Declaring yourself an artist and handing the piece over are two different things entirely

Update on the "I am an artist" first experience: Yesterday, I entered the Mid-Cities Fine Arts Juried Exhibition with my self-designed piece of embroidery that I had matted and framed. I'll attach a picture of it to this blog. If I've done an attachment before, well, too bad, I'm really proud of this piece. Back to the story............

Gulp. Now this show isn’t exactly the MOMA in New York City. For pete’s sake, it’s in the Hurst Recreation Center. I don’t know what I thought was going to happen. Well, actually, I did. I'd had daymares as well as nightmares of what submitting a piece was going to be like. I was sure that I would be laughed at, or even worse, sneered at and told to take my "craft" home.

After all, St. Paul people like my pre-designed kits and flowers, and admire my technique, but no one there has been too receptive to my own designs. Well, I took the picture over to the Hurst Rec Center, and the first thing that happened was some midget middle-aged helmet haired woman wearing what looked to me like a housecoat said, “What’s this supposed to be?” “What’s it made out of?” Where are we supposed to put this?” I just wanted to vanish like a wisp of smoke and take my picture with me. My worst fears were unrolling right in front of my eyes in real time.

Fortunately, a couple of angelic savior women working the show came over and said, “Wow. That’s amazing.” “You designed this yourself and did all the work?” “Of course, we’ll put it in ‘mixed media’; it’s spectacular.” So I started breathing again, and smiled for real instead of continuting this sort of rictus grin – you know the kind you see in a Halloween fright movie of the insane killer? The roaring in my ears stopped enough to hear that I’m supposed to be there Sunday afternoon at 3:30 for the reception and the awards, I guess. There are prizes which are probably the equivalent of state fair ribbons. I don’t care. My picture is hanging on the wall WITH OTHER ARTISTS. I’ll let you know what happens. To be continued.....................

I am an artist.

Friends,

I have an announcement: I am an artist. Here's how this epiphany came about. As everyone knows, I embroider. I'd probably embroider the shirt you're wearing; I so obsessed. What many of you don't know that the heart tin that I travel around with is just my boring, amuse myself, traveling piece that I've usually bought on ebay for a couple of bucks. I have no real attachment to these pieces and tend to just give them away to whoever really, really likes the piece when I'm done with it. To me they are like "paint by number" kits that showcase - hey, Jan does really nice work. They are craft items. Nice craft items, but craft, not art.

These pieces also tend to wind up in the fall festival live auction at my church because they are usually very representational and safe and people like them. In actuality, I live and breathe to create my own designs. I love the challenge of a blank piece of cloth waiting to be drawn upon. I've been a closet artist for a couple of years now. These pieces are much, much harder for me to part with. I usually choose very carefully who gets these. (Well, except for the piece that I put in the silent auction a couple of years ago - and it turned out the right person won it.) If you own one of my original pieces, then you are truly a special person to me. I sign and date these pieces.

To continue..................I had just finished an original creation and showed it to Cody Aarons. This sixteen year old friend is an artist himself - he paints, and is a photographer, and just has an artistic eye. He flipped over this piece. When I tentatively asked him, "Do you think this could be art? - his reply was puzzled surprise that I would even think to ask that stupid question. Of course, the piece was art.

Carpe Diem - The very next day was the announcement of the Mid Cities Fine Arts Juried Art Show sponsored by the City of Hurst. I'm picking up my piece from the framer this afternoon, and I'm entering it in the show which will be displayed at the Hurst Rec Center on Mary Drive next weekend - August 11th from 11:00 a.m to 2:00 p.m is the judging. The reception August 12th, 3:30 - 5:00 p.m. Other than when you can bring your piece, that's all I know. Oh, and you have to be older than 18. I defininately have that covered.

What I don't know is if they will accept my piece. Here's my thinking: (1) Most people will not laugh in your face; they will wait until your back is turned. (2) Sarah's coming home to give me moral support, and she's very enthusiastically encouraging me. (3) It's only the Hurst Rec Center - this ain't exactly the Lourve. (4) My piece may be abstract, but that doesn't mean it's not "fine art" and (5) I'm pretty sure that there will be no one else working in my medium (See? I'm already throwing around the art lingo!) What I mean is there won't be any other thread pictures. Come and see - maybe if I can get huge numbers of people saying, "LOOK! THAT'S JUST MAJESTIC!" , it will drown out the comments I'm afraid I'll get: "DOES THIS WOMAN THINK THAT'S ART? SHE'S CRAZY!"

I'm stepping out. I'm declaring in a public forum: I'm an artist. Boy, is this emotionally scary.

Fingers crossed. Heart thumping. Absolutely determined to do this.

Friends,

It's been almost three weeks since I've posted. It's not that I don't have anything to say, but that I don't have the time to say it.

I did a human rite of passage this week: death rituals. Now, some people I know will be offended that I've catagorized the death of a friend in such a clinical way, but truthfully, the rituals we observe are for the living. The dead are gone from this life, passed, passed over, deceased, bought the farm, expired, gone to their reward, pushing up daisies, departed, checked out, bereft of life, resting in peace, knocking on the pearly gates, gone to meet their maker, out of their misery. I think the "words" we personally use to talk about death with other people reflects our own personal ideas of what death is, what it means, and what we hope is the outcome of our own death.

I like the word "passed" when I'm talking about someone's death. I picked it up from my African-American friends. It has such possibilities. I believe in life after death, and as a Christian, I believe in the concept of heaven, but I don't think my beliefs are a lock on what occurs after death. What if all the after death concepts are correct? If you are a Buddhist, hopefully you'll move up the ladder toward perfection (unity with God). If you're a Hindu, you'll be reincarnated as a reflection of your last life. If you are a Muslim, your heaven is paradise but it is still sexually segregated - well, except for those virgins. (Here's an aside: Don't those Muslim guys know what a lousy lay a virgin is?) Sorry. Back to the topic. If you are a Christian, then you're expecting to get INTO heaven under the cover of Christ, and when you make it, you will be reunited in paradise with your loved ones, and bask in the perfection of God's love. (OK, so I know more about Christianity - so shoot me.) I even think if you believe you feed the worms with your dead body, and there is no life after this one, then that's what you'll be doing.

So, back to the original idea: death rituals. To be clear, I'm talking about "viewing", funerals, memorial services, burial, cremation, funeral food, and sympathy mail and phone calls. That pretty much covers the rituals, I think. Incidentally, some people have already stopped reading because even talking about death, or thinking about death is way, way too uncomfortable. Well, they are going to miss the good part. Think about what type of rituals you would want in the event of your death. Here are my ideas - for me, what I would want at this point in my life if I dropped dead tomorrow. One think I've already discovered, is how much what I'd want has changed as I've aged.

Once upon a time - for almost 20 years, I refused to attend funerals. If I had died during this period, I would have been very upset if anyone had planned any sort of funeral or memorial. I wanted to be cremated and have the ashes go unclaimed. I mean what is the funeral home going to do if whoever is left behind refuses to come and pick up the ashes? FedEx them? Send them to unclaimed parcels? Put them in lost and found? Put them in a garbage bag and toss them in the dumpster? I figured, "Who cares?" All the rituals seemed much too pain filled. I couldn't deal with them, and I couldn't understand or even contemplate why would anyone else want to.

Upon maturing (nice way of saying - getting old), I've realized the rituals are comforting, reaffirming, and the way a group accepts and processes the death of one of their members. That's exactly what has happened at St Paul this week. We went through many rituals as a group, so that we could support those of us who are truly devastated, reaffirm our after death beliefs, and witness our beliefs to others outside of our group. St. Paul people were magnificent this week. Our dead friend would have been very proud of us. However, I do think she would have enjoyed the viewing more than the funeral. The only thing the viewing lacked was food - a bad oversight in my opinion considering her reputation as "the hostess of St. Paul". Those Irish have the "wake" thing down. That's the way to do the vigil before the funeral - with food, drink, stories, tears, and laughter.

So, here's what I want: NO DEAD BODY to look at. Hello! I won't be there anymore, and plus, I'll look like shit because I'll be (1) old, and (2) DEAD. No one "looks asleep" - please, get over it. And, while on this subject: No one "looks natural" either - you look DEAD. However, I would like a vigil, wake, whatever - with food, with liquor, with music, and with everyone I know coming to talk about me! Hey, it won't all be good, but I will definitely be the center of attention, and as a complete extrovert, what could be better? Seriously, this would be heavy duty "group processing". Very healing, very comforting.

Next, I do want a memorial - but no flowers. What a complete waste of money. If you want to do something with $50 (don't those floral people just take you to the cleaners with funeral flowers? They are almost as bad when they hold you up for wedding flowers.), then give it to my church, send a check to one of the public schools in your neighborhood, send a contribution to an art museum, give it to public television or public radio, or even just take yourself out to dinner, or go to the mall and splurge. Either do some good, or if you're too self centered for that, at least treat yourself rather than waste your moola on flowers that I certainly won't see.

Back to the memorial - got sidetracked there with one of my pet peeves. I want music. Specifically, I want classical music and hymns. My favorites are Vivaldi, Bach, and the fun hymns. I'd like to hear a little "Do Lord", some "I'll Fly Away", "Hark the Herald Angels" (get over it, it's my memorial, and that's my favorite Christmas carol), "Blessed Assurance", "Jesu, Joy of My Desire", and my all time favorite: "Here I am, Lord". And I want EVERYONE to sing. I love to sing even though I can't carry a tune with a suitcase, and singing youself is more fun that listening to someone else sing.

I only want people who really knew me to talk about me during the memorial. I don't want to hear my biography - I mean who cares when, where I was born or grew up? How boring. Tell some stories. And, some of them had better be what a complete bitch I could be. And, some of them had better be about what a good friend I was. And I hope those left behind will be laughing and crying all at the same time.

And pictures. Lots of pictures for people to say - oh, look, I remember then.

Finally, I want life to go on with minimal sadness or regret by those who are still alive after my death. After all, death is just another part of this life, and these rituals help us understand this, process this and get on with living.

So............those are what I want when I die. How about you? I'm very interested. Email me what you would like. I promise just talking about it will not "jinx you". We're all headed down that same highway, just don't know what exit we'll be taking.

Goodbye Willie. Loved you lots, kiddo. Loved planning those last parties with you. Loved your laugh. Loved how you just reveled in your life on this earth. Over and out - or should I say, until we meet again. And when we do, I know the food will be great, and the party will be fun.

Grace and Peace,

Jan

Greetings,

You know, every time I start a letter (or a blog), I think of Paul's salutation that he used over and over again to the communities he was writing to: "Grace and Peace to you from God the father and the Lord, Jesus Christ." I would feel too self conscious to start my emails, letters, blogs, etc., but reminding my correspondents of the grace and peace available to them has become my ending especially to my emails.

I've been thinking about "stuff" - of course, because I'm working the magnificent, munificent, humongous garage sale. More later...........storm coming.............., so I'll just post this tiny piece. Think of it as a cliff hanger.

TO BE CONTINUED!

This is a musing on memories. I've discovered that the essence of memory is uniquely individual - even among or between people who essentially share the same memory. I realize that family legends are nothing except the agreed parameters set by blending mutual collective memories of an event.

When I was in Tulsa this week, my brother kept asking me, "Don't you remember when.......?" I truthfully had to keep saying "No." That's when I began to get the inkling that what I remembered from 45 years ago was not necessarily going to be what my brother remembered.

I think there are two kinds of memories - the file cabinet kind; they are there, but hard to access unless someone else prompts you to look up the file. Then there are the cherished snapshot memories all lovingly collected and replayed usually in living color, sometimes like 4 x 6 pictures, other times in full video playback with sound. These are the ones we scrapbook. However, as I discovered over and over again this week what I scrapbooked was nothing like what my brother scrapbooked. He has vivid memory movies of things that never even made it to my file cabinets. It's as if we lived in alternate universes as children.

My father is losing even his scrapbook memories. He tells me the same stories over and over again - some the most mundane such as the walking route he has developed. Others are memories that he's struggling to hold on to. I think many of his memories are simply fading to white ghosts. Other memories he's joined together to create something that didn't really happen. It's sad and frustrating for all of us.

I became very intrigued with memories. I spent time with two friends who've known me since I was 15 while I was in Oklahoma. Again, it was like alternate universes - their memories aren't mine. When we stumbled across one that we both remembered, it was curious to notice us shaping the recall into a new memory which each of us will validate as "what really happened".

Looking back at childhood, I remember mainly 4 x 6 pictures - snippets of frozen time. Perhaps one of my most interesting memories comes from the date of my 17th birthday - I looked into the mirror for about 10 minutes trying to memorize my face and trying to imagine that face 17 years into the future (at that ancient age of 34!). My 34th birthday prompted the recollection of that young girl trying to "freeze" a memory. Naturally, it didn't work. There's some voodoo selection process of what is saved. Don't ask me what it is.

Of course, when talking about memories, its the traumatic times, the stressful times, the peak times that are most readily saved. As I've aged, I'm sad to report that trauma memories are beginning to overtake the peak ones. Do we not experience those "emotional highs" like we used to when younger, or did our youth insulate us from the painful traumas that accumulate in everyone's life?

If you want to introduce a new topic to the dinner table, pop a memory out on the table (now, not a tried, true, and reshaped legend, but some arbitrary memory that involves the people you're eating with), and see what memories appear. I think you'll be surprised.

Finally, all you cat lovers - Alice (our cat) has her own "myspace"
http://www.catster.com/cats/569987 It's still a work in progress, but I think it's a hoot. Sarah (of course) found this little treasure on the web - and "Jackson" - her new cat has his own page too.

Until next time.......................................maybe from a galaxy far, far away.

Today I'm in Oklahoma. My father is doing much better thanks solely to my brother. I'm amazed and humbled at the amount of responsibility he's shouldering to give my very elderly, grieving and confused father a wonderful qualilty of life. My father looks better, has regained his health, and is "tracking" now - something he hasn't been able to do for quite some time. Oh, he's still mired in grief that he's having trouble expressing - too stoic, too locked down emotionally to really allow himself to truly grief for his lost wife of 60 years. In many ways he is lost without her. She met his most basic needs for so long that, if it wasn't for my brother, he would starve to death.

My brother and I haven't always been close - in fact, for years we really didn't like one another much. Our lack of closeness was a source of sorrow for my mother. Sometimes death brings out the worst in family relationships. We've all heard the stories of selfishness, greed, and anger when a key family member dies. I'm happy to report that my family has managed to escape that fate. And that harmony is due to my brother shouldering the enormous task of caring for my Dad. I couldn't do it. I wouldn't do it. What a blessing it is to have a such a compassionate brother. My mother used to tell me when I couldn't understand things my brother did, that his basic core personality had sweetness and caring and compassion. I've realized that it has taken her death for me to actually understand her insights into his personality.

Now, that's not to say that he's an angel - oh, far from it. His son, Trey, really loves to hear me "tattle" on his Dad about nutty stuff that his Dad did when he was younger - such as jump off a diving board into a swimming pool when he didn't even know how to swim. But that's how you build family legend. Every family has a legend composed of stories that we tell and retell. Those stories bind you together. Some families only have good, heartwarming stories. some have stories of anger and betrayal. Other families have stories that tell you to run as fast as you can away from them.

Contemplating my family legend, it's a mixed bag. Some good. Some bad. Death rearranges a family, reinforces some legends, creates new legends, and lets you drop some hurtful legends out of the family history. Our family dynamic is being rewritten and edited now. I only hope what emerges is more positive, more functional, more supportive. So far, we've got a good start.

Think about your family legends. How do you add to them? How do you drop the hurtful ones? So complicated. So unfathomable sometimes.

Anyway, I'm here for a short time. I'm hoping to do whatever I can to aid my brother who is working hard out of love for my father.

Community

Greetings,

I've been thinking about the concept of "community" and it's place in a human being's life. Questions like: How many people do you need to be a community? How is a community different from a group of people with something in common? If you accept the idea that a group is different than a community, then what's the definition of community? Is "a community" or "the community" different from "community". I know - pretty stupid musings, but my mind just takes flight sometimes.

The reason I started even musing about the idea of community is the "social occasion" that we just had last week at St. Paul (my church for you non-St. Paul readers). It was a big success - and the reason was that the vision that organized the set-up made it so that everyone had to talk to one another. In fact, I emphasized that the mission was to talk to at least two people you didn't know. People were really buzzed, and I think it's because they felt reconnected to the St. Paul community. Our community is powerful and empowering.

The dictionary defines community as people who live in an area, an environment, or who have something in common. I think St. Paul qualifies on the third definition - they have Christianity in common, and further, they try to practice the WWJD ethics when dealing with one another.

Therefore, as a member of the St. Paul community, (and you have to do more than just "join") you never have to face life alone - whether your child dies (which has just happened for two of our members - to my St. Paul readers: don't forget to lift them up both spiritually and actually - remember: "Love is kind." (1Corinthians, 13:4) or your daughter gets married, or if your life is going gloriously good, bad, or indifferent. The interaction - the feeling that "somebody cares" is getting to be a rare commodity in our frequently fragmented, isolated, on-line society. Yes, being in a caring community is all good.

However, community also carries responsibilities - you actually have to leave your comfort zone sometimes. Because the St. Paul community is a Christian community with a specific set of ethics to live by - you know the two biggies (love one another, love the Big G with all your heart, soul and mind), you have to shed your prejudices and face your shortcomings. Then the community holds you accountable - especially the small community of St. Paul. (Off the subject: I think that's one of the big appeals of mega churches - you get the illusion of community, but not the accountability.)

You can't consistently act in a non-Christian manner or have your own agenda (instead of the Holy Spirit's) and get any respect in the St. Paul community. Oh, that doesn't mean that we won't love you, but we won't respect you, and ultimately, we won't follow you. So..............community gives and takes. If you choose to be part of the St. Paul community, then you are going to be asked to not only take solace, but also to offer it, to not only participate, but sometimes to lead, not just offer opinions, but also to listen to opinions you don't want to hear. The big questions........................Is it worth it? Why do you belong to a community that asks so much of you?

On a lighter note: My better half (Drake) did something so incredibly stupid today that I've laughed until tears came to my eyes. Tinkering around with the fax system, he managed to change the language into Russian! Then he was unable to reverse his tinkering because Russian uses a different alphabet. He couldn't even figure out where the menu was to change it back to English. The look on his face was priceless. When I started laughing, to his credit, he began to laugh too. What a priceless screw-up. We tried to find the Russian words for "language" and "English" using an on-line translator (which was very cool, incidentally) - and that sort of worked. However, he finally had to call the HP help line and confess his stupidity - "Duh, I had my finger up my ass and changed everything to a language I can't read......." He finally got it straightened out, but it was a great laugh, let me tell you. I swear; the ways the computer can mess with you is almost diabolical.

Finally, I pass onto you a web site you might want to look at. A friend sent me this, and she asked my opinon which I gave her. I'd like yours. The web site is: http://www.liveleak.com/view?i=418_1176494781 What do you think?

Grace and Peace.

Find someone to be kind to today. Not only do they need the kindness, but so do you.