the promise today and found it enjoyable. I was very calm and centered afterward. That lasted all of 5 minutes. Then I opened my computer and started reading the twitter feed. I could feel my calm center fragmenting away into little pieces as I skimmed down. I found myself reading a story about murder even though I didn’t want to read about murder, but had to read because I didn’t know what a conker was. Then I had to google a conker. And it was, as the article said, a ridiculous reason to murder someone. And it was ridiculous that I was reading about it. I had in just a few minutes managed to stray from my calm center into the chaos of the very large global world we live in. I resolved right there to unfollow a bunch of twitter feeds like BBC. I thought it would be a good way to keep informed since I don’t watch or read the news, but really, if a catastrophe occurs, someone will tell me about it. So, time to declutter and enjoy another sip of cinnamon tea.

Rose Solar light

I made a solar rose using milk jugs. I am pretty stoked about it. Here's how to make your own.

Supplies: Cheap Solar light, Tape, White Spray Paint (not Krylon), Scissors, 1-2 cleaned milk jugs, Hot glue gun, Spare Hot glue gun (in case the first one explodes in a fiery death), Glue sticks, wooden skewer or chopstick, and extra fingers to replace the burned ones. 

 Disassemble the light. Keep the stake for gardening or other craft projects. For this project you only need the part that houses the light.

 Cover the light bulb and the solar panel with tape. Spray paint until coated in white. I used Krylon white and it came out a little tacky. Hopefully you will have better luck with a different brand.

For the very center of the rose I used a piece of the handle from a 1/2 gallon and started gluing petals from there. Use the skewer to press the petals in place until the glue hardens so you don't burn your fingers.

 If your glue starts smoking and the glue comes out yellow, please throw it out before it explodes.*

*Note that the glue stick in the barrel has turned black.
*In other news, I now know that when facing a ball of fire, I do not scream like a baby, but curse like a sailor. Hopefully my toddler never learns this fact about me.

Tip 1 - Use a sharp pencil to etch your line into the milk jug and then you won't have to worry about the line of say a marker showing on your petals.

Tip 1 - It helps to have a curve on attachment point of the petal. They sit in place better.

Tip 2 - The inner petals should be smaller, but the outer petals can all be cut from the same pattern.

And here is your finished rose.

Now, I have some ideas about what I could do with my rose. The important thing is to be aware of how light will charge your rose. The solar panel has to get some light.

1) Flip it over during the day to charge and then use it like a tea light at night. 

2) Cut a loop (see below) to glue around the light and hang it in a window, sun room or on a tree outside for a floating, glowing rose. 

3) Make more and more and more of them to great a hanging, spiraling rose chandelier! 

If you have ideas for where to put them, please comment below. Happy Up-cycling!

Art brain

I don’t want to edit anymore. I want to paint and draw, so why fight it. Here’s a picture of the background progress on my Ice Dragon. I like it! It looks like velvet. It’s slow work, but also very zen.

I also got a book called Perspective by David Chelsea (recommended by RuthLampi at Balticon). It's an awesome book and is totally blowing my mind. I have wanted to learn to paint distant landscapes and cityscapes forever. A few years ago, I took an art class for just such a purpose, but it turned out to be useless. I have been really discouraged about it since. None of the books seemed to have what I was looking for. They all seemed to talk about fading into the distance and all. I understood, but it never looked right when I tried it. This book is teaching me why and I love it. It feels like I have been given the keys to the kingdom of art or something and I am only a third of the way through the book! I think all this time I have been looking for a class on perspective, but that's not something they teach in community art classes.  I used to figure out perspective slow way - with trial and error, but now I’ve been given rules and tools to use. Watch out world! Anyway, I love learning new things! Here is a sketch I did last night while learning the rules. It’s not much, but you can see the beginnings of a city block and it doesn’t look wonky! 

These are some flags I designed  on a whim for the novel I am writing. They are just design sketches, but they make me happy!

Let’s call it research…

I started looking for books on survival in extreme cold and/or the art of sled dogging. I am calling it research because I wrote a novel last year that was set in a very cold climate and I am sure, despite having grown up in the frigid upper peninsula of Michigan, I have made a few mistakes that will cause experts to rupture their frostbitten anatomical bits in outrage at my ignorance. So after some searching, I found “Ten thousand Miles with a Dog Sled” written by Hudson Stock in 1914 about both survival and sled dogs. It has proven interesting so far, but a bit hard to follow with all the side notes.

Already I have learned that the extreme temperatures I had proposed for my novel would make the journey impossible because 1) coal oil freezes at 40 below, 2) acetylene requires water, which also freezes and 3) Batteries, which have not been invented yet in my story world, also freeze. The only thing that seems to work in extreme cold is actual fire and wood. Of course my character is traveling across a barren, treeless windswept snowy wasteland, where there is nothing to burn. I guess there will be some rewriting involved here.

            The author is very good about describing the various methods of traveling over treacherous terrain, which has been interesting and informative, but he glossed over the terrain that was most like the one in my story. I guess this means I wrote it correctly in that there isn’t much to tell about the difficulties. I may go back and add some more obstacles just for fun though, like rivers bursting through the ice like a geyser from the pressure building up below the frozen surface. Sounds fun doesn’t it!

Also a few quotes struck me as amusing so I thought I would share them here since we can assume that he was writing these quotes in about 1912 and so they were written 100yrs ago.

“The time threatens when all the world will speak two or three great languages, when all little tongues will be extinct and all little peoples swallowed up, when all costume will be reduced to a dead level of blue jeans and shoddy and all strange customs abolished” (His description of the treatment of Alaskan natives reminds me of modern day treatment of the indigenous people of the Rainforest. Over a century later and we still haven't learned any better.)

“The phonograph is becoming a powerful agency for disseminating a knowledge of English among the natives throughout Alaska, and one wishes that it were put to better use than the reproduction of silly and often vulgar monologue and dialogue and trashy ragtime music.” (I wonder how he would feel about reality TV and Jersey Shore.)

Where have all the happy books gone?

Once upon a time, I would count down the days until my monthly audible credits for audio books and when I would mark the calendar for releases of the latest book release in about a dozen series I was reading. Not so any more. I have credits piling up, waiting for me to use them. I have gift cards languishing waiting to be converted into literary adventures. I learn about the new releases months later through the ‘recommended for you’ page. What happened to me?

The truth is I am afraid of books. They grab a hold of me and suck me into a vortex of terror, anguish and fascination. I can’t put them down. I stay up too late. When I had a job, I would occasionally skip a day of work. And even when I wasn’t reading, I was still preoccupied with the story so that I was just coasting through life while my brain was elsewhere. Even worse than the addiction, were the mood changes. When I read a story where the POV character is in constant danger, my mood takes a down swing and I can actually head into a mini depression over it. I had to stop reading several epic fantasy series because of this. Now, when I get a new book, it might sit in the queue for a while before I get up the nerve to read it. So where did this sudden aversion to reading come from? I think it has to do with the tone of books that are available today. Even series that begin in a light hearted way such as Harry Potter seem to eventually go over to the dark side.

So where are the happy, inspiring books? Why do books always have to be about the darkest parts of human nature? Remember to the classics where the worst event may be a death by heart attack or an unsanctioned marriage (Anne of Green Gables, and Jane Austen books) yet millions of people still read these books. My favorite romance of all time is between Anne and Gilbert, but they never even kiss. And I am not a prude either. I enjoyed all of Sookie Stackhouse’s romps as much as the next girl but that kind of thing doesn’t feed the soul. I think current books lack a wholesome, feel good sort of nourishment. We’ve gone too far in the other extreme with sex and violence.

I heard recently that books/movies are a way to teach a person how to react in a situation. So watching a horror flick teaches you how to handle fear. Not necessarily the actions of the characters, but your own physical experience of adrenaline and decision paralysis. I think heard this on Writing Excuses. (Love that podcast!) Anyway, so if we can teach people how to experience fear, worry, horror, sadness, why can’t we teach them all the other things to? I am not talking about pleasure and happiness, but things like making the right decision (even though it was hard), and being rewarded for it. Too often in current entertainment, we take the ‘no good deed goes unpunished’ approach and all good people are trodden on. (Look what happened to Eddard Stark, all for helping out his friend). It seems like the lesson is if you’re a good person, you will be punished. White hat characters are out of fashion. Everyone is ecstatic about grey characters and I understand the need to get away from strictly black and white characters, but like everything else, there are varying degrees of greyness. Not every bad character has to start out good and go bad. Not every good man has to be tempted into evil or be ruined because he resisted. Sometimes characters are white and always do the right thing and sometimes people are just plain bad. Not every character has to be some shade of grey. I think this urge to mix everything up has taken away the contrasts and left us with the muddy color which is about as satisfying as blending your ice cream sundae with a liverwurst sandwich. So let’s step back a little and let a few characters be white or black and get what they deserve. You know who does this well? Joss Whedon.

Think about Firefly. Simon makes the tough but right choice to sacrifice his comfortable life to save his sister. There is nothing twisted about their relationship, but an honest to goodness sibling love and loyalty. He is a good character (but not perfect) and in the end he and his sister are free. Kaylee is upbeat and loveable. Sometimes bad things happen to her, but it never destroys her and in the end she gets what she wants. Captain Tightpants tries so hard to be a dark man, but always does the right thing. Wash…sad. But he died in his moment of triumph. There was no endless torturing of the audience making us feel hopeless, horrible and helpless. No, his death was clean and the remaining characters felt the grief for us so we could shed a few tears and move on with life. I could go on about Firefly/Serenity forever, but my point is that there is enough of the wholesome meat of life in the story to develop a near cult following despite its short run. Imagine how differently you would feel if Wash had died during torture and Zoey had turned bitter. What if Mal and Inara got their lust on right away and never felt anything deeper? What if they never managed to reform Jayne, but left him the bastard he was and eventually had to shoot him? Hard to imagine, but it happens in so many stories where the instant arousal of emotional response of with sex, death or damnation has replaced the more real feelings of love, loss and eventual triumph. This, I think is the root of my dread of modern books. They torture and wrangle me without the payoff of the deeper feelings.

Anyway my challenge to all you F and SF writers out there. How about some meaningful, inspiring stories that don’t involve the end of the world or the maiming of any of your characters? I include myself in this challenge because my stories are as dark as the rest. Oh, and please stop destroying the world/life as we know it. Apocalypse is dead. (Haha!)