be here now

so last week the roof got put on.  a 4 day job.  the weather finally got it's act together.  my mini catastrophe has ended.  sometimes i look back at stressful times and wonder what the hell just happened.  sometimes life stops.  it literally STOPS.  there are few things that mess with me more than not being able to make art.  most of you know i work outside on my little apartment porch and/or drag things out to the parking lot when no one is clogging up the parking spaces with their big ass suv's and stinky diesel dualies.  there arent many things i can do in my studio area that dont entail cutting/grinding metal so i depend on nice weather to get my work done.

i feel like i have some sort of sticky insect goo all over me and it's hard to get anything done.  i've got a backlog of items to photograph (its been too cloudy/rainy to go out and do that up until a few days ago) and list on etsy.  i've got various things in progress and now that my repertoire has grown i find i'm often working on this and that and the other thing all at once and sometimes i get confused about what needs to get done next.  did i paint that 2nd coat of rust converter on that?  where is the lid for this?  is that a pendant or a flower bud?  my tables are all filled up.  i've spread out into the area outside of my studio.  and now those two tables are filled.  technically this is a large loft.  i'm beginning to wonder i should shove everything into the bedroom and make the whole loft a work space.  i hate thinking the dust and crap that would get in my kitchen, but maybe i should take advantage of this space.  god knows no one ever comes over (sometimes my wonderful neighbor does when she magically makes more minutes in the day than do actually exist).  my few friendly invites for people to stop by for coffee are themselves all dusty.

i'm here.  i get up and do it.  i no longer think every day 'i gotta get the fuck out of here'.  but i do have wistful moments of remembering nature.  REAL NATURE.  its so damn ugly here. i mean huntsville itself looks kinda nice...but there is no escape to my kind of nature, the kind that entails mountain ranges. escape from the loud obnoxious sounds that still amaze me, that i hear each and every day and sometimes in the middle of the night...to date i've never lived anywhere this noisy and i'm half a century old)  no escape to my kind of nature filled with painfully beautiful sunsets and vistas.  why make myself miserable.  why think about what i dont have.  i think i'm beginning to 'get it' about doing that.  every single day i am aware of my mortality.  always have been since i can remember being an anxious little conscious being.  today i can make something.  the sun is out.  i can be kind to whomever i may actually have contact with.  i can be kind to myself.

life blip

earlier this week i wrote a self missive and posted it on my private facebook notes page.  seemed people liked it. i decided to post it here cuz each day i wake up, get online, check the blogs, check the usual suspects and see ya'll keep going. keep writing, keep posting while i on the other hand have almost dropped off the face of the earth in blogworld.  i myself have gotten bored by my life.  not by my art, but bored by posting what i do with art and i sometimes wonder if that 'hurts' me in any way as far as getting any kind of people exposure for friends/contacts/sales etc.  then i think, if ya dont feel it ya shouldnt make yourself do it.  i remember reading in wayne d's interpretation of the tao something about being invisible. (my words).  be one of those people that dont need to broadcast and be seen or heard. i liked that. i've liked plugging away doing my thing and keeping it low key.  i dunno,  i guess sometimes i do miss sharing but i keep thinking i'm so fucking boring who cares what i do or think.  and its my art blog....so if i dont post art stuff what else is there?  anyhow. many of you have already read this but here it is again...and by the way, after a few days to digest this, i wanted to state that to some i may seem like a baby to feel so upset, were it not for my daily struggles with just making it and feeling alone and having little emotional/financial reserves i'm sure i would have amassed more strength.  when you feel worn down it doesnt take much out of the ordinary to short circuit. i also want to say that my landlord is doing the best he can to get insurance and roofers to fix (retar) the roof as well as trying to keep a tarp up there without it blowing away.  i've since moved most of my living room contents (art) into my bedroom so the now growing leaks [10+] can splat all they want and i'm not so wigged out cuz less stuff is vulnerable to being ruined with rusty water

anyhow here it is.  LIFE BLIP:

i was burnt.  drained.  jittered out and on the tail end of a hysteria that comes from feeling like an amputee against life.  you think one leak is bad....wait til you have 9 or 10 and more on the way.  wait til the sky pisses and pours upon you and you find yourself frozen like an animal listening and waiting for more signs and clues of possible fluid ruination of your personal possessions.

the day turned bad fast.  fast forward 10 hours later and i am sitting in my living room looking at everything displaced.  large buckets are dotting my floor and water is still slithering down 2 walls;  randomly dripping, insultingly slow from the industrial bolts in the steel ceiling.  for now the rain has stopped.  more is predicted nearly every day this week and until the insurance company does its thing (end of the week at best) with the landlord, and until its dry for 48 hours i am not getting the roof fixed.  tarp and plastic were put on the roof this afternoon but its windy here; i've been told not to expect much improvement.  at least they did that.  and at least the landlord brought big buckets over and sat and talked with me for a few hours.  at least i know he gives shit.  he is human.  and i got to know him in a way i hadnt previously.

so, fast foward thru the panic that hit me as i felt helpless and reminded me that i have nowhere to go.  no place to take refuge.  no money to flee and no one to really go thru this with me. that its up to me to stand guard and protect my possessions, my electronics and art.  its up to me to withstand the tortuous sounds of dripping water.  i  got thru it even though sometimes life makes me feel like i am so trapped i can't take it another minute.  trapped in existence.  trapped in my patterns.  trapped in my disease.  sometimes i'm free.  most times not.

once i regained some emotional balance i opened my door to have a look at the world.  i saw a middle aged woman struggling with a huge suitcase and a shoulder bag across the street.  i live a block and some senseless amount away from the greyhound bus station and i figured she was heading there.  she looked like every ounce of energy had been used up in lugging that suitcase from god knows where.  i grabbed my keys and ran out after her.  i felt silly and like i might even scare her as i was shoddily dressed myself and didnt want her thinking i was trying to steal from her...besides she only had just a little ways to go but i knew she might not make it.  i could feel it.  i watched her stopping every 3 feet and switching hands.  i called out to her before i even got there because i couldnt stand to watch her another second.  i took her big ugly bamboo colored suitcase and was shocked at how light it was.  it broke my heart.  and in that little bit of space left between us and the bus station she rambled on about having broken her tailbone.  about having to come here from kansas to deal with a ticket that was now up to 3,000.  about how she hadnt eaten since yesterday and when she did she just vomited it up.  she was thirsty.  she said she felt like she was going to pass out.

i felt like i was going to panic again.  panic for her.  panic because of her.  panic because life seems so fucking unfair and hard.  because no one should have a ticket accrue to that much money.  panic because of the bad choices we make.  that she didnt come here with that big stupid suitcase, instead she found herself getting some clothes at the mission and then getting the suitcase to carry the clothes.  all i could think was jesus christ wtf are you doing buying this shit HERE IN HUNTSVILLE that you can't even carry? what is it with us and needing THINGS.

she didnt even know when or if the bus was coming.  i was jumping out of my skin, wanting to help her but feeling the exhaustion that was her life and not being able to bear it.  that suitcase?  it started getting heavy and i found myself shifting it from left to right hand.  i felt like dropping it and running away from her, away from everything and giving up on life.  i knew i had to get her there, i almost wanted to drive her myself to kansas and fix her life, mine didnt feel so wonderful all of a sudden, it felt self absorbed and meaningless and yet i knew my life was creative and good, that my life was worth getting back to.  and hers, for her...was hers to deal with as well.  once we got inside the station i wished her well i skittered home full of panicky adrenalin, knowing i had to go back and give her some fortification of some sort .  i rushed home and grabbed an energy bar and 2 emergenC vitamin packets and walked back to give them to her.  had i any cash on me i know i would have stupidly given every dime i had to her.

i was glad to come home to my cold wet leaky apartment.  glad i didnt have to ride a fucking greyhound bus back to kansas feeling like i was going to pass out.  feeling a broken tail bone bumping on every dip in the road.  glad i was me.  at least i'm familiar with my own hell.  i'm familiar with my fights and the paths i've worn fighting my uphill financial and emotional battles.  i dont know what anything means.  i fear losing my freedom, what little i feel i have.  i fear not finding an 'in' to that porthole that one finds when one accepts and feels peace no matter the temporary circumstances that is life.  i am aware of my stupid struggles, my primal raw fears that shouldnt lock me up socially or emotionally. my landlord and i were having a rather philosophical talk about living an artists' life (he did for 20 years and said he couldnt do it anymore, he couldnt do all that struggling that you do emotionally/financially)  and he said something about 'this' (meaning my apartment and the leaks) meaning something on a bigger level and i knew what he meant.  i laughed and said yes....YES. MY APARTMENT IS SOBBING FOR ME.  the floodgates are open.  no other apartment in this big building is leaking.  just mine.  it is crying.  i am listening.

wearable

art jewelry

i havent listed all of these on etsy...in fact i might keep a few and dole them out as needed.  if you see something that calls out to you and can't find it in my jewelry section, let me know.

i'm having fun working on my found object pendants.  still working on the usual suspects....napkin ring holders, vases, utensil containers.  even started working on a superfluous (ie. non functional) wall piece.  day in and day out it is what i do. more so now than ever.  not so social these days.  time sometimes feels like it is running out.  i never take for granted that i am still getting living assistance from an art patron.  were it not for that i really would not be able to keep working on art, and most probably living in a squalid studio apartment (or worse under a bridge).  so i work and work and try to remember what is most important to me.  connecting with people and making art. 

let the journey begin

a few weeks ago ann came over.  she is an older woman whom i believe i met over a year ago at an art show.  i see her all over town, driving her red truck, her longish gray hair neatly pulled back...always looking refined and country at the same time.  what little i know about her is that she lives on a farm out of town, was a school teacher....and she loves doing things.  i know she is quite involved in things around town (politics? church?)  anyhow, once or so a week her truck is parked across the street all day and i invariably run into her at the library, or while i'm out there on my bike and we sometimes have quick little chats about this and that.  a few times she has stopped by or i catch her when she is cutting thru the parking lot.  she has dabbled in jewelry making and even gave me a few 'unfinished samples' as well as found objects.  we both have this penchant for finding crap on the street and trying to make something with it.

so, she came by last week telling me about a book she got at the library and i asked her to put it on hold for me when she returned it.  Jewelry by Artists is the book.  what a book!  dense in a good way with inspiring photos of studio jewelry by artists such as Alexander Calder and Margaret De Patta.  this book is giving me an introduction to 'art jewelry' that i can stomach as well as permission to go for it.  i dont have to know what i'm doing, i mean i never knew what i was doing when i made my clocks or my wall art....never knew what i was doing when i made studio furniture.  jewelry has felt more intimidating and i think it is because of the chain/link stuff.  silly i know, but i just hate traditional ways of doing things and my goal with jewelry is to bypass as much of that as possible. 

i've made and sold some jewelry already on etsy.  i have a few more pieces i'm working on and am interested in getting a little torch so i can bend some metal and make it do what i want.  at the moment i've decided to abandon the chain/necklace making part and focus on the pendant part.  i have ideas for ridiculous ways to hang things but i'm still in conservative mode and need to get the hang of the actual assembling and just let things happen as they will.  i have a feeling this could be my next main body of work.  that and flowers.  i also have table making yearnings again....i always want to keep doing a variety of things but i still feel i'm in a place of being conservative.  when money is tight and space/materials can't get out of hand one tends to keep it simple.  least i do.  anyhow, i'm feeling excitement that the journey of discovery brings when a new body of work is discovered.  slow going as usual but at least i'm going for it!

derail

holidays.  rain.  cold.  stopped making art when i couldnt get outside to work on anything.  stopped selling art (always happens during the holidays for some reason), stopped knowing what i'm doing.  mojo gone.  i've derailed.

it happens.  it never feels good and it always feels terminal.  always makes me shut down and question everything.

i continue to question what i'm doing.  i'm attempting to make some jewelry, its been slow going as i still need to find appropriate materials and still need to be somewhere i can work (cut metal) during inclimate weather.

sometimes the poverty thing gets to feeling like its just too hard to bear.  going a few weeks without selling anything usually sets off the alarms.  i've gone months without cleaning jobs so the pressure is on to get something going. 

in my dream world i get to keep making flowers ad nauseum and they fly out the door.  i've had to stop making them for now as they arent selling in winter so there is another box car hitting the one in front of it.   utensil and candle holders.  same thing.  my world has stopped.  if thats possible.  no emails. no contact.  i have nothing to say and apparently nothing to do except deal with the anger and frustration i feel about my life. 

i'm going to attempt to post the few pieces i made weeks ago on etsy, i've been so 'off' i havent even been able to take decent pictures.  sometimes you just know you need to not DO and wait it out.  i hope a can crawl out of the hole soon.  the sun has been out more, i have a few hours of warmth on my little loft porch but that doesnt mean i have my mojo back.  i'm kinda obsessed about how much longer i can keep living/working like this and WHERE am i supposed to go next?  and how and when and and and