Lettergirl

My creative manifesto, part 2.

 

I can just hear the collective, "Huh?!"  In a nutshell, I'm a practical girl.  Although I haven't fully determined my Style Statement, the word pragmatic often comes to mind.  I like to make things that have purpose.  (This is probably why quilting is such a perfect hobby for me.)

Yesterday I simply stated that I love to create.  I love sewing, baking, keeping scrapbooks.  I could do it all day long, every single day.  The most important statement in my creative manifesto:  I create because I enjoy it, because it makes me feel alive.

Creating means keeping meaningful scrapbooks for my kids.  Not over-creating means not burdening my kids with a whole library full of scrapbooks to store and maintain.  I mentioned yesterday that I turned to my core set of beliefs in order to set parameters when I started Juliet's first scrapbook (almost 12 years ago, sniff sniff).  You can read more about the results here.  I choose to create...but I also want to choose what, when, why I create.

Creating means spending time on the crafts I love.  Not over-creating means not spending all my time crafting so that I forget about the rest of life.  Not to mention, the rest of life provides an awful lot of inspiration.  William Carlos Williams was a poet, but also a doctor.  I like to think the doctor part was a wellspring of inspiration for his creative life.

Creating means trying new techniques and projects.  Not over-creating means not using all the world's resources for my own individual pleasure.  Enter my idea journal.  And the recent revelation that just because I can make something doesn't mean I have to make it.  Supporting other artists feels just as good -- or even better -- as making it myself.  Sometimes I realize that the amount of time spent on a particular project might not be "worth it."

More than any other belief in my system, this is the one I revisit the most.  How will this notion change with experience?  I definitely should have asked Terry about it when I was in Alabama.

My creative manifesto.

These are my personal truths related to my creative process.  Ali Edwards

When I first read Ali's book Life Artist, the concept of developing my own creative manifesto was not really new to me.  I do have things I say in my head over and over.  I do tend to think a new project through before I begin, looking at the big picture.  And sometimes looking at my own big picture helps me figure out whether I should even start a project, or commit it to my idea journal for later, or just abandon it altogether.

For example, I have been keeping scrapbooks off & on since 1978.  Juliet was born in 1998 when the scrapbook industry was just getting revved up, so I knew it was time to take a step back and look at my intentions before I got in over my head.  Why did I want to spend my time on scrapbooks?  I put all my ideas on the table, and gave myself a fresh set of parameters.

A few weeks ago my head was getting so crowded with these very thoughts that I decided it was time to write down my creative manifesto.  I tried to distill those things I say over and over into some basic belief statements; so far I have six, but I am open to this being a work in progress (and to not taking myself too seriously).

 
(my two favorite words in the whole English language)

I love to create.  I had to start here with that simple statement, since it drives all the rest.  I like making things.  I am most alive when I'm in my creative world -- thinking about a new project, planning it, making it, cherishing it.

Tomorrow, #2.

Homecoming.

The picture I didn't get this weekend, but which I will always hold dear in my noggin, is the sight of my family on the platform, holding hands, as my train pulled into the Franklin Avenue station.

Juliet, glowing, more beautiful than ever.

Peter, tall and strong.

Forest, with that enormous smile that makes me smile right back.

Yesterday I had an email from Martha, who was also a winner in the BurdaStyle contest (that gorgeous beret!) and participant in this weekend's workshop, and she mentioned that she could tell I was homesick.  I hadn't really thought of it as homesick, but that's exactly what it was.  While I was having an amazing experience at the Alabama Chanin Weekend Workshop, I simply wanted to share it firsthand with those I love the most.  Now I know dwelling on it is a little crazy.  Maybe it's that I already get my alone-time all day, every day.  Maybe I'm realizing that Juliet could be leaving for college in only six more years. 

Put one foot in front of the other is the way to go.  Or, as Gretchen Rubin would say, act the way you want to feel.  I had the amazing good fortune to have dinner on Friday night with two other women from the workshop, and for whatever reason (anonymity? comfort? soul-searching?) we put it all out on the table:  this is who I am, this is my journey.  I took in as much from that conversation as I did from the entire rest of the weekend. 

Here's me, always struggling with the legitimacy of what I do for a living, always wishing I could skip the journey and reach the destination already (and stay there).  Anne reminded me that art is a form of nourishment.  Terry reminded me that my work can be a way to reinforce community.  (Oh, and it wasn't all about me.  Really.)  In a word, the weekend was significant.

I also knew going in that reflection would be essential for me to get the most out of the trip.  Remember the idea of the daily uniform?  I'm still thinking about a clothing system, and even moreso after this inspiration-soaked weekend.  I'm swamped with work, but itching to find a minute to start a little idea journal, my own personal One Hundred.  I've always wished I was one of those people who had the right thing in their closet for any given moment (although I'm hoping I don't actually need 100 different elements in my clothing system, that seems so American).  First two items on the list, from the photo above, Levi 545 jeans and my silver cuff, a hand-me-down from my mom's aunt.

Remember last week, all those thoughtful comments?  Keep them coming.  I'd really love to know:  what items would make your list? 

He's 9. Already.

I gave myself the gift of a stroll through Forest's scrapbooks this morning.  He is 9 today...with a 9-year-old's bruised lip from an encounter with a tree and scabs on his knees from full-on playground action.  This is a child who knows how to follow through, whether it's playing baseball or remembering to do his chores.

When I think of him, I get a warm feeling all over.  He is good. 

Meet my random number generator.

When it's time to pick a giveaway winner, I turn to my daughter Juliet.  (She's wearing her 2009 Halloween jammies.)  Aside from those almond-shaped eyes and that milky complexion, she sings like a little birdie and keeps track of her own homework!  But I would have to say that one of my very favorite things about Juliet is that she is one of the most resourceful people I know.  She can find a box of forgotten toys and spend an entire day making use of it.  She can dig through my recycling bin and find enough bits and pieces for a brand new work of art.  She can create dioramas in her room that are simply magical. 

I am not maternal by nature.  There, I said it.  And I wasn't one of those swept-off-my-feet-overnight type moms either.  Slowly, but surely, this little girl planted a seed in my heart that has grown so big I sometimes feel my heart will burst.

I will email the giveaway winners this morning.  Thanks to all who entered! 

From scratch.

I am the sort of person who feels content when the cupboards are full, the laundry is done & put away, and we have enough toilet paper in the house to last a month.  I also love the feeling of having the week's menu planned, something I carve out 15 minutes for, here and there.  Last night I made a loaf of bread to go with our leftovers:

and a cheesecake berry pie to use up the expired graham crackers:

 
and as long as the oven was on, I threw in a banana bread with those tasteless bananas I got last week.

I don't usually do this much baking in a day, though I seldom let 2 or 3 days pass in a row without baking something.  In the book Food Rules Michael Pollan suggests that one way to cut down on "special occasion foods" is to make them yourself, because you won't go to that much work every day.  Obviously, this man has never heard of melty cookies (the homemade single-serving gooey peanut butter chocolate chip cookies I make for my kids after school).  And before you get to thinking I'm high on my own accomplishments, take another look at yesterday's messy desk photo....

The April giveaway ends tonight!

Home sweet home.

This is where I live and work.  Some days the effort of keeping up a 100+ year old house is exhausting, but lately I am in love with the details (which is a good place to be when your living room walls have six color swatches on them and you still can't pick one).

This is one of my favorite spots in the house.  I am always wishing I could use my talents to feather our nest more, and this is one place that I did just that:  the staircase down to my studio (aka "my cave").

This is where I meet with customers.  My old friend Michelle found the chairs at a yard sale and covered all the seats in different fabrics.  (There are five chairs altogether; right now they are all around my dining room table upstairs, which is where they go when we have more than 8 for dinner.)  I took this photo when I was having a sale a couple of years ago -- which explains why it looks so neat. 

This is my desk.  It doesn't matter how clean it is at the start of the day, I'll clutter up 90% of it so that I have a 10" square workspace.

This is my main studio space.  I am working at keeping the top of the flat file relatively clean (which means that whenever I need a place to set down a stack of something, it goes on the flat file. Or worse, on top of my paper cutter which sits on a corner of the flat file.)

Lettergirl has a giveaway here today.  And my Mother's Day Sale is in progress at my etsy shop -- buy one address stamp, get one half-price, through April 25th.

Mom and dad.

My dad was a method man: a creature of routine, a listmaker.  He tended the garden, but more importantly, planned the garden.  He kept track of the weather every day for years.  He made the chore charts where each of us had a symbol, since that fit better than writing a whole name.  (I believe I was a star.  But maybe a triangle.) Each member of the family had a file where he meticulously saved report cards and awards.  He was the family photographer, traipsing us one by one onto the back porch for the summer photo, and in front of the fireplace for the winter photo.  And of course the photos of all eight of us kids together (on the living room floor, legs in a V, during the winter, and at my grandparents' cabin in the summer).

 

My dad was also a very private man.  As we cared for him last spring, my siblings gathered around his bedside, I noticed the irony that such a quiet person could leave such a large, boisterous family as his legacy.  When I sat down to write today, to begin my series of posts about me, I started by looking through my box of childhood photos, and by thinking about the man who took them.  And how much we really do have in common.

My mom was the maker of stuff, always knitting or sewing, as much from necessity as pleasure, I think.  This skirt was my birthday gift that year -- long and plaid, made of shiny taffeta with a big ruffle at the bottom.   I can remember so many things she made just for me:  the green knit sweater dress with the petal collar and leaf-shaped pocket, the aqua blue sweater with the embroidery on the front (which I wore to sing at midnight mass on Christmas Eve), my meticulously coordinated junior high wardrobe. 

And when she knit sweaters for Christmas, she had to make eight of them.  (Look closely at the photo above:  those are all handknit sweaters, each with a slightly different pattern.  My sister and I had the same solid color, but the patterns were different on ours too.)

Growing up in the 70's there were craft trends aplenty to keep her hands occupied:  macrame, needlepoint, crewel embroidery.  At one point our walls were adorned with homemade God's eyes (remember those?).  This is the cloth I'm made from: never content unless I've got a project in the works, and another waiting in the wings.

Snaps.

Feeling delighted to the very tips of my toes over this.  If you voted, commented on my project, or simply lurked on my post, I thank you. 

As my sister-in-law declared after I dyed my own hair two days before my 25-year high school reunion and it turned out sort-of purple and I decided to go anyway, I'm no slouch in the self-confidence department.  (Not that I whole-heartedly agree, but what a memorable compliment. And it applies here.)  When I saw the contest results were in, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and realized I would be just fine with whatever the results were.  (And I really do love that beret.)  I had already given myself a pat on the back anyway:  I love to create and I created.  This is my mark.  I was here.

The kind words of you, my readers and friends, and the chance for my project to be seen by Natalie Chanin, an ongoing source of inspiration for me, are icing on a very yummy cake.
 

So, no list.

Lying in bed, thinking about my post, I had a much better sentence to start out with.  But actually getting out of bed, making my way downstairs to the computer, that's all that's left:  no list.

In general, I love to ponder my life's direction and make lists.  And the two days off (in a row!) I took at Thanksgiving, combined with being in a completely different setting (the northwoods of Wisconsin), put me under a spell.  Well...work is here, laundry is here, bills to pay are here...and the spell is gone.  The best I can do right now (and I'm perfectly okay with it) is concentrate on helping my kids to enjoy the season by following through on our traditions and trying to stay in a good mood.

I read an interview with Nigella Lawson last week in which she described this season as a means of bringing light to the darkness.  You can read that any way you like.  At its most basic, I like the notion of being cozy at home, being with my family, in the blanket of darkness that is winter in Minnesota.  (It's dark as I write this.)  Concentrating on my family this season is where I need and want to be.

And of course, we have a winner!  Please send your mailing address to me at gina {at} sekelsky {dot} com:

i LOVE the little white sparkly lights.
i LOVE making our signature fudge and giving it away as gifts.
i LOVE taking family photos & writing/sending the holiday cards.
but what i truly, madly, deeply love to do is FEEL the moments of our lives as we are living them, that halcyon magical moment when time seems to stop as if your mind is taking a picture you will never forget.

Posted by: jouette

I can't tell you how much I enjoyed the comments from that post, and especially the little community that was built in sharing your ideas.  Thank you!

Next up:  I'd like to finish off the year with ten of my favorite Dreamland/lettergirl projects from the past year.  Then I'll be taking a week-ish off from Christmas Eve till just after New Year's Day.