Victory and Courage to Quit

So, November has been a very eventful month and it is only half over. As I often mention around this time of year, November is NationalNovel Writing Month and this year I was more prepared than I've ever been. This showed in my first week word count of about 2000 words per day, when previously I've struggled to get to the minimum of 1,667 words. Then week two came along and I began to struggle with one of the story tracks. Words would fly out on the other, but it was agonizing going for the problem track. Around this time, I got very sick, my cat died and a few other things came up and I fell behind. I would rally and catch up or catch up enough to make success still possible, but then fall behind again when I was too sick to write or my daughter wouldn't nap. Finally, I came to realize that I was walking a fine line between sanity and pushing myself to reach this goal that no one but myself cared about. In other words I was just making myself sicker and not dealing with the grief I felt over my cat. I contemplated quitting, but the reality was that I could have pushed myself through to achieve this goal of 50,000 words so I wouldn't have to admit to myself that I was a quitter. Here’s the thing -  people always celebrate the person who pushes through to achieve the impossible goal no matter what the cost and ostracize the person who quits, but I think it takes even more courage to quit than to keep going. At least I have always found it to be so. I feel as if I have let everyone down, let myself down and in general created a big void of disappointment. I would be easier to bottle up my own feelings than to disappoint and justify. Quitting is not easy for me and it was not easy this time, but in the long term, I will be better in regards to my mental and physical health and the novel I am writing will be better. I will have time to figure out what is wrong with the story instead of just pouring out bad drivel to get a word count. And I will finish this story. I always do. Each Nano novel I have written has been completed much later and is another 30-40K longer than the 50K nano goal. So, I am taking the pressure off and taking a break to feel better.

            However, it’s not all sad news from this quarter. My Fairy-kissed Acorns made it into the Small Works art show at the Torpedo factory. Victory is mine! I’m over the moon! Unfortunately, the reception fell right at the beginning of my cold and I couldn't rally myself to attend, make new acquaintances and spread my plague to as many as possible. I was extremely disappointed, but as if to make up for it, I received a nice letter in the mail from an admirer of my drawing. How often does that happen? I won’t copy the whole note here, even though I am tempted, but will mention that the words “luxury, beautiful and vibrant colors” were used in the letter. So nice!!!! I’m going to keep the note forever in my little art scrap book! So, if you are ever impressed with someone’s creation, please do not be afraid to tell them. I promise they will appreciate it. :)

            In conclusion, it has been a memorable month and will probably continue to be so. Keep tuned for whatever comes next. 

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.

Patronage

Every day as I watch the depressing events in the news, I can’t help but feeling a little angry. Every other story seems to be pointing out the greed of the corporate fat cats, huge bonuses, corporate retreats in Las Vegas, and private jets. Maybe this is just a media slant, but how can I know. Meanwhile businesses are closing and people are losing their jobs. This however is only the backdrop for my concerns. A magazine called Realms of Fantasy is closing and along with many others. I do not regularly read Realms of Fantasy, but I was happy knowing it was out there and alive and well. As these magazines close because of a decrease in sales, it means that there are fewer venues for writers to publish their works.

Now it has been a long held that the arts do not receive enough support. I often wonder who is supposed to provide this support. I don’t necessarily think that the government should provide this support except at schools. So, who should support the arts? I like to look backward for some answers. Artists used to have patrons in old Europe. The extremely wealthy often supported artists and commissioned works. They also supported musicians. If we return to our time, the extremely wealthy comparable to the European aristocracy are rock stars and actors. Here we stumble into another cesspool of excess and—dare I say it—hedonism. Just watch shows like “The fabulous life of…” and it will almost make you sick with disgust at their spending. In addition to the profits they make from their acting skills, they are now adding to that by becoming “moguls” and branding everything they possibly can. They ask for more and more money from the little people; watch my movie, listen to my music, bye the product that I say are cool. So we have two branches of art: poor artists and writers and wealthy actors and rockstars. Of course there are more people that fit into these categories, but very general will do for this essay.

Since there is such a disparity between these two groups, it almost seems as if support of the arts should come from the arts. Take the magazine Realms of Fantasy. It has been supporting writers as they begin their careers, develop their voice and become the writer that will pen a fantastic novel. Many times these novels will be made into movies, such as the Golden Compass, Twilight, and Tarzan. If one Hollywood megastar who owes their career or even a portion of their wealth to a fantastical plotline were to become a patron of this magazine, it would not have to close. But I guess they have better things to do with their money like start an namebrand empire or buy a Lamborghini. I don’t want to come off as bitter about their spending because I am not. There is a part of me that enjoys that such a lifestyle is possible in the same way that I like knowing there are still tribes in South America who have no knowledge of the industrial world. The ridiculous wealth and spending keep an element of wonder in the world. On the other hand, it makes me sad to see that these uber wealthy are so focused on increasing and enjoying their wealth that they cannot support the roots of their craft, such as Realms of Fantasy. It would take one patron to keep the magazine alive. I just feel that it is time to revive the tradition of adopting artists and becoming their patron. I think that the worthy in our society should be supported by the undeservedly wealthy.

Relatedly, I think that it is time we had a shift our business world away from the “all about me” attitude to more humanitarian goals. What happened to the days where people would start a business to give their neighbors jobs? What happened to the altruistic nature of our country? I feel that if we are to change the direction of our country’s economics, it will have to come from the ground up. Everyone will have to change their attitude from “What can I get?” to “What can I do?”

In the words of Rumi, “You are searching the world for treasures but the real treasure is yourself. If you are tempted by bread, you will find only bread. What you seek for you become.”

What is it that our country is seeking?