Art isn't for sissies.

Art isn’t for sissies.

All glory? All the time? Really? 

There it is - the Mess. Once a promising piece of creative fun, now it’s sitting, waiting on your desk - and there’s nobody to fix it but YOU.

Look, you can see it across the room from here.

Worse, YOU made the mess, with the best of intentions, pushing against the limits of your abilities  - and you found precisely where those limits lie.

And maybe you blew by some experience you already had under your belt. Oops - Damn. Why? Why did I do that? How did I let that happen? Great, I’ll be taking that psychological spiral inwards (and downwards) as well.

Where’s that flagellation stick?

You’re facing another learning curve – and you made it yourself! Ah, the joy of intense analysis, pragmatic assessment, and once the shame subsides, a plan – well, an idea of a plan.

There’s a process of decisions that must be made, some slowly with deliberation and care, and more that must come rapidly, in that uncharted space between experience and intuition.

And now all you have to do is wade in. It feels like waiting for the trapeze to swing toward you so you can throw yourself out into mid air to catch it.

Yeah, I can’t imagine why fear’s an issue.

And, as usual, there’s no net.

This is the time I envy the computer artist. Throw out that nasty layer - Click - easy. Enlarge it so it’s bigger and easy to see - Click. Duplicate the image and try out your brilliant idea – click, click, label, and save. I do some computer artwork, too, so I know this; I do this, but when it comes to creating my art I still prefer the Original, the genuine “hard copy”, the REAL piece of physical creativity that stains my nails and strains my aging eyes, my temper, and my temperament.

So, I’ve even asked for this. (Sigh.)

And Time, the looming disciplinarian, regardless if there’s a deadline set, still judges, “You STILL haven’t finished?” He stares at you; he stares you down, and ticks away in angry increments.

Why do people struggle with creating?

Ha! It’s a war in there. And you’re on your own.

So if you are creative, and still working at it,  know in your soul you've got more courage than it looks like from the outside. After you lick your wounds, grieve the losses, and regret the errors,  - get up, assess the battlefield, plan a strategy, grab your armor, your weapons, and go back after it.

Just being back in the swing of it is victory. And this time, Serendipity may be yours, and the mess will prove to be nothing more than a learning curve.

Funny, how the scars never seem to show.

BeadwoRx

I started playing with beads at about the same time I worked with crayons. The common thread linking them is color and texture, and working with either medium still involves focus and design. 

Making beads has always been a hobby, a way to relax with something 3D: beads and thread that I could hold in my hands as opposed to skimming over the surface of a canvas with brushes and pencils, or hovering over illustration board with the airbrush, never touching the image in progress.

I had always made jewelry for my Mom, my sister, some friends, and myself. My mom in particular, preferred my jewelry to any gift I might give her, so I always made certain to make some for her birthday and Christmas. Sometimes those dates were the only reason I had to justify playing with beads during a long busy spell of illustration work.

The year she died left me with no one anticipating my efforts. At Christmas, I finally had the excuse of making my sister’s gift, and as I got out my beads I realized how much I missed it, and how much I missed her.

Someone once told me that beadwork is grief work: focus on one thought at a time, just as you place one bead at a time. The solitude and introspection is worthy of any meditation, with the comfort of following a reliable pattern. As the design is set, your hands can simply follow the process while your mind is free to follow wherever your thoughts might lead. 

That Christmas an avalanche of beadwork pored out of me. The work shifted and changed, it seemed to open up and become more of an avenue of expression. It was no longer tied to my mom; it was mine, her Christmas gift to me.

I now have an Etsy shop. http://www.etsy.com/shop/ZooLN


Thank you Mom.