Coffee, Art, and the Ability to Improvise

I did it. I did the thing. I put nine original pieces of my own creation on display at a local coffee shop. This may seem trivial to some, but for me- it’s still quite unbelievable.

I nearly backed out. I was 99% sure I was going to actually. I did back out the day I had originally planned, Saturday- with the ingenious excuse of bad weather. The next day they were closed, so that left Monday. I told as many people as I could to ensure that I would not be a coward and pretend like I had never applied in the first place. It worked.

I arrived after work, nervous as hell. Being my perpetually unprepared self, I had not thought to check the logistics of well, anything. I was only able to hang four of my nine pieces because I had not examined their hooks beforehand, nor had I thought to bring my own. The other five are framed- and rather small, so no wired backs. No, they are in your average run of the mill black picture frames that you would display a photograph in. Needless to say, the hooks the place had were not compatible at all.

After realizing this mortifying truth and feeling like everyone in the coffee shop was staring at me (they probably didn’t even notice me, to be honest), I decided to cut my labels and leave. Yes, you read that correctly. I was so unprepared I hadn’t even cut my labels yet. Luckily for me I have this handy little paper cutter so I didn’t have to worry about my unsteady hands with a pair of scissors. That would have been tragic, I assure you. So with that, I quickly cut my labels, hung them, and got the hell out of dodge.

The rest of the night, I racked my brain, trying to come up with a solution. I was happy that I had the guts to stick around and hang what I could that day, but how the hell was I supposed to get the rest of my pieces up? I wish that I could say the improvisation was of my own doing, but I have to give credit where it is due. My step dad is the hero of this story. While I was extensively searching the web on how to wire the back of picture frames made out of plastic, my step dad had the epiphany I wanted to cry over. It’s a simple solution, really. I’m shocked that I didn’t consider it to begin with. The answer to any artist trying to figure out this stupidly simple problem is this: Command Strips. Mother. Fucking. Command Strips.

Since I was working with a grid wall, I obviously could not attach the command strips to the wall as is normally done. Instead, I put them on the back of the frames, with the hook pointed downward. I doubled up on each one for extra security, and wa-la. The perfect, cost efficient solution that does not break the bank. Especially if you already have a butt load of them lying around like we did, so $0 were spent.

I tested out my step dad’s ingenious plan the next day, again after work. It worked like an absolute charm. Finally all of my pieces were on the wall, some sans label because I did not take the time to cut the rest out the previous day because I am at heart a total slacker. I arranged everything the way I wanted, cut the rest of the labels and put them in place, and stepped back to see my accomplishment.

It still feels impossible. It’s a step in the right direction. I’m not sure where I’m going, but damnit I did something. I did something I have dreamed about doing for years and never had the courage to do. I have done it, finally, and I feel this yearning sense for more. I will go at my own pace, I will not overwhelm myself, but I will not stop. I only have one life to live, and I am going to fucking live it. I hope that you will do the same. Dare to live, like I am trying to do.

Pushed to the Proverbial Edge

I tend to speak in the theoretical on this blog- I have yet to tell an actual story about a specific event in my life. I focus on an idea that I have had, maybe a quote or problem I sometimes struggle with or fixate on. Today, that changes. Because today, I have turned a shitty week into a nervous and exciting one for myself.

Everyone has that encounter at work at some point- the one where someone blows up at them for no reason at all. This was that week for me. I won’t go into super specifics because it was petty bullshit drama that should have been left back in high school, but I will give you the gist. When you get a mid twenties girl trying to help a mid fifties woman, the woman tends to not take kindly to such things. Hence, the explosion that happened on yours truly.

I was still reeling from it the next day and decided I needed a break- a ‘treat yo self’ moment if you will. Naturally, I went on my lunch break to the local coffee shop because let’s face it, there’s no better cheap treat than a not so cheap more-sugar-than-coffee coffee.

I’m not sure what came over me. I’m really not. I talk about selling my art and applying for shows but I never do any of it. I’m all talk and no actual commitment. But something about how my week turned instantly shitty- something about how that woman made me feel like I was small and insignificant, it made me snap. I paid for my food and my delicious white mocha and I asked to speak to the manager about getting my art on their art wall.

My voice did not shake. I did not tremble with nerves. The pen did not waiver in my hand as I filled out my application and asked about the process. I was calm, I was collected, and I felt like a giant weight had been lifted off my chest.

Sometimes we need a push. Not a gentle nudge. Not a guiding hand. A big, fat push in the right direction. I know I have a long way to go before I figure out whatever it is I’m supposed to be doing, what path I need to take. But I kept putting this experience off because of my larger than life fear of failure and disappointment. The truth of the matter is, I’ll never succeed if I’m too afraid to try in the first place.

For whatever reason, someone being extremely rude to me was the push I needed this week to actually try. I needed to experience that level of mean and albeit a bit crazy in order for me to rise to the challenge and rise above my work place. Because let’s face it, I am not passionate about my job at all. I do not intend to spend the rest of my life in a workplace surrounded by unhappy people who feel that it is perfectly acceptable to chew someone out who is trying to help them. I might as well start trying to expand my horizons now. And a local coffee shop is as good a place to start as any.

Wish me luck!

Old, Alone, Done For

We all do it. You cannot lie to me. We all have quotes that stick in our minds and resurface randomly. We say them over and over to ourselves and can’t get them out of our head. It becomes a chant, a verse we sing to ourselves until we’re sick of it. Whether or not we choose to utter them aloud is beside the point.

One such quote that has resurfaced an irritating amount to me of late is “Old, Alone, Done For,” from the live action Peter Pan. I mean the good one, the one that made me have a crush on Jeremy Sumpter for a short time and respect the crap out of Jason Isaacs acting ability -along with his role of Lucius Malfoy the year before obviously. And yes, please read that in Snape’s voice because it was definitely intended that way.

This quote stuck with me for some reason over the years. I guess it’s because I never want to be the person that people are chanting at, hoping they’ll lose all hope and succumb to the inevitable death that awaits us all. I mean, who wants that? Maybe when I initially realized how much student debt I was in, but now… we’ll get back to that later. The point is, I never want to be old, alone, or done for. But sometimes I feel like I’m either there or approaching there much quicker than I would like.

I know, I know. It’s my own fault. I’m doing what people do and I am comparing myself to others. I am looking at all the happy posts on Facebook and wishing I could have what everyone else seems to have. The happy couple. The new baby. The beautiful house. The utter lack of debt. The amazing vacations to anywhere and everywhere. Of course I wish for those things. Who wouldn’t? It’s so easy to compare yourself to everyone and focus on the negative- focus on the things you want so desperately but for some reason cannot get a hold of.

I’ll be honest, I thought I had the one thing I have wanted my entire life not too long ago. I thought I had it and now I don’t. It’s the biggest disappointment, the biggest let down I have ever experienced. I am still reeling from it, though I know it won’t last forever. I know my comparing won’t continue forever. It seems unfair to me, but I know my path is not the same as anyone else’s. I have my own life to lead, and so does everyone else. I am not old, I am twenty-five years young. I am not alone, though I may feel like it some of the time. I have friends and family who love me and care for me. And I am not done for. I have so much of the world to see, so many books to read and write, and so much art to create.

I am making the decision to move on from “Old, Alone, Done For.” Instead I’ll focus on a classic quote- one I hope all you pop culture fiends will appreciate. “Seize the moment, because tomorrow you might be dead.” Buffy Summers, slayer of our time. Literally.

Creative Catastrophe

What’s worse- not knowing what to create, or having so many ideas in your brain throughout the day and not knowing which one to tackle first? Most would probably say the first, and I can definitely say that I’ve been there, done that. My problem ever since entering the workforce has been the latter of the two I’m afraid.

I know I’m not the only one to encounter this burst of creativity when I should be working instead. I will be in the middle of something and have an idea pop into my head suddenly, without warning. I can hardly contain myself, and I typically tend to start doodling in my designated work notebook, which does not look very professional let me tell you.

I think about my idea all day, anxious to get home and let the real work begin- the work I am actually passionate about and really excited for. That’s something that most people probably can’t say- that they’re excited to go to work.

But things get in the way, and when you work full time it’s hard to make yourself get started once you’ve sat down. My schedule is the same throughout the work week: 7 to 4:30 (sometimes 5) I am at work. 30 to 45 minute commute home, then dinner. At this point I am sitting, and I am tired. I have lost momentum, and I have lost my excitement to get to the real work ahead. I more often than not will put it off until tomorrow. Tomorrow I will have more energy. Tomorrow I will be better.

And then tomorrow comes, new ideas with it. But tomorrow I am not always better. Tomorrow unfortunately looks an awful lot like today did. And the ideas- they pile up. They form a haphazard stack in the back of my head, threatening to topple over at any given moment. This leads to an overwhelming feeling of not knowing which idea to pursue first. At this point, there are so many that I am petrified.

To try to alleviate this, I make list upon list of my ideas throughout the day and create a schedule for myself. I know there are full time artists who run successful businesses and they might have a schedule in place to get certain tasks done in a timely manner, but you cannot schedule creativity. You can set aside time for it, you can make yourself draw or paint but that does not mean you are being creative. It means you are practicing a skill set. You are doing what you feel needs to be done. The excitement is gone, and that is what is so damn frustrating to me.

I cannot remember a time where I had an idea and immediately had the opportunity to experiment and play. Because that is what art is to me- it’s not about line or color or technique. It’s about the journey, the process you go through to create something new. It’s about discovering a new side to yourself in each brush stroke, in each hatch mark of a pencil. Thomas Merton said it best: “Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.” And I so desperately need to do just that.

Thank God for weekends.

Obligatory New Years Bullshit

It’s about that time of year again- the time where we declare we will finally do whatever it is we failed at doing the previous 365 days of the year. But what makes this year any different?

It’s no secret that we all have problems we are facing. We all struggle at some point– we might be facing financial problems, personal dramas, and we might even go through an existential crisis now and then. For some weird reason, we decide that the new year is the perfect time to “change”. We put it off until after the holidays because there’s just no time. And then what do we tend to do with our resolutions? We make them too unrealistic. We expect too much of ourselves, and when we fall short, we take the easy path. We quit. And we quit hard.

At least, that’s what I typically do.

I am the type of person who shies away from things that don’t come easy naturally. For this reason I have sadly never learned how to play an instrument, rage quit when I tried to actually run a 5k, and I have never fully mastered a stick shift (I could get by in a pinch, but there would be an ungodly amount of stalling). Part of the problem is that I lack discipline. Or rather, I lack self-discipline.

But is that really the problem? Or is it actually that I don’t really want to be ultra healthy and going non stop every. single. day.

In the past, I have created a list of resolutions. And not a small one. For my fellow list makers out there, the true listers know that if you don’t cross every single thing off, you start to go a little insane. Even if you are pages and pages away, you know in the back of your head that it’s there, unfulfilled and weighing on you and your failure to complete the task. You might even feel guilty for not doing the thing that you said you would. And if you’re like me, these are probably recycled items from previous years of failed resolutions.

Try not to despair, and try not to put so much on yourself. 2018 was rough, you deserve a break. Pick one thing that you really want to accomplish. It doesn’t have to be big. Just make sure that it’s something you really, really want. Then take small steps to achieve it.

And here goes the part where everyone groans:

My new years resolution this year is to continue to take it one day at a time, and do my damndest to keep my creative spirit alive.

See you in hell, 2018.

Title Me This

Shakespeare once asked, “What’s in a name?” and that question has confounded me and comforted me for many, many years.

I have never been fond of titles. They are elusive, haunting things that keep me awake at night. I don’t consider myself to be a true “writer” as I have never actually finished anything I set out to write. I have started half a dozen books and I have absolutely nothing to show for any of them (aside from my obvious creative frustration). One of the most difficult parts of writing has and will probably always be coming up with the elusive damn title.

Perhaps it’s my OCD with chronological order that is the true problem. I feel as though I have to write from beginning to end, and my idea of writing coincides with how I read books. Just like everyone else, I start with the title. What’s that famous quote everyone loves to throw around? Don’t judge a book by its cover? The sad reality is that we often do. Our attention is caught either by striking cover art, or an intriguing title. On some occasions, both. And that is what I get caught on.

I have this fantastic idea for a novel. I get excited and I write as many ideas down as I possibly can. I think so much about it I start to dream it. And then, when I try to get started actually writing- instant block. All I can think of is that damn title, looming over me. It’s on the tip of my tongue, I know it. Except I don’t. I never do. It feels as if it’s right in front of me, but I can never reach it. I’m constantly trying to catch it, but it eludes me. Runs from me, laughing.

But what is in a name? To give something a name does not mean that you are defining it. You are simply helping people identify something. I was given a name, but that name does not define me. I am so much more complex and beautiful. I have been so caught up on giving things titles before I begin writing them that I am letting my stories suffer for it. I will never be truly good at writing if I can’t get passed a title. It’s true, people pick up books because of titles and cover art. But what makes them read? What makes them take the time to sit down and read it? A good story. A story that takes you on a journey, that resonates with you in some way. I could have the best title in the world, but no one would read it if the story was absolute shit. I certainly wouldn’t.

So, I will continue to try to write books. I will continue my battle with titles and write something amazing despite my OCD.

And just in case my titles suck, I will make some damn good cover art.