Tuesday, October 26, 2010


I feel like I should be doing more.
Writing more. Creating more. Living more.

I went back to the beginning of a blog I read, and when she was my age-ish and newly married, she was doing all kinds of things. Starting AND finishing paintings almost daily. Having art shows. Remodeling their house. And now she has two kids, is pregnant with her third, her family just moved and she's still painting and she just taught an online class I took. And it got me thinking about what I do all day. Sure, I work and I see my family and friends and stuff, but my creativity things have really fallen behind.

When I was in college, I spent hours everyday doing art stuff, because it was for class. We had three-hour classes and were expected to spend a lot of our own time in the studios as well. So we did. And it was a LOT of work. And I got stressed out sometimes, but it was also amazing.

You could look at the fact that I didn't have a job back then. That I didn't have bills to pay, that I didn't have to drive everywhere because of the buses and living on campus. You could say I had access to more things. Clay. Metal. Models. Teachers. Tools. I didn't have to keep a whole apartment clean. I didn't have to grocery shop.

But when it comes down to it, those are all just excuses. And excuses are LAME.

Sure, I can't do the things I did in ceramics, metalsmithing or sculpture in my little studio in my house. But that doesn't mean I can't do other things. So why don't I? Why I don't I make time to paint? I'm sure Amy would like me to finish the painting I started for her MONTHS ago, and is just too polite to tell me to get a move-on. I wanted to make something for my grandma before she went south for the winter and I didn't get around to it. And typing that made me remember how beige Grandpa & Marlene's house is and that I wanted to paint something for them too.

I have all these plans and no motivation.

I know part of the reason is that my house needs cleaned. But I have been lacking the motivation to do that too. I did one and a half sink loads of dishes last night. That's all. And I also cooked, so that dirtied a bunch of stuff too. There are crayons and crumbs on my floor. And tonight I'm going to go to mom and dad's to do laundry, so I won't be getting anything done around the house tonight either.

I did the math once and realized I spend nine hours of my day at work and if I get to bed by 10pm, that only leaves me with FIVE hours per day to do what I want or need to do during the week. Five. Forty working, five lunch breaks, twenty-five of everything else. (Not including weekends.) I don't know how people with kids and jobs and memberships to the YMCA don't go crazy. I feel like I have very little time to myself and I LIVE BY MYSELF.

Maybe I should make myself a schedule. Maybe I should make a list of all the things I want to get done in a week and then split them up between the days so I don't feel so overwhelmed. I've never been good at sticking to things like that, but maybe it's time for a change.

Monday, October 25, 2010


When I'm an old lady, I'm going to ask my grandkids, "So y'all want to hear about the time your ol' granny beat the video game Paper Mario?" and they'll be like, "YEAH!" and then I'll just rattle off the URL to my blog post about it (we'll all probably have Firefox installed in our brains by then anyway) and then we'll all have a good laugh about it and then I'll make them clean out my chicken coop.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

The Worst Song Ever (Not An Exaggeration)

Something just got the worst song in the world stuck in my head. You know what I'm talking about. Or you should. If you are close to my age, you probably had to withstand the same torture I did by hearing this song when trapped in public situations like at your high school's homecoming dance. It's the worst song in the world, therefore everyone should instantly know which song I mean. If you do, I apologize, because now it's probably stuck in your head and you're considering rupturing your eardrums even though you know it wouldn't help.

You are not alone.

I rarely use the word hate. I hate this song. It is closely followed by "Mambo Number Five" on the list of Songs I Absolutely Cannot Stand. "Who Let the Dogs Out" is also on that list. And that crappy remake of a Pearl Jam song where he wants to go to heaven to see his dead girlfriend. Who even writes songs like that? Terrorists. That's who. Okay so I just compared Lou Bega(?), The Baha Men, Pearl Jam and whoever-remade-their-song to terrorists, which is pretty extreme. They're probably perfectly nice people who just happened to bribe or blackmail someone into putting their crappy songs on the radio so their horribleness will forever be lodged in the brains of unsuspecting homecoming-goers.

I can't think of any more songs for that list right now because The Worst Song Ever is beating my braincells into life-hating oblivion, so I guess I'll just leave you with this:
You and me baby ain't nothin' but mammals so let's do it like they do on the Discovery channel!

PS: I realize that by blogging about this, I am actually shooting my future-self in the foot because every time I come near this entry, one of those terrible songs will get stuck in my head.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Friday, September 17, 2010

Nurturing Creativity & Be Bulletproof: idea2

For idea two, we were supposed to write down our "bullets" (things that have hurt us in the past, our fears, anything that has affected our creativity in a negative way) and then destroy them. Even though I've been told that before about bad things, I've never really bought that method. But I did it anyway. I grabbed some scrap paper the printer messed up and a red pen and ended up almost filling the page with things that have been said to me (well-meaning or not-so-much), about me, about my art, and what scares me when it comes to "being an artist." When I was done, I took a black sharpie to the paper, not looking at the words, not reading them again and just randomly scribbled on it. Then I got up, walked to the bathroom, and tore up the paper. Strips, then smaller strips, then pieces, all the while saying to myself, "I'm bulletproof. It doesn't matter what they think if you like it. It is what it's supposed to be." When I decided the pieces were small enough, I threw some in the trash, I sprinkled a handful into the toilet, and put the rest on a paper towel. Then I thought they could use some soap; I was going to get them wet to destroy the paper. So I wadded up the paper towel and torn up bullets and ran them under the sink. And a funny thing happened. The paper towel began to turn red from the ink I wrote the bullets in. And the more I got it wet, the less red came out of my hands. I was washing the bullets away. By the time there were no more suds coming from the towel, it was a light pink color all over, rather than white with vicious red spots. I was kind of amazed that it felt good. I even unwrapped the paper pieces and they were the same pink color. All you could really see was the black sharpie lines and some faded shapes that might have once been letters. I felt clean. They were gone -- really gone. You never see pain wash off your heart. But if you ever need to, this is the method I would recommend. And I wouldn't have found it without this class. Thanks Kal, so much. Two ideas in and it's already beyond worth the monetary cost.

Friday, September 10, 2010