More Farewells to Summer

The water is cooling.  It takes more effort to jump in and more time to adjust. 
But it's worth it.  Swimming in cool water is good.















This afternoon's swim felt like a bit like a ritual.  The thing I like best about the bottle photo,  aside from the ultra cool
Anti -Summer Poppet (2009),






is that, reflected in the curve of the bottle, you can see me holding the camera(bottom left), the yellow deck chairs, blue skies and green palm trees. 

 It's a reflection and only for a moment. 

But it was a moment I lived. 

All our moments are

bigger
inside
than
out. 

Light Finds Us

  This morning the air had a hint of cool.  Instead of grabbing a tank from the endless tank basket, I chose a comfortable shirt, twisted my hair (when did it get so long?) into something between a ponytail and bun and started this day that seems to be the start of more.
Because it is.
  For me, the end of summer is significant.  Summers are harsh in the desert.  My garden is dead.  That in itself isn't a problem.  I happen to find great beauty in my collection of leafless branches.  The "skeletons" of trees can be very sculptural and our yard is about as Addams Family as one can be in Palm Springs.  Soon enough, flowers will start to bloom all around us.  After Halloween, they'll bloom here too.
  Farther out, the world is a scary mess, the US is confused and divided and humans are worried.

 I'm one of them. I made this doodle while watching the news from Libya and the death of ambassador Stevens.

  Today is shaping up pretty much like the rest of the week.  Poppet Planet's orders got way behind thanks to a nasty cold, so I've been working long hours to catch everything up.  It's working well so far - poppets seem to be heading out my door in a steady stream and there are only three custom orders.  And one mad poppet laboratory that needs some serious maintenance.

  But yesterday I swept it aside to make this drawing because it couldn't/wouldn't wait.  Neither could the writing to go with it.  Sometimes it's just like that.  When you gotta draw, you gotta draw.  It seems we spend too much energy running from Sadness when we should embrace her.  Sadness is a teacher.  Everywhere she goes, light follows.  I hope you find peace today.

Light Finds Us
  
 

Small world. Big wind.

  As Orion began to improve, I took a turn for the worse.  My world has been very, very small for a couple of days and time went away. Two days of a wracking cough and the grey fuzz of medications, soup and reading and I'm somewhat better.  I was lucky to be able to rest straight through.  There have been times when that wasn't possible.  Colds go hard on me.  
Things got a little interesting these last few minutes.   The wind broke through the stillness we've had all day.  It picked up fast and we went outside to discover the air full of dust.  My first thoughts were of fire, but the smell was of the Salton Sea and a great deal of dust - enough to sting our eyes and turn the air brown.

This feels wrong, this wind coming from the east instead of through the mountain pass.  A cicada followed us in and seemed quite happy to hang out on my hand.  I enjoyed it for a little while but I may not be awake much longer so I put it outside in an open box.  It can fly away after the storm if it likes, or with the box if it gets much worse.  If I find it gone I'll wish it well.  If I find it dead I'll save it for art.
   Stories often start with weird weather.  As a long-time reader of fiction, I find tales in the wind.  As of late though, the weird weather brings questions instead and some worry.   Poppets tell me worry won't help.  Getting well will.  So I'm off to my books, broths and sleep, hoping the best for humans - and cicadas - tomorrow.

Justice

Mostly sick today and yesterday.  Summer colds for Orion and me.  A lot of reading, a bit of movie watching.  Not too much thinking.  Don't like thinking much when I'm not feeling well.  Thinking makes me want to do lots of things.  Doing lots of  things doesn't help colds get better.

 Now, a bit of downloading photos until the cold meds kick in, then more reading. Hope your Wednesday is good.

Justice:

Nuisance plus one.

  For creative types who work at home, holiday - schmoliday is often the norm.  This morning was no exception, so I shuffled toward the coffee maker as per usual just as the sun's light made it over the roof to touch the backyard fence.  Time to open the kitchen door and admit our nuisance of cats.  Five now, with the addition of Astro.
 Only this morning, there were six. 
One of these things is not like the others, I realized, bleary-eyed.  It is one of the 'neighborhood cats'  who just wandered in with my herd.
When I put him outside, two of my own ran out too.

So the crazy cat lady stirs a little milk into her coffee, checks on her sleeping son and begins her day.

This could be the beginning of a whole new phase of weirdness.  I'm okay with that. 

Collective nouns for cats: from Fun With Words

clowder	of	cats
clutter	of	cats
glaring	of	cats
pounce	of	cats
dout	of	cats (house cats)
nuisance	of	cats (house cats)
kendle	of	cats (kittens)
kindle	of	cats (kittens)
litter	of	cats (kittens)
destruction	of	cats (wild cats

 

More little things

  I found myself overwhelmed.  Again.  Still adjusting to a recent paradigm shift in which I stop seeing my unfinished projects as burdens, enemies or failures.  I begin to understand that planning art isn't working as well as letting it happen.  I have two unfinished book projects and half a dozen large pieces in the works and lists of inspired ideas. Waiting.
  I also have a household.  A ship in the desert that must be maintained and fueled.  And the world of Poppets.
  So yeah, like most humans, often I pick up more plates than I can juggle.  I don't like doing anything unless I can do it well.  I'm just made that way.  That includes writing here. So I tend to skip it until I have time to give it my full attention.
Right.  Maybe I'll try doing it half-assed for awhile, so that I at least show up.
  So here's a mixed bag of little things from this past week:

  The weather in the desert has been really, really weird. Feels more like Florida, especially in my  build-in-the-1950's neighborhood.

 
 
  I've concentrated my studio efforts on catching up custom poppets.  I'll post pictures as I get the photographs done.  Here's "Wolf's Moon" poppet created for Anrica Mills, who lives in South Africa.

 

Yesterday I saw Samsara at the theater with Pete.  Yes, that Pete.  I've been as astounded as anyone that we were able to find a protocol for peace.   I had the opportunity to tell the story to the lovely Valya Lupescu, who visited with her family last week.  I agreed with Valya, it's a good story, but I won't add it to my list.  It's in me and will show itself in the work.   I highly recommend Samsara.  Please see it on the big screen while it's available.

 

I continue to fear for humans.  I'm taking small steps to be part of the 'solution.' I'm from a generation of wastefulness, even though my parents weren't wasteful.  It's a frustrating thing.  For example, I make an effort to conserve water, yet there are over a hundred golf courses in this desert.  Cloud Atlas teaches me that though I'm only a drop in the proverbial bucket, the oceans are made up of drops.

With that in mind, I'm seeing all sorts of small changes I can make.  I can stop purchasing useless products, freeing up money for things I actually care about.  I can use less paper, fewer chemicals, waste less time too.

 

I'll make a real effort to post specifics here. But now, I must get into the studio.  Poppets must travel.

Hope your Saturday is good.

Back Detail

   
       It's a little thing, but I thought to show you how I've been backing small prints and cards that go with Poppets.  Sometimes we buy prints and they end up curled in their mailers or stacked in envelopes waiting for framing that doesn't happen for ages because life has other plans.  By attaching backs with little hangers, we can at least have the option of putting them up. 
  I also find this a good way to handle kids drawings and photographs too.  A bit more polished than thumb tacks but simple and light.

  I have a paper cutter but this can also be done with scissors or a razor and ruler.

  I use a sturdy card backing board I get from Papermart, but you could use any mid weight cardboard.  This board  is just slightly heavier than the paper from a cereal box.

 

I start by backing the print or tag with one layer of cardboard using a strong spray adhesive. There are several brands available.  Then I line up the print and punch holes for the hangers.

 

I tie a loop of string - I use bow string but a heavy crochet or other would work too.

Then a bit of tape.

  After the string is secured, I glue this board to the one on the back of the print.  Don't forget to make sure you have the hangers at the right end!

Here's a set of four cards, printed as mirror images, so that the back will look like this:

To finish up, I lightly sand the edges of the print or card with a sanding block.  Some people are surprised to find that paper can be sanded.  I was too.  It's very effective to give a finished edge, especially when several boards are glued together.

Finally, I edge the print or card with a paint marker or I sponge acrylic paint to give a finished edge to the cardboard.

 

And I end up with a bit of art  ready to hang until it's framed, or not.

Or a tag that can serve as a bookmark or hang around for fun.  It's one way to turn a photograph or drawing into a gift.  You can make something unique and personal. 

 

It's a little thing, but sometime it's the little things that brighten a day.  Hope yours is good.

 

Behind the Scenes on the way to Autumn

   More on Autumn:

    "This Way to Autumn" Poppet, who so wants to be a garden sculpture.  I imagine her in hydrostone or even bronze, with leaves that can be changed out with the seasons. 
  If you know someone who wants to make that happen, please send that human my way so we can do so.
In the meantime, she about 3 1/2 inches tall.

The image for illustration.

Photos  between.


























And our Poppets in the studio.

  Hope your week is going well.  Humid here in the desert, scary stuff on the news, cats like rugs on the floor.  Me - music and work.  I'll take it.







 

Be careful what you wish for.

  In interviews and convention programs, I'd talk about the challenges involved in making large kinetic sculptures.  I grew fond of telling humans that I liked the excitement of "operating just on the edge of failure."  Certainly there is a thrill when we push ourselves to the edge of our abilities.  It's an exploration of the unknown and it is both stressful and satisfying to succeed.  I had exactly five months to finish "Dark Caravan's" roller coaster.  It was everything you can imagine.
  In the summer of 2006, Ben Warren and I were just starting to get Strange Studios off the ground.  We had a number of employees, several interns.  They had salaries and dental insurance and our days were fast and furious.  I remember standing with my feet in the pool, talking  on the phone to a casting foundry  while Ben scouted locations for new work space.    It was exciting. We were pushing our limits.  We were in new territory.  Finally we had a studio that might help support us and our families so we could make kinetic pieces that would wow us.   Then the economy failed, my marriage failed and I passed the age at which my mother's cancer took her - all in a matter of months.  Ben lost his second business, his health and very nearly his home.  We lost our employees and our plans. 
  It was some time after that that I understood what it was to "operate just on the edge of failure."  There were some truly Faustian moments. Financially, emotionally and physically, I pushed my limits. I made discoveries.  I made costly personal choices.  My world grew small and plain.   Seasons blew in and out.  The world changed. Life changed.  I changed.  Perceptions, values, priorities all turned on their heads.  Silly humans must adapt.  The alternative is just too unhappy.  Not months of this, but years.
  Finally, I began to learn what sort of artist I was.  Then I began to learn what sort of human I was.    I learned about fear and anger and loss.  I learned about failure and regret.  I learned that I was much less than I thought.  I learned that I was more than I thought.  I learned that I was just like other humans.
  What really got me, finally, was realizing that, as the curriculum of living goes,
these weren't even the advanced classes.
  And then I became humble.   I kept creating.  It became my constant, my outlet, my survival. I learned to tread water, not to look ahead, and that every day didn't have to be a good day to be a cherished day.
 Except when I didn't.  Then I'd fall into the 'hole'  of depression, sit on the bottom for awhile and climb back out again.  Finally, I learned I could rely on myself.
 
   If blogs are supposed to teach, I'm guessing the best I can do is what I've been doing - telling you about my own stumbling efforts.  Hopefully you glean something useful from them.
I'm a little fearful for humanity right about now.  We're in a time of unrest. The weather is worrisome, the US elections too. Poppets teach me that the end was always near and always will be, but also that change is continuous.   It's always something.  Otherwise it's nothing.   And change can be exciting!  Now, we can start our mornings with new pictures from Mars.  There are still humans out there doing amazing things.  That makes me try harder.
 
  Today, I woke up ready to implement the list I made in my head last night, including writing here first thing in the morning.  Then- surprise! - my neighborhood was without power for about eight hours, at between 110 and 113 degrees with tornado warnings.  At first there seemed to be options - things to do that didn't require power were many.  But eventually, it became all about getting through the heat.  Which eventually meant going to the movies and eating at In and Out.  Very SoCal. Very fortunate to have that option. Very fortunate to have power most of the time.

  I want to push my creative limits again.  I may be doing this with books.  We shall see.  It's not going as fast as I'd like.  I'm not operating on the edge of failure anymore.  I don't fail.  I adapt. Humans tend to do this, even when they may not be aware of it.  As individuals and as groups.  I'm going to operate on the edge of a direction.  I'll keep working and stretching.  I'll see what happens.  I'll be present in these moments, except when I'm not.

If you're reading this, I thank you deeply for hanging in with me, to see what happens next. 




 

Working Sunday

I'm sequestered today to write things down.  It's blazing hot outside but in here, the light is working out okay.

Don't overlook the obvious, fool.

  As soon as I sat down to write this, my stomach started to rumble, reminding me that I've had coffee and no breakfast yet, though I've worked in the studio for over two hours.  So I stopped to pour a bowl of Cheerios with a hand full of almonds thrown in.  And some juice.  My knee jerk would've been to grab another cup of coffee, but I remembered a conversation I had with Orion last week about how important breakfast is.  In the middle of it, I'd remembered I hadn't eaten either:

"I have a confession."
"What?"
"I didn't eat breakfast this morning either and I've been up longer than you.  I can't expect you to listen to my advice if I don't follow it myself, can I?"
He took my hand in his small one, looked me in the eye and said," You've been doing that a lot lately, Mom."
And then he gave me the Cheese Touch and victory-danced away.
 
  Maybe you're a professional artist like me, or a writer, or own a small business.  Maybe you're a parent or student.  Maybe you're affected by the recession and pushing hard to recover, or maybe you're putting in extra hours for a project or a better job. Maybe you're dealing with a personal challenge.

  Very likely, where you are today is some combination of the above and whatever that is, you find yourself in a juggling act. You may be running faster and working harder than you ever thought you would, to get to something you might not be sure you want, or that might come on its own if you let it.

I'm going to eat breakfast and swim every day.   I don't know why I stopped but somewhere in there I decided that I didn't have time for it.  I'll make that eye exam appointment, brush and floss, take breaks when I need them.   I'll take my own damned advice.

Thing is, if we don't take care of ourselves, we're already doing a poor job. It's a product of short-sightedness and, in a sense, selfishness.  The stress on our faces affects those around us.  Our energy levels affect our performances overall.

Balls get dropped. 

  If we take  care of our projects, tools and other people and neglect ourselves, the juggling act is just that - an act.

Night Sky

It's summer, so we're probably spending more time outside.  Some of that time may be spent looking up into the night sky.   I know I do - and did.  It's why Pete and I named our son Orion.  Early on, I'd lie on my back in the grass looking up and trying to grasp the enormity of it.  Looking  with my friends, having "what if" sorts of conversations.  Now, advances in science have provided much more information than we had then.  We even have photographs of  places we once could only imagine.  But that information only makes the questions bigger.  I'm one of the humans who likes the questions. They're the stuff that gets me up in the mornings and keeps me going when the going is difficult.

  Some people are so consumed with the questions that they use their great intellects to help us find better ways to ask them.  These are the inventors, the researchers, the explorers.  They are thirsty for answers and eager to share them. 

  Some people don't like looking up.  It makes them uncomfortable or even afraid. Not everyone wants the night sky to remind them of the big questions.  They might quietly make up answers for themselves or decide to believe answers that others made up.  They want nothing to do with the searching and do their best to ignore it.  They contribute in other ways and live their lives looking through their fingers.   They might build shells about their made-up answers.  The shells are question-proof and stuffed with distractions.  They avoid people who question.  They run fast to avoid asking.  Sometimes they can't run fast enough.

 Then, there are people who refuse to look.  They are so terrified of the questions that they try to silence them, sometimes with lies and unkindness.  The questions threaten their comfort zone.  They are willing to hurt or even kill other humans to quiet the questions.  Sometimes this is a few humans and sometimes it's many.
This group includes the passive ones who allow this silencing. 
Don't underestimate how dangerous they are.


Really, the question we ask when we look up at the night sky is, "Who am I?"

It's a big question. 

  Finally, some humans look at the night sky with peaceful longing.  They are sure that whatever the answer might turn out to be, it will lead them home.
Those are the ones who dance.

Listen

I'm listening to the music of Derek Bailey.  It's rich and layered, engaging.  Oddly, I remember an old Sesame Street bit.  Not so very odd on second thought, as it too is about layers of sound.  In it, we enter a room in a typical household where the television is on, a vacuum cleaner running, a dog barking, and a faucet dripping - or so on.  It's been a long time but you get the idea.  In succession, each of these sounds goes away until we're left with only the faucet, then, one by one, they're added again.
  It makes me think about listening.  

   I've been plagued these last months - a year? - with the urge to write.  I call it 'plagued' because this is a very inconvenient time for writing.   I seem to have a lot on my plate.  Then again, it might be possible with better time management and less princess scardy pants.  Most likely, I'm somewhere in the middle of that.

But that's not the point I'm making.

  I'm writing whether I want to or not.  I find myself doing it in bits.  Inconvenient bits.   What does that mean?  I'm also finding it harder and harder to shut off the writing in my head.  That's just part of being human.  Hundreds of words go through our conscious minds every minute. 

  What I'm discovering these last weeks is that I work better, in my visual sort of alphabet, when I can shut that off for a bit.  I can do that easily when watching a movie in the theater.   But it's not so easy to do elsewhere. 

But...the music is there.    One of my favorites is the sounds in a busy restaurant.  I like to close my eyes and listen.  There are layers there, rhythms and notes and textures.

Same in a playground, car, on a hillside, your back yard and one of my favorites - under water.

  It's not as easy as I thought it would be, to listen without speaking in my head.   Maybe it's easier for you.  But I doubt it, because if Poppets have taught me anything about being human, it's that we're more alike than we can ever know when it comes to the basics.  Still, in my experience, it's worth the effort.  Already I can tell a difference.

Listen.  Until you can hear the oboe.  Or the night birds. Or the sound of your own breathing.

One Objective Leads to the Next

 

This from Seth Godin's blog:

Doing the big work (at the little table)

Most of the day is spent in little work. Clerical, bureaucratic, meetings, polishing, improving, reacting, responding.
The obligation is to carve out time for the big work.
The big work that scares you, that brings risk, that might very well fail.
And we're most likely to do that work when it's least expected, when the table is small, the resources are lacking and time is short.
No need to wait for permission or the lightning bolt of inspiration. The big work is available to you as soon as you decide to do it.

 ___

Seth's words really hit home for me.  In my universe, the Big Work is putting together a book. The book.  That's the project that scares me.   And he's right - the bits I get done seem to happen when I don't expect them.  At least it's coming along.

 The book is a long-term goal.  I have every reason to expect to meet it.  In the meantime I must control my sense of urgency about it.  The urgency seems to come both from my natural drive and from my natural anxiety.  (I believe drive and anxiety are related.)  And, yes, I'm a bit afraid of it.  But I'm coming around.

In the meantime, I'm working on some involved but less overwhelming projects.  The first is a working Ouija board to be released in August, just as we begin to anticipate Autumn.    The next is to complete a set of Tarot cards.    The idea is to use the momentum from each of these projects to fuel the next.  It will be interesting to see how that goes.




 In the spaces between, Poppets must happen, because they fuel everything else.
  The last few days were spent creating a Space Jockey Poppet.   It encompasses all my nerdy love for the Alien universe and my disappointed longing for Prometheus.  In the end ( as usual )poppet proves to speak better than I.

I won't kid you - this piece was hard work.  But it was really, really fun too. 

One objective leads to the next. 

In between, I'll make some space suited poppets to go along with our Space Jockey.  Here's my question - do I suit them according to Alien or Prometheus?  Or do I allow poppet to make that call for me?   Time will tell, but I'd like to hear what you think.  And any thoughts on Prometheus.


Hope your Sunday is good.  Oh! - and here's the 360 degree view:

 

 

Ghosts

  Summer is here.  We swim in the dark and sleep with no covers, listening to fans blowing and night birds chirping.  The heat comes up with the sun and the crows launch immediately into raucous conversations.   Outside the air shimmers in the heat.  Inside,  we look for ghosts in the darkest corners.  Sometimes they let us find them.

How motivation is working out, so far.

On Motivation and Inspiration.   The latter was quiet, but near.  I think I heard him scuttle about in one dark corner.  I didn't dwell on it, because once I started to work in earnest, I fell into a rhythm and began to chip away at things that needed my attention.
  I finally was able to finish The Hanged Man Tarot poppet.   I understood why it took so long, finally, because once it was done, I experienced the relief of catharsis.
  I've been the hanged man. But then, you likely already know that.

  Then I finished The Empress who, in person, looks as though she might rise from her seat at any moment.  Neil mentioned the Tarot poppets on Twitter and several people suggested I start a kickstarter project for that.  I think though, I'll continue as is and let it develop over time.   Each time I get a commission for one of the major arcana, I collect the images that will become the cards.  I don't know that this will be the first Tarot deck created from images of three-dimensional work, but I like that aspect.  I'm falling in love with the idea of a poppet deck, for sure.
 The first kickstarter project I try will be for the book.  I haven't talked about it much lately because I was apparently busy figuring things out whilst hanging upside-down on a metaphorical living cross. 

  Since Sunday, I've spent my studio hours finishing and packing pieces ordered on Etsy.  By letting go of what was becoming a frantic search for inspiration, I was able to find a great deal of satisfaction in paying attention to details of this aspect of my work.  All the while though, I sense that I'm no longer in a holding pattern. More and more often as I work I'm stopping to make notes.  This might be what's stirring up the clawed creature that will eventually transform me into the creative Hyde that connects the dots and writes and makes large things that move about.

  I'm a romantic at heart.  I like the idea of trekking out into the wild to find and conquer my muse.  But I've lived this artistic life long enough to know that every day isn't that day.   In the meantime, there are poppets, whom I love and who love me.

  So I'm working quietly, hardly glancing at that corner.  Whatever's there in the shadows will leap out at me when it's ready.  Or when I am.

Motivation isn't Inspiration

  It's Sunday morning, the house is quiet and I can choose how I want to spend the day.  This is a privilege and I know it.  Pete has taken charge of the Orion unit and I am free.  Given that I have hours of freedom, what I want to do is make something.  I want to be in the zone.   It's not writing I'm looking to start with.  I want to start with my hands, with broader movements. 
Now.  Inspiration. 
Inspiration?
Hmm.  There's no equivalent to checking to see if it's plugged in.  I can go put my feet in the water and wait.  But I know that's not going to work. Works for phone appointments.  This is something altogether different.
And something - I've had to admit of late - that I've utterly and shamelessly taken for granted.
Dammit.
I mean, me.  Damn me.  What an asshole!
  I've written more than once that I never get blocked. 
 I can always make something beautiful.
I can always make toys.

I wasn't lying.  At the time it was true.  Because I took the inspiration for granted.  Without it, where is my motivation? Motivation is not inspiration.  They're not the same thing at all.  But they're related.
How?
Let's think about that.  Inspiration brings motivation.  Inspiration can breathe life into the most exhausted of souls.  It can animate, re-animate the immobile, wake the sleeper, slap inertia into a running leap.

Can motivation inspire?  What motivates an artist to make art?  Artists know these answers. They're the same answers that motivate everyone to every thing.  Survival, duty, guilt, shame, love, boredom, coffee and so on and on.

Can motivation lead to inspiration?  Well, I can tell you from experience that inspiration often comes on strongest when I'm already working.

How do I know I'm going to get up and go to work?  I just realized that I will. Just now. Because my hands have twisted my hair into a bun and stuck a pencil in it, almost unconsciously.

I'm not inspired today, but I'm motivated.  Today I'm motivated by my desire for inspiration.  I want it, and it's not hovering around waiting for me.  I'm going to have to work for it.  I may have to apologize for taking it for granted.  Fair enough.

I don't know what will come of my work today, but when I tie on my apron I'll mean it.  When I tie on my apron I'll understand that there's no guarantee inspiration will follow.  But effort will.  I'll give it my best effort.

We can't always begin inspired.  Sometimes we have to begin with motivation. Motivation is not inspiration, but it doesn't need to be.  It is its own creature, with its own purpose. It's gritty and real and present. It has mass and requires a different sort of fuel and can survive without inspiration.  It's something altogether different from inspiration, and it seems that this is my curriculum for today.

A Poppet Needs the Water

  It seems to me that artist types tend to think too much. 

   Without this deep examination, where would the work come from?  It's the looking outward and looking inward that creates layers and imbues the work with meaning.
The art expresses the thoughts and the expression isn't lost on the viewer, who also tends to think too much.
   The viewing is a conversation.  It's where the artist and viewer can connect on a level not accessable in any other language.  It's a private conversation and it's where we spill our guts.  It's you and me in the treehouse in the back yard, eating stolen cookies and talking in whispers about our parents and the stuff that really scares us.

This is important, I think, because it keeps us from feeling alone on these deeper levels, these places where we keep the things we don't talk about at the office.

 So thinking is valuable.  It helps us create the work that brings us together.  But what is too much?  When do we know we've gone too far?  When do we know we're out of balance?
For me, it's revealed in sleep, or lack of it.  Less dreaming, more waking.  When thinking follows me to my pillow.  

  I've seen enough news for now.  I'm starting to connect the dots.  Not good.  I'm going to tune it out for a little while.  The world will spin on and I will take to the water.  Under there, in the blue and cold, there's little but the present.     I haven't been swimming much lately.  Been too busy thinking.  But I dove in yesterday and remembered that under there, there is only being.  It's a refuge from myself. 

  What's your refuge?  How do you know when you're thinking too much?     What do you do to tune it out?   How do you manage, when you need to, to simply be?



 
 

 


 

Another View

 When I was a little kid, I used to lie on edges and look at the world upside down. 
 I'd lie on the floor and imagine the ceiling was the floor.  I liked the strangeness of it. 
Thinking about things upside down seems to be a good exercise for humans.  Our brains have rooms that seldom get explored.  They're good rooms, bigger inside than out.  When we leave these rooms, we take something with us-- perspective.
And perspective changes our world.
Silly humans!

I forget this sometimes.   I'll tell you how that works out.  Not so well.   So I made this little Poppet to remind me.   This is the sort of thing that helps me make sense of things that don't.  And it seems a really good reason to make a Poppet.

If you try some upside-down viewing, or other brain exercises, tell me about it.  I really want to know.
Have some fun.

Strange Chapter 2

   Change is a funny thing.  When I watched Can't Stop, the documentary about Conan O'Brien, I realized that I'd forgotten how much we humans are alike.  You'd think that nothing about this documentary would apply to your own experiences, and you'd be dead wrong.

Size matters not.  A very wise being has taught us.
Bigger inside than out.  Wise words from a very small other.

  While I watched, I was reminded that creative humans are driven similarly, and that the roller coaster ride of using one's craft to support one's life is difficult on every level of 'success.'    I learned some things about this firsthand in my experiences with Neil Gaiman.  Having had the opportunity to spend enough time to know the writer at work and the human at rest, along with the very human transitions that come with life.  And of grace.
Change.  It's inevitable and sometimes it's gradual.  But sometimes we get knocked over sideways by a big event, or a cascade of big events. 

 What we're really thinking about here is adaptation. 

  One of the things Conan talks about in the documentary is his pivotal moment- a particular morning when he woke up after months of agonizing depression and knew he'd turned a corner. I think he said something more along the line of "getting my balls back," but you  get the gist of it.  By the time I watched that documentary, I'd began to be afraid that I wouldn't be having that experience.  Don't get me wrong, I've pulled myself off the floor more than once in my life, dusted myself off.    But when things go badly for long enough, we can start to doubt that change will come, even though everything reasonable and rational dictates that indeed it will. 
  
  The funny thing is, when I started to know I'd turned a corner, it came very quietly.  I honestly thought it would be bigger, some fanfare for the shift.   But no.  Today I'm looking back over the past few weeks and realizing that it's been creeping up on me.  Others noticed before I did.

  I posted recently that I had the sensation that I'd walked into the ruin of a room after a party and was frozen, not knowing where to start.   I didn't realize that walking into the room was a beginning--was, symbolically - what happened after 'waking up.'

  I hesitate to post about this. What if I have a bad day?  What if that means I was wrong?  I will have a bad day.  It won't mean I'm wrong. 
  It will mean adaptation is not a straight line.

   I did eventually decide where to start.  Close to home.   It seems such a little thing, this change.  Time will tell.  But it's a start.
I want to introduce you to  Little Red Poppet.  You can add 2.0 if you like.   Or organic  if you like.  It is that, in style, with softer lines and more fluidity.  And in the materials, which are infinitely greener than resin.    (I feel good about that.) Still, always watching.
 Eliminating resin casting is a simple but  fundamental change that will free me to work
more creatively.
 This change will open the door to others. 

 Adaptation and evolution.  Poppets told us this was coming.    Your Classic Red Poppet is officially that.    And your artist is, once again, dusting off her pants and tying on her apron.
 
  Yes.  It's a start.  If you're feeling bogged down, do watch the documentary.  Even if you're not a fan of Conan, you may well relate to the process. You may find out you're doing exactly what you should.  And I'll keep posting so you can watch me slip and stumble through mine.   Thank you, as always, for being here.