Category Archives: art

Here I am! Santa Rosa California!

WOW!! I’m back!!! And I’m starting off with, not what I’ve been up to the last few months but with a funny story.

Okay, I’ll back up a little bit. We spent a wild month selling our possessions, packing the enormous amount we still had left, loading four moving cubes (like pods, but nicer people and cheaper), then driving cross-country with two dogs, visiting friends and family along the way. Ended up finding the perfect house for us to rent our second day in Santa Rosa, and moving in a week later. The rest is a blur of unpacking, hooking up essential services, finding our way around a new city four times as big as Keene, and trying to learn the garbage/recycling drill in California.

Okay, now back to the story. One of the perks of our neighborhood is a new farmer’s market two blocks away. The variety and quality of the food is amazing. And of course, the business side of my brain quickly noticed that the range of selling expertise ranges from the sublime to the ridiculous…..

We were almost done shopping there yesterday when I noticed a new vendor sitting glumly behind his table under his pop-up tent. There was a tray of assorted “dips” arranged on his table, and two poster board signs handwritten with a pen. One said, “1 for $5, 2 for $9.” The other was filled with about a dozen bubbles of text, like “finest ingredients!” “like no other!” and my favorite, “arrogant food!!”

Curious, I approached him, and he leaped to his feet. “What are these?” I asked.

Now, when I relate this, I do NOT mean to suggest that his broken English means he’s ignorant. After all, he speaks at least two languages, and I speak only one. I mean to comment only that what he felt was important about his product is not exactly what I think was important. And his products are so amazing, I’m sure he’ll get much, much better at selling soon.

With that in mind….
He responded to my question with an array of statements that were repeated every time I asked a question. So the conversation went something like this:

Me: What are these?
Him: The finest ingredients. Made by Turkish kitchen. Never the same twice.
Me: Is this one hummus?
Him: You don’t understand. These are secret recipe. Only made in Turkey. You try.
Me (sampling): Wow! This is great! Is this one hummus, too? (because it was hummus.)
Him: This different. Made for the wealthy people. Always the best food. Only the best ingredients. Never the same twice. Made by Turkish kitchen.
Me: What is this one?
Him: (more of the same.)
Me: This is WONDERFUL! It kinda tastes like…babaganoush?
Him: (more of the same.)

Fortunately, I don’t have any food allergies, so not knowing what I was eating wasn’t too much of a problem. Mostly I wanted to know so I could ASK FOR IT AGAIN next week when he comes back.

We bought three containers, and he seemed happier. On my out, I said, “By the way, what do you mean by ‘arrogant food’?”

Him: Only for the wealthiest people. The best food.
Me: But…arrogant?
Him: The finest ingredients. Never the same twice. From Turkish kitchen. (I still don’t know if this means ‘his Turkish recipes’ or if “Turkish Kitchen” is the name of his business…?)
Me: Do you mean ‘elegant food’?”
Him: ???
Me: ‘Arrogant is mean’, like this. (I make a snooty mean face. ‘Elegant’ means very fancy, very nice. (I make a smiling face, with elegant hand gestures.) (I hope they look elegant.)
Him: Thank you! Yes, elegant!!

Fortunately, the dips were delicious. Setting aside the assumptions that only rich-people food is desirable and that not knowing what you’re eating is a great sales pitch, I kind of like the idea of eating “arrogant food”.

12 Comments

Filed under art, marketing

WHAT I’M UP TO

What am I up to right now?

Well….every single day, I face a shifting landscape.

Tomorrow is my last chance to deliver artwork for two exhibits at the League of NH Craftsmen’s Fair. I just finished putting the last touches on two “boxed pieces”, and my feral coral necklace is ready to go, too.

Everything is polymer clay, except for the single antler and the antique wood boxes that I cleaned, repaired, painted, refinished and waxed.

Everything is polymer clay, except for the single antler and the antique wood boxes that I cleaned, repaired, painted, refinished and waxed.

I made the deer last year, but I didn't know what I was going to do with him til a few months ago. Everything in this display is polymer clay (except the antique boxes.)

I made the deer last year, but I didn’t know what I was going to do with him til a few months ago. Everything in this display is polymer clay (except the antique boxes.)

I've nicknamed this the feral coral necklace, but it will have a beautiful new name by tomorrow.  All polymer clay. I made an armature for each piece of faux coral.

I’ve nicknamed this the feral coral necklace, but it will have a beautiful new name by tomorrow. All polymer clay. I made an armature for each piece of faux coral.

It’s a bittersweet day. This will be my last League Fair, and I won’t have a booth. I knew our lives would be in major upheaval by now, and it is. And to complicate things even more, I told a friend I would take a woodblock printmaking class with her last weekend, and I did! How crazy is that?! Well, actually…..

I loved it. And I found the carving very soothing. My not-quite-finished block is below. (I’m doing a reductive print, which means I have another “layer” to carve, to add a third color–raw umber.)

Sorry for the floppy picture. There is truly not a single flat surface in my studio right now....

Sorry for the floppy picture. There is truly not a single flat surface in my studio right now….

Someone is also interested in our house. They called out of the blue on Monday afternoon. It might be perfect for them. And if they decide to go for it, we’d have to move before the end of August. So. Do we go into general panic mode and heave everything into a dumpster? Or wait and see, and run the risk of having even less time to pack everything up??

I dunno. And shortly, I won’t care. I’m celebrating the completion of my three exhibit pieces by making a pitcher of mimosas in ten more minutes.

If you need me, I’ll be sitting on the second floor porch, trying to drown my anxiety in sparkling white wine and my daily dose of Vitamin C. Tomorrow is another day, with a whole new game plan. And since I won’t know til tomorrow what it is, why waste another moment worrying about it?

P.S. To be safe, we’ve decided to have a yard sale every Saturday for the rest of the summer. (I’m not joking.) I’ll keep you posted!

5 Comments

Filed under art, Lessons from the move

DIFFERENT KINDS OF SMART

A reader left a comment on a post I wrote years ago, refuting my belief that artists come in all shapes and sizes, and that innate talent alone does not determine who is and who isn’t an artist. ( They pointed to an interesting study showing that artist brains are indeed different than normal brains. (Aha! We ARE crazy!)

I liked the article. The findings did not change my mind, especially since the study focused solely on drawing. I drew a lot as a child, so many people called me an artist. But I never really progressed past drawing horses, mice and rabbits. I took a few figure drawing classes in college. I enjoyed them–I like drawing bodies!–but didn’t pursue drawing after that. I still don’t really care for it.

I have no idea if I have that “innate” talent for drawing or not. I don’t know if I have the “artist’s brain” the study described, or not. And I don’t care. I rarely draw out my designs before making them. I work them until they feel “right”.

But I can see the headlines now: “Luann Udell Finally Unmasked! NOT A REAL ARTIST after all!!!”

Drawing is an admirable skill. But what about a beautiful singing voice? What about a honed sense of rhythm, timing and hand coordination that’s so critical to drumming? What about making a beautiful pot? Or weaving/quilting/wood working and other fine crafts?

Why do we value one form of art-making above all others, and make that the definition of an artist?

And why do we value one kind of intelligence–I.Q.–above all others?

So here’s my meandering thought trail….

1) When I was in middle school, there was a bright, well-liked young man. He didn’t get good grades, so I assumed he wasn’t a good student. After getting a particularly bad grade for a project he’d poured his heart into, he ran out of the classroom. I hate to admit this, but we laughed.

And the teacher–Mrs. Nancy Nash, one of my favorite teachers–scolded us. She said, “You think he’s not smart. But he is! He’s just not good at reading. Haven’t you ever realized how well he does in class discussions?! You should be ashamed!” She went out after him, and eventually they both returned to class.

And we sat, chastened. And thinking.

This was in the early ’60′s. No one knew about dyslexia, or learning disabilities. If you didn’t get good grades, you weren’t smart. Period.

But now there was a new thought in my head….. Different kinds of smart.

2) Fast forward to freshmen year in college. No, I wasn’t in art school. I couldn’t get in! But another woman across the hall from me was. Curious what a “real” artist looked like, I asked her about her major.

She was taking the prerequisite drawing classes, the ones every art student had to take. She hated them. She sucked big-time at drawing. (I know–I saw her work!) So why was she in art school?

“I don’t want to draw! I want to make stuff! Things that do things!” she exclaimed. Like what?, I asked. She pulled out some of the items she’d made in her high school art classes. We sat on the floor while she showed me all her little mechanical contraptions.

And one of them was a traveling salt cellar.

I don’t know why it stuck with me lo these many years. It was a silver salt holder, with a tiny handmade silver spoon, mounted on a sort of cart-like contraption with little wheels. You pushed it across the table.

It was adorable. Badly made, but adorable. The wheels were uneven and not mounted properly on their axles, so the salt shaker sort of lurched across the floor.

“I need to know how to make good wheels that really work. I need to know mechanics or something. I don’t know! But I can’t do anything else til I take all my prerequisites!” Which at the time was about two to four semesters of…..drawing.

I know there is discipline to drawing. I know it is a deep way of really “seeing”. I know for many people, drawing is a way of working out design elements, structural elements, etc.

But this woman had taught herself casting and soldering and metal working. Figure drawing didn’t figure into her game plan. (Sorry for the pun.) Her “smarts” were in a different area, one that, at the time, was not acknowledged or respected in regular “art school”.

3) Now let’s really fast forward to the mid-90′s. I’m a Tae Kwon Do student with a wonderful teacher who later became a good friend. He was patient, accepting, emotionally-evolved and funny. As I got to know him better, I learned about his school days.

Allyn never graduated from high school (though he did complete his GED). He had severe dyslexia. Like my fellow student in the ’60′s, his not-understood and not-diagnosed condition meant he didn’t do well in school. He did so poorly, in fact, that when he was in middle school, he was given a “permanent hall pass.” What does that mean, I asked him one day. It meant that he was considered stupid. He was so “uneducable” that he was allowed to roam the halls during regular classes, as long as he stayed out of trouble. Everyone pretty much assumed (and some still assume) he’s just not very bright.

Allyn also happens to be one of the most perceptive, insightful, emotionally-evolved, and intelligent people I know. He listens deeply, and observes carefully.

Whenever I encounter a puzzling social situation (and I encounter many, because that’s who I am), I call Allyn. And within a few minutes, he can tell me exactly what’s going on. In one sentence. I kid you not, he understands the motivation, the behavior and the dynamics and can summarize it quickly and easily.

I mentioned this to a friend who was taking graduate coursework in stuff like organizational dynamics. What she told me knocked my socks off.

Turns out that many people with so-called “learning disabilities”, especially dyslexia, cannot easily process information through reading. But their brain, like anyone else’s brain, is still trying really, really hard to learn, to make sense of their physical, social and emotional environment.

So these non-readers pay very close attention to everything that’s going on. They learn to see, to observe, and assess. They become highly skilled in areas that don’t involve reading and writing.

Unfortunately, since so much of our educational system is based on reading and writing, they rarely make it to college. They aren’t considered “smart” by most of the markers we consider for intelligence.

A different kind of smart……

I think it’s getting better. We “normal people” are learning.

We’re learning that there are indeed many kinds of “smart”. There are many kinds of “talented”. There are all kinds of “artistic”. There are a jillion kinds of “beautiful”. There are a cajillion ways of being kind, and accepting, and tolerant. (Cajillion is a whole lot more than a jillion.)

I like to think that if we spent less time drawing lines around who is and who isn’t an artist, who is and who isn’t talented, who is and who isn’t creative, who is and who isn’t smart/pretty/famous/whatever…..maybe we could simply be astonished by the incredible diversity around us, the remarkable creative range and emotional depth and loving heights the human spirit is capable of.

Maybe we could just let people enjoy the making of whatever makes their heart sing, and give them permission to do so.

And in the end, it’s not so much what’s in our brain, as what we do with it.

6 Comments

Filed under art, myths about artists

COMPLETING THE CIRCLE: You With Your Art, Your Art With Your Customer

I love it when it's so crowded in my booth, you can't even see me!

I love it when it’s so crowded in my booth, you can’t even see me!

Yesterday I wrote this column for Fine Art Views. It’s about the excuses we make when it comes to selling our art. (It’s part of a series I’ve written about why you should do open studios.

One of the comments caught my attention big time. To paraphrase, the reader said, “Making art is so very different from selling it.”

It may seem that way. Many artists believe it.

But actually, no. It really isn’t different.

Art-making is a circle: You make the art, you get your art into the world in all kinds of ways and manner…to connect your to an audience.

Selling is simply one way of connecting your work to an audience. It’s part of the creative process.

As artists, we think of the “making” as the creative part–often our favorite part! We’ve learned to see what others may not see. By capturing a moment, a trick of the light, a feeling, we urge others to look more closely. By sharing an image that sparks a memory, an idea, an insight, we connect that spark to others.

Yes, we may make art for what it does for us. Perhaps we feel more human, or more whole, or simply happier.

But art is bigger than us. Art is bigger when it connects to others.

When I create work inspired by ancient cave paintings, there is a deepening in myself I can actually feel. But what really breaks my heart wide open is when others see what I see, feel what I feel. For a brief moment, the “I” inside me connects to the “I” inside you.

Art is meant to be shared. (Only when we fear being ridiculed, or punished, or ignored, do we hide it. Because that could be painful for us in so many ways!) We make it, but for the real work to happen, it has to get out into the world. (Did I say “work”?? I really mean “miracle”! Bear with me….)

When our world was much smaller, it was pretty easy for others to see what we made. We knew who the artist/shaman was in our little community. We knew who made the most beautiful weavings, or carvings, whether functional or pure adornment.

The difference now is, the world is a lot bigger, our communities more diverse. We just have to work a little harder.

And so we do exhibitions and shows. We have websites. We send out postcards, and catalogs, and mailings. We create publicity with press releases and events like art receptions, open studios and installations.

And we try to sell our work. (Not all art is sold, of course, nor does all art have to be sold. But when it is–oh my!)

Some of us hate this entire connection process, especially the selling part. Others find it just as creative as the actual making. I do! I love how much people enjoy my postcards. I like welcoming people into my studio. I enjoy reading people’s reactions to a post I’ve made or an image I’ve shared on Facebook.

Where most of us get stuck is getting people to actually buy the stuff.

But if you look at selling as a creative process, too, it becomes a logical outcome of our entire creativity circle. Hopefully, recognizing it will make it more enjoyable–or at least less frustrating!

“Selling? Creative?!”, I can almost hear you say. “What the….?!!!” Bear with me again!

First there is the creative process of story-telling: What we choose to tell people about our work. Some focus on the “how” and the “what”–How did we come to do this work, and how did we get here? (We focus on our resume and credentials.) What did we see, and how do we did we try to capture that? (We focus on our technique and skills.)

For me, the “why” creates more power: Why do I get inspiration from this cave? Why does making this work bring me joy? Why do I use the techniques and materials I use?

But that may not be enough. So here’s where the next creative process comes into play….

We create ways for our audience to make their own connections.

They are the ones who will assign new meaning to what we’ve made. They will fit it into their lives, their homes.

This is where we let our audience tell their story.

Now it’s time for us to ask them questions. Now we ask them the “why”.

Ask your buyer: What attracted you to my work? Why does it bring joy to you? What do you see? What does it remind you of? What does it say to you? And why do you desire to have it for yourself? What place in your home would you hang it, and why? If it’s a gift, why did you select this piece for that person? Who is this person to you, that you are giving them such an amazing gift?

And when they come back to you next year for more, they will have even more to tell you. What else they’ve noticed. How it’s influenced, or even changed them. What other people have said about it. How much the friend enjoyed it.

These are the foundation blocks of the selling process. We establish a way for our audience to connect emotionally, spiritually, to us, and to our work.

When I first started getting my work out into the world, it took me awhile to get this concept. I thought it was all about me, the artist. And so I talked as much as people let me. I sold quite a bit of my work, so I figured it was what worked.

But one day I realized something was missing.

I was focused totally on my experience. I was not giving attention to my customer’s experience.

When I stopped talking and started actively listening, I was astonished by what I heard.

People saw things I hadn’t seen. They told stories I hadn’t thought of. Their connection to what I’d made was just as powerful as the connection I had through making it.

People always ask me what the markings mean on my artifacts. I had my thoughts. But I was astonished what other people saw–sometimes with profound possibilities. Some folks saw musical notation–and now we know how important sound was to ancient people. Some saw a map. A child saw constellations.

The Lascaux Bull now thought to depict the world's first star map (Taurus, of course!)

The Lascaux Bull now thought to depict the world’s first star map (Taurus, of course!)

None of these had ever occurred to me. Yet now I can’t see those markings without a ginormous sense of wonder. A miracle has occurred….

My world was changed and enriched by their connection.

Now when I sell a piece of my work, whether it’s a $50 pair of earrings or a $2,000 framed piece, there is a satisfaction way beyond the actual money transaction. (Although when someone exchanges with me their hard-earned money for my work, that is high praise indeed!)

The satisfaction comes from my feeling the circle is complete.

So why did I mention miracles earlier?

Because miracles are a shift in perspective, from fear to love.

Here is the final miracle:

We can lose the fear of selling. And instead, we can embrace the deep, powerful connection with the world, it represents.

1 Comment

Filed under art, selling

ASK THE GURU (NOT!)

Why a tree picture today? I have no idea. It just felt right.

Why a tree picture today? I have no idea. It just felt right.

Way, way too many days ago, I received a letter from a reader, begging for advice.

It’s ironic, because in her story is a lot of heartache, a ton of perseverance, a long journey of pursuing her craft despite loss, setbacks and disappointments and one simple request: Would I give her one word of advice about her next big step? (Which, by the way, she’d already thought out and which also sounds pretty darn marvelous.)

I promised her a response and here it is:

I am not the wise woman you’re looking for.

And of course, because I am me, and why use one sentence when a couple hundred will do, there are many threads behind that response.

The first thread: I truly am not a wise woman. I have some life experience, but nothing that gives me the moral right to say anything about yours. I love to tell people what to do. But I’m also terrified that someone will do what I say, and suffer for it. (So I’m a bossy coward, I guess.)

Second thread: You already know what to do. I will share what someone told me years ago. Actually, what several people–okay, many people–have told me over and over throughout my life:

“Everything you need to know is already in your heart.”

They didn’t mean my heart can tell me how to perform brain surgery, or fix a sump pump, of course. But when it comes to making decisions, making good choices, taking even sought-after advice, it either feels right or it doesn’t. It feels good, or it doesn’t. And even if you do what you think is right, and it doesn’t work out, well, sometimes the wrong decisions get you to the right place to make a better decision.

Example: I went to University of Michigan not because it was good for my art career (it wasn’t) or because they offered me a good financial package (they didn’t) or because it was my first college choice (it wasn’t.) I went there because my boyfriend went there. The self-absorbed, emotionally abusive boyfriend who broke up with me half a dozen times, in cruel ways, before I finally wised up. (See? I’m actually a slow learner!)

But years later, that’s where I met my husband, who is wonderful and loyal and supportive, and we’ve now been together 35 years. A bad decision got me to a better place.

The third thread is, we are the story we tell about ourselves. Take that story about college. I could tell you about the sorry-ass people I dated, the dreary jobs I held (and the crazy bosses), the depressing living situations I put up with, how I couldn’t get into art school, how sad and needy and frightened I was, etc. (A beloved neighbor, an elderly woman, was murdered by a serial killer. That haunted me for years.)

Or I can choose to tell you the story of how the wonderful art history classes on prehistoric art became the foundation for my art later in life. Or the story told by an inspirational English lit teacher, whose retelling of the Battle of Hastings in the Norman Invasion forever etched the power of stories in my heart. Or the story of the friendships I formed there that have lasted a lifetime, the dogs I met that captured my heart forever, my first experience with volunteerism, and my first big, empowering, grownup decision to go to graduate school. And how that neighbor’s death inspired me to create a powerful grief writing exercise years later.

You, too, have choices on how to tell your life story. You can drown in the sadness and despair that life entails, or you can recognize what Jane Mcgonigal calls the gifts of post-traumatic growth.

Which this reader has done. And is doing.

The fourth thread is about the five regrets found at the end of life. (Were you surprised that the five regrets are the antithesis of the five gifts of post-traumatic growth? I was! And you thought I was wise…!!)

The fifth thread is what faith means to me: We never truly know the impact our decisions, our choices, our very presence in the world. When I receive a letter, like the one I got from Lorri, it is always out of the blue. It’s usually on a day where I’m feeling pretty frumpy, or useless, or negligible. It always says that something I said, made a difference–for a moment, for an hour, whatever.

And I know when I tell others who have made that difference, for ME, they say the same thing–that they don’t even remember saying that, or telling me that, or writing that.

Such is the nature of our presence in the world. Sharing our gifts with the world is an act of extreme faith in….something beyond what we can see or measure.

So Lorri, give it your best shot. If it means something to you, don’t give up. Until you feel it’s really time to give up and do something else. Maybe you’re thinking of something you’ve never heard of before. Maybe that’s because it really is new, and fresh, and creative.

Don’t wait for me to tell you it’s all right. I don’t know! But I cheer you on anytime you tell me you’re thinking about something wonderful, something you care about, something that makes you perk up and feel truly alive. Something that’s calling to you.

I’ve never regretted following that call. The few times I haven’t followed, that’s what I regret.

My one word of advice? Believe.

Because real faith comes from believing in yourself. Believing that you bring something to the world. That you are worth believing in.

Even if you fall flat on your face.

I remember Anne Lamott, I think in Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith, saying when she prays, all she asks is for a light to shine at her feet, to show the way for one step. Just one little step forward. Because that’s all we need to make our way in the world. One little step at a time. (She also says her favorite prayer is, “Help me, help me, help me…”)

A truly wise woman told me recently, “You are a wise woman who creates your own wisdom. That’s a wonderful thing.” Everything I write about is just that–finding the wisdom, the blessings, in the ordinary things–good, and bad–that cross my path.

And so, Lorri, 900 words of advice. Or one. Whatever helps you get on your way, today. And I am truly humbled by the fact that you asked me. Which is precisely why it took me so long to get back to you.

10 Comments

Filed under art

MORE TALES OF THE BUNNY and More Lessons from the Move

The excitement of our anticipated move to California is wearing thin, as the stress of culling and packing piles up. I’ve had an indoor/online tag sale and a yarn sale. With the help of my good friend Roma Dee Holmes, the process was manageable and profitable.

But now comes the studio. And things are getting really, really hard.

Compounding the agonizing and confusing process of what goes and what stays is my upcoming Open Studio. I need to have my studio still look like…well, my studio, not a FEMA-worthy disaster site.

And of course, there is the Big Question yet to be answered:

What do I do with Bunster?

Bunster in her youth, with the run of my studio.

Bunster in her youth, with the run of my studio.

Bunster is about 129 in bunny years. She used to have the run of my studio, sitting at my feet ready to chew the hem of my jeans if she didn’t get enough attention. She would follow visitors around, knowing I’d given them Cheerios for her. She kept my friend Russ Moline of The Moses House in business by chewing through power cords for my sewing machine, my computer, and my work lamps. (He keeps my sewing machines repaired and happy.) He always had the same advice for curbing her chewing habit. “Hasenpfeffer!” he’d say cheerfully.

A few years ago, I realized I didn’t see as much of her. She hid. A lot. I realized she was losing her sight, and her hearing. She was stiff and moved more slowly. She stopped using her litter box. I hated to do it, but I set up a big cage for her with hidey boxes, a heat lamp and plenty of food and treats. She’s comfortable there, and I try to spend time with her every day.

Some days I look at her and think, “Not much more time.” Other days, she aggressively snatches a Dorito out of my hand with the same piggy grunt and runs off to happily munch her salty snack. (She’s 13, we think, and I now let her eat anything she wants.) She lets me hold her now, and I do so as much as I can.

But will I be able to bring her to California with me?

It’s one thing to have a huge cage in our mudroom. It’s another to have one in a small apartment (which is all we can afford in Santa Rosa). It’s one thing to to have her here with me today. It’s another to try to travel cross-country with two dogs, a cat and an elderly rabbit.

I’ve decided not to worry until it’s actually time to make a decision. But it’s still always on my mind.

Today I finished clearing off a huge work table in my studio, where I pile up the fabrics I’m working with. When I cleared out the space UNDER the table, I found Bunster’s last stash of….

See how Bunster turns an ordinary piece of fiber into a million tiny pieces.

See how Bunster turns an ordinary piece of fiber into a million tiny pieces.

Well, I don’t know what to call them. Except she does a beautiful job of chewing ordinary fabric into teensy-tiny frayed fragments.

Each tiny scrap is beautiful!

Each tiny scrap is beautiful!

In fact, the first time she found a fabric stash, I freaked out. Until I realized she’d shredded a piece of fiber (a kilim rug scrap) into tiny beautifully-frayed “dots”, something I couldn’t do myself. Her teeth give the perfect aged time-worn look to new and vintage fabrics. Early on, I realized they were the perfect size for little pops of color in my smaller fiber pieces.

There are some squares (how does she know??) but also delightfully free-form shapes.

There are some squares (how does she know??) but also delightfully free-form shapes.

She taught me that what’s in her nature–chew!–could be seen as a destructive force or a constructive process. Or better yet, a transformative process. She turns something ordinary into something else. Something with the look of antiquity.

Okay, just so we don't go too far with the woo-woo....She's also not too discriminating about WHAT she turns into tiny pieces. Like this plastic bag.

Okay, just so we don’t go too far with the woo-woo….She’s also not too discriminating about WHAT she turns into tiny pieces. Like this plastic bag.

My husband found me on the floor, picking up these last tiny Bunster-chewed scraps. He asked what I was doing, and laughed when I told him. Then he stopped. “You’re serious?” he said. “You’re really saving those little pieces?” Yes, I told him. I knew exactly which fabrics they were from, how little I had left of those special colors and textures, and they were the perfect size.

Yep, that's a Bunster-chewed scrap!

Yep, that’s a Bunster-chewed scrap!

And as I gathered them up, I realized this might be one of Bunster’s last gifts to me. I’ve learned so much from this fearful yet fierce, frail yet resiliant little creature.

Yes, I’ve given her a home, love, warmth, wonderful food. She’s given me so much more. Tiny scraps of color for my artwork. Lessons on letting go. Stories that help me find the blessing in even the smallest of life’s set-backs. The sure knowledge that there is a place for me in the world.

Beautiful stories are everywhere around us. If only we take the time, and open our hearts, to see them.

7 Comments

Filed under art, Lessons from the move, life with rabbits

GOOD THINGS COME IN THREE’S

Wow, what a day!

This morning I was dee-lighted to see I was featured on Cynthia Tinapple’s well-curated, internationally focused polymer art website, Polymer Clay Daily. It’s an honor!

Melanie Plenda, freelance journalist, wrote a great article about me and the inspiration for my work for the March 4, 2014 issue of The Union Leader. But I’ll to photo the article for you because I can’t find it online. Thank you, Melanie!

And I’m almost ready for our next/last indoor home tag sale this Saturday, from 10-1! I’ve staged two downstairs rooms full of furniture and wonderful accessories: Vintage dishes, vintage pottery (McCoy!!), silverware sets, pillows, artwork, antique and vintage furniture such as a dining room table, chairs, book shelves and book cases, a child’s antique school desk (I almost wrote “antique child” and that made no sense), vintage glassware, vintage stemware, a very cool doll house, candlesticks, and tons more. Take a peek at my online gallery and check out my special Facebook page for updates. Come if you can, buy right off the virtual site if you can’t come (just email or call me for the items you can’t live without–or just WON’T live without!), and tell your friends, too!

If you stick around, we’ll open the wine!

It's the shiny things in life.....

It’s the shiny things in life…..


And the little things.....

And the little things…..

And the funky things!!

And the funky things!!


I'm having WAAAAAAY too much fun staging things!

I’m having WAAAAAAY too much fun staging things!

It's felt pretty scattered around here lately, but now I feel like I'm home again.

It’s felt pretty scattered around here lately, but now I feel like I’m home again.

2 Comments

Filed under art, event