A Little Imagination and a Pile of Junk

art + music = community

A couple of weeks ago we had our first Mesa Junction neighborhood house party and it was a huge success. Despite the stress that comes with planning any party, it couldn't have been better. We had around 60 people milling around our home and yard. The atmosphere was lively but relaxed. Neighbors were surprised, if not shocked, to have been invited. And I was told over and over how thankful people were, how no one in the neighborhood had ever done anything like it, and how much our city needs this kind of community building. If I've learned anything here, it is that even people who seem to need nothing and no one long for authentic community and most have never experienced it.

 
Thankfully we have a number of incredibly talented friends who helped us turn our tiny, narrow back yard into the perfect sanctuary. We had live music on our newly built stage and live artists, including Mandy who artfully arranged shards of mirror into mysteriously appearing visages and Andreas who worked tirelessly for 5-6 hours on a 12+ foot canvas showing us all how graffiti art is done. To keep things simple, we grilled burgers, asking friends to help out by bringing heaping plates and bowls of tomatoes, green chiles and guacamole. Our friend John manned the grill all night, Bryson organized the musicians and artists and kept the flow of the party nice and easy. Brian set the tone early with his unique and artsy folk music. Frank came on later in the evening with his soulful crooning and cello playing. Kids ran around inside and out while senior citizens chatted at bistro tables we borrowed from the church building. There was a beautiful, diverse mix of ages, races and backgrounds that I've come to love about Pueblo, yet, uncharacteristically, everyone seemed to have let down their guard and were enjoying each other and the night together.

I ran around playing hostess all evening and completely forgot to take pictures until the party was winding down and only a few friends and stragglers hung around smoking cigarettes and sizing up the evening. As much as I love parties, the introvert in me was freaking out for days over the size of the crowd we were hoping for. But it was exciting and energizing to see the people we'd invited from our favorite neighborhood shops and restaurants actually show up especially all the perfect strangers, that we (I don't mean ME, of course!) knocked on unfriendly doors to invite, laughing and smiling and thanking us over and over for opening up our home to them. Many simply couldn't imagine why we'd do such a thing for people we didn't even know.

That night we made new friends and deepened old friendships relying on each other to make the night a success. It was exactly the kind of thing I dreamed of doing when we moved to Pueblo. It has taken 3 long, hard years to carve out a place in this city that so often reminds us we don't belong. (All I have to do is open my mouth and everyone knows I am definitely not from Pueblo.) We've committed to hosting a neighborhood party every quarter and I'm so freaking excited about the next one! Art, music, food, conversation, good people--whose heart is so hard not to be soften by that? We received a text from a new friend the day after the party and knew we had done something right: "Great party! Art + music = community!" Yes! He got it. After all that we've been through, I couldn't ask for more than that.

Just one more thing in case you are now thinking of hosting your own neighborhood party--and I hope you are! We ended up spending maybe $100 on ground meat, etc. and asked friends to bring condiments, sides and the rest. We borrowed chairs and tables and used what we had around the house to decorate. Everything we used to build the stage including the old doors and windows were pulled out of dumpsters! So if you are thinking of throwing your own party, you don't need to have tons of money, just be creative, keep an open mind, check neighborhood dumpsters religiously and don't think you have to do everything yourself. Depend on friends to help set up and bring food. We also printed simple black & white flyers and passed them out to neighbors including people we see frequently in our favorite shops and restaurants. Most of the people we invited came so plan for a big turn out and just have fun with it! Like us, you might just decide to make it an annual tradition!

a peek inside my art journal

It's crazy busy this week. Saturday we're having our first neighborhood house party and are expecting 50+ people to fit in and around our little house. Besides the usual party preparations--food, decor, entertainment--we're laying stone in the back yard and pretty much overhauling the whole thing to set up a stage and seating areas. So, naturally, I chose this week to paint and redecorate my living room, too. Just in case I had an extra few seconds without something to worry about. So, that makes this the perfect week to show you a little of what I've been doing in my journal this summer. Because I can guarantee that there will be no time for fascinating new content to the blog this week. Why, oh why, do I do this to myself?

Lucky girl? Oh, the irony. Seeing these little glimpses makes me long to get away, just me and my journal and reconnect. Maybe next week.

 

great beginnings

Since 1997, the year after I graduated college, I've kept a reading journal with a list of books I read each year along with lists of books I hope to someday read. I imagine my children one day marveling at the great and fascinating books their mother read; o how she accumulated wisdom! (And lived it too, of course.) I even have a simple yet elegant star system to rate my books: 1 star = exemplary, 2 stars = life changing.

The year after I graduated college, I was in a reading frenzy. I had been told what to read for the last--ahem--5 1/2 years and I wanted to read what I wanted to read for a change. Having spent so many days and nights pouring over literature and classics, I spent the next decade reading mostly non-fiction. (I majored in English, minored in Classic Civilizations. And I still believe in a liberal arts education, but that's for another post.)

I'm not a fast reader; I like to take my time and savor the words. I underline and make notes in the margins. I buy my books, I don't rent or borrow them. I'll pay full retail at Barnes and Noble if I have to, but mostly I scour thrift shops for random cheap reads. Unless it made zero impression on me, every book I ever read will probably be with me until the day I die and my children will have to reluctantly haul the boxes around with them until their spouses just can't take it anymore and they drop them off at Goodwill and never look back.

I read 19, 14 then 24 books in the 3 years after college. The 16 books I read in 2001, the year Soren was born, were mostly labor, birth and parenting books, naturally. Secrets of the Baby Whisperer, The Hidden Art of Homemaking, and My First 300 Babies helped me feel slightly less incompetent in my new role as stay at home mom. The infant and toddler years left me little time for reading without falling asleep after 2 sentences, so there were a pitiful 14 books read in the next three years combined. Actually, I'm pretty proud of the fact that I had enough brain cells to appreciate the the Lord of the Rings trilogy and Albert Camus during these lean years. And that's also when I added my 2-star rating, so at least I had quality, if not quantity.

Every reader should keep a reading journal. With "Tips For Storytelling" and lists like "Classics of the 20th Century That Have Shaped Contemporary Religious Thought". (I've only read 6. So 14 to go.) Of course I had to include an outline of the Stages of Analytical Reading from Mortimer J. Adler's (2 star rated!!) How to Read a Book, the high point of 1999's list.

And no respectable reader's journal would be complete without Quotes to Remember:

Real miracles bother people. Like strange sudden pains unknown in medical literature. It's true: they rebut every rule all we good citizens take comfort in.  Lazarus obeying orders and climbing out of the grave--now there's a miracle, and you can bet it upset a lot of folks who were standing around at the time. When a person dies, the earth is generally unwilling to cough him back up. A miracle contradicts the will of the earth.

Once in my life I knew a grief so hard I could actually hear it inside, scraping at the lining of my stomach, an audible ache, dredging with hooks as rivers are dredged when someone's been missing too long.

...I recall the black remorse that flapped down and perched on me as we rode....You can embark on a new and steeper version of your old sins, you know, and cry tears doing it that are as genuine as any.

--from Peace Like a River, Leif Enger (read in 2003, 2009)

He thought of getting home and building him a cabin on Cold Mountain so high that not a soul but the night hawks passing across the clouds could hear his sad cry. Of living a life so quiet he would not need ears. And if Ada would go with him, there might be the hope, so far off in the distance he did not even really see it, that in time his despair might be honed off to a point so fine and thin that it would be nearly the same as vanishing.

To Ada, Ruby's monologues seemed composed of mainly verbs, all of them tiring. Plow, plant, hoe, cut, can, feed, kill.

--from Cold Mountain, Charles Frazier (first book of 2007)

Last week I added this to Great Opening Paragraphs (isn't it great??):

There are few things humans are more dedicated to than unhappiness. Had we been placed on earth by a malign creator for the exclusive purpose of suffering, we would have good reason to congratulate ourselves on our enthusiastic response to the task. Reasons to be inconsolable abound: the frailty of our bodies, the fickleness of love, the insincerities of social life, the compromise of friendship, the deadening effects of habit. In the face of such persistent ills, we might naturally expect that no event would be awaited with greater anticipation than the moment of our own extinction.  --from How Proust Can Change Your Life, Alain de Botton

Nine books read so far this year. Not bad. (And yaaahhh, I judge myself as lazy & stoopid if I don't read a respectable amount of books each year. By my own subjective standard.) I predict the book of the year for 2013 will be a tie between The Emperor of All Maladies and Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can't Stop Talking. (Both 2-star books!) But then who knows what I might stumble across in the next 5 months.

Do you keep a reading journal? If you love to read but don't have a reading journal, I highly recommend you start one right away. I'd love to write a review for each book, or even for my favorite books, but who has time for that? Just keeping a list is fun enough for me. And occasionally I get to look back and think, "I read that? Wow, impressive! Too bad I don't remember a word of it." But, see, I have proof that it's true. I wrote it down.

it's scary in there

I have an unusually emotional attachment to my studio. And sometimes that isn't a good thing for me. I probably have an unhealthy attachment to my home as well. It is my canvas, my safe shelter--the place where everything makes sense. And even when we've been stuck inside for days on end with sick kids or bad weather, it's always where I long to go back to.

But my studio has seen some rough days. It's where I create and an integral part of that creative process has been exploring, venting, analyzing, and wrestling with some pretty dark and strong emotions. And it's a pretty small space to contain all of that darkness, even with the french doors open to the afternoon sun. Thankfully my studio is also our homeschool classroom. But despite the good memories we're still making there, I'm still finding it difficult each time to step back inside. The ghosts can be stifling.

I thought I had conquered all this several months ago after the longest hiatus I've ever taken from my art. I knew it was going to be hard getting back into creating after being gone so long, but a few artsy afternoons with friends blew away the dust and welcomed me back into my beloved space. I did have to change a few things, though. Paintings came off the walls, my whole desk space was rearranged (I can't imagine why I didn't do it sooner!), and I let our school stuff spread out much further than my usual limits just because it made me happy to see it there.

I quickly dove back into creating with abandon, though I ignored my journal for a time. I made myself some purses and belts and clothes--all safe stuff but fun and rewarding when it enlarges your lean thrift store wardrobe. I eventually conquered the fear of my journal and even started trying out some new things. But then, as often happens, I got caught up in school, which takes a bigger portion of our days as the kids get older, writing our new curriculum, meeting with friends and drinking wine and, well, there are only so many hours in the day.

Now it's been probably 3 weeks since I've had any significant time in the studio or in my journal. And, as usual, it has been a struggle to get back in. When I step in the room, there's a weight that begins pressing on my chest making it difficult to breathe. But then there's the sigh of relief there, too. And a sweetness of hours spent alone or with friends. Regardless, I know what I have to do. I may push it aside for a while, but I know I have to push through it and get back in there. There is no other alternative for me.

I managed about 30 minutes in the studio earlier then allowed myself to get interrupted. But, I'm headed back in there now! Already got my phone, my water, and that's it. Ready to go.

beginning again

This past April my mother died and I turned 40. It's a lot to learn to live with even under the best of circumstances. My mother had been fighting an uphill battle with Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma for the last decade before years of chemo finally gave her an incurable leukemia. We knew the end was coming but had seen her walk away from death's door so many times. And whether you are expecting it or not, you are never prepared for the stark reality of death, particularly the death of someone you love. And then there's what comes after death for those who are left behind in this cruel world. But that is a story I don't yet have the stomach to tell. As if losing the woman who gave birth to me wasn't enough tragedy for one day.

I never intended to take such a long blogging break. Since I started my artist blog back in 2005, I don't think I've ever taken more than a few weeks off. Blogging (and taking photos and dreaming up content, etc.) had become a natural part of my creative routine. It wasn't until I wasn't taking pictures of everything I made and posting them for the world to see that I realized how inseparably attached creating and blogging had become for me. When my camera broke, I literally had trouble creating! I guess, what's the point of making something if you can't share it with your peeps? It was an understandable connection that I wasn't exactly thrilled to discover about myself. And a little time away from the blog has helped me to rediscover that artistic center within myself, completely separate from blogging or teaching or sharing, that I desperately needed to get back in touch with.

But to be honest--and there may be no surprise here--I had lost my heart for the blog long before my camera broke or my mother died. The last 3 years have been without a doubt the most difficult years of my life. When we moved away from family and friends to this dark and hard steel mill of a town in Southern Colorado, we had a crazy dream of planting a church with our best friends. Church planting turned out to be a job that was far more difficult and would cost us far more than we could have ever imagined. In this tightly knit town where everyone knows everyone else and outsiders more often than not are kept outside, uncountable lonely days and nights piled up like walls around me. The struggles with our fledgling church and the struggle against my own weaknesses, not to mention my biological make-up, brought me to the depths of depression and despair that I had never known before, and I have never been a stranger to emotional pain.

I am not the same person who pulled into that Northside Pueblo neighborhood behind the biggest U-Haul you can rent, full of more than clothes and furniture but filled to the brim with hopes and dreams of a fresh start, of truly living my faith, of making a difference in this world, of the all possibilities for our future. It's no exaggeration to say that 3 years later, my dreams have all been shattered, I have been shattered and, though I am learning to hope again, most days I still have a very hard time believing God could or would want to use me or that I have anything left to offer this sad and broken world.

But I am hoping again--tentatively, still expecting the worst--but at least hoping. And I am creating again, after a many month break from my art. And I'm anxious to start blogging again because it has been such a wonderful experience, and I've met so many wonderful kindred souls through this blog. But I'm finding that I can't pick up where I left off. I wouldn't know how to find that place (or that person) if I wanted to. The hardest part about blogging during the darkness that pervaded my life these last few years has been keeping the negativity out of the blog. It came to feel like I couldn't be completely honest (although the focus of my blog has always been the art and not my personal life) without also being incredibly depressing. And it is impossible to encourage others to Play! and Create! when all you want to do is die so the pain inside you will end.

Certainly artists are typically no strangers to emotional highs and lows, but what I was experiencing was something completely different. And I had to come to terms with it before I could ask anyone else to. Strangely, 0ne of the hardest lessons for me to learn was that I'm not alone. Because I often feel so alone. It wasn't until I started this blog that I realized I was not alone as an artist. There were actually other people out there just like me (lots and lots!) coveting paper and fabric, obsessed with paint and color, creating and learning from each other--a whole universe of like-minded souls were as close as my fingertips (on the keyboard). It has been such a thrill getting to know some of you.

But just like I am not alone in my creative spirit, I'm not alone in my despair. I believed I was alone. Alone, to bear the burden of my pain. Alone, to figure out how to live again when everything I knew to be true and good in the world felt lost or shattered. Alone, to understand how I fit into this world that feels so hostile to me. It was remembering that I am not at all alone that gave me hope to start again, and maybe even carve out a new niche for myself where I might one day feel like I belong again.

I've always tried to be myself here, to be honest about my struggles and weaknesses so that anyone taking the time to visit would know they weren't reading about some perfectly crafted persona, as if I was somehow special and lived a charmed life that people in the real world couldn't identify with. But, mostly to keep the focus on the art, I haven't told you the whole truth about me. Because it's embarrassing and shameful and because I'd give anything in the world if it wasn't true.

The truth is that I am an artist and a homeschool mom and a Christian and that, beyond the ordinary human struggles we all deal with, I also wrestle daily with the demons of mental illness. My official diagnosis would be Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder and Major Depressive Disorder which is just a clinical way of saying my brain has never worked the way it should, leaving me too often paralyzed with relentless anxiety and overwhelming depression. Although anxiety and depression have been my reliable companions since childhood, the unrelenting fear and absolute despair that inextricably bound my soul in chains for the past 3 years has finally broken me--I hope, ultimately, in a good way. And it has defined me for so long that I am having to relearn who I am and how to live and dream and hope again.

After a year of CBT (cognitive-behavioral therapy) and back on medication, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, but I still have a long way to go toward wholeness. But, again, I know I am not alone. Believe it or not, studies show that 1 in 4 Americans suffer from diagnosable mental illnesses. 1 in 4! That statistic both shocks and terrifies me because I would not wish on my worst enemy the pain I have had to endure.

When I started blogging 8 years ago, my hope was only to record and share my art with others who would "get it" and maybe give a little back to the online community of artists who had given so much to me. I've always believed that if I can do it, anyone can and have come back to the keyboard again and again to encourage others who think they aren't artistic to take that risk and discover the creative gifts I passionately believe we were all born with. When it was finally driven home to me that there were others out there struggling like I was to have a Life despite mental illness, I wanted to encourage them as well. Because I get it. And because I need to know I'm not alone.

My art and my children have gotten me out of bed over and over when I didn't think I had it in me to face another day of pain. Yet creating has given me a tangible reminder that, as screwed up as I am, I do still have something to contribute to the world. Even though I received my first official diagnosis, along with a lifetime prescription to Prozac, way back in 1997, I can count on one hand the number of people who I've had the courage to tell that I have OCD. It is one of the most shameful things I've ever had to admit. I mean, it is one thing to say "I get depressed sometimes" and another thing entirely to say "I still sing the alphabet song when I wash my hands to make sure I kill every single germ and hold my breath when I walk by strangers, because everyone knows the unknown is germier than the known, right?"

So I guess I'm coming out of the closet, so to speak. Not that this blog, let alone this world, is a safe place to do so, but because I can't forget that I'm not alone. And if I can encourage one person to tap into their innate creativity and give visual journaling or collage or whatever a try, then the 8 years of blogging will have been worth it. But if I can encourage one person drowning in their own fear or despair to see a reason to keep on going despite the pain, if only for today, then my own burden will be lifted just a little and, yes, all of the suffering will have been worth it in the end.

But don't worry, this isn't going to turn into some kind of self-help blog or mental illness sensitivity training. It's still just me and my art, trying to create a life I am proud of and that my family can be strengthened and refreshed by. Only, now I want to be a little more transparent about the nature of my personal struggles and how they relate to the creative process. It is a scary thing to expose your threadbare soul to the world, but frankly I don't have much to lose, and I'm choosing to see that as a good thing. I'm also choosing to believe that my suffering will not only bring depth to my character but to my art, and I'm excited (if I can say that) to see which way it will go. I'm excited to see which way I will go, because I'm a mystery to me. So, if you don't happen to mind having an admittedly irrational, definitely melodramatic, glass-half empty, socially awkward pessimist around for the ride, won't you join me? Maybe we'll both be surprised where we end up.

And thank you to all who have emailed or messaged me during my absence. Your concern for me and your kind words towards my blog have given me the courage to dip my toes back in the water again. So thank you, again, from the bottom of my heart!

we have a winnner...

According to the ever-powerful Random Number Generator, the winner of our little giveaway is...Mary Ellen Little! Thank you all so very much for joining in the fun. I only wish I had a copy to send to each one of you. Good luck in all your new creative adventures this year. Keep trying new things, don't be afraid of failure, let yourself make splendid mistakes, and remember to have fun with your art. And, most of all, don't be afraid to share your art with others. You never know who you may inspire!

ten

My daughter Maisey's birthday is December 27. As those of you with birthdays around the holidays know, no matter how hard we try, she pretty much always gets the shaft--fewer presents, less friends around to celebrate with. We usually have a little family party on her actual birthday, but this weekend we'll be celebrating her very special 10th Birthday, Part 2 with afternoon tea and a sleepover. I don't know how we'll make it to tea time with all this excitement.

You might think that having a artsy, creative mom my kids would have handmade clothes and toys and decor. But you would be oh-so-wrong. I'm ashamed to say that Maisey has been begging me forever to make her a journal (she made her first journal when we took Mary Ann Moss's Remains of the Day class together several years ago. Highly recommended--and it's on sale!). She had already picked out the cover and papers she wanted me to use, so I decided to surprise her with a new journal for her big 10th birthday. You know, using the fact that she'd asked for so long she'd probably given up hope of ever actually seeing one to create that element of surprise.

 
We're both pretty happy with the way it turned out. I included lots of blank pages for her to write and doodle and dream in. I was even able to use a little flower I saved from a cardigan she wore as toddler. The cardigan itself is still waiting around to be unraveled for yarn. I must google how to do that soon! Ten years old (and going on 16)! I can hardly believe it. Happy second 10th birthday, sweet girl!

new year giveaway: book & inspiration pack!

It's a new year and that means it is time to clean out last year's clutter (me), bring in some new inspiration (you) and get those creative juices flowing to get us through the cold winter months ahead (both of us).

Now, you could focus your new year's aspirations and newly found motivation to lose weight, stop eating junk food or run a marathon and all that's great, but why not resolve to do something else that's equally (well, maybe not equally but close) as good for you and fun, too? Let's resolve to make more art! And if we can't make the world a better place overnight, we can make it prettier. And that's a good start.

So, in the spirit of fresh starts and great art, I'm giving away a copy of Jenny Doh's Journal It: Perspectives In Creative Journaling, in which I had a tiny little role, and a package of goodies I put together to get you inspired and on your way to recording the new year in your own art journal. One of the things I love most about visual journaling is simply keeping a record of daily life. There are so many things we think we will never forget--special occasions, words of encouragement, funny things our children say, the way the light falls through the kitchen window on your morning cup of coffee--but the truth is we do forget. And writing down every day's highlights alone takes more time than most of us have in our hectic and overfilled lives. But when I glance back through my journals, I don't have to read everything I've written to be instantly reminded of what seems like just yesterday but is quietly slipping farther into the past. It's the visual element that instantly transports me back, and I may not remember what I had for breakfast this morning, but I can tell you exactly where I was, what was going on around me and what I was feeling when I doodled those flowers over my lunch receipt from that too warm afternoon in July.

So now is the perfect time to get started with your first visual journal or just get a little inspiration for your art in the new year by getting to know the 19 visual artists featured in Journal It!, which includes signature techniques and an in depth Q&A with each artist. And all you have to do to enter the giveaway is leave a comment on this post telling me something new you'd like to learn in the coming year. (And don't forget to leave an email address so I can contact you if you're the winner.) It's as easy as that! And on January 31 I will announce the winner on this blog, chosen randomly.

And if you have been wanting to finally take the plunge into art journaling or just want a new journal for the new year, take a look at the hand bound art journals in my Etsy shop or contact me for a custom art journal made especially for your needs and personality!

best wishes

This past summer as we approached my son Soren's eleventh birthday, he naturally began making a Wish List of presents he hoped he might see on his special day. That's half the fun of a birthday, right, planning and dreaming and looking forward to the big day? Well one afternoon, feeling a little left out of the fun, his sister Maisey began moping around the house with nothing to do. She found me in the studio not wanting to hear every parent's nightmare--the dreaded, "I'm bored! There's nothing to do!"--all afternoon, I told her she should make her own wish list--with a twist. She should come up with 8-10 things for her list but only two of them could be material things (toys and books and such). She immediately ran back inside the house and I happily started back to work thinking that challenge should occupy her for a couple of hours. But about 15 minutes later, she returned with her list. So sweet and innocent and full of hope it made me cry and want to give her everything she asked for.

Maisey's Special Wish List (Age 9)

1. Love

2. A good friendship

3. A little more respect

4. More privileges

5. That people would never be mean

6. That I would be super smart! (Oh, how I love that little exclamation point!)

7. That things bad would never happen

8. That Mom & Dad would tell me things when I ask! (This last one's a little jab at me for not telling her what we had planned for her brother's birthday. Maisey, like her dad, is notoriously bad at keeping anything exciting a secret for more than two minutes!)

For days I just couldn't get this list off my mind. It occured to me that most of these are things we would all wish for if God asked us make our own a little wish list for life in this beautiful but broken world. Love, friendship, kindness, peace. Who could ask for much more than that?

It is my hope that you find all of these in abundance in your homes and families this holiday season and into the new year. Merry Christmas and thank you all for taking the time out of your precious days to visit my little blog!

xo, debra

it's beginning to look a lot like...

This came from a very talented friend of a friend. I'm glad not just for the laugh, but now I know exactly what to get my husband for Christmas: two in one!! (Watch 'til the end and you'll see what I mean.)

Well, I better get back to my Christmas crafting--only 12 days left! Merry Pinterest, everybody!! You can check out more of Jeremy Ashida's music here or here.