2022! WE ARE DOING OK.

Teaching, swimming, waterfalls, roadtrips, dogs. It was actually a pretty good year.

click on photos for descriptions

this unexpected experiment

What to say about this new work?  

Collage created post-concussion, working in a sketchbook, making abstract organic shapes from paper scraps.  Hiding in my office, making  work in a sketchbook because there was an irritated disconnect between my observations, my emotions, and my actions.  There was a terrible distance between my tedious explanations and what was understood. 

The work about my brain that is not about my brain.

In July 2021, I bumped my head and had no idea how it would change my life.

Three months later I was angry, frustrated and helpless.  I could not understand what was happening to me. I knew I was injured and struggling. I spoke carefully, slowly, thoughtfully but  my words sounded flippant, terse. I obsessed about how to say things, how to speak. But the harder I worked on communication, the less I seemed to be understood. 

All of this, I realized a few months later, were symptoms of my concussion and reactions to those symptoms.

But that autumn, as it got colder and darker, I felt confused and cornered.  I could not go to work, I was tired headachey, irritable. Noises and light crashed over my senses. I was thirsty for silence, for visual quiet.

I spent a lot of time in my office--a vintage trailer parked in our driveway. I was afraid of sounding angry, afraid of causing arguments, afraid of my own reactions.  I was too tired to go to my studio.  Impairments in visual processing made riding my bike difficult and driving dangerous.  Working in my office meant I could be separate but close by.

Collage became part of my regular creative practice around 2018.  By the time I was struggling with PSC symptoms, it was not unusual for me to collage, or collage alone. I started working on my sketchbook because  a friend, Kellette, shared her sketchbook and I loved the idea, containing all my work in one place, treating them like experiments.

When I decided to offer new prints for the holidays, I flipped through the sketchbooks, realizing I had a new body of work and a new way of working.  But what struck me is that the shift in my work came post-concussion. 

So many things shifted post-concussion it is difficult to differentiate cause or effect.  The past few years have been of great shifts, extreme social shifts, personal shifts. I cannot claim that any one thing could shift my work. And yet, here we are. Sketchbook number one.

This work is from the first sketchbook I started, in the dark dark days before solstice , as the days got shorter and the nights longer, and I was so deep inside my muddled brain, I could not tell you how I really felt about anything. I did not trust my senses, my gut or my emotions.

Somehow, with all this darkness, I worked with bright colors, I tried incorporating people, there are snippets of joy and whimsy. 

I am sharing them with you.

You can see the full collection here.

And buy prints here.

And if you want to know a little more about how post-concussion syndrome affects people, I am finishing up a zine about it. You can pre-order Eulalia #4 here. Created with collage, then riso printed in two colors.

superstitious--keep writing number 162

When I was 23, I was vegan and traveled in the UK for a month. It was 2001, before 9/11. Our flights were cheap but we traveled without pocket computers. We carried a small book of vegan-friendly restaurants and groceries.  I don't remember how we found places to stay. In Aberdeen, we had a room that felt like a suite in a palace. We stayed in a cramped hostel in Ireland. In Belfast,  we stayed at the home of a woman who had us sleep in separate rooms because of our perceived genders. She was perplexed almost to anger that we would not eat the eggs she gathered from the chickens that morning. But she nearly broke when my partner stirred his tea with a knife.

It's bad luck, she said.

He was untroubled by the revelation that cutlery choices could affect your future. 

I never thought of myself as particularly superstitious but I grew up catholic and my grandparents are Siciallian so, everything is relative I guess. The pageantry of my youth turned me off to organized religion but not to carrying stones or coins for luck.  I've never made declarations about the existence of ghosts but I am not going to forsake the idea that energy takes many forms and may linger.

What do I know?

I may have seemed very certain of my beliefs as a 23 year old refusing a very local chicken egg.

Isn't that what your 20s are for? Being certain and then having all your beliefs destroyed or questioned so you can rebuild in your 40's as somebody who is certain because of evidence and experience. And more aware of what they don't know.

I wanted to hear your superstitions. I wanted to know what you consider a superstition. 

This was not the original idea for October's card. 

In September, at the start of two months of an ambitious schedule, I  gave a talk from my studio for the SFCB From the Bench Series. The night before, I realized it would be cozier from my camper office. My studio was a mess. 

I usually have plenty of ideas for Keep Writing postcards, but occasionally I get stuck or ideas feel stale or I am thinking of classes I want to teach or talks I am about to give and can't focus on what I need to design a good card. The day of the talk, I was in the middle of designing a few Keep Writing postcards..

I thought it would be a good idea to plan the postcard live, during the call.

It was not.

It was fun, but there was not enough time to execute brainstorming, weeding out false hopes, and sifting a nugget of truth from the mud of ideas.  I don't remember the idea we were working with ( you can watch it unfold here).  I kept the scraps of our notes and when I could not make the collective idea work, I returned to our original list of subjects and was drawn to superstitions. And so it went.

 As a bonus,  I got to carve a two color evil eye.

While writing this, I cleaned out the cup holders of my truck and discovered a glass evil eye charm from a yard sale find from this summer.

I often think my ideas are like lightning but they are the slow burn of repetitive suggestions.

For the record, I believe in moving energy--setting intentions, carrying stones and smells and spells for protection and encouragement. I find churches overwhelming, even when they are so gaudy I want to be angry.  And I try to pay attention to the solstice, watch the sun rise and set if I can. 

I stir my tea with whatever is handy.

commit to the craft

We had our first snowfall today.

I’ve been waiting. I stayed up a little too late a few days before because of a misleading weather report. I feel like a kid, waiting, gleeful anticipation of something that brings me joy. I’m a little surprised at myself—I feared the cold when I relocated to Portland, OR after years in the gulf south. I love the warm humid Novembers. But it snowed within days of my arrival. And returned the next winter and the next. Despite protests that it “never” snows here, it clearly does. I have embraced it.

When I lived in Oakland I waited for rain in the same way but the lack of precipitation there is unsettling. Even here, I know it does not rain as much as it used to, as much as it needs to. Snog is a special kind of magic, requiring a certain tempurature and precipitation but also appears unexpectedly when it should be too warm or when the sun shines.

Another reason I was up late: I bought a new computer and have been catching up on tedious administrative tasks. My old computer was not preventing me from doing my work, but it was discouraging. The screen cracked a few months ago, creating a low vibrating glitch across 2 inches on the left and three inches across the bottom. The shaky intrusion of color made it very difficult to work until I “solved” the problem with electrical tape over the broken parts of the screen. Some days my fix wasn’t enough as the entire screen sang with excitement and flashing lights.

Then the computer shut itself down one day when I was opening files to edit.

I weighed my options and then purchased a newer computer, with screen intact.

I worked for months with the broken screen—I was in the middle of teaching two different series of classes online. I even began taping notes to myself in over the electrical tape, as if I had a thich margin on my monitor instead of a hidden secret.

My friend Brian, a writer you may remember from the exquisite corpse poem in 2020 Keep Writing, keeps notes taped around every room since his first adult apartment in Atlanta in the late 90’s. He writes in sharpie on white paper, blown up post it notes quoting songs and poems.

His notes around the house are not unique, but I appreciate the scale and his commitment. I love collecting bits of inspiration, verbal and visual. Taped to the edge of my computer.

commit to the craft.

Which might just be the theme of 2023.

The past year has been a slow grind of healing, and a slow return to the life I want. I have to assess, constantly, if I am making choices towards my goals and if these are the goals that suit me still. This might sound exhausting but I prefer the repeated check-ins, the assurance that I am on the right path.

I want to write, print postcards and create conversations.

I want to encourage you to create, to reach out to others and to stay connected. Expect more of this.

The downside of this snow is that it was wet, which means it is already melty, and can turn to ice overnight. Everything can shift so quickly. Knowing where I want to be heading helps me right my way.

Part of the Process

I was walking around the store the other night in a daze looking for a scented candle. It's been cold and I've been working at home a lot this week, at our kitchen table, because it is warm. I want a fire but I thought a scented candle would do.  There were one million candles. All different prices, few of them pleasing. I wanted to smell a forest (the next day I went to a forest, I think that is what I was actually missing),  I wandered around the candle aisle for too long, circled back, picked up some christmas candy and left. There are already aisles of tinsel and peppermint, wrapping and red and green wrapped everything. My sister has started her annual fruitcake bake. At home, our Halloween decorations are still blowing in the sudden and cold wind. It left me so tired.  

I have mixed feelings at best about gifting and the holidays.

I do love buying art for myself and my partner, sharing my art with friends, and sharing what I do with strangers.

The hardest part of my job isn't making The Thing.  I have no problem sitting down to collage. I have a long list of themes and questions for Keep Writing. I think of collage as a puzzle with infinite solutions. I love writing new classes and adjusting them to better connect with and serve my students. All of that is the easy part.

I struggle to tell people about what I do.

Maybe it doesn't seem that way because here we are, family or friends or strangers and you know what I do.  I struggle to tell the world at large in a way that interests them.  I miss opportunities to tell people who might be interested.  I get tired and burned out and delete social media. Sometimes I worry that what I'm making isn't that interesting or needed but mostly I know I am just a reluctant marketer. The best thing about being in my mid forties is being aware of my shortcomings. I am not a savvy businessperson.

I believe in the work I do. I believe we all are creative and can connect to others through making art.  I know this because of the feedback from students after every "I Can't Draw" workshop series. I know this because of the responses I receive each month for Keep Writing.  I know the work I do helps people connect with their creative self.

The past year and a half has been a year of transformation for me--some of it unwilling and the rest just trying to adapt.  I've made choices to make my business smarter, more sustainable, and maintain it as my only job.  I don't need a million followers or to tell the whole world what I am doing. I want to tell the people who are interested more about what I sell and what I teach. I invested in business coaching with friend and amazing human Bear Hebert, which has introduced me to lots of great small business owners, struggling with the same problems. 

And I told someone about what I do. 

Someone whose work I appreciate, whose work centers around questions and connection. We were chatting in a social media DM and I did it, I said: here is a thing I do that I think you would like.  

She offered gracious words and I remembered again that there are people who are interested in what I do.

Sound like a pep talk? Yes. It is. I needed one. Social media can be good for some things but it is fast paced and all consuming. I can't and refuse to keep up. Some days I get tired of talking about things I sell because I don't want to add to the noise. But I love connecting with you.

I am about to offer lots of information about my holiday offerings. If you are interested, awesome, let's work together. If you are here for the stories and long inner monologues, hi, welcome to this corner of my brain. If you are not, no problem, there will be reels of Mr. Peabody looking watery eyed and adventurous for you too. 

If you don't want to hear about creativity, postcards, waterfalls or a chihuahua, I am surprised you are still here.

I'm not participating in any markets this holiday season so I made a gift guide of my offerings.

The Custom Collage Machine is back.  There are Keep Writing gift subscriptions sent with gift announcement cards and I have a new body of collage work available as fine art prints. Eulalia #4 is on its way, a few months after I told wholesalers about it.  Fitting as it is a zine all about things I have lost and gained post-concussion.

I'm going to share more about these for the next few weeks, and then I will take a break.

If you love this and know someone who might want to read ramblings like this, or might want a monthly postcard, a collage print or hear more about creative practice classes,  please this forward to them.

Then take a break too. Enjoy the people you love, cozying up, warm drinks and the good things we have.

Please Feed the Machine

Being a working artist is often a balance between what do I want to make and what can I sell?

I want to make things that are exciting, that I care about and that genuinely add something to someone's life.  

Maybe that is too lofty an ideal.

Designing marketable work has never been my strength. I prefer postcards to greeting cards, inspirational sayings with quirky designs over holiday cards and handbound journals.  

And yet..

Does the world need my take on a jingle bells pun card?

Does anyone really want a print of my chihuahua in a santa hat (wait, yes, maybe.)

I know what I am good at. I love creative solutions. I love collaboration. I thrive in experimentation. 

And then last year, deep in the pandemic, I brainstormed:

What if I made custom artwork on my own terms?

I thought about the Drawaton 3000, one of my favorite parts of the annual Draw-A-Thon in New Orleans.  It was a large cardboard covered room with a tiny window. You inserted your word or idea and out the other side came a drawing.  (hilariously, I entered the word "happy" and received a drawing of my friend and New Orleans artist Happy Burbeck)

What if I could be the Drawaton but with collage. What if I could recreate the surprise and joy and whimsy of a machine that cranks out drawings inspired by input from the patron. 

The Custom Collage Machine was born.

Part custom artwork, a little collaboration and a unique gift all in one.

Though the machine is capable of all sorts of custom artwork, this season it is sticking to portraits.  

Portraits of your kids, one special person, your parents, a group of friends. A great gift for bridal parties or siblings.  I can memorialize a special animal pal or someone you lost.  

New this year, you can order prints of the final collage! Which means you can send the original to one person and prints to anyone else.  For example, order a custom collage portrait of your siblings--send the original to your parents and prints to your brothers and sisters! So many gifts at once. Or a photo of your friend's bridal party. Send the bride the originals and the rest of the party a high quality art print.  

Is this more work for me?

Absolutely.  I should stick to chihuahua-in-a-santa-hat cards. But someone is already doing that and better than I would.  I love collage, I love making new work and I love a creative challenge.

It's like a little gift to me. Offering one of a kind gifts like this allows me to make the work I want to make and gives you a chance to order something special. I am not making 400 prints of t-shirt I thought was hilarious but doesn't sell.  I am not generating stock to have options at the markets.  I am making something unique to you, to order, at your specifications. . Printing out your photo is the only 100% new material. I make work from my vast collection of colors and patterned paper, and ship using reusable materials whenever possible.

Because the Custom Collage Machine is so specialized, it only opens a few times a year.  Order your unique portrait by December 6. Or get on the waitlist to know the next time it opens.

What Surrounds You Inspires You part 2

A visual tour of the art in my bedroom.

Last weekend a friend showed me around their home and I was struck by the clusters of art in the bedroom. I can appreciate minimalism in theory but I prefer to surround myself with artwork I love, like a little inspiration nest! Here are some highlights:

Everything hangs a little crooked. Actually this is above Adam’s dresser. From the top: a painting by Adam (my partner, Adam Ross) , a letterpress print I made at Penland years ago (my first typesetting class and I was learning to set type in curves and circles) and a collage by Hannah Newman.

I bought a lot of art during the pandemic and I do not regret it. Here is a ceramic weaving—I have forgotten the artist’s name! The print is from a calendar, an ongoing exchange with Bryan Kring of Oakland. I send him Keep Writing postcards, he sends me his multi-layer calendar.

A new collaborative collage by me and Adam above a photo of I10 taken by Bruce Q. WIlliams, another impulsive and beloved pandemic purchase.

clockwise from top left: a collage I made for Adam, a photo of my paternal grandparents on their wedding day in 1936, a linoleum print by Adam Ewing, work by the first printmaker I knew who is still Adam’s best friend, Jim Wood, another collage I gave Adam from a body of work I completed in New Orleans in 2019.

Is anything in my house straight? A cluster of work by Jim Wood, a few pieces by Adam and in the center bottom, a postcard by Chris Johns.

Many years ago I received this Mary Oliver poem in the mail annonymously. I typed it onto a piece of paper I made and have carried it around for years.

This rearrangeable set of prints was a gift from Adam, I’ve forgotten the artist. They are photographic prints of montotypes, designed to be arranged and rearranged. The ceramic nest is a relic from art school (one of the only ceramic things I liked that I made.)

What Surrounds You Inspires You

If you’ve been reading what I write for at least a few months, you know I love swimming. But autumn is actually my favorite. I grew up in New England and for all the things I loved about living in New Orleans, there was never a real autumn. I grew up with red and gold blanketed hills, chill air, apples, spices, frost and roadways slick with wet leaves.

I love transitional times: spring, fall, sunrise, sunset. Being on the cusp of something else. Autumn is harvest and the end of a cycle. It is witchy air and preparations. It is calling back to what and who we lost and shedding what no longer suits us. In Oregon especially, it is gloom and mist and chill—satisfying my gothy inner teen—and then, for a surprise minute, bright sun—all the October Saturdays of my youth.

This morning I rode to drop off my ballot and then sat in the sun with coffee and wrote. I’ve been working and building for the past few months, and it feels like I have this month to push forward and see if the plan stands. Business, and life, is not really ever like that, one big push and then collapse or success. What we really have are the habits and relationships we cultivate, daily things we do and people we reach out to. I’m surrounding myself with people and practices that hopefully inspire and support. And a sunny autumn day feels like I’m heading in the right direction.

In June I made plans to teach and teach and teach. And I have. How validating to be doing the thing I love, to begin to turn down opportunities because they are not the right fit and to make plans for next year.

There is a big shop revamp coming in two weeks. My plans might be more than I can accomplish but here’s to taking in the cool air and see what I can share.

The Cost of American Convenience

For Keep Writing number 161, Antero Garcia and Alix Dick brought an idea to me. A researcher at Stanford University (and longtime subscriber to the Keep Writing project) and a filmmaker, they collaborated on text for this card, and sent their ideas to me. The invoice idea was all theirs. Their project combines historic letterpress aesthetic and important modern questions. The cost of living in America, especially as an immigrant, is a foil to the Land of the Free narrative.

I loved their idea, and I especially love new ideas for Keep Writing. It is refreshing to have someone else offer the question. I love this format for collecting research and hope to collaborate with other researchers in the future.

Subscribers: send in your cards!

Everyone! Subscribe to their newsletter to read more about their findings! And they are mailing postcards for free to anyone who might be interested in participating in this research!

last swim of the summer

I was kind of freaking out for two days. It might’ve been hormones, or post-concussion syndrome symptoms or a reasonable response to an overwhelming, fucked up world but I was having a hard time. 

Five weeks ago, before the first day of school, we had a family swim day at the Sandy River. It was late August, the dregs of a too-hot summer that refuses to chill out. Deaths and theft and big changes that we are still sitting in the wake of, slapped by difficult emotions.  We went swimming and ate ice cream and called it a good day. My step kid scoured the sandy shore for rocks to smash while I floated out in the middle of the shallow, not too cold but sandy bottomed river. Most rivers near us wear rocks smooth; a treasure for the eyes but unsteady underfoot. The Sandy River is a great fishing spot in winter, but in late summer, before the rains return, the water is low, the current lazy and you can walk across the river without getting your shorts wet.  There is an old drive in diner that has been revamped with simple soft serve with fancy toppings, making a perfect escape from Portland Day.

Now, my step kid is back in school. Most mornings, I wake him, make lunch while he coos at the dog, then we walk to school together. But this day, I was exhausted. I had a headache for a few days, not a migraine like you'd expect but a special back-of-the-head ache that combines a little nausea, some brain fog and a lack of patience. I felt jumbled and foggy, and unable to enjoy my day off and I can't stop crying.

My head feels like a snowglobe someone shook too hard and now the glitter flakes won't settle.

It was supposed to be 87 despite it being October. I was supposed to go swimming. I am tired and impatient and finally decide to go. Every time I checked, the forecast insisted it would be 87 but at 3 it was 75 . I almost gave up.  I sat in the sun eating my ice cream and contemplated. I don't miss hot weather--it exacerbates my symptoms giving me a foggy, wool in the brain feeling. But I was hoping to swim.

This summer, I realized that floating on my back in cool water calms my headache. There is science for this, about being in cold water when you feel agitated or inflamed .   On hot days, I work at home and take multiple breaks in our kiddie pool.

I could take a cold shower too, and I do though it isn't just the cold water that offers relief. Even in shallow water, or in the little pool in our backyard, I float on my back, reach towards the sides of the pool or the edges of the water and look up. On the river, the horizon becomes almond shaped, bent at the edges of my peripheral vision.  Even with my head back my ears are below the surface of the river and all is quiet.  It is utterly calming.  Today I don't stay long. The water is cold.  I have waded out to a sunny spot but my hands and feet are chilled.  I float a few times, take deep breaths, looking up. 

You rarely know when you're experiencing something for the last time.

We came to the river to celebrate the end of a very difficult summer but the summer kept going. So I tried to say goodbye one more time.

The next morning was gray, chilly, almost drizzling. My step kid declared there are rarely any foggy days in Portland, which is a perfect example of how a 10 year old experiences the world. THere has been no fog for months therefore it is rarely foggy.  The summer is over but it is still swimming weather if you want it to be.

I Can't Draw Either

student work

I still say it sometimes. Years after I started this drawing workshop, sometimes I still say it. It is reflexive. I  describe my designing and printing process. I describe the tools I use to create images--clip art books, collage, drawing--but add as a disclaimer that I can't really draw.

It is true that I struggled in my life drawing classes in college, even though they were one of the main attractions to going to college in my 30's.  What I figured out is:

1) drawing takes practice

2) many people claim to be "not creative" because they "can't draw."

and then I realized:

3) being creative takes practice.

We get in our own way so often. We think we can't do something. We make assumptions. We were told one thing when we were young and did not challenge that idea in adulthood.

Here is the not-so-secret: you can draw.

It is true that looking at an object and rendering it accurately is difficult. It is a useful skill.  But it is not the only way to draw.

I wanted to teach a class I wish I had taken years ago. I wish I had been instructed to doodle. To make patterns. To experiment with materials.  To learn about color and composition but not rely on rules.  

So I designed a class like this.

It has evolved according to student feedback (thank you!) and my move to mostly online teaching for now. The class is now 6 weeks, 2 hours per week, with time for drawing, plus demos, slideshows, time to ask questions, and optional homework.

This is my favorite series. I love that students still send me updates about their practice--if they are still drawing or what it might look like now. Some of my students have taken the class more than once. Sometimes they bring a friend or partner or parent.  Our last class is often a drawing party, open to friends and former students. Being online is a little trickier but I appreciate the cross-country community.

Registration is open for "I Can't Draw" drawing workshop

Thursdays 5-7 pm PST

Oct 13-Nov 17

$345 includes all materials

work/trade available esp in Portland area

me drawing in my sketchbook to keep up with students

Tools for Remembering

I bought a bike.

A brand new bicycle. After years of riding a too-tall steel frame 80’s Centurion with a Schwinn fork (dubbed the Shwinchurion only by me), given to me by a generous friend, I invested in a brand new, tiny, 3 speed with panniers and a custom made front bag. My friend gave me The Schwinchurion after I had a bike stolen. It was too small for him, and though he had tried to make adjustments, it never really fit him. Or so he said. It a little too tall for me but once I changed the handlebars and seat, it was smooth and fast, and fit ll except that I could not stand straight up over it. I brought it to the west coast, rode it all around the Bay Area, packed it back to Louisiana. I knew I needed a smaller bike, but we had made it work. And then my friend died. Suddenly and tragically. I had not seen him in years. I could not lose another connection to him. So I rode the too-tall bike until my hips ached from standing askew at stoplights.

After bringing it on the back of my camper to Portland I finally decided to find a better-fitting bike. I tried trying a few different frames and found something workable. It sat for 9 months until Adam transferred the parts from the too-tall frame onto the new-to-me frame. The old parts did not fit on the newish frame. The brakes didnt quite reach the rims at the best angle and the rear cassette needed replacing but I kept riding it, stubbornly, slipping out of gear, braking slowly down hills and eventually walking it more often than riding it. I rode my dead friend’s bike to pieces and then tried to move the pieces onto another ill-fitting frame., riding that into disrepair.

Once, many years ago, I attended a community bike shop conference. At the host shop, we chose bikes to borrow for the week, fixing them up from the shop’s collection. I chose a single speed bike with a coaster brake. I felt self-conscious, as if everyone would judge my mechanical skills on this bike. I hastily worked and decided it was good enough. I rode up a mountain with the group, the bike in such disrepair that I had to pedal downhill. Finally, out in the desert, a friend offered to take a look and realized I’d been riding with a malfunctioning brake . I am stubborn and proud.

Finally, this spring, I accepted that if I had a better functioning bike, I could depend on e more often for transportation. I was driving less after an injury but also preferred riding. I knew it would not stress me the way driving does, and I knew it made me feel better. I researched new bicycles. I asked a million questions at the shop. I debated. I test rode two different bikes, confirming my choice.

Nothing brings a dead friend back. Nothing reverses history or aging or and some injuries stay with us. I gave up the bike that won’t bring my friend back. I felt like a traitor buying a new bike. Physical objects remind us of our lost loved ones but objects are just vessels for the memories, for the love. I bought a new bike because what I remember about my friend is his generosity, his kindness, biking with him and shouting at cars, riding to the swamp. And it doesn’t matter which bike I’m riding when I remember that.

sustainability and a big thank you

new hanky for my workspace from Caroline Kern/Pegacorn Press

I have an artist friend whose work seems to be everywhere. It is beautiful, thoughtful, interesting. I often wonder how she does it, show after show, with markets and events and so much new work always. Her work evolves and grows—it does not seem stagnant or repetitive to me. She recently said something about coming out of something, implying an illness. She remarked that self-employed artists don’t get paid sick time. Which is true. I don’t know the details of her situation but I have been struggling with this as I ease back into the full-time work life:

how do I continue to take care of myself and work in a sustainable way while being self-employed?

I was house sitting a lot this spring and summer. The best jobs were ones that lasted at least a week. It was a way to begin working without straining my body. It gave me a chance to re-establish some healthy habits . As a bonus, I stayed at a friend’s lake house and went swimming off the dock every sunny day.

When I got home, finally, it had been nearly 2 months and I was exhausted. I wanted to bake bread. I wanted to clean out my closet. I wanted to encourage the tomato started I put in the ground haphazardly before a rainfall between housesits. I thought about making housesitting my job. I love being alone, I like animals, I like being in different parts of the city. But it was stressful to always be leaving. So I put it on hold.

I committed to staying home, for now.

I’m still coming back to California when I can. I am definitely a person who makes a million plans when I am feeling good and then realizes I have over-committed. A friend calls it the difference between sunny day plans and rainy day plans. After a few days of a persistent headache, I sometimes come out of it with the sunny day feeling—I want to do EVERYTHING.

One of the things I signed up for, in a whirlwind of an EVERYTHING day was six months of coaching with Bear Hebert, a friend who has always given good advice. I am slowly moving my business towards supporting me full-time, with their patient help. One step:

I raised the price for all new Keep Writing subscriptions.

There is no way to raise prices for existing subscriptions, which is both frustrating and understandable. I decided to tell my subscribers what I did and why. And then I let them choose. They could cancel their subscriptions and re-subscribe at the new rate, or not. And they did. Not everyone. But a few folks did, and a few folks with lifetime subscriptions volunteered to pay a little every month. It was very sweet and validating.

It is true that I don’t get paid sick days. And I don’t know my artist friend’s situation. I have a financial cushion right now. I am not shaming my freind. The problem is not artists who want to work and live on their work. The problem is capitalism. I have a flexible schedule which means I can take time off whenever I like, but the same work awaits me when I return. I have at least 40 hours of work to do every week. I am continuously building in ways to not overwork, to not burn out, to get paid what I need to be a person who sometimes can’t work. It is a privilege to be able to choose this and it is likely I will be looking for part time work this fall. But I keep taking steps to a better work life. Thank you thank you for supporting that.

If you are a subscriber who is willing and able to pay the new subscription rate here is what to do:

if you pay monthly, and are able, consider cancelling your subscription and re-subscribing at the new rate.

if you pay yearly, and are able, consider cancelling your subscription and re-subscribing at the new rate. Please email me and I will refund any difference for the remainder of your old subscription.

If you are a lifetime subscriber, and you are comfortably able and willing, consider a one time tip or pay $3/month as a family friend. email me and I will help you with the next steps. It is clunky but works.

One Year

at the lake

Last week, I met with an online group I will be working with for the next six months. In my introduction, I did not tell them I am recovering from a head injury. It was the first time I did not disclose this since it happened.. Today, with the same group, I nearly cried when I lost my train of thought.  

Peaks and valleys, healing isn't linear, etc etc etc.

Describing how something is does not lessen the frustration of it.

One year ago,  I was hit in the back of the head in an impossible way, a tiny bump that did not cause me to fall over or black out. I took a moment and continued my job. The next day, angry and forgetful, I drove to work. I loaded my van with deliveries, called my co-worker the wrong name, polled my other co-workers about their head bumps, and then realized I needed to go to the doctor. I never drove for that company again. For a few months, I hardly drove at all.

the accidental photo of my last day as a delivery driver. You can't tell, but I am already feeling the symptoms of the concussion that is still healing.

One year ago, I had a long day at work and went home angry and confused. I remained angry and confused for months. I thought I was mad at dispatch and traffic-- I might've been mad at dispatch and traffic but also automated phone menus and everything else. I am still never sure what makes me angry. I sometimes still get angry.

One year ago, I was supposed to go on vacation, camp, see an old friend and celebrate my birthday. Instead, I floated in the pool in my backyard, peaceful and cool and wanting quiet as if it were water and I was always thirsty.

Today I swam twice in a small lake to try and clear my fuzzy, headached brain.  I am healing. Also I am tired. 

One of my therapists asked me if I had time to grieve who I was but I am still figuring out who I am now. I am still assessing losses. I have no reliable account of who I was versus who I am now.

I am house sitting alone on a lake with a dog who is cranky about my appearance and two cats who seem to like me.  There are large windows over the lake and it seems possible to watch the sun set and rise though I know I can hardly see more than 90 degrees of sky. The dog and I watch boaters and deer out the window. In the afternoons, he lays in the sun while I swim.  Tomorrow, I will bake a cake for my partner's birthday. One year ago, I put a spirograph set and a note in his lunch, which he brought to the urgent care when I called him hours later to say I could not drive home.  

One year.

If you know me at all you know I love finding beautiful places to swim, ice cream, and my birthday.  I love my friends and long road trips. I tell strangers that I am recovering from a head injury because it is nebulous;  I cannot touch the boundaries of it. I have tried and tried to say: this I cannot do, but this I can. But it changes. Every day. Sometimes during the day. Sometimes I write and run and laugh and plan and plan and plan and some days there is a dull ache at the back of my head, buzzing through all my conversations. I have it now. I take medicine and sleep and stretch and strengthen and debate how much to tell strangers. I am self-conscious, I wonder if it sounds self-important to disclose this. Sometimes I use the wrong words, sometimes I cannot find things I know in the pockets of my brain.  I know that no matter how I speak, how smoothly the words leave me, I know there is a struggle to get them out. 

It is too soon to see the full effects of this, yet, everyday I am living the effects of it. One year.

the long view

Oof, even if you’ve been expecting it, the news last week was still a gutpunch.

What’s been helping me is: information, reading legal takes and insight from organizers, and making a recurring donation to the New Orleans Abortion Fund.

I’ve been in planning mode, looking ahead: writing classes, applying for residencies, and making business plans. My concussion symptoms are healing but it’s hard to establish a good work rhythm when I am derailed by heat-induced headaches.

How do we not burnout on news, personal struggles, the pains of capitalism?

I’m not a life coach or a therapist but I have learned this past year that adaptability and boundaries are key. That doesn’t mean ignoring what’s going on politically, because it will affect you. Abortion isn’t a “women’s” issue, and white folks are not immune to the effects of police brutality. All these issues are interconnected—power of some over others.

Connecting with your community, finding ways to care for each other outside systems that can be threatened by legislation, and staying informed on issues will help you be more resilient. For me, that means getting involved with groups that feed hungry folks in Portland. Currently that looks like donating money most of the time but I am also ready to start committing more time to it. It can feel hopeless, overwhelming, but I find that finding sustainable ways to participate while also being involved with others helps soften the hopelessness.

It’s boring, and tedious, the long view. But also more sustainable. So, get in the streets when you can, shout and cry and be with others. Demand change. But also chip away at the laws that oppress, the attitudes that uphold inequity and surround yourself with others doing the same work.

For further reading about this, I was influenced and inspired by this by Dr. Ayesha Khan.

a place to work

from my may 2022 newsletter, originally subtitled “creative spaces on the road”

I made it to California. For a week I slept, walked, ate and generally avoided any kind of to-do list. I collaged on the deck in the morning and folded Keep Writing cards on a clipboard on my lap. Then I discovered a desk in the bookcase in my room. 

I am staying with friends in Oakland who are allowing me to take over their spare/living room.  I brought lots of projects with me but when I arrived I rested.  Until I discovered the desk. I am a person who likes routine. I have a morning routine, ever changing with seasons and need, but generally the same:

Wake. Move. Drink tea. Write. 

Allow time to clear away the night thoughts and welcome the day.

I recently tried writing morning pages. I gave away my copy of the Artist's' Way years ago to someone whose name I've forgotten.  But I've been trying to return to writing regularly and this seemed like a thing writers do. For a month I woke and filled three pages with thoughts. Dreams, tangents, frustrations.  I persisted. But instead of clearing my mind, it stirred up my anxiety,  So I stopped. A month later, I realized that the observation-a-day journal I've been keeping has become a brief bit of poetry.  

Which is to say there are many methods to focus creativity. Different people may need different ways to work at any time. Your creative approach may evolve. Or change all together.

This week I realized I like a desk space.  A place to hold my tools and a dedicated surface to work on.  This fold out desk is perfect, hiding my jumble of mail and collage to-go box.  And I build a little altar on top with crystals I carried with me, a piece of art I recently traded with a friend and a flower and vase borrowed from my host.  

Now my mornings here are still slow, but I sit and write and dream up new classes. I've got one coming for you but not yet. I love this little work desk but also there is this to enjoy.

ps if you like ramblings like this AND want to hear about classes as I offer them, become a member of the First of the Month Club—my monthly email newsletter!

keep writing 157--with tilted house review

Invariably, whenever I taught an introduction to letterpress class, one person was interested in printing a chapbook of their poetry with entirely handset type. I suggest 1-2 lines to start with and that usually reigns in over-ambitious projects. 

Also luckily, some people preserve against my conservative advice. And I am always glad they do.

I can't remember exactly what Cameron's idea was when he came to me at Baskerville studios in New Orleans years ago. He wanted to learn to use his tabletop press to share poetry in some form. Now he is about to release the fifth volume of  a handbound poetry and art journal complete with a letterpress printed cover.  Each edition is beautiful, committed to handmade touches and quality content.  

A few months ago I contacted Cameron to offer my printing services, as my press is speedy and built to go. I thought I could offer to print the cover for them, maybe making one step easier for them. Why do we even bother with plans and expectations anymore? Of course every step involved some problem solving as my press was fussy about longer sheets of paper, full page images and some days, everything.  Additionally, I thought it would be easier to combine this cover design with the Keep Writing postcard for May.  That always seems like a good idea until I realize it means more factors in my design.  I am still recovering from a head injury from last summer so this kind of problem solving logistics is both great exercise and a literal headache.  

testing the covers before shipment to make sure everything is in place

When I finally wrapped the 165 covers to ship to Cameron and the Tilted House group, I was relieved and excited. I never really committed to being a custom printer because I find it so stressful. But I love the results. I am so honored to be trusted with this project.

When we talked about content, themes of cups, a table, cooking, braided hair were all mentioned. Never a literal illustrator, I was reminded of something a friend once explained to me, the meaning of the portuguese word saudade. With no direct English translation, she offered the idea of cups overflowing with happiness and sadness, a longing for something gone. Not quite nostalgic. The Portuguese writer Manuel de Melo described it as

"a pleasure you suffer, an ailment you enjoy."

I don't often draw objects, but this stack of teacups was fun as I incorporated the bits the Tilted House crew offered, even learning to draw a hair braid to wrap around one cup. (side note: I've been trying lately to learn the things I've been avoiding.  Like, how to use shortcuts in Adobe Illustrator. And how to hem pants. I'm so extra appreciative of my brain lately.)

Collaborations through the mail in printing are always more cumbersome than I expect--shipping paper is expensive, I am a slow printer and an even slower designer. As I mentioned, literal illustration is not my strength. Restrictions often force creative solutions, like how to incorporate more color. I am honored to have done this. They are hand binding the copies now--order yours at tiltedhouse.org or, if you are in New Orleans, attend the release party June 10th.

bonus: here is a great article about the meaning of saudade. 

keep writing number 157 sent may 2022

a finish line, a threshhold

Two big things happened this month

Adam, my partner, the other half of @circles_and_lines_collage, father, painter and enthusiastic runner, finished the Boston Marathon in just over 4 and a half hours.  He raised over $8,000 for the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute and he still likes running.  I'm proud of him. Training for a marathon never seems like a fun thing to me but he found time and stayed committed and crossed the finish line almost smiling. His fundraising wraps up May 18th so there is still time to donate if you are able to help him reach the $10,000 mark. Or join us on World Collage Day to donate and celebrate.

I also am fully-self-employed again.  By choice.

Keep Writing subscribers may remember many questions about jobs and identity.  My brief time with a full-time job was complicated, of course. I had health insurance for 15 months without interruption--nearly unheard of in my adult life, a great privilege that only solidified the absurdity of healthcare being tied to employment. I had my teeth cleaned by the same dentist twice.  I paid down some debt.  I met people and made friends at time when there were still mask mandates and limits on indoor gatherings.   But I was also injured at work.   

Concussion recovery is slow but continues. 

I am very very lucky to have support from a great physical therapist, doctor and my family and friends. I have been taking mini-trips to spend time in the quiet forest and to reset my brain and habits.  One day I will have a million thoughts on daily practices that balance a productive and restful day but I am still figuring that out.  Too much computer time or driving or math can really wear me out, and cause debilitating headaches. But I have a lot of tools for coping and lessening the effects--having more control around my employment is a big one!  I am already scheming about classes, a recorded class, projects and markets. A friend referred to this as "sunny day planning"—  the optimism of what you can accomplish when you feel great versus the reality check of a rainy day, or in my case, a symptom-heavy day. Being self-employed means more freedom in making my schedule, more time for recovery, but also there are some jobs I can't do right now, possibly ever.

One of the hardest symptoms for me is a difficulty in communication. When I am tired my sentences get shorter but not necessarily more accurate, as if I am too tired for the right words. It means I can sound dismissive, grouchy, and it may be hard to understand what I am trying to say (and I don't have the patience to explain! Like being hangry!) But I have a few in-person events coming up. I am hoping that all I have learned about pacing and breaks will make for a fun day selling things zines and collage to old and new friends. 

keep writing number 156--an actual marathon

NOT A SPRINT// When Adam said he might run the Boston Marathon one day, I encouraged him because it excited him.  He rarely does things that aren't for his kid or me or his friends or work.  And he wasn't sure he could do it--especially raising enough money to be part of the Dana-Farber team. But when someone I love says they don't think they can do it, I am happy to encourage them past their self-doubt. He was already running and ran a marathon years ago. His sister and I could handle fundraising. Six months later Adam ran 26.1 miles and raised over $8,000 for cancer patient care and research for the Dana-Farber Institute in Boston. His sister, parents and son were able to cheer him on in person. I stayed home (post-concussion symptoms have made flying unappealing)  but texted him throughout the race to encourage him.  And I made these postcards.

This month's postcard honors the big plans. I was telling a friend the other day that I realize I am impulsive (or decisive depending on how you look at it) but the past nine months have made me slow down and slow down and reassess until I accept I have to take small steps towards a clear goal. On a good day, everything feels possible but I am still working on the needed equilibrium to not feel defeated on hard days. This card is for small steps and big plans. For one day at a time and the actual marathon you might be training for.

You can still donate to Adam’s fundraising through May 14!

mis/understood--Keep Writing number 152

The worst part about slightly misquoting zadie smith was re-listening to her read from Intimations, hearing the words and realizing I had slightly misquoted her in print, and it was too late.

And then I returned the book before writing down the correct words. Again.

The original is something more like "people sometimes demand change. they rarely demand art"

With apologies, here is keep writing number 154, february 2022. This month, I've included a sticker for you to use, post and share. Let's see what happens.