Welcome to my new studio...

Slowly, slowly things are coming together. The boxes in the studio are being unpacked one at a time. Progress is being made and, in the meantime, there is the half of the studio that is fairly functional. The glowing, magical, peace-filled half that I visit on a daily basis...even when I'm not making any art.

Today it dawned on me that I have been trying to continue working as though nothing has happened. Sure, I've slowed down about 10 notches, but I've still been trying to make it to meetings and keep up with email and basically stay on top of things. It was only Monday that I went to the doctor and was told I have Rocky Mountain spotted fever. I mean, what the hell is wrong with me that I can't just take several days off (days that I've really needed to take off) and truly relax, rest, and heal?

Actually, to my credit, I have been doing a lot of resting. Mostly because my body left me no other choice. Looking back on the week, I am seeing that I should have rested a lot more. Getting sick like this is just about the best thing that could have happened to me. I know that sounds weird, but I needed this. I was running myself into the ground--hard and fast--and becoming increasingly anxious and unhappy in the process.

Anyway, my life is in the process of changing. I am in the middle of a metamorphosis and, although it has been ugly, pathetic, and painful, it is exactly what I need.

Melly Hocking wrote a thought provoking post about change. She wrote about something that I've been thinking about a lot lately and that is limiting beliefs. We all have them. But only those of us daring, self-indulgent, growth-thriving maniacs strive to become aware of them. And then there are those of us who, once we're aware, can't help but torment ourselves further by attempting to overcome those beliefs.

It is maddening and inspiring all at once.

Anyway, I'm going to make myself nice and vulnerable by sharing some of my limiting beliefs with you here now. Airing out the dirty laundry, shall we say?

And so here are a few of the trolls that live inside my head:

• "I'm fat and stupid and ugly." (oh, this one is practically a mantra! I know it's not really true and so I've been working hard on cutting this one out of my vocabulary. Funny how habitual some of the things we say to ourselves are!)

• "You're never going to make more than $xx,000 a year...no matter what you do." (I tell myself that there is something about me that puts that message out into the world. My hair? My mannerisms? My clothes? My body language or the way I carry myself? My attitude? My language? My shoes? My skin? What if, way down deep, I'm just nothing more than a half notch up from white trash? There is a part of me that believes that I will never be anything more than someone else's worker, a less-than, a half a step away from being a grocery store check out clerk, that I'm someone striving for more success than I'll ever get and that I look like a silly fool in the process of trying to get there.) Oooh! Ouch. That troll was honest! (Sometimes I think we just need to love our trolls. They're like children who lash out because they're in need of some positive attention once in awhile, you know?)

• "I don't have a mind for numbers and this is always going to hold me back." (First of all, math might not be my strong suite, but I've always made up for my weaknesses with massive doses of determination! If I were to be honest with myself I would see that I've been LETTING it hold me back! This thought alone is very intricate and deeply woven--deserving of a blog post of its own if I could just unravel it well enough to make sense.)

• You have to work in corporate America to make anything more than an average income. (uh-em! I would like to prove this wrong. One thing I DO NOT believe in is the Starving Artist Syndrome. That is something I have absolutely NO interest in playing the role of.)

• I'm an artist and people don't take me seriously because of it...at least, not on all levels like they do other professionals. (In all honesty, I see people treating me with as much respect as I treat myself with.)

• I have to work hard to do well. I mean REALLY hard! I have to work even HARDER if I'm going to do something I love. (Wait a minute...who am I trying to prove this unfair work ethic to?)

Ummm....yeah. You get the point. I'm sure there is more where these come from. I know there are, but these are the first that came to mind. There are all sorts of sneaky limiting beliefs that hold us back all the time--in both big and small ways. Usually it's lots of small things that ADD UP--big time!

BUT when we stop to look at those limiting beliefs we begin to see what UTTER NONSENSE they really are.

Here's the deal...I really, truly, full-heartedly believe that every single one of us is capable of ANYTHING when we allow ourselves to shine. And it doesn't matter what our back story is. Every time we feel ourselves shine we are on the right path. Do you know the shine I'm talking about? That radiance that beams from the inside out--that's the shine I'm talking about.

Shine and follow it. Shine and follow it. Shine and follow it. Just think where we'd end up! And at lightening speed!

But we get scared. We tell ourselves lies. We second guess and then allow ourselves to become distracted.

OK...so what are your little lies? I know you have them. Just think who we would be without them! Do you/I even realize how LIMITLESS we would be?!?! How limitless we ARE?!

Oh yeah...anyway, this was supposed to just be a post to introduce my new studio space. Just beyond the studio door is a trail to the vineyard. Despite my endless list of difficulties, I am fully of aware that I am one lucky dog. This life is not fancy. But it fits me well. I could not be in a more perfect spot to take the next step forward.

I have a feeling that is true for all of us.

Namaste,
j.

~

my little ella bean...

I love that girl.

~

It just doesn't seem fair (stupid ramblings from a broken down commuter)

Today I left the house for my first meeting in two weeks. I made it 5 miles down the road and my emmissions light went on (I have a newer car and don't want to think about these things). Chug, chug, chug down the freeway until finally it felt unsafe and I pulled over. Slowly I made it down the side of the highway until I made it to a ho-dunk service station where they weren't able to anything more than give me the phone number for the Honda Service Center. The Honda Service Center beamed like a ray of heavenly light that I could only hope to get to! After talking with a Honda service technician I decided to brave the last 10 miles with their phone # in hand, should I need to be towed.

Just got here. Got my cup of coffee, a cookie, and even a computer to sit down and lament on. Geez, what is up with this bad luck?!

When leaving the middle-of-nowhere service station I had a thought about angels helping me get from point A to point B. Funny, but I think they showed up.

I love the Honda Service Center. An oasis. I love my little lime green Honda Element. Brave girl. Let's just hope the warrenty covers her. Fingers crossed! I'm just kicking myself for not bringing a book with me. I always bring a book!

Meeting cancelled. I wonder if I will ever make any headway. All I can say is that I'm glad I didn't have to walk anywhere. I think I would have laid down and cried. My body just isn't ready for this.

Gah.

Rocky Mountain spotted fever.

At the moment, I am laying in bed with two farting dogs. I've taken the day off and, for that matter, most of the past week too. Not because I've wanted to. No, I've been fighting it tooth and nail! But I've been sick. When I say sick, I mean really sick. I mean the I-wish-I-would-die sort of sick. Not that I want to die. Far from it. But there were a few moments that I was really wishing someone would just put me out of my misery.

Yesterday I finally scraped myself off the couch and made myself go to the doctor. It was the spots covering my body that convinced me to go. Never mind how horrible I felt in every other way possible.

You can imagine my disbelief when they told me that it looks as if I have Rocky Mountain spotted fever. Rocky Mountain spotted what?! I mean, I've heard of it...but. Geez. Anyway, they started treatment immediately since failure to do so can be dangerous if not fatal. As you can imagine, sitting in the doctor's office listening to all of this was a bit surreal. At this point I'm not sure if I feel like crap from my initial (and current) physical condition or from the powerful antibiotics that they are using to treat it with. What is it, you ask? Well, sort of like a scarier version of Lyme's Disease. Google it. It's interesting, if nothing else.

I imagined a more poetic or humorous or dramatic post about this exotic sounding sickness I've picked up. But there you have it. I'm covered in a rash and am glad to have survived a weeks worth of migraine-like headaches, nausea and fevers.

Everything is on hold.

I pulled a Medicine Card today and got the "Bat." Perfect. This is some of what it said (shortened version, of course):
"Bat embraces the idea of shamanistic death. . . Shaman death is the symbolic death of the initiate to the old ways of life and personal identity. . . If Bat appeared in your cards today, it symbolizes the need for a ritualistic death of some way of life that no longer suits your new growth pattern. This can mean a time of letting go of old habits, and of assuming the position in life that prepares you for rebirth, or in some cases initiation. In every case, Bat signals rebirth of some part of yourself or the death of old patterns. If you resist your destiny, it can be a long, drawn out, or painful death. The universe is always asking you to grow and become your future. To do so you must die the shaman's death."

And so there is one half of me imagining a caricature of myself standing on top of a pen-drawn mountain. I'm covered in cheerful pink polk-a-dots striking a Saturday Night Fever pose. That same part of me has John Denver's "Rocky Mountain High" playing over and over in my head. I imagine dying from listening to his music. That part laughs at myself and the absurdity of the entire situation.

There is another part of me that sits in a chair under the willow tree and stares out over the pond in a complete space-out.

There is another part of me fitfully asleep on the couch, the floor, the bed, then the other bed.

There is yet another part of me that sees this uncomfortable state of being as a perfect (although strange) match for the transformation that is taking place both within and around me.

At the moment, mostly I just feel crap. I can't work for very long. It takes most of my energy to walk from the house to the studio. I've been canceling photoshoots and meetings all week and last. Today I went for a short drive with the dogs and it was a big deal. Oh boy. Sitting in front of the computer for very long is impossible. Unpacking is not an option. Building my empire is out of the question.

Everything is on hold. I wait to feel better. I begin to understand that I need to just experience this. I don't have to get deep about it. I've already done a lot of thinking. Right now I find it difficult to think much at all. And that, my friends, is probably what I need more than anything: to stop thinking for one divine minute.

Rocky Mountain spotted fever is hereby the strangest illness that has ever come my way. I laugh at the idea! But earlier this week, the pain was enough to bring tears, too. The important part is that I think I'm on the mend.

Life is strange. That's all I have to say.

~

Ridin' the Airwaves: Radio Interview tonight!

It's time to play with Sage Lewis, The Creature Teacher! The Pet Playground is an entertaining and educational call in show for pets and the people who love them.

Tonight I have the great honor of being interviewed by Sage Lewis of Dancing Porcupine. I will be joined by the wonderful Sarah of Sarah Beth Photography as a fellow guest. Sarah and I love collaborating with each other when given the chance. To be interviewed on the radio together with Sage, well, that's an added bonus!

I look forward to sharing a little bit about my life and work as a pet portrait artist. Let's connect over the good things in life!

Please join us tonight!
The Pet Playground - Your Place to Play
Sunday, August 9th, 6-7pm
AM950 KTNF

Pour yourself a nice tall glass of lemonade and head out to the front porch to relax and listen in. Not a Minnesota listener? Technology is a wonderful thing! Audio stream via KTNF's website here.

Busy out playing in the sun? No worries! A podcast will be available for your listening pleasure here.

Have any burning question for me, Sarah, or Sage? Call in! We'd love to hear from you!

Listener Call in #952-946-6205

~

Musings from under the willow tree...

Under the willow tree has become my favorite space in the universe. It is made of magic and sacredness. Its bending braids of leaves and branches refresh me. I've been feeling a bit like I've been bounced around inside of a pin-ball machine, but that feeling always goes away when I step under the green comforting contours of the willow that graces our yard.

Louie and Ella's favorite thing in the whole universe: the soccer ball.
A happy tie with running through the willow's drippy branches.
Willow tree + soccer ball = blissful dog glory!

My life feels fragmented. Good, but a bit unsettled. Things are changing. I can feel it. Shifting. Lots of shifting. Even all of my friends seem to be moving. There is a lot of change for many of us. It is in the air. I feel better than I've felt in a long time and feel a bit undone all at the same time. The stress of moving is real. And, yet, moving is the best thing I could have ever done.

As I look around at the mountains of junk and boxes that I have dragged from our old house to this one, I see myself reflected in the mess. I see the storm that was brewing under all those piles and am glad and grateful that I have finally decided to do something about the chaos that's been quietly accumulating. I'm beginning to see how much stress I've kept myself under these past 10 years. I was thinking that this state of overwhelm has only existed for the last couple of years, but as I look at everything, I am beginning to see that it started much earlier. All these boxes of stuff are puzzle pieces of me that I am only now beginning to put together in a new and revealing way.

I'm beginning to better understand my destructive habits. I'm also remembering what brings me the most joy.

Life is full, full, full to the point of bursting. I suppose you could say that I have always been lucky in this way. But sustained fullness requires balance and that is something I am trying hard to understand. Balance is a bit of a foreign language to me. I used to know its language....but these days I seem to get my consonants and vowels turned around.

There is change in the air. And a settling all at the same time. A strange combination of sensations. It feels palpable. An opening...leading where, I don't know.

Besides the willow tree, there is another place that I love...and that is my new studio. Having only recently moved in, I get visitors: the occasional mouse, spiders, a dragon fly and a cricket or two. I carry the mice outside in an upside down bowl with a dust pan slid underneath. They are sweet and vulnerable and easy to catch. I can't bring myself to do otherwise. Blue herons, egrets and wild geese fly over on a regular basis. Anu is always with me when I'm there. She is my love, my old spirit. She doesn't care about mice or toads or crickets. Instead, she concentrates on the coolness of the floor, our quiet companionship, the comfort of the sun or blowing fan. We stretch together on a daily basis--hand to paw.

In the studio, Louie and Ella come to visit, too. Life feels normal there. Despite boxes.

My most recent work includes a dog named Henry.

"Henry"
6"x12" Oil on Canvas

Henry is hereby the very first portrait that I have completed in my new studio space. These past several weeks have felt more than a little overwhelming with the move on top of an already busy schedule of summer events and projects. There is one thing in the world that puts me right back to center and that is painting. No matter how much I have going on...painting makes me feel calmer in a nano-second. Of course, painting a really great dog makes it even easier to breathe deeper and be inspired.

Thank you, Henry, for making me feel good. :) You were painted in the company of 3 great dogs, double espressos, and some really great music in a fresh, new, and not yet unpacked studio space. You were a perfect beginning to all that is to come.

~

Life in our new place is good.

It is sunny, light-filled, and lofted.

It is filled with love.

~

Good morning.

Need I say more?

~

The Hobbit Castle.

It is a rainy day at our new home on the edge of the universe. I am writing from the loft of the Hobbit Castle (the name appropriately given to this place by the creative and wise Connie). I am surrounded by sleeping dogs and husband, a purring cat at my feet. We moved this past weekend and are finally finding our way towards feeling rested. It was a big move. We have a lot of stuff. I mean, a seriously LOT of stuff. And, anyway, it wasn't just our house we were moving, it was the studio, too. That, my friends, is a lot of moving!

This post isn't turning out nearly as poetic as I was hoping for, but I will say that we love it out here. I'm quite positive that I have never seen my animals so happy--all 5 of them! We've been having problems with the well and even though we've been without running water for the past 3 days, I STILL love it out here! Did I mention that we don't have propane for the stove yet either? It's a bit rustic out here at this point...but we DO have electricity! I admit, I love rustic. It makes me feel grounded. It makes me feel connected.

Seriously, I am beside myself with happiness. A calm, comforted, deep breathing sort of happiness.

The rain slides down the big, slanted windows in the living room. A blue heron stands hunkered down in the middle of the pond. Last night we listened to the howling and yipping of coyotes. There are more stars out here then we know what to do with.

I don't know why I was away from this kind of life for so long, but I will say that it feels really, really, deeply good to be back.

And now...I am off to brew a pot of coffee and walk through the rain over to the studio with all of my wet dogs. There is still so much unpacking left to do...and yet I am enjoying every step of it. I am exactly where I am meant to be. And that is a very, very good feeling.

“I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life. To put to rout all that was not life and not when I had come to die discover that I had not lived.” ~Henry David Thoreau.

~

Wanna be my fan?

Join me on Facebook! I've finally created a Stray Dog Arts page. Hurray!
Of course, everything is better when it includes friends!

Stray Dog Arts on Facebook

red beans. white bowl.

At the moment I am eating a bowl of red kidney beans with a spicy tomato sauce and Indian spices. I have a cup of French press coffee by my side that I have yet to taste. I got home earlier today from a short camping trip with my dad, siblings and family.

I keep writing sentences and then deleting them. I am trying to get at the essence of now, but the only thing that seems to be able to contain it is this steaming, bowl of bright red beans.

Vinny headed out to "the farm" with a load of stuff. I hung back at home with 2 extremely tired dogs and the intention of getting some painting done. Instead, I've spent the past couple hours unloading kitchen shelves, washing fine china, and preparing to move. I think it's starting to finally sink in. Although we've been slowly packing and moving stuff for the past few weeks, it finally dawned on me today that we are, in fact, really moving. We rented a truck and will haul the majority of our stuff, including the furniture this coming Sunday. One week!

Here my last post is all about optimism and yet, over and over, I keep noticing an irritating feeling of apprehension dull my excitement every once in awhile. I think of all the people I've heard say that they don't want to get excited about one thing or another until it actually happens. They hold back, using this delayed sense of excitement as a buffer, a safety precaution to ward off possible disappointment. They tell themselves not to get excited until it has become a tangible reality--and, even then, they sometimes hold back. I never understood that. It seemed a little bit absurd to me to pass up on any sort of opportunity that presents even the smallest morsel of hope or happiness. Why not get excited about the possibility of something good happening?

But now I understand. I guess getting hurt will sometimes do that to a person. I hate to admit that there is a little part of me that is afraid of dreaming too big or, sometimes, even at all. There's a wee little lingering part of me that is afraid that someone will pull the floor out from under me again. Afraid that I will set myself up for stupid failure.

And yet I am grateful for the awareness of this fear. It is, after all, a vague feeling. It is a feeling that is always accompanied by a sense of hopelessness. I have been truly feeling like this move is an opportunity for me to change some bad habits, explore new opportunities, and to finally follow through on some lingering desires. When I get into the center of those thoughts, all of my doubts just disappears. Quickly, magically, immidiately. POOF! Everything is possible. There is no need to give up. There is hope...yes, even for me.

This weekend, while my family was all out hiking, I laid in the tent alone and cried. Big, fat cleansing tears. I realized how absolutely exhausted I was. I remembered how powerful I am, how powerful every single one of us is...if we chose to believe that. I thought about how small exhaustion makes me feel. How powerless I am when it takes hold of me. These days I am learning how to bring my life back to center. I have a lot to learn, but one thing I know for sure is that to continue to work at the pace I have been is insane.

Lately, I often imagine myself walking through the vineyard with all three dogs running along side me. That feels sane. I imagine myself going for afternoon hikes in the woods and letting my mind wander. That, too, feels sane. And I think about how I will manage my time between computer work, painting, and meeting with people in the city. In the haphazard current of these thoughts I am beginning to understand that there is only one way to change anything and that is to

LET GO.

Yadda, yadda, yadda...I read about letting go over and over and over. It makes perfect sense. Right? Of course it does...in theory.

It seems that I'm taking the long way around...writing myself to some sort of deeper understanding about all the mixed thoughts that bumble or blaze through my head during the course of a day.

Here's the deal....
I have to let go of the feeling of apprehension that something is going to go wrong and that I am going to feel stupid, naive and let down because of it.
I have to let go of the belief that I am always going to have to work hard to get by.
I have to let go of the idea that I am lacking some magical quality that other successful people possess.
I have to let go of the fear of "not enough"(especially when it comes to time and money).

I mean, I really seriously, deeply need to let go of these things. Belief in myself and the universe has been tested pretty thoroughly on a few occasions these past couple years. Once when I parted ways with my dreams of teaching university level writing and again when I walked away from last winter's partnership and studio space. Both were, in their own ways, necessary experiences. Both taught me the necessity of being true to myself. And yet, in those moments before letting go, there was a very important ingredient missing. I can't quite put my finger on what that ingredient was, but it had something to do with alignment. The most worthwhile part is that I literally feel myself growing from these experiences--like the thick-stemmed tomato plants I planted in our new garden last week--I feel myself growing from the inside out and the outside in.

Anyway...this is just me rambling, trying to capture this time of in-between. When I relax I realize how much I miss writing, how much I miss this blog, how much I miss those little moments of connecting with the thoughts that run through my brain.

The kitchen was the first room I unpacked when we moved into this house. I remember that first morning. We were so exhausted and yet the sun was so beautifully bright. My world sparkled. The ivy covering the windows glowed an emerald green. I made 2 cappuccinos--one for me and one for my husband--and they were the most beautiful cappuccinos either of us have ever had. These days, that same kitchen is dimmed by dust. Ivy has not graced the windows since it was torn down by the painters last summer.

And so...I am happy to be washing the comfortable cups and saucers brought from Italy by Vinny's grandma. Now that I've given them some attention, I like the way the ice cream bowls handed down from my mom have regained their glassy sparkle. It makes me feel good to carefully fill a sink of soapy water with fine bone china and then, one by one, rinse them and set them on a white towel to dry in preparation for something new. I thrive on new. And yet I hold dear those old things that make me who I am.

Red beans in a white bowl. A cup of coffee. A sleeping suckling dog. Funny how such simple things possess everything I need. Funny how often I need to remind myself that everything is as possible as I allow it to be.

~

Optimism.

I can't help it. I'm an optimist. My husband says I'm an idealist. He calls himself a realist (which, let's admit, is pretty much just a slight upgrade from being a pessimist). I was mildly surprised when he didn't call me a dreamer. I was prepared to argue. I won't argue with being an idealist though--because it's true. I tend to walk around with an ideal version of what I want things to look like or turn out like or...yeah...I keep it tucked somewhere at the back of my eyeballs and I'll be damned if I'm gonna give up trying to manifest it on one level or another. I do this with painting, with living, with writing, with everything. Leah says I'm stubborn. And, yes, that would be true, too. Dang, I just love her--because she's honest and I couldn't agree with her more.

Sometimes my version of "ideal" changes. But one thing I'm fairly certain of is that my ideal version of life doesn't look like most people's. If it did, I'm pretty sure that I would not get so excited about the potential of a dirtly ol' garage in the middle of nowhere.

The garage, an earth-home constructed workshop, is about to become the home of the Stray Dog Arts studio. I've been letting my imagination run away from me on a fairly regular basis and am looking forward to the two larger-than-life paintings that I'd like to start once I get moved in. One will be of an English Mastiff named Beatrice. The other one will be of my grandpa. For some reason, it fascinates me to paint the two of them at the same time. I admit that painting my grandpa scares me. I'm afraid that painting him is going to make me love him even more. This scares me because, no matter how lucky you are, grandpas don't get to live forever. I guess that's one thing that grandpas and dogs have in common--and I love both, dearly. Come to think of it, that old garage that I am turning into my studio reminds me of my grandpa--completely--and that's probably one of the reasons I like it so much.

It even has a window that looks like it belongs on the side of a ship (not that my grandpa ever had a ship). On the other side of those big windows is where the garden starts. Despite the late start, I am planting bright red sunflowers and riotous bursts of zinnias. We'll also scatter some butterfly garden seeds, carrots, and sugar snap peas. I like imagining what it will be like to get lost in work up to the workbench and then look up into a world of bloom. I've been calling this year my year of "wild bloom." I had no idea that it would manifest itself so literally. Then again, this year has been full of surprises. This surprise just happens to be heavenly.


Although we don't technically move in for another 2 weeks, today Vinny and I spent several hours tilling the new garden space (and if you've ever done much gardening, you probably know just how difficult this is to do!). Behind the studio we'll plant tomatoes, more sunflowers, moon flowers, potatoes, peppers, string beans, spinach, lettuce, swiss chard, zucchini and some basil. I love it that I am going to be surrounded by growing things! Anyway, I've been meaning to give you a brief introduction to our new place and so here it is.

Here's to the optimism of growth. Here's to turning a dirty old garage into the best place on earth. Here's to bursting into wild bloom. Here's to turning inside out in the process. Here's to remembering who we are. Here's to living authentically. Here's to breathing deep and being crowded with unexpected joys.

~

Wreck This Journal :: Stress Reducing Activities.

“Every act of creation is first of all an act of destruction"
~Pablo Picasso.

This is the post where I break in my new book. I'm quite positive that there were other things I should have been doing, but what can I say? I was feeling inspired. ;)



The Next Chapter: Wreck This Journal by Keri Smith.

~

rambling little snap shot of here and now (including a pre-introduction to me as I begin to Wreck this Journal)

Wow, I am incredibly tired. It is 11pm and I have not even had time to check my email yet today. This is unheard of. The same thing happened yesterday. It is normally one of the very first things I do every morning. And I mean every morning. I fear that I will have a mountain of emails to catch up with, but I am not even going to attempt it tonight. Right now I'm not even going to try and put together interesting sentences. I simply want to write. I want to tell you about my cat who is laying upside down in the warmth of the lamp glow with her paws stretching out towards me. She wriggles around and purrs and drives me crazy because she's messing up my stuff. And, yet, I love the expression on her face so much that I let her do it anyway. I want to tell you about how much my fingers hurt from working so much all week. Gawd, they hurt. And yet, today I noticed that, for the first time in my life, I am enjoying my hands and the way they look. I've always hated my hands because I have short, stubby fingers. But today I fell in love with them because they are doing exactly the work they were meant to do.

I also want to tell you how much I am enjoying this process of change. I feel like I am finally returning to myself after being away on a long journey. I admit, the journey wasn't even all that interesting, but I was away, nonetheless. I want to tell you about how much I am looking forward to what is to come. What is to come, you ask? Well, in a way, it is merely more of the same. The only thing that will be different is the location and angle of light shed upon my days. But who am I kidding? There will be lots of little things that change--and that is exactly what it is that I'm looking forward to.

In other news, this past weekend's art fair was a great success. It was my first "real" art fair, starting on Friday and ending on Sunday. I sold out of all my prints (had a ton of them) on Friday. Stayed up all night making more. Saturday was cold and rainy, but Sunday I nearly sold out again. I also managed to land 6 more commissions. This makes me supremely happy. Or maybe relieved would be a better word? Happy, relieved, tired. That's how I feel.

It was a lot of work, but I'm looking forward to the idea of doing more of these sorts of things in the future. Am I becoming an art fair carnie? Ha! Well, probably not, but I have decided that it is worth the pain and agony of schlepping my artwork and tent around in the cold and rain. Not to mention, I met some very cool people in the process. Mostly in the form of customers.

Today I hung a show. Funny, but it's not even a big deal any more. I did it by myself (normally my husband or brother helps me). Threw it in the car 15 minutes before I had to be there. Got frustrated when things wouldn't hang straight. Didn't waste time with placement. Didn't get nervous or worried. I just did it. Some things do get easier with practice.

Tomorrow I will attempt to climb the email pile, excavate mountains (closets, drawers, cabinets, boxes) of junk in preparation for a big moving (art and yard!) sale this weekend, meet with someone whose organization is using my artwork for an animal rescue event, declutter my studio (which looks like an art fair explosion), and let's not forget the most important part: I need to paint.

This post is boring. Mostly I'm just busy blowing magic out of my ass. And, actually, this is something I feel like I'm getting awfully good at. I do, however, notice an ever rising need for rest. You know...like the sort of sleep that comes in the form of long afternoon naps, in hammocks and on couches; relaxation that takes the form of books and movies; and quiet connection that is possible only through the act of letter writing.

Somehow I'll get through the next month. I'm not sure how, but it will happen. In the meantime, here I am recording my life in order to make sense of it later.

By the way, I am also looking forward to blogging about a current endeavor of Wreck This Journal. God, I love that book! At the moment, my book is still in pristine condition. This is gonna change as of tomorrow morning! For now, please consider this an introduction to the current state of my life.

If you don't already know me, I'm in the process of moving. I'm also in the process of learning and growing. I'm in a perpetual state of having bit off more than I can chew. I tend to dive, not jump. Life interests me greatly and there is just never enough of me to drink it all in. I figure that there are worse problems to have.

Here's to making a beautiful mess.

Peace and love to you, friends.
j.

transitional...

It is much too early to be up, but I've given up on sleep. Actually, it feels kinda good to be awake. The sky is somewhere between night and morning. The birds are just barely beginning their overload of chirping.

Vinny and I went out to our new place yesterday and it was my first time seeing it since we originally went to look at it. We brought the dogs and our first small load with us--and (holy wow) it was just as incredible as I remembered it. I've never seen Louie and Ella so happy to be somewhere. Being "city dogs," I expected them to be reluctant or nervous--nope(!), they act like they've returned to a place they've known and loved forever. Anu, my wolfie, is a country girl. No doubt she'll fit right right back into it. But the ridiculous amounts of happiness in Louie and Ella's eyes and bodies was something to be behold. Zowzers!

A lot like the dogs, I couldn't drink it in deep enough (the smells, the sky, the quiet). I am looking forward to taking daily walks in the vineyard, the habits of undisturbed painting, and stepping outside every morning to the hush of a new world.

God, I am ready for this. The best part is that this relatively unexpected turn of events feels perfectly natural. As we drove home we noted how life can take us in directions that we could never imagine until we get there. Gosh, and I feel weepy as I write this. Not weepy sad...but weepy full of life. Glass half full, glass overflowing sort of full.

Yes, it feels good to be awake and writing. I couldn't sleep because I have a whirlwind of thoughts inside of me trying to find a plan and some sense of organization within me. After returning from "the farm" (it's not a farm, we just like calling it that) I found myself persistently whining to Vinny that I wanted to go back--and when I wasn't whining this thought to him, he was whining it to me. Technically, the place is not ours for another 4-6 weeks, depending on how quickly we get our current place rented out. We've been granted permission to start moving stuff into the garage and to use the garden, but it looks like we'll be in Limbo Land for at least a few more weeks.

Once home, despite the fact that I should be doing nothing else but preparing for a big art fair next weekend, I spent several hours packing and rearranging the house in preparation for stacking boxes. Our current house has hereby taken on a very definate "temporary" feel. The living room is a stack of both empty and full boxes and the dining room is nothing more than a table pushed to the window to make room for even more boxes.

We have an incredible amount of STUFF and this, along with my many work related summer projects, is what kept me up all night. I have no idea how I am going to make everything happen. But I do know that miracles do happen on a regular basis and that it will be worth every single sleepless night.

The house we're moving into is roughly half the size of what we're living in now. I am completely unwilling to take anything with me that no longer serves me. This is a liberating feeling...if only there was more time to focus on it. I laid in bed all night chewing on these muddy, disorganized thoughts...but then I got up and, as I brewed a cup of coffee, it dawned on me that this can look any way I want it to. It's all a matter of perspective, baby.

I might not have a lot of time on my side, but what I do have is the power of intention. I can intend for this to go gracefully, smoothly, quickly. After all, I have only spent a few hours on packing so far and, except for furniture, I have nearly emptied two rooms. Of course, the junk that once inhabited those rooms is mostly in boxes piled in the basement...but who's to say those piles won't go quickly also?

My goal? My goal is to have a massive rummage sale and to have nearly everything except our furniture and clothes moved by the end of June. It makes me nervous not knowing when we have to be out of this house, but I want to be ready when the time comes. I'm perfectly happy to live like I'm camping in this house until we're actually able to legitimately move into the new place.

And I realize that this blog post is probably completely mind numbing to the world at large, but (amazingly) I'm just writing this for myself (guess you'll have to just bare with me). Once upon a time, I used my blog for this kind of writing all the time. I miss that. It feels good to finally be able to let my guard down, to ramble, and to bore my readers to death. It means that my life is finally lacking editable drama--and I like it that way.

These days I feel myself returning to my whole self. I feel myself returning to and moving towards a cumulative power of being. My writing brain is rusty, but the sun has now risen fully. A new stage of the journey...this is always the best part: the beginning.

~

50 acres of wild and a whole lotta hobbit hole happiness...

Three years ago we moved into a magical little ivy-covered bungalow. It was everything we hoped for, dreamed of, and wanted. I wrote a note to the Universe detailing the specifics of my what I wanted in a home and it was delivered with shocking accuracy. Not to mention, we found it through what I can only describe as divine intervention (a story too long to tell right now, but perhaps you'll just believe me). This place has served us well. Our front door faces a 500+ acre park and our back yard overlooks the Minneapolis skyline. We're 5 minutes from down town and hardly a hop and a skip into the park. The past 3 years, in many ways, have been kind to us. This place has allowed Vinny and I to grow and change and grow some more.

But then one day we realized that this magical little home had served its purpose and that we were beginning to outgrow it. The loveliness wore off and we began to feel a bit suffocated. The ivy was torn off by hired painters, we adopted two more dogs and, well, for no particular reason at all, the place just sort of lost its sparkle for us. We became hungry, once again, for stars and wildness and privacy. We became hungry for sky and space and the kind of nature that a city park just doesn't satisfy.

And so, about a month ago, we started dreaming about the possibilities. I started journaling and list-making about what we wanted. Vinny and I spoke our far-fetched dreams out loud with each other. Then I wrote another letter to the Universe, put it in my "Wish Box" and two days later...

Oh, sweet wildness!!

We got everything we were dreaming for and WAY MORE!!!! I can't help myself...I am giddy with excitement! Today we signed a lease for 50 acres of wilderness. Would it be obvious if I told you that it was love at first sight? Oh my, such an understatement! I don't even know where to begin! (I hate being so dramatic about things, but it really is worthy of giddiness and exclamation points!!)

OK, so how 'bout I start with a description...

50 acres of wildness, 5 acres of vineyard, a pond, endless trails, sprawling hardwood forests, an old railroad bridge and views that take your breath away, a loooooong and winding driveway, compete privacy. We'll live in an earth home (our sweet lil' hobbit hole) complete with an open loft (my office), wood stove, passive solar heat (read: super energy efficient and LOTS of light), gravity fed water from the crystal clear center of the earth delivered via a working windmill....

AND last, but not least(!)...

a separate earth-home-constructed workshop/STUDIO complete with big windows, big walls, big space and running water!!! Oh, holy wonderful!!! Did I mention the big garden that's tucked behind it? Did I mention the graceful white crane, the deer, the beaver lodge and nesting geese? Did I mention the giant weeping willow, the quiet, and the happy beating of my heart?

Seriously people. The place stole our hearts and our breath.

It is in the middle of no where and, despite the remoteness of it all, there was a steady stream of lookers to see the place. 20, 30...?? What the hell? I had never seen such a turn out! We wanted it bad. And we also knew the fact that we have (not one, not two, not three, but) FIVE pets might be an issue.

Vinny and I explored the trails and vineyard and--Oh, holy beautiful!!! It was so amazing that the shine that was beaming out of me nearly dissolved my skin!

I returned to the hobbit hole (where he was already talking to the next group of people) to leave our information. By that point, I'm fairly certain that my glow was bright enough to blind just about anyone. I gave him my phone number and quietly gushed that we loved it. He got it. He picked up on it. Know what I mean? And in that moment I felt something click into place. You know that click? The one that happens when something is about to change? That good feeling click...you know the one I'm talking about? Yes, that's the one.

It clicked.
And now, despite the crowd, despite our huge animal family, despite all the things that could have gone wrong...
the lease is signed.

I've already brought home my first load of boxes.
The packing begins!

~

cheap thrills...

*Late night photo shoot with a Great Dane. Laying on the ground outside with my camera. Bad photos. Inspired to do it again.

*The soft smell of lavender incense.

*ipod playing on shuffle...India rhythms getting into my bones.

*$5 rummage sale find: a little red table that will work perfectly for my booth at upcoming art fairs.

*Open windows.

*Vacuumed floors (it's shedding season!).

*A vase filled with lilacs, sitting to the left of my computer (mmmmm....drinking in the smell) some from my yard and some from the neighbor's across the alley, resulting in a perfect combination of purple.

*Drinking coffee from a perfect handmade porcelain mug purchased on Etsy from this girl.

*Meeting with friends for lunch at an inexpensive Lebanese Restaurant where people at the tables next to you treat you like family.

*And, of course, the possibilities... those endless possibilities.

Here's to noticing the little things. ;)
j.

~

Turn-around time.

I am glad to finally be really and truly out from under the black cloud that has been following me since this past January. I like to think of myself as resilient and optimistic, but the details of life have surely challenged this notion. It is a relief to finally be feeling a sense of hope and inspiration on a much more even plane--not just the stops and starts I was temporarily experiencing before.

At the moment, there is a pile of dogs at my feet. They are sharing a bone--each chewing on an end in a Zen-like snuggle. For real, where did I find such generous, gorgeous beings? So much love seems absurd and, yet, there they are laying on the floor next to me. I like the little sounds they make. They make my world feel grounded and real and complete.

Earlier today, while on our morning walk, I turned left where I normally turn right. The path took us into the woods, a place where I rarely go since adopting 2 more dogs (after all, walking 3 dogs takes considerable concentration). It felt good. Actually, it felt more than good. Having been a long time since my last visit to that wild part of the world, it felt new and unexplored. Down a trail deeper in the park, we came across enormous oak trees that had fallen in a storm and were being cut up. A bramble of fallen logs and dead fall--the spongy wet smell of freshly sawed wood was intoxicating to the dogs and myself, alike. So intoxicating that I went flying and stubbed my flip-flopped toe good. The result was bright red blood and the most concerned look from my babe, Ella, that I've ever seen. Happiness was tested: felt more love than hurt and reveled at the loveliness of the morning, despite my newly acquired hobble.

I sit here drinking a cup of freshly brewed Columbian coffee--oh, such a dusty, sweet, earthy flavor (yum!)--getting ready to take on another day. Yesterday I started a new series of paintings that feel delicious and different. I am working on sponsorship packages to pay for several thousand dollars of marketing and event costs for an upcoming exhibition. I am feeling audacious. I am feeling hopeful. I am feeling like I have something to give in return.

Finally, once again, I fit my own skin.

Who knew that these past several months would mess me up so thoroughly? Who knew it would take so long to get from one side to the other? Granted, I'm not expecting life to get "easy." After all, like usual, I've bitten off almost more than I can chew. But something tells me that I'm headed in the right direction.

There are two phrases that keep repeating themselves in my head. The first are Obama's words: "The audacity of hope." The second is: "Never give up."

Here's the deal: There is nothing about my situation that is deserving of audacity or hope. There is nothing about my situation that guarantees that persistence will ever get me anywhere. I'm broke. My bank account is dangerously close to $0. The economy is in shambles. I work out of a studio in my basement. I have no idea if anything I ever do will ever amount to anything.

And YET...I feel HOPE. There is a sense of fearlessness that outweighs my fears--maybe just barely, but barely is just enough. Bare amounts of fearlessness is enough to push past the discomfort. It is just enough to instigate bravery. It amazes me how easy it is to slip into complacency. It's easier to simply do whatever is on the to-do list than it is to stretch beyond our own self-made boxes. But that is where hope lives. It lives in the what's-just-outside-of-what-we-already-know.

Anyway, these days I am striving to paint things in ways that I am inspired to paint them. I am inspired by 6 foot paintings and 6 inch paintings. I am reawakened by the extremes and comforted by the soft breeze that blows through an open window. I am inspired by my friends. I am inspired by what I do not yet know.

Life is moving on. Sometimes the turn-around time just takes patience.

Message for the day: NEVER GIVE UP.

Namaste,
j.

~

sunshine inspiration.

At the moment I am burning Sunrise incense and drinking a double espresso out of a small white cup. The morning sun is spilling across the dining room table where I sit with my laptop and journal, surrounded by color.

There are paintings leaned and stacked against the walls. There are candles and books and piles of magazines. A colorful rug, a purse, plants, and pottery. To be honest, this room is in sort of a jumble right now and, yet, it feels good when washed with so much sun.

I find myself hungry for words lately. And so I find myself returning to this space more often. Good thing, because I did not enjoy the absence.

I feel life "moving on"--and I like the way that feels, immensely.

I have so much to say! So many things that I have been thinking about, pondering, discovering, wondering....

This morning the world feels full of possibility. I mean, what if it is ALL possible? What if we are capable of much more than we realize? What if we found a way to make things happen?

Because when we really, really want something, I think the rest has a way of falling into place.

Dream in action. Stretch. Believe. Be Brave.

~

the verdict?

We found the 80 acres magical. Unfortunately, we found the leaking ceilings, the crumbling plaster walls, the sculpted gold shag carpet, and the toilet that was about to fall through the second-story bathroom floor less than magical. Old farm houses are bound to have their drawbacks, but this one had just a few too many of them. Yes, it is unfortunate because it certainly did come close to fitting our dream criteria-- including the claw foot tub, an old country sink in the kitchen, and a studio with extra high ceilings. After all, these things were on my list of dream details (written in a list the day before...and then they showed up!). It amazes me how the things I want have a way of manifesting themselves. It doesn't always happen, but when I really, really want something with nothing but a pure heart...there it is.

Granted, the place we looked at didn't meet all of our hopes (the layout was off and so were the house's "vibes"), but it did plant a seed. We had never been to that area of the state before and, well...we fell in love with it. "Only" 45 minutes away from the city and yet an entire world away. It is a place made up entirely of rolling hills, hardwoods, pine, and a sunset that took our breathes away. There are endless bends of rivers and creeks and dirt roads. We saw horses, deer, wild turkey and pheasant. And a nearly full moon rose full and fat over all of it. Who knows what we might find one of these days when all the details of the universe fall into perfect alignment. When something is right, we know it with our whole being. That place came close, but not quite.

I will say, however, that simply the idea of it lit a whole new circle of fires within me. Sometimes I can't get this idea machine of mine to turn off--this is both a blessing and a curse. The importance and meaningfulness of these ideas come in various depths, but it's the ones that cause cellular shifts that are the most satisfying of all. Oh, Life. I am full to the brim with inspirations that fill my heart to the point of overflowing.

This evening I went to my 9 year old nephew's school play. It was a story about the moon. Being (the most amazing) Montessori students, they wrote, choreographed and visioned the entire play themselves. It was over two hours long--an amazing endeavor considering their ages (9-12 year old). The music, comprised of several variations of drums, xylophones, xylorimbas, and flutes, caused shivers to run up and down the length of my spine. The play was sweet and funny, but it was also deep and wise. It was filled with enough magic to transport me completely.

At one point they turned down the lights completely. The darkness filled with firefly light of the kids' dancing and swirling--and it awakened something inside me...how that happens is hard to explain, but magic is a pattern that I welcome wholeheartedly. It returns in little dips and doses and, for this, I am grateful. I had been living without it for much too long.

~