Oh. My. Goodness! Where did this week’s post go? Where???
It went…AWAY. Poof! Just. Like. That. To the interwebs away place, wherever that may be.
I didn’t discover it was missing until this morning. I thought maybe it was just a crappy post and you, my best beloveds, were insulted that I put it out there. Insulted enough not to comment here or like on FaceBook.
Just one of those things, y’know. I’m a big girl, I can take rejection.
But after two days of cyber silence this little worm of an idea began squirming around inside my head (under my hair, the place where magic happens). The little worm said, ummm…did you hit publish?
What a silly question! I’ve been blogging almost two years now. I know ALL about the Publish button. The Save Draft button. The Move to Trash button.
Uh-oh…
And now I know all about the Publish in a Parallel Universe button.
Yes, Parallel Universe. You have to trust me on this. It would also help if you were a theoretical mathematician and/or physicist. But mind-altering drugs, drinking too much and listening to this episode of Science Friday will get you there too. ‘There’ being parallel-land where parallel-you is reading the original post and snorting your coffee out your nose because it’s so damn good. The post, not your coffee. Although I hope the parallel-you indulges in decent coffee too.
And of course parallel-you leaves pithy comments and shares Arty-Life around the parallel-interwebs.
Just like you do here, right?
Okay, are you sufficiently confused yet? Good. Then I guess it’s time to climb off the dog ate my homework wagon and share a little ART with you now.
Bottom of the Bowl # 1 Susan Lobb Porter
This, my best beloveds, is the beginning of a new photo/digital series I’m calling The Bottom of the Bowl. I realized one morning that the marks left on the bottom of the bowl of yoghurt were akin to the marks I leave on canvas. Imagine that! The original photo was all white and boring but then again, so’s a blank canvas. Right? But thanks to cyber-fairies and technology ART can happen even from dirty dishes.
Stay tuned for more. And please, tell me what the parallel-you would think of this. I’d really like to know.
Disclaimer: Yeah, I KNOW this is an art blog. That means there should be pictures, right? Well, I didn’t have any appropriate photos for this post. You’ll have to use your imagination.
I’m all about self-improvement. Really. I would love to live in a clean house, wear a crisp white apron (with little lacy hearts) while baking golden cookies and downing copious amounts of good-for-me greens. Smiling the whole damn time like the Beav’s mom.
I would sincerely…no, make that dearly, like to maintain a daily yoga/qi gong/meditation practice while listening to spiritual masters and communing with the universe beyond my current level of understanding. Way beyond. Like to the point of the ever-knowing imperturbable smile even when the voices in my head are being stupiddicks unkind.
And when I get to that point, words like damn and dicks would NEVER enter into my head, much less exit out of my mouth.
In a perfect world I would write (fill in your favorite adjective here) blog posts DAILY. You would tell your friends and they would tell theirs. On and on and on until I was more famous than Oprah.
Although I would settle for being half as rich as her. Just half. Really, is that too much to ask?
Yo, Universe, I’m talkin’ to YOU.
There would be a book deal. Oh, many of them. And Oprah, when she interviews me, because she would have to interview me, wouldn’t she… Oprah would notice I’m a size 2. Just a plain 2. No numbers or letters before or after it. USA Macy’s size 2.
And Oprah would be envious and offer me half of her wealth to be her life coach. If my math is right, that would make me twice as rich as her. Of course I would give most of it away to charity. Because I only have two feet and a girl can only have so many shoes. Unless they’re red. In that case maybe I’d keep the money.
But I’d think about giving it away.
I’m baring my soul to you (and what a lovely size 2 soul it is) because I’m doing this personal branding thing. Taking a class with Michele Bergh. I’ve taken classes with Michele before. She knows her stuff so I was reasonably sure her definition of personal branding would not involve hot metal and the smell of burning flesh.
Oh noooo, it’s MUCH more painful than that. Try standing out on the freeway naked (that’s nekked in cowboy speak) waving as the trucks whizz by. Yoo-hoo, fellas, what’dya think of this? Well, that’s what I had to do today.
Or at least it felt like that. Holy crap, did it ever. Crap, another word I won’t say once I’ve evolved. Maybe. Or maybe not. Depends on how pissed off I am. Oh crap, I suppose I’ll have to ditch piss as well. This being evolved shit isn’t all it’s cut out to be.
But back to personal branding sans cowboys. The first assignment Michele had us do, the one that made me feel naked, but not in a good way naked, was to ask friends, family and coworkers for feedback about me. Like, yo, hey, would you please fill out this questionnaire, this ANONYMOUS questionnaire. Say what you think about me. Let ‘er rip. I’ll never know who said what because it’s anonymous.
And then I’ll take those answers, size ’em up against my answers…what I think people think about me (because I had to answer the damn questionnaire too). After dismissing anything I don’t like as being nothing more than passive agressive retaliation because I forgot to pay back that 20 bucks I must owe someone, well then I’m gonna take that 20, put it as a downpayment on a pizza and beer. And find me a cowboy. With chaps. And just enough of a five o’clock shadow to make me forget about the pain.
And you, my best beloved sweetums, you can cheer me up by leaving sincere, happy face comments in one of those boxes down below. I will share the pizza with you. And the beer.
But not the cowboy. WOOT! I’m keeping him for myself.
Oh my sweetums, my best beloveds… Arty Life is back!
Which means SO AM I.
Did you think I abandoned you? Ran off to Aha! Baha! with some other blog? Oh noooo… that was all a misunderstanding. But I can see where you made that assumption. She had a great body but trust me…that was someone else in those pictures.
This is what really happened…
Once upon a time, a couple weeks ago, I had this blog. Seriously, THIS blog, Arty Life. Imagine that! As blogs go, I suppose it was fine but like mothers everywhere I wanted MORE for my child.
I wanted her to have some direction.
Does that sound familiar? Do you remember your mother yelling saying something like that to you? Saying, “Honey do you have ANY idea what you’re going to do with your life because your father and I are not going to be supporting you when you’re 45?”
Do you remember those conversations? Someday I’ll tell you about the one I had with FirstBorn, which is a post in and of itself. What do you expect from a boy whose only career ambition was to blow shit up? Really, we’ll talk about it. Later. But not now. Now is the time to tell you the conversation I had with Arty Life.
Me: I love you Arty Life but what the hell are you doing? All those posts I’ve sweated blood over just disappear from the front page poof…just likethat and are LOST FOREVER in the great dark void of the interwebs. No one knows the genius I put into them. No one knows they could be touched by greatness just by reading what I have to say. I could be influencing lives! Saving the world! Getting a book deal!!!
Arty Life: Sucks for you, doesn’t it?
Clearly she had reached the adolescent stage of her blog life.
And like adolescents everywhere she needed understanding. And a firm hand on the backend of her WordPress.
So I sat down and got to work. This is me two weeks ago when I first began tinkering around the back parts of the blog, getting way more familiar with the inner workings of WordPress than I can discuss in polite company. Well, this is what I looked like then.
Note the calm demeanor as I sat at the computer sipping on a cuppa joe. Calm and steady. Ready to face all challenges. Focused on the task at hand.
And this is me two weeks later, after the task at hand had it’s way with me. After the coffee worked it’s magic. After I lost all focus and my butt became one with the chair and I needed, with all my heart and soul, to get up and move it move it shake it out … DANCE BREAK!!!
Ahhhh… much better. Nothing relaxes me more than dancing and jumping out of airplanes. If you look hard enough you might find me in the video. Then again, you might not.
So after drinking too much coffee, jumping out of airplanes and rebuilding the blog, what WHAT do I have to show for my absence?
A blog you can find your way around. Or lose yourself in. A blog that has a semi-rational inner compass. So if you’re interested in, ummm…, let’s say ART, just go to the art link at the top of the page. That will take you to a menu of all kinds of art posts…imagine that!
And do check out the new home page.
But Arty Life is not just about art. It’s about life. About food and family and friends. And photography. And everything else that makes a life full. This is an ongoing process. I’m still finding my way through the maze myself, finding the right slots for back and future posts. One thing for sure, I’ll be adding MORE sections, categories and features.
There will be recipes! Like Wendy’s Power Breakfast. Which is better than Wonder Woman’s magic lasso.
And new, regular features. Like a semi-weekly look at What Leland Wore. And an expanded edition of my ever popular FaceBook digital series Ponies in the Morning. And interviews! Book reviews! How tos! Guest bloggers!
Something new every day. Oh God, I said EVERY DAY…I must be out of my freakin’ mind but until I come to my senses yes, you can count on some new Arty Life tidbit every. day.
Because Arty Life is growing up. And I’m blogging with my big girl panties now.
So wander around. Explore. Enjoy. If you have an idea for a post, a recipe or an interview shoot me an e-mail, got to fill those posts with something, y’know.
And, as always, I love to hear from you in the comments below.
Oh my sweetums, I have been so busy this week. So so so so SO busy.
Effin’ busy, matter of fact.
Woke up about ten days ago with an idea. A little bitty whisper left over from a dream that worked its way into the thinking part of my brain. The part that consciously mulled it over, gave it a sniff, a taste, a couple of mental pokes until lo and behold, an actual IDEA was born.
Don’t you love the way that happens?
Happens a lot to me but I usually roll over and go back to sleep. Or come up with excuses and talk myself out of it.
But this time I rolled with it and said YES!!!
Fist pumpin’, back flippin’, cartwheelin’ YES!!!
And that’s what this post is all about, the power of YES!!! The power that comes from listening to dreams and making them happen. Of saying YES!!! and moving forward one step at a time.
I told you when I took last week off from Arty Life that when I came back I would have a surprise.
Well, do I ev-ah! Oh yes, indeed… Ta-da, drumroll please… dum dum dum dum dum tsssssh…. Introducing Arty Life’s new sis-tuh blog, BIG BOLD BEAUTIFUL YES!!!. It’s a stand alone blog with it’s own URL but it compliments Arty Life.
Like chocolate compliments everything.
You can access it through the nav bar up above. One of these days I’ll get around to putting a button on the sidebar. Check it out. Please do. And if you like what you see spread the word. Tell your friends. Like it on FaceBook. Shout it from the rooftops.
But creating a whole ‘nuther blog was NOT the only thing I did this week.
If you look up at the nave bar you’ll see a new category…FREEBIES!!! Wee digi gifties for you to download and print. From me to you. because I love you all so much. Much enough to stay up way past my bedtime making these suckers and figuring out the technical stuff. Just. For. You.
Right now there’s only one, a fun poster. But there will be more. I have all sorts of stuff in mind. And I’m saying YES!!! to things now so they’ll probably actually happen.
Imagine that!
But that’s not all…
Geeze, at the risk of sounding like an infomercial shouter, I’m dangling MORE goodies in front of you. Remember the Arty Life newsletter? The one I said would go out every month. But never did. Because it was one. more. thing. Well, I finally had an AHA! genius moment. I don’t know how much ‘news’ my newsletter will have but it WILL have art. Every month, some sort of digi download. Free! Just for letting me send you a newsletter once a month. No more than that, trust me.
But…but SUSAN!!! What about the STUDIO??? The NEW! IMPROVED! STUDIO GRANDE???
You guys are wearin’ me out. I’ve been BUSY, y’know. Studio’s there. Just a couple of tweaks and it’s all done. I’m starting to move in, one paintbrush at a time. Come back Wednesday. There WILL be photos. Promise.
For the past month or so I’ve been taking Michele Bergh’s class on creating e-courses. It’s been an eye opening experience for me.
A heart opening one as well.
Because Michele has encouraged brainstorming. Mind mapping. Thinking about what we want to teach and why we want to teach it. And planning how to go about doing it.
Originally I thought I’d teach art classes…because hey, that’s what I do. And I probably will teach some. But I realize now I want to teach more.
Much more.
I want to give people the tools they need, the inner tools, to empower them to live a rich and creative LIFE. To wake up each day with a sense of excitement for what the day will bring. To understand the power of choice. Intention. Purpose.
To know it’s up to them. And excuses are just that…excuses.
To know the joy that I feel as I create the life I want. Because being happy feels so damn good!
It wasn’t always this way. I had to earn my PollyAnna stripes. For years I put my dreams on hold as I raised my kids. And then it was time to take care of my elderly mother. And I don’t regret doing any of that.
But there was always the undercurrent of frustration. Creativity unfulfilled. The novels unwritten. The blank canvasses. Coulda. Shoulda. Woulda. I told myself it was because I didn’t have the time.
But mostly it was because I didn’t have the passion.
Mama died last spring, just before her 96th birthday. A few weeks later, my dog. Nursing both my old ladies through their final months, weeks, hours left me numb. Left me empty. Left me questioning the purpose of living if dying was all there was to look forward to.
And then I started painting again. Painting painting painting painting PAINTING. Making marks.Throwing color on canvas, plaster on board. Scraping, scrubbing, sanding, creating things from a place inside that I never knew existed. For the first time in my life, even though I had an art degree and worked as an illustrator and art teacher, for the first time in my life I KNEW what it was to be an ARTIST.
I began waking up happy. Began embracing the passion of a new beginning. Of possibilities. Of living my dreams. At an age when my peers are counting the years before they can retire, I started nurturing plans for a whole new career. I taught myself WordPress, built a couple of websites. I’m painting, blogging, creating community, selling my work.
I’m saying YES! to life. Greeting each day with the excitement of what I can do to move my plans forward.
I’m living my life with the power of passion. As Martha would say, “It’s a good thing.”
The first time I met Mary*** (not her real name) I went home and killed someone.
Well, actually I went home and shoveled horseshit…continued shoveling horseshit because that was what I’d been doing before I met her. Before I drove down the lane and introduced myself to the new neighbor who’d yelled at my son a few minutes earlier and forbidden him to cut across the back end of her property.
On a trail through the woods used by the locals for years.
She was… polite when she first came to the door. Frost old biddy all decked out like June Cleaver, down to the pumps and pearls. Squeaky clean. I, on the other hand, was in my manure pickin’ clothes. Dirty shorts. T-shirt with a stain of green horse slobber where you couldn’t miss it. Black rubber boots and a baseball cap.
I was nice when I introduced myself. The smile was, umm…real. I did not offer to shake hands because I’d come straight from the barn and my hands were not presentable by anyone’s standards. Even mine. So I stood there on her front porch, said hello and welcomed her to the neighborhood. Then I mentioned she’d met my son.
It went downhill from there. She blasted me about trespassers (and those who trespass against them). Forgive us our sins, oh Lord, especially if I said something rude. Which I may have. In fact I’m sure I did…but only towards the end.
We did not get off to a good start.
So I went home and continued shoveling shit. And while I was shoveling, I plotted her murder.
It was a most entertaining hour.
I finished with the horses, fired up the computer and started writing. Fictional revenge was oh so sweet. Mary, in my mind, became a far more colorful character than she could ever hope to be in real life. Thank God for literary bitch slapping. Eventually she was joined by a former sister-in-law. And a former boss. And a chairman of the board.
One by one they replaced Mary on my shit-o-meter. Her character took on aspects of them all, eventually coming into her own.
I worked on the story from time to time. People who came into my life and pissed me off found their way into it. People who came into my life and amused me…same. Murder. Parody. A little bit o’romance. My own private world where I could dictate Who. Did. What.
I was a couple hundred pages into it when something bright and shiny caught my attention. Or maybe it was a rabbit. I dunno. I just put it away one day and went on to other things. Lately I’ve been toying with the idea of finishing it.
And then last night around dusk I walked down the lane to fetch the mail. The box is where the lane meets the county road, about a quarter mile away. A young man drove by in a pickup and stopped to chat. A nice kid, Mary’s grandson. And then she drove up. Mary. She’s lived here over a dozen years now and we’ve never really talked other than polite hellos at the mailbox. But last night we all chatted. Most of it was Mary, admiring her embarrassed grandson. Asking me to admire him too. Which I did.
Then she reached through the car window and took my hand. ‘We had a rough start,” she said, ‘but I’ll never forget what you said to me.”
Oh crap, that was a long time ago. What the hell did I say to her??? She couldn’t have heard me call her a bitch under my breath when I got into my car that day, could she?
She looked at her grandson. Looked at me. “You told me I could walk on your property anytime I wanted to. I never forgot that.”
Damn…was that an apology? I. Think. It. Was.
But what the hell, I’m still killing her off. Cause it’s a good story. And I’m going to finish it one of these days.
