IT'S BEGINNING TO BUG ME!

 

By the time I reached junior high school, I knew I was a writer. I wrote my way through my life, not caring if I ever published what I wrote. It was only important to me that I kept writing. Writing allowed me time to myself, precious time to sort thoughts and feelings, to explore imagination, and to think as rapidly as I chose, not having to slow my communication to another person's capacity to understand. Writing allowed me to put my thoughts into the world and allowed the reader to consider those thoughts at their leisure without pressure. I much preferred writing to talking. I considered early on that I might have to get published in order to be heard. Although I had thoughts I longed to share with others, I had no desire to be “known”. Popularity, like celebrity, allows no room for privacy, and without privacy, respect falters.

When I was in my 50's I saw that someone else wrote one of the books I was going to write. At first, I felt sad. My ego had to take time to grieve. I got past that, read her book, appreciated the way she put it all together, and recommended it to anyone who would listen. In time, as I continued to mature, I realized if I didn't write “my” books, someone else would. Life lessons are meant to be shared. The woman who wrote that book had credentials to back her up and was well enough connected in the world to gain a vast audience. That the concepts she wrote about were made accessible to many people was far more important than my gaining publication.

It was also in my 50's that I became active on the Internet. I entered the land of blogging and experienced the joy of writing and having others read what I wrote. I didn't feel any need to be paid for my efforts. As far as I was concerned, I was published.

And now? Now I am in my 70's. I spent a few years on a spoken word circuit and became known in my area. I lead writer's workshops. When I reached 70, I began drawing and painting. My interests have put me in touch with other artists and writers who are now nudging me strongly to publish! I have the time. I have professional people willing to back my efforts. I even have a nest egg set aside, so I can self-publish if I choose to do so.  I'm running out of excuses.

NO ONE WARNED ME

 

I have a one-bedroom apartment that has begun to resemble the beginnings of a Hoarder episode so I am sorting and tossing a lot. It was packed but well organized...then I took up art. Now my art supplies are more important to me than anything else, but I could use a barn with shelves up and down the walls. Sigh. The added problem with developing an interest in creating art is the physical supplies I use do not go away. The paint goes on the paper or canvas and then there is a work of art to store! Oh! My! I should have taken up cooking. At least those ingredients disappear in time. If I wasn't creative in other areas, there would be enough room...but my sewing supplies need a room of their own. Sigh.

This is supposed to be my old age. I had planned on kicking back and reading a lot. I've gathered a library full of books to meet that purpose. That would be fine if that's all I did! The thought of parting with my books is as painful as parting with my art and sewing supplies.

Then there are my handwritten journals and sketchbooks.

I think I am going to have to accept anew that, while I can sort and straighten regularly, I am not going to have a typical home. My bedroom became the sewing/craft room immediately when I moved here. Now my living room/dining area has become my art studio. I need to surrender and give up the thought of having a normal home, or find a much larger place to live. A barn would be nice.

As I do this major Spring sorting, I can see that my plants will have to go. I need the space. I gave away my aquariums yesterday. I may have to part with my collection of materials, sewing machine, and the rest of my sewing supplies. Something has to give. I have books I want to read, books I need to write, and ART I want to create. There are fewer years ahead of me than behind me. This apartment has become a tiny creative factory. I eat and sleep at work!

LOOKS KINDA SKETCHY TO ME

 

    I carry a sketchbook in my purse. I pulled the sketchbook out as I was seated at a bus stop today and sketched the scene across the street from where I sat. When the bus arrived, I wished I had more time to draw, and realize now, since I carry the sketchbook with me when I go out, I can work on the sketch again the next time I am at that bus stop. There's a  reason it's called a sketchbook and not a finished work book!

    

FINE ART---SO SO ART

    Pictured above is a piece of fine art. It is so because I picked up a pencil, pen, and paint brush and applied them to paper. It is neither a great flawless piece of art, or a complete failure. It stirred a conversation in a group of people. It help some to laugh and some to comment on the facial expression of the bird. People saw many different expressions.. All were in agreement (including the artist) that the tail needs work or needs to be removed completely. That anyone paused and took time enough to comment about it was a delight to me! That makes me an artist! I create art. People look at it. They get involved with it. They critique it.. One woman who was physically present looked at it and said, "Please send a copy to (her son in college). He will love the face and the plumpness of it!" 

    Sometimes I draw or paint things the look great to me and to  many others. Other time I create something like the little fellow above, whom I call Pepper. (He needed a name!) At still other times I draw or paint something I would throw in the trash...but then someone comes along and likes it. I marvel at that. 

    We all truly do see things differently! That has become very clear to me since beginning to draw a few years ago. We tend to put ourselves into what we are looking at. I listen closely to people as they speak of anything I paint. They teach me about themselves. 

    I label my work as "wonky". That fits me. It's unsophisticated, childlike, and often comic. I would fail miserably at striving to make it lifelike, but everything I create has personality. It leaks through. I don't intend anything. I simply ask it to come to life. So far...so good.  In fact, so far it's FINE!

    

 

TAKING A STEP IN THE "WRITE" DIRECTION

 

    I followed a tutorial last night and drew a step ladder.  A step ladder? I can't imagine there is any demand for a picture of that sort. I could frame it and give it as a Christmas gift to someone and let that person sit and puzzle out what to do with it. I understand that it was an excellent exercise in the drawing class...but what do I do with it now? HA! You are stuck with it as an illustration for this blog post!

    At my age, a step ladder is the highest ladder I will climb and, even then, I doubt I will go past the first step. Still, that's heading in the right direction: UP. 

    I used to be a prolific writer. Along the way, I wrote less and less until I got to a point that I ceased writing any blog posts at all. I wasn't depressed...quite the opposite. I simply found lots of things I enjoyed doing and got happy doing them. I took up drawing three years ago. It filled a need that wasn't filled by writing. There was no need for words. I could think and feel or just let my thought drift and still create something that caused me to smile. 

    I like the idea of illustrated writing. I loved it as a child. I never stopped loving it. I've always been a bit zany, though, so rather than illustrate something I have written, I will choose to write about something I have drawn.  Why not? It will keep me on my toes mentally and, if necessary, I can use the memory of the step ladder to keep me heading in the "write" direction. 

OH NUTS! (Children's Literature for Adults)

 

OH! NUTS!

'Can't find a rhyme for acorn

I know it's just a nut

I'd like to write a poem

But just can't make the cut

I can't do much with almond

Except to make some paste

Attempts with Macadamia

Seem such a wretched waste

I can choose to use a cashew

A nut I think is hot

Perhaps I'll find a rhyme or two

But truly not a lot

    Rodney had a problem with acorns. He gathered them all spring, summer and fall, racing hither and yon, attmepting to hide his treasure and doing such a good job, he often lost the acorns completely. His obsession with acorns was so complete he nearly lost his life on several occasions as he spotted one across the street and darted out into traffic as he raced to get it. His friends staged an intervention and Rodney began going to AA (Acorns Anonymous). He began doing better, but, rather than entirely abstain from acorns, he began using substitutions. First he found hazel nuts. He moved his home in order to be close to where they were found. His geographic change helped initially, for there were no oak trees in the area where he found the Hazelnut trees. His downfall came when he was scurrying across a lawn and paused to look at a little human sitting on her back step. She threw something toward him. At first he jumped, but then got curious. Sniff! Sniff! A magic scent filled the air. He went closer to the object she had thrown. It had a shell like the acorns and the hazelnut, but the shell was softer. He bit it and it came away easily, revealing two football shapped nutmeats. He sat up on his haunches and watched the little human as he enjoyed the delicacy. Wonder of wonders! She threw another one at him! This time He didn't jump. He gathered the nut quickly and made short work of chewing through the shell. Rodney had discovered peanuts.

       Rodney formed a habit of visiting that area daily in case the little human was outside and felt like tossing food his way. On days when she wasn't there, he went closer to the steps and sniffed  the air, getting more familiar with the place. One day as he was doing so, the door opened and there she was. He ran off for a bit, but then approached her after she sat down. In time he formed the habit of running to the back step when he saw her there. One day his new friend came out the door and he ran up to her, but she didn't have a nut for him. Instead, she had something that smelled just like a nut, but was sticky and spread all over a crusty thing.  He bit into it thinking it was a shell of some sort, but, to his surprise, it wasn't. He ate the crusty thing and the sticky stuff and enjoyed them, even though the sticky stuff stuck to his teeth and the roof of his mouth. Peanut butter transported him to a new reality.  Another day she brought a new nut. It had a softer shell like the other one, but it was shaped differently and tasted a lot differently. Still it was a nut, and he enjoyed it.He became hooked on Almonds. It was then that his friends performed another intervention and Rodney wound up in NA(Nuts Anonymous). 

        

 

  

 

 

    

AN APPLE A DAY...

 

    Throughout my life, from grade school on, I identified as a writer. I never used the term author because, although I had written books, I had not published them. I wrote books, poems, articles, blog posts, children's stories, and thousands of letters. I never tried to specialize. I wrote.

    In recent years, I have identified as an artist. I play with graphite, charcoal, pastel/chalk, pastel/oil, ink, acrylic, watercolor...you name it. I try it. The above drawing was done with Prisma Premier Watercolor Pencils. I chose to leave the drawing as is rather than add water to it.  I am new to many of the things I am attempting. This is the first drawing I have done on black paper. I usually use a photo reference:

    What I draw or what medium I use is not important. What is important is THAT I draw. I find it comic that daily discipline is necessary for me to enjoy the results of what I play at doing. Disciplined play! I don't have to be good at what I am doing. I need only to keep doing it and trust that I will improve with practice. 

    I came to this stage late in life so I have decided I need to live a very long life to achieve goals that would cause me even greater joy. The more art I create the more hopeful I become. My inner child has always been a joy lover and she is, at last, out to play all day long. 

    Join Me!