thirty threadbare mercies

The outward expression of an inward grace.

Monthly Creative Wrap-Up: Write, Shake, Repeat. May 10, 2013

Filed under: Art,Community,Dance,Friendship,Inspiration,Parenting,Personal,Writing — rheabette @ 9:11 am
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Following periods of turmoil, whether internal or on a national level, I often experience an outpouring of creativity.  Well, this was one of those months.  I wrote more than ever, danced my butt off, and my whole being positively zinged with the desire to create.

It’s been a good month for all things writerly. I received my contributer copy of the first anthology I’ve ever been published in, which I wrote about here. I didn’t know what to expect from this literary journal, but I was incredibly impressed with the caliber of poetry and essays it contains. The way one piece flows into another is so satisfying. It felt amazing to be in such good company.

The publication I write for regularly, The Equals Record, is moving into print, and they accepted a piece of mine for the inaugural edition. They launched their Indigogo campaign two weeks ago, and I hope that you’ll pre-order the first book there, as it is sure to be something you’ll want to hold on to. The editors have invested so much curation and beauty in the publication. And since I’ve been doing so much hustling for them behind the scenes, they offered me an Editor at Large title! So, if you contribute, in addition to supporting ad-free writing and design, you’ll be helping my debut as an editor.

Some of the lovely loot you can reward yourself with by supporting Equals in Print.

Some of the lovely loot you can reward yourself with by supporting Equals in Print.

I also got word that a piece of mine was accepted for the publication Literary Mama, on their After Page One blog series about parent writers.  So, head over to their site on July 1st to read words of mine, or go over there now as well to catch up on that inspiring series in advance.

The other exciting thing that happened this month was I got to participate in a lovely little act of flash mobbery in Union Square with my fellow dancers from Rhythm and Motion. It was the kick-off event to Bay Area Dance Week, which I look forward to this week every year – a chance to discover a new dance form, and be a part of a celebration of dance.

Shaking it in Union Square

Shaking it in Union Square

The event in Union Square was unbelievably heart-warming. The philosophy of the dance classes I take at ODC through Rhythm and Motion is: “Anyone can dance”, and people of all ages and all walks of life showed up to do this flash mob in the heart of the city. Seeing the old folks troupe and the children in their school blazers was particularly heart-pulling. When we had a chance to join in the action, I couldn’t stop smiling. With the sun beating down, sometimes going in the wrong direction, I threw myself into the fray and had a blast. It felt like the embodiment of what we practice in class — shaking our bodies no matter what happens — out in the world.

Another incredibly inspiring experience was going to the ballet with my friend Nehemiah, who is a student at SFBS.  He took me to see Cinderella, Christopher Wheeldon’s magical re-telling of the Grimm Brother’s version of the fairy tale.  Not only was Maria Kochetkova’s vulnerable dancing in the main role filled with risk and beauty, but I was blown away by the loveliness of this version of the old story, in which the mother watches over her daughter in the form of a tree that sprouts from her daughter’s tears.  I want to get Olive a copy of this version of the story, instead of the sanitized and mother-less Disney film.  The visual effects were so stunning yet simple that several times, the sold-out audience collectively gasped.  They are bringing back the production in 2014, and I highly recommend checking it out.  It has stayed with me all week, infusing my dancing and my parenting.

cinderella

I am grateful for all these chances to be a part of creative endeavours — I think it gives me space to be more creative in my play with my daughter, as well.  We’ve been inventing new games, playing a lot of “Queen”, and she’s been practicing her British accent (which is hilarious, her being two and all).  She even found her first imaginary friend. His name is Grover, and he’s from Mexico. They have to communicate mostly through art, since the extent of Olive’s Spanish can be contained in the song “La Araña Grandiosa”. But I think they do alright. The language of friendship is universal.

 

The Failure Club January 9, 2013

Filed under: Art,Artists,Inspiration,Loss,Parenting,Personal — rheabette @ 3:01 pm
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I have been thinking a lot lately about what it means to be an artist, and I keep returning to the importance of failure. To endure in creative pursuits, you have to become so comfortable with falling down and getting back up that you come to trust your failures as signposts, guiding you along the way.

failure and creativity

I came across this quote in an old favorite book of mine, and I instantly copied it down and stuck it on the kitchen wall in the corner that is currently doubling as my writing space:

“You have the right to work, but for the work’s sake only. You have no right to the fruits of your work. Desire for the fruits of work must never be your motive in working. Never give way to laziness, either.
Perform every action with your heart fixed on the Supreme Lord. Renounce attachment to the fruits. Be even-tempered in success and failure; for it is this evenness of temper which is meant by yoga.
Work done with anxiety about results is far inferior to work done without such anxiety, in the calm of self-surrender. Seek refuge in the knowledge of Brahman. They who work selfishly for results are miserable.” — Bhagavad Gita

Much of that quote is mysterious to me, but it is a mystery that I want to live in. I currently have so many writing projects that I always have a deadline to meet, and I just want to dig in to the work, creating for art’s sake, not my own gain.

One of my main philosophies is that failure is good for the soul, and I got several chances to put that into action this week. I post a lot about things I am excited about, opportunities that have come my way to find new forms of expression. But since the point of all sharing, for me, is to be known, rather than to create some kind of “self brand”, I feel compelled to share my failures, as well.

I found out this week that a magazine issue that I submitted to is coming out, with no mention to me about my article, and silence always means they took a pass on it. And just yesterday I got an actual rejection letter for a reading series that I really wanted to be a part of. To be honest, I was just glad to hear from them one way or the other, since many publishers never bother to let you know.

Many books that we now consider classics were rejected upwards of 25 times: Stephen King’s Carrie, JK Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, Catch 22… the list goes on and on. I’m not suggesting that I am at their caliber, but rather that the company of rejected writers is varied, lively, and well populated. So, I know that I am not alone, and that failure is an important part of the creative life. But it still stings, especially when it was something I really wanted, and/or a piece I love and want to find a home for, like trying to place a beloved pet you can no longer keep.

I’ve also been coming up against failure in my personal life — my husband has been felled with a really terrible virus for over a week, and I’ve had to take on many of the roles he usually does. Despite being a work-from-home mom, I’m really quite terrible at domestic pursuits. I’m a sad cook, and my housewife skills are quite lacking. There’s also many things I can’t physically do, like carry our week’s worth of laundry up the three flights of stairs to our apartment, or meet my writing deadlines while also getting Olive ready for the day.

Therefore, I’ve had to ask for help. And this, my friends, is one of the most beautiful things about failure. Without the experience of not being able to do everything perfectly in life, you’d never make space for others to step in and know the intimacy that arises when one person helps another.

This week, my friends have been so generous and specific in their support to our family. One couple offered to get us take out, and let us pick the place and order it ourselves, having it delivered right to our door. Another family paid for Olive to have a morning with their nanny, so I could clean the house and have a few moments to myself after a long week of caretaking two sick people. And a couple from church acted as chauffer yesterday, helping me pick up my sister and niece from the airport. Several friends watched Olive for small stints while I worked or ran errands impossible to do with a toddler.  In all of these instances, I felt respected, seen, and buoyed by their help.

Just today, it took me TWO ENTIRE HOURS to get my child to nap.  I kept putting my face in my hands, judging myself for the way I’ve chosen to sleep train, frustrated with her and with myself.  But I persisted.  And, she sleeps.

You may have noticed I mentioned in passing that my sister and niece are here, which is what made my daughter so excited that she had such trouble napping.  We are both overjoyed to have them here, and focusing on what I currently have — an unexpected gift in the form of a family visit — is helping me through a period in which I am tempted to look only at what I lack.

You see, I trust failure and I trust loss.  I often find more solace in them than I do in success and gain.  I’d love to balance that out, to find more of the even-temperedness the Bhagavad Gita argues for.  In the meantime, I’ll settle for feeling all of it, allowing space for doubt as well as gratefulness.

 

Writing Amidst the “Carnival” November 29, 2012

Filed under: Art,Blogging,Community,Inspiration,Parenting,Personal,Work at Home Mom,Writing — rheabette @ 9:35 am

Frequently Asked Question: How do you find time to write, when you are a full-time mama with no childcare, and work a part-time job?
Answer: I don’t wait for the spare moment of solitude, I just jump in and write amidst “The Carnival”.

I’m not referring to the seminal Wyclef Jean album, I’m talking about the fact that I write most of my blog posts, articles, and freelance pieces with my whole family rumbling and tumbling all around me.

There’s often a children’s show on in the background, my husband trying to show me a you tube video or talk to me about what he learned in meditation last night, and I take frequent breaks to get Olive more milk or change a “boo-boo diaper”.

Recently a friend sent me this article about the routines of famous writers, and of course I found myself dipped into a vat of longing when I read about the writers who could devote hours of their day to their craft, taking breaks only to do some physical activity like swimming or running, returning to the page in the evening, perhaps with a stiff drink in hand.

However, I also read about several writers who plunge right in, like Ray Bradbury, who wrote without any quietude, in the middle of the living room with his family all around. That seems so right to me. And it is how I am getting it done.

My frequent writing posture: with a child attached to my body.

Writing in the midst of your family is not ideal — writing without the chatter of Go Diego Go in the background, or without my child trying to get her fingers on the keys would probably turn me into a novelist rather than a blogger/writer of short pieces. However, what does one receive by writing in the midst of family?  I’m sure that their presence informs my work, especially because I write about family life most often.

Because my family needs at least part of my attention, writing is easier than reading. Writing I can leave off and pick up instantly again, but reading takes a sinking into, a leaving of this world for another. So, perhaps I write more, since I have to write with my family around?

I don’t know. I always, always, always crave more time and space to write. I am trying to be grateful for having to write and live all at once.

So, I don’t have swaths and swaths of time to write. However, I have plenty of time to live, and since I’m often writing about my life, I feel the need to do things and really live in order to have things to write about! We have to follow our interests in life, to get the energy flowing, but then also be careful that we are not avoiding writing. Distractions of a happy family are pretty lovely.

When writing needs total incubation, I jot some thoughts down in the morning time and then wait until nap time to polish them and finish up. Sometimes Joel will take Olive to the store and I’ll steal 15 minutes to write.  Other times the pressure builds for days, and I have to make sure I set thoughts to page, even if it means staying up late, my brain positively on fire.

E. B. White also wrote with the “carnival” of his house all around him. “The members of my household never pay the slightest attention to my being a writing man — they make all the noise and fuss they want to. If I get sick of it, I have places I can go. A writer who waits for ideal conditions under which to work will die without putting a word on paper.”  That final sentence may be my personal motto.  I also love how he says that he’s grateful his wife is not “protective” of him. I would like to live in that kind of gratitude. There is an essentiality to it — that everyone is doing just as they please and no one is minded by the other’s activity, be it pedestrian or artistic.  My writing is not precious, or more important than doing a puzzle with my child.  We must get on with what is set before us, without much fuss about it.  For me, that is to write, and take my child to the park, and redirect her when she pushes her friend, and feed her insane amounts of bread and cheese products, and then to write again.

However, I love that Jack Kerouac is so superstitious and religious about his writing. Sometimes it’s true. You have to pray to Jesus, or Athena, or Saraswati, to preserve your sanity and energy so you can be present for your family. In fact, I think that’s a wonderful prayer.

Maya Angelou also prefers to write in the morning, “Then I go out and shop — I’m a serious cook — and pretend to be normal. I play sane — Good morning! Fine, thank you. And you? And I go home.”  I adore that she writes this out – I am often pretending to be normal as I’m internally clanging away inside with the desire to get back to art-making.  Gratefully, I’ve found a pack of nannies and a mom or two who I don’t need to pretend with, so when we are at the playground, and Olive kicks herself in the groin, I can say something like “Look!  My inability to potty-train my daughter saved her hymen!  Diaper Saves Virginity is an excellent Huff Po Parents article, right?” and they just laugh and don’t call CPS.

Listen, writing this all out is making me feel like it’s a freaking miracle that I ever publish anything.  It’s actually making me a little bit depressed, thinking about how little time I have to write.  I started this post a few days ago, and have worked on it several mornings in a row, and am only getting to finish it now because Olive is having her weekly time with her godfather, thank Jeebus for that.

However, I think having very little time to write gives me an urgency to do so.  I think about what I want to write about ALL the time, and when I have screwed up enough courage and language to actually get it out there, I dive in.  I leave all my doubts for after it is has been published, when I am usually consumed with about 15 seconds of total fear and vulnerability, after which I have to get on with my life.

Children leave you so little time for self-consciousness.  A pity, really.

Recently I was bemoaning our financial woes to my best friend and I pointed up to our apartment building and yelled, “This whole thing is held together by string and luck!”   Perhaps my writing career is as well.  String, luck, and a shit-ton of love and desire.  In fact, that’s what you are all getting for the holidays from me this year.  It will come wrapped in toddler drawings, tied with a ribbon of precious time.

 

Lit Tremors October 14, 2012

Filed under: Art,Mothers,Parenting,Reading,San Francisco,Writing — rheabette @ 1:11 pm
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Any San Francisco writer worth the ribbon in her vintage typewriter sets aside a little time in The Busiest Month of The Year to attend a Litquake event.  This year, I chose one called Wine, Women, and Words: Amy Sohn and Katie Crouch in Conversation, which was held at the Contemporary Jewish Museum, and indeed consisted of ladies sipping libations and listening to language.  In fact, I think I just came up with a better alliterative title for the evening, but perhaps I’ll submit it for next year.
I love going to hear writers read their work, witnessing their bravery as they step out from behind the page and show up in person, hearing their voice with my ears rather than simply listening with my imagination.  I have also become totally addicted to hearing stories of mothers who are also artists, and are not willing to say that one or the other of those titles is what solely defines them.  For me, motherhood informs my art, and art-making informs me as a mother.
Before I became a mother, I liked to write, but once I had a child, I was struck with an irrepressible urge to get words down.  The need to write burned in me, and I heeded the call, starting this blog and seeking freelance writing opportunities.  The writers I heard speak the other night were writing as a career before they had their children, and it was fascinating to hear their perspectives on writing while parenting.  I appreciated that they didn’t say they had it all tied up with a bow, but were honest about their struggles, about how they are writing in the laundry room during preschool hours, ignoring their messy houses in order to create a different kind of order, on the page.
I went with a fellow Listen To Your Mother cast member, Rhiana, and we could relate to the conversation Ms. Sohn and Ms. Crouch had with the moderator, after reading their pieces.  We continued the conversation between the two of us over Asian-Fusion cuisine at a nearby restaurant, grilling each other on what topics of writing got us in trouble with our spouses, and what we want to write about next, even (especially!) if it scares us.  I decided to move on from the wine and order a drink that I had never had before, toasting my adventurous writing with an unfamiliar drink.  I got a Bombay Sling, which was huge, delicious, and gave me the feeling that everything I was saying was the exact right pronouncement to make at that time.
I brought my liquor-induced conversational skills home to my husband, and we had a perfectly coherent conversation about our respective evenings.  Then I announced that I was going to bed, and promptly passed out on the pillow.  When I woke up in the morning, I felt great, but suddenly realized that I had lost my clothes in the course of the night.
“Joel?  Where are my nightgown and sweater?”
“You don’t remember what happened?”
“No… enlighten me.”
“You took off your clothes, and then when I came to bed and saw that you had done that, I took off my shirt and crawled into bed beside you, which you were horribly insulted by and shamed me for doing. ‘I don’t know what you think you’re doing’, you said.  ’I'm going to sleep, keep your shirt on.’  So I did, and then you started talking in your sleep.  ’I'm so worried about finding a preschool for Olive.  Let’s just get Chinese take-out.’”
I had no memory of any of this.  I guess the Bombay Sling had a strange side effect that was only unleashed when the drinker fell into slumber.  Sneaky Sling!  I got out of bed and instantly remembered a bill that I had forgotten to pay for over a month, which was going to be overdue soon.  I found exactly where I had put it, and set off writing out the check.  So, despite the embarrassing results of the drink, it also gave me bizarre, sudden financial clarity, so I’ll call it a win.
I attended another Litquake event this weekend, but I didn’t drink anything intoxicating, which is wise because I had my two year old with me.  The LitCrawl happens all around my neighborhood, and Olive and I walked over a Paxton Gate’s Curiosities for Kids to hear young people as well as adults read their poetry.  Olive listened intently to exactly one poem, then ran around the store picking up all the loudest toys possible to try out.  So, we took off, but I hope some of the literary goodness sunk in.
I know it did for me — here I am, writing on my blog after a two-week hiatus.  Writing takes lots of rumination time, and as my drunken sleeptalking revealed, I have been very stressed out and overly busy lately.  I am going to try to slow down this week, and continue that act that I practiced at Litquake… the art of listening.
 

How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love the Mission October 1, 2012

Filed under: Art,Artists,Community,Parenting,San Francisco,Toddlers — rheabette @ 8:04 am
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For the past year and a half, I’ve been doing a lot of grumbling about how quickly the neighborhood I’ve lived in for nearly a decade has been gentrified, and several months ago I began plotting our way out of it.

What we found was that we couldn’t leave.

The second wave tech boom that has flooded our ‘hood with $6 price tags on smoothies and more overpriced restaurants than you can shake a stick at has raised rents so high in the entire area that we couldn’t even move to another one-bedroom now, nevermind find a two-bedroom that would better fit our three person family. At first, this made me feel claustrophobic and rageful — 23 year olds with money to burn had taken over our artist’s enclave, and now I was stuck here to watch it die.

However, this summer I have felt rewarded by our decision to stay. First of all, two of the playgrounds that had been closed for renovation reopened. Some of those changes were great, some were problematic, but simply having those spaces available again has boosted the community of families in the neighborhood, and made me feel like I’ve found “my people”.

Olive and her buddy Jah Jah, playing drums at Mission Playground

Me teaching Ophie & Olive how to “surf” on their sideways swings. Serious business here, folks!

An interesting thing has happened in the art scene here, as well. Many of the artist families have moved, but a few of them are like us, and haven’t been able to leave, even if they wanted to. We can’t exactly “take back the streets”, as artisinal barber shops have a kagillion more dollars than us, but we can make our mark in our own way.

Olive helping artist Jonathan Matas create a mural masterpiece.

Walking down our street, Olive and I came across a muralist who was as friendly as he was talented. An ex-preschool teacher, he warmed to Olive’s interest in his art instantly, and soon he was teaching her how to work the spray bottle and letting her take a brush to the wall he was working on.

Over the next few days, Olive got to watch the mural be created, and she and I would often go home in the evening and she would ask to take out her paints to create art “Like Jonathan”. It was incredibly sweet, and really restored my hope that this neighborhood will continue to draw in artists like him, who are not doing it for the marketing strategies, but instead for the love of art and community.

We stopped by the mural-in-progress every day that he worked on it. Olive got to walk a dog, but she’s so slow that he took a nap, which she is loudly protesting.

Another fun city experience that you’ll just encounter on the street is buskers galore.  At the Farmer’s Market, at the park, or on a random street corner, musicians are plugging in and filling the air with sound.  It’s not always high quality, but Olive does not discriminate.  ANY time we find someone playing music, whether it’s a lonely sitar or a five-piece band, she stops to dance.

Dancing in the street

Olive’s partner-in-crime, Rafa, hits the “dance floor” with her. The buskers were impressed by their rhythm!

This summer, many of the Parks & Rec and City College classes for children and families were cut, so the parents and nannies who spend all day with their toddlers found ourselves adrift. I have this mama friend who does not let any barrier stop her. She’s the kind of mom who creates craft tables for her son on a random Tuesday, teaches him how to make spring rolls (he’s 2!) just because, and hosts baby parties full of screaming kids with a smile.

She had been to my monthly free story hour at Rare Device, and had the idea of doing one in Dolores Park, open to anyone who came by. So, every Thursday morning this summer, she lugged her guitar to the park, played a bunch of toddler tunes, and I danced along and curated a story list of library favorites.

The crowd usually grows to about 20 families, and the kids dance the whole time – even while I’m reading the stories!

 

The other parents kept asking us “who is sponsoring this”? It made me kind of sad that they assumed we were getting paid to do something so fun and natural, but I guess that just means they thought it was high quality! Next week is our last one, as Rebecca’s growing pregnant belly and the encroaching Fall Fog are starting to cramp our style. I will really miss this gathering, however, and perhaps we’ll revive it next summer!

Rebecca holding down the jams while sitting in a Radio Flyer wagon. 

So, it’s been a rad summer, and I think I’m going to be reaping the rewards of my decision to stay put and make do with what we have for awhile.  I love raising my child in the city because of all the easy access to free community events and artistic experiences.  For a minute, I feared that all of that was going away.  I have never been happier to be wrong, even when I’ve had to create it myself!

 

Back to School, Back to School, To Prove to Dad I’m Not a Fool September 7, 2012

Filed under: Art,Artists,Inspiration,Writing — rheabette @ 8:02 am
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Since graduating from my Masters program in 2008, I’ve heralded the return of September with considerable longing.  Eyeing the kids with their new backpacks bulging, my brain longed for a desk, a discussion, a lecture outline in chalk, and, glory of all glories, an open-ended question.  The truth is, I should be studying, but it is for an exam with absolutely zero thought-provoking questions, a test so mind bogglingly unintuitive that they change it every 6 months based on how many people passed it that season, not wanting too many folks to get their licenses.  I am in the final weeks of The Artist’s Way, and it has taught me, above all, to listen to myself.  And it’s good timing, too, since my priest moved away and my muse/dance teacher is out with an injury.  I’m having one of those “if you want a cake, bake it yourself already” moments, and so when I asked my inner learner what she was so curious about this Fall, I found myself scouting MFA programs and writers’ residencies.

What I found was: getting an MFA or taking off for a residency program does not work with my current priority, which is showing up fully for my daughter’s early years.  However, I began to ponder how I could create an MFA-style program for my own damn self.  I read this post by my friend and fellow LTYM alum Maggie Wells, and my heart leapt.  Could I possibly take a kick-ass writing class from my own kitchen table, working it around play dates and my part-time jobs?  I read Ariel Gore‘s How to Become A Famous Writer Before You’re Dead, just to make sure I wanted to take a class from her.  I found it so empowering that I scrounged up the cash (when you have no money and you really want something, sell some of your stuff and you’ll get there!) and joined up, my student heart awaiting what was to come.  So far, so fabulous — I’m loving the community of writers I’ve entered, and I’m writing more than ever.  I also set up some face-to-face meetings with writers right here in my community, to read our pages and connect about writing.  Through all of it, I am jumping headlong into my own MFA: the MotherFuckingAwesome Program.  Or, if you dislike cursing, you can always ask, “How’s that Masters in Fine Awesomeness going?”

We absolutely cannot wait for our goals to happen to us.  Recently I was looking at my life, and wondering if it was a series of “we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it” decisions, which has led me to find that a lot of those bridges have snapped in the meantime, and all that’s between me and the places I want to get to are great big chasms… and a shit ton of rope, ripe for bridge-weaving.  Like the character who inspired the title of this post, Billy Madison himself, I’m building my own educational program to shape my craft, based on connecting with other writers, saying yes to each opportunity that comes my way, and writing every day, no matter how shitty my first draft is.

Those aren’t my hands but they are seriously motivating me to clackety clack away!

I’m finding myself so inspired by other self-starters, people who are not waiting for official seal of approval to be who they want to be.  One of those folks is my talented friend Sydney Brown, who is launching a Kickstarter campaign to raise funds to re-vamp her visual art portfolio and commit to full-time art for three months.  She’s making thirty pieces of wearable art in thirty days to jumpstart this effort, and you can learn more about her work and her endeavor here: Transition: 30 Pieces in 30 Days.  It’s totally worth clicking on the link to see the charming video she’s made outlining her project, and be sure to watch ’till the end for a special performance!  If you find yourself similarly inspired by what she’s trying to do, consider throwing a few bucks her way – we scrappers need your support!

So, this year, I don’t have let Autumn pass me by in a haze of classroom-longing.  Instead, I’m getting my butt back to school, my own way.  How are you educating yourself these days, or seeking to meet artistic goals, on your own terms?

 

When Fine is Actually Amazing July 18, 2012

Filed under: Art,Artists,Him Downstairs,Inspiration,Music,Personal,San Francisco,Writing — rheabette @ 12:34 pm
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You know how I was all like, “It’s a creativity tidal wave!  Out of control vibes of art-making and joy!  I poop poly-rhythms and eat submissions for breakfast!”  Well, yeah.  I guess I forgot that tidal waves are powerful tsunamis that can also erase everything in their path.  On Saturday my “creativity tidal wave” took out a) our computer and b) my confidence.

Image by Elise Orlowski

We were pretty well rehearsed, feeling good about the show, which was set for 9pm.  However, at 4pm, my so-called creativity tidal wave crashed into our computer, and sent it flying onto the floor, where the screen cracked, and with it, our sense of having our shit together.  We had five hours to figure out how to get to the songs on that computer, so we could play the show.  We despaired.  We laid face down on the bed.  Then we called for backup.  Our friend and frequent partner-in-crime, Joel Tarman, came to the rescue with a monitor and connector cables we could use, and my husband went into turbo mode, in which he doesn’t speak and becomes part machine.  At one point, when we realized we could salvage the show but it wouldn’t sound a whole lot like what we had rehearsed, I said to him, “Well, this is when we find out what kind of artists we are.  Do we give up because it’s not perfect, or do we play the show and keep it real for our friend’s opening, even if it’s a bit off?

Needless to say, we chose the latter, and it was … fine.  But this, like my friend and fellow artist Emily called it, is when “fine is actually amazing”, because it’s pretty much a miracle that we even played the show at all.  My husband Joel is a professional musician, so he was able to roll with the many changes in the set and improvise — he was relaxed and totally himself on stage.  And I sounded good, but I felt incredibly awkward in my body.  I just felt uncomfortable in my own skin up there, unsure of myself and not in the flow of my performance.  I shared this feeling afterwards with several other artists, who helped me see that sometimes performances just go that way, and that moment of feeling totally in your artist self often happens in rehearsal, rather than on stage.

The best part of the night was seeing the incredible artwork that John Felix Arnold III created.  It was powerful, dynamic, hard-hitting, and moving.  The show was centered around a sculpture that had a ritual aspect to it — a sculpture of a vespa sat on a circle of dirt, with bounganvilla branches beside it.  Viewers were invited take a part of the flower, think of someone you loved that you’d lost, hold out your hand, and drop a petal into the circle.  It was particularly poignant knowing that Felix had lost his friend Alex just last week, and Alex’s voice was in the sound piece playing on the airwaves before our performance.  So, all in all, it was an incredible night, even if I felt insecure about my performance, and shook up by the loss of our computer and the expenses incurred with replacing it.

I lamented to friends that I felt I’d lost some of my mojo and momentum, and my recording session for KQED’s Perspectives was that Tuesday morning.  My girls boosted me up, reminding me that reading my own writing is where I feel most myself, and I shouldn’t let a self-perceived failure mess with my ability to show up fully.  So, I went in to the studio yesterday, and it was a really fun experience.  I encourage all Bay Area writers to submit to their show and have the feeling that video may have killed the radio star, but you revived her, at least within yourself, for one day.

Hearing my own voice on the radio this morning was a thrill that few aspiring writers get to experience, and, for me, it was a big deal.  Here’s a link to the piece, if you want to hear my voice  and/or read what I wrote yourself: http://www.kqed.org/a/perspectives/R201207180735  There has been an overwhelmingly positive response by most listeners, and then, a few voices of negativity chimed in as well.  I am trying to swim in both the cold waters and the warm, inviting ones, knowing that just because everyone doesn’t resonate with my story does not mean I should stop telling it.

I continue to ride the tidal wave of creativity that is rolling through my life right now.  It is leading to some feelings that the waves are crashing over me and I might drown, but in the process of that, I might just learn to surf.

Image by Tony Heff

 

Avoiding An Unlived Life — Even In the Toddler Years July 14, 2012

Filed under: Art,Artists,Dance,Inspiration,Music,Parenting,Personal,Prayer,Toddlers,Writing — rheabette @ 8:07 am
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“The greatest burden a child must bear is the unlived life of the parents.”  ~ Carl G. Jung

I was in grad school when I first heard this quote, and it rang so true to me that I vowed I would not place such a load on my own children.  The best thing about the creativity tidal wave I have been experiencing lately is that it is helping me get through a really difficult period in Olive’s development.  She is figuring out where she ends and I begin, and in the process of that, there is a lot of “NO!”, plenty of food-throwing, and an absolutely unacceptable amount of toddler yelling.  Those little lungs can BELLOW!

The other day I said to Joel, “What other group of people have a job is where they get yelled at all day, they can’t yell back, and theydon’t get paid?  Oh yeah, prisoners.”  Well, unlike folks who are incarcerated, I have the power to change things up.  I’ve been praying the Serenity Prayer a lot, to figure out what I do have control over, and letting go of what I don’t.

Quote by Reinhold Niebuhr, graphic by Pat Pitingolo

And that is *sort of* working.  I secretly think the glass of wine at the end of the day works better than all the prayer, but I can’t drink when I’m with her, so prayer will have to do!

In fact, whenever I ask my friends who have survived the toddler years how they did it, their answers often include fermented beverages. When I told Estelle that Olive was entering the so-called “Terrible Twos”, she tweeted me this blessing: “may your journey into hell be swift; your drinks strong & your babysitters always available. Gather your reinforcements, friend.” Rhiana just had one word: “booze”.

If I want to get through the next two years without becoming a total alkie, I’ve got to have more tricks up my sleeve than just my nightly glass of wine, but what should they be? Deep breathing and prayer? Check. Doing fun things with Olive so we have as many positive memories as we do battles of wills? Check. But truly, the number one thing I think I can do right now is live a brilliant life myself, immersing myself in things other than just my parenting, so that when Olive throws a tantrum about the cheese she has begged me to bring her, shredding it up and grinding it into the couch with astonishing speed, I won’t feel like my life is a total failure, because I have meaningful things going on other than just parenting.

Olive cannot appreciate that my writing, dancing, and singing is bringing me joy, meaning, and connections with other humans. She’s pretty self-centered — she just wants me at her disposal at all times. But I think children can feel when you are so invested in whether or not they are behaving well that you are taking it personally, basing your worth on their ability to obey a simple request to stop throwing toys at other kids. I’m not advocating disconnection, I’m asking for even MORE engagement with the world around you, so that one day Olive will say, “My mom was really rad. She kept up with her arts practices, even when I was in my screaming-on-the-streets-of-San-Francisco phase.” She may not understand that it is all that is keeping me sane, but hopefully, her burden will be lighter than if it also held the weight of years of giving up everything in my life as a service to hers. That is too much for a child to bear. So, parents, be brilliant, live your life boldly, even when you’re so exhausted from a day of wriggly diaper changes and copious hand washing. Not only is it keeping me afloat in a time of many frustrations, but it is building a life that one day, both Olive and I will be proud of.

I can’t believe I actually got a picture of both of us smiling! It’s probably because it was the end of the day, and Papa was home…

 

Creativity Tidal Wave July 13, 2012

Filed under: Art,Artists,Body Image,Dance,Fashion,Him Downstairs,Inspiration,Music,Personal,Writing — rheabette @ 7:42 am
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I would not say that my creativity was blocked before I started The Artist’s Way – I have been steadily working at my arts practices, plugging along like a little worker bee.  But I am realizing now that I was slightly stuck in those practices, and consequently being very safe with my art making. Now I’m taking risks, putting myself out there more, and finding myself in a creativity tidal wave. It is simply amazing to me, how much can happen when you create space for it, defend it from internal aggressors, and then just effing go for it. Since I began doing The Artist’s Way, I’ve been confronting head-on the ways that I’ve stemmed the flow of creativity in my life, because of shame, co-dependancy, or fear. Replacing those contracting forces with love, acceptance, and playfulness has wildly affected my life in some very concrete ways.

First of all, my husband (who is also doing The Artist’s Way) and I actually started practicing for the show we are playing this Saturday. When we haven’t played music together in awhile, the first rehearsal is excruciating. We are grumpy, rusty, and full of blame and criticism. It’s pretty much a disaster. The only good thing about it is we have been together so long that we know the pattern and keep telling ourselves “It gets better It gets better It gets better don’t give up!” Then, the following night, we find some kind of groove, letting go of our creative resentments and saying yes to each other’s offers. So now, I am actually excited about our performance, and if you are in the Bay Area this Saturday, July 14th, you should come to Old Crow at 8pm for the incredible art that John Felix Arnold III has created, and stay for our croonings and beats.  I’m doing a lot more singing this time, letting myself be even more vulnerable in my performance, as we are singing about love together.  It scares me, and that is exactly why I know I need to do it.

Of course we have all of our same old tired problems, but we are starting to find creative solutions to some of them.  Now that we have some space and courage to try new things, we are shifting things around, rather than wasting time complaining about what we can’t have. We rearranged two out of the four rooms in the house, and the result is an altered perspective, and a greater investment in our cozy space. Showing the changes to my friend Ellie, I said, “Look! There’s a dance floor in the bedroom now!” “Only you would see that freed-up space and call it a dance floor”, she replied. Sure enough, pretty soon Olive, her friend Caden and I were all stretching on the bedroom floor together — the space was just too inviting to be solely for walking.

Speaking of dance, I’ve been bringing Operation RAD BOD to my dance classes, stretching myself to get even more comfortable with my body as I move it around. The classes I take are greatly cardiovascular, but I often dance in exercise pants, a tank top and a long sleeved dress over that! The teachers usually wear short shorts and tank tops, and no matter what the students don, we are equally drenched in sweat by the time the hour is over. I never really thought I was choosing my outfits based on any kind of body shame, but in the heat of this past Saturday, rather than reaching for my usual somber attire, I pulled from the bottom of my drawer an electric blue “run-skirt” — basically a mini with tiny shorts attached underneath. I topped it with a pink sleeveless top, essentially showing more skin with that outfit than I would anywhere but the beach. I didn’t really think too much of it, I just pulled it on and rushed to class, arriving to the delighted surprise of my friends. They were hilariously inspired by my colorful, tiny attire. Rebecca said, “You have great legs! I’ve never seen them before!” The fact that we have been dancing together for 5 years and she’s never seen my legs made it jarringly clear to me that I’ve been hiding my body in my dance classes.

The class was packed, and there’s a huge mirror in the room, but I did not once find myself obsessing about how all my skin looked as I shook it around. I don’t know what happened, but I was just… free from all that self-consciousness, and I had a blast, actually not overheating for once! On the walk home I realized that what I’d done out of opening my dress choices to more options was actually a big step in Operation RAD BOD. I posted my brave sartorial choice to my Facebook page, and was encouraged by how many people enjoyed that I’d thrown off the fetters of somber fabric and embraced my own skin.

Another great part of the Artist’s Way is you are encouraged to get in touch with your child self, allow yourself to play, and simply have fun. By a series of fortunate events, I found myself in a toy store without my child. I was able to browse the things I was actually interested in, rather than monitoring Olive’s interactions with the wares. I found myself drawn to a fashion coloring book — a huge tome filled with fabuous fashion illustrations that you fill in yourself — high heels to decorate, dresses to pattern, sunglasses that need a face drawn around them, prints that need colors chosen for them. I bought myself every color of Le Pen that they had, and brought it all up to the cash register, my inner artist in a state of glee and ecstacy that I was actually doing this. I then spent the evening coloring fashion illustrations, rather than watching mindless TV.  I felt my world expanding with every swirl I added to the page.

It feels a little like this. (Image by Richard Burbridge)

As I am owning myself as an artist — spending my free time singing, coloring, and writing, instead of comparing, judging and tuning out, I have been amazed at how the creative opportunities have been pouring in. My friend Esther from LTYM SF told me how to submit to KQED’s Perspectives, and I mulled over what I could possibly write about for several weeks.  Finally, an idea came to me, and though I don’t have the kind of life where I can just sit down and write any second I’m so inspired, at my next writer’s group I banged it out, and sent it off.  Much to my surprise, the editor contacted me right away, accepting my piece!  I had such an encouraging talk with him about my writing, and it happened on a day when all I was feeling was “I want to punch today in the throat.”  So, I really needed a win, and now I am greatly looking forward to being on the airwaves next week!  Things are flowing, and I am feeling more alive.

I’m sharing all of this with you because I want to spread the reality that if you let yourself be creative, if you make time and space for it, and you drench yourself in positivity rather than small-mindedness, you will be amazed by how much color and opportunity will come your way.  I’m not much for the New Agey “you create your own reality” stuff that is thrown around a lot in our post-millenial culture, as I have too much of a sociological understanding of the very real effects of classism, racism, sexism and homophobia in our current world.  However,  creativity is within you.  It could be bringing a creative perspective to your feud with your neighbor, a fresh eye to the haircut you are regretting, or just taking a different route on your walk to work.  Whatever you choose, I invite you to let your artist self take control of something today, and report to me what happens!

 

Too Vulnerable To Make Art? June 25, 2012

Filed under: Art,Artists,Blogging,Books,Personal,Writing — rheabette @ 7:25 am
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I have at least 5 drafts of blog posts on my WordPress Dashboard. It’s not that I don’t have time to finish them, although I have been extremely busy this summer. It’s simply that this whole blog is about being vulnerable, and the past few weeks I have felt like I don’t have any skin, like it’s been peeled off and I’m walking around raw and red, ready to be flayed at every passing wind. When I write, I want it to feel like this:

However, lately it has felt just too scary to push “publish”, like the lightening coming off my limbs when I clack the keys will surely bounce back at me, jolting me with electric shocks. Making art is such an act of bravery. Creating and putting it out there is the scariest thing on earth, as your very soul is on the chopping block. Usually, I have no shortage of courage, as it is a muscle you build over time, and I’ve done enough things that terrify me to know when it’s a good scared that means “Keep going” and when it’s the kind of terror that’s telling you to get the fuck out of there. However, I’m really struggling these past few weeks. I write things, save them, and agonize over whether they are the thoughts I really want to put out into the world. I pick them apart and use parts for other entries, which I don’t post either. I can’t say I have Writer’s Block, because I’m writing every day, just not publishing any of it for the world to see.
I am starting The Artist’s Way today with several friends, and I’m hoping that will help me find the bravery I need to continue to be vulnerable on this blog and in my life, even when I feel particularly sensitive. The last time I did The Artist’s Way was 9 years ago, newly married and struggling to find my voice. Going through Julia Cameron’s model for freeing the artist within led to many incredible realizations, one of which led me to move to San Francisco! It was such a wonderful place for artists and social workers when we first moved here 8 years ago. My beloved city is changing incredibly quickly, and I find myself at another crossroads, unsure of where we will end up. So, it’s time to go back to The Artist’s Way, and make sure that the choices I’m making for my life and my family are coming from a place of creativity and joy, rather than fear.
Would you like to join me? You can get The Artist’s Way at any library, or, chances are, if you’re reading this blog, you’ve probably got a copy tucked away in a dusty bookshelf. Whether you’re ready to make that commitment or not, send me a little bravery, tucked in a sachet of healing petals. I don’t want my tough skin to grow back — I like living with my heart wide open. But I want to be able to create art from that place, even when it scares me.

 

 
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