Log cabin consciousness

I have always loved log cabins. Perhaps the romance started with the cabin my Gramps built. We didn't go often, but when we did, it seemed like a little secret, tucked as it was in some woods with only a narrow, bramble-guarded road to access it. I am not sure. But here's a telling fact. In collage, engaged to be married, I bought more log cabin magazines than bridal magazines. (Okay--I was an abnormal twenty-year old art student in the era immediately preceding the tattoo craze and when the University of Delaware had only 3 color monitors on campus. We had to make our own brand of fun.)
Skip to present or last week (close enough). I spent three days in a log cabin while chaperoning my daughter's class's environmental field trip. The log cabin bug (along with a few mosquitoes) bit me again. I love the simplicity. I kept taking pictures of the cabins and having visions of the television show Men in Trees where New Yorker and writer Marin Frist takes refuge and writes from her little cabin in Alaska. I can picture myself on my porch sitting in a steamer lounge chair with my laptop and a cup of dark roast. Perhaps a colorful shawl and most definitely a pug at my feet. There is something calming about a building that fits so perfectly within its environment. I am not an Americana, lodge-y type decorator. If I had a cabin, I'd offset the rough aesthetic with sleek modern furnishings and bold dashes of color. It would be more whimsy than outback.
The day after I returned from Camp Swatara, I met a friend for lunch. She was staying at her sister's log home while her home was being remodeled. So I got to see another take on log home living with a great kitchen and a beautiful deck overlooking a large pond. So is the universe trying to tell me something? I don't know. Yesterday, my in-laws returned from a trip to the Midwest to visit relatives and do some genealogy. They gave my daughter a T-shirt emblazoned with a graphic of the Lincoln Log Cabin.
Maybe I need to rent myself a little refuge and get to writing.

The value of my time

So, all-in-all, the experiences were positive. But I really did over schedule myself last month. There is a lesson in that, but will I learn? I came home from my 3 days away to the following : a request for me to chair a committee for the Woman to Woman annual event, a plea to pick up my son's friend from his field trip since his single father won't be home, a lunch request from a stranger--a writer who wants to pick my brain, 40 pages of a first novel that I've been asked to review by someone who came to the Lancaster Book Festival, a request from my church to make 4 two-sided signs to carry in a family service procession. In the week before I left, I agreed to submit a book club/dinner event complete with autographed books for our church auction and to teach an 8-week adult education class for our church in the fall. I am still contemplating helping a girl's environmental camp with some journaling prompts this summer.
I guess some clarity (from my rock pile?) would help here. I want to do it all. I want to give everything I have, but it leaves little for me in the way of my own goals. I did cut my daughter off from being in yet another community theater production this spring. I feel proud for having set that boundary. But as far as the other stuff goes, I don't know what will lead me to my next step. Chairing the Woman to Woman event would be a big feather in my cap and line on a resume, but it isn't going to get a novel written or a painting painted. I hate to squash opportunity. And even without apparent opportunity, I really do like giving back to my community. It is just that the giving would be easier to do if I were getting paid in full for the work I am already doing. I paint and I write and I spend time on my workshops but pay days are few and far between. I realize I must have value because people are always calling on my services. Is it too much to ask that that value be represented by dollar bills some of the time? Maybe, I just don't ask to be paid what I am worth. It is hard. As a woman and a mom, I am constantly asked (and was socialized) to give away my time for school fundraisers, chaperoning, teaching Sunday School, baking for school functions. Can you imagine if we mothers were to claim the worth of all this volunteer time on our household income tax return?
I will have to decide what my priorities are and give fully to those things I deem worthy. I think I already know what I must do. Maybe just the act of pruning will produce more fruit when the time comes for a harvest.

The rest of April

My last entry was one of decompression. I must admit that this is more of the same. Since last I wrote, I participated in a book signing, was matron of honor at my college roommate's wedding(the same college roommate that wrote 35 books on wedding planning) in New Jersey, participated in my first "road race" in 2 years--a 5K in Alexandria, VA, toured our nation's capital, and chaperoned/taught at my daughter's 5th grade 3-day environmental field trip.

Though these were big, busy activities, they were actually less stressful/ more enjoyable for me than the beginning of the month activities. The wedding was awesome. I've used the phrase Wedding of a Lifetime. And it was beautiful to see my friend marry such a likable guy. The run in VA was the perfect way for me to get back into my running. I never ran a 5K before and i found I really like that length. Plus I got to hang and reconnect with cool people who I haven't seen in years, but who went to high school with Mark and me. (Mark had a great 10-mile run. He finished in under 75 min.) And I really did love going on the environmental field trip. I taught 5 lessons on the food chain in a downpour. The lesson involved a field game which was played in the mud. Visions of the television show Survivor kept flashing in my head. But the kids were good sports. The next day, under the spell of blue skies and moderate temperatures, I hiked with my daughter to an enormous vertical rock pile which has special significance to me. Two years ago on my son's field trip, I climbed up on the rock pile, sat for three hours, journaled and decided to quit my day job so I could write full-time. This time gave me just as much clarity. I admit, I took a small rock home to hold whenever I need to feel that energy.
April gave me so many blessings. I just need a quiet May to contemplate them all.

Overstimulation

This past week has been a wonder. On Wednesday, I helped to set-up for Fine Arts Day at my daughter's school. Afterwards, I attended a Literary Guild function and went to hear Mary Gordon speak. I enjoyed her talk which was full of humor. I tried to take something from it that would prop me up for the coming days when I would be the one speaking.

Thursday, after a year of planning, Fine Arts Day finally arrived. The day went smoothly--as far as the logistics were concerned. After watching the assembly featuring the Middle School group of African Drummers and dancers, of which my son is a member, I gave 6 presentations about my painting to approximately 500 students. They were well-behaved, attentive, and hopeful. "I want to be an artist when I grow up!" I would ask, "Aren't you already an artist?"

From joyful enthusiasm to skepticism in one day. On Friday, I sat before a grave panel of assorted artists (dancer, musician, writer, etc.) to discuss my proposal to be included in a roster of Artists' Residencies, which are 10-day programs in the schools. I think I was able to articulate my program, but it took some doing. My written proposal confused the panel, and I felt I wasn't communicating well. That my idea for a presentation centered on using creative journal writing as a forum for problem solving, didn't speak well to its merits that they didn't understand my processes, but I think that by the end of the session, the assemblage was more responsive to my ideas. Leaving the group, I felt that it could go either way. Perhaps I would have been a little more optimistic, but I locked my keys with my cell phone in my car.

Today, I was a presenter/panelist at the first Lancaster Book Festival put on by the Lancaster Literary Association. The reading/talk that I gave in the morning was well-received. I felt good about it. The event itself was a great time to network with some admittedly world-weary writers, but it also had its uplifting moments. We wore our name tags a little like one would wear hospital bracelets. Writing being an operation we needed to survive, God willing. People were reverent of our undertakings and asked thoughtful questions. Tomorrow, I have a book signing with many of the authors who were at the event.

Each of these happenings occurring separately would be fuel for me, but the fact that they were so concentrated into such a short space of time, left me feeling a little raw. Can I really imagine doing a book tour? My brain seems on overload. Ideas are flashing around my head. I have business cards of people to contact, thank you notes to write, feelings to sort, inspiration to act upon. I crave retreat. Upon returning home today, I went for a run. A steak dinner on my deck is definitely on the agenda for tonight.

Maybe in a few days, I will be able to better articulate some of the feelings that have surfaced from my week. But right now I must go have a glass of wine with my very supportive and patient husband. I can't say that he personifies these qualities as a rule, but he understood the challenge of my schedule (compounded by the kids' agendas) this week, and rose to the occasion. Even travelling 60 miles round trip to unlock my car door--without wisecrack or commentary. For his this grand gesture alone, I am most grateful.

The mad dance of an artist

On Thursday, I worked on the volunteer packets for Fine Arts Day at my daughter's school. I am not a detail person by nature. But I sorted through sticky notes and pressed on. Usually I can conquer one big thing a day. That was it for me. I did manage to go running, pick up my son from track, and get my daughter and friends to the theater for their preview performance. Dinner was once again a fragmented affair, but still good. We had some shredded chicken and whole wheat penne with the last of the frozen arugula walnut pesto from last year's garden.

Friday seemed to officially begin the weekend even though my husband and son had normal days. I took my daughter out for breakfast. She was doing a school day performance of the play, and I was helping with concessions. Mid-day. I took her back home to rest between performances, but such was not the case for me. I had to design new business cards to put with my artwork at the exhibit. My old cards include my mortalmom.com site. Unfortunately, we let that registration slide. Now somebody wants $600 plus to reactivate it. Not going to happen. Better to spend $40 printing new business cards. I am happy with the new cards. They are a better reflection of my work at this time. Pick up son's friend. Daughter stays home to catch her ride to the theater. Drive to Lancaster to the galleries. As we are parking I realize that I may have neglected to feed daughter her dinner. Nothing I can do about it now. We stopped at the Lancaster Literary Guild and let the boys see an exhibit of portraits of authors using calligraphy and their words as brushstrokes to create their likenesses.

The next stop was the YWCA where my paintings and the paper dolls were exhibited. The room looked great. Considering the place was not an art gallery by design, the staff did a great job highlighting the works. They had a great variety which really worked together as a statement of Sexual Violence Prevention. I was mesmerized by many pieces, especially Mary Lou Weaver Houser's wall hanging that was used as the exhibit centerpiece. It had such a spiritual presence. I was pleased that so many people approached me to tell me how moved they were by the exhibit of paper dolls, which were strung along a clothes line and attached with tiny clothes pins--a device that allowed viewers to see both sides of the dolls. Because they are in an African drumming ensemble at their middle school, the boys had come along with us specifically to see the African dancers and drummers. Their performance was later, so we strolled over to the Lancaster Museum of Art to take in the Maurice Sendak exhibit. How much fun. I had wanted to see the exhibit when it was at the Jewish Museum in New York. I was pleased that it came to me instead. Maurice Sendak has always been a favorite of mine. He never dumbs down a tale for kids. Some people have called his stories inappropriate, but I find them to be perfectly tuned into a child's thought process and questioning mind.

Back at the YWCA, we saw the first round of the African Dance. Janet Peck's dancers and N'Bonye drummers were wicked good! I may just join their drumming weekend in May. Do I have a free weekend? But my interest was not the wonder of the evening. My normally reticent 13-year-old son voluntarily joined the dancers for a dance he knew. His friend was more reserved, but I told him I would dance if he did. The three of us danced with the three "African" goddesses. Had there not been an audience, I would have been content to dance with them all night. I must get myself to a class! Add Janet to the list of women who inspire me. She goes to Guinea, attending camps and performing, for two months a year to study her craft. And a shout out to Tammi Hessen and her drumming. (Turns out we were rivals in high school field hockey and track.) I think I need to clone myself, to experience all of the arts out there. These women rock, and I so enjoyed seeing them consecrate the space with their music and dance while my artwork was hanging as backdrop. A great way to end what had been a very full day of arts appreciation and participation.

Three Cups of Tea

Some time ago, the minister at our church gave a sermon on the book Three Cups of Tea. Having just finished the book, I can see now why proselytizing is the byproduct of having read this text. It is like you want to stand on the rooftops and shout AMEN! but you are in such awe of this man's story that you almost shake your head at it all. It is funny that our minister chose to proclaim this book to the heavens though, because ours is not a proselytizing tradtion. Who are we in the West to say our way of praying is better than yours? In my mind, I can't draw the line between religious conversion and imperialism. Social action? Sure. Humanitarian aid work? Yes, but not in the name of trying to make you assimulate. And that is part of the lesson in this gem of a book. It defies labels and has had mass appeal among people of all religions, ethnicities, stances on war, politics, age, and gender. It demonstrates that one person can make a world of difference by fighting ignorance with education and tolerance. How often can one story do all that?

Here's the gist...

Mountain climber gets lost. In his weakened state he stumbles into a remote village of Pakistan. They welcome him in and give him sustanance. He, in return, promises to give them what they need most--a school. He comes back to America and tries to raise funds. Sleeps in his car to save money...

The story continues with an amazing account of Greg Mortenson's mission to promote peace by providing balanced, secular (and therefore non-extremeist) education, particularly for women, in poor communities in Pakistan and post-Taliban Afghanistan. (This man will win the Nobel Peace Prize someday.) I have recently finished reading A Thousand Splendid Suns and found this to be a wonderful companion piece. One is fiction and one is truth, but they both offer insight into the lives of people in the volitile regions of the world. The politics. The religion. The lives of women.

Anybody with an ounce of humanity should read this book. I do not know one person who would not be touched by this. My only question is To whom should I lend out my copy first?

About the book

About Greg's organization, CAI

Day's End

It's Wednesday night and for two nights I have wanted to see the conclusion of the two-part Medium on TV. I love that show. Somewhere, writers are having fights with their spouses and pausing to write it all down. I know this because the dialog is so realistic that sometimes my husband looks at me with that "that's the exact same argument we just had" look. What a bonding moment. But Angelica Houston and Patricia Arquette and my husband will have to wait until I finish TCOB. This morning I spent time working on the presentation for Fine Arts Day at my daughter's school next week. I am presenting as a painter, so I have to adjust the Powerpoint presentation I gave last year as a Creative Journaling Teacher. It's been a year since I've touched Powerpoint, so I had to give myself a tutorial. I wish I could say that I felt gratified having finished it, but I don't. It is just one in a series of things to check off my list. Go to bank. Go to orthodontist office to make payment and change insurance.

Moving on in my to-do list, I created a listing for my church's biggest fundraiser--its annual service auction. I have been persuaded by a friend to offer a book club evening with the author in my home. Six winners. Dinner. Wine. Discussion. Each will receive an autographed copy of my book. I am a little nervous about this. It seems presumptuous to offer up one's self as a prize. That, and I've already been so visible in the community that it seems that anybody who wanted to talk to me about my book already has. I found the listing difficult to write. After spending Monday on self-promotion, I am over trying to sell myself. Often, the biggest sale is to myself, because I have to teach myself that I am worthy of press.

After all the mind activity, I turned to the physical. It was quite breezy outside. Give me rain, but not wind. I procrastinated--loading the dishwasher and but stoppine short of putting away laundry. Finally, I knew if I didn't get out the door, I'd lose my window of opportunity. I grabbed my iPod and dialed to 33 minutes of torture with Grace on the iTread download. Really, it is supposed to be a 60 minute-workout, but I need to be realistic. My quest to run is two-fold. Fit into the dress I must wear as a maid of honor in a few weeks and finish a 5K (my first road race in two years) at the end of the month. (Did I tell you this was a crazy month or what?) As usual, Grace whipped my butt, but she had at least kept my mind off the blustery challenge.

I made it home about two minutes after my daughter's bus dropped her off. I had enough time to cool down and stretch, but not shower before I was off to get my son from track practice. As soon as I got home from that errand, I had to make leftovers for my daughter's dinner. While they were heating up, I cut condiments for the taco dinner the rest of us will have. Daughter is a day behind. She will get tacos tomorrow night. Mid-tomato, my son gave me a folder from his art teacher. Her son's school just had their Fine Arts Day. I was a presenter there last year, and we are modeling the program at my daughter's school after the one at John Beck Elementary. She hsent home the packet of information she received as a volunteer. Our volunteers are not lined up yet for our day next week. Eek! No time to panic. I ran the packet over to my neighbor who is on a committee with me. She was not home, but her oldest daughter was on the phone with her, so (yes, I am still in my sweaty running clothes) I stood in her entryway and talked to her while the girls' grandmother waves hello. I ran home to take my daughter to play practice.

Luckily, I have discovered a carpool from my corner of nowhere. This was my first shift as driver. I did not confirm, so when I showed up at the other girl's house, her mother was looking panicked with keys and cell phone in hand. (I find out later that she had left a message on my cell phone, but it wasn't on.) We had one final girl to pick up. Round trip--45 minutes. Husband was home from work by the time I made it home. I had seen so many people out walking that I asked him if wanted to go for a walk. Yes, but can we eat first, I am starving. Tacos seems like an easy meal, but they aren't. Too much prep work. I finished making dinner, and we ate. I ate like a ravenous woman which won't help with the bridesmaid's dress. My son also ate with gusto. This was his second dinner. He ate leftovers earlier with my daughter.

Husband and I left on our walk around the neighborhood. We observed the daffodils and remarked on how many people have already started mowing their lawns. We vowed to be last on our block to cave to the call of the grass. After our second trip around the block, my neighbor peeked her head out. She was ready to discuss volunteers. I was glad to see she was still in her painting clothes. (She is a faux painter.) I was still in my running clothes with a clean sweatshirt on top. I hoped it was enough to disguise the perfume of sweat with high notes of taco seasoning. This was not a planned meeting, but we had thought of last minute things we had not thought of before. Fine Arts Day is a new undertaking for the PTA. We want it to be a success for future years. So I am now home and waiting for one last email response from a possible volunteer. Maybe I'll just go watch Medium while I wait--or take a shower.

Venus and me

I sent out my newsletter on Monday. Included was an image of a "Power doll" I made for the upcoming YWCA exhibit. The doll was in the form of the Venus de Willendorf, a standard of survey art history courses. Well I sent one to an aunt. My dad was over there visiting my aunt and she must have asked him about the artwork on my newsletter. Dad told her that he didn’t think it was my artwork because he didn’t think I was in the habit of painting fat ladies. He asked me about this at my son’s track meet, and I said that the artwork was mine and that the image was that of an ancient fertility sculpture.

By his attempt at sarcastic wit, I could tell Dad was uncomfortable with this information. He said he'd have to relay the information to my aunt. Yikes. The thought of my dad's interpretation of my artist's statement on a piece of feminist art...scary. I immediately sent an email to my aunt to tell her myself.

For those of you that are unfamiliar with my chosen icon, here's my attempt at a little Venus lesson--at least what she has meant in my life and in my art. The theory is that this Venus was a fertility statue of some type, maybe not just for human fertility, but for that of the crops and the hunt which were so important to ancient people. Some say she was created at a time that was matriarchal. For artists (particularly female ones) she symbolizes fertility of expression. Creation, etc. For ecologists, she is an important symbol as the rotund “earth mother” who has also been under assault. She is appropriate as a “power doll” figure for the YWCA exhibit. There has been correlation of man’s dominion over the earth (rape of the earth) and dominion over women. There is a whole branch of feminism, called eco-feminism which tries to rectify these injustices by working on these two issues in conjunction with each other. In my paper doll workshops at the shelter, I encourage the residents to find symbol of power for themselves when making their dolls. While not many of the women reach to sources in art history, I think it is important to have a wide variety of images from different sources with which to relate and hold up as a beacon of self-empowerment.

April Madness

Ready to come along on a wild ride? I've remarked to friends that my color-coded refrigerator calendar resembles a Jackson Pollack painting for the month of April. I don't know what possessed me to include so much in so little time. But I want to share what it is like. So I am going to try to produce small blog entries to document this craziness.

Yesterday, I spent the day designing and sending my email newsletter, with a lengthy updating of my address book. I also a journaling workshop in the evening. I bisected the two with a yoga session and a quick dinner.

Cue April. Today is relatively mild. My daughter has play practice and my son has a track meet. In my world, I am preparing presentations for Fine Arts Day at my daughter's school and one for the Lancaster Book Festival. I wanted to go running, but had many weird interruptions including my son's best friend. He called from school to inform me that he had a half hour's detention and no way to get to his home which is five heavily trafficked miles from school. Maybe "A" needs his own color of splattering on my Pollack wipe-off board.

Jill Ker Conway

Yesterday I attended a lecture of the Lancaster Literary Guild. The speaker was noted memoirist and historian Jill Ker Conway. I was mesmerized by her speech which included passages from her best-known work: The Road from Coorain. A native of the Australian Outback, Ms. Ker Conway is a historian and an educator who resides in Massachusetts. The first female president of Smith College, she has studied the memoirs of many women before deciding to write her own. She wanted to present a story that she felt was missing from the culture--that of the ambitious woman. Not that there is a lack of ambitious women, just that women tend to hide that fact. They deny their agency when they give accounts of their lives. Ker Conway also wanted to write a tale with a feminist hero that proved you can talk of female empowerment in a way that does not denigrate men. Indeed, she was surrounded by men in her formative years in Australia's underpopulated interior. Only once a month would she meet up with someone who was not in her immediate family in which Ker Conway was the only girl. Her father was a real man, not some cartoon of the Australian man as in Crocodile Dundee. Though her portrayals of men are sympathetic, don't expect a romance. Her journey is just that---hers. When she does get married (an event that happens in the second installment of her three-book memoirs) she continues to maintain a path of her own making and does not simply join her husband on his.
I have yet to read her memoir. I am currently reading Three Cups of Tea (another blog entry altogether.) But I can't wait. As a writer who has contemplated a children's book in which a female character goes on a hero's journey, I want to find the ways in which gender plays a role in such things as a "life quest." From the bits she has read to us, these are exactly the kinds of themes that Jill Ker Conway plays with in her memoirs. Joseph Campbell, move over. I am about to discover the heroine's journey.

Real dolls

Sometimes I have a hard time relating to women I know casually--the ones I meet at my kids' activities--for instance. Part of the problem is the whole question of asking, "What do you do?" I don't want to hear those defensive answers from stay-at-home moms or hear the fatigue in the voice of someone who is working full-time AND trying to stage a book fair at the school. I don't want to make the question into a measure of the woman for those who are multi-degreed but have chosen to take a part-time job as a bookkeeper because a job in the field that they love would conflict with family. Even at places like the theater or dance studio where mothers congregate, I have a hard time talking to women about things that are more than superficial.

Luckily, I am involved in some venues in which I get a glimpse of wholeness. It seems that a light goes on, and I can see them for the women they are. Or maybe certain circumstances make it easier for them to open up about their lives and their achievements.

Last week I shared with a woman who gave herself the gift of education for her 50th birthday. She is going back to school and doing an in-depth study of artist Judy Chicago, an artist near to my heart, who really advanced the feminist perspective of art. We talked a bit on this subject before switching it up and discussing the home funeral movement, which this woman is helping to initiate in our area. Like home births and birthing centers did for pregnant women, home funerals are giving people more options in the way to experience the life cycle in private, familial and ecologically minded way.

Another woman in my circle, an art teacher whom I have highlighted before, is taking her own time to host a club after school to teach kids about our food supply, the merits of organic and local food, and to educate them on the fast-food industry's manipulation of kids through commercials and toys. Read her Blog on the club. It is fascinating stuff.

The more active I am in the things that are important to me, the more I am coming into contact with the kind of women who inspire me. Not that I am not inspired by the President of the PTA, just that I feel I missing some of the story.

Here are some snippets of stories I love from women who I know...

...The yoga teacher and mom who is planning a spiritual trip--her first big one away for her family to attend an all-women's week long yoga retreat in a different time zone.

...The woman who has spent years caring for her aging mother, but continued to show her art internationally and who stands on the courthouse steps on Wednesday evenings in solidarity with other mothers in the Middle East doing the same protest against the killing of their sons and daughters. http://www.womeninblack.org/.

...The mother of two who left her family for a week to help build houses in Haiti with her church group.

...The teacher who started an African Drumming group with her personal stash of drums. Originally for at-risk boys, the drumming program has expanded to include other students, including girls.

...The empty-nester who took the flight of her offspring as an opportunity to fly for herself. She cultivated a new hobby and a new way of seeing the world-- travel photography.

...The woman who turned away from a high-powered job in finance, went back to school, and now educates the community on issues relating to sexual assault prevention and gender equity.

I am so lucky to have real life examples of women who have dared to live and share. My mother is my first and best among these. As a former teacher, she has been a champion for adult literacy and a student of childhood enrichment. For the past nine years she has been a volunteer and worked with the children and adults whose lives have been affected by family violence.

Just to name a few of my heroes. I should have a tea party and invite them all to tea. It's on my SARK How to be an artist poster. "Invite someone dangerous to tea." These women have quietly begun to change the world we live in. Nothing more dangerous that that.

Paper dolls

Over the last month, I have twice gone to the local domestic violence shelter to do a small bit of programming. Five years ago, my mother, who has been a volunteer with the shelter for 9 years now, came up with an idea to make paper dolls with the residents. With my work teaching creative journaling, it seemed a natural extension of what I did to take on facilitating this group. The idea is based on a book Soul Mate Dolls by Noreen Crone-Findlay. The book describes how to make paper figures to personify grief, remove stumbling blocks, and celebrate joys. The women in our group, most of whom are in transitional housing, made two-sided dolls. One side represented her life in the past in which she experienced abuse, and when she flipped the doll over, she worked on personifying the person she wants to be in the future. For someone observing the creation of these dolls, the process is pretty inspirational. I have roadblocks in my own life, but nothing like these women face, so to see them making a physical representation of their journey is awe-inspiring.

Before this month, I had not done the paper doll workshop for some time. I got a push to do them again because of the upcoming art exhibit at the Lancaster YWCA. The theme for the exhibit is Hope, Creativity, and Healing: Reconstructing Your Life After Sexual Assault. The show will be on display from April 4th (for First Friday Lancaster events) through the Annual Take Back the Night Event on April 10th. The paper dolls will be on display at the exhibit. I will have some pieces of my artwork, relating to female empowerment, on display as well.

I hope that people will take time to come to the YWCA, 110 N. Lime Street, Lancaster PA, to see the exhibit. It is quite powerful to take in the works that these brave women have created. I invite everyone who can, to join us. Make a night of it on Friday, April 4th. Visit the YWCA with reception from 5-9PM. (Besides my work and the paper dolls, there will be pieces by Mimi Shapiro and Mary Lou Weaver--exceptional artists, both of them) and then head to gallery row for other First Friday exhibits.

John Adams

I am a bit of a history buff. I didn't realize this about myself until I went to school and took art history classes. Then all of sudden it seemed the story was illustrated. I get it! Add in my parents' time share in Williamsburg and you get another slant. Colonial Art isn't my thing, but once again, I get the visual connection when I tour the buildings and see the costumes of the day. So I am thrilled that HBO is featuring an event as cool as David McCullough's John Adams. I listened to that particular book on tape. About four years ago, I got hooked on biographies of the men of the American Revolution. I dragged my family to Mt. Vernon and Monticello in Virginia and to John Adams farm and birthplace in Massachusetts. So my interest is a bit more than casual. I like the idealism of these men who were founding a country. Imagine starting from scratch and dreaming up the ideal way to run things. I know these men weren't perfect, but what guts and what visions they had. So far, and I've only seen the first episode, I love the miniseries. Laura Linney and Paul Giamatti are fantastic. (I predict Emmys for both of them.) If you don't get HBO, make sure to rent the series when it comes out--eventually. With the word patriotic being bandied about these days, sometimes it is good to look back and see what the word really means. And, too, it makes me smile and wonder what kind of things would be important to me if I had been the architect of a country.

So many things in Spring

I have a lot going on this spring...to say the least. In additional to my professional activities, the kids are participating in track and a musical, both of which require lots of practices and lots of surreying (the word sounds more bucolic than taxiing). Mark and I are making a few weekend trips both as a couple and with our family. One of those trips includes us all running in a road race--my first in two years. Yikes! Another includes matron-of-honor duties. Double Yikes! I am teaching religious education to my son's class. The curriculum centers on tapping into the creation forces that made life possible and becoming creators ourselves. Art, poetry, music--It is right up my ally. (Except that music part. Seven years of piano lessons for naught.) I am also accompanying my daughter on an overnight environmental field trip in which I will teach about the food chain.

But it is the professional doings that I want to highlight. I spent the morning updating the NEWS section of my site, and I hope that folks will check it out. A variety of interesting stuff going on with which I am pleased to be involved. The Lancaster Literary Guild is having its first ever literary festival. The Lancaster YWCA is hosting an art show as an avenue of hope in the fight against domestic violence. Other things, too. Check them out and let me know what looks interesting to you.

Spring Painting

I sold two paintings in February. One to an well-known area collector, the other to a newlywed couple buying their first piece of real art. It is a sweet feeling. I am moving forward in my painting. I just ordered supplies to start oil painting. I have very little experience in oil paints. A still-life class in college and two paintings of hammers I did in high school. Yes, hammers. Don't ask. My mom worked in hardware store. Up until now, I have been experimenting with latex and ceramic paints. They were free and readily available to me, so I was using them to see if painting was something I wanted to pursue and if I had any affinity for it. When I started I thought I'd be doing some abstract landscapes. I had no idea I would do mainly "people pictures" that tended toward large-textured realism. Actually, I don't know what style you'd call them. Realistic expressionism? The point is that I am now seriously into my painting. Working with the paints has awaken something inside of me. Now, I am not only painting, I am showing and selling work. I am ready to take the next step.
I want to set up a studio space. (Here again, I have been working out of my friend's house where the free paints reside.) I must admit, that I looked up oil painting online to get some advice as to what supplies to get. I even bough an introductory book. I am hoping to stick to my proven subject matter and even replicate my palette as I get used to the new properties of the paint, but I am on my way!