updates

Today I am

Viewing: videos of the Japanese tsunami

Thinking: about frustrations & balance

Creating: calm

Planning: new art journal & scrapbook pages

Reading: news about Japan (it’s all about Japan right)

Listening: to Morcheeba & thinking about England

Realizing: that I feel the need to do something for Japanese Tsunami victims

Feeling: drained and the need to curl up and hide for a few days

Trying: to be the change

how teachers influence us: the good, the bad, and the ugly...

Once upon a time I had a math teacher who I wasn’t particularly fond of. Shocking, I know! This particular math teacher asked us one day about what our dreams were. An odd subject for a math class, but he was an aging hippie, prone to venturing into odd topics to teach us about math. Anyways, in hindsight, I suspect this was a way for him to launch into the topic of probabilities in math.

So of course, being 13 years old, most of us dreamed big dreams of being astronauts, actors, and athletes. My silent response at the time was to be a writer. In the end, as he so kindly noted, most of our grandiose dreams at that tender age centered on being famous in some way. We all felt that we were destined for greatness. For fame. For money. The sky was the limit for our fresh 13 year old selves.

His response, albeit logical for a math teacher intent on discussing probabilities (which I think was his point because honestly the only part of that class that I remember was this section) was that it was unlikely that any one of us would ever attain our young dreams. And it still sits with me, rubbing me the wrong way, just as it did the day he said it. But it doesn’t bother me because he was a jerk. No. It bothers me because up until recently, I feared that he would be right.

While I might have felt outraged by his lack of compassion for our fragile and easily influenced selves, even then the pragmatic voice in my head whispered that he might be telling the hard truth, albeit shitty as it was of him to do so….
Our odds might really only be 1 in a million in the quest for fame. Great fame, great innovation, great financial prosperity.

Let’s face it, my math teacher made no friends in class that day. Even if we might know that there was truth to what he argued, we needed our dreams and were outraged by his audacity. My good friend at the time and I walked out of class livid over his being such a jerk.

But, I’m pleased to note that many in my class have defied the odds in another way that he failed to consider in his quest for mathematical precision!

Because attaining your dreams and living a life that is extraordinary isn’t necessarily about being the next great actor or athlete. It isn’t necessarily about being rich or popular. He failed to consider the nuances that make a person feel successful. He failed to see the multiplicity of ways in which we can attain our dreams or the ways in which our dreams might change, or our fame might be acquired within a niche.

I may never be the next Virginia Woolf. And that’s ok. But the other day, when a student came to my office and told me that she came for me specifically because someone had told her to see me, well that made me feel like I had done something amazing. I might not win an Oscar for it. But hell, knowing that I made a difference in someone’s education/life is a pretty amazing feeling. Knowing that this new student reached out to me because of word of mouth, and that I helped make her day brighter… makes me cherish how valuable my job is in the world.

But as I listen to student’s narratives about education/self/autonomy, etc… more so than ever, I’m starting to realize how people harm us in ways we don’t even realize. How family, friends, teachers, society, etc, create the internal voices that influence the way we view ourselves and our abilities. And this scares me. Because if I’m still put off by my math teacher from 20 years ago, what other voices have influenced my own narrative? And what voices are shaping the identity of my students?

I remember the teachers who nurtured me. Who dared me to believe in myself. And I remember the ones that devastated me. And I think that the teachers in our lives (from school, to family, to whatever form a teacher may take) need to remember that they can make such a difference. Such a huge difference. My goal this year at work, both in my handmade little art world and my everyday job in education, is to remember to see pass my mundane concerns and see the student as a person in need of nurturing. I know I won't always succeed, because I'm not the greatest of people persons, but if I'm so invested in this idea of metta, than I think it's important that I look for ways to bring it into my daily life.

Because I'm tired of the narratives I've been told and the narratives I hear: from believing that art has no worth because it’s not a viable living to believing that you don’t have enough talent to dare… who has been telling us these stories and how do we grow past them in order to be brave enough to dare for more and believe in ourselves?

lotus tree: the title

magnificent tree in Avesbury UK: photo source

 

If any of you out there are anything like me, you do some of your best thinking while driving. Unfortunately, if you’re also like me, you forget because you can’t write it down! (sometimes I think I should buy a tape recorder in order to circumvent this problem—but I expect it probably wouldn’t really help… I’d just realize my ideas aren’t as great as I remember them being).

 

Anyways, this morning I was thinking about blogging and all the unwritten blog posts I have outlined on scraps of paper, floating around somewhere in various journals, boxes, etc (you get the idea).

 

A while back, I made a shift in focus in blogging that I feel was rather pronounced (which I think those who have been with me since the beginning will have definitely noticed).  At the same time I made the move to more scheduled posting, which changed the way I thought about blogging and introduced me to the idea of loosely themed days in blogging. For example, I rarely blog on the weekends now, and on Mondays I try to keep my posts inline with a more spiritual, inspirational based theme. If you ever notice the tags, you’ll notice that most of my recent Monday posts are dubbed “metta mondays.”  For those of you unaware of what metta means, it translates loosely into the concept of loving kindness and universal love. It’s a concept that I took from my time studying yoga (I really need to start yoga again…) that was actually quite life changing for me. The idea we need to take the same loving kindness used to approach each pose in yoga (notice what we love and avoid and approach them with the same openness) and then move outward and apply the same openness to our everyday lives was a profound shift in focus for me. It wasn’t a new concept by any means, but at that time in my life I was very receptive to it and it’s been something that I’ve carried with me ever since, though I am far from mastering it!

 

Anyways, as I was driving this morning (and maybe talking out loud to myself a little bit) I was thinking about these metta posts of mine and various moments in life when I have felt most balanced and inspired by nature. There are two places in the world (yes the world) that have, amongst many others, really marked me for life. Those 2 places actually motivated the title of this blog.

 

The first is seen in the photo above. The trees that you see in this picture, in Avesbury, England, are the most beautiful combination of trees that I have ever seen. There have been other trees that have come close, but the trees at Avesbury have stayed with me since I visited them many years ago. The history and magic of nature, laid bare by the exposed roots, just brings history to life for me and reminds me how interconnected we are with nature. When I was there, I just wanted to curl up in the trees for hours, writing and reading and soaking up the history and energy of the place. Of the 2, Stonehenge and Avesbury, Avesbury will always be more sacred to me because there were no barriers, no intrusion between you and the space itself. (though perhaps, had I been able to stand between the ruins of Stonehenge, I may have felt differently).

 

The other moment that informed this blog is undocumented. While I was traveling through India, I visited Sarnath (the famous Deer Park just outside of Varanasi (or Benares or Kashi, depending on which name you prefer, where Buddha gave his first speech). There were a great many moments in that day that were very memorable but this one moment, for all it’s simplicity, was what struck me most. I was in the garden just outside of the main site and I saw my first lotus flower in India. Now, a lotus flower in itself isn’t really that unusual in India, but there are certain things for me that really drive home that I’m in a country, for example, in Amsterdam it was the bicycles, not the windmills, that did it and in India, it was the lotus flower that did it, not the Taj Mahal. And so, being the intrepid photographer and traveller that I am, I went to take a pictures (can we say click happy much?). But what happened in that moment? My batteries died. So the moment, in all it’s significance was lost to time and memory. And there was something that struck me as perfect about that. That the lotus flower, which was rose out of the muck of a rather less than perfect pond, was only ever going to be recalled through my imperfect recollections and that I’d never really be able to fully share the experience and what it meant to me in that moment, fully with others.

 

My lotus looked something like this, but this isn’t it, not really,

even though it’s really a lotus from Sarnath! Photo source 

 

As a literature student, writing about memory, history and culture in Indian sonnets at the time, this was huge for me. The little theory monkey in me was awash with insights and comments, and so, in the middle of one of the Buddha’s most significant locations, yours truly had her own little theoretical and philosophical insights…. could it be any more a propos than that? Ok, now I’m making light of it, but really, honestly, it was one of the moments that I most cherish in my trip full of so many amazing memories.

 

So I combined the 2: lotus tree and that was that. But being a literary student, I particularly love the added symbolism that exists in the combination, the fact that it also pays homage to the fact that I’m originally from the west coast, oft dubbed the land of the lotus-eaters, and the idea that the magnolia tree, which we had in our front yard of the house I grew up in, is often considered to be a form of the this mythical plant. What more could a west coast hippie, artsy lit geek girl like myself, ever want in a title? Really?

 

Given that I made this blog more about crafts than anything else, and the fact that there is a guest house in France with the same name, I added the crafts… you know, to avoid confusion…

 

Phew… that’s a lot of writing, and my paint happy self is a little out of practice with the long writing. In short, metta, lotuses, and trees, are all combined to remind me to remember to write from those moments of transformation and balance. Which is what I’m all about these days. Yup, it’s true! Who knew?

taking flight

I just finished Kelly Rae Roberts’s book Taking Flight about a week ago. I enjoyed it. Most of the book is about her journey on some level, and about building trust in yourself while learning and building a community. It was a lovely, inspiring read, along the lines of Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way. Albeit different, Cameron’s book is far more guidebook oriented in style and format, both books are guides of sorts that seek to inspire the budding artist.

KRR’s book is set up in the following order: chapter discussion, question page, artist interview, and then technique skill teaching. Although I didn’t try out the techniques (read through them though) because of time and space (I was packing, moving and unpacking as I read the book), I think the layout is not only aesthetically pleasing, but also quite informative.  The book seeks to combine, on some level, art, spirituality (in the form of artistic inspiration/soul), in a way that leaves you feeling (I believe quite rightly) that art is about the process and journey, not the finished product. She freely gives you permission to play, engage, find your own footing, and allow yourself your imperfections. And that, for me, was the beauty behind the story she presents readers.

Intentionally or otherwise, the author reminded me of the joy that art gave me before I started worrying about being good enough. It reminded me how much I loved art when I was younger. About the contests I won when I was young and the various successes I felt in my art class early in my High School days. But then, well, the dual head beast of “not good enough” and “comparing myself with others” reared its ugly head and that was that. I stopped drawing. I mean, what was the point; I wasn’t ever going to be the next Van Gogh (btw I loved Van Gogh as a teen and devoured Irving Stone’s fictional biography about him, Lust for Life).  

Anyways, something that I really appreciated about her story (back to KRR again) was her discussion, early on in the book, about being a great artist and admitting that she doesn’t see herself as the best artist out there and that’s ok.  In a world full of competition and the appearance of perfection (cause let’s face it, blogland can really feed the insecurities when we compare our perception of someone else’s life on their blog to our own realities), I think that it’s important that budding individuals (in any given sphere) remember that not all things that are great in this world are necessarily the best or most perfect. In fact, it is the imperfections, which capture a moment of truth and/or history that often mark a piece of art as great.  My art may never be great, but if I play my cards right,  I will learn how to let it speak from a place inside of me that is true and has meaning, even if only as gifts for family and friends.

Years of academia drilled in the need for perfection and the sense of failure when I couldn’t live up to the reality of my own imperfections and limits (and quite honestly, my lack of desire to compete). Arts and crafts are teaching me how to find joy in the process again: to love learning something new for the sake of learning it and to master a new skill just because it intrigues me, regardless of the final outcome.

i [heart] idea journals

Idea Journal: Don't leave home without one!

I was reading the May/June issue of Cloth, Paper, Scissors the other day and the article Joseph & Me by Amy Hitchcock really spoke to me. One of her ideas, using a sketchbook to jot down creative ideas, really hit home because I am a huge sketchbook/journal believer. I carry one with me almost always (and cringe when I forget it and inspiration strikes). 

In the article, she mentions that when she first started creating that she used to fear that one day she’d run out of ideas. I think for me, the fear wasn’t so much when I would run out of ideas but rather that I would never really have any ideas.

But now that I’ve let go of those fears, I’ve come to realize that I’m full of ideas. Always. I find inspiration everywhere I go, with everything I read. From lit theory, to an article in an art magazine that prompts a blog post (see stickies on page) to other blogs or projects on etsy, to well, just about anywhere. What I’ve come to realize is that this journal/sketchbook is priceless to me because otherwise I’m forced to resort to penned comments in the margins, sticky notes, or folded pages to indicate that the page had something on it worth considering. (As you might imagine, the latter is particularly frustrating when it comes to memory retention). In fact, I believe in my idea journal so much that I have multiple copies (you know for wherever inspiration strikes or when I forget mine and buy a new one—shhhh, don’t tell my husband).

  Sometimes I stuff them so full of print outs and various inspirations that they burst at the seams, other times I spice them up with decoupage of whatever inspires me at the moment. But regardless of what they look like, they are are always a font of ideas, full of my own, or others, rough sketches, jotted down ideas, plot elements, outlines for art journal pages or longer projects.

For example: various inspirations and my comments to to with them (for those of you getting them, you can expect to see your xmas pressie wrapped up like this, this year):
 












 Scrapbook page inspiration:



Art journal outlines:

      

To ideas for an appliqué quilt that I’m working on. Even though I’ve never quilted before!

Years ago I started (though never finished, actually 2x) Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way. In it, she advocates taking a certain amount of time (can’t remember the exact time) to write in a journal every morning in order to stimulate your creativity and nurture your soul (check in, see where you are, etc). At the time, despite my love of journaling, I found this task quite daunting. I didn’t necessarily have 3 pages worth of stuff to write every morning and thus, failed to see the use in the exercise.

Now, I start to see the merits in the process, albeit in my own way… As odd as it may sound, these little books (or not so little tomes) are vital to me. They nurture me and record my crafty evolution. Flipping through them, I see the ways my crafts have grown (I'm not going to say art because well, I don't buy into the high/low art BS. I'm happy down here in the low culture of crafty-land). It's like these journals are part of me finding my own voice and forging it into something that moves beyond being inspired by others to finding my own inner muse/inspiration. I highly recommend them to anyone. They can be like mine, all over the place, or they can be all your own. Anything goes....

magic and science

 image source

Driving home the other day, there was a rainbow over the city and I was struck by the magic of it. And I couldn’t help but wonder: has science taken all the mystery and magic out of the world for us? I mean, I know the why and how of a rainbow, but really, does that make it any less magical at the end of the day?

I don’t know about you, but regardless of rain and light refractions, that rainbow was just a little piece of magic…

open heart

So this is probably going to come out all wrong but I’m going to try anyways…

Although I feel in a place of plenty, full of energy and gratitude, I feel as though my world is filled with the energy of wounded souls. Not broken, just battered. I know that it sounds flakey, but it’s true. I feel like I’m surrounded by people battling their own demons, in need of succour, or trying to make life altering decisions but are filled with uncertainty and confusion. And it’s weird, because I would normally say that that is the space that I inhabit but for once, I don’t think it’s me. I’m not lost, or confused, or uncertain about what I want anymore.

I feel filled with spirit and joy, and creativity. And even though writing that makes me uncomfortable because I can just hear the eyes rolling and the west coast hippie comments flowing, I also feel comfortable enough to admit it. I am blessed and I feel like the universe has unfolded her arms and cradled me in her embrace.
Maybe it’s because I feel so balanced for the first time in my life that I can finally look past myself long enough to see outwards? (And no, for the record, I’m not saying that everyone I know is wounded and filled with chaos—if you recognize yourself in this description it’s because of what you feel, not because of what I’m saying because I’m not talking about anyone specifically). My point is that I feel like I’m looking out of my own inner turmoil for the first time in ages, to really see how people around me are suffering. And part of me wants to reach out and help, but another part of me wants to zealously guard my hard won sense of equilibrium. This of course makes me feel selfish, but I also recognize that my sense of contentment is something that could be quite easily thrown off kilter and I really don’t want that!

I’ve written quite a bit recently about wanting to find/build a community of people who nurture this side of me, and I still do. But I also want to walk into such a project with an awareness of the negativity that can come with community because these days I feel that it is especially important to protect myself from melodrama (cause hello, I’m very guilty of the melodrama)! The point is, is that while I want to nurture the people around me, I also want them to be pro-active about creating the world they want for themselves. I guess it boils down to wanting for them what I want for myself.

It’s funny. For all that I think that I can really blog on about personal issues, I think I rarely open up my heart and admit my greatest desires publicly. Oh sure, I’ll vent and bitch, and complain about the world we’re living in, but I don’t open myself up to the possibility of emotional ridicule when it comes to my dreams. Disagree with my politics, fine. But my heart and my deepest desires, not gonna happen. I’m not going to give anyone the opportunity to go there, not if I can help it. The thing is, is that I’m realizing that I’m never going to build that world unless I start fessing up to what I really feel now am I?

I’m tired of looking in on other people’s lives with envy, wishing that it was me who was in that space because you know what? It’s an illusion anyway. I’m tired of thinking that I’m not good enough, talented enough, skinny enough, smart enough, or liked enough to get there. For years I’ve been hiding behind my jealousies and insecurities and you know what? I’m exhausted. And I think that for the first time in my life, I’ve finally started to let go of my imposter’s syndrome fears that one day you’ll all find these things out. I don’t need to be more or to be a great artist. If my writing isn’t enough, that’s fine cause it’s not about the damned goal, it’s about the process. And watching the world around me, I’m realizing just how much of myself was stifled by these insecurities and fears, and my wish for the people around me, is that they find their own place where they can let go of what everyone else wants for them and allow themselves to just be themselves.

I know, I’m living in an idealistic bubble, but fuck that, if you can’t dream of a better world filled with better people, striving for their best selves, what’s the fucking point?

spiritual rehab

Currently reading Elizabeth Gilbert's new book Committed and as I read it I inevitably think about my own marriage process. The ultimate conclusion I've made so far, keeping in mind that the Pope is an ass and now blaming homosexuals for pedophilia in the church, is that I resented the process.

Yup, I resented planning my wedding. I resented having to accommodate anyone's wishes other than mine or my partner's. It drove me batty, made me miserable, and filled me with anger throughout the entire process.
It was exhausting and I hated having to take so many other people's opinions into consideration. Maybe that only reveals how willful and selfish I am, but so be it. In as much as I loved planning an event and all the decor elements, I did not deal well with having my choices dictated to me out of consideration for others.

All that aside though, what I am really contemplating right now is what my unwillingness to consider others when it comes to decision making really reveals about me and by extension, my culture. I was raised to believe in individualism, and my sense of self makes me completely resistant to wanting to compromise on the BIG things. I want to act with integrity and stick to my ideals and values, but those values are my own, not ones that are proscribed by another group. So what happens when the twain shall never meet?

The answer at the moment? Spiritual burnout. Yup, that's right. At this moment in time, I feel the need to emerse myself in a world entirely of my own making, surrounded by like-minded people because honestly, I don't know how much longer I can take a world full of conservative values and rationalized belief systems that turn a blind eye to all the flaws inherent within the system. Because I just don't know how we got to a place that is so far from where we want to be. And I want to be in a place with people who feel the same way, and who are striving to make a change, instead of just complaining about it. So where oh where do you find such a place? Cause I'd really like to know...

in search of creative, crafty culture…

 

Lately, I have to admit, that I’ve been feeling somewhat distant from my good friends. There’s no one particular reason for this, nothing has happened to cause this distance, but I feel it nonetheless.

 

I love my friends. I do. I’ve been blessed in life to have several amazing ladies in my life, new and old, who have traveled down my various paths with me. But right now I sort of feel like I’m on the path alone. That most of my friends and I are in very different places.

 

I don’t have children, nor am I single. We’re not ready for children and I don’t fit into the baby club. I have a career and am no longer a student, I’m not really interested in clubbing anymore, nor do I want to watch my friends pick up (not that I ever did really, to be honest… though I loved dancing). But the point is, I’m not looking for love or validation or a one night stand.  Most of the time I would rather stay home and do crafts or have a small dinner party with drinks and board games. I have Nia 2x a week and would like to get back into yoga. I’m enjoying living a life that nurtures me and my awakening creativity.

 

And that’s the crux of it really. Because I don’t feel like I’m looking for all those other things anymore (work, love, home, etc), I feel like my focus has started to turn inwards and that I’m once again working on the things that I always wanted in life: creativity, spirituality, balance. And as much as I love my friends, I’m starting to realize that most of them aren’t currently searching for those things…. not that they don’t care about those things, but that they are busy working on other things. So I don’t feel like I have much to say anymore because on the surface I suspect my life looks pretty mundane and boring but yet, I feel like I’m rediscovering the artist within me. And I love that feeling. I love who and what it is revealing about me.

 

So when I talk to my friends, well I fill the space with the various updates, I’m fine, Paul’s fine, my brother is fine. Or vents, I’m not sure if my job is long term, Paul’s family (in-laws), my brother still isn’t working…  But the thing is, at the end of the day, all of the surface things that are happening aren’t really what I want to be talking about.

 

I want to talk about what it means to be creating a book of memories, journaling a history for that child I may have one day in the not so distant future, what new skills I’m learning, what I want to do with them and the visions I have for my new craft room and home, how can I take art journaling off the page and bring it into my home and can I build something more out of it? Do I need to take art and sell it or can I find a balance between creating and storing/using said items? I want to think about artistic retreats and down time to write out a draft of the story(ies) in my head. I want to talk about how Nia started out as exercise but is slowly transforming into something more.

 

But those aren’t really stories I can share with my nearest and dearest because they’re not the stories they are interested in right now. Oh, they’d listen, but they wouldn’t really have anything to offer back and what I’m craving most right now is a dialogue about those things, not partying or poop….

candles and sacred space

When the earthquake hit in Haiti, I was struck by how people responded to the crisis and left me wondering about some of our prayer traditions, even in secular circles. Namely, why do we light candles in remembrance and prayer? Is it a leftover from pagan traditions or Catholicism? And if so many of us aren't either, then why do we do it in moments of collective sorrow? Because we do. When there is a school shooting, we light candles, for 9/11, we lit candles, for major earthquakes, we light candles. We hold midnight vigils, with lit candles. What is it about this act of lighting a candle that we are so attached to?

What does it do?

Is it about comfort? Because let's face it, the warm glow of a candle is soothing. Or is it that the flames that lead us into quiet contemplation? Staring in the fire is sure to bring the least introspective of us into a meditative trance like state. Is that why candles appeal to us in these moments? Because they light the dark and allow us to look at the darkness within, a quasi beacon of hope to guide the way?

Or is it more about the ritual? About creating a sacred space?

In yoga and nia we start with acts that focus our intention. With Om or the act of stepping in, both traditions ask us to define our focus and create a sacred space before progressing. And soon the act becomes a ritual in and of itself and the mere act brings about the mental state we hope to develop within the practice.

Perhaps our candle vigils are a combination of these two elements. Whatever the case may be, lighting a candle or focusing my intention in order to create that sacred space, even if only for a few moments, really is a beautiful tradition.

inspiration: metta monday

~ Buddha

When I was doing yoga regularly, my yoga teacher would often talk about this concept of loving kindness (metta) that I found very intriguing and inspirational. I’m not going to do the idea it’s full justice here, but basically, in terms of yoga, she explained loving kindness this way:

Noticing in your yoga poses, the way you hold, feel, and react to the position. There are certain positions that we love and embrace, and others that fill us with tension, resistance and frustration. The trick is to approach each pose with the same level of openness and acceptance.  Moving outside of practice, the key is to transpose that same approach to the things we do in our everyday life. Observe the things we avoid, the things we crave, the things we love and embrace, and then to remember to accept our emotional responses and work to move beyond them, learning to approach all areas of our life with the same level of openness and acceptance.

Like I said, I’m probably doing the concept a grave injustice, but suffice to say, regular yoga practice and this concept of loving kindness first to self and then to others, was something that I started believing could really change the world. (Sure, sure, I know that makes me sound like an idealistic flake, but really, at heart, I am). I really do believe that yoga could change the world and bring out the best in people, regardless of faith, creed, race, gender, or age. I think the concept of loving kindness is incredibly powerful and really, at the end of the day, at the heart of many religions when you look past all the outer trappings.

Anyways, lately I’ve found myself thinking a lot about yoga, Buddhism and the concept of metta (loving kindness). Buddhism encourages metta meditation: the practice of loving yourself, your friends, your enemies, all, and the universe without attachment. When I was younger and first learning about Buddhism in college, I really thought that Buddhism had it wrong and that the idea of aspiring to non-attachment was completely unnatural. But now that I understand the world a bit more and grasp some complexities behind that philosophy in a much more profound way, I have to say that I find more sense in Buddhism than I do in any other path. And as I find myself moving more and more towards yogic and Buddhist philosophies in life,  it occurs to me that the world could really use a lot more metta in it.