Yesterday, I watched the entirety of Sense and Sensibility on my lunch break. This is among the perils of being pseudo-self-employed- unforeseen, but welcome distractions. (It's ok, though. I worked late to make up for it.)



Anyway, I love Jane Austen movies (I can't say books since I haven't read any. Disappointing, I know.) That time period is so intriguing to me, how men and women conversed, all the expectations different people had, the importance of marrying well.

It's funny to admit, but I think watching Jane Austen movies has made me ponder over the virtue of patience more than anything else has. I always think about how long and drawn out everything had to be when there were only horses and messengers and letters. On top of that, how Austen portrays her characters, so reserved in their interactions with one another, how they wait so long to share their feelings with one another because of outsiders' opinions. The dialogue is so fascinating.

***

Today, we are able to communicate with people anywhere, at any time, with the touch of a few buttons, and though I don't necessarily wish to go back to letter writing, comparing the two makes me curious about certain things.

Like, do we take enough time to process our thoughts before we send them out there to someone else?  Could our ability to communicate quickly make us take friendships/ relationships for granted? Because of the nature of technology, are we more prone to expect, even demand, quick responses? Is it too easy to keep certain relationships going, ones that are not worth it?

If Elinor was able, would she have texted Edward to ask him what was going on? If she did, would he have responded?

***

There is something deeply romantic and genuine about how the relationships slowly unfold in Austen's stories. I think that is so much a part of their allure.

***

On a different note:

It's one thing to be patient because we distance ourselves from others and don't have any expectations of anyone. It's another to be patient with people while being fully engaged, fully committed, fully a friend to them. I am working on the latter.

I'm sitting in a room that is 8 x 22 feet, drinking a lemon Sanpellegrino leftover from last week's FIXIT Clinic. There are two drawings of me pinned on the wall in front of me, made by two young sisters. One portrays me as very round, the other is more forgiving, both sport bright yellow hair.

On my desk is a printer, an empty PBR can, labeled manila folders and hanging files, photos, pens, duct tape, application forms, a measuring tape. Beside me- papers, drawings, a sewing machine, a bulletin board of ideas. Behind me, extending to the back wall, wood, windows, frames, canvases, papers, paint, tools, boxes, my easel.

There is music (The Beatles) playing down the hall. Moments ago, my friend Amelia walked by my door and said she had to run an errand but that she'd be right back. She also asked if I had any candy.

"No," I laughed. "Is there any cake left in the fridge?" There isn't.

Carri just walked up the stairs, and we chatted for a bit about our weekend and how we meant to get here sooner today. Now, I can hear her working with her staple gun in the other room.

Where am I? No, it's not heaven.

***

I co-manage an artist work space with a couple of friends. It's called 17th Street Studios and this is where we make work. We began this project last May by ripping up carpet and painting walls. We are located on the second floor of the west wing of Redeemer Church, a space that wasn't being utilized prior to our moving in. Now, we provide (extremely) affordable work space to 13 artists working in sculpture, paintings, installation work, film, graffiti, printmaking, graphic design, ceramics, etc. Without advertising, we have a waiting list.
















I adjusted my schedule a few months ago so that I can be here during the day. Sometimes, I can be here all day, which is my favorite. It's then I feel the freedom to relax, to walk down the street for a meal with fellow studio mates, to take my time with working.

There are common spaces to spread out if needed. There are people to help straighten out thoughts and who will listen to ideas. They share their own as well as their tools.

It's a glimmer of a dream fulfilled.

A friend of mine and fellow blogger called me out last night for not blogging last week, thus breaking one of the rules I set out for this blog in the beginning. I appreciated it very much and found his prodding encouraging, as I still don't know what to think about this whole blogging thing anyway.

I began this as a way to stretch myself as an artist, to talk about the artwork I'm making, etc., but the problem is that most of the time, the things I want to write about have nothing to do with art. I hesitate to treat this like some sort of diary or a place to push my agenda about things.

I'd like it to be more like those happy, cute, sun-shiney design blogs out there, where everything posted is sleek and beautiful and makes readers feel like crap because their life will never look or be like that.

But the truth of the matter is that that's probably not going to happen, and what I and any artist knows is that writing about life is writing about art. Everything that passes through my life is reflected in what I make; making things processes all the information going in.

I'm scared, though, to be too honest here. I like the fact that people read this blog, even if they are just being nice to me, and I don't want to scare anyone off with things that aren't sun-shiney and bright.

The stupid thing is, if you know me, you know that I don't really have a filter for the things that I say, and also, that I am melancholy by nature. So why have a blog that is the opposite of my actual demeanor? To tell the truth, I've been trying the bullshit theory- that even if things aren't going well, project to people that they are, and they'll believe, and through the art of deceit, you will gain success. Or something along those lines.

***

I've been beginning a lot of sentences with the phrase "To be honest" recently. In seeking out and fighting for the life that I want to live, I have to catch myself lying all of the time, I have to go back to people and say, "You know when I said this, well, I actually meant that," or "You know when I didn't say anything then, I wish I had said this." In trying to be more truthful in real life, I want to do that here as well, so I hope you'll bear with me as I try this with some amount of grace, because to be honest, I'd like to let some f-bombs fly, which I know most people wouldn't mind, but I know many that would.

***

So when my friend called me out for not writing last week, what I really wanted to say was, "You know, last week was pretty terrible, and if I wrote about it, it wouldn't have been sun-shiney and bright, and does anyone want to read about me hitting a low point anyway?"

And as those words leave my fingertips, I'll get into it, because maybe it will help things get a little better. Maybe.

So the truth is, last week was rough for several reasons. For one, a deep friendship has become severed because of a disagreement, and I don't know what to do. It's painful and has made me hermit-ish and quiet. But I went out last night and enjoyed spending time with people I would like to know better, and as a result, feel more like a human being.

Two, my wrists and hands are in pain, so much so that if I don't take several advil a day, I can't sleep or do any work, and I'm really scared that the pain won't go away and am worried because I don't have any time to lose as I prepare for an art show in November. But it's making me slow down and think about changing things/ ideas which is good.

And, I saw a man that I've been pining over for quite some time holding another woman's hand. And instead of running the other way like I wanted to do, I shook her hand and said, "It's nice to meet you." And even though I like him very much, I've known all along he wouldn't be good for me. So it's fine in the grand scheme of things, but it hurts a little. Ok, more than a little.

And, I've been working 12 hour days and weekend nights, which is hard, but good, because if I "fail" at pursuing art, I have to know that I tried as hard as I could. And I'm realizing, in the end, I may have to give it up, but not yet. I'm still crazy (or stupid) enough to keep going with it. I'm going as fast as I can (which seems like a snail's pace) moving forward, and I get pangs of "What the h am I doing?!" but I beat the crap out of those thoughts because I've learned you have to be ruthless when pursuing a dream.

And there's more, but I'll stop there.

To be honest, I don't know if I feel any better, but the good news for today is, (besides this post) I'm not working, and that will be hard, but very very good.

This past Monday was Labor Day, and after a weekend full of friends and fun, my introverted self was content to lie on my couch all day with the windows open to let the sound of the rain come through. I watched Motorcycle Diaries for the second time. The first time I watched it several years ago, I don't think I was paying attention.

I have a few friends, mostly male, that claim it's their favorite movie. I think I agree with them now. I'm emotional to begin with, but put a beautiful movie that conveys a profound and good message in front of me, and it's over. I'll think about it for days, or forever.



It makes sense that films on social justice would move me, especially when they take place in other countries. My heart has always yearned to be a part of helping those that need it most. I've traveled quite a bit and seen poverty in various places. It's life-changing, and somehow, I always end up back on my couch.

I shouldn't feel bad for having the life that I have, but every now and then, when I imagine myself older, I'm with people whose skin is darker than mine (this is not a hard task considering I'm one shade darker than albino), there's dirt on my feet and under my nails, lush and green foliage around me, beautiful mountains off in the distance, water dripping off of leaves after a rainstorm. I'm thinner, happier. I can't explain it, but it's there and the vision won't go away.

The scene is similar to places I've been before- Belize, South Africa, Mexico, and I wonder if I'm supposed to go back there or somewhere new. Would I be gone for long? Months? Years?

***

It's always bothered me when people say they want to help people in other countries when they do little to help those in need in their current location. It's easy to think, if you were pulled from your environment, you'd be nicer, more giving than you are. I sometimes believe that lie, that somewhere, out in the future and far away, there is a version of me that I can live with everyday. Not this version that gets annoyed, infuriated rather, when people drive too slowly in front of me or when my photos won't load more quickly on Facebook, these being the least of my misgivings.

I love my cat Juicy, but she is a scoundrel.

Every morning, sometime between 4 and 7am, she begins meowing. It doesn't matter if she's in my bed or locked out of my room, she's up before the sun and wants me to be, too.

Feeding her shuts her up temporarily, but what she really wants is for me to start my day. So whether she's sitting outside of my door or next to my face, she meows every twenty minutes until I get up. I think she knows I need every hour of the day to accomplish what I want to accomplish.

"Get up!" I hear with every meow. "Live life! Work hard! Bring home the bacon! Literally!"

Once I finally put my feet on the floor for good, she follows me around, meowing for about twenty minutes. Then, THEN, she has the AUDACITY to jump on my bed and go straight to sleep. Each day, on my way out the door to work, I leave behind my slumbering jerk of a cat. 

If she wasn't so adorable, I'd send her to a farm where she could better fulfill her calling.

I've been keeping myself busy lately, preparing for my show next Friday, September 2.

I'm making several different types of work, one type shown above.

It's been a long time since I've drawn only using graphite. This whittling down to such simplicity has been good and really enjoyable. I have a feeling I might be doing a lot more drawings like this in the future.

{The show next week is at 123 S Gay Street in Knoxville from 6-9pm}

Whenever I hear Hurricane by Bob Dylan, I see Matthew McConaughey walking in slow motion through a billiard hall. I can't help it, and I'm not complaining.