Not By Choice

Being and artist is not a choice.
It's more of a compulsion, a habit. Like the need to eat or to breathe. I don't wake up in the morning and decide to draw...more so I think about when I will have my pen in hand. I constantly think about the paper. Untouched. Unfinished. Challenging me. Daring me to make a mark.
It's a desperate need to communicate to an audience-to myself mostly.
I don't believe my art to be brave or symbolic. It's not accessing some deeper part of myself or society. I do (as do most artists) create a new reality that exists solely in that sheet of paper.
I see creating art as discovery, knowledge, even clarity and insight into self. Into who I am, my limits (self created). In my own ability as a human being.
I'm taking what I know, what I've experienced and re-imagining it onto paper.
Being an artist means living a solitary life. One, however, with many of my peers experiencing something similar. It's comforting to know that I'm connected, even in isolation.
I'm not the only one feeling compelled to practice the habit that is art-making.

Home Furnishings

There's nothing I love more than walking around IKEA in the middle of the week, pretending to be able to furnish my home. I pick out different rugs and couches, find a new bed frame...pick out my dream kitchen. 

Unfortunately, I walk out of there with only a few hangers and lamp.

The only piece of furniture I've ever owned was a junky dresser I fixed up and eventually had to discard when I moved. Every place I've lived either came furnished, borrowed, or I made due without. For example, I had a completely empty living room for almost my entire Las Vegas experience. 

The moving around business makes it difficult to own nice (un-dented) things. This past move to Utah, I only brought my clothes, a few books and some art supplies. 

I don't mind the "minimalist" approach to my living. It definitely makes it easier to move around. 

And we all know I'm probably not done moving. 

The Wanderer

Once upon a time, I was moving to Utah.
I still am.
Last year I posted about how I had a feeling I needed to move to Utah and a few days, I'll be doing just that.
I don't know what it says that all I've done to pack, is put a bunch of books in a box, ordered two more books on Amazon and watched Netflix.
My suitcases are ready to be filled with clothes, my art supplies are calling to me to organize them, and my truck is saying "Change my oil already!!!"
Somehow, I always find my way back to the bay area. No matter how many times I've moved away, I've always come back...so I feel like this move is more of an extended vacation. One in which I find a job.
Last week, someone told me they are going to start calling me the Wanderer. Normally that would have bothered me. Being settled in one place, living like all my other 20/30-something friends sounds like something I should be doing. I used to not like being associated with the word 'wander'. It seemed like I was aimless, and didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. Until I realized I like doing a lot of different things. It doesn't mean I don't know what to do with my life. I do know what I want to do, and being able to mosey around from place to place is just a part of it.
It's peaceful, not aimless.
It's a new year.
I know what I want to accomplish.
And I'm going to do it.
I'm excited.

Reasons I Know My Sister Was Here

1. Bobby pins scattered throughout all the floors in our house. Including the kitchen. Why?

2. Clumps of hair on the shower wall. I honestly want to know how she is not bald.

3. I've developed a cough from laughing so hard. 

4. Zero counter space in the bathroom.

5. Glasses of unfinished beverages everywhere. I found one in the pantry. How?

"One goes, not so much to see but to tell afterward"

-John Steinbeck

Whatever my purpose is for taking road trips, I'm always glad I went. 

The reason for this particular trip was to see family and spend Thanksgiving with friends.

I drove to Utah, flew to Omaha, spent a much needed week with a dear friend, flew back to Utah and spent a few days seeing friends and spending time with my grandma, and then drove back to California. And true to Steinbeck's words, I have much to tell. Maybe too much. One story ends with me heaving on the side of the road from carsickness. Another with scrubbing the rest stop bathroom off my hands. 

I think the one worth remembering is locking my keys in the car with the engine running and paying a small fortune to get it unlocked. I wanted to warm up my car while I loaded in my suitcase and snacks and things. I shut the passenger door, ready to walk around to the drivers side to get in--and the millisecond before the door shut I realized both doors were locked. I just stood there silently, with my hands frozen in midair. I laughed. I swore a lot. I tried a wire hanger supplied by by kind friends and when I remembered I failed Thug 101,  I called a 24 hour locksmith. 

4:30 in the morning and I was on hold while I listened to a muffled Jingle Bell Rock playing through my radio. 

Forty minutes later, the guy showed up and had it open in a flash.  

The whole day I was so paranoid I was going to lock my keys in the car again.

I'm considering taping a set to my person at all times. 

Despite the hiccups of the road trip, I was grateful to be able to spend time with my grandma. We ate at a drive-in where she and my grandpa used to go for lunch, and we went and got chocolates. 

Orange Creme.

They were delicious.

Today I'm back in my own bed, using my own bathroom, doing my laundry and stretching my sore body. Driving all day (especially with minimal stops to outrun a winter storm) takes a lot out of a person.

In Travels with Charley, Steinbeck says, 

It takes strength and control and attention...Consider then the small, unnoticed turning of the steering wheel, perhaps the exertion of only one pound for each motion, the varying pressure of foot on accelerator, not more than half a pound perhaps but an enormous total over a period of six hours. Then there are the muscles of the shouders and neck, constantly if unconsciously flexed for emergency, the eyes darting from road to rear-view mirror, the thousand decisions so deep that the conscious mind is not aware of them. The output of energy, nervous and muscular, is enormous.

So excuse me while sprawl out on the floor and take a nap.
Real life can start again tomorrow...when I start planning my next road trip.

The Artist and His Instruments

I've been spending a lot of time in my sketchbook lately, drawing out different ideas. Doodling to my heart's content.

Yesterday I was reading in 1Corinthians. In Chapter six verse fifteen Paul asks, "Know ye not that your bodies are the members of Christ?" Our bodies are not our own. They do not belong to us. 

 Which reminded me about how we're instruments in the Lord's hands.

An artist will work with many different kinds of instruments to create a piece of art. Each instrument works in different ways. The chisel is different from the pencil, which is different from the paintbrush. And there are so many different kinds of paintbrushes! Each one also affects the outcome/effect of the work. Sometimes however, the instrument will fail. The pencil lead will break, but it can always be resharpened by the Artist. An effective work of art can evoke a deep emotional response. It can make you feel happy, content, make you smile, want to cry etc. It has the power to change hearts and minds. 

Our Heavenly Father is the Artist and we are His instruments. Each one of us has something different to offer and we all work in different ways. 

As I was making this illustration I was thinking about how much I learn from each piece I work on. I learn different ways to use a colored pencil...or if I'm painting I learn how to use color more effectively. I am reminded that patience is key and that sometimes it's okay to just start over on a clean sheet of paper. If I become so involved in one particular part of my drawing, I can sometimes forget about the work as a whole.
I think it's the same outside the world of art--if we are so involved in ourselves, or on one particular aspect of our life, we can forget out the bigger picture. We forget about others. We can't be there for them (serve them, love them etc) in the way that they need-which in turn helps us to become the best version of ourselves.
This analogy is one that I've thought a lot about over the last few years. I had forgotten about it until I read over that scripture yesterday. It was a great reminder to me that I am not my own-that there is a purpose for everything.

It also gave me a great idea for a new illustration.

Uncoordinated

Two uncoordinated people playing "run jump and twirl" after church in the gym is not a great idea. Especially if the runner forgets to jump and just pummels into the other person, causing them to fall-  in a really slow motion/awkward manner while trying to keep their skirt from flying up- which sprains their ankle.
So if you're thinking about playing this game...maybe just thumb wrestle instead. There's minimal injury in that game. (Unless you play with my sister who likes to dig her nails in her opponents hands, scaring them for life)

On a completely unrelated note:
I look super cool using crutches.

It's Raining

Well, it's more of a muggy drizzle. A sweaty mist coming out of the heavens.
I'm still counting it.

One time, I got stuck behind a huge truck going up a big hill. My little truck has zero power to pass anything on any sort of incline, so I stayed behind this truck for about two miles. Maybe a mile up this hill it started to rain. I was so confused because there were no clouds in the sky. I remember the sky was a really pretty shade of blue. I wondered where this mist was coming from. I turned on my windshield wipers, but my windshield just became harder to see through.
Then I saw it.
The truck in front of me was hauling cattle. The rain was actually some poor cow that was obviously really sick....or maybe a few cows, who knows.
All I do know is that when I got out at the next gas station to fill up, I took the squeegee and wiped my whole truck down.

That's the last time I ever followed a cattle truck.

Dworshak

Last week we had a family reunion with my dad's side of the family. We don't get to see each other as much as we would like, which makes these reunions pretty special.
We drove about 15 hours to get up to my aunt and uncle's house in Lewiston. I got to sleep in a princess bed (which I fell out of one morning. The sheets were slippery. That's my excuse.)
We also went to Dworshak Dam to take a tour. It was about an hour and a half walk to the middle of the dam and back. I don't remember anything that the lady was saying. It was windy and I walk slow. I do remember repeating "Dworshak" in my head a million times because I think it's a super cool word.

Our reunions are always amazing. This one was no different. In fact, I think this might be the most memorable yet.
Some little kid decided to get the flu, and then spread it on to other family members. One by one...we started falling to the unpleasantness that is heaving over a toilet. One morning, all the bathrooms were full, which left my mom frantically scurrying around with a bucket in her hand yelling for someone to hurry up.
I was throughly entertained.
Apart from all the bodily fluids...we all had a fantastic time. There's always food and there's always laughing. Full body laughs that come from the gut and make you want to pee your pants and make your head pound.
I do wish that we all lived closer so that getting together wasn't so difficult.

Grandma

Before my dad was born, my grandparents lived in Pocatello. My grandma packed up her three kids and boarded a train to visit California. From what I understand, she had never left Idaho before. I think she was pretty brave.
I grew up with my grandma living only a few blocks away from our house. She sat two rows behind us in church and sang the hymns with gusto...extremely off key. Her nylons would rub together when she'd walk down the hall. When we went over to her house, we would play dominoes and chinese checkers, eat runny eggs, powdered milk and kool-aid. Sometimes she'd give us a little spoonful of brown sugar before she put it on her oatmeal. When we would spend the night, I'd get up early and climb in bed with her-only to be kicked out because I was too squirmy.
I have a lot of memories of my grandma...but I honestly don't know a whole lot about her.
This weekend, we're visiting with family and it's been SO much fun. I've laughed so hard my gut hurts. We've also been going through a bunch of old photos and my dad and all my aunts have been sharing story after story-all of which are new to me. I love family reunions. And I love hearing stories about my grandparents.

News and Thoughts and Stuff

It is a common misconception that the artists imagination is always producing work--constantly inventing and creating new pieces of art or filling page after page in sketchbooks. While I, as an artist, have sketchbooks filled with ideas and unfinished drawings--I am not constantly producing art as some may think.
Unfortunately.
I would like to be.
But I'm not.
I hit creative "walls" and sometimes nothing I try works out. For this reason, I don't like taking commissioned work. Some may call this a lack of confidence--I just call it being selfish. In a good way that few understand. I create for me, even though I share with others.
However, I'm also a people pleaser and sometimes have a hard time saying No. So I've taken on three commissioned works all of which I'm having a hard time completing because I've hit a "wall".
I'll get them done. And I won't give them over until I'm satisfied with the work...but they just loom over me. I'm procrastinating working on one right now by writing about how I don't want to work on it.

In other news, which I'll keep short and sweet in this nice list:

-I'm not moving for another couple of months.
-I sliced my foot open a month ago, received nine stitches and am 'lovingly' referred to as Frankenfoot.
-I'm re finishing a couple of really cool chairs. I was going to sell them but I think I'll just keep them because they're that cool.
-I got a ticket crossing the bay bridge because the ticket lady didn't enter in that I paid the toll before I crossed through. I'm ticked.
-I had a birthday and got new glasses. Two unrelated events.
-I received a slight raise at work.
-And I've taught myself to burp on command. (Probably not something I should be sharing but I've always wanted to be able to know how to command my own burps. I'm both proud and disgusted with myself.)

I don't have any photos to share. A disappointment, I know. Oh, maybe not for any readers-but for me, whenever I look back through this blog. I'll be so bored without anything to look at.

And Just Like That...

Its over. Its come and gone and months and months of planning and prep work have come and gone in just a few short days. SO much happened this last week. I know this is Girls Camp-meant for the girls, but I always come away from this experience feeling stronger and wiser and ready to be a better person.
I had a couple of experiences with these girls that I wanted to write down...but instead of the experience itself, I want to remember the lesson learned...and lessons relearned.
First, we chose to come to this earth, to follow the Savior's plan. We knew it would be hard, and that we would make mistakes and it would be very difficult. Christ offered himself as a sacrifice to atone for our sins to make our lives easier. He became our redeemer, making it possible to return to our father in heaven.
We are constantly faced with choices. Whatever circumstance we may find ourselves in, we will always have the ability to choose. Always.
Having this ability also means we have a responsibility to choose.
The adversary is always there, waiting and hoping to claim us and bring us to his side. We hear him telling us it's not worth it. "It doesn't matter" "No one even cares".
We have been given tools to help combat these false phrases. And that is prayer. It is through reading the scriptures. We have the right tools to make the correct decisions.
Courage is needed. We need to have the courage to say no. But also to yes. The " yes" can be harder to say sometimes. Yes I will go to church. Yes I will read my scriptures. Yes I will go to seminary. Yes I will live righteously. 

There are consequences to our decisions. Whether we realize it or not. We are responsible for them. We can alter our lives in an instant. We alter our own lives, and also our brothers, sisters, parents, those we love and who love us, and those who we didn't know even cared in the first place. Some choices are irreversible, unfortunately. Many are not. But even after irreversible decisions are made, we will always be able to change our course. Always. Regardless circumstance.
These girls I worked with and alongside of have an even greater responsibility than I did at their age. The world is hard, and mean, and cruel. They set the example of righteousness for the rest of us. I am in complete awe at their determination and their will to live righteously. I've seen their faith In the Savior and in His plan.
They are strong.
They are courageous.
They are smart.
And I love them and feel so blessed that was able to be able to get to know them more as individuals.
They may have looked to me as their leader all week...but I look to them as examples of faith and testimony and strength.
I hope that I can be more like them.

Challenge Accepted

Girls Camp is just two weeks away. A lot of planning and prep work still needs to get done. I'm so excited to spend a week with some amazing YW  and fantastic leaders. I'm probably biased but our camp is better than anyone else's. And we're combining stakes this year so that makes us double better.
Our YCLs this year have totally stepped up and taken on more responsibility and I'm so proud of them. I remember a few of them when they were just little 12 year olds coming to camp for the first time. They've grown up so much and are pretty much running the show now. They're amazing.
Last night at our YCL sleepover the girls were issued a challenge for the next fifteen days until camp.
1. Tell themselves every day that they are a daughter of Heavenly Father who loves them.
2. Read their scriptures every day. Even if its just one verse.
3. Pray for inspiration to know how to help the other girls at camp
4. Cut out technology that's not uplifting. Turn off the TV or Facebook or certain music that keeps the Spirit from their home.
5. Show kindness to someone every day, as well as taking note of how someone is kind to them.
At camp, they'll share their experiences from this challenge with the other girls.
When we were talking about this challenge, one girl mentioned how much better our lives would be if everyone accepted this challenge every single day for forever. How much happier we would be, and grateful, and more joyful.
During the sleepover last night, I didn't see any of the YW using their phones for anything other than taking pictures. They put them away and were talking and laughing and mentioned more than once that they love camp because they're cut off from the rest of the world. (Really that's by force because there's no service up there....but still.....)
These girls are great, and they make me want to be a better person and a better example to those around me. I'm thrilled that I get to be apart of this experience with them.

Note to self:

You deleted all the photos accidentally. You don't know how or when you deleted them-but they're gone. Don't spend a million hours trying to get them back or re-uploading them. You checked your computer and they all seem to be there but you don't understand google enough to fix this. It's okay. You're still very smart and somewhat technologically savvy (even though it took you a few tries to spell 'technologically'. That's okay too. You're just not a great speller. Remember in the sixth grade spelling bee you got out on the word 'congratulations' because you couldn't remember if it was congraTulations or congraDulations?)
Anyway, the point is- the photos are gone. Whatever. Your old posts will just look boring with no photos. Also this one because you don't have any pictures to share today. Next time.

Also, your hair looked really good today. Good Job!

Today

Today was a good day. I didn't have to go to work. But that's not why it was a good day. 

I woke up, drew a little, organized my dresser, had a newborn photoshoot (where I literally sweat out 10 lbs all over their house. It was gross. And I want to publicly apologize to them and to anyone else I've ever sweat in front of. It's not pretty and I don't know why I was because it's not like I was running a marathon or anything.) edited said photos, and made lunch (where I also sweat some more because my house is blazing hot and turning on the oven made it almost unbearable) for me and my friends at work tomorrow. Last week I brought in the pot pie that I made, and they've requested it again. This time I made one that was lactose free-which I was skeptical of tasting good but it DOES. It's delicious. Instead of the cream of mushroom and sour cream and milk I use for the gravy stuff, I blended up some sautéed onions, oil, cashews and chicken stock. I'm hooked. And I'm not even a fan of pot pie. In fact...they kinda gross me out. But I'm excited to share this meal with them. 

So it was a good day. 

Tomorrow will be a good day too.

Wanderlust

Last year I took a road trip. When I said goodbye to Vegas, I packed up my truck and drove around for about a month. I drove through Utah and Idaho, spent most of my time in Washington and drove down the Oregon coast. I stopped when I wanted, met a lot of cool people, spent time at different beaches and I loved every minute of it.
Sometimes when I get into my truck to go to work in the mornings, I have an urge to keep driving. Drive to the beach, turn north and not stop.
I'm a coastal baby for sure.

One of my favorite novels is Travels With Charley by John Steinbeck. I've read it four times, and every time I pick it up I want to build my own camper on top of my truck, get a dog and hit the road. There's one part in there where Steinbeck talks about how when you've been away at sea for a long time, you can feel the land calling you home. And when you've been inland too long, you can smell the sea air miles and miles before you ever see it.
I felt that way before I reached the Oregon coast. I could tell I was close. I'd been inland for over a year and my heart raced knowing I was so close to feeling sand between my toes.
Perhaps one of these days...hopefully soon...I can be on the road again.

The Great Cookie Fiasco of 2014.

I'm not sure what happened. The dough was delicious but the first batch I baked, burnt completely. The other turned out part burnt, part mushy. On the third I felt so defeated I just dumped a bunch of dough on the cookie sheet to see what would happened.
And do you know what? It came out looking like a cow pie.
The final batch I'm not sure about because I gave up and threw it in the trash.
I took a bite of one of these "cookies" and promptly spit it out.
And I never spit out my food.
This kind of sums up that whole day. Nothing went right, and everything tasted like like a dirty sock.
I almost never want to make cookies again.
Almost.
My love for cookies might get me back in the kitchen again someday.

Probably tomorrow.

Slightly Green Thumb

Every summer, our little family would pack up the car and head to Nibley, Utah to see our grandparents and cousins and aunts and uncles and have a grand time. We would pull up to our grandparents house after dark, walk in through the garage, have some bread and butter and go to bed. Lyndsey and I would trade off sleeping on the narrow settee and the twin mattress we'd lay out in the living room. Sometimes we would cram on the mattress and fall asleep to the deep melodic snores coming from our grandma, who always slept in her chair. She stopped sleeping in with grandpa because....he snored. Haha.
Everyday I'd play outside with my sister in the irrigation ditch that ran alongside the yard. I'd watch my grandpa garden in the back of the house. He'd tell me which were the peas and which were the carrots because a little city kid like me surely couldn't tell the difference. Grandma would help us shell the peas or I'd help water the yard, which usually ended with me just laying on the ground with the hose on me because it was so hot. A kid born and raised in the bay area is a pansy in anything over 71°.
My favorite part was watching the plants grow.
When my grandpa was done with his work, he'd come inside, share some squeaky cheese and force me to eat sweet onions like an apple. He'd walk back into the laundry room and stare at his garden.
"Can't you see the carrots growing?"
I swore I saw them sprout out of the ground.
I love gardening.
I love getting dirt on my hands.
I love being outside and watching the plants grow.
Someday, I'll have my very own yard and won't be so limited as to what I can do.
I will grow carrots and peas and I will sit the middle of my yard and watch them grow.

You get a muffin...

And you get a muffin, and YOU get a muffin...

Today I thought I would make some muffins. I wanted to try out a new recipe. Blackberry Banana Oatmeal Muffins. Delicious.
They turned out pretty good-although they looked a little flat and weird.
It's what's on the inside that counts, right?

Today I learned that pouring flour into your measuring cup is a bad idea. Sometimes you lose control of the flour bag and drop in-basically the whole thing. And then, instead of wasting all that good flour, you have to add in a ton more ingredients...which will give you dozens upon dozens of muffins.
Good things I have friends to force my wares on.

I should have taken a picture. But I didn't. I was a little preoccupied with my armfuls of muffins.
Instead, here's a photo I took just a bit ago.
I love this photo.

7/7

Every day this week, I've come home from work, turned on Frozen, sprawled out on my floor and painted. When Frozen is over, sometimes I'll wait until it just starts playing again. Or I'll put on Freaks and Geeks or Northern Exposure.
So far this week, I've painted seven nursery rhymes, watched Frozen five times (its to the point where whenever Let It Go comes on, I've stopped pointing and waving like magic will come from my fingers. But aside from lack of character development- not bad Disney), and a whole season of Northern Exposure.
Productive?
Some would say no.
I say YES!
Definitely.
And I've showered every day...so double productive.

I'll probably be putting Frozen on for the sixth time tomorrow.
I'm going for seven out of seven days.