Until we meet again...

 

This is the newest creation off my easel titled, "Private Showing". 

 

 

What a weekend uh?  It was Alaska hot and we were all good and ready for it.  I enjoyed it, don't get me wrong.  My book and I were snuggled nicely in the hammock as the sun beamed down.  But still...

 

Okay, no don't be a hater but there is always a twinge of sadness when the snow begins to melt.  I love winter!  The quiet, the safety in the woods, the colors of blinding white with crisp blue sky.  But what can I do.  If I had been standing in a line for tea on May 18th when the giant, gorgeous flakes were tumbling down I would have kept me joy to myself!  Can you image the scuffle if I smiled brightly and said, " Isn't it beautiful?" Ugly, nothing but ugly.

 

Summer lovers have a hard go of it here.  I understand how itchy it is for them when the snow continues to fall in May.  But must I squelch my love for the last snow flake?  What's an artist to do? I painted snow and ice.  The polar bear and I commiserated over the demise of winter.  No more Northern Lights, no more hot chocolate by the fire.  No more brilliant days of skiing.  I get it, it's over for now.

 

I do love the heat from the sun it's true.  I will now hike with bear spray and slather myself with sun block.  Mosquitos will seek to kill when I walk in the woods and I will be happy. But there is still one tenacious pile of snow in my woods.  If you'll excuse me it's time to go and cheer it on.

Packing Their Bags

There really is only so many times you can hear the word "NO" before it starts to wear on you.  Sure,  you give yourself pep talks and remember all the hard luck to fame stories you know.  You picture yourself on Oprah telling your inspiring story of perseverance.  The audience tilts their head in admiration and determines to never give up themselves.  Then reality gives you a right hook.

Having family in Colorado makes it a perfect location for Signore Greve and Celli. Not to mention there is a lot of love of bikes in that part of the world.  And COME ON, who can say no to Celli's adorable face?

Lots of people that's who!  I had a long list of potential bike shops and books stores who I was willing to let carry my books.  But the 'no thank you' pile was high and my self esteem and confidence was but a mere flicker. 

And then I called Dave at Treads Bike shop.  "We don't do well with books."  Yes, this one I had heard many times.  " I know that is true of most bike shops but I have a formula for selling at shops that works!"  (smiling my brightest and most persuasive smile through the phone).  There was more back and forth before he agreed to take a look at my digital portfolio with a sigh.  I hung up grateful but not hopeful.  That night Dave wrote me with an email that started with the words.  "Okay,  I'm in." (cue the inspirational music).  There was the happy dance, the kisses blown from Alaska to Dave in Colorado and I even patted my self on the back for not giving up.

So if your in Denver and you want to check out a cool bike shop, stop into the one of four location of Treads.  Greve and Celli will be smiling from the counter.  Now I dream of an email that Dave sends that has the subject line, "Re-order for books".  Cue the inspirational music.

CODE WHITE!!

 

That's right, it is code white in my house.  The most dreaded, horrifying code of all.  The code that drives me to the brink of insanity, changes my habits into an obsession of cleaning.  It's Spring and the dog is shedding.

Now you just chuckled to yourself thinking, " Sure, my dog is shedding too."  NO! You don't UNDERSTAND!  You have a normal, average dog.  The kind that drop some hairs when the weather warms.  The kind that after a few brushings return to their happy, wagging selves.

Ginzee walks around with a halo of white, shimmering in our brilliant, returning sun.  When she shakes in the sunlight you gasp at the cloud of dander and hair that shoot out of her body.  When she wakes up after a nap Steve and I jump up with excited voices convincing her she MUST go outside this minute. (Waking up always equals a good hardy shake.) She groggily stumbles out the door with wild eyes and lets out a full alert hound dog bay.  Sorry neighbors but this is an emergency, she's shedding!

Still not ready to give me the gold medal for shedding dogs?  Well hold on to your lint brush.  Treeing Walker Coon hounds have a double coat.  Yep, take your dogs fur and double it.  She has so many hair per square inch you can't separate her coat and see her skin.  Yes, I live with a 50 pound shedding sea otter.

My vacuum becomes my best friend, I convince the dog to spend her day on the deck.  I increase the budget to include a constant supply of sticky tape lint brushes.  When she starts to shake I block my wet paintings with my body. There is nothing to do but wait it out.  Clearly, Spring is in the hair.

Macaroni and Paper Mache

 

 

And now introducing.......MRS. EDWARDS!  The kids go wild!  They sit on the edge of their seats, they oooooo and ahhhhhhhh whenever I show a sample of my work.  They gaze up seeing me as a rock star of the art world.  I beam, basking in their appreciation.  And then...

If it had been a concert the lighters would have started to flicker off and the sing-a-long voices would have started to fade.  Even though I had planned well for my classroom visit in Wasilla the kids were struggling. WHAT AM I DOING WRONG?  I had really made sure the project would match their age group ability and yet clearly they were struggling.

Every class I adjusted and even though things improved the big 'TA-DA look what you just created!' moment was missing.  I was relieved when lunch arrived.  I needed to new plan and FAST!  While munching and pondering I started chatting with a local teacher.  I expressed my frustration.  "We have no art classes here" she said. "The simplest concept of line and shape these kids don't get, they haven't been taught." Please insert your horrified gasp here. GASP! No art classes?  Are you serious?

I was a creative kid and having a brother 2 years older than me was beneficial.  I knew what big art projects were in my future classes. I couldn't WAIT for 4th grade where we got to design with markers a real, live plastic dinner plate.  You could even put it in the dishwasher!  Or the metal project where we got to tap in a design into tin.  ( I knew for a year mine was going to be Snoopy)  There was the wood shop project where we got be make a recipe card holder.  (To this day my mom is still using the holder my brother made). I can not imagine not having art in school.  Every year I looked forward to all the little and especially the big projects.

I quickly got busy.  These kids would have their TA-DA moment.  Poor art-less babies, what has this world come to?  Imagine if I had no Mrs. Roslanic to encourage, counsel and eye roll at me through my high school years.  Would I have pursued art?

Well, I did it.  I came up with a project that the last two classes loved.  The room became filled with, "Mrs. Edwards, look at mine!"  Ahhhhh, music to my ears.

I know money is tight and there are constant budget wars and conflicts.  But a world without macaroni art?  None of us want that to happen. 

When Pigs Fly

I love birds.  I grew up with parakeets and even had a lovebird named Spooner.  I love painting birds and watching birds.  And I love feeding birds.

I have a feeder that hangs outside my studio window.  Here I am working away and a whole other world of bird hierarchy, chirps and flapping goes on outside.  It's quite wonderful really until 'IT' happens.

When the feeder empties things get ugly.  The peeps take on a tone of " HEY lady....get out here!"  They stare at me through the glass.  They gather like some bizarre feathered gang on the spruce branches.  Occasionally one will thump the glass.  A  miscalculation of flight?  I don't think so!

Now understand these are flying pigs I am talking about.  They don't seem to be suffering from any leanness brought on from the long winter.  I have red polls that I think could take out a raven!  And look here BIRDS, your food costs money!  Not to mention the knee deep snow I need to tromp through to get to the feeder!

Yes, they always win.  The feeder will be restocked and a chickadee will flit to the feeder all adorable with a sweet little cock of it's black and white head and I am cooing my love all over again.

Bird feeding season is brief here in Alaska.  In one minute a bird feeder becomes a bear feeder.  In just a few weeks the feeders will be tucked away for the summer. No one wants a bear to see you as an outdoor café.  Can you imagine?  I can barely hold my own with a nuthatch!

I play for a living

Ah commiseration.  It bonds us, allows us to vent and to know we aren't the only ones with this struggle to endure.  I use to have a job where I could join the gripe fest.  Sales meetings with no apparent purpose or end.  Fabric covered walls that did nothing to drown out your yakking co-worker.  The microwave with a patina of blown up soup, salmon and peas.  I remember it all well.

I no longer have a corporate job with all the hair tearing out moments.  There isn't a day that goes by when I don't breathe a contented sigh at my job as an artist.  It's awesome, honestly and I am so grateful for it.  I just can't talk about it.

I might ask a friend, "How was your day?"  Then the low lights are discussed and I nod and shake my head in disgust at the appropriate moments.  Do they then ask me about my day?  Nope.  If I try to tell them about my delicious morning ski, my current painting on my easel, the fun conversation with a client I get stink eye.  Stink eye alone would be fine but then the mocking ensues. 

My husband, whose support and willingness to live on a little less makes my career possible, is just as bad.  I have many text messages that say, "I love and hate you."  Usually this is in reference to my lunch time hike or sun filled studio.  I mean such oppression!  Who can be creative when your friends and family are plotting your demise.  Is it my fault I have the world's best job? 

Wait....did you just roll your eyes at me? 

Pay ATTENTION!

"She broke up with me.  She said I was too attentive...whatever that means"

 

For a while I thought my name was Pay Attention.  It has taken years of hard work to be more focused and in the moment. 

My first moment that I can recall of zoning out was in kindergarten.  We were given a piece of paper with a line on it about 3 inches from the bottom.  The instructions were NOT to draw beyond the line.  I never heard the teacher. I was thinking, "What is this pesky line doing here and how can I incorporate it into the drawing."

I ripped my side mirror off my car when I was in college.  Should have paid attention to the garage door opening.  And just recently I broke our bedroom door when I walked right into it while looking the other way.  I didn't say my focus wasn't a work in progress.

Recently I was invited to a conference for teachers from around Alaska.  There was about 400 people present and I was invited to sell my books during the lunch break.  There were awards given for teachers who have went above and beyond typical duties.  The sad thing....no one was paying attention.

There stood a woman who had spent a lot of time determining who was worthy of the award, who should receive it.  She prepared a beautiful speech highlighting the qualities of each recipient but no one really heard her.  It was sad. 

Let's make a pact to pay attention to each other.  No, texting while driving doesn't count!  When someone is talking to you look at them.  Not at your phone, or over their shoulder to see it anyone more interesting is coming along.  Just look them in the eye and listen.  We live in a world full of distractions.  We could all use a bit more practice in paying attention.