the blue muse

I have lists everywhere. Lists of graphics jobs to do. Jewelry designs I want to try. Books I want to read. Things that need to be fixed and painted around my house. Phone calls I have to make. Supplies that need to be ordered. Shows that need to be applied to. Shows I’ve already applied to. Ideas for blog posts.

As you can see, I have a problem. Too many lists. I need a lists of all my lists.
(I haven’t started one yet, but I’m thinking it might be a very good idea.)

You would think, with all these lists, that I am organized. Well I try, but I don’t think I’m very good at it. My desk is always a mess. No matter how many times I clean it, it’s always a mess. I think I am one of those people that thrives on chaos. At least when it comes to creativity, to my work.

I love having things neat and organized in the beginning, when you can feel the space around you just waiting for something to fill it up. But once I dive in, oh boy. I can make a mess like no other. Halfway through every day my desk is covered in paper, piles, notes, lists. I can’t even see my desktop. I get frustrated. I straighten up a bit. Two hours later, I have to do it again.

If I am making jewelry, beads are everywhere. Molds, stamps, color ideas, all strewn out before me. Tools that never make it back to their designated spot. Sketches and snippets of paper. Everything where I can see it. And that is what it comes down to, I think. I am a visual person. I need to see things in order to remember them. As soon as I put something away, I forget about it.

Last year I redecorated my studio, Read as: I bought lots of storage for all my stuff. And when I’m not working, it looks great. But when I’m in there, creating, I am an absolute slob. Every surface, and sometimes even the floor, will be covered. I used to think it would be different if I had more space. Now I’m pretty sure that my mess would just expand to fill the space.

I wish I wasn’t like that, I wish I could stay organized, work in an orderly fashion. But that just isn’t how my brain works. I have accepted this fact and learned to work around it. Because on a good day, beautiful things can come out of my chaotic mess.

And I can always clean it up. Later.

Let me just go and put that on my list.

What do you do to stay organized? I’d love to hear…

How do we keep the creative juices flowing? Add a little spice to our creations? Keep things from getting stale?

These are the questions…I’m still trying to figure out the answers.

But maybe that’s okay…maybe it’s the questions that really matter.

Learning new things always makes me feel energized, happy, inspired. As does reading about what other people are doing, writing, creating, revealing.

When my creative spirit isn’t speaking to me I spend lots of time observing. Absorbing.

And the more I open myself up to the world around me, the more I have welling up inside me, waiting to find its way out.

Because sometimes it’s a matter of nurturing that little kernel of creativity until it is has grown enough to reveal itself, to emerge.

And sometimes it’s a matter of sitting down and doing the work. Moving through the process, even when I have no idea where I’m heading. Often, these end up being my best pieces.

Pictures. Words. Concepts. Colors.

These four ingredients are my companions. I keep them by my side in the hopes that when I need one, it will reach out and take my hand to guide me along the way.

Or at the very least, feed my hungry artist’s soul.

It is funny how life works out…almost never the way we expect it to.

But sometimes we find ourselves in a place that just feels right, and we aren’t even sure how we got there.

I have always been a believer in fate, I guess, the idea that things work out the way they are supposed to. When I was young I wanted to be a poet. And a photographer. I had even planned to go to college for photography. I was going to get my degree and then travel around the United States taking photos. But for a number of reasons, I didn’t go to college for photography. And I pretty much stopped taking pictures, except for the candid family snapshots that record our lives, and I wasn’t even very good about doing that.

I did write a lot of poems over the years. I even had a couple of them published. For a while, I thought maybe that was my path. And then I let life get in the way, again, and pretty much stopped writing as well.

I raised my family, I worked as a graphic artist. And in recent years, in addition to that, a jewelry designer. And I loved doing all those things. But it still felt like something was missing. And I feel lately that I have  found what it was. Here.

I wasn’t sure when I started what having a blog would be like, how much it would mean to my life. But the last thing I expected was that it would take me all the way back to my original dreams.

This sudden new way of looking at things, everything really, as possibilities for great photos, stories, little glimpses of life. Of actually stopping and looking at things, period. Instead of just zooming through life, always on overdrive and forgetting, so often, to stop and smell the roses.

Having a blog is so much better than what I expected it to be. That probably sounds corny, but it’s true. It’s a place where I can be me. It’s feel like a place I’ve come home to. A place to explore, once again, my love for photography.
A place to write.

And it has become a place of friendship, and support. I hadn’t realized I would find that as well.

I can’t wait to see where it all will lead. But I am going to try and remind myself often, to enjoy the journey. To savor the moments, the things I see,
the friends I meet along the way.

And I think that, indeed, will make all the difference.

My sincere thanks to everyone who has come by to comment
and be supportive and so very welcoming.

a wave goodbye to winter…

I will be sad to see you go this year, having enjoyed
these moments of reflection, calm, restoration

yet I love the spring, with its flowers, its color, its hope…
a day in the garden is my definition of heaven

and summer brings sunshine, busy days, jewelry shows,
old faces, new friends, evenings spent outdoors, sunsets

until it is autumn, new colors, crisp air, my favorite season,
perfect for running, breathing in the scent of leaves

and before I know it, the holidays, time for family, cozy fires,
lots and lots of tempting food…

then winter, back again, time to rest my bones,
dream a little, learn new things…

this tapestry of seasons
weaves itself throughout my life,
always there in the background,
creating the pattern
of my days.

If I could spend an hour doing whatever I wanted it would look like this.

A great novel, a cup of tea, and quiet.

Not just the no-loud-noise kind of quiet. but also the no conversation, nothing electronic, no television, no laundry, no-needs-to-be-met kind of quiet.

Just me and the tactile quality of old book pages, the warmth of my favorite cup in my hand, the delicious, flowery scent of earl gray tea.

And this tale to carry me away to a place I’ve never been, to feel the things I’ve never felt, to open my world one page at a time.

Until I am lost to the chair I sit in, lost to this room, this house.

Alone, in perfect silence.

A whisper might bring me back. Guide me home.

Back into the fold of daily life.

But I will be glad to have made my brief journey. Glad to have traveled
far away from a world filled with distraction, if only for an hour.
Glad for this time to hear myself think.

I will be.

Quiet.

P.S. This post is part of You Capture – Hopeful

I recently took a giant leap forward, technologically speaking. I acquired my first blackberry. (I know, I am way behind the times on this one!)

Suddenly this little device has become a new appendage.

I take it everywhere with me, I don’t let it out of my sight. It keeps me in constant touch with my family, my business, my calendar, my blog. I can’t imagine, already, what I ever did without it. But is that a good thing?

In most ways, yes. It is a tool I can use to organize my schedule, which is way too crazy most of the time. And I can set reminders to myself for any number of little things I intend to do every day but will otherwise forget.

I have become a full-time texter. I resisted for a long time, but now I am one of those people…looking down at a tiny little keyboard (need my reading glasses!) and having entire conversations without ever opening my mouth. But I talk to my kids more often, and that is a good thing.

I have access to my email when I am away from home, which helps me keep track of my two businesses. And I will be able to use my new best friend to accept credit cards at our jewelry shows, which is much better than the clumsy, old fashioned machine I have now.

All of these things save time. But what do I spend that time doing? If I use these tools correctly, I can be more organized and I will then have more time to create, and that is also a good thing.

But it’s hard not to wonder what we are losing. Are we losing our ability to relate to people face to face? To leave work and relax? To slow down and simply contemplate life? Will we be able to handle the overload of information? Will our language morph into a shorthand version of itself?

Technology changes so fast that it is hard to keep up with it. I just “tweeted” for the first time yesterday. I guess, in the end, it will be up to us to decide how to integrate all these new tools into our lives in a positive way. And how to maintain our connections to other people while doing it.

A few weeks ago, my brother spoke into his phone. And then his phone sent me a text of what he said. Perhaps one day, soon, I will be able to simply think something and my new bff will forward that on to someone else…

Omg, idk, better watch what I think…

my bff might lol.

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P.S. Stop by kelly rae roberts website where we are a featured sponsor!
Kelly is an incredibly talented artist and her blog is always inspiring.

Beauty is subjective. Everyone has their own taste, their own ideal.

This is my favorite necklace. I wear it almost every day, even though I have about 50 others to choose from.  (It’s easy to do that when you make your own.) I like it because it reminds me of a spider web. I know, eeeww! But I like spiders… and that’s a story for a different day…

I have come to love this necklace, it has become a part of me, of who I am.

As a jewelry artist (or any kind of artist) it can be difficult to find the balance between what you see as beautiful and what your audience sees as beautiful.

When I first began making jewelry, I tried to make things that I thought other people would find beautiful. And I’m not saying that I didn’t find them beautiful too, but my main objective was to please the end buyer. I thought I had to approach things that way to be successful, to actually sell my pieces.

After struggling at some of our first sales, and through lots of trial and error, I realized that I was making a mistake. I couldn’t spend my creative energy trying to figure out what everyone else thought was beautiful. I was just running around in circles, because trying to please everyone almost always results in not really pleasing anyone.

I realized that I had to focus, I had to concentrate on making the jewelry that I loved, the jewelry that I saw as beautiful. I had to be true to my own little inner jewelry artist. And then I had to hope I would find buyers who felt the same way about those pieces.

Our sales got better after that. Over the years we have acquired a small following at local art shows. I’m happier with my pieces, I love them all.
I would be proud to wear any of them.

But for some reason, I just keep wearing this one. I’m attached to it.

And if the same thing happens to someone who buys one of my pieces, then, and only then, have I been truly successful.

Just above my computer monitor, the one I stare at all day every day, is this print. A few years back I was lucky enough to go to a Modigliani exhibition at a gallery nearby and was blown away. Completely. I had always been a fan, but this was Modigliani heaven!

This print called to me, I had to have it. And she has been sitting there, staring down at me, ever since.

What is it about a certain painting, photo, essay, poem, that draws us in? That makes us fall in love? That makes it became something we will carry around with us always, until it actually becomes a part of who we are? Is it the piece itself or the artist behind it? We don’t generally know the artist personally, but we feel a kinship with them. We feel that somehow, they are like us.

The strange thing is that most artists I know, myself included, tend to feel that they are different, odd, out of step with everybody else. You know, weird. When I was a teenager, I hated feeling weird. When I got a bit older, I actually wanted to be weirder. But as I have gotten older still…creeping toward fifty (yeeehikes!), I have come to realize that in fact, I am not weird, I am really just like everybody else. So does that mean I’m not really an artist?

No. It means that I have finally figured out that everyone is, or can be, an artist. We can’t all be Modigliani, or Van Gogh. That kind of artist is the guiding star, the one in a million, the one that solves the mystery of what art is and then claws their way back to humanity by sharing their soul with the world. We can’t all make it that far. The sacrifice is too great.

But to be an artist, to live as an artist, is simply this: You have to sit down and make art. In whatever form makes you happy. You have to actually sit there, with just you, yourself and maybe your good friend Modigliani, and do the work. Paint, draw, take photos, write, design jewelry, dance, sew. If you are there, actually doing the work of being an artist, then you are, indeed, an artist.

You might not be famous. You probably won’t get rich. But if you are lucky, someday someone might fall so in love with a piece of your work that they will carry it around with them until it becomes a part of who they are.

Thanks, Modigliani.

Lots of pajamas and a pair of jeans. This is what my laundry looks like.

I am lucky, very lucky. I get to work in those same pajamas. My commute consists of a ten foot walk from my bedroom to my studio. I get to stay inside when it is cold and snowy. And when it rains. I get to sneak outside to watch the baby swallows as they grow. And go running at lunch. And have morning tea in my garden.

I try, every day, to remember to savor every one of these things, to be aware of just how lucky I am.

Now, there are days when I don’t feel so lucky. Some days stress manages to trump all the things that are great about working at home. Like the fact that I never actually leave work… because I literally live there. The fact that I have ten different deadlines looming over my head and it’s already 3:00 o’clock. Or the fact that I am where the bucks stops, that there is no one else to do this work if I can’t get it done.

And there’s also sleep head. My hair has never survived a night of sleep without looking like, well, it was just slept in. Medusa-like. Frightening. And I try to shower late in the day, in the hopes that at some point I will be able to fit in a run or some other form of exercise. And most of the time, my sleep head isn’t a problem, because it’s just me and the dog. Except for when the UPS man shows up. And I open the door at 1:00 p.m. looking like I just this minute rolled out of bed.

Well, I know that I’ve been at work since seven a.m., even if he doesn’t. And I might even still be at work at seven p.m. Or nine. But that’s okay. Because in between that morning commute and my short shuffle back into bed at night, I will remind myself how truly lucky I am to be here. To be able to make a living doing the things I love. At home. In my pajamas. Singing out loud.

Sorry mister UPS man. I didn’t mean to make you run screaming back to your truck. It might be better if you called first next time…

It wasn’t until I recently entered the land of blog that I realized how much I’ve missed writing.

I’ve never written professionally, but from the age of thirteen until fairly recently, I had always  carried on a sort of behind-the-scenes, clandestine love affair with writing, whether it was poetry, or journals, or the many stalled beginnings of the novel that I’m sure must be lurking somewhere inside me…

Well, okay, that hasn’t happened (yet!) but poetry and journals were always part of my life, part of me. But then I stopped. Life gets in the way, sometimes, of things that deep down are important to us. We set them aside thinking: someday I will come back to this, I will have time to write, to paint, to create. And during this time I was creating, designing, making jewelry. But I wasn’t writing.

But suddenly, here I am and it feels like this, now, is finally the time to find my voice. It doesn’t have to be perfect, it doesn’t have to be loud, it doesn’t have to be heard by the entire world. It just has to sing whatever song it has come here to sing.

And while I don’t yet know the name of that tune, it is something I have been quietly humming to myself for quite a while. And it’s time for me to stop and listen to that tiny little voice as it struggles to make itself heard.

Because it keeps right on humming when we say we don’t have time, we are too busy, we aren’t inspired, we aren’t good enough. It holds its little hands over its ears and does that annoying little lalalalala thing, until finally, we get frustrated enough to stop making excuses and listen.

Well, here I am, listening. Really, really listening this time. Because after 47 years I have finally figured out that someday never comes. You can spend your whole life waiting and it won’t show up. Ever. The only time we have is right here, right now. This day.

And the song we sing each day shows the world who we are. Sometimes we are out of tune. Sometimes we are too loud. Sometimes too slow, too corny, too emotional. Sometimes we forget the words.

But always, we are making music.