Category Archives: Emotions

My Little Gray Cells*

The days have been slipping by since my last post. I continue working on my own art as the world continues to kind of go off sideways in some corners. The weather here in Finland has been for the most part, simply lovely. There have been some beastly hot days recently (31°C / 87°F) with high humidity. It’s still not nearly as bad to New Mexico heat during the summer! Yuuuuuck!

Anyway…

My work progresses. I’m pleased with the progress. I’m not rushing anything, and continue to try and stay within the moment creatively. It’s interesting to not be taking so many pictures, because I’m making tons and tons of mistakes. All kinds of things are happening in my work that is just not good. It sounds weird, but I’m kind of liking that. With no fear of having to document the process with pictures and post them, I can just royally screw-up all over the place. No one ever has to know either. Well, that’s not totally true, the end product may just be a total disaster held together with baling wire and chewing gum!

Not taking pictures somehow is adding to the creative freedom I found originally through my original Creative Experiment. I called the Creative Experiment to an end in November 2019. The experiment had served its purpose and I needed to move on. I have found bits and pieces of the Creative Experiment surfacing in my current creative processes. I didn’t think this added creative freedom would be a side effect to taking a break from social media, but here we are.

The increased feeling of creative freedom — essentially, just the freedom to create my artwork without self broadcasting the actual work-in-process in real time — has made me realize how exhausting it was to continually document my processes in real time. This doesn’t mean that I don’t enjoy sharing my processes and my artwork with people. I think I just need to create a framework for sharing and posting that is not as painful for me. I use ‘painful’ because yeah, it was getting painful. While I’m typing this, I have a low-level panic attack going on. I’ve not felt like this since last Monday when I posted.

So I need to figure out how to have an online presence without it causing me all manner of anxiety and panic. I’m confident that I will get there. As always, I just need to make sure that what I’m doing is the best for me in the long run.

This brings me to another one of those things I’ve read or have had said to me that makes me go:

Yeah. That’s DeForrest Kelley as Dr. Leonard McCoy in Star Trek:TOS. I can never hide a thought or emotion. I get Bones McCoy face.

I had touched on this in a previous post. It has to do with the following Sarah Andersen cartoon:

The societal myth regarding the sad artist resulting in great artwork. Man. This one ticks me off so much. I’ve done some research into this topic, being that I’ve got mental health issues and am an artist. It’s a topic near and dear to my existence. I’m surprised at how early these kinds of stereotypes are taught to children. It never ceased to surprise me when a student in one of my classes would chirp-up with some kind of “artists are all kind of crazy” comment about an artist we were looking at, or the art we were making in class. Again, students would know that some guy who painted flowers cut his ear off and yeah, he was totally coo-coo-nutty-crazy-bananas.

Yes. There are some artists who take their awful experiences and resulting sadness/depression and turn it into artwork (Guernica, The Scream, The Third of May 1808, Woman with Dead Child just to name a few) In the case of van Gogh, some truly great artwork. But that’s just one artist out of millions that have existed since the beginning of human history. And yes, I know that there are others, like the ones I listed above. Sarah is correct with her ‘Truth’ portion of her comic. Content artists are happy and healthy and productive artists. I can speak from personal experience here. Before I got a handle on my depression through lots and lots of therapy and medication, I would go months without creating anything. I just couldn’t see the point of it. My work sucked, and being depressed made it such even more. The little artwork that I created was just so, so, so bad. To be truthful, I destroyed a great deal of it, and what little I have kept, has been stored away and is not meant to be seen by anyone other than me. It’s awful work. It’s disturbing. I makes me cringe. CRINGE. I kept it to remind myself of what happens to my creativity and creative output when I don’t take care of my mental health.

The musical soundtrack to this not-so-fabulous, insanely deep depressive and unmedicated part of my life was Bob Mould’s Black Sheets of Rain. Oh man. I love Mr. Mould something fierce, but after going through therapy, I actually hid this album from myself so I wouldn’t end up in the fetal position on the floor of the bathroom crying into the bathmat while listening to It’s Too Late on repeat.

Once I had gone through a lot of therapy, that made me feel a lot worse before it made me feel better, I started making art again. The artwork was much better. So, so much better. As I started to figure myself out, my work became the means by which I began to paste myself back together again. For me, being contented and healthy, means that I am actively creating artwork that is fairly good (I think…) and I am continually productive as an artist.

The one part of Sarah’s comic that I differ from is the use of one word, ‘happy’. I prefer to use the word content instead. I liked The Oatmeal’s cartoon in which he talks about happy and unhappy being at the opposite ends of a continuum. “I want to be busy and beautiful and brimming with ten-thousand moving parts” is something to aspire to being.

There is research shows that there are some higher rates of mood disorders (depression for one) among artists. For me, it’s a chicken and the egg kind of thing. Am I depressive because I’m an artist, or am I an artist because I’m a depressive? Or…is it both? A little nature and a little nurture? I tend to believe the latter for myself, however, every artist who has a mood disorder will have their own unique circumstances of both nature and nurture that shapes them as people and as artists. To simply think that ‘all artists are nuts‘ is just a blanket over-simplification of a topic that is far, far, far more complicated than most people are comfortable talking about. I don’t know many people who want to talk about visual art and mental illness in separate conversations, much less together in the same conversation.

So…

I feel as though I’m having what I call a ‘Charlie Watts Moment’. Allow me to explain. In the Rolling Stones documentary 25×5:The Continuing Adventures of the Rolling Stones (1990), there’s an interview of the band in which they are all asked about touring. Charlie, being quintessentially Charlie, states that he dislikes touring a great deal, but he loves playing drums with the rest of the lads. As the interviewer goes on to question Mick and Keith and Ronnie, Charlie is still mentally chewing on the conundrum of loving to play music with his bandmates, but not liking that he has to tour to do it. He mutters something along the lines of “It’s just a vicious cycle…goin’ ’round and ’round…”

I love making art and showing it and my processes, but the act of sharing it makes me not happy. It’s just a vicious cycle going ’round and ’round in my mind right now and I need to make sure that whatever solution I come up with keeps me mentally healthy and content so I can continue making art that I want to create.

Thank you for reading, and I will talk to you again next Monday.

 

Links:

Charlie Watts — just a lovely, talented man. He’s a gem.

Bob Mould

*The Little Gray Cells — I’ve been listening to a lot of Agatha Christie Hercule Poirot mysteries over the past week.

Prime Mover

This is the first post of any kind I have made since deciding to take a break from posting almost daily on social media. It’s been enjoying myself quite a bit. Remember, I am still working on my artwork; I’m just not posting pictures of progress and process. There is something about having that time with my work, as I’m creating it — having it back, just for me and me alone that has been particularly restful for me mentally and emotionally.

I have been thinking about a lot of different things while I work. I tease apart my own thoughts, trying to discover their various origins and how they influence how I interact not only with myself, but the people and greater world around me. I sometimes find myself mentally gnawing on specific things that have been said to me regarding my artwork, or being an artist by different people at different times over the course of my life. Some of the things I have heard just get stuck to me. Velcro’d down tight to my mind, almost immoveable, while others are more like stepping in gum on a hot summer day, messy, annoying and hard to control.

I’ve had one of those ‘stepping in gum’ things banging around in my head for the better part of a month now. The core message of the phrase remains the same, while the delivery is somewhat plastic. What it usually boils down to is something along of the lines of “…someday, when your work is in a museum…” The aforementioned phrase usually has something about my talent in it, or the degree of fame or influence my artwork will have on future artists, etc. I have increasingly found myself having a reaction not unlike the picture below:

(This is called the “Confused Nick Young” Meme)

The meme posted pretty much fits with how I inwardly process this kind of comment. I know that whomever is telling me that my work will be in a museum someday means it as a compliment, I don’t think they really understand that what they are really saying to an artist is…problematic.

Let’s take a look at the implications made in a statement like, “Oh! Don’t worry! Someday, when you’re art is in a museum, everyone will see how talented you were and be inspired by it!

Sometimes, the “Oh! Don’t worry!” portion of this statement seems directed at an artists desire to sell more of their work, or be able to gain more clients, have a greater amount of performances, or to be able to display their work in some way, shape or form that will gain them exposure to people, persons, or organizations that would be willing to purchase their art. To be quite frank, artists, both performing and visual are constantly worrying about these things. An artist with no place to show their work or perform is still an artist, but one with very limited means of procuring money, which is exchanged for goods and services, like food, clothing, rent among other things. We worry because we know our ‘talent’ won’t get us a seat on the bus, because the busses take money, not interpretive dance or drawings as bus fare.

On to the next word the phrase, “…someday…” Someday. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not three weeks from next Tuesday. Someday. Someday. An imaginary date in an unknown, distant future. The artist may still be alive or maybe is dead. The artist may be long dead. Or perhaps the artist is just really, really, really old. That’s when the artists’ artwork will be recognized as worthy enough to be placed in socioculturally-ordained building where important, expensive or rare things from around the world and different times in human history are placed behind glass and velvet ropes and curtains, so that people can come and look at them after they have paid a fee to enter.

In the simplest of terms, the use of ‘someday’ could be interpreted as a polite substitution for the phrase, “after you’re dead” or “when you’re close to dead”. (Please refer to the above Nick Young meme) Pull at those threads a little more, and it makes an artist feel as though the only time in which their art will make any money is when there is no chance of any more of their art being made. Dead artists don’t make art. This makes the supply of their art finite. An artist can get knotted-up thinking about these kinds of things. Is my work really good now, or will it only be ruled good after I die? Or is it after I’m dead and a museum decides that it’s good — or at least rare — artwork?

Yeah. I know. It seems as though I’m getting a little…dramatic. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been accused of being so. I should simply take the compliment, smile and move on. Believe me, I do. However…the way in which I interpret this phrase has changed between the first time and the most recent time that I have heard it. I know that I must sound childish. That there are artists out there that would love it if people would tell them that they think their artwork is good enough to be in a museum. Compliments are nice, but assuring me that I will have some degree of fame when closer to death, or already pushing up the daisies, well…that doesn’t help me get across town because the bus is €3 each way.

This brings up another interesting part of this phrase; fame. One assumes that if an artist has their work in a museum that they must be famous, right? What artist doesn’t want to have a degree of fame?

When I think about artistic fame after death, I think of van Gogh. I’ve been to the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam. It’s a stones throw from the Rijksmuseum where several works from Rembrandt van Rijn are, including ‘The Night Watch’. Much of van Gogh’s life is at least partially known about by most people. “He’s the crazy painter who cut off his ear!” and that he painted sunflowers is what most people glean from his life at a minimum. Rembrandt is known of, but I don’t believe most people on the street (outside of the Netherlands) would know what his work looks like, or anything about his life. (I personally like that the bubble water I buy at Lidl is called Saskia, his wife’s name.)

Each of these artists had their own trials and tribulations, to put it very, very mildly. Van Gogh shot himself with a pistol and died a day or so later, feeling like a failure. Rembrandt died penniless and wad buried in an unmarked grave. Rembrandt was considered a master in his own lifetime. He knew he was brilliantly talented and so did everyone who saw and purchased his work. Van Gogh struggled his entire life. His last nine years alive saw him create a truly amazing amount of drawings and paintings. He sold two paintings when alive. It was after he was dead that artists and admirers began showing his artwork to a public.

Why the rise in fame after his death, and not before it? I’ve always thought that it was two part. First, there will be no more new paintings or drawings by van Gogh, and second, the story. The majority Vincent van Gogh’s life suuuuucked. He had problems. A lot of problems. He struggled with everything. With love, with religion, with his family, with the world, with his own mind. Then there’s Theo, the brother who never stopped supporting him. Never turned his back on him, even when Vincent was…really going through the unbearably bad stretches in his life. Theo’s widow compiled the letters the two wrote and published them. Vincent’s work was saved by her efforts.

Oh. And, van Gogh sold one painting during his life time. It was less than a year before he took his own life. He sold The Red Vineyard for 400 francs (around $2,000 USD).

The letters of Vincent and Theo were published. A museum was eventually built and houses an impressive collection of van Gogh’s work. It’s €19 ($21.30 USD) for an adult ticket to get into the museum. Free for those under 18. You pay more if there is a special exhibit. In 2015, the Van Gogh Museum took in €27.3 million ($30.2 million USD). The museum is very nice, but I don’t know that I’ll ever go back. The galleries were packed with people who wanted to see the ‘famous’ paintings. There were people packed in tight taking selfies in front of van Gogh’s work. They really didn’t seem interested in the work per se. They seemed there more for the selfies than anything else.

So wait, let’s go back a bit…to €27.3 million?

No, €19.

I stood in a room covered with the work of van Gogh while they snapped selfies in front of his most famous paintings. They paid €19 to do this. I know, some people were there to actually learn something and experience the artwork, but…the whole museum made me want to cry. Van Gogh is famous. His work sells for millions and millions of dollars. His artwork is reproduced on everything front toilet seat covers to fabric to car wraps. Many people make money from the artwork that he created.

He’s famous. He’s dead. He had a life that really suuuuuuucked.

So, when I’m given the compliment that my work will be someday recognized as good, and placed in museums, this is the kind of thing that runs through my head. Everyone BUT me will be able to, in the words of Hank Venture, “Get a slice of that fat money cake.

I sometimes feel that the implied meaning behind the “someday you’ll be in a museum” compliment is that I desire fame (I don’t) and am willing to live a weird-outsider bourgeois-imagined la bohéme existence complete with some sort of mental illness (I’m on meds for my depression, does that count?) that somehow makes me “extra special” in some sort of pleasantly acceptable sort of way to the vast majority of people who have no personal knowledge of art or art making.

My specialness! My talent! They were simply too far ahead of the curve! This is why I’m not selling my work now! I’m making art for say around the year 2050 or so! It will all sell when I’m dead! I’ll be so famous then! When I’m dead! This changes EVERYTHING! I’m so glad that I can pay my bills with the aforementioned promises of ‘someday I’ll be in a museum’ fame and fortune.

Yeah. I know. The lady doth protest too much. I think just needed to vent a little, I guess. If I didn’t get sarcastic about things like this that begin to chafe me mentally and emotionally, it would start coming out in really inappropriate places and times. I know that no one has money to buy artwork right now. The most that some can do is pay me a compliment, or give me a thumbs-up or a like on a social media platform. I get that. It’s just that sometimes, the compliments begin to remind me of how much I’m failing miserably right now. Because if I were truly talented. If my work were truly good, I would have found a way to make it all work for me by now, and I haven’t. And thinking about people paying €19 to come and take a selfie in front of a piece of artwork that I made while dragging myself, body and soul through a mental minefield of broken glass, while not even looking at the work, or realizing what the work is about…or why I made it…that’s just smashes me.

(sigh)

Thank you for reading, and I will see you again next Monday.

 

Links:

Prime Mover

Prime Mover, Rush, Hold Your Fire, September 1987

Rembrandt van Rijn

Rijksmuseum

Vincent van Gogh

Van Gogh Museum

Break

Last Thursday, I created a post for my Instagram account. I’ve been wrestling with some challenges* in my creative, artistic and entrepreneurial plans for some time. Some of these challenges I couldn’t predict (pandemics, lock-downs, social distancing, etc.). Some challenges were ones that I thought I would be better at weathering at this point in my life. While I feel as though I’m doing pretty-kind-of okay most of the time, there are other times in which I know I’m most definitely not doing “okay”.

I need to be “okay”.

I think Sarah Anderson described my current situation best her cartoon below:

The pervasive societal myth of the artist as unhappy, depressive who creates art from their own horrible mental and physical existence is a topic for another post. There’s a lot to unpack in regards to that myth that I want to say, as it relates to me personally as an artist. But like I said, it’s another post topic for another time.

Back to the topic at hand…

I am not happy with where my creative endeavors and my entrepreneurial efforts are going. My efforts are not yielding the desired results. Due to a lot of my own personal mental and emotional experiences (read: “baggage”, and again, a post topic for another time) this is causing an inordinate amount of pain for me. Please know, when I say “pain” understand what I mean. My current situation hurts me. I pay attention my mental health. As a person diagnosed with clinical depression, who is medicated, it’s important to know when I’m not feeling right and why. This could mean that I need to have my meds adjusted, or it could mean that I need to alter things within my life to address whatever is making me not “feel right”. Or in this case, I need to address something that is causing me mental, and increasingly physical pain.

What I need to do is remove myself from a situation that is causing me pain. Right now, that means I need to take a step back from posting my art and my artistic processes on social media. I need to take a break for a while so I can figure out the changes that I need to make to my creative artwork and my entrepreneurial plans for the future so that I can be happy and relatively pain-free. I can’t do that when I’m not feeling right. When I’m in pain. When I am unhappy.

I’ve been working on a piece for the past few weeks. It’s a large, papier maché doll that is intended to sit on top of a dollhouse, complete with furniture. I’ve enjoyed working on this piece a great deal. There’s a lot going on within it. Lots of moving parts. Lots of different inspirations. Lots of references from my own life, culture and experiences. I realized several days ago that the compartments on the side of the head were much too small to hold the spooled embroidered felt banner/backdrop I had created. I had two viable options: 1.) make the banner/backdrop smaller somehow so it would fit what was already made, or 2.) take apart the head, make requisite repairs as well as a new set of housings for the banner/backdrop.

As difficult as it was, I chose the second option. I have an intense dislike for destroying anything, especially things that I have made myself. I suppose it’s hard-wired into my identity to create, rather than destroy.

 

This morning, when I looked at the corrections I had made to my artwork, I was much happier. What had made me so unhappy about the piece had been adjusted. I could see that even through I had to go in a different direction than I was normally comfortable, the end result was my own contentment as an artist.

So…what does this break from social media look like?

  1. I’m going to take a month off from social media. (June 15 to July 15, 2020)
  2. I won’t be posting any pictures of my artwork in process or of my finished artwork.
  3. I will continue to make artwork. I just will not be posting it on social media or anywhere else online.
  4. I will post here on my website once a week on Mondays (June 15, 22, 29 and July 6 and 13)

I am hopeful that this time away from social media will give me some pain-free breathing space to figure out what I want to progress with my entrepreneurial plans going forward.

 

*Challenges” — I’m using this turn of phrase as a substitution for other possible words like, difficulties, problems, trouble, issue, worry, mess, obstacle, setback, hitch, stumbling block, quandary, setback, headache, etc.

Links:

Sarah Andersen is a phenomenal artist. Go look at her stuff. If you don’t want to buy my work, buy hers.

Hard Chew

My website is my place on the internet where I showcase my artwork, try to make connections for selling my artwork and as well as advertising my services as an artist and art teacher for art workshops. I love sharing the artwork that I make and my personal artistic processes with people who are as passionate about art making as I am. This is what this website has been created for. This is what I need it to be.

That all being said, I need to acknowledge that 2020 has been difficult from the get-go. To put it more bluntly, it has really, really sucked on a variety of different levels. Not just for me personally, but for the entire planet. I hit a wall yesterday after being in what I would consider a low-level panic attack space for about a week. I desperately wanted a very large gin and tonic, or two or three of them. Having no alcohol on hand, I crawled into bed to escape into sleep. I just needed everything happening to go away, even for a short time.

When I woke up several hours later, I realized that I hadn’t felt the way I was feeling since the results of the last presidential election were revealed. I just shut down for about 72 hours. I was in shock. I was in disbelief. I spent part of the time crying. Everything just felt so wrong to me. So incredibly wrong. And there was nothing that I could do about it. I just had to get through it.

I felt powerless then, and I feel powerless now. I’m an American expat. I live in central Finland. I adore living and working in Finland. No country is perfect, but for me, Finland is a great place to be, especially here. I live in a university town within a large and incredibly diverse international community of students and families. Living here has given me a greater degree of understanding of the world as a whole. The friends that I have made have helped me to grow as a person. And for that I am eternally grateful. I am a much better person for having known them, talked to them, worked with them, studied with them and eaten meals with them.

When preparing to move here to attend school, I was told by a family member that I had to remember that I was “representing” my country. No pressure there! Seriously? I was to represent the entirety of the United States of America? Was I to represent only the good bits? Was I to leave out all of the icky bits? You know, the things that the US isn’t proud of, or ignores, and perhaps sweeps under the rug and hopes that no one asks about them? I decided to represent myself instead, and I hope that has been enough for the people I have me and the friends that I have made.

This brings to me to the ‘ugly underneath’ part of my post today. The part that is so incredibly hard to chew and swallow. The truth. The really, really, really ugly truth. Made more difficult by those who do not see it as a truth. Systematic, institutionalized racism is Godzilla-sized huge in the United States, and it has been for hundreds of years. I’ve known this for years. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I’ve been an unwitting participant in it through my own white privilege. I’ve been shaken to the core of my being at the images of police brutality towards those protesting in US cities. I cannot fathom how the police think that what they are doing to protestors is moral or ethical.

Here’s the thing though, black people in the US are far too familiar with this kind of brutal treatment by the police than I could ever possibly be. Yeah. I’ve been arrested. I was treated with kid gloves. The arresting officer made personal calls for me on my behalf. He refused to ‘put me in the tank’ with the other women in custody, because I ‘didn’t belong in there’ with those sorts of people. I posted bail and was back at work in the same day. I didn’t lose my job. I didn’t lose my car. I was not beaten. More importantly, I did not fear for my life when I was arrested, cuffed, put in a police cruiser and taken downtown. My personal belongings were returned to me. The arresting officer didn’t allow them to be checked-in; he held my crocheted, black bag and waited for me to be bailed out. Then returned it to me personally.

I never once feared for my life. I never once thought, “I might die today.” or “I hope he doesn’t hit me.” or “I hope the officer doesn’t rape me.”

Why didn’t I have these fears? Because I’m white. I’m a white woman. The arresting officer didn’t want to arrest me, but there had been a bench warrant issued for my arrest and he had no choice but to arrest me.

My arrest was a veritable tip-toe through the tulips. I laughed and joked with the officer. I laughed and joked with the nurse who took my medical information. I had everything explained to me thoroughly and thoughtfully by every person I encountered during my processing at the police station. I was treated with kid gloves. I think I would have been given a coffee if I had asked for it.

Now. Let’s contrast my arrest with someone like Sandra Bland. Or Philandro Castile. Neither of these people had a bench warrant. What was the big difference between them and me?

So.

Hmmm…

My heart hurts. I’ve felt so powerless to do anything to help. Then, I started reading my cousins Facebook page and I decided that there were some things I could do. Chief among them was to be vociferously anti-racist, calling people out and letting them know what they were doing and saying were not okay at all.

Confront racial injustices even when it’s uncomfortable” Y

So…it should be incredibly clear as to which side I have chosen to align myself. Because until black lives matter, no lives will matter to those who hold the power.

Thank you for reading, and I will talk to you all again soon,

 

Links:

XTC, ‘The Ugly Underneath‘ Nonsuch. 1992.

Courtney Ahn Design

Interrupting Cow

(Note: I wrote this yesterday, but for whatever reason, didn’t actually post it. So, the Wednesday Business and/or Entrepreneurial post, which is being altered for the time being, is being posted, in altered form, on a Thursday because I guess sometimes stuff just happens. I’m not deluding myself in thinking there are people out there who are champing at the bit to see what I’m going to whine or ramble about in my posts either! Ha! Anyway, here’s my post!)

My Wednesday posts are intended to be devoted to my entrepreneurial endeavors. I want to talk about marketing, money, online store fronts, in-person sales, patterns, dolls, teaching workshops, etc., in these Wednesday posts. I’m going to suspend the entrepreneurial content for these post for the foreseeable future, or at least until the world returns to more normal functioning. Another reason that I’m making this small change is because frankly, I’m tired of feeling like a big, fat, whiny baby about my (lack of) business. I’m just so very tired of hearing myself complain about it. The negative aspects of my lack of business progress, and talking about them is just making me feel like crud. I know it’s important to acknowledge my feelings and where they’re coming from, but I’m tired of wallowing in them. At least for now.

With all that being said, I did have one sale this week! I’m tremendously happy about it and got it sent off to the buyer earlier today. I hope that the tiny little dolls I sent make the buyer and the person they are intended as a gift for happy!

I’d been thinking about questions that have been asked of me about my dolls in the past. I thought that it might be an interesting idea to document these questions and my answers to them. I’m not sure how many questions there will be. If you’re a reader of my blog posts, contact me with any questions you might also have that you don’t see here.

Questions and Answers Regarding my Recent Doll Creations:

1. Why are you making all these tiny dolls lately? What happened to all the paper maché dolls that you had been making for the past year?

Okay. Starting off with a two-part question. Good. The tiny dolls, and why am I making them? I’ve always been fascinated with tiny things. Tiny dolls in particular. As a very small child (3 or 4-ish?) I had some mass-produced dolls that I adored. I cannot remember anyone giving them to me as gifts. I think that the majority of these dolls were once my older sisters dolls. I’m not sure how the dolls became mine. My sister could have given them to me because she was getting older (13-14-ish) or it could have been that I just claimed them as mine and took them. Toddlers have a nasty habit of doing that at times, and I was quite the sticky-fingered kiddo.

I remember called these tiny dolls ‘Bitsies‘. I guess a take on ‘itty-bitty‘. The dolls that I had were anywhere from half an inch to two inches tall (There were some that were closer to four inches tall, but I don’t remember them). They were colorful and detailed and I loved that they could be tucked-into pockets because they were so tiny and they had tiny accessories. Their hair was so cool too! So long!

These tiny dolls were Liddle Kiddles. They were a line of dolls by Mattel that ran roughly from the mid 1960’s until the early 1970’s. I had quite a few of them. The dolls that I had were mostly from the Kola Kids and Kologne Kids series, and the Lucky Locket series, with a few of the storybook dolls and the tiny jewelry-themed dolls thrown in here and there. I lost some of the clothing and most of the accessories fairly quickly. Many of the Liddle Kiddles I had just had their little dresses on. I loved their sweet little faces! They were so adorable, with great big eyes! When you look at their faces, you can tell which ones were made by Mattel and which ones were cheaper knock-offs. The 1994 Tyco dolls I think lack the charm of the original Mattel dolls.

I remember being fascinated with the hair colors of Liddle Kiddles. Orange hair!? Green hair!??? I loved their little themed names and outfits for the different lines of dolls. I can look at these Liddle Kiddles Kola Kiddles (OH! The spelling! It BURNS!) and know exactly when my fascination with color and specific color combinations started. My color fascination was furthered by Sesame Street, but that’s another post entirely.

It cannot be overlooked that the Liddle Kiddles came in series. The way in which I’ve been creating the tiny and small dolls that I have since the beginning of the year are all part of a series. The Creative Experiment dolls, especially the small ones using buttons in lieu of faces were a long series (approx. 200 dolls, give or take). The number of pieces in a series I create seems to be dependent upon my personal curiosity regarding the series. By the time I’m a dozen deep into the creation of a specific type of doll (or any other art) creation, I know that there is something that I’m trying to figure out or decode that is coming from deep within my personal identity.

I wrote a post last December (Wringing Meaning from Turnips) about creating the tiny dolls had become my attempt at reconnecting with a place and time in which I was content being me. Not happy. Happy is a fleeting concept. Being content for me is finding a balance within my own mind in which my inner and outer worlds are working in concert, with neither one of them figuratively screaming at me for attention.

These Liddle Kiddle dolls came into my life as I was just nearing the end of that time in my life in which I remember being the most content. Before the world became more ‘screamy’ at me. They were so tiny and precious. They were colorful and sweet. I have intense memories of looking at their little faces and realizing that each separate doll had slightly different faces, but they all looked like they belonged together. Like they were related. In retrospect, I suppose my little toddler self thought of these little dolls almost as some sort of religious talisman. I wanted to protect them and keep them safe. I wanted to tell them all my secrets. I felt like they were safe receptacles for them. They wouldn’t tell on me or laugh at me. Being that I was on that cusp of having the outer world rush in to begin its influence on me cannot be ignored. By the time I was five, I knew there was something wrong with me. The outer world was telling me so. I was too loud. I was too obnoxious. I was selfish. I was fat.

Screamy. Screamy. Screamy.

So yeah. I’ve been making tiny dolls. It’s personally therapeutic for me, and creatively satisfying.

2. Now, for the second part of the question, regarding the larger paper maché dolls. I have been calling them ‘playset dolls’ because their construction is more complicated with lots of moving parts. I mean for these larger paper maché dolls to actually be played with. It strikes me as odd that when I show pictures of them, or when I had some of them in a small exhibit locally, no one who was looking at them knew about all those moving parts and all the things that were hidden away in the drawers within their bodies.

As these dolls grew larger and larger, they took on a guardian-like presence within the world I’ve created with my dolls. Very simply put, the big, scary, weird, strange outside keeps the tiny, delicate, sweet, doll parts safe on the inside. I’m completely aware of the metaphor working here. It’s kind of a metaphor delivered with a sledgehammer, but I guess I gotta be me. Connecting this metaphor to my personal childhood experience, to a cornerstone of the beginning of my creativity seems natural.

I will be creating more large paper maché dolls in the future. I have two or three that are getting rather noisy inside my head and are itching to come out. No skull splitting required!

Birth of Athena, from D’Aulaires’ Book of Greek Myths, 1962

Thanks for reading, and I will see you again next Wednesday (even though I know it’s Thursday, but then again, what do days of the week mean now anyway?)

Links:

D’Aulaire’s Book of Greek Myths, by Ingri d’Aulaire and Edgar Parin d’Aulaire This is one of my favourite books from childhood. I was twelve or thirteen when I won a $20 gift certificate to Cambell’s Books store with a piece I had entered in a county childrens’ art show. I bought this book. I can still remember how the floorboards creaked as I walked through the store, right over to this book on the shelf. I didn’t need to look around. I knew what I wanted.

Vintage Liddle Kiddles I didn’t have any of these larger Liddle Kiddles, or any of the big accessories like the carrying cases or playsets. This video is a little funny, in that some of these poor little dolls are naked! They look a little sad, but I’m guessing that they were well loved because so many of their accessories are gone. The Lucky Locket Kiddle Kiddles are the ones I had the most of.

 

Your Move

“Close ups reveal the weaknesses of the whole premise.” (1)

I didn’t write any update for my entrepreneurial pursuits last Wednesday. I was just not in a good place mentally speaking to do so. I’m an ambivert, so I’ve been relying a lot on my more introverted tendencies throughout this weird time. Staying in, making art and basically nesting, has been totally okay with me until last week. The staying in and maintaining social distance is beginning to wear a bit thin for me. My husband is far more introverted than I am, and is also is a person who is in a higher risk category related with COVID-19 infection. This means that even as the restrictions are eased a bit here, we’re still social distancing and continuing with other precautions.

I don’t mean to say that I’m climbing the walls or anything. I’m just beginning to get tired of it. I know myself well enough that I need to acknowledge my feelings so they don’t get so large and cumbersome that I find myself becoming overwhelmed by them. I know myself well enough that figuring out my feelings takes me some time, and I need to let them percolate through my mind so that I feel as though I understand them, myself and how I’m reacting to them.

Making art is my therapy. Making art is my passion. Teaching people how to make art is my vocation. Selling my artwork is (sometimes) my Waterloo, or perhaps my windmill? It could be many things.

If only I could pay my bills in personal fulfillment. My life would be damned near perfect!

ANYWAY…

I’ve been working on some new pieces and have begun some planning for some larger and more complicated pieces. My artwork to a great extent, guides and informs itself. I’m basically the one with the thumbs that brings the art into existence. I’ve had some things (ideas, thoughts, concepts, techniques, materials, etc.) swimming around inside my head for quite a while that I feel are ready to be created.

This is one of the hardest things to try and explain to a person who does not make art of their own. Differentiating between when it’s time to create a piece of art and when it’s not. There are some pieces, like the series of small dolls that I’ve been working on for the past few months, in which I can have an idea, sit down and complete the piece in relatively short order. I can see the results of the idea fairly quickly, then move on to the next idea. I can process through a lot of smaller ideas and acquire a lot of creative, emotional and mental satisfaction in doing so. I suppose I could liken my creative processes in this regard to hors d’overs and a main course. One is a lead-up to the next.

To date, the largest and the smallest of the dolls that I have created.

The part that can be the most baffling is knowing when is “when”. I cannot pinpoint when an idea or concept is ready to be created. I just know when it’s ready. There seems to be a point in which my brain or my sketchbook just isn’t a satisfying place to work on them anymore. There’s this weird tight-rope walking element to the whole process as well. If I start working on a piece too soon, the entire experience is somehow less satisfying mentally and emotionally for me. The art was not ready to come into existence. On the flip side, I run the risk of losing the entire idea or concept if I begin it too late. The finished piece of art lacks some je ne sais quoi that renders it a failure in my mind.

I’m struggling to discover how to make this sense of knowing work for me as an entrepreneur attempting to sell her artwork. My sense of knowing when to do something, when it’s right for me, should be a transferable skill. This ‘instinct’ for knowing when a my artwork is ready to be created is ephemerally ill-defined. Just because it works well in one capacity does not guarantee that it will work in another, wholly different capacity.

I suppose that when I say instinct, I may be referring efficacy in part. However, I don’t believe that they are the same thing. I see them as related, or perhaps working in concert (or at odds) in different circumstances. Instinct is different from acquired knowledge. Instinct can be based partially on acquired knowledge, but it’s more primal than that. Instinct is a gut-feeling. That little tug on your thoughts that says, ‘Wait a second.‘ This tiny amount of time can be invaluable in decision making processes. It can aid in building positive experiences that are an integral part of personal and professional efficacy. Acquired knowledge is everything learned in structured settings (schools, churches, clubs, etc.) and unstructured settings (family, friends, society, culture, chronosystem, etc.). Every event in my life has added to my acquired knowledge, making me a unique individual.

None of the above will get me a seat on the bus unless I learn how to use it to my personal, and yes, monetary benefit. Otherwise, I will simply be the most self-aware person walking her ass home in the rain.

I hate having to go out in the rain.

Thanks for reading, and I’ll see you again next Monday.

Links:

(1) Episode 912. “The Screaming Skull.” Mystery Science Theater 3000. Film Short, “Robot Rumpus.” 29 Aug. 1998

(This dialogue is Mike Nelson, during the film short. This short never ceases to make me laugh until I have a stitch in my side. I love MST3K, but some of the comedic writing for the film shorts is some of the best writing from the entire series in my opinion.)

What is an Ambivert?

Ambiverts – Introvert and Extrovert? The Best of Both Worlds

Yes. “I’ve Seen All Good People.” (“Your Move” and “All Good People”), The Yes Album, 1971.

Jethro Tull. “Skating Away on the Thin Ice of a New Day.War Child, 1974.

Natascha Rosenberg. She’s an artist and illustrator whose website I stumbled upon while looking for something else entirely. Her work is tremendously cool. Go and look at it! If you don’t like my work enough to buy it, buy hers!

Burn It Down!

First, all the fun creative stuff. Second all the strange stuff.

I’ve been working on a few tiny pieces over the past week. I wanted to see if I could create a tiny bumble bee. The answer is, yes I can. I’ve got two bee dolls in the works right now. One has a larger head, more like a drone bee I suppose and the other one is a Queen Bee. I’m still working on her crown. Well, I actually need two crowns, because I want to have a Queen Bee and Baby Duck from the Eagles of Death Metal song that I like a lot. I’ve already got Baby Duck finished, but he too requires a crown. I’ve tried making some out of paper and other materials, but I’ve found none of them to be satisfactory. I’ll be breaking out the clay at some point today. I’m sure I can come up with something I’ll like.

These two are difficult to take pictures of.

I did create tiny bee wings that I’m satisfied with, however I think I want to create some new sets of wings, because the colours I used are not right somehow. I’ll be going out tomorrow and will pick up a few new colours of acrylic paint. Then I can make some more sets of wings. I’m getting fairly quick at creating the wings with the recycled plastic sheets I’m using. I’ve figured out how to create the etched lines without making myself so nauseated. This helps quite a bit.

I started some wings for two other dolls last night. I got the first colour down and let it dry overnight. I finished them up this morning.

The wings for the two dolls pictured above are a little different from the wings I’ve done previously. I wanted something that would lay flat against the doll instead of extending several centimeters from the back of each doll. I was shooting for something like a cicada and one of those maple tree seeds, which I now know are called samaras, among other things. I miss the sound of cicadas in the summer. My husband isn’t a fan of the insects. I suppose that I associate happy memories with them. They sang me to sleep when I was a little kid, as the house I grew-up in was at the edge of wooded area. They’re the music of summer time to me.

ANYWAY…

These wings aren’t exactly what I want, but they get me a little closer to something that I know I will be happy with.

Which brings me to to some things I’ve been thinking about, and that tie into the title of this post. The orange doll with the green clothing and pink flower cap I made hit a lot of nostalgic buttons for me. I didn’t set out to especially explore smashing around on those buttons. She just happened. I wanted to make an orange doll. Then she had some pink and fuchsia flowers, and then some green leaves, then the yellow hair happened. Smash, smash, smash. Buttons got smashed. Not in a bad way at all, just in a way that explains why I like certain colour combinations and general designs for dolls.

I also started thinking more about the dolls that I’m creating right now. What the real reasons are behind them. I’ve talked about it a bit in a previous post, but I tend to have multiple reasons for doing anything, consciously or unconsciously. There has to be some need that’s being met in the creating of them. I think I’ve started figuring it out, and it’s tied to some fairly common types of behaviour, or perhaps ways of thinking. Or at least I think it’s fairly common. I may be totally off the mark on this one. It wouldn’t be the first time either!

While examining some of the buttons that got smashed while creating the orange doll, I was again reminded of the fact that while I have always loved dolls, the one type of dolls that I never really got into were baby dolls. I didn’t hate them or anything. Once past a certain age, I just didn’t seem to have no interest at all in them. I’ve always preferred dolls that were either more like me, human/humanoid or animals and monster types of dolls. I’ve talked about this before. I was always more inclined to think of my dolls as my friends. Someone to talk to or create a home, or safe place for. I was never the ‘parent’ in relation to my dolls.

Since the beginning to the year, I’ve been creating almost nothing but extremely small dolls(8 cm tall and under). When I get into a type of work, or a theme, I know that there is something that I’m trying to figure out mentally or emotionally. Two different doll-like concepts have kind of become fused in my mind with regard to these small dolls. Guatemalan worry dolls (sometimes called trouble dolls) and ancient Egyptian ushabti. The two different doll-related objects have smashed into each other inside my head somehow. Realistically, I know that the dolls that I make cannot solve my problems for me while I sleep. Nor can they spring to life and do my bidding when I require their assistance. This does not mean that I’m not having conversations with them as a piece of art, while I am in the act of creating them. Again, I know they cannot talk. These conversations are an integral part of the creative process though. Sometimes these conversations go on and on and on until I consciously understand why I’m creating what I’m creating.

Each finished piece therefore, to me, in imbued with a certain amount of life, or energy and time. They’re a unique combination of my curiosity, talent, efficacy, and need to be seen and heard as an individual. I need to understand myself, and the world I inhabit, as well as where they overlap. I do that by making art. I’ve never been quite sure if that makes me smart or stupid or something in between.

What makes me surprised thought, is how I feel the ‘call of the void‘, as it relates to the physical artwork. The artwork does begin to pile up. That’s one reason why I have to sell it. I actually start running out of room to keep it. When it doesn’t sell, then it becomes something that can be a physical manifestation of my failure. The failure being I cannot seem to sell it and make money from it. That resentment begins to build and it turns into that call of the void thing. However, with regard to my artwork, it’s more along the lines of ‘BURN IT DOWN’. At my worst emotional lows there are times I want to pile all of my artwork up on the lawn, douse it with kerosene and light it all on fire. That way, it won’t be there reminding me of my failure to sell it. I created it. I can destroy it. And anyway, if it’s not selling, then no one will be mad that I destroyed it all. (Too Much Thinking: This all has to be rooted in fear, via not being in control, and the act of burning all of the work is taking back my control by controlling the existence of the work at all.)

Like the call of the void, I could never do that to my artwork. I could never burn it all up and destroy it. This concept does make me wonder if the act of destroying my artwork would somehow make me a more ‘legitimate artist’ in the eyes of gallery owners. I’m a creator, not a destroyer. So this is never going to happen. Just like as the thought of stepping in front of an on-coming bus will never happen either.

Man, the places my brain goes.

Thanks for reading, and I’ll see you again next Monday.

 

Links:

The Second Coming (Burn it Down) Seth Rollins entrance music on the WWE. I’m not a huge fan of Rollins as a wrestler, but his theme music is kind of okay. The double bass pedal is way over-done though. There are other wrestlers that I like a great deal more, like Randy Orton and Daniel Bryan.

 

 

What Business?!

There’s only so much that I can realistically post regarding how I’m ‘businessing” my business. I can’t advertise workshops or apply to teach workshops in and around the city. I can’t sell my artwork in person at art and craft fairs, or at arts pop-up shops. There are things that are still within my immediate control. I can keep creating artwork. I can keep working on lessons and workshops that someday I will be able to teach. I can keep working on my website. I can keep writing posts for my website. But I need to be honest, the current trajectory of my business just makes me incredibly depressed. I feel as though I’m failing, and failing rather spectacularly at that. My sales are horrible (I had no sales at all in April). I’m not driving enough people to my site, so my views are also horrible (averaging around three people a day for the months of March and April).

And don’t get me wrong. I know there are definite reasons for why I cannot go out and sell my work and my teaching in person. I don’t want to get sick and I don’t want anyone else to get sick because of me. I know how important it is to continue with social distancing. I’m following the guidelines set by the government and my city to ensure that the spread of the virus is mitigated. I totally agree with these guidelines! Health and safety or not only myself, but the people within the city and country are so much more important than my teaching an art workshop or selling some artwork.

That all being said, I also think it’s important that I acknowledge my personal feelings regarding how my business is just tanking at present. If I don’t take the time now to understand these feelings, they’re just going to get bigger and nastier and so much harder to deal with when I finally have to sit down and sort them all out. By the time I do that, there’s all kinds of damage that more than likely has already been done, and then I have to sort that all out and make the requisite repairs to myself mentally and emotionally.

I’m finding it hard not to spiral downward as it regards my artwork. I find myself saying, “Well…if your artwork was better, you’d have more sales.” and “You’re just not a good artist, and people can see that.” When it’s your artwork that you’re trying to sell, the absence of sales usually means that you’re work is just not good enough to make people want to buy it. These kinds of thoughts are not conducive to building a business.

There’s this particularly nasty little part of my personality that usually starts picking at my insides when the above thoughts start swimming around in my brain. That nasty little part of me that thinks that all of the people who give my artwork thumbs-up’s and hearts and leave me positive comments on Facebook or Instagram (not my fellow art creators on Instagram) are all just lying to me. In the best case, they don’t care for my work, but just leave the positive comments because it’s easy and considered good manners to do so. In the worst case, they’re just yanking me around and giving me positive feedback while laughing behind my back.

Yeah. I know. This nasty little part of my personality suuuuuucks. No matter how much I think I’ve gotten her shrunken down to the most miniscule size, rendering her powerless, she springs back to life and spreads like mold on everything she touches.

I don’t like feeling this way. I feel like a petulant child. I know this will all pass.

I will just have to sisu myself out of this.

Thank you for reading, and I will see you again next Wednesday.

Fnck Cute

I was around two years old when this picture was taken. I think I was pre or post nap time. Either way, I had a blankie and something to read.

Okay. Buckle-up. This gets wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey type strange fairly quickly, even for me.

I’ve always had a love hate relationship with the artwork that I create. On one hand, it’s my mental health therapy. It’s the action I take every day that helps me to maintain the integrity of my core self, my “Katie-ness”. I remain intact because every day I work on stitching my inner self together. Making repairs here and there. Destroying portions and making them over completely, using a pattern of my own creation. I do this over and over and over and over and over again. I could look at my behavior, creating artwork as a means of self preservation, as metaphor. I’m the priestess who performs the ritual that makes the rains come, or the crops to grow. I’m the sorceress who staves off her own inevitable demise by reciting magical incantations and scrawling protective signs. I’m the deity, bringing my own avatars into existence to do my bidding.

In all of these metaphors, the element of control is paramount. Just as I’m in control of my own mental health and the continual maintenance of it. I take my meds every day at the same time. They allow me to function within an area in which my highs and lows are not earth-shatteringly chaotic. I cannot create artwork with I’m manic or depressed. I want to stay in that deep, wide middle area. That lovely ribbon of gray that swims between those extremes. I’m not an emotionless automaton. I cry. I laugh. I get mad. The difference is that the emotional response do not envelope me and pull me upward or downward with them. My meds and my therapeutic art practice allow me control over these extremes.

Within my art practice, I make what I want to make. Answering no one, save myself. The level of control I seem to require over my own creative output made me a really pitiful professional graphic designer and illustrator. While I may have some talent for graphic designer and illustrator, I am so, so, so, woefully ill suited to having them be a successful life-long career for me. I’m too personally invested in my own artistic creations. I am them. They are me. Having someone tell me how and what to create was interpreted by me (unconsciously at first) as a client telling me how to be me. How to express my Katie-ness. And that ate at me in the worst way. It’s one of the big reasons that I left that work and became an art teacher, which is a much better fit mentally and emotionally for me.

I’m in kind of this strange place right now. I continue to make my own artwork for myself, but I also am creating artwork to sell. It can be a bit of a mental minefield at times. I’m completely aware of where my mental buttons, switches and trip wires are. I’m not as unconscious of what and where my feelings are coming from. I think I’m doing fairly well at dealing with my emotions regarding them right now. The hardest thing for me is allowing myself to acknowledge the feelings that are rooted in envy, pride, greed or anger. These types of emotions aren’t pretty and I don’t like admitting that I have them, even if it’s just to myself. I view them as just annoying and useless (in the sense that they won’t get me what I think I want) emotions. I view these kind of negative emotions as just another trap to be avoided.

Knowing that a trap exists is the first step in avoiding it.” Yeah. I just went there. I went to a Dune quote. This one is Duke Leto Atreides, from the first Dune book.

But, it’s not always that easy. “Ohh! There’s a trap! I’ll just go another way!” Nope. It’s always a lot harder than that. And if you’re me, you start tugging on an errant thread and then all the sudden you’re trying to stuff your entrails back in ala, ‘The Running Man‘.

So, what thread I started pulling on?

Cuteness.

Me, displaying maximum cuteness as a Michelin-Man-esque Goo-goo diaper baby. I swear I can remember how it felt to wear those clunky Franken-Baby shoes. I hated them!

An oldie, but a goodie for me. My ever-present artistic nemesis. Cuteness. Being cute. Having my artwork interpreted by those who view it as so sweet and soft and squishy and cute. And as the creator of said cute artwork, I too must be cute and fluffy and soft and squishy and not exactly intelligent or particularly creative.

Yeah. Like I said, I have a long history with cute.

I know that I’m an artist. It’s who and what I am. I struggle with how I feel that the greater world sees me and interprets the artwork that I make. I know what my artwork is about. I know where it comes from. I know why it comes out looking the way that it does. I know my artwork is not some quickly dashed off empty pieces of fluff. I just don’t know, with absolute certainty (Uh-huh. Like that’s even possible, Katie) that everyone else who is not me know this. And this is what ends-up bothering me. It makes me doubt my worth as an artist.

Having my artwork called cute makes me doubt myself as a serious artist.

I suppose those who view my work as cute and largely meaningless besides that singular observation, aren’t looking close enough for the cracks in the surface. Not everyone is as observant as a ten year old Amy Pond.

Okay.

Here we go.

Some background…

I cannot remember a time in my life in which I wasn’t told that I had an excess of imagination. I think that the people around me, family and friends just attributed my over-abundance of imagination as to do with my being creative and artistic. Growing up, I never thought that my imagination was any kind of hinderance, except at times when I realized that not everyone processed information the way I did. It was when I was in art school that I realized that I could spend long stretches performing fairly monotonous tasks, while at the same time designing projects within my mind, playing entire LP’s in my head, manipulating components both two and three dimensional and problem solving. It’s all as vivid and real to me as if I were holding it in my hands. It was like having my body on autopilot, but my brain was running multiple subroutines at the same time. I could experiment and plan in my mind, without wasting materials in the real world.

This was me in the 4th grade. I liked this picture. I managed to get my hair and my clothing and the smile and everything looking fairly normal. I look at this picture and I don’t see anything wrong with me, but others did.

I honestly thought that every person on the planet could do this; seeing and manipulating objects within their minds. I couldn’t understand how not to visualize things in my mind. As a child, characters and places in books were alive for me. I could place myself into the stories that I read, and it was all as real as if I were there. “I don’t understand how you can do that.” was what my older brother told me once when i tried to explain my imagination to him. I had thought that of all my family members, he would understand. He was in art school with me at the time. He didn’t understand. And I never mentioned it again, because he looked at me so strangely.

Recently, I began seeing vlogs and reading information about how some people cannot picture things in their minds. What piqued my interest initially was that I had encountered people as an adult who alluded to the fact that they couldn’t necessarily visualize objects in their mind. They are have aphantasia. Wow. I guess it makes sense. I’f my imagination is turned up to 10, that allows for the possibility that there are those who have their imaginations turned down to 0.

I began looking around to see if my brain was just wired a little differently. I thought that maybe it was Aspbergers Syndrome. But after reading more about it, I’ve ruled that out as a self-diagnosis. What did fit me to a T was Maladaptive Daydreaming. This personal diagnosis better describes who I am and how my mind works, or at least how my imagination works. I can spend an inordinate amount of time within my own head and be completely content. I feel like I’ve known about this tendency within myself for a very long time, but just didn’t have the correct way of defining it. While in talk therapy, many years ago, I remember making a concerted effort to ‘stay out of the pit‘ (the pit being daydreaming) while I was working to improve my mental and emotional health. This lasted for about five years. And I must admit, it did help me a great deal. However, I made very little artwork, while experiencing a relatively stable time as a working graphic designer and illustrator. Once I felt that I could let-up on my restrictiveness towards my imagination, I began creating in earnest again.

I’ve established a balance between the potentially harmful parts of maladaptive daydreaming (I’ll abbreviate it as DM from now on) and being an artist. For lack of a nicer term, I’ve compartmentalized the ‘when’ and the ‘where’ of letting my brain just run inwardly amok. I know it’s not a perfect system by a long shot, but like I said in the beginning of this post, I’m constantly stitching myself together and making repairs every single day that I make art. Keeping that MD part of me under control is just part of that daily stitch work for me.

The artwork that I create is part and parcel of my own MD tendencies. It’s the part that spills over the side and falls out of my hands. My artwork is the part of my inner world that cannot be entirely contained. It must be born. I’ve heard it said that artists create the world in which they want to live by altering elements around them so that the world makes sense. My artwork is much the same. It all comes from my maladaptive, over-active imagination that I have harnessed the best parts of to work for me as an artist.

So, what’s with the title of this journal post, “Fnck Cute“? What does that have to do with having interestingly wired brain?

Well, for me, there is a gar-freakin’-gantuan difference between my inside world of imagination and real, physical world of art creation. These two sides work in tandem and help me keep myself together mentally and emotionally, but they have absolutely nothing to do with how my work in received in the real world. In the real world, my work is cute.

I’ve always thought that cute was something a viewer says when they have no other idea of what to say about my work. It feels dismissive. “The costumes were very realistic!” (I think this is from the movie Ed Wood with Johnny Depp) What happens next is that I interpret this cute comment as my artwork missing the mark. That it’s not conveying any other meaning other than outward or surface appearance. It’s a hollow, meaningless, fluffy and useless.

And if we’re continuing to tug on that thread, remember I am my artwork and my artwork is me…and I’m being judged by outward appearances…then this would mean that I’m as useless as my artwork is. Damn.

There are those in the world who see me and my work for who and what they are. I cannot adequately convey to them how much I appreciate them and their ability to see that there is more than cute to my artwork. I know that there is more to my artwork than being cute. I know what it is and where it comes from. I will never be able to control how my work is understood or interpreted by people and I need to find a way to better deal with that, while remaining true to myself as an individual and as an artist. It’s a never-ending task.

This was a photo of me that my father kept in his wallet. I wonder if it was partially to do with the fact that I was holding our much loved cat Sam? Pop loved Sam. So did I. I think we were around the same age in the picture, around three.

Thank you for reading, and I will see you next Monday.

 

Links:

Dune by Frank Herbert, 1965

The Running Man by Steven King (as Richard Bachman) 1982

Amy Pond, Doctor Who, 2010-2012, companion to the 11th Doctor, Matt Smith

Mental Imaging

Tiny Elephants

I feel rather uniquely well-suited to remaining at home and limiting my time outside of the house to one grocery store trip per week. I do have some things coming up that require me to leave the house this week. It makes me a little nervous, but I’m confident that my chances of becoming ill are significantly less here in central Finland than in other parts of the world. It seems like every morning, the numbers of people diagnosed with COVID-19 just keep going up and up and up. The virus seems to be galloping through the population. It’s scary.

I’m trying to keep my own anxiety down to a dull roar. Making art has always been my preferred method of therapy, so that’s what I’m doing. I made two elephants yesterday. I’ve never had any reason or need to make elephants. I just wanted to see if I could. I basically created a problem for myself, and then made attempts to solve it. Making a tiny elephant or two was something that I could be in complete control of. There were no other people outside myself that were controlling it. It was all me. I called all the shots. I was the one who made the decision to use the materials that I thought would work the best. I’m the person who decided how to alter the pattern for the second elephant so that the ears would fold and kind of droop the way I thought they should.

When I’m making something, there is something about the act of creating. It’s the opposite of destruction. It’s ordered. Methodical. On the surface, not at all chaotic, or at least not the worst parts of the concept of chaos (panic, fear, non-thinking). This brings to mind “I thought I could organize freedom, how Scandinavian of me” from the song Hunter by Björk. Somehow, I always change the word ‘freedom‘ to ‘chaos‘ in my mind. There must be something Freudian about that, I’m sure. But I digress.

The act of creation, breathing life into something that on the surface, seems lifeless it’s a divine act. Rooted in the past and looking, hoping, striding towards the future. Acts of creation come in as many different forms as there are individual people on the planet. I make art. What I create perhaps seems to some people as trivial. I make dolls. This is where I have to start internally fending off “Katie doesn’t make friends. She “makes” friends.” that at times in the past has gotten the better of me. Is this an attempt to make my acts of creation seem childish, meaningless, small and inconsequential? No act of creation is too small. Small things have a way of growing into larger things over time. At least, if they are carefully nurtured.

Times like the ones in which we are currently living is a time in which all of that nurture can begin to pay off. Not necessarily pay off in the monetary sense, but more in terms of the mental and emotional sense. I’ve said this so many times before; making art keeps me intact, mentally and emotionally. I feel fortunate that my personal methods of self-soothing and self-medicating are potentially far less destructive than alcohol or illegal substances. (Okay. I do want coffee. I’m a huge fan and require two cups prior to 12 in order to function without a headache. Here, go listen to the Descendants sing about coffee, live and from the album I would think that the entire country of Finland might feel the same?)

COVID-19 is scary. At times, it can be huge-Godzilla-sized-scary. An individual person can feel helpless and without control of their life. They can’t go to work. They can’t get together with friends and family. Some are in full quarantine, while other people are dealing with being in isolation, either state or self-imposed. Children are out of school and at home. There are bills that need to be paid and perhaps no money coming in. Or even scarier, you are one of those people deemed ‘essential’ and you are at work, serving the public by doing your job. (Thank you for doing this. You are an amazing person and you deserve more consideration and compensation for your service to the communities in which you live and work.) This is all weird and scary and dangerous.

Take it all in. Acknowledge what is going on. What you are in control of and what you are not in control of. Be honest. Look inward. Find yourself. Make art.

I’m not at all trivializing the danger that many people are in, especially those essential workers. It may seem like I’m saying, “Hey! Make some arts and crafts and everything will be okey-dokey! All your worries will just vanish!” No. I’m not saying that at all. What I’m saying is that being creative, making art can help a person deal with all of the scary-weird-crazy that seems to be happening in the world. A person can find one tiny area of their life in which they have control. No one else can tell them what to do or how to do it or where to go, or where to stay…it’s just them and the art. It may be only for a few minutes per day. Singing a song. Take a picture. Writing down their thoughts. Drawing a picture. Cooking a meal. Dance a dance. Planting some seeds. These small acts of creativity can grow into larger ones that help keep a person intact mentally and emotionally. COVID-19 will still be there after the art is created. Your mind will be different. You will be more yourself and feel as though, even though things suck right now, that you can get through it. You will get through this and it will change you.

So, I make tiny elephants. After I post this online, I’m going to make a third tiny elephant. I feel as though the pattern and the sequence of construction will be in the final form once I’ve completed it. Who knows what will come of my tiny elephant dolls and pattern? Maybe they will grow larger?

Thanks for reading, and I will see you next Monday.

Links:

A song by The Double Clicks, “Tiny Paper Elephant” seems to be a good song for everything that’s happening in the world right now. Listen to their other songs too. I love the Double Clicks! They’re amazing!

I know that the Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear has become quite popular right now. I’m a sci-fi fan and have actually read all six Dune books. (You can stop after the third book.) Here are two different versions. One from the really not-so-great David Lynch version, (some great casting, especially Sian Phillips) and one that’s a musical version from Akira the Don and Comic Girl 19. It might also be a good time to read the books, but remember! Stop after the third book! I mean it!

I’ve been watching/listening to a lot of Mystery Science Theatre 3000 over the past two weeks. It’s wonderfully funny and goofy. Right now, some people need that more than anything.