Why "Divergent Artist?"

  Since I was a little girl, I've always lived in a swirl of creative imaginations. Born to two fairly pragmatic parents, I was always a bit of a head-scratcher to them. That's not to say they weren't supportive of my creative endeavors. In retrospect, I can imagine it was difficult to understand why their young daughter "needed" endless jars of buttons, pencils, half-burned candles, dried flowers, etc, etc. And the endless stacks of journals and sketch books and canvas may have seemed excessive, but they gave me that confused nod anyway, and smiled their way through it. When I was young I happily and wholeheartedly threw myself into every wave of artistic notion that wandered through my mind. I drew and painted without concern of anything but the simple joy of putting color on paper. I happily pasted collections of found objects together, playing with their colors and textures and sizes, without ever questioning the practicality of such a thing. I was constantly drawn to paint tubes, bolts of textiles and cloth, glass panels, textures of river rock and stones, metal wire, handmade paper, glossy photographs, and every other beautiful piece of our everydays that could be made into art.

As I "grew up" and learned the "right" way to do things, I dove headfirst into every artistic medium I could get my hands on. While my interests stayed wide open, unfortunately, my mind did not. I started thinking I needed to do things the same way that those who've gone in front of me have done them. I became distracted and discouraged by the outside voices. The ones that said, "Why don't you ever focus on anything?" "Why can't you finish something before you start the next project?" "Do you really think you can be good at everything?" "Do you really need all this junk?" And in the midst of intended compliments of my talent, the overwhelming opinion seemed to be that I was just not focused and that I lacked direction. Of course I loved drawing and painting, but that did not lessen my passion for photography or sculpture. I still loved doing the native beadwork I learned from my family, and that in no way took away from my desire to write, or do glass mosaics. Why did I have to focus on one thing? Why did I have to limit myself to one medium?

After years of college and travel and work, I found myself in a constant state of creative frustration. Longing to throw myself into the old creative waves of my childhood, but feeling limited by my self imposed constraints of what I should and should not do. Then one day I found myself in a conversation that would change my life. It's those unlikely moments that change our lives that I love the most. I was talking to another artist who expressed struggling with the same thing I was. She loved creating collages, and she loved painting, and she loved collecting flowers and mushrooms and rocks and putting them together in unexpected ways. As she shared her passion for all these things, for the first time I saw how they fed each other. I realized that my creative interests are cyclical. That they feed and motivate each other. When I try to limit and manipulate my creativity, I suffocate all of it entirely. So, when I start to journal an idea for an article, I am inspired to take those ideas and see them visually. I gather images to sketch, which inspires ideas for photography projects. And in looking at my photo galleries, I see color combinations that cry out to become paintings and mosaics and collages. Creativity, by it's very nature, cannot be limited or controlled. And how it expresses itself through me does not have to be relegated to one particular form. I can't begin to say what freedom this new found philosophy gave me. Actually it was not a new idea. It was a very old idea. It is the same thing that every child with a crayon in their hand already knows. They draw for the simple joy and pleasure of drawing. They paste different colored papers to each other because it's fun. They required no special instruction or critique or artistic philosophy. It's already in them. It's in all of us.

It's this exact freedom of expression that motivates me now. I believe that we are created in the image of the One who created us. And, being a Creator Himself, we are in turn, creative beings. What could be possible in this world if we all just gave into our creative natures, and "flew off the handle" and thought without limits? What if we looked at the world without the constraints of what we think others are thinking. Why does it matter what "they" think? Who are "they" anyway? Now my goal is to create and live and worship and love without worrying about what "they" are thinking. But I do eagerly invite all of "them" to do the same, and live with me in some kind of childish freedom.

So, now I find myself in my early thirties, a divergent artist. Joyfully incapable of focusing on one thing at a time, and completely resigned to creative unpredictability. A lover of all things creative and beautiful and intriguing and inspiring. A searcher and lover of truth and questions and theories and ideas. I look forward to sharing what I'm working on, and thinking about, and mulling over, and pulling my hair about. My creative process is often messy and illogical, but it is my way, and I'm ready to embrace it. So welcome to my divergent world. Where the only question asked now is "why not?"

Moccasins for Miss Truth

   I am blessed beyond measure with the most amazing nieces and nephew, and for a while I've been wanting to make a pair of baby moccasins for them. These are my first trial and error pair for my sweet niece Truth. Sometimes it seems like the project that will never end as I seem to constantly be undoing the work I've done, correcting my mistakes as I go. But I am starting to really dig them a lot, and can't wait to see them on her little feet. I think the colors are precious for a little girl, and even though they're not really traditional colors, the rosette pattern is. So it's a nice combo of the old and the new. Now that I know better what I'm doing, I'm getting started on a few more pairs for the other sweeties in my life. Truth just started walking, so the timing is great for her to have a pair of soft sole shoes. When they're done and on her little feet, I'll hopefully post a pic of her wearing them. As always, if you have any questions or comments, feel free to drop me a line. Thanks for reading!

Bad Blogger

   So I know, I deserve a virtual slap on the wrist. I've been a bad blogger, or rather a non-blogger. I've been crazy busy lately, which ideally I would be blogging about. But, it's not so much interesting as just time consuming stuff. I'm busy with work and covered up in a project, which I love by the way. And I'm working towards a self-impossed deadline to launch a new website in the works, all new promotional materials, new advertising, wedding book examples, and I'm sure I'm forgetting something. And I'm a little bit embarrassed to admit it, but I've actually got a completely new, totally different, project in the works. Yes, it's ridiculous to start something new. And no, I don't have time for it. But it's just serendipitous and I need to see where it's going. Hopefully, I'll be able to say more about it soon. After Christmas most likely, but we'll see. When I actually write it all out, I can see how someone could look at my work schedule and seriously question the logic behind it. And they'd be completely justified in doing so. But, as I've said before, I thrive creatively from diversity. It's truly a cyclical process for me. While I'm researching for a design motif, I'm also finding inspiration for my new side project. And in looking for advertising possibilities for my photography, I'm seeing holes in the market and coming up with ideas for completely new products no one is offering. It's probably a good idea for most people to start a project and follow it through until it's finished. But I am not that person. I'm apparently a divergent artist, and I really do benefit from letting my creative energy bounce around a little bit. I know how amazingly blessed I am that my "work" is also my play sometimes. Yes, sure, there are times when I'd rather be doing something else than finishing the project with the soonest deadline. But there's hardly room to complain. I actually get to do what I love, and get paid for it. I don't know many people who can really say that, and I don't take it for granted. I thank God everyday for answering my prayers. I very clearly remember being told repeatedly that wanting to be a professional artist was not something people could actually do. That wanting to be able to make a living as an artist was silly and irresponsible and really just a waste of time. I do want to be very clear about something though. These discouraging "warnings" never came from my family. I am crazy blessed to come from parents and a family that firmly encouraged us to follow our hearts. They said we could do anything we wanted, and be anything we wanted to be. They didn't always understand my art, but they always, always, ALWAYS encouraged it. So, when they said I could be anything I wanted, I was fortunate to be foolish enough to believe them. It's been a rocky and twisty road, but it's mine, and I'm thankful for it. So, now I find myself doing exactly what I was told was impossible, and doing it my way and not anyone else's. It's not always the most practical or predictable way to make a living, but I love it. I really do. So, I'm busy and turning in circles and juggling deadlines, but I've got a smile on my face while I'm doing it. I'm excited and hopeful about the road I'm on and I know enough to not even try and predict what it may be in the future. When other things in my life are completely up in the air, and I don't know which way is which, I can always find a safe place in my art. This completely flighty, unpredictable, unrealistic, and impossible profession has somehow become my solid ground and one of the most stable and consistent parts of my life. So, for right now, I'm a little swallowed up in a few different projects, but I really wouldn't have it any other way. Hopefully I'll get better at balancing everything and making blogging one of the regular parts of my "routine" if it can be called that. Thanks for hanging in there with me.

Beading In Progress

So, I'm making headway on my little project here. I've decided it's going to be a bag I'm giving to a loved one. Since they don't know about it, I'll keep that part to myself for the moment. The front rosette is pretty much done, unless I decide to add a trim/border. And the back is the person's Cherokee name, and I'm just starting to add decorative beaded triangles as a surrounding border to the name. So far, I'm pretty happy with it, although it's hard to look and see the mistakes. Beadwork is something that once you get much past the beads you're actually laying down, it's hard to go back and correct mistakes without ripping out your work. So, it's all a learning curve, but I'm having fun with it. I'll post the finished bag when I get it finished.

Precious Things

  After writing about remembering my grandma the other day, I looked back at what I'd written in my journal during the process of her funeral. I don't normally blog very often about the intimate parts of my life. But, I think all too often we can get caught up in what we do, and not focus enough on who we are. And I am most definitely a real person, with a real life, and real intense, sometimes messy, emotions. This blog is so much about creativity and art, but we are complicated people, and cannot be summed up by any one thing. Our lives are multi-faceted, and in that, all of it comes out in our creative expression. So I thought, in my ongoing pursuit of transparency, I would share a peek inside my personal journal.


October 9, 2007
  I sit here now, three days after my Grandma's funeral, and I find that I'm unable to think about much else. Who she was, the impact she had, her strange (and some would argue crazy) habits, and every little thing that made her who she was. It's amazing how you can go an entire lifetime loving and knowing someone, yet still only seeing them from your own perspective. To me, she was just "Grandma." But at the funeral I saw her like never before. I saw her as a wife, a mother, a teacher, a friend, a daughter, a neighbor, and the list goes on and on. But I think the one title that matters the most, above all others, is she was a Believer. She knew the Lord, and taught her children, who taught their children to know and love Him too.

   As we were at her and my Papa's house we did the same things any family has to do when they loose a loved one. We went through her things, looked for her valueables, sorted official papers, divided a few assets to family she's left specific things for, etc. But my Grandma, being the unique woman she was, made sure our duties in her passing were as interesting as possible. Where as most people have to look through someone's possesions, Grandma still "possesed" everything she'd ever owned since 1953, leaving us a lifetime of dusty newspapers and magazine articles and such to sort through. A normal observer would say, "well just throw them all out." And they'd be right, if we were dealing with anyone other than my Grandma. When most people want to put their money somewhere safe, they consider things like, oh say, banks. But not this one. Nope. She found her financial safety in other places. Deep in piles of obituaries, greeting cards well over 20 years old, the oven, wrapped in aluminum foil in the freezer, in between pages in books, coat pockets, and the list goes on and on. You see, most people would leave a bank account. Grandma left us a treasure hunt. And in her planning, our little treasure hunt had a map listing all the valueables and places she'd hidden things. But apparently in all her hiding, the map made it's way to a "safe place" unknown by the rest of us, leaving us searching blindly. Needless to say, Grandma made sure that all of her collected belongings wouldn't be thrown into a mass grave without a thought from the rest of us. Every page of every paper and magazine, every one of the hundreds of greeting cards and envelopes, every box, every pair of pants and coats and pocket books..... everything has to be gone through piece by piece. The unexpected joy in her legacy of surprises is that we've gotten a chance to peer into her life, through a completely different perspective. Hers. We found the list of people she was sending Get Well Soon cards to the week that she passed. We found her devotionals she did every single day of her life. We found her list of people she was praying for, and we were on it. We didn't just find cash and checks and travelers checks from 1982. We found her heart. What once looked like a pile of dusty papers turned out to be a stack of lovingly cutout obituaries of loved friends and neighbors who had passed on. What looked like a drawer full of random jewelry turned out to be pieces of treasure in things like her grandmother's ring, with all of her grandchildren's birthstones in it. She wore it because she loved and remembered us all the time. And what seemed to be needless boxes of collected things like pens, ended up being a collection of pens to send to a ministry for the elderly. She, elderly herself, was doing what she did best for them. She collected, and gave.

   Grandma was a keeper. No, she was a finder and a keeper. She found and kept most everything, much to our amusement. But now that she can't keep her things, it leaves me and my family with many questions. The hardest one being "what do we do now?" The intial answer to that question was an easy one. You see, Grandma's house has always been a sacred sanctuary for all things porceline and breakable. Because of this fact there has always been a list of unwritten commandments over the front door, that one dare not disobey. When you walk into her house, the very first thing you do is take your shoes off at the door. Food and drink are consumed, while seated, at the dining room table only. No exceptions. If you happen to find yourself in the living room (aka Precious Moments Land), you'd better have a really good reason for doing so. Do not use the upstairs bathroom for bathing as you might dirty the tub. Don't touch the walls with your dirty hands. And don't wash your dirty hands with the good soap. You might dirty it. To the common outsider this list may sound harsh and uptight and ridiculous. And they might be right. But this was just part of the charm of going to Grandma's house. All the rules were different in her world, and we obeyed them with fear and trepedation (at least we wanted her to think so). In reality, Grandma was far more relaxed and laid back than she would want anyone to know. And when we picked on her for her "exentricities" she loved it. She knew she was loved if we were giving her a hard time. So as to the question of "what do we do now." We did the only thing we could. We sat in her sacred living room surrounded by Precious Moments, eating pizza & drinking soda with our shoes on. Laughing and loving every minute of it, while mourning the fact that we were able to now. Yes, now we can touch the walls, but we don't have Grandma there to tell us not to. We can wash our hands with whatever soap we like, but it's not nearly as much fun as knowing she'd wash the "good soap" right behind us. And no matter how many pizzas we eat in her living room, it's still her living room. Full of hundreds of her much loved, and deeply cherished Precious Moments, referred to by all of our family as "Grandma's Precious Things" with more than a little bit of sarcasm.

   So now her precious things are our precious things. And all the jokes we've made about them and threats of dropping boxes of them, have mysteriously disappeared. Now that little porceline figurine of a young american indian girl doesn't seem so silly. I see her thinking of me. I see her wanting something that reminded her of me. The police officer with the doe eyes as she prayed for my dad all those nights of his carrer as a cop. Every single one of them is for, or about, someone that she loved. She didn't see porceline. She saw us. And now, more than ever, I want to see her. And as I looked around that room full of my family, I realized that what she left behind were not her figurines, porcline egg collection, or tea cups and saucers. What she left was a legacy of loveing each of us, no matter what. She was proud of every thing we ever did. She was our biggest fan, sometimes cheering all by herself. While Grandma had some crazy habits, the craziest of all was perhaps her tunnel vision view of how wonderful we all are. Her handmade sweatshirt declaring her to be "World's Proudest Grandma" bragged of a title that no one could dare take from her. And even now, though she's not here with us any longer, I know she still loves us, and is still proud of us. She's always loved us no matter what. So I know now, that that won't ever change. And even though we did defile the sacred living room with our pizza and shoes on, I know she's secretly laughing at us, like she always did. So I'm going to keep on laughing at and with her, like I always have. And in our laughter, she doesn't seem quite so far away. And the saddness isn't quite as empty as it seems. The place she's left in her passing is impossible to fill, but we will do our best. Fill it with stories and memories and jokes and hope of seeing her again. And when the day comes that I am able to see her again, I will run up to her heavenly mansion and throw my arms around her neck and laugh like we never have. After taking my shoes off of course.

Remembrance

  I think most of us have, at times, felt like our life was just zooming along and we do everything we can just to keep up with it. But there are those times and occassions that everything else has to hault for. Rememberance has always been important to me, and today is one of those days. Today is the three year anniversary of my grandmother's unexpected death. In the past few years my family has had to pick up the pieces of our broken heart and carry on together. Still, sometimes, it doesn't feel like she's gone, and I even forget in moments of excitement when my instinct is to call her. I learned several years ago a couple of very important lessons about grief that have helped me so much in this loss.


Here is what I know about grief:
1- It is patient. Grief will wait you out, indefinitely. Sometimes the intensity of sorrow can be terrifying and we try to run from it, distracting ourselves with other things, anything, just to keep breathing and trying to pretend that our lives haven't just changed forever. But grief will sit quietly and wait for you to be still, and then you will find yourself alone with it, no matter how long it takes. So it's better just to face it head on and let it do it's job.


2- Grief is a good thing. It seems backwards because it is so painful, but grief is not our enemy. We grieve because we love. And alot of the time we grieve hard because we love hard. When we loose someone, our love for them doesn't go away, of course. The grief we find ourselves in becomes a part of our love for them. When it's hard to remember, because we have that hole where they used to be, our instinct again is often to distract ourselves. But if we let grief manifest, we have a precious opportunity to feel the intensity of love and relationship that we were blessed enough to be a part of. We don't completely loose someone ever, when there is love between us. So, in grief, we keep them with us. And eventually we find a new "normal" where we start living again and we can remember without all the pain. And in making grief our friend, we bring them close to us again.


3- Grief is as unpredictable as the ocean waves. Just when you think you know what to expect, it surprises you. As we learn to move through it, it can sneak up on you at the most unexpected moments. There have been times when a random thought or smell or memory comes to me, reminding me of the one's I've lost, and suddenly I find myself in the full throws of grief as fresh as the day I lost them. It literally takes my breath from me, leaving me gasping, stunned by the unexpected attack. But, again, we need to not run from it. These waves of grief aren't permanent, and the intensity doesn't last.




   Learning about grief, I confess, is not my favorite lesson in life. It's horrible, and painful, and ugly, and messy. It's life at it's absolute lowest and it can change us forever. But it is life, and it does go on. And so we can embrace it, and set aside times of rememberance. I love my Grandma and I miss her terribly. I missed her when I went to call to tell her I was in love. And then again to tell her I was getting married. She would have loved that. And I missed her comfort when my engagement ended and we canceled our wedding. I could really have used her advice and mostly just her love. But I can feel her joy in my heart because I know her, and I can almost hear her voice. I would give anything to be able to share with her, and I miss her smile. But, in joy and in grief, I carry her with me. And I will carry her with me wherever life leads me.

A Little Beading Project- In Process

   So I realized lately that I haven't shown anything I'm working on during the process of making it. And a lot of times I really enjoy seeing other artists process, so I'm going to try to be more conscious of stopping and taking some photos along the way. This particular little project is a beading piece I'm struggling through. I've been doing Indian bead embroidery since I was a kid, when my Uncle Don taught me one summer traveling around to different powwows. Through the years I've gone through seasons of doing more beading than others. But lately I've been missing doing something solid with my hands that isn't drawing. I think I underestimated the difficulty level of this particular pattern, but now I'm into it, and complications aside, I'm having a good time. It's deceptively simple looking, but it's genius is in the subtle and intricate color gradation. It's FAR from perfect, but it's all about the process right? I've been doing this type of beadwork since I was just a kid, but I'm still constantly learning. I like that.

   I took this photo with my phone, so the exact colors aren't the best, but I'll post a better photo of the finished piece when it gets there. I think after this piece I want to try a different style of beadwork. I've always loved the Cherokee floral bags I've seen, so maybe something in that direction. Hmmmm.

The Belle

  Throughout history there have been many volumes written on the sacred relationship between dog and man. Lassie and Timmy (usually found in a well somewhere), the constellation Orion and his trusty hunting companion Canis Major, Rin Tin Tin and his Police buddies, George Jetson and Astro, Scooby and Shaggy, Pluto and Mickey, Snoopy and Charlie Brown.... the list goes on and on. And here today to add to the eternal K9 pantheon, I present Annabelle, aka The Belle.

  I wasn't even looking for a dog when we met. I was going on a photography assignment to photograph a new litter of Saint Bernard puppies for a local breeder. A simple assignment really, and not one that I would have expected would change my life. Like many people, I'd never met a Saint Bernard in person, and had only vague ideas of hairy, drooly dogs running through the snowy Alps with little barrels of rum hanging from around their necks. When I rounded the corner of the backyard and came into the dog pen, I was immediately greeted by a swarm of the cutest little things on four legs I had ever seen. There seemed to be a sea of them, brown and white splotches, impossible to tell one from another, as they toppled over each other in their enthusiasm to greet me. The rest of the afternoon was spent cooing and petting and playing on the ground with all of them. Eventually I remembered I was there to do a job, but clearly professionalism was pretty much out the window at that point. After shooting, the breeder invited me to come back to see the puppies again and offered me a 50% discount as a partial fee payment if I wanted a puppy. I was barely out of college, had no long term permanent place to live, had only recently returned from a long term stay in Africa, and had absolutely NO idea what I wanted to do or where my life was leading me. Getting a dog, much less a gigantor Saint Bernard, was one of the dumbest things I could do. I couldn't even consider it. Could I?

  As I tried to tear myself away from the puppies I looked at each of them and thought, if I were to get a puppy, which one would I want. They were all just so cute and sweet and alert, everything you look for in a puppy. But I just couldn't decide. So I told the breeder I would think about it, but probably not and thank you very much for the offer. It was exactly 48 hours before I was back on her doorstep ready to pick out my unwise decision, I mean puppy. I had it narrowed down to two dogs. I just needed a little bit more time with them before I could be sure. So we went to return to the backyard, and as I followed the puppy peddler through the gate, there she was. It was like a halo of light was shining all around her (cue the rainbow and Hallelujah Chorus). She looked at me, I looked at her, and she ran to me, almost in slow motion. Her ears and lips flapping in the wind as she tripped through the yard, I laughed as her little legs tried desperately to keep up with her enthusiasm. At the time I thought it was just the drama of the moment that made time seem suspended, although it didn't take much more time for me to realize that Saints do actually move in slow motion as they're not much prone to high action, or anything involving much energy, or sometimes movement of any kind. Anyway, as she landed in a heap on my feet, I scooped her up in my arms and held the sweetest, softest bundle of fur I had ever laid eyes on. I knew she hadn't been here when I visited before, because this was definitely love at first sight. I asked the breeder where she had been and was told that she was first pick of the litter and that a buyer had put a deposit down on her. When I was there she had been set aside for the people to come pick up, but they never showed up. When she asked if I wanted to take this puppy home, I yelled "YES SHE'S MINE!" as my new puppy licked my face and neck. 

  I'll grant you that my recollection of the beginning of our partnership seems somewhat slanted and dramatic, and some have suggested that maybe it didn't happen exactly like that, but I assure you it did. One other sidenote: I'm a person that believes strongly in prayer. I pray in thankfullness, in times of fear, in need of direction, in joy, and at most points of major decision in my life. It is a big part of my relationship with God, and whether it's understood or not, it's precious to me. So I prayed and asked God about this dog situation. I knew it made no sense and that it wasn't the most logical thing to do. But I just couldn't get those little puppies out of my head. I asked that when I went back it would be clear to me. That if I was going to have a dog, then that I would choose the exact right dog for me, and that I would be the absolute best home for that dog for the rest of it's life. If that wasn't going to be the case, then I didn't want one. So I wasn't sure what to expect when I went, but I did think that there would possibly be something to guide me to the right decision. And when I saw her I just knew. The way you know when anything is completely right. She just fit. When I went to name her I thought through several options. When I thought about the name Annabelle, I broke it up and found that Anna meant "full of grace" and Belle meant "beautiful." But when I looked it up Annabelle was defined simply as "lovable." I thought nothing could be more perfect. Annabelle.

 Now here we are now, almost ten years later. She doesn't exactly fit in my arms the way she did that first day, but not much about our relationship has changed. She still follows me around like a puppy, and I still can't get enough of her. In my young freedom I moved around the country quite a bit, and no matter where I went, there was Annabelle. I can't even begin to list here the different scenarios we lived in and places we bounced around, to and from. Not much about my life was predictable and things were always changing, but she was the constant in my life. When I was happy, excited, scared, lonely, sad..... always right there just waiting to shower me with unrestrained love and adoration was my sweet Belle. Many people have had special dogs in their life, and this one is no exception. I can say with all honesty that she has seen me through the hardest parts of my life. And some of my very best memories have her right there in the middle of them as well. I have learned more from her than I would ever have imagined possible, which I'm sure I'll elaborate on more in future posts. But mainly I'm just so thankful for the love that God can give us through such a simple relationship. I'm not going to glorify her completely and claim that she is the smartest, most obedient, best trained dog in the world. If I did, I feel confident that lightning would surely strike me down. Anyone that knows her well at all knows that Annabelle isn't the brightest bulb in the box. She's not stupid (regardless of what my father says), but observant is not exactly a word I'd use to describe her. She may bark in the wrong direction of whatever is making the curious noise, and she may routinely sit on top of unsuspecting people, or other dogs, or pretty much anything unfortunate enough to be wherever she decides to plop herself down. But she is undeniably the most affectionate, loving, and singularly loyal dog anyone has ever known. She is joyfully oblivious to, well, most things, but in this case ignorance truly is bliss. All she knows is that she is loved and fed and that her entire life's happiness rests on one simple factor: me. She loves me more than anyone has a right to be loved by anyone. No matter what situation I have put her in, she adores me. When I have scolded her and punished her, she comes to me for comfort. When she has been hurt (a few times very, very badly) she runs to me to fix it. My family laughs because there is literally nothing she won't let me do with her. Even in extreme discomfort, she trusts me completely, and never even pulls away in pain. And when I am struggling or sick, somehow my oblivious sweetheart knows, and refuses to leave my side. I have been known to hide my crying from her because it upsets her so much. She is, when all is said and done, one of the best bad decisions I've ever made.

  Like many people whose family members walk on four legs, Annabelle is like a first child to me. Granted, I do recognize the difference between her and an actual baby (even if it may seem that I don't). But for now, I'm content to love her completely, without any competition for my affection or attention. I started writing this post because of a portrait I painted of her. But as I write I realize I may have had more to say about her than I would have anticipated. It's funny how the most unexpected things in life can end up having the most impact. Love comes in all shapes and sizes and colors and forms. Love is without reason and logic and doesn't recognize limits or regulations. Love, by it's very nature, is both consuming and explosive. I encourage anyone today to take a quick note of the loves in your life, be it people, pets, or passions and thank God for them. They are all a gift and should be cherished beyond measure. All are reasons to celebrate. And tonight, while she lays across my feet snoring and before I have to lug her to bed, I celebrate my sweet Belle and thank God for Love, in all forms. Even hairy drooly ones.

Shiny Pretty Things

Like many creative people, I've been tinkering and playing with pretty much any art form I could get my hands on for my whole life. When I was a kid I was so fortunate to be able to spend many many hours with older ladies and men that taught me traditional Cherokee beading. Our family is Eastern Cherokee/Catawba and when we were kids we spent quite a bit of time going to powwows and being exposed to the beautiful legacy we were born into. So, from as far back as I can remember, I've had a needle and seed beads in hand, doing everything I could get anyone to teach me. Loom work, bead embroidery, bead weaving, and making jewelry were some of my favorite toys and it just kind of stuck with me. Somewhere during my college years I branched out and started fiddling with non-Indian beadwork and making glass and gemstone jewelry. I'm the first to admit that those first attempts were sweet, but kind of pitiful. But I put my heart into it, and in time I got more proficient and expanded my "tool belt" of jewelry making skills. Several years ago I was selling in a few galleries and shops in Savannah, GA. It started out as just the normal wholesale business of creating jewelry, and selling it through these galleries. But gradually more and more people started commissioning unique one-of-a-kind pieces, instead of buying what was in stock.

 I was surprised at first, but as I worked with these people and learned about them, I was surprised to find that I enjoyed this part of the business so much more. It's great to make something purely out of your own creativity and imagine who will wear it, and what part of their lives it will have. But it was really wonderful to meet these people and hear what mattered to them, sometimes the story of the person they may be buying for, and what kind of piece they imagined. I could see the joy and passion on their faces when the pieces were delivered, and 
I know that my art is going to be loved
 and cherished and possibly passed 
down to future generations.

I've gone through phases and seasons of making necklaces, earrings, and bracelets, and then drifting away from it in pursuit of other creative outlets. After all, there's only so many hours in the day, and too many art forms to explore for one lifetime. 

  I like seeing how my style and look changes through these off-times. Lately I'm really into gemstones (mostly semi-precious), pearls, and sterling silver. My look has definitely become more refined than rustic, and I love the feminine sensibility of creating beauty for beauty's sake. Last Christmas I made some pieces for gifts, and also selling at a local boutique/gallery. I've been thinking about putting an Etsy shop together, but haven't really had enough direction to get there yet. But it's on my list for sure. For now I'm content to keep stringing and soldering and hunting for that perfect piece of stone that will finish off the piece that's been waiting for it. 


The depth of colors and the way the light plays on the facets of the gemstones is so beautiful to me, and no matter how many pearls I buy, I always manage to find a new type I haven't seen before and just can't seem to keep my hands off of them. Being able to make a financial profit from doing something you love is the dream of most artists and I don't take my blessing lightly. But as great as it is to create for pay, the bigger motivation is the creation process itself. Once I'm done with a piece, my part is over and it's time for it to live with someone else and bring them joy as well. Hopefully these pieces are going to loving homes, and I truly do hope that they bless everyone that wears them.

Amanda - Pastel Portrait

  

   Amanda is my friend Adam's wife, and I had the incredible pleasure and honor of photographing their wedding. Lately I've been wanting to stretch my creative muscles and venture into a new medium. For some reason, I've never done much at all with pastels. I absolutely adore oil pastels. But regular soft pastels have just never really interested me. I remember doing several excercises with them in school, but as soon as the assignment was over I was ready to put them back in the drawer. So, in an effort to get outside my box, I opened the drawer back up and decided to go for it. After a few minutes my hands started to remember what to do and I actually began enjoying the pastels. I loved the soft, diffused look that the pigments made and how they glided smoothly over the bumpy paper. I actually really dug it. This portrait is what came out of my little experiment and I'm pretty happy with it (although the original looks alot better than the scan I have here... haven't quite perfected how to acurately capture original artwork on my scanner yet). It's got a completely different look and appeal than what I'm used to, but variety is the spice of life. I think I might just keep them out of the drawer and move them onto the studio table to play with some more. Just goes to show it always pays to get outside our comfort zones and try something new.

Pastel Practice Portrait

        Usually when I'm practicing doing portraits, I choose images of my friends or family. That way when I'm done with it, they can enjoy it. I get the pleasure and discipline of practicing and they have a little gift from me. But when I was searching for images online one day, I came across this little girl. I don't know who she is, but I absolutely love her face. I don't know anything about the image except that photographer's name is Jacqueline Roberts. Unfortunately the site I found the image on is in Japanese, and since Japanese is a language I've yet to master in any way whatsoever, I haven't a clue what it said about the photographer. I googled her name and found www.jacquelineroberts.com. It's a simple little pastel portrait, but it was fun doing it, and every time I look at it, her little face makes me smile.

Night Snow

To Blog or Not to Blog?

  Actually, there really isn't much question anymore as whether to blog or not. When I first started this, I really viewed it as purely an online journal that I could use to keep track of my artwork and some random thoughts alongside it. Because it's just been for me, I've kept it pretty private because I had no intention of really sharing it with anyone in particular. But as I've become more and more familiar with other artists' and friends' blogs, I see how incredibly valuable it is to share these things. I, like so many other artists, lack a creative community. I long for the days back in college when I would both dread and look forward to friday critiques and getting the competitive feedback of my fellow students. I thrive on all things creative, and it breathes life into my entire self when I see it in other people's lives and work as well. I read through some of these blogs and I realize that I've been given an incredible gift. These people have invited me in and given me a window to see into a special part of their lives. I read the words from total strangers, and I so often I see myself. I recognize my own frustrations voiced by others. I see the same longing for inspiration, the thrill of the creative journey, and the simplistic joy in the beauty of a nice cup of tea and a piece of homemade pie. I love that blogging has given us a world where both the big and small things are put on pause for a moment, and given a place of importance. We notice things more I think when we become conscious of sharing it with others. And because of all these things, I've realized that I also want to have a voice in this creative community. I don't know exactly where it will lead, but that's part of the fun of it. I so long to be in an environment of people dedicated to expressing the things in their hearts, be it visual art, music, dance, writing, cooking, gardening, or flower arranging. Creativity is alive in all of us. This I know. And for myself, I know that that creative spirit is the substance of almost everything I want to do. So, I hope to find others both like me and different from me. I want to meet artists, but I'm also really hoping to meet those that long for creativity in their lives, but haven't quite found their avenue yet. I so want people to know that creativity is not just for the artists and the musicians. We are creative people, made in the image of a creative God, and if that desire is in your heart, then that means that there is a seed of creativity put there that is intended to be watered, and it will grow. I believe it with all my heart.

The Rest of the Cuteness: Sunday Edition

  So, here are the rest of the shots from a fun afternoon spent with my nieces, Lealie and Stori, and my nephew Sam. After we had a fun morning having a yardsale, and got ready to go, we made our way to the park. Lealie and Stori's grandmother had gotten them really cute matching tops, which they both insisted on pairing with their favorite shoes, their plastic rain boots. So, with boots and tops matching, their moms took a cue from their girls and wore their favorite boots too, and off we went.

Jenni, Stori, Lealie, & Mandie cheesing it up.

Little Miss Stori watching a plane go by.

I absolutely love this expression! Sam's just hanging out in his dad, Mike's, arm.

Little Lealie, looking like a pink flower, playing in her birthday tutu. 

Some family loving: Mandie with Lealie and Mike "hanging out" with Sambo.

Jenni hugging Stori.

A little father son moment between Mike and Sammie.

Twenty little toes, all in a row. I really like this father/son shot. It's like a before and after photo.

The smiley Stricklers.

More family fun time with Mandie, Mike, and Lealie.

Sassy Stori swishing her little tutu skirt. Good gracious I love this kid.

The many faces of Lealie. We are never short on entertainment when Lealie's around.

Something along the lines of playing chicken, but sweeter.

I think Jenni isn't exactly crazy about this shot, but I love it. It's such the true picture of motherhood, intimately close, messy, and hilarious.

Two little monkeys jumping on the bed after a fun afternoon at the park.

Such a beautiful Stori.

   It was simple, but one of those days you look back on and think, "how perfect to have that time together." Especially after being separated for months at a time by a lot of miles between us. And as hard as it is to miss each other, and not get to see Stori grow up, it makes the time we do get to have together so sweet. We don't take time for granted anymore. And we work a lot harder at communicating and sharing our days from a distance.