making it and showing it

Any time in the past when I "make stuff," I get wrapped up only in the process and I love it. My favorite space is when my mind feels blank and I'm only doing the art, not thinking about anything. "The zone," some people call it. I can reach that place in writing or in art and very rarely anywhere else.

Today I was coloring with Maya. I've been thinking about a particular drawing in my head for two, three, or four weeks. Not sure when it started forming. This photo (the first one) Sal posted reminds me of what I had in mind.

Anyway, we were coloring and I realized I was ready to make this thing. I started in and did a lot of praying for patience. I prayed because, of course, Maya was full of questions. Ideally, I would have been alone. I didn't want to wreck this time with her (she's needed a lot of extra "just Mommy and Maya" time, understandably). After a little while, though, she got into her own drawing and we had a really nice time. Some singing while drawing, but no interactive thought required.

As I was doing this I realized that for the first time in my life I was thinking about what I might say about the piece if I shared it. I've never considered the possibility of an audience while making art before. Of course in art classes I knew there would be an audience in the end, but, it was never something that was a part of the process before.

Now, this may sound like some steps backward in the creative process. It isn't at all. Rather than being self-conscious I felt like I was given access to a part of my brain I'd never heard before. Always before I just made the stuff. Everything was by feel, straight from my body. This needs to have more grey just because it feels like it does, etc. That's how I'd get lost in "the zone."

Thankfully, that's all still true. I mean, it was still a physical experience, making the drawing. But at the same time I was thinking about what I might say if I was talking about the picture to someone (or sharing it with Facebook or Twitter). Again, not in a self-conscious way, but rather in an open way. The question of having interesting thoughts about what I was doing didn't remove me from the art, but instead brought me deeper into it. It was really, really cool.

I don't remember a lot of the thoughts I had that I considered sharing. Here, though, are some fragments I do remember:

• with oil pastels there's no way to fuck it up, you can always layer over it
  
  
• immediately after thinking that thought, I totally fucked up the picture and barely rescued it from the brink of not-at-all-what-I-wanted
  
  
• about 3/4 of the way through I realized something pretty huge. all along I was thinking I was doing a black & white-ish sun scene on a seriously foggy or overcast day. and, duh, all that way into making it I realized that it's actually the moon at night, not the sun in fog.
  
  
• I kept thinking that I'd wished the sun [sic] was farther over to the right. But every time I worked on it (I could have moved it, pastels are really that forgiving) it wanted to stay where it was.
  
  
• my brother gave me a mosaic from Vietnam that I realize informed this drawing. I went and looked at it after I finished the drawing and still like the mosaic, but want to push the stream of light in it over to the left now. Here's that mosaic.
  
  
• I'm not sure I've ever made a picture in one sitting. There's something really important to me about leaving it alone for a while and coming back to it. If I don't do that, I'm too close to it and almost always take it too far and lose it.
  
  
• when I come back to it the picture always starts screaming at me to attend to certain spots. I don't know why and I can't predict it, that's all a part of the "just feeling" it experience.
  
  
• I definitely thought about the fact that there's no way this can be experienced online (the picture) since the texture of the pastels is so much a part of it (or, it is for me, I should say). Also, I'm no photographer, so I have no idea how to best capture the image. (Thought a photo was better than a scan, at least.) Note added at the end: Ugh. The photos do *not* capture the drawing well. It actually looks (to me) pretty awful and different. That's too bad. My ego will have a hard time sharing it now. But, I'll get over it.
  
  
• almost all the strokes of the pastels were straight across the page (with the obvious exception of the circular blob that I ended up scratching across in the middle-ish). I did, however, find myself compelled to do squiggles and swirls at times, too. I like the idea that you may never see the swirls, but because they are there, the layers will show (even if they don't really show). I just can't get enough of layers.
  
  
• another day when I was drawing with Maya I had only access to colors I normally wouldn't choose. I decided to play around with the edges of shapes. Here's the picture I was doing when I studied that. The swirly shapes up against the straighter shapes in the same colors. I liked seeing how they made a new line or edge where they intersected, though I intentionally didn't overlap them very much. I used that experience when I was making this moon picture. Pastels are so different than markers, though, but a bunch of the edge experience was the same.
  
  
  
  
  
• I used my fingers, palms, and knuckles a lot on the moon picture. I now remember there's a tool (rolled up paper cone, maybe?) to help with this. But I will *always* prefer using my hands for things like blending colors.
  
  
• I absolutely *love* having no ability to totally control the colors. That is, the pastels get covered in goo of the other colors (as did my fingers) and pretty often there will be a surprising streak that I completely didn't intend. This is almost always an opportunity. Even when somehowthefuck a bit of red pastel got in there. (I used a bit of yellow and a bit of peach on purpose, though. And I think I used the blue once, though I'm not sure.) Again, it's one of my favorite parts of making stuff. "Mistakes" don't really exist, it's just how the picture makes itself known or gets uncovered or whatever.
  
  
• I also totally hate not having total control over the colors. But, that's only when I lose sight of the fact that it is entirely impossible for me to recreate from my mind what I see onto the paper.
  
  
• because I was using mostly all black, white, and grey, I kept feeling like I was using charcoal then being thrilled it was so smeary. That was a really odd sensation, losing sight of what I was using.
  

I don't often show things I make to people. It's not because I don't like the stuff, it's just never been a part of why I make things. I really do think that knowing there was a place I could share the picture (this blog) made the experience of making it richer. I'm relieved I didn't start making it *for* an audience, though. I think that's always been why I don't bother sharing what I make. The idea of making something knowing others would see (and, therefore, judge) it was something I assumed would alter my process in a terrible way. I assumed I'd become other-conscious and not stay in the moment. Making art is one of my favorite ways of finding The Moment. I never want to lose that.

I just wrote and have now erased a whole apology for calling this "art." It feels pretentious is why. But, screw it. I like to make things and generally think they come out as I want them to. So, I'll call it art.

All this talk about how social networking leads to disconnecting people, to shallow exchanges, and all that other bull crap... it's everywhere. Well, it's now my experience that not only do I use "social networking" really connect with other human beings, it has enriched my own life experience in ways I would have never guessed. Seriously accessing a part of my mind I didn't realize I could tap into, the "why" of the process of making art.

In this huge version, you can kind of see the textures. But, it looks very different than offline.




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You Shouldn't Hire Me (or, How I Got the Job)

The only thing right about my interview techniques is that I am authentically myself. Most everything else I think could be described as what not to do in a job interview.

Here's how I started the phone conversation yesterday with a potential new client: "I was looking over the job description and I have to tell you, I don't think I'm qualified for the position." I went on to say, "I don't want to waste your time."

I did backtrack and explain that, actually, my skills matched most of the qualifications, it was just the biggest ones (education and training in the area) where I had no experience. Even in the backtracking, though, I was self-defeating. "I've got mush for brains." (Insulting myself, not instilling confidence.) "I just had a baby." (My personal life will affect my work.) And, "I've never done this before." (No experience.)

It would be fine to say this was because I was off my game, trying to get by on only a few hours sleep. But, it's how I've always done interviews. I am a confident person. I know I can do almost anything if I decide I want to, within reason. There's just something about leading with the worst that sets me at ease. Maybe it's because there's no where to go but up. Or maybe it's because I want them to know what they're really getting but have them choose me anyway. I think both are the case. I also feel that fairly (although with some dramatic effect at times) criticizing my skills shows a level of honesty most people appreciate. Not that my style is calculated or intentional. I just always blurt out what I'm thinking, no matter how fitting.

Before this conversation I told someone how almost every job I've gotten my resume did not reflect the skills required. In fact, I've landed jobs where people just assumed I have experience but never asked me about it and I never explained. That's how I got started with newspaper articles and with grant writing. The work I get has mostly come from personal references and engaging conversations with those looking to hire.

Now, it turns out that job yesterday pays less than my usual rate. However, the non-financial benefits add priceless value to the position. It's in an area I've never worked. It will be challenging. And, it has benefits that can't be beat for this working-from-home mother (no on-sight meetings, limited phone work, no set schedule).

I started the interview conversation with a lousy lead. But, I was entirely myself, never pretending to be someone I'm not. For me, that's what counts.

(Plus, I got the job. So, there's that.)


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Doing It in Public

When I make major life decisions, I tend to shout it to whoever will listen. With venues like Facebook and Twitter, now, I can go a little bezerk (it's "berzerk?" not how I say it!) with these announcements. Throughout my life I've had concerned friends ask, why not keep it to yourself? They ask because more often than not after making public pronouncements of major changes I almost immediately change my mind. My flip-flopping tendencies used to be a source of terrible shame. Didn't matter, though, I'd still get the bullhorn out any time I was sure "everything's going to be different, now."

Why do I do this even though I know it can be humiliating? A couple reasons. First, it's part of how I do change. And, second, it's part of who I am.

It used to be the shame part was something I depended on to hold myself accountable. I thought if all these people know I'm --going running every day/never drinking again/only eating whole grains/breaking it off with that bad guy-- then surely I would be too embarrassed to do those things again. They'll all know I didn't stick to it, that will be horrible. I'll stay strong just to avoid the embarrassment.

Wrong!

That outward source of shame does almost nothing to keep my resolve. It served its purpose back when I needed to bash myself for being weak. These days when I change my mind (and, believe me, I almost always do) I get the tiniest twinge of that old shame and it's a useful tool.

With a few exceptions, I take that twinge and use it as a mirror. I see what I had committed to and what is changing. I see what is working and what isn't. I face the truth because of that twinge. For me, without that outward twinge of "oh, shit, everyone's going to know I'm sitting-around-on-my-ass/drinking/getting-mcdonald's/sleeping-with-him-again" simply helps me avoid glossing over the truth.

Funny thing is, when I make these mega statements of change I can still be entirely (and I mean *entirely*) convinced this change will be forever. No matter my many years taking life one day at a time, when it comes to improving my life I think in ridiculous eternities and absolutes. I know this, and I still convince myself *this* change is forever. Just to go all "meta" if I'm using that too-cool-for-school term correctly, I also know on some levels that it's foolish to claim a change is forever. The only way to make effective change is moments at a time. Doesn't matter. It's how I do it.

So: public announcement. Totally convinced the change will last. Committed entirely. Minutes pass, sometimes days, and I go back to my old ways (or some version of that). Some people comment, "thought you were going to xyz?" I address them. On my darker days I imagine other people laughing at my weakness. But, most days I know people are either not noticing what I'm doing at all (most likely) or just chalking it up to the girl-who-cried-change. That's fine, too. If it weren't true maybe I'd be insulted. But I'm definitely not.

Slightly different from "it's how I do change," is "it's part of who I am." I'm a born share-er. My almost complete distaste for emotional intimacy aside, I like telling people what I'm thinking. I always have. I used to like doing it because I desperately, *desperately* needed external validation. That evolved into simply enjoying the communication of my thoughts, feelings, and opinions. I know my being open with my experience can and has helped other people be open (see Why, why, TMI?). When I write or speak about my experiences I hear myself better than if I just think about those things. I can "journal," too, and sometimes I do. That can help the process of change but it's not nearly as effective for me.

When people who care about me suggest I take my declarations back into the privacy of my own mind (or keep it among my closest loved ones), I understand their point of view. It can be difficult watching someone be such an exposed wound as I've been at times. There's the fear I won't be taken seriously, that I'll be seen as flighty or...can't think of the word... funny timing... as someone who's brainless. Oh! As a ditz. It's true. There are certainly people out there who have seen me that way. Surely there still are people like that. And of the people who pay me any mind some are amused, some are frustrated, some are patient, and some are accepting. I know this because they tell me. They tell me because I've told them loudly and often exactly what is on my mind. Once again, they've seen me doing it in public.



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Who are the people in my Twitterhood?

Pre-note: Originally posted where I share bits and blips, I've been asked to post this here on the main blog. Here 'tis. :-)

Note: As I was writing this I considered defining Twitter terms, explaining them to help readers who don't use Twitter. Instead of doing that, I'll post this link that discusses the basics of Twitter.

A few days ago I met a very cool woman whose Twitter name is @choley. She was funny, sweet, and she and my husband (@jdenkmire) have a lot in common. As we sat eating ice cream I began an argument with myself (in my head). I knew then I didn't want to follow her on Twitter, though I couldn't say that to her at the time. I did lay the groundwork, though, explaining in a blurty and rambly way that I don't follow many people and that it would be possible if I followed her I might unfollow her. This is the kind of thing that I worry a little bit about. Did she take that personally? I consider this but I have to let it go. It definitely wasn't about her. It's just that that's not how I use Twitter.

Over the past six months or so I've gotten into tweeting. I've found the challenge of 140 characters a lot of fun. I like resisting the urge to Tweet only the banal and tediously ordinary as I try to stay slightly creative or at least, random. What interests me in the tweets I read are just those things, the element of surprise, randomness, entertainment. I like to read the same kinds of things I like to share (though I count on the tweets I read to be funnier than those I send out!). No doubt about it, I also tend to slip over to Twitterrific to post very mundane bits and thoughts. As I said, I try to resist that urge but am definitely not always successful.

I've written before about the labels some people place on certain kinds of Twitter users. Even with my low numbers, some might call me a "Twitter Snob." There are real social rules in Twitter, some quite mainstream (using #hashtags, for example), and some specific to smaller subcultures. I happen to be someone who doesn't seek out followers. More touchy, however, is the fact that I almost never follow-back. I don't fall into the camp of those who believe it's polite to follow back, so they almost always do.

When I first started using Twitter I added the small handful of people I already knew were using it (like my husband and our friends from Houston). I looked at Josh's tweets and picked out a few of those folks to follow (like @videosawyer and @amycasey). Josh was getting really into it. I wasn't. I didn't see the appeal and was much more interested in Facebook. His list of followeds and followers grew and grew. He's got around 250 followeds and followers now. Among some Tweeple that number is actually low. Compare that to my about 50 followeds and about 100 followers and I'm not even close to being a real player in the Twitterverse. (I don't even need a system like Tweetdeck to sort my incoming tweets.)

But as I talked with this super nice local woman over ice cream, why did I know I didn't want to follow her?

I figured it out. There are two issues related to why I don't do much following. In the case of the local woman, it was because she was local that I didn't want to follow her. I don't use Twitter to find new friends. I don't want new friends. I don't have time for more people in my life. I don't mean this at all to be unfriendly. It's just practical. I've got some very close friends offline and a few good ones online, too. I just had a baby. I've got an almost-six year old, a husband, a business with active clients, a rental property to manage. As I write this I realize just how taboo it is to say out loud, "I don't want to know you" to people, even to an anonymous Internet based "you." By following local people it will become more and more awkward if, let's say, I want to unfollow someone. If I've met someone offline how would it not be insulting to unfollow them? Following local people creates a sense of community. I see that as Josh gets more involved (hear him on Monday in his second appearance on the Word on the Tweet podcast). There are great advantages to what Twitter can do in bringing people together in their offline worlds.

But that's just not how I use Twitter.

It's not just the locals I mostly avoid. I've already got my online friends there (like @PaulaLight and @SourGrapes). It's only very rarely that the mood strikes me to start following a new regular person, like @EmmaJaneR (who was recently described as "a normal" by @lucypepper (who I consider to be a bit of an Internet star, though I don't follow her)). When I do start following a regular person, I frequently change my mind after just a day or two. It's not that I have some high fallutin' standard they need to meet, it's just my need to keep the stream simple.

I've got a handful of celebrities (perfect for me: entertaining and random like @robcorddry or @michaelianblack) and a few information Tweeters like @theonion or @eatmedaily. Too many more, regular or otherwise, will make me feel cluttered and overwhelmed. Even the few I've got can be too much at times (it's been ages since I've clicked a link shared by The Onion).

Again, I'm not looking to make new connections. I was talking through all these things with Josh the other day and I think he nailed it, helped me figure out what I'm trying to do with Twitter (or, what I'm trying to avoid). Despite my outgoing personality and openly sharing online expressions, I am an intensely private person. I don't let many people in to my life. The way I use Twitter is a good example of how I need to control the gates. I need space. I need to control (ah! the therapist's favorite word!) who gets in to my life. Having an audience for my tweets (followers) is one thing. It's fine. It's flattering, really (even those who have thousands, if they don't unfollow me, I'm amazed). I sometimes even consider going out and finding followers just because it tickles me to know people are reading my tweets. But, again, I have no desire to follow more people. I have enough to read. I have enough people I want to know about on a regular basis. Any more and I might completely lose my mind.

It shouldn't be an insulting thing, though, that I don't want to follow you. A great part of why I don't want to follow you is because you might be interesting. I might want to take the time to read your tweets, respond to them, and learn even more. I can't add more to my life right now. Of course, I haven't built any walls, so some people will get in. That's fine. But there's got to be a limit. I have a great time tweeting. I hope people enjoy (or are able to ignore or feel free to unfollow) my tweets. I get a kick out of the tweets I get to read every day from the 10 folks who tweet of the fifty or so I follow.

I'm happy with my Twitterhood. Are you happy with yours? What's your Twitter method/style?


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Of course, if you use Twitter and want to follow me, please feel free. :-)

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Two Loves

One of the reasons pregnancy lasts so long must be to help everyone adjust: a new baby is coming! I'm not sure who needed the time more, Maya (the almost-six year old), or me (the almost-forty).

The relationship I have with Maya, like so many parents with their children, combines the deepest love and intimacy. She nursed until she was 5.5 so we've also had an especially intimate physical relationship. We've talked with her as a tiny human being, a Real person, since the day she was born. We are teaching her to assess her own needs and work to meet them. We do this in many ways, but we started in her infancy. When she cried, we understood she was communicating something so we tried to understand. She's learning that expressing her needs is the first step in meeting them. We shared simple sign language with her so she began talking in a very real way at around nine months old. We communicate constantly. We have a history.

Enter Althea. Now four weeks old, Althea has only just left her state of being "love in the air." (That's the way we answered, "Where was I?" when Maya asked about our lives before her.) Althea's capacity to express love is debatable. There's no doubt, however, she *feels* love though it hides behind her limited communication skills. She feels it and I do, too. The newness itself makes it special. Anticipation of this love growing warms me. Though she can't tell me yet in any of the traditional ways, I feel her loving me.

Before Althea was born I was scared. I don't know if it's because I was a first child myself or simply because my relationship with Maya is so close, but, at about 7 months into the pregnancy I realized I was grieving. I was terrified I'd lose what I have with Maya. I didn't know how I would share my love, let alone my time. For all of the children's books teaching us that love doesn't come in limited supplies, I didn't believe it. I worried. I felt I was abandoning Maya with this new baby.

After reaching an emotional crisis point I identified the fear. I was able to counsel myself into understanding that, yes, things were going to change, but Maya was not losing me. I was not discarding her just because this new person was entering my life.

Someone told me to think of love like the flame of a candle. When you tip another candle to it, the flame grows bigger as the second candle ignites. Then both burn strong.

Two unique loves are expanding my world. The one, full of history and depth. The other, new and visceral. It turns out there's more than enough room in my heart for both. And, even better, loving both of them makes all the love burn stronger.


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Why, why TMI? (part 2)

Baffling my Father, I posted photos of my ovaries on Facebook. Drawing repeated accusations of "TMI" from friends and strangers, I frequently share very personal details of my life online. Most TMI calls follow bodily function topics, though sometimes people get riled when I just talk about feelings or other personal things. Too navel-gazing, it's TMI.

Last week Maya asked, "When is the next TMI Tuesday?" She's heard me discuss this "holiday" celebrated by a small handful of us on Facebook. She was particularly delighted to hear the example I gave about my friend admitting to peeing in the shower. I explained to Maya (almost-six years old) that especially on Tuesdays Stephanie H. and I try to stretch ourselves to share more than most people find socially acceptable. I push my own boundaries. I do this intentionally, just as I've written about myself and my opinions for years. With intention. I learn where my lines are as I approach (or accidentally cross) them.

Many people make a quick leap that sharing personal information equals selfish self-centered self-absorption. It's been my experience, however, that sharing very personal information can actually help other people around me. I do get complaints (TMI!) and the way I share is certainly not meant for everyone, but, I also get loads of compliments. At least a few people respond with gratitude that I'm sharing as much as I do. Sometimes I'm flooded with messages thanking me. They tell me it makes them feel better about their own experiences. Some say it makes them feel less alone. Some just write to say they appreciate my honesty and openness. My favorite comments are when they say feel emboldened to also share more of their personal stories with others. It feels amazing to know that just by sharing myself other people are having good experiences.

Of course, there are other reasons I share "TMI" that are much more directly about me and my own interests. I enjoy seeing what is comfortable for me and what isn't. I like learning about people I know as they respond to what I've said (or shown). I especially enjoy the thrill of knowing I've been "out there" (exposed) and still feel whole and safe -- and, yes, I'll admit there's an element of "thrill." I brazenly show that I'm interested in myself without also trying to prove that I'm definitely not the most interesting thing in my world. That's a given (for me).

I learn lessons like crazy doing TMI stuff. For example, when I post photos online I now only try to share them in a more private way so no one is forced to view them without making a choice to do so. (Like, "click here to see this" rather than just posting them so they'll show up on everyone's pages.) I discover how other people feel about the boundaries I push. Many times my friendships have grown because of these nutty things I share. Often that growth comes from learning how different we are. In my book, appreciating and respecting differences in personal boundaries is one of the most special parts of any friendship.

It's interesting to me that those closest to me are not at all TMI sharers. In fact, now that I think about it, all but one of my top five closest friends absolutely hate sharing personal information in public. A friend of mine who values her privacy more than most I know asked me to explain why I do this extra-sharing online. I talked to her about some of these things I've outlined here. I also explained that I just find it fun. Set aside any altruistic or self-reflective reasons for sharing TMI. For me, it's just plain fun to write about life as I'm living it or as I've lived it. If someone reads what I've written, that's fantastic. It's a true honor if they take the time to read my TMI. But having readers is only the cherry on the already well-frosted, yummy and moist dark chocolate cake.


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