TangledWings

A Day with a Wayward Tulip

My last 24 hours in the Seattle area were spent with the amazing Liz.  If you don't read her blog please check it out.  She is full of truth, honesty, creativity, and beauty.  I mean she founded Poetry Thursday...how much cooler can one get.

We enjoyed Port Townsend a little more that morning, including brunch at an adorable French pastry shop, before heading to her home.  Our drive to Tacoma was filled with spurts of non-stop talking coupled with moments of deep quiet.  I think we both wanted to use our time to really bond but we were also both really exhausted.  So we alternated between talking and silence so that we could both bond and rest.

I met Liz in Seattle about a year and a half ago.  Since then we have stayed in touch through e-mails and phone calls, and of course reading each other's blogs.  But when I originally met her it was with a group of other bloggers.  This time I got her all to myself.  I didn't have to share her with anyone.  I got to see the famous Little Room from which some truly amazing ideas are birthed...and just about the cutest bags and aprons ever.  I got to meet Millie.  And I got to meet her husband John who we surprised with our arrival.  We caught him off-guard in the kitchen in the middle of filling vases with tulips for her return...isn't that sweet.

Our afternoon was spent just chillin' which was exactly what I needed.  I relaxed on her couch while flipping through some of her art books.  And I read through all of Theo's zines which Liz purchased on vendor night.  While I was lost in my own state of relaxation Liz was catching up on e-mails and finishing a really cool necklace she started in one of her workshops at ArtFest.  That evening she and John treated me to dinner at a favorite Thai food restaurant and then the three of us took a little trip to Borders.  Did you expect anything less from two book/poetry lovers?  She picked up several magazines and a copy of the newest volume of poetry by Li-Young Lee.  I purchased a volume of poetry by Jane Hirschfield whose glory I fully discovered for the first time in Susan's workshops.

As I was helping Susan pack up after Friday's workshop we talked some about my trouble owning my words.  She suggested I read the pieces I wrote in her workshops aloud to Liz as a step towards ownership.  So that night, after John retired, both of us in our jammies, I read my poems aloud as she sat cuddled under a blanket in the chair across from me. 

I don't remember everything that was said in the moments after I read.  I don't remember the details of our conversations at Borders.  I can't recall everything that was tossed between the two of us in that 24 hour period of time.  I just remember feeling at ease knowing I was with a like-minded soul.  I remember how good it felt to be with someone who also valued authenticity and realness.  And I remember feeling deeply connected to another soul who is also on a journey to discover the fullness of herself.

The next morning, after a hard sleep in one of the most comfortable beds ever, there was one last stop to make before heading to the airport and eventually home.  I needed to see the ocean one last time.  I felt the best was to say goodbye, until I'm able to return again, was to stand at the oceans edge, look out across the vastness of the silver water, and breath in the pacific air one last time...to maybe hear the squawk of seagulls, find a rock or two for my son, and whisper a little prayer of thanks for everything that transpired over the past few days.  I don't know exactly what it is about Seattle that has stolen my heart.  It's probably a lot of things combined including the handful of wonderful friends who call that area home.  And it is most definitely the close proximity to the ocean, the ocean I'm so far away from in the lower panhandle of Texas.  That's why I couldn't come home without kissing the ocean goodbye, hoping the wind would carry the scent of my skin into its depths so that when I do return it will remember me.

*all the images above are of Liz and her Little Room.  you can see some of her images of that morning at this post.   

The Final Day of Workshops at ArtFest

When I woke up Saturday morning I seriously considered skipping the day's workshop.  After two days of writing all I really wanted to do was write some more.  I thought I might just walk to the beach (only a few yards away from the dorms), find myself a seat on a comfortable fallen tree trunk, and write until I couldn't write any longer, until my fingers cramped and my brain was mush.  But then I remembered the adorable rings Kim made the previous day in a workshop taught by the same teacher and I felt excited about the possibilities.

Well peeps let me just say it doesn't look like jewelry making is my thing.  The workshop was call Pray Box Jewelry and the teacher was Susan Lenart-Kazmer.  Susan makes incredible, eclectic jewelry.  Stuff I might not ever wear but super cool all the same.  You can check out some of her work at this link.  I was really frustrated with the class, not because Susan wasn't a good teacher and not because the workshop sucked.  It was just me.  I was totally out of my element.  That's not necessarily a bad thing because it pushes you to learn new skills and stretch yourself.  But on the last day of ArtFest, when I was exhausted both physically and emotionally, it was just a lot to tackle.  I was a little frustrated with the way the class was taught.  Susan demonstrated the techniques from start to finish and then let us start creating.  Well by the time we got around to creating I couldn't remember how to do anything.  And I was disappointed that what we created looked nothing like the picture on the web-site that drew me to the class to begin with.  I thought the picture was an illustration of what we would be making and I loved it.  But that's not what we made.  Several women in the class made some really remarkable pieces...and multiple pieces at that.  I was lucky to walk out of that workshop 6 hours later with one completed piece.

Basically we were given a kit that contained a square of cooper, some wire, and some itty-bitty washers.  From that square of cooper we cut the shape of our "container", heated it with a blow torch to make it more workable, and molded it into a shape using various tools that I don't know the names of.  We used the wire to create handles and a trapeze so that it would have a little bit of a swinging action.  This required the use of a drimmel and using the blow torch once again to "make a bead" at the end of the wire to prevent it from coming out to the drimmel hole.  Are you following me?  Yeah...it was way over my head too.  For me the coolest part of the class was this resin paper Susan created that we could use as accessories.  I guess she coated sheets of paper with this special resin formula and, when dry, the paper became brittle and almost transparent.  Really cool.  Sadly we didn't get to learn how to make that. 

About 3 hours into the workshop I started wishing I had followed through with my morning musings and just gone to the beach with a pen and journal.  I was frustrated because I couldn't remember the order of the steps.  I was frustrated with having to stand in line to use certain tools.  I was frustrated with the materials we were using.  I was frustrated with having to stand in line to get help from the teacher.  I was frustrated that everyone else seemed to "get it" and I didn't.  I was just frustrated all the way around.  I think I used the word shit in that one workshop more than I have my entire life put together.  One of the big reasons I almost didn't finish making anything was because multiple times throughout the day I just sat in my chair, staring into space, trying to decide if I should just get up and walk out.  But then I would think about the $20 I spent on supplies (I know $20 isn't a lot of money but it is when you're broke) and I would force myself to continue, determined to walk out of that class with something.  And I did...eventually.  I'm not really sure how I feel about what I made but at least I made something.

That evening was show & tell.  It's a display of some of the work created over the past three days in the various workshops.  It was neat to see what the other classes created and it gave me an idea of who I'd like to work with in the future should I come to ArtFest again.  I think my absolute favorite display was the funky wallpaper people created in Anahata Katkin's class.  It may sound weird but believe me it was super cool.

If you had asked me on the 2nd day of the workshops how I was feeling about being away from home I would have told you I dreaded the thought of returning.  I didn't dread returning to anything specific, like my family, my home, my job, etc.  I dreaded returning to who I had been the weeks preceding ArtFest, that girl I've been mentioning in the past several posts that was totally out of sorts with herself, beating herself up over body issues, and letting it all overflow into her life through total bitchiness.  I wanted to stay longer...as long as it took to get in a better frame of mind before returning home.  I didn't necessarily want to stay at ArtFest.  I didn't necessarily want to stay in a world of creating while the "real" world went on without me.  I wanted to stay in a place where I felt I could be myself, a place that is not as suffocating to me as West Texas can sometimes be.  I wanted to stay with people who understood that and were on a similar journey.  I wanted to stay in a place that gave me the room I needed to change and grow and explore, with the added bonus of encouragement from some really cool peeps.  I got knots in my stomach just thinking about having to come back to my life.  But by this last day, just one day later, I was ready.  I was missing my guys.  I was missing my bed.  I was missing my friends.  I was ready to go back as a person who had been transformed in small ways over the course of three days of workshops with some pretty incredible teachers and some even more incredible friends.  I felt ready, hopeful that things didn't have to be the way they had been.  I felt equipped with a much better attitude and a greater sense of self-love so that I could go back and be who I had been the past few days...the person I know I truly am..a capable, tender, confident, centered, creative, beautiful, deeply spiritual woman who just so happens to be a pretty damn good writer.

*shot above was taken of Kim's tool box

Shall We Try This Again?:Day 2 with Susan Wooldridge at ArtFest

When I originally registered for ArtFest I didn't sign up for Susan Wooldridge's second workshop.  I thought I needed variety.  But a few weeks later I had an "aha" moment.  If the woman I've admired for so long was teaching two workshops why would I not take both?  After a few e-mail exchanges with Teesha Moore I was moved to Susan's Crazy Love Poems workshop on Friday.  The only problem was when I arrived at ArtFest I wasn't in Susan's Friday class.  I was in the class I originally registered for.  I hadn't been moved.  In error, Teesha failed to move me.  But I had to go to Susan's second workshop because 1) I didn't bring supplies for the other class and 2) well, I just HAD to.  So Friday morning, in spite of having one of the most intense days of my life the day before (including making myself sick) and actually not being officially registered for the class, I showed up anyway.  I worried about being there even though Teesha said it would be fine since it was her oversight.  But still, I'm too much of a good girl.  I like to play by the rules and not cause any trouble.  As soon as I arrived at the class I told Susan I didn't think Teesha had moved me as requested and I was worried about being there but Susan said she didn't care because she believed I needed to be there.  Things were happening that needed to happen and she thought her class was exactly where I needed to be.  And that's exactly how I felt too.

I woke up Friday morning in a totally different head space than the day before.  I felt so much more "in" myself.  I felt more connected, more at peace, more joyful, more alive and energetic.  And I was itching to write.  I could barely pay attention to Susan's introduction because words were bubbling in my head.  I was so ready to write and see what spilled out.  The class began just as the previous day's class did--with the body prayers, the new version of the Lord's prayer, and the Yahweh exercise.  This time I was actually in my body.  I was less self-conscious and better able to flow through the movements.  I was so much more connected to myself, especially my body, than I had been the day before.  So we were off to a good start.  I didn't even cry during the Lord's prayer.

The class still began with "stealing" words, the word pool, prompts, word tickets, and postcards just as it had the previous workshop but this time the exercise and the prompts focused on love and how love can sometimes get twisted into something it was never supposed to be, something we no longer recognize as love, and about how what love really is can often get lost along the way.  I don't clearly remember the first exercise.  I just remember needing to write and not being able to clearly get what I wanted on to the page because I wanted to write so badly.  There was too much energy rushing through me and I couldn't grab on to the things that were flowing through me.  I couldn't hold on to them long enough to actually write them.  But I clearly remember the second exercise.

Prior to the second exercise we were given tiny matchboxes.  We were to walk around outside and gather objects in our matchboxes that said something to us about love.  Again my words were flowing faster than I could keep up with.  Every time I picked up on object words rushed forth.  The tricky part was trying to remember them when it came time to write.  I held them in my head as best I could.  In both workshops Susan had touched some on our shadow selves and our need to accept our shadow as opposed to cutting it off or pushing it away.  While others chose to write their second poem to specific people I chose to write mine to my shadow self.  One of the suggested prompts was to write to our disowned self.  I didn't quite like the term "disowned."  I didn't feel like there was a part of me that was "disowned", it was more buried than disowned.  So I wrote to my buried self. 

As with every writing exercise, when it was complete Susan went around the room and read each person's.  Something happened when mine was read and I'm still not certain what to do with it.  As cool as it is to hear your own work read aloud I was still having a problem connecting to my words.  And my inner critic was really at work.  I recognized every place I didn't think flowed smoothly and those places where I tried too hard to use a word ticket and it just didn't work and when I couldn't find the right word and just had to pick one and when I couldn't express what I was really trying to express so just had to settle.  Sure there were some sections that I thought were good and some metaphors I liked but I didn't think it was anything fabulous.  That is why when people react strongly to my words I don't get it.  I can't see what other people see.  I'm not saying I'm a bad writer.  I know that isn't true.  It's just that I don't connect to my words like others do.  I don't think, "man that was good" or "that part really moved me" or "wow that was beautiful".  I see everything that I couldn't get right.  So when many of you compliment my writing I'm flattered but at the same time I don't get it.  I don't see what you see.  So you can imagine how weird it was for me when, after Susan finished reading my piece, it got a strong reaction from several people.  Kelly Rae was sitting to my right and I think her exact words were "Oh, my god Michelle," and another girl in the class started clapping.  Now clapping was something we were specifically asked not to do.  The class was not about praising each other's work through applause but just writing and sitting with/taking in each other's words.  I felt both terribly self-conscious and a bit confused.  I didn't think it was all that great.  It was okay but I wouldn't say it was fabulous or that I loved it.  I've been thinking about this moment off and on since it happened, trying to figure out why it felt so weird for me.  I think part of it is not knowing how to accept that kind of praise.  Another part of it is not having any deep connection to my words.  And I think another part of it is my self-doubt about my writing abilities.  Again I'm not saying I'm a bad writer but I'm not really confident in my writing skills either. 

I don't feel about anything else the way I feel about writing.  There are a lot of things I like to do, a lot of things that make me happy.  There are hobbies I enjoy that if I go awhile without them I do miss them and feel their absence.  But writing is different.  I ache to write.  I have to write.  If I don't write I'm not right with myself.  When my words aren't flowing and when I feel empty I get really, well, almost depressed because writing is so important to me and I have to have it.  Just writing something isn't enough--I want to WRITE.  All that being said and I still question myself because I have ideas of what a "real" writer is.  I "real" writer has published a book...I just have a blog.  I "real" writer writes for a living...I work in an office from 8-5.  A "real" writer has an extensive education in writing/English...mine ended almost 20 years ago with high school.  I see other people writing books, getting book proposals, etc and I guess I start thinking it means I must not be a good writer because those things aren't happening for me.

Anyway, when the day's workshop was over I couldn't seem to leave.  I stuck around for as long as I could.  I helped Susan pack her things up and get them loaded in her car and we chit-chatted about my life and writing while we did those things.  My experience with her was so amazing and so deeply moving that I just wasn't quite ready to let her go.  I wanted more...more time with here...more time to write...more of her in general.  Basically I wanted to go home and live with her.  And, more specifically, I wanted to talk about myself as a writer with her a little more extensively.  After getting everything loaded she offered to give me a ride to the dorms but I wanted to walk.  I just needed a little time to myself to soak it all in...as the infamous Seattle drizzle soaked me.

That night, after dinner, was vendor night.  Sheer craziness.  That is the best description I have.  It wasn't as large as I had envisioned which only means there were fewer booths for the same amount of people (500+) to access.  Several booths I never could get to so I gave up.  And the prices!  Ouch!  Too rich for my blood.  I was there for maybe a whole 20-30 minutes and I'd had enough. 

When I got back to my dorm room later that evening one of my roommates told me she had run into Susan on the way back from vendor night and they struck up a conversation in which my name was brought up.  My roommate said Susan suggested she ask me if she could read what I had written the past couple days...as long as I was comfortable with that.  I let her read it and she had really positive things to say about it.  There were a lot of "wow"s and "that was beautiful" and "amazing" was used a few times but again I just couldn't get it.  That next morning on my way to the bathroom I ran into this same roommate and she literally followed me into the bathroom, almost into my stall, to tell me she had thought about what I wrote all night because it had touched her so deeply and she woke up that morning still thinking about my words.  Again she gave me exactly the kind of encouragement, support, and praise one desires...if one can wrap themselves around it.  I'm just always taken off-guard by that kind of reaction.  I don't understand it.  I really struggle not to push it away or discount it and I have gotten better about just saying, "thank you."

I had forgotten about some of these events until I was talking on the phone with a friend tonight telling her about my ArtFest experience.  After our phone call I went for a walk and tossed a lot of this around again.  I want to believe I'm a fabulous writer because I want so badly to be a fabulous writer.  There are a few things I want more than that but not many.  And still when people tell me I am, when people compliment me, tell me my words touched them, and give me exactly what I want in the way of encouragement I can't seem to accept it.  I just don't quite feel my writing is good enough.  Another thing I just need to sit with and own is the fact that in two days of workshops, a total of 24+ students, and 4 writing exercises (that's 48+ pieces read by Susan) I was the only one whose work received an applause.  I didn't mention the applause because I wanted to brag.  I'm writing about it because I want to look at my reaction to it and why I can't own it and why I don't think it is amazing.  I mean shouldn't I think it's amazing?  Shouldn't I be proud of it?  Shouldn't it tell me something about my writing?  And yet it really doesn't.  Not really.  There is a little part of me that realizes how big that is (and gets excited when I think about it) but there is another REALLY BIG piece of me that doesn't feel connected to it...that doesn't recognize the recognition was for MY words.  MINE.

ps--I'm so sad the only picture I have of the two of us came out so blurry...but you can still pick up on the important stuff...the emotions...even the blurriness can't cover that up...

The Minor Melt Down that was My First Workshop at ArtFest

When Liz had the privilege of attending a poetry workshop with Susan Wooldridge at last year's ArtFest I was so jealous...thrilled for her...but jealous too because that has been a dream of mine.  About 5 years ago I discovered Susan's book Poem Crazy.  I've read many books about writing but this was the one that really stuck with me.  Of all those books this one addressed my particular style of writing.  It has been the one that has spoken to and inspired me the most.  Over the past five years I have read/worked through the book several times and it is still my favorite.  So when I found out Susan was going to be leading a workshop at this year's ArtFest I was super pumped.  I signed up for two days of workshops with her and if there had been a third I would have signed up for it as well.

I came to ArtFest carrying a lot of shit with me.  A few weeks before the trip I started training for a new position at work.  Although it's a good move for me it's tough going from something you feel you knew pretty well to something you don't know anything about.  I had also intended to loose a few pounds prior to ArtFest and instead I gained a few.  I was feeling very uncomfortable in my body and not very happy with myself.  My feelings translated into overeating, beating myself up, and being a total bitch to my family.  I was completely miserable and needed a break...I needed ArtFest.  I needed a chance to get away and recuperate, refocus and get right with myself. 

So I showed up at ArtFest carrying all that in my body (especially my belly and my hips), in my heart, on my face, and down through my bones.  Add that to the overwhelm of the first evening and you've got yourself a pretty lethal combination.  I walked into the classroom so excited to work with Susan...I even brought her a present.  Liz had introduced us the night before and I instantly fell in love with her.  She began the class by having us "steal" words from other poets as a way to broaden our vocabulary and help us feel less self-conscious.  Then we circled up and she led us through two very powerful rituals.  She talked about how words and the meanings of words have become so twisted, misconstrued, and lost and how in the beginning there weren't word as we know them, there were sounds.  She led us through a body exercise using the vowel sounds.  I immediately felt uncomfortable.  I was feeling out of sorts with my body already and trying to get into my body comfortably enough to participate in this ritual was really tough.  My anger at myself increased because now I was mad at myself for not being able to let loose and move and flow naturally.  I was angry at myself for how uncomfortable I felt.  Then Susan, who is a deeply spiritual person, began talking about the Lord's Prayer and what some of the words meant in their original Aramaic translation.  She said that in Aramaic the opening words to the Lord's Prayer were not "Our Father who art in heaven" but that it was actually genderless.  Something about that rocked me to my core.  My eyes filled with tears and I pretty much cried throughout the entire rest of the class. 

I've been on this spiritual journey for the past few years and it's taken a lot of unexpected, sometimes confusing, twists and turns.  I've so desperately wanted god out of the box I've kept god in for too long.  I've wanted a god that was more than I knew god to be.  I've discovered little things in other traditions that have cracked open the box but hearing what Susan had to say about the Lord's Prayer, a prayer I'm very familiar with because of my Southern Baptist heritage, was like finally finding something in my own tradition to crack that box open.  It tied my past to my present and future and what that meant for me is indescribable.  It was a mixture of hope and relief, belief and affirmation. 

Next Susan had us perform a body prayer with the Hebrew word for God, "Yahweh."  Now I had tears and anger.  Tears because my god box was just cracked a little further open and anger because all this hatred I'd been feeling towards my body the past few weeks had culminated into a discomfort that wouldn't allow me to get into the moment.  And I was also angry at myself for my inability to not care what I looked like to others as I moved in this body prayer.  I've always wanted to dance and move and flow freely but the truth is I'm uncomfortable with my body and I care too much what I look like.  I wanted so badly to move the way Susan was, with presence and abandon and confidence.  And I didn't have any of those things.

We sat down for our first writing exercise and all of that poured out.  It was very interesting the way she had us layer our writing.  First we created a word pool from our "stolen" words.  Then she gave each of us a pile of word tickets.  Next she gave us postcards for some visual stimulation.  So we began with a prompt and wrote using our own words, words from the word pool, the word tickets, and inspiration from the postcard images.  And as we wrote Susan would come around and lay things in front of us to use as well--additional words tickets, objects, pages from her dictionary.  It was fascinating because you had all these sources of inspiration to draw from.

Once we had completed the exercise Susan went around the room and read each person's writing.  She does the reading for a couple of reasons: 1. people are really uncomfortable reading their own work and this lessen the discomfort because all eyes are on her, not the writer, and 2. a lot of times when people do choose to read their own words that don't do themselves justice and as a poet, published author, and writing workshop leader Susan is very practiced at reading poetry aloud.  I don't know how to describe what it's like to hear someone read your words aloud.  It's surreal.  It's amazing to hear what just came from your own heart and hands.  But I also had a lot of trouble connecting to my words.  They didn't feel like mine.  And I picked up on things I hadn't noticed while I was actually writing.  What I picked up on was all the anger and other shit I brought with me to ArtFest.  And I cried when I heard how angry I was at myself. 

Once everyone's work had been read, we had a short break.  Susan noticed I wasn't quite right and she came over and talked to me about it.  I told her what I picked up on in my words and she simply said, "Honey, do you need to cry?"  That was the permission I needed to let my tears flow and I cried off and on for the rest of the day.  I cried when she read the beautiful words of my fellow poets.  I cried when Susan talked about things deeply spiritual and the need to reclaim some things, namely words, that have been lost.  I cried after Susan read my second exercise and I cried towards the end of the workshop when everything around me kind of faded away and I suddenly felt really loved, not loved by a particular person, or the community I was sitting with, maybe not even myself, but by something (I'll call it God) within me and around me.  It was like feeling yourself wrapped in soft, giant translucent leaves.  It was like everything inside of me grew still.  It was that kind of feeling you try to hold on to and can't because as humans we get hurt and we believe lies about ourselves, we stumble through fear and we doubt so much.  So you do the best you can to hold onto it in that moment, to memorize it, so that in those times you don't feel it you can try to put yourself back into it, you can try to remember what it's like to dwell in that kind of love. 

Intense.  That is the best way to describe the entire workshop and everything that transpired that day.  So intense that by the time I got back to the dorm room I was carrying it all in my shoulders and it was gradually working itself up into my head.  So I sat down with Kim and had a glass of wine.  Then I went to Liz's room to tell her about the day as she got dressed for dinner.  I rounded up a couple of Advil then she and I along with Kelly Rae and her mother headed into Port Townsend for dinner with some other truly amazing ladies including Elizabeth (BluePoppy), Misty Mawn, and Judy Wise.  All I have to say is intense day + carrying it all in your shoulders + major headache + glass of wine + 2 Advil + empty stomach do not add up well.  During dinner I got so sick.  I ordered this lovely food and ate maybe 2 bites if that.  I went to the bathroom a couple of times to put a few damp paper towels on the back of my neck but that didn't work.  Kelly Rae's mom offered to drive me back to the dorms and at first I declined her offer because I just didn't want to miss out on anything, especially not dinner with these amazing women.  But about 10 seconds later I took her up on her offer because I knew there was no way I was going to make it through the rest of the evening and as much as I hated going back to the dorms and going to bed at 7:00 I knew if I didn't the next day would suck. 

As intense as this day was for me it was also amazing.  It was good for me to face and feel the discomfort.  It was good for me to hear my anger towards myself in my own writing.  It was good for me to cry.  It was good for me to sleep it off. 

If you ever get a chance to work with Susan Wooldridge please do so.  Don't let my intense experience scare you away.  Like I said a lot of that was shit I brought with me that needed to be dealt with.  I had some fears going into this workshop.  I have admired Susan for so long that I was afraid we wouldn't connect...but we did.  My words mean so much to me but I don't feel confident in my writing abilities so I was afraid I'd get there, hear someone else's writing, and think mine was complete shit.  Let me tell you, Susan has this way of making each and every person feel like they are special.  When she is focused on you she is totally focused on you.  That's how she is with everyone so everyone feels seen and heard and valued and there are no feelings of envy or invisibility (two issues I struggle with a lot.)  Every person in the class wrote truly amazing, beautiful work and you could appreciate it because it came from the depths.  And each and every piece written was unique and different because it came from the person, not some formula or prompt, and each person is unique and different.  To me it was just amazing the way each of us wrote from this deeply beautiful personal place and you could honor each person's words because you knew within those words was that person's truth at that moment. 

One last thing:  even though we circled up together at the beginning of the class Susan didn't have us introduce ourselves.  Instead before she read each person's writing she would begin by saying, "This is ____."  Then, she would read the piece and once she was finished she would again say, "This is _______."  In other words she introduced us through our words and that was so amazing because words written from the heart, the soul, the gut are a very intimate piece of ourselves.  How often do you introduce yourself to someone or have someone introduce themselves to you with that level of intimacy and honesty and beauty.  It is a very intimate way to meet someone.  You get right past the bullshit (what do you do, where do you live) into the real stuff and that is both pretty cool and a little scary...but definitely worth the risk because you really get to see someone...and they get to really see you...and so often we miss one another...so often we don't really see each other.   

The Ickey Side of ArtFest

Before I tell you about the actual workshops I participated in last week there was another aspect of ArtFest I wanted to address--the icky aspect.

One of the reasons I wanted to attend ArtFest was because of all the fabulous things I've heard other bloggers say about it, like how freeing and life changing it is and how healing it can be.  I've read about connections that were made, friendships that were forged, super cool techniques that were learned, and shifts in perspective that were facilitated by the wonder that is ArtFest.  And all those things are true.  Every single one of them.  I can attest to that because now I have gone to ArtFest myself.  Unfortunately for me, and others with a similar personality as mine, all those wonderful things don't actually happen until about 3 to 4 days into ArtFest.  The first couple days or so are consumed with feeling totally overwhelmed.  For those of you who make friends easily and can carry on conversations without any problems and for those who feed off the energy and excitement of others you will probably love ArtFest from the get go.  But then there is me and others like me who are a bit shy and very introverted.  For me, even with having my little band of peeps, it was really, really hard.  The best description that comes to mind is the first day of junior high at a brand new school.  I felt like that new girl, like everyone else knew each other and had their little band of friends and I was the one trying to find a place to fit in.  I remember walking to lunch the first day praying all the way to the cafeteria that I would find someone to sit with (thank god for Kelly Rae and Misty Mawn).  I felt really alone and out of place.  And I even had moments of just wanting to go home.  It felt just like junior high all over again.  All those issues of wanting to be liked and wanted, wanting to fit in and belong, all crawl to the surface...and that is an icky, icky feeling.  I kept thinking, my god, I'll be 35 next month.  Why do I suddenly feel like I'm 13. 

I wanted to talk about this because some of you reading may be thinking about attending ArtFest next year or some other time in the future and if you do and if you start feeling these same icky, junior high feelings I wanted you to know you aren't alone.  I felt them too.  As a first timer it is easy to feel like the newbie trying to forge a place for yourself, trying to find someone that will include you.  And it sucks.  It's just a very icky feeling that surfaces that you have to deal with.  Maybe that's a good thing (even though it doesn't feel so good) because it reminds us of those places within that still need attention, that still need a little tenderness.  It reminds us that being self-sufficient is great but humans are also made for relationships and as such we all still long for a place to belong, a group to connect with, a person to sit with during lunch.  And for me personally, it challenges me to move outside of myself and do the things that don't come easily...like starting a conversation with a complete stranger.

I also wanted to talk about this because so often you hear about the fabulous aspects of ArtFest and rarely does anyone talk about the things that aren't so great.  One might begin to think it's all candy and roses.  It's not.  There are aspect that are really challenging...and I don't mean techniques you learn in the workshops.  For me this was one of those challenging aspects.  All those uncomfortable junior high feelings just feel icky.  As wonderful as ArtFest is the icky comes along with it and I found myself enjoying the fabulous while also struggling with the icky.   

Taking a Ferry to Port Townsend

Aren't ferries fabulous?  I'm just amazed that you can load that many cars onto a boat and transport them across a large body of water like that.  They all file in, let this huge ship carry them from one point to the next, and then they all file out and go on their way.  It's fascinating.  It's magical.  And there's the incredible view, water stretched for miles and your destination somewhere in the distance, just a spot of green and brown.  And the seagulls.  And the wind that blows across the surface of the ocean, ripping through you like a knife, wind so bone chillingly cold that you can barely catch your breath in it but you still want to stand in it...at least for awhile...at least until your nose is running so much you have to seek shelter.  But once inside you can sit next to a large window, feel the heat of the sun radiating from the glass, and enjoy the beauty of the ocean without the debilitating chill of the wind off the water.

This is how we made our trek from Kim's home in Edmond's to Port Townsend, the location of ArtFest.  I had never been on a ferry before so it was quite the experience.  It was more fascinating than scary, more soothing than unsettling.  But I did think about THAT episode of Grey's Anatomy.  You know the one.  The one that was the begging of the end.  The one that started the slow decline of last season.  The one that lead into the episodes that made me decide to stop watching the show.  Yeah, THAT one.

And now a word about Port Townsend: it is just about the cutest town I've ever seen.  I could go on and on about it but you really do have to experience it for yourself.  Charming.  That's a good word for it.  It has these incredible shops on the main street and the buildings are very Victorian with amazing details.  Another one of those places that is every photographer's dream.  And they have this Thai food restaurant that is to die for.  Try the seaweed salad.  Yum.

Right outside of Port Townsend is Fort Worden...home of ArtFest.  Wednesday was check-in.  I'd been prepared by those who had gone before as to what to expect.  I came ready to be overwhelmed.  But it actually wasn't bad.  The check in went very smoothly...and so did hauling my luggage up to my second floor dorm room.  I was a bit nervous about the dorm situation because I was rooming with complete strangers.  I had no idea who these women would be and luckily they turned out to be very sweet, considerate ladies...also first timers. 

Dinner was another story.  For the past couple years I have read reports about ArtFest on other blogs, reports about how fabulous it is, how it is life changing and even better than Disneyland.  So I came with fairly high expectations.  Kim, Christina, and I hooked up with Liz, Kelly Rae and Kelly's mother for dinner in the cafeteria.  That is when the overwhelm hit hard and all those expectations came tumbling down.  The energy.  The noise.  The excitement.  It's all a little too much for me.  And then there were the trades.  If you want to participate then you bring a little something that you can trade with other participants.  For instance I brought little sets of wallet sized photographs, Kelly Rae brought magnets with her art on them, Kim brought cute tins filled with ephemera and Liz brought little bags stuffed with chocolate and other goodies.  I guess I had imagined that I would be trading with ladies I met in my workshops or in my dorm, ladies I got to know a little and wanted to give a small memento to so that they could find me on my blog or e-mail me in the future and vice versa.  Dinner was a trading frenzy.  "Do you have a trade?  Do you want to trade?  Here's a trade"...with mostly sincere but some fake "oh how cute."  I have to admit I didn't like it...not one bit.  It felt awkward to me.  I felt weird and uncomfortable giving my trades to complete strangers...women I would probably not remember or see again during the entire workshop.  I came home with trades and although most of them have some kind of contact information I don't have a clue who the person is.  And I'm sure they're thinking the same thing about my trade.  So I got started out on the wrong foot.  I left dinner feeling the excitement but also feeling more than a little overwhelmed and totally weirded out.  And I certainly wasn't feeling like ArtFest was the most amazing thing ever.  I was leaning more towards the 'this fucking sucks' feeling.  I just hated the whole trading thing so much and never again will I participate in the 'first nite dinner trading.'  In the future I will save my trades and do with them exactly what I thought I was going to do with them in the first place: give them to people in meet in the workshops, the dorm, or sit with at future meals.  I think I will crawl into a little shell inside myself that first dinner and just tune everybody out for the sake of my sanity.  But I did get to end that evening bonding with my peeps in Kelly Rae's room and that was really nice...even though they didn't have heat...and it was freakin' cold.

Simply put Seattle is eye candy for the soul...

Well...I'm back...  My plane flew in last night and unfortunately I had to get up early this morning and head to work even though I am completely exhausted from all the Art Fest excitement...not to mention the mounds of laundry that needs to be washed.  I have so much to write about.  I probably have a month's worth of posts wrapped up in this one week.  I guess the best place to start is at the beginning.

The day before we were to check in for Art Fest I flew to Seattle where the amazing Kim...and she truly is amazing...I knew that before I spent a week with her and now I know it for sure...picked me up at the airport then drove me all over Seattle showing me some of her favorite shops (including Pike's Market) and some of the more fascinating things about Seattle (like the Space Needle).  The entire time I kept thinking, why don't I live here?  It's full of color and energy, culture and progress, change and artistry.  It's a place that is very alive.  And I love it.  And I want to move there.  Like tomorrow.  It's a photographer's dream and the ocean is just right there...right there.  And did I mention there are recycling bins everywhere making recycling so easy and accessible?  You can recycle right then and there as opposed to saving it in your garage, loading it up in your car, and driving it to the closest facility.  I knew I liked Seattle the first time I traveled there a year and a half ago and now I am sold.  I am totally and completely in love with the place.  All I can say is when I think about Seattle I let out a long heartfelt sigh.

I stayed that first night with Kim and her family and a friend of Kim's from Canada, Christina, who would also be going to Art Fest with us.  Kim's mother, an absolutely amazing cook, stuffed me with the most incredible food ever (the best deviled eggs I've ever tasted...I swear).  That night I slept long and hard which was just what I needed before my Art Fest adventure.  Flying in the day before is the way to go because I can't imagine trying to fly in and get to Art Fest both in the same day.  Way too much stress.  Needless to say I am so grateful Kim offered her home...and her car...and her mother's cooking...and her son's bed, to me.  It was nice to have a day to see Seattle and get settled in before heading to Port Townsend for Art Fest.

I have so many photos and stories to share.  I want to tell you about how Kim is an artist in every way, shape, and form, show you pictures of her studio and tell you about what an amazing, generous heart she has.  I want to tell you about my first ferry ride.  I want to make certain I don't forget any of the details.  I want to tell you about how charming and wonderful Port Townsend is.  I want to tell you what it was like to see Liz again and meet Kelly Rae (and her mother) for the first time as well as Bluepoppy, Misty Mawn, and Ali Edwards.  I want to tell you about how amazing Susan Wooldridge is and how her workshops truly blessed me and changed my life.  I want to tell you about Word Pools and Word Tickets.  I want to tell you about the beach...the sand, the tide, the seashells, the seagulls, the fallen tree trunks that make perfect benches.  I want to tell you about the soft rain and the way it feels when the sun shines on your face after a nice rain.  I want to share with you some synchronisities and tell you about ending the trip in Tacoma bonding with Liz and her very sweet husband John.  I want to tell you so much and I know I'm going to miss something but I'm going to do the best I can.

A Valentine's Day Gift for You

Back in November I wrote a post in which I talked some about the unusual phenomenon we call comments and the unpredictable nature in which readers choose to comment or not comment.  I also asked you to choose a post you had written that you were really proud of but that you felt didn't get the attention you wished it had received.  I then posted the link to this post so that readers visiting my blog could come to your blog and read the post.  The purpose was to offer you the opportunity to be seen and heard--two of the most important gifts we can receive from others.  At the time I had every intention of making that a regular occurrence on my blog.  I thought it could become a monthly edition.  Well, I never followed through.  But it's Valentine's Day.  A day whose meaning sometimes gets lost in commercialism but whose intent was to remind us to celebrate the the love in our lives. 

There are endless reasons we choose to blog--to share our stories, to share our talents, to connect with kindred spirits, to give our voice an opportunity to be heard.  We write posts in which we give the reading world the gift of our rawness and our vulnerability.  We write posts that say so much about ourselves and our journey.  We write posts we are tremendously proud of.  As readers of these posts we have the chance to honor one another.  We have the opportunity to affirm one another, support one another, encourage one another.  We have the opportunity to say, I see you, I hear you, I am traveling alongside you, I am cheering you on, I have been touched by your life, your story, your courage. 

In November when I requested links to some of your most important posts it felt like one of the most important posts I've ever written.  Each time I posted one of your links on my blog, giving readers the chance to read your words and leave you comments, it felt like one of the most important things I've ever done with my blog.  As a Valentine's Gift to you, to myself, to the blogging community I would like to request your links again.  If you would like to participate simply leave a link to one of your posts in the comments and I will post them here.  You can leave your links anytime this week or next week.  The cut off date will be next Friday (the 22nd).  This doesn't necessarily have to be a deeply personal/emotional post.  It's any post that means something special to you that you would like readers to re-visit.  It's any post that was important to you, any post in which you felt you truly expressed yourself.  It takes courage to say, I wrote this.  It was important to me.  I would love for you to read it.  It takes courage because it is often hard to ask one another for this kind of affirmation.  But asking is a gift we give ourselves, the gift of valuing our lives and our stories.  I'll be posting my own link once I decide which post I'd like to link to.

I would love to visit your blog and read a post that has deep meaning for you.  Just leave the link in the comments. 

***********************************************************

1. Marilyn 
2. Bella
3. Bethany
4. Becky
5. Julia
6. Frankie
7. Nicole
8. Penny

A Little Something for You to Think About

One of the things I think forms the foundation of this particular blogging community, one of the things that connects us, is our desire for growth in all areas of our lives--spiritually, emotionally, relationally, professionally, artistically.  We are a group of highly creative, deeply spiritual (and I don't mean that in a religious sense), incredibly open seekers.  Plugging into this community has changed so many of our lives.  I have watch many of you take amazing leaps in your lives, especially creatively/artistically, with the support of this community.  That being said, I've been tossing an idea around for awhile now, an idea I mentioned a few posts ago that I promised to bring up again, and I would like to get your valuable feedback on it.

I believe I'm a very talented photographer.  I love photography.  I love images.  I want my skill and professionalism in that particular area of my life to continue to grow.  I feel passionate about it and it is something I will pursue the rest of my life.  However, I still feel my writing is my true strength.  I love to take pictures but I ache to write.  I can go days without picking up my camera.  I can't go days without picking up my pen.  So I've been trying to decide what to do about that, trying to decide what's next...is blogging enough or do I want more?  And I always feel like I want more.  One of the things I would really like to do is find a venue that will combine both my writing and my photography but goes beyond blogging.  Lately one of my Mondo Beyondo dreams, one of the creative ideas that is pulling at me, one of the things I know I'd like to give a try if I weren't so damn scared is to create a zine.  A zine is a small self published magazine.  I know there are other bloggers out there who have created their own zines but I'm not very familiar with them so I don't know what they look like or what they entail. 

But here's the deal--I'm not sure how to get started.  What should it look like?  What are my publishing options? Would anyone even be interested in this?  This is my basic vision:  the zine would be called Tangled Wings: the zine about being and becoming (or something along those lines).  It would feature some of my own writing and photography as well as feature the writing and/or photography of some of my fellow bloggers.  There would be a new issue every season (4 a year).  The first issue would probably be an overall introduction of the concept and from there I might choose to have different topics of focus for every issue.  The whole zine idea is still a work in progress (one I'm not even certain I'll pursue but if I'm truly honest with myself I would at least like to give a try) so I don't have all the logistics worked out.

This is what I need from you:  feedback.  Have you or do you know someone who has their own zine?  Have you purchased a zine before and if so what did you like and not like about it?  Do you know of any publishing options (I know Blurb.com is a great one but it's a little more pricey than I want)?  What do you think of this idea?  Is it something you think people would have an interest in (since I imagine the vast majority of the people who might purchase the zine would be people familiar with my blog)?  Is there something particular you would be interested in seeing in this zine? 

This is a brainstorming opportunity so I'm hoping we can all put our heads together and come up with some things I may have failed to consider or some things I may be overlooking.  I think some of you out there know some really great resources that I don't know about so I'm asking for your ideas and suggestions or anything you can think of that might be helpful to me as I consider this endeavor.  And finally if you don't have any particular ideas and/or suggestions a few words of support/encouragement are always nice.

So...what do you think????...I need some feedback...   

Slowly Crawling Out of My Self-Imposed Hibernation

I successfully made it through both high school and college without attending any major parties.  I have never been to a "kegger."  I did go through a phase in my mid-twenties when I enjoyed going to a local karaoke bar every week but that was short lived because eventually it wore me out.  That's just really not my thing.  You see I'm an introvert.  When it comes to the Myers-Briggs personality test I'm an off the chart introvert.  I can handle places with a lot of activity for about 10 minutes and I'm done.  The noise, the busyness, the commotion, the crowd, all of it totally wipes me out.  I'll be fine and then suddenly it will hit, bam, no energy left.  I'll be laughing, participating in the conversation, doing a little flirting then suddenly I become this big bump on a log, staring into space, tuning people out, and saying absolutely nothing.  If I do happen to go to some type of party/dinner by the end of the evening I'm the one quietly keeping to myself.  I've found this to be true with Girl's Nite Out as well.  As much as I love a Friday with the gals it does require a lot of energy from me.  I'll be hanging with my girlies, having a perfectly wonderful time, when I'll just suddenly feel exhausted and feel the need to crawl inside myself.  I'll get very quiet and often people assume I'm not having a good time or that I'm upset about something.  The truth is I'm having a fine time because I've shut down and I'm not really "there" anymore.  I'm somewhere deep inside myself replenishing my energy sources.

I think something very similar to this happened over the holidays.  All the doing and going, all the busyness and commotion just became a little too much and I crawled deep inside.  It all just felt a little overwhelming and I shut down.  I have n ot turned on my computer for the past several weeks for anything other than editing photos, updating my Netflix queue, making a few on-line purchases, and visiting You-Tube...oh yeah, and there was the night I spent hours goolging information about Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi...not really sure what that was about other than we were watching How the Grinch Stole Christmas (narrated by Boris Karloff) and it suddenly sparked my interest in old Hollywood horror flicks.  I have not checked my in-box since Thanksgiving until tonight...and I have a whopping 800 e-mails.  Yikes!  (Let's hope most of them are spam.)  Although I didn't read any of the 800 e-mails I did notice several of them are from you guys.  When I saw some of your names in my in-box I suddenly felt this ache, an ache for this blogging community.

Over the holidays blogging just felt like too much.  With everything else going on around me in preparation for and celebration of Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years I just didn't have the energy for blogging.  I had good intentions.  For weeks now I've intended to post something, even if it was just a little something to let you know I was okay but taking a short break.  But by the end of the day I just didn't have it in me and anytime I thought I might actually attempt to turn on my computer I felt almost panicked about it.  I had some kind of weird computer phobia that only shifted this evening when I saw how several of you have reached out to me over the past few weeks just to check in and make sure I was okay.  I really appreciate it and yes, I am okay.  I've just been doing a little hibernating. 

I"ve started slowly crawling out of my hibernation over the past few days.  Yesterday I actually cleaned out the fridge (it's sparkling) and gave my car a good cleaning (and it needed it.)  Today the B-Dog returned to school after being off two weeks for Christmas break so we should soon be getting back into the swing of things, back into our routine.  At work we had our big Spring financial aid disbursement last week so this week the phone calls, orientations, etc. should start tapering off.  All the busyness that has been going on around me is finally starting to quiet and I'm feeling a little more courageous about poking my head out of my cave and coming out of the dark.  I don't know how long a process the actual emerging will take but I did want to let you know I am fine.  I just needed to crawl into myself for awhile and disconnect from everything so all the activity of the season wouldn't totally and completely do me in.