stuff about artstuff.

Things That Make Me Smile: Vacation Edition

Dog walks every morning and afternoon are an every-day attitude adjustment around here, but on the beach, forgetaboutit.  It turns into an ear-to-ear grinning until my cheeks hurt thing.

At the beach, little things become fun events.

Some birds.
A boat.
A pattern.

The perfect latte in the morning is enough to bring a smile to my famously-grouchy-morning-lips (yes, we actually pack up the Breville and take it to the cabin) but it's even more fun when I pull a random mug from the cupboard and realize it's designed by my talented friend BJ Lantz!
Her cute beach design made me smile every morning (those who know me well will attest, this is a tall order).

And finally, 2 weeks of perfect sunsets, how can that not make someone smile?

For All the Lodge-y Babies Out There...

It's always fun to see what creative people do with my fabrics, and here's one I might have never known about if it wasn't for my good friend Sue.  Last month while vacationing at the gorgeous Mohonk Mountain House she stumbled on these little beauties in the gift shop.
Tuthilltown Tots creates beautifully made little baby gift sets: cute bibs, little hooded towels, and "Boo-Boo Animals" (little washcloth guys!) and this set features some of my Lodge fabric from last year.
What a perfect match, don't you think?
Thanks so much Sue for sharing these pictures!

New York Minute (Plus Extra Bonus Surtex Advice)

Hey there Blog Pals!  Look what I just found, a post I had written a month or so before Surtex. 

Normally I would say something shiny must have caught my eye to draw my attention from this and cause me to forget it, but in the month leading up to the show, it doesn't even take shiny objects.  Could have been anything.  Piece of dust, a hiccup, a loose eyelash, who knows. 

Anyway, here you go, a couple months later:

 

I've been traveling to New York for the Surtex show every May since 2000.  So long now that many of my family and friends have stopped calling it Zyrtec or Syntax or Snorkel or Merkin, and actually remember, and can say, its correct name.  Not all, but many.

As my annual pilgrimage Eastward looms nearer, I am reminded of some of my favorite little moments from past shows.  Not the kind I usually share with you here on my blog, but those odd little private moments that most likely, only I appreciate.

Just last year, this memory is still quite fresh: I found my Happy Place, for about 3 minutes until I was called back to my booth.
I cannot disclose the ultra-top-secret super-hidey don't-even-try-to-find-it location, but oh my word that was an amazing bagel. 

Or there was this pearl from 2006.  Next to my booth was an alcove left empty for the fire-extinguisher.  At some point during the show, a folding chair appeared.  This particular day was bustling and noisy, but this gentleman managed to sleep rather soundly in the hard little chair for about 45 minutes. 

Another favorite chair-related moment, this one walking back to the hotel after the last day of the show in 2007.  A priceless little still-life on West 34th Street.
God I love New York.

You get extra points for today if you remember my little friend Ibbs.  He is actually a useful and practical Bucky neck-pillow that I take with me on airplanes.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
But that face, gosh how it makes me smile when I get back to the room after a long flight, or even longer day at the show.  I just can't help it.

And speaking of long days, the following is still in the running as one of the longest in my entire life:

3 or 4 years ago, on set-up day. 

Sloshed through the streets with a hand-truck in some kind of crazy out-of-nowhere monsoon, after finding out the main Manhattan FedEx office where I'd shipped my displays had recently moved from its convenient location across the street from Javits Center to 11 blocks north.

Good times.

Crossing streets that were literally underwater.  Actual rivers with cars driving through them.

Soaked to the bone (you should have seen the looks on their faces when I splashed through the door of the FedEx office like a soggy dish-rag).

Dried off some during the long hours that followed, setting up my booth.

Exhausted and starving at the end of the day, I could not decide which desperate urge was stronger, so I multitasked.
I am not sure I have ever had a more satisfying slice or a more comforting, refreshing bath.

This time of year, the old Interwebs is bursting at the seams with Surtex advice: new exhibitors looking for it, and seasoned ones giving it.

Although he may not appreciate me sharing this here on my blog (but here I go anyway) I believe Husband-Guy has the all-time-best-bottom-line-Surtex-advice-ever.

A few years ago, it was that usual last-day-afternoon-lull after what had been a very busy show for us.  We finally had a moment to breathe, and he left the booth to walk around and take a peek at the rest of the hall for the first time.  When he came back, he said, "I have 2 pieces of important advice for anyone exhibiting at Surtex: 1. Always have a smile on your face, I don't care how miserable you feel, and 2. Never, ever sit in your booth like you're sitting on the toilet."

Since then, I have been too often reminded when walking the aisles exactly what he was talking about.  It's impossible to never be caught off-guard while "on-display" at a trade-show.  You can't get lipstick off your teeth without making a horrible face.  People yawn.  Heads itch.  Clothing scoots out-of-whack and requires adjustment.  All this happens under those bright lights in a 10' cube, we've all had that sheepish look on our face at one time or another when we realize it's happening.

On busy days with no time for an actual lunch-break, I've been approached more than once having just stolen a bite of something big, chewy, messy, or God-forbid all those things at once, from behind my booth-table.  Actually, doing so pretty much guarantees that the incredibly important person (or group of people) you've been dying to meet with will pop in at that exact moment. 

And many will falter, just for a second: you take a deep breath, lower your head, rest your elbows on your maybe-too-widely spread-apart knees, and forget where you are, even if just for a split-second.  You may not notice in your periphery that someone is passing your booth, and if you could see the look on their face you would be painfully aware that it says,"ew, that guy looks like he's sitting on a toilet." and you can be sure that they do not want to see what fabulous art you are showing on your now might-as-well-be bathroom walls, they are going to dart away quickly, trying their hardest to erase that image from their brain forever and ever.

The highs at Surtex, or any show, are supercrazyhigh.  The absolute exhileration of making deals, brainstorming projects and collections, compliments flying every which way - the excitement is amazing.  This is why we pay the big bucks, it's what we've been leading up to all year.  There's nothing like it.  But between those highs are moments that can feel endless and tortuous in comparison.  For those of you new to the show: be prepared with incredible endurance, patience, and thick skin that you never imagined necessary.  Really, you'll need it.  I don't care who you are, you will.

But don't forget to enjoy those moments, those odd little private moments that most likely, only you will appreciate.

Don't forget those during this busy preparation time, either.  Stop and breathe.  Take a walk.  Smell the flowers.  Listen to music you love.  Light a calming candle.  But if you do, never, ever, ever, EVER do this:

(yes, you're really seeing that).
And that, my friends, is the single best piece of advice I can ever give you: "don't set your art on fire" (unless, of course, you are a conceptual artist and fire is part of the piece itself and you have all safety issues under complete control - other than that, don't do it).

The Atlanta Gift Show

Just back from the whirlwind of overstimulation that is Americasmart.
Wow, what a great trip.  The inspiration, warm friendships, networking, productive meetings, tired feet, oh my gosh the tired feet ... did I mention the inspiration?  And great friends?  Yeah.  All of that, and then some.

I wish I had made this one up: my friend Sue kept calling it "Icelanta" - oh my gosh, what a week to visit The South.
Serious ice still blanketed many streets, but the view from above was stunning.

These shots were snapped while enjoying a lovely reception hosted by the Greeting Card Association at the Westin's Sun Dial (it rotates, like the Space Needle!).

Back home again to real-life, lots of follow-up ... and feeling crazy-inspired to start new projects.  A pretty good place to be, I'd say. 

Thanks, everyone who made the week such a great experience!

A Day at the Beach.

Sometimes you just need a day at the beach.
Sometimes you need to stand and stare into the surf.
Just stand
in one place
while the waves
wash
over your feet.
Like this guy.
 

Sometimes you need to watch the birds

and search for treasures in the sand.
Like this guy.
Or have fun finding tracks in the sand
like this raccoon's
or this deer's
or even the little tracks left by grass in the breeze. 

Sometimes you need to fantasize that there's no one around and you could just live in a fort.
Sometimes you just need a day at the beach.

For the Birds.

 
All week the beach was full of birds.
 
Several hundred at a time would fly past in a cacophonous swarm
 
and settle in on the sandbar, at the surf line, to stand there.
Sometimes they would float on the surf 
but mostly, just stand there.
Facing the surf.
Molly tried this too, she found the standing still part quite Zen.
They were there in the fog and mist 
and (the few times it made an appearance) in the sun.
Crows joined them in the mornings 
and sandpipers would take over in the evenings.
Extremely high and low tides all week seemed to be bringing in a feast on the surf 
and a feast below the sand. 
All day, they'd just stand there
 
until the sun set 
then little by little they would lift off and fly away until the sun returned.

 
One of the little guys I made while playing with my Paperclay is now doing the same thing from the cabin window ... just staring into the surf all day long. 
Like the real gulls, he seems quite content to do so.

The Rainbow at the End of the Thing, and the Thing at the End of the Rainbow.

Another Artstuff business-year has ended and started again (happy new year, everyone!).  Surtex is over for another year, and what a great show it was!  The mood was upbeat and the booth was busy.  I had great meetings with some of my awesome licensing partners and met some interesting new folks who I hope to work with in the near future.
Ugh, my eyes are always puffy looking in my booth photos.   I suppose it's because I always think of taking them in the morning before the show gets busy ... according to my West Coast body, it's 5:30am in this shot (ew).

Anyhoo.

I had a blast putting together my booth displays, thoroughly enjoyed connecting with dear friends, had a great time at our Artist Breakfast and really enjoyed meeting and chatting with those of you who attended the seminar (thanks for coming!).

I am so grateful for the great friends I've made over the years at this show - and was lucky enough to get to have dinner with a few of them while in NY. 
Next to me is the Amazingly Talented Amber Alvarez, and on around the table: the Amazingly Talented Jill Seale, the Amazingly Talented Andrea Mistretta, the Amazingly Talented Sue Zipkin, the Amazingly Talented Chris Chun, the Amazingly Talented Linda Jacque, and the Amazingly Talented Jane Shasky.  Although we all know I'm often guilty of it, in this case I'm not exaggerating.  Every single one of them is - well, what I said, really, and if you don't already know this, follow their links and get blown away by beautiful art and unbelievable cleverness yourself.  You'll see.

Then, suddenly it was all over. 
We said goodbye to New York for another year. 
I blinked and there I was, already over the Rockies. 
I am the person-in-an-airplane equivalent to a Golden Retriever with its head out the car window, ears and tongue flapping in the breeze.  Seriously.  If someone were to photograph a plane from the side in which I was a passenger, in the long row of little windows you would see one little round pink face practically pasted to the glass, watching the world pass below.  Even when it's just clouds out there.  I soak in the textures of white as we pass over and through, the way those little ice crystals form on the window and change shape, eventually turning into plain old drops of water back at a lower altitude.  Of course I enjoy it more when I can see land below, the patchwork passing by ... the shapes and textures of farms, cities, forests, lakes and rivers, mountains ... it's all so beautiful from up there. 
Solid white was all I got to look at once we were over Washington state though ... but then (how cool is this?!) the moment we popped out under the clouds, I was looking right at my house. 
Can you see it?  It's right there!  It's my house!

And even better: the Welcome Home Rainbow waiting for us on the ground.  These were taken from a car traveling at freeway speed (don't worry, Husband Guy was driving while I held the camera!) but look, it went all the way around, and had a ghost rainbow around it.

 
Glad to be home again, really glad to be not preparing for Surtex any more, and really really really glad to have had an awesome show.  Here in my office, there's a ton of show follow-up to finish now, but outside: I won't even tell you about the weeds - oh my.  And if I don't get to that grass soon we may totally misplace Molly next time she heads out to the backyard for a pee. 

But for now, I need to stay in here and work on that thing at the end of the rainbow.  Who knows, maybe it is a pot of gold.  A girl can dream, right?

North Head Lighthouse

I thoroughly enjoyed visiting this beautiful old piece of Washington State history last month.

Although aged architecture in decay makes for a neato artsy photo-op, it's not necessarily the respect that should be shown to our historical monuments.

There is a wonderful group, "Keepers of the North Head Light", who are working toward properly restoring the old beauty.

You can see some of the masonry work already done by students from the Historic Preservation Field School at the University of Oregon.

I'm not sure exactly why, but I seemed to have gotten giddy enough while there that I forgot some very basic and vital information about myself. I have extreme acrophobia. Like, standing-on-a-chair-is-too-high-phobia. But caught in some sort of moment - most likely I was out of my mind from the tsunami-advisory-excitement of the day - I seemed to be determined to go up inside and see it for myself.
Halfway up the first flight of stairs, it struck me, "holy crap girl, just what do you think you are doing?"

Those of you who know me well, feel free to answer aloud, in unison:

What is the one thing in the world I hate more than anything else?

"Stairs you can see through."

And what else?

"Stairs with no railings."

Thank you.

Once started, though, I couldn't exactly back down on my hands and knees (you think I'm joking?) and ask for my donation back. I'm sorry, I've changed my mind. I don't really care about your dumb old lighthouse any more. I'm going home now. So I looked up and kept going.
It was worth it. Really cool.

I hesitated for only a second looking at the stairs below, realizing I pretty much had no other choice but to take a deep breath and step down

but that's the only good thing about stairs-that-you-can-see-through - you can see-through much less going back down. And even better, point-and-shoot digital cameras can be held out from one's body while one is firmly pasted to the wall (look at me, I'm wallpaper. I dare you to peel me away). I had no idea what these next 2 shots looked like until I was back down on level ground.

If you're in Southern Washington it's worth a visit, and the folks who are organizing the fundraising/restoration efforts are super nice and are passionate about what they're doing. For more info about their organization or to find out about making a tax-deductible donation, you can contact:

The Keepers of the North Head Lighthouse

PO Box K, Ilwaco, WA 98624

or email them at KeepersOfNorthHead@gmail.com

The Wave that Wasn't

It was our last full day out at the coast, and after a very busy week, I was looking forward to a quiet day with no plans ... my art supplies were spread around me on the table, and I was sipping the last of my morning coffee going back and forth between drawing and just watching the rain outside.

That came to a screeching halt with a knock on the door, word about the tragedy in Chile, and a warming that there had been a tsunami advisory for the coast.  The beaches were closed (the much anticipated clamming weekend was canceled until further notice) and although there wasn't an official evacuation in place, many were packing up and heading inland.  Although they were only predicting 2-4 foot swells where we were, that seemed significant enough for concern sitting beach-side, right at sea level on a 28 mile peninsula sticking out into the ocean.  Looking out into the surf, or what you could see through the mist, it was easy to imagine the unknown dangers lurking beyond. 
We scurried around between the television news coverage, worrying about friends and loved ones in Hawaii and Guam, starting to pack, then deciding not to leave ... finally settling on packing up "a little bit" (we would be leaving the next day, anyway) putting some stuff up on tables or shelves "just in case" and heading to higher ground for a few hours.  We decided to make our final decision after reports started coming in from the more southerly beaches.

For us, "higher ground" was a place we'd been talking about visiting anyway ... just maybe at a little more leisure.

There seemed to be a little more traffic than usual, everyone was out doing something: heading to the north end of the peninsula where there were a few hills, heading south to go back inland, or chuckling at those who were doing so from a beer-drinking bonfire party along the highway.

The sun was back out as we arrived at our destination, and we were greeted by cheerful blooms along the path. 
Heading along the trail we'd get ever increasing glimpses of the dramatic ocean below.




 
It seemed a lot of other people had the same idea as we had...
There's just something about lighthouses. 
The symbol of safety, protection; 
looking down from a lighthouse one is easily reminded what could happen to ships if it wasn't here, guiding them away from the rocks.


 
I have much more to share with you about this particular lighthouse, North Head Light - but that will have to wait for another post. 
For now, well, you already know how this story ends.  After a while, reports started coming in that Hawaii had "dodged a bullet"; folks headed back down the trail to their cars, and eager clammers were already gathering on the beach below.
Although there seemed to be a collective sigh of relief upon hearing that the Pacific was no longer in immediate danger, I can't say the mood actually lightened, as the fact remained that earlier that morning, hundreds of Chileans had lost their lives, and it was indeed a sad day.

Is the Ocean Made of Diamonds or Glass?

More from my February visit to the coast.

On one afternoon walk, I was convinced it was diamonds.


 
Or was it glass?

 
I suppose it is just made of ocean.

A Conversation with the Surf.

Day 1:

Me: "Hi, Ocean."

Pacific Ocean: "Hey there ya big wuss, why ya wearing boots?"
Me: "Well it's still actually winter. I was afraid I might get too cold."

Pacific Ocean: "Really? That's never stopped you before. Whaddayer gettin' old or somethin'?"

Me: "Sigh. The Ocean is right. I totally need my toes in the surf. What was I thinking?"

Day 2:

Me: "I'm back."

Pacific Ocean: "That's more like it. Here, watch this - I know you're gonna like this one."
Me: "You're so right, Ocean. Thanks for making me come back barefoot. That's the stuff...
"This is exactly what I needed, just a little-
Hey!"

Pacific Ocean: "Gotcha! Heh heh heh."

Me: "Wait a minute - who were you calling old, anyway?"

Score: Pacific Ocean: 1, Me: wet pants.

The Ocean in February.

Anyone who knows me knows about my thing with the ocean. I'm all about the ocean.

But I have a special thing about the ocean in February.

Most folks wouldn't consider outdoor activities involving the beach this time of year, at least this far north ... but there's a special place in my heart for Pacific Northwest beaches during this particular month.

It all started in 1972. We were planning a little family outing, a long weekend at the cabin over Presidents' Day. Mom said, "we're going to have to make sure and pack lots of warm clothes. I am sure it will be cold and rainy the whole time we're there." but I had a pretty good feeling otherwise. Maybe this was just because I was a kid, and kids aren't very practical. But I felt strongly about it. I said, "I bet you it will be nice!" and then my kid brain went into bargaining mode: "I bet you a pair of clogs that it will be sunny and nice the whole time."

I had been longing for a pair of clogs for so long. Cool wedgie-heeled slip-ons - all the fashionable girls had them. Mom was not too keen on the style, and had been answering my pleas with a firm "No!" for quite some time. Looking back, I can't say I blame her. Allowing her clumsy and cross-eyed little child to leave the house in shoes with a heel (even a tiny one) and no secure straps or laces? It hadn't even been 2 full years since I had spontaneously tumbled down the driveway jamming my front tooth clean through my lower lip, and that was in flat Mary Janes strapped on tight. Heaven only knew what kind of damage could be done in floppy little clogs.

But she smiled, agreed to my "bet"...

The sun shone on the beach that Presidents' Day weekend, as it shone on my wishes for fabulous new shoes.

That next week I got my dream clogs: soft crinkly leather, cork wedgie-heels, and blue as the sun shining on the Pacific ocean in February.

Among other dumb things about 2009, it ended up being a particularly ocean-free year for me. That was totally lame, but instead of dwelling on the past, I'm happy to move forward and soak in all that this happier new year has to offer.

Off to a pretty good start, ocean-wise and fabulous-shoe-wise (really) and I haven't tumbled down one single driveway.

Rainy Day Projects

Now that the weather is colder outside, it's time for nesting, holing up and working on creative projects that got put off earlier in the year. At least that's how I feel ... and if you are the same way, well, I have something for you: my 3 newest Creatables from pcCrafter.

Did you go on a family road trip this year (or last year, or the year before) and have yet to organize your photos and memorabilia into a scrapbook? Well, maybe this will motivate you to actually print those vacation photos and get out the scrapping stuff. It's called Route 66 and is loaded with fun little travel icons, borders and backgrounds that will add the perfect embellishments to your vacation memory album. Hey this stuff could even make the Griswolds' trip look fun.

And for you fans of my Love to Craft fabrics by Henry Glass, here is a coordinating Creatable: Crafty Kitties II (you get extra bonus points if you remember Crafty Kitties I). Are you planning (or have you already started) a project with the fabric? Well now you can design and print paper goodies to go with it. How fun is that?

Maybe you're making holiday gifts this year - feeling like going woodsy? Forest Critters is packed with whimsical flora and fauna in soft natural colors just begging to me made into something cute and fabulous!

I hope you enjoy using these Creatables as much as I enjoyed designing them, and as always, I'd love to see pictures of projects made with my Creatables ... please feel free to share! Thanks!

We've Got Mail.

This big old thing always gets me when I'm in NY.

Standing there in its Parthenonian glory...column after marvelous column reaching toward the heavens, in such a neat and tidy way. All those stairs. The whole block is just stairs. Straight lines. Powerfully straight lines. Strong right angles. Low center of gravity, for a big-city building.

It feels so....so secure. So trustworthy. Solid.

I mean, honestly...is there anything else, besides, maybe, Kevin Costner on a horse, that can give you solid warm fuzzies about the mail? Think hard. I didn't think so. You usually complain about it, right? I know you've made at least one snide comment about stamp prices this past month. Don't tell me you haven't. We all have. You've probably heard me rant. I know, I know.

"Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds." Don't tell me reading those giant words stretching across this grand edifice doesn't give you a little rush of...I don't know, a possibly unfamiliar good vibe of some kind. It's alright, I won't tell on you.

On Trees, Tiny Little Small Towns, and a Big City.

It seems I've been on a bit of a tree kick.

I mean what's not to like about trees? It's not like this is a controversial subject or something.

I suppose they're a comforting thing in an unstable world...sturdy, stalwart, refreshing, lifegiving. Constant, yet changing. Adaptable.

I haven't really thought about why before I started to write this post, but I have noticed that even more than usual, my eye has been drawn to them wherever I go. When I doodle and sketch, it becomes trees. Creating new collections for my licensing portfolio the past several months, it seems to be awfully tree-heavy. When planning my booth design for Surtex, it became all about trees. Trees trees trees. Trees around the edges, trees overhead, a big tree behind me. Here, this crazy lady who wandered into my booth will show you.

The day after the show ended, my friend Jane and I had a few hours to wander around Manhattan before flying home. The weather was gorgeous, and it felt so good to be outside after 5 long days spent inside Javits Center.

We just started walking, just to walk. Wandering around just a few of those tiny little small towns that all crowd tightly together t0 make New York City.

And wouldn't you know it, I was drawn to the trees. I know, I'm so predictable.

Tree-lined streets.

When I was a little girl I fantasized about living on a street like this when I grew up. I wanted to be That Girl. With those fabulous outfits. But not with Donald. I planned on marrying Mickey Dolenz.

But I digress.

Look at the amazing little gardens on this street.

Oranges. Yes, oranges.

And these perfectly aged and chipped boxes. Fabulous tiny little gardens.

Gardens. Another thing that's been occupying my thoughts. These healthy little beauties in Union Square made me miss my own seedlings waiting patiently for me to get home and put them into the ground.

And this amazing splash of magenta reminded me that I never did get around to planting my radish seeds. Oops.

Just look at that color.

Every single thing in the farm stands was flawless and mouthwatering.

And of course, the lilacs...it is May after all.

Even underground I seemed to be drawn to stuff with treeish characteristics.

More wandering, soaking in the colors...

...the smells...

...the shapes...

...the blue sky...and always, the trees.

So to celebrate the trees, I am offering prints of this design, the big tree from my booth, in my Etsy store right now.

Just a little reminder of the comfort and strength we gain from the simplest most basic acts and thoughts. Life is too short not to soak in and celebrate every possible smidge of positivity around us.

Happy New Year.

Well, it is for me.

I always say that my year starts and ends with the Surtex show. The show was last week and here I am, facing the new year ahead. With a smile, even. Finding real-life under the rubble of my show-prep tornado. Following-up, scrambling to finish stuff I left behind and start exciting new projects discussed at the show. I feel like it was a good one this year. Who knew? I had some great meetings with existing clients, and reconnected with some who, due to the current economic situation, I was afraid I might not get a chance to work with again...but thankfully this crazy industry is full of Weebles (we wobble but we don't fall down). And I made some great new contacts...you never know.

Could be something.

It will take a while to know for sure, but I left NY feeling hopeful and satisfied. Can't ask for more than that. Well, yes you can. Crazy billionaires storming through the aisles throwing wads of cash at exhibitors might have been nice, but really...clients who I like still being in business and moving forward with fun projects...that makes me happy.

This is where it started...I already told you the effect this sight has on the cockles of my heart. And I don't even know what those are.

There it is, waiting for me in the booth. All in one piece. Is there anything as beautiful as that little crate? The moment was flawless, poetic. Never mind the partial bird carcass that kept blowing across the floor into my otherwise empty booth every time a forklift would whish past. Beautiful. Perfect.

The rest of the week is a little bit of a blur.

But somewhere in there, ohmygosh, the best slice I've ever eaten. I realize that's an incredibly bold statement and that I am tiptoeing on hallowed ground discussing slices this matter-of-factly (I'm sorry) but really.

Go here.

Eat this.

You won't be sorry.

The gelato and ices looked pretty awesome too, but I was all about the slice.

So yeah, it was a blur. With pizza somewhere in the middle. And then it was over, displays torn down and the crate repacked and taped up some more.

I watched the country pass below me in that amazing patchwork...Eastern farmland and woodlands, the Great Lakes, the rugged Dakotas and Montana, and finally my familiar mountains, forests, lakes and rivers...and as the sun set, the lights of my own little city.

And then it was the New Year. Just like that.

And this is where it ends.

Back at home with Husband Guy, my furry girls, my little tomato plants, my lilacs (still blooming...another reason to smile). A holiday weekend (pulled weeds for 3 straight days, no kidding). A new week, new prospects, and lots and lots of work to catch up on. And today, a truck pulled up in front of the house with the crate. All in one piece.

I will be sharing more soon...maybe even a top-secret sneak-peek of my show displays (you never know, it's just that kind of year). But for now, I just had to stop in for a minute and wish you all a Happy New Year.

Wake-Up Call

If you've seen much of my art you've probably figured out how fond I am of crows. They creep into designs every chance they get.

That's how crows are.

Working all the angles.

Talented opportunists.

Like this guy:

6:15 am, the first morning of our stay in a lovely, peaceful mountain inn, we were startled awake by a loud, sharp "knock knock knock!"

Eyes pop open wider than usual, probably a little cartoon-style...only to see this overhead.
Yes, he knocked purposely, watched us begin to stir from one side of his head then the other, knocked again, and waited.

What he knows is that on the first day of their stay, guests have a cute little bag of special birdseed. It looks like some kind of yummy trail mix, actually...pretty fancy stuff. And enthusiastic first-day guests will fill their little birdfeeders with this fancy-pantsy trail-mix yumminess and if they're the first to the feeder in the morning (which, of course, they are) the crows get a feast before all those annoying little songbirds show up, what with their adorable chirping and colorful feathery flutteriness and all.

Well, he was right, as crows (almost) always are.

We said, "yes sir, Mr. Crow, right away sir" quickly put on a robe and delivered the goods...and his family feasted while we watched from bed.

When the little fancy bag of candy-seed is finally gone, the feeders are refilled with plain old everyday birdseed. The jays like that enough to wake you for it.
(Tap, tap, tap). "Hello. Good morning." "Thank you."
"Hey, get up and look out into the riverbed at the little deer in the first sunlight."
As for the crows, they disappear into the trees, knowing their feast will return when someone new checks in. And until then, all is peaceful and quiet on the riverbed.

Back here at the real world again, my neighboring family of crows entertain me just fine. I can hear them from here at the computer right now...Mr. Baby still doesn't like the fact that they're not putting food right into his mouth. I recently watched him just sit and stare at an entire bagel one of the parents painstakingly carried through the air and laid in front of him on the neighbor's roof...he just cried.

Maybe he wanted a schmear.

IF: Detach

Alright, I know.

More vacation stuff.

Blah blah blah vacation, blah blah vacation blah blah.

But the whole idea of vacation is to detach. Detach from real-life, from stress.

And this...this is how one does that. If you haven't done this, go do it. Go do it now. I mean it. Go find a river, plop your butt into a floaty thing, and drift where it takes you. That's all there is to it. Can you sit in an easy chair and watch TV? There you have it. You already know how. The show you get to watch is way better than any on the real TV. And it turns your brain off in a much more positive way. Who cares if you're dressed like an idiot. Who cares if your sketch depicting the activity is silly and sloppy. You're floating down a river, and it's awesome.

The world would be a better place if more people sat on their butt on a floaty thing in a river more often.

Yes, I do believe that. Really. I do.

Learning to Breathe Again.

Vacation.

Remember when it was 3 whole months every summer? Some time in mid-June it just became your day-to-day life. Every morning you woke up, it was vacation. All day long. Day after day after day. All the way until September.

Sigh.

Those were the days.

But then, so are these...it may not be as luxuriously long and carefree, but we've learned to pack a lot more into the short time we do get, don't we?

Sigh again.
I don't know about you, but for me, turning off my brain is the hardest part.

It always takes a while...and as much as I love being at home, "vacationing" in my own backyard, holed-up and staying out of the office and calling it vacation...the brain never turns all-the-way off. I really have to go away for a few days.

Fortunately here in Washington state, we don't have to go very far to be somewhere completely different...somewhere that feels different, smells different, sounds different...different enough that I can start to turn-off...and just learn to breathe again.

Here's the thing about that though: once the brain turns off, it stops drawing and starts reading, and it forgets to take pictures of the amazing scenery, so really I only have pictures of the first day or two.

Sorry about that.

I really do wish I could share with you the gorgeous stuff I looked at all week.

Like the stuff we passed through before we stopped here.
The stuff that made us say "wow" over and over and over again, grinning like idiots (as my mother would say "getting bugs in our teeth" because we were on a motorcycle). The stuff that wowed and charmed us right into 4 unexpected miles of soft gravel in the middle of 107-degree nowhere, only stopping at the end to look back at it, reapply sunscreen to our noses, and say a little prayer of thanks for having stayed upright the whole 4 miles.

Then, back to only breathing...smiling, breathing...vacationing.

Aaaahhh.

Things I Left Behind.

Alright...it seems as if it's taking me forever to finish all my follow-up and new work from the recent Surtex show. It's sort of like I'm not really back from New York yet, even though I have physically been back for almost 2 weeks. Normal-life, including friends, family, home, and regular-old-fun-stuff has taken a backseat as I scramble to make the best possible first impressions with new contacts and do whatever it takes to please my current clients I met with while I'm still fresh on their minds. Weeks are already slipping by so fast I see them only as a blur.

It really is an exciting time of year for my business, hopeful and fresh...and for some reason I never seem prepared for how overwhelming the schedule will be. I think maybe that's because in those crazy-busy months leading up to the show, when I'm so deeply entrenched in preparation, the most-uttered phrase is "I'll have time for that after the show". As if life will magically become simple the second I land in Seattle. The kind of simple I haven't known since I was a little kid. Why, I'll get up every morning and eat pancakes, sit in my room and draw whatever I feel like, maybe even ride my bike to my friend's house and play until dark. Mom will call me inside when it's time to eat dinner. Yes, that's how it will be, after the show.

OK. So it's not like that.

I am still crazy-busy. I haven't had a chance yet to see people I care about. Wander through blogs. Reconnect with friends. Read. Really, really clean the house. Although when I first returned I did spend some quality time weeding (crazy giant Seussian weeds with roots that went all the way to Australia) and murdering thousands of slugs and snails (ok, I don't really murder all of them, many are beneficiaries of my own special relocation program...I cannot disclose their current locations or I may jeopardize the entire program, I'm sure you understand the delicacy of this situation), "normal-life" is still really only a memory, and a hope for the near future.

All that being said...just before I left for New York, suddenly there were several things I really wanted to share with you here. Yeah, there's a list. And I will get to them, really I will...eventually, along with the rest of real-life. But for now, a teeny-tiny sneak-preview... New things growing, new products hitting stores, new residents in the backyard, favorite things, Etsy (yes Etsy, soon), and 18 bolts of flannel (hasn't even been unwrapped yet). And that's just from before I left...I haven't even started with New York stuff yet.

Oh boy we have a lot to talk about.

Soon.