Putting it out there...

Messages. Messages? Messages! Email, the answering machine, okay I'm old school... we STILL use a landline WITH an answering machine!!!, facebook, post-its, etc. We are bombarded with MESSAGES every minute of the awakened part of our day. Even subliminally, we see the messages. For me it's the pile of dishes and laundry confiscating my self-worth, whispering to me what a disaster I am. It's the jewelry tree on my dresser filled with beautiful bling that I never wear because I haven't lost enough weight, my hair needs cut and who really cares what I look like? The pile of the kids school work and papers send me messages that I should be more organized and that I should head over to Pinterest and find unique and wonderful ways to memorialize my kid's childhood. My self-talk, the messages that I send to myself, need to improve. I've got to re-write them. Instead I need to think BELIEVE that "We had a healthy dinner and ate together as a family last night."  Warm fuzzies!!! "Girl... put that necklace on with those sweatpants! You look FABULOUS whatever you wear!" and smile at myself in the mirror. As for all those papers, "Before long the boys will be grown and I will have NO IDEA what is going on in their lives. I will covet this connection I have with them for right now, piles and all!"

The recent artwork that I've been working on has taken a fun new twist for me. It's happy and bright and playful, filled with vintage toys and positive messages like "Dream Big" and "Enjoy Life Sip by Sip Not Gulp by Gulp" and "All Work and No Play Makes Jack a Dull Boy". I am putting joy and good, clean fun out into the universe and I am finding myself engulfed in the process. The sanding, the painting, the cutting, the trimming, the gluing. Each step is infused with my well-wishes for the world. I dream of the new owner opening up their package filled with my art and smiling at it. It feels like MY ART is putting good into the world and hopefully negating maybe a tiny bit of those negative messages hanging out there, dragging us all down. It calms me and soothes me and makes me feel even more creative and more positive. My heart is opening and I'm learning to forgive myself a little more. Could my art do this for someone else? What a gift. For me. For them. It's a win/win. So today, I'm quieting the messages and being gentle with myself. I'm working hard and doing my best. I'm stopping to be grateful. I'm mindful of the messages I am sending MYSELF. For right now, at this moment, here with you, I am witty and fun and spunky and I am making you smile, because I'm smiling!

On Farting...

Despite growing up in a house with 3 brothers, I wasn't much of a tomboy. Sure, I'd play outside. I just didn't get dirty. Riding bikes? Make mine PINK please!  I was the oldest and only daughter and I liked girl things like earrings, Barbies and my Smaller Homes dollhouse. I was the Princess! I was allotted lovely little privileges like my own room with floral wallpaper of course! My bed linens and clothing were washed with Lavender Sachet fabric softener Yes! My mother washed my clothing and linens separate from the rest of the family members'. I never had to wear a hand-me-down prom dress. For the most part, I enjoyed my family status. I liked being a girl!

Here's where the problem lied... farting!  (Yes! I call it FARTING!) See, my dad, God love him... he was an avid farter, still is. He never held back. When it came to his digestive tract, my dad had gusto! Dad was a proud farter often basking in his "sweet smell of success".  My little brothers followed Dad's lead. As in any etiquette-driven  home (insert eye roll) I can lovingly recall many "farting parties" that took place between my Dad and brothers. They would giggle their asses off (no pun intended) while reveling in their flatulence. Good times. Good times. So watching all of this fun unfold before me, I was a little envious. Being the Princess and all, I couldn't partake in such indulgences. Or could I?

My wild ideas where reigned in (or at least she tried) by my very prim and proper Mother (whom I've heard fart only ONCE in my 41 plus years of life). She would gently remind me that ladies don't "fart". We "fluffy" and we do it discreetly and privately. Um, WHAT?!?!?! I had a pioneer moment and thought "If they can do it... I CAN TOO". Was it the years of suppressing all of that fearless childhood energy? Had I not served myself well by being so "girly"?  From then on... I boldly and zestfully went where no princesses before me went... and I, like the men in my home, learned the joy of sharing a good "fluffy" once in awhile, giggling beside them.

As the years rolled on, I evolved a bit. By the time my husband found me in life, I had found my inner Princess again and was content to fulfill my civic duties with lady-like grace. I suppressed those "fluffies", indulging only in private. As for him, my Prince Charming, he practiced self-control and was a seemingly perfect gentleman until our SECOND date. Instead of horror or disgust, I was pleased with his wild and unabashed abandonment of social graces. Here before me was this handsome, funny, sweet and seemingly put together man who felt comfortable enough WITH ME to let go... to be himself, to relax, to feel non-judged. It took awhile but eventually I was brave enough and bestowed him with "fluffies" of my own, after all I didn't think that THAT was part of my dowry. Fifteen years later, it is still a match made in heaven and every once in awhile this QUEEN can be found giggling and partaking in farting parties with her three little princes.

Little Brothers!

Playing Inside

 It's a beautiful Saturday, cool and bright. Everyone is outside except me. I'm "playing" inside today. My studio is littered and layered with several projects going on all at once in different phases of completeness. There are the teeny tiny little porcelain animals that are patiently awaiting their new perches. The old wooden thread spools given to me by my Grandmother are painted and sanded in fun colors but still tacky with paint. There's the embellishments too!  Ahhhhhhhh... the embellishments! Tiny buttons and paper flowers, pearls and thee smallest rickrack I've ever laid eyes on are waiting for me to tinker and explore. The wooden cigar box will need another layer of happy red paint before I can sand it and stain it and line it with the vintage children's encyclopedia pages. I'm excited to FINALLY put it all together with the antique toys I bought at the auction almost a year ago. It's a delicious whirlwind of fun, contentment and whimsy. It's like a magical little realm in here today, in my studio. This is when my soul sings, my imagination does cartwheels and my body feels comfortable and at ease.  Life is Good!

Writer's Block?

I am sitting here and then I am pacing and then I am outside and then I am looking at the mess surrounding me and then I am back again sitting here. I am limitless in my day (or at least until 3:00 when the boy gets home from school) and yet I am stuck. The piles of laundry and the piles of dishes and the piles of bills are sucking up the energy and greatness inside of me. I want to paint. I have ideas spilling out of my head. I want to tear the papers and layer them and paint over them and swirl colors around them. I want to feel that desire with the brush in my hand, the need to spill forth with the smoothness and the textures and the brush strokes. My body aches for it. But I am in stagnant staleness. I am morphing or at least trying to and yet I can't seem to oompf it out of me. I'm not sure what it is holding on to me, holding me back and away from what I WANT to do. I feel jittery and anxious and irritable and so instead of balance between house and home and art and freedom, I am chained to my environment and self. I MUST get out of my head. I must break out of it. The mess... I can't find my space. I can't breath. I am trapped here. I want to swoosh it all away and look at a blank canvas around me and under my hands. The balance is off. My head is off. Every little thing I touch is a challenge. My head and body are not in sync. Does it start with a simple unloading of the dishes? What if I pick up the clothes strewn across the floors? What would happen if I clean off my work space? Will that be enough? Will one action result in more? What is the worst case scenario? What am I afraid of? What is wrong with me? Why can I not push through this? Am I terrified of the greatness that I know that I have? Do I secretly know that I can have it all? Am I holding myself back? Am I sabotaging myself? The excuses that I lay out in front of me are not so huge, are they? Could it be as simple as the itchy shirt I'm wearing nagging me into submission? If I take it off will my outlook change? Why do I just sit here? I am overwhelmed. There is an elephant in my head... a HUGE mental block. I can't even identify it or describe it. It just sits in there like an iceberg. Cold and lifeless as big as a hell freezing me into submission and stillness. What in the hell is IT??? All this deepness and vastness and blankness and yearning lying within arms reach and I just can't get there. Why can't I break free, expunge myself, rise above it? What is IT? I don't think it is a simple as a "to do" list. I think it's uglier and smellier. I think it's rotten and ugly. I don't want to touch on it or be around it, but it is RIGHT THERE. Identify. Identify. Identify. Zone in on. Destroy. Obliterate. Explosive annihilation. Self doubt? It feels more sinister, buried deeper. WTF Are these my whispers? They just don't feel right. What to do? What to do? Pray? Bless the house? Therapy? Clean? Nothing seems to fit into the pigeon hole. I MUST PUSH PAST. I MUST PUSH PAST.

"Quiet down Sweet Child. All will be okay. Don't take this on. I am here with you."

I need to comfort her, that lost baby girl inside. She is capable and strong but she is so God damn fragile and she won't trust me. Why won't she come to me? Why can't I hold her?

Randomness. Clarity? Insanity? Thoughts expelled like vomit from a monster. It makes too much sense when I read it back. Writer's block?

Baby Me

She Appeared

I woke up this morning with enthusiasm that I shouldn't have had so early in the day. After yesterday, I was surprised I could get out of bed. Yesterday's material in "Flying Lessons" was hardcore. It brought out a very hurtful and negative experience that I had to push through. I arrived on the other side of the pain worn out and limp. I had to go to bed. My Big Guy had to pick up the slack with the boys last night while I was in and out of a deep sleep. I am certain that my brain was working overtime rewiring the negative event and making it okay. My brain is a forgiving thing. It has lesions on it and it still works beautifully. The Dirty Bitch (Multiple Sclerosis) has taught me what a vast, intense and loving and forgiving brain that I have. I am grateful.

After the monotony of the daily lunch making, I settled into my computer afraid to see what the assignments would be for today. Please not another day yesterday! I can't do it. Maybe Kelly Rae knew that she had to go easy on us after such an intense first lesson because by the grace of God... It was a positive and happy video. Gnawing in my mind was the voice leftover from yesterday playing over and over in my head.... Paint. Paint. Paint.

You see, I don't paint really. I don't put a brush to canvas and PAINT. I paint objects. I paint furniture and thread spools and old boards. I decoupage and stencil. I don't paint on canvas. So this crazy voice in my head was blasphemy, hog-wash. But I have always had this longing to just pick up the brush and DO IT. So... what do I do with this voice? The voice that is telling me to ignore the laundry and the dishes. The voice that is telling me that Candy Crunch Saga (my online game addiction/HUGE time waster) is out of the question today. I can't tell you why, what or how. But I yanked out one of the cheap canvases I had on hand. I bought them thinking I was going to "try it out" one day. I pulled out my box of 1/2 dried up acrylics. I was compelled to JUST FUCKING DO IT. (Don't mean to offend anyone with the Eff Bombs.) I was almost in a trance. Before I could think, I had the canvas covered in paint. I kinda remembered a tutorial that Kelly Rae had shared in a book. I was following what I remembered. My damn Gesso was all dried up. I never even opened it up. Never used it once. I had to improvise. I just had to DO IT.

I pulled out bits of scrap paper and just kept going, whispering to myself along the way to just trust in the process. I had to do this. It was almost like an out of body experience. I've never, EVER felt quite like this before.

Hour after hour. Layer after layer. Sanding. Painting. Ripping. Rubbing.

The words came easily, but have since changed.

Throughout the day I realized that every scrapbook class, each rubber stamped card I've made, all the sanding of furniture, it had all lead me to this moment. I had some skills that were making me brave enough to do this.

 I was terrified to touch the face. Maybe I will leave it white and empty and open? I can't do a face. I've never done a face before. I ignored the face all day. But then I couldn't anymore.

I learned today that a painting speaks to you before it's even finished. It guides you. It's layered. It's a process. It unfolds. 

She appeared from the end of my paint brush. She stared back at me, happy and content. I did this. My hands started shaking and I was so emotional. I had to quit. I had to gather myself and settle. 

The "not your best" Box

Ouch! It STILL hurts but I'm going to share this story to put it out there, to release it. To let it go. I'm crafty. I'm an artist. (There I said it!) Many moons ago, before our "Oooops Baby" I started selling my art pieces (OMG Art pieces??? Who do I think I am using words like ART PIECES?!?!) at local stores and craft shows.

Personal plug here... I AM AN ARTIST because all of my pieces are "one of a kind". I never make items after items in an assembly line style. Each piece that I create has different feelings put into them. Different moods, dreams and beliefs set each piece apart from the other.

Anyway, I was elated and up in the clouds when I started to sell items here and there. I was tickled that people wanted my things! At that time, I was on a kick of repurposing old cigar boxes into special boxes for people to store "secret" or favorite things. One lady shared with me how she used her box for storing her jewelry and eyeglasses beside her bed. It made me giggle to think that she touched something that I created every night before sleeping and first thing each morning. Wow!

This is my table display from a very early show. Oh how I've evolved... a little! LOL

Well, my family and I were visiting my parents in Florida. I decided to give my mom one of my cigar boxes. I chose a pretty pastel one with roses that I thought would really go with the feel of her bedroom.

This is the box I chose to give to her. I loved the chip at the top of the box. It meant history to me, that this box was USED. I am attracted to items that show wear and tear and usage. Perfect pieces say "boring" to me. Anyway, I really liked it. I put the "T" in THINGS slightly askew to silently illustrate that things should never be perfect. The crystal knob that you see to the left is similar to the one that used to sit on top of it. I know that this box isn't phenomenal and it's really quite elementary, but at the time, I thought it was special.

So I presented her with the box and could tell right away that she didn't think much of it. If she did, she would've spent hours finding the right spot to proudly display it. I let it roll off of my shoulders. My mother's VERY particular and she is even more particular when it comes to her home and what she displays in it. I decided that I wasn't going to take this personally and left it alone.

A year or two later, while visiting my parents again, my mom and I were in her closet looking over her quilt collection. My mom has as many quilts as most people have underwear and each and every one of them is GORGEOUS. Soft and cozy, all luscious prints with peachy roses and sage ivy or tiny blue flowers. I am talking heavenly! With matching sheet sets for each quilt to boot! I spied, hidden under a quilt on the very top shelf my box. The box that I had given to her!!! So I took it down and jokingly said to her "Wow Mom! I feel like a kid again, brokenhearted that you wouldn't hang my artwork on the fridge because it didn't match the wallpaper." I was blown away when my mother said "I am not going to use this just because YOU MADE IT! It is NOT your best work and I am just telling you this because it's NOT and I know that you could do better." with which I rebutted that "Perfect strangers PAY ME for these boxes." My mom then went on a tirade about the small town that I live in and how none of the people that live there have any sense of taste or class and why would I WANT to live there... So, I shut down my normal way, the way I do when I know that I can not please her and then in my head I'm ushered back into my pre-teen years when I'm being told how much prettier I'd be if I only lost 10lbs. UGH! Let it go.............

The back of the box after I attempted to tear off all my work and start again...

 FYI... I'm eating my prunes again while blogging this. It seems to be an effective way to chew, chew, chew, swallow, swallow, swallow to get them down! I seem to overlook the revolting texture and consistency in my mouth when I am focusing on something deep!

The box flies back home with me to my tiny little podunk town that I lovingly refer to as "my home town". I tried to tear off all of the pretty little images that I carefully chose to decoupage onto the box. To my surprise, my decoupaging skills were quite good and I couldn't remove the images without just sanding the shit out of the whole damn box. The box ends up in a Rubbermaid tote labeled "Cigar Boxes".

Years later and just last week, I unearthed that box while organizing my new "temporary studio" in our new home. (My "real studio" will involve some demolishon work by My Big Guy and his right side man, my Bro in Law. It will be a timely and costly project so my hubs, the love of my life and the wind beneath my wings, INSISTED that I set up a temporary space so that I can get back to my art and sanity. God I love him. He knows what's good for me before I can even identify it and put it into words. How lucky am I? "Thank you Baby Jesus!" (quote from Will Ferrell in Talladega Nights... I am perversely attracted to Will Ferrell BTW.)

Look how I lovingly trimmed that rose to be decoupaged around the original label on the box! LOL And THIS was NOT my BEST WORK?!?!?!?!? WTF

Well, I pulled the box out of the Rubbermaid tote and it made it's way into my studio. I use it to hold all the crap that I come across that I can't seem to find a good place for. The box is labeled "Things" and that's exactly what goes in it now... Things that don't have a place! What's really cool is I now have the guts and balls to look at it and be reminded that it "wasn't my best work". But see, there's real beauty in this. I know the box is probably not my best, but it's still pretty. It still has value. It's still useful. Guess what else I put in that box? Mom's words. I don't know what to do with them just yet... or ever. They have no place in my life or heart or head so they can just sit there with the other junque. until I know where to put them. And the funny thing is... as I type this... I'm realizing that those words and that box are EXACTLY where they need to be... being put to use in a quiet way, visible, but tucked away, as a gentle reminder that things won't always be perfect and perfect isn't always what I'm after.

Flying Lessons

I am sitting here with my fingers firmly in place on Bubbles (My AWESOME Bubble Gum Pink hued Laptop) and staring at this blank screen that will soon become my very first blog post and I am intimidated as shit! Funny because I'm eating Sunsweet prunes... but that's another story altogether!!! I worry about my grammar. I worry about my spelling. I worry about my intelligence. I am trying to quiet my inner voice, the one that reminds me of my fears and is ultimately responsible for holding me back from giving myself the best life I could ever imagine. So this is where I will start. With how I got here, to this empty blog screen.

Life is mysterious. Life is full of miracles. I know this and believe this with all my being. So, I try to listen to the universe and watch for signs. Cute little story to illustrate my point. Bad day... sitting on my porch, feeling like an orphan with no one on my side, bouncy little butterfly flickers around my front garden. I tempt fate and God and her (my beloved Gram who God took out of my life before I was ready) and I said to the Universe, "Gram, if that's you... LAND ON ME!" Well, would you believe that that adorable little butterfly bounced over to me and landed on MY HEAD?!?!?!? It landed on my head! So, there you go... proof that God and Gram want me to happy and love me and all that warm gushy stuff that makes me tick!

Okay, before I get in too far, you should know that I am totally ADD. Seriously. I am medicated for ADD. Not sure if the Cognitive Function part of brain is on the fritz because of the nasty bitch named Multiple Sclerosis that I share my body with or if it's just downright dirty Attention Deficit Disorder, but... anyhoo... I've got it. So my mind is a beautiful mix of ideas, emotions, stories, truths and beliefs all whirled up and jumbled. I may bounce, but bouncing's good, right? Think Tigger from Pooh!!! I'm cuddly, so you have to love me!!! 

Soooooooo... thanks to my awesomely wonderful hubs, who I affectionately refer to as The Big Guy, I received a Kindle for Christmas. I downloaded this awesome (Yes! I'm an 80's girl. I use the word AWESOME a lot, probably too much.) book called Art Saves, by Jenny Doh. If I was a spectacular blogging Queen I feel as though I would put a link in here to quickly and efficiently skip you over to Amazon, but hey, I'm not there yet. Major emphasis on YET!!! Okay! Focus Michelle! I read a chapter in this book about a cool-ass (and I mean that with utmost respect and admiration) chick named Kelly Rae who talked about leaving "simple affirmations in public places for a passerby to discover..." and it stopped me dead in my reading! See, I'm really, REALLY into random acts of kindness so my soul raised it's eyebrow in curiosity. Well, let me tell you, after I saw Kelly's art in the following pages... I WAS BLOWN AWAY. This woman SPEAKS TO ME! 

So I gotta back up a bit. You must understand that I've only recently been able to utter the word "ARTIST" with ANY regards or innuendo towards myself. I can comfortably say that I am a "crafter", but an ARTIST? Yeah, um, NO! Hell NO! ARTISTS use fancy-schmancy materials and expensive brushes and they've gone to COLLEGE for that shit. An ARTIST is NOT some hilly-billy momma that enjoys the feel of cheap acrylic paints on her finger tips. An ARTIST doesn't use A.C. Moore's Bag-O-Brushes at 50 for $2.00. Okay, slight exaggeration. Anyway... I'm S L O W L Y getting used to the idea of being a self-taught artist. Major emphasis on SLOWLY. So...... for me to download a book called "Art Saves" was a pretty huge leap for me, putting myself in a higher league than accustomed. Okay, point being... I was stepping waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay outside of my comfort zone.

Well, this Kelly Rae person... she started popping up EVERYWHERE in my life. One day while I was wasting endless hours on Pinterest (O M G PEOPLE! What in the hell did we do before Pinterest?) and I saw this super-cool neato dresser decoupaged in vintage wallpapers. Hello??? Um... UBER GORGEOUSNESS. Well... guess who's blog that Pinterest post lead me to? KELLY RAE's! LOL So, after perusing her blog and falling in love and thinking that her and I could really be soul mates or at least BFF's I saw "IT". The cute little ad for "Flying Lessons". Flying lessons?   Huh? Weeks pass... I peruse Amazon. (I have a tiny addiction to crafty art books.) Notice if you use "crafty" in front of the word "art"... it saves your ass from failure!  Well, guess who showed up AGAIN in my tiny little red-neck world? KELLY RAE and her book "Taking Flight". 

 Kelly Rae kept showing up in world. Everywhere I went, she was there. So, I did something VERY rare. I ended up enrolling in this crazy class. I am taking FLYING LESSONS. So, this blog, the one that I created over a year ago and haven't touched since, where you are right now... yeah, well this is my first post. I'm learning to fly and I am headed straight towards my dreams!!!