You can’t go home again….
I have to disagree. Wholeheartedly.
Last weekend, I participated in an arts festival. Not just any arts festival, the arts festival in my childhood hometown- the place that made me, well, me.
Let me back up. “ART Festivals” are nerve wracking for me in any regard. Craft fairs? No sweat. Pop-ups? Easy peasy. Art festivals? Terrifying. You see, I suffer from chronic, overwhelming imposter syndrome. Faced with a whole event filled with other artists? I immediately fall prey to the “they clearly accepted me by mistake” demons.
So, combine this with an event in a small town where you know A LOT of folks, it feels like a recipe for disaster. Which is why I avoided it for the better part of the last 30 years. Until last March. When someone did that thing everyone tells you won’t happen. Someone running said art festival emailed me-and asked me to participate. Yikes.
Woodstock is an idyllic place. Quintessential Vermont. Beautiful. Small town. Real maple syrup and real New England clam chowder. It was an incredible place to grow up. My parents gave us the greatest gift in moving us there from New York. For city kids it was a dream come true. We grew up with all the things in the Hallmark movie. Cows and fall leaves, horse drawn sleigh rides (for real), getting out of school early to ski. Yes, please. I learned to paint here. From real live artists. I excelled. Got into a great college. An over achiever. Big things were coming for me. Until I wasn’t and I didn’t.
Woodstock is the town of my greatest achievements and my greatest failures. My high highs and my low lows. The most joyful moments have happened there~and my most heartbreaking losses.
So for 30 plus years I’ve hidden. Carefully orchestrated visits to avoid any unwelcome inquiries. Carefully selected where I’ve shown up, or not, to avoid unexpected encounters for which I’d need to answer for my failure, or unrealized potential, or both. Built a thick skin, and highly tuned reflexes to defend myself.
If you’ve followed me for any time at all you know I’ve made huge changes in my life and career to follow my dreams. Huge risks for my family, marriage and self. I’ve finally become who I am. It only took 54 years.
So when the email came, in a moment of impulsive confidence, I replied. “I’d love to!” I’d love to? What was I thinking? I’d spent so much time hiding, only to agree to the most visible of events (on the Green, for goodness sake!) where I’d have no control, no way to duck around a corner. I’d be exposed. Forget about the art part. I’d just agreed to basically, in my mind, to stand naked in the middle of town. Yeesh.
But you know what? I set up my tent next to “real” artists. Cried a little. Friends showed up for me. Sold a lot of art. Cried again. Reconnected with my Vermont family. Cried more. Forgave myself. Sobbed
And most of all, for the first time since I left 30 years ago, I felt at home. And it was just as if I never left.
A love letter to the mamas.......
Let’s hear it for the moms.
Happy Mother’s Day! To all the moms, mamas, nonnas, nanis, tias and others who shaped us into who we are today. I am lucky enough to have spent most of my life surrounded by a group of bad a$$ women.
Don’t get me wrong, I love the other sex as well, but, being surrounded by women who just don’t give up or surrender, well that is the secret ingredient for me.
So humor me while I shout out to the mothers and others who make my world turn. (Not all mamas in the literal sense; they make me a better mama and person. And what is a mama if not that?)
My mom. The matching outfits still make me laugh. She gave me, and continues to give me, all I’ve ever needed creatively. She lit the spark of making in me from the earliest years. Letting me experiment with every possible medium, never limiting my desire to try the next thing. For what I am artistically today, she encouraged and fueled every bit of it.
Me and my mom- matching circa 1974.
Pioneers in their own right, and clearly fashion forward, this crew shaped my early years. When I think of who I am now, there are literally distinct qualities that grew from each of the women in this very photo (and others who had already headed to the after party).
My baptism June 1970.
And later on, this crew, with whom I made it through the early elementary years.
And the contemporary mamas. The help you make it through the teenage years mamas. The aunts with better advice. I wouldn’t have made it without them. The ‘I’m not your mom, but I’ll take care of you mamas.”
Eva and the Council of the Aunts.
Soccer stress mamas. (What to Expect When You’re Expecting should have a whole chapter preparing you for sports, but I digress)
Soccer stress mamas
My Tuscan Market mamas. The keep you standing, love you unconditionally. Save you from the people who think your paintings are uteruses mamas (you HAD to be there).
WBL Mamas. The mamas who ground you, support you, build you up.
My best friend forever. Savior of the first order mama. My middle of the nightmare, life preserver mama.
My SIL, Ann, who has no choice but to be in the thick of it with me mama. If this photo does not exemplify everything it feels like being a mom, I don’t know what does.
A tale of two moms. Mine and Steve’s. There could not be to more different women. But together they shaped the two of us, my husband and myself, into the people we are today. These two phtotos always remind me of their differences, but also of their combined impact into the life I have today.
My mom, fierce competitor in the Thanksgiving Olympics of 2019
My mother-in-law, Virginia, fiercer competitor. Same Olympics.
Speaking of Steve……I cannot leave him out of my love letter. After all, he’s my partner on this parenting journey and why I am a mom in the first place. I am a better mom because of him. It’s quite a ride, this motherhood game and sometimes I get a little loud while careening through all the hills and valleys.
He’s always there to tell me to simmer down- when I need it most.
And the reason I’m a mom. These two, who inspire me every day to be a better version of myself, take things less seriously, and are immensely patient as I try to learn new things.
There’s “a lot” to being a mom. Not the kind of “a lot” that requires the saccharine sweet adulation that sometimes accompanies this day. The “a lot” that requires a whole village of mamas to help you cross the ever moving finish line.
For these partners in this path, I am ever grateful.
I hope you find yourself today, surrounded by the love of those who help you on this journey. And if you find yourself alone on that path, come join our tribe, there’s plenty of room.
Mamas, I love you all.
Be Mine.
Once upon a time, in elementary school, we all sat down the night before February 14th (or many days before if you were really excited) and wrote out our classroom full of valentines. Secret crushes, arch nemeses, they all received a little cardboard, heart bedecked love note.
If you were especially next level, maybe you made your valentines.
No surprise here. I have always been the make it myself valentine girl. Glitter, multilayered construction paper creations were definitely my jam. All the extras.
True confession- the rule was always that all the valentines needed to be the same for everyone. One of the few rules I broke in my earlier years. There was always some extra bedazzling on the valentine for my crush. Wonder if they remember that? In my defense, I never skipped my less than favorite classmate, she just never got extra glitter. :)
As an adult, it’s a lot harder to throw the valentine love around universally with abandon. But hopefully, you find a way to bedazzle someone you love with a little extra on this day.
To help, I’ve posted the three previous card designs as free printable valentines for sharing. Formatted to give you a couple of 4 x 3.5 in folded cards on a letter sized sheet of cardstock or nice paper.
Go ahead, slip one into your crush’s mailbox. You’ll still have another for your arch nemesis.
Free Printables
These files are for personal use only. Please feel free to print and share these with all your loves, but do not sell or use for commercial purposes. thank you.
All the Details.....
Sometimes there is a project that makes you so happy, you just can’t wait to share it with the world. This was that project. The bride and groom ALWAYS get to share first, so now that their invites are long delivered, I can share their beautiful suite.
Don’t get me wrong, every one of these customized projects have a special place in my heart. The time spent with a client that has put the details of an event in your hands, the preparation of the different potential options and then the final selection and production, all contribute to the investment emotionally. And I can’t lie, I get invested. This can lead to some very late nights, reworking tiny details and checking and rechecking, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. This suite included lined envelopes, a very comprehensive details card for guests and a menu choice/response card. A gorgeous presentation in a gate fold folder. Not shown are the wax seals and silk ribbon that bundled these. Trust me, they were beautiful and the perfect multi-media detail that tied it all together.
The time is worth it when the client sees the final product and you can see on their face that you have hit the mark. This one checked all the boxes. And now I want to go to Scotland.
Slow progress is still progress...
The website is slowly but surely coming along. It is a bit of a slog, as I am learning as I go. Working to try to shut off my perfectionist tendencies and lean into the process instead. Very difficult for the visualist that I am. Also not helpful are the voices in my head that critique every move.
We will get there soon. Me and all the voices.
Jumping into 2022?
Here we are on the 641st day of 2019…..or does it just feel like it?
I am entering the “new” year with some new intentions and new work. Goals, some defined and some undefined abound, but for right now I am following my heart and paintbrush and creating some new works, in a new studio.
One of my latest…
I’m living for this painting right now. Something about it speaks to everything whirling in my head. Deep dark and promising light. Mabe that’s a good metaphor for the new year.