Category Archives: Other Arts

There is only make

Bid on me at the Terrace Art Gallery, 7:00 p.m. Sept. 27, 2013A while back, I took part in a painting workshop (Running With Brushes with Noreen Spence and Dianne Postman). I loved it, needed it, and benefited from it for a lot of reasons, some of which I went into here. ☺

At one point, Noreen shared one of her favourite quotes from artist Sister Corita Kent: “Nothing is a mistake. There’s no win and no fail. There’s only make.”

The words were a much-needed reminder and encouragement, as I (like most artists and writers, I suspect) battle perfectionism, insecurity, and the conviction that I’m not good enough and never will be . . . Good enough for what? you ask . . . Great question, and one I never have a very satisfying answer for—just never good enough to silence my own inner critic, perhaps . . . but I digress. In the actual process of writing, I forget to be neurotic. In the moment, the story or poem or whatever I’m working on is all I can see, focus on, feel . . . and it’s amazing, joyful, crazy—and transcends all my worries. There is only make!

I did a bit of google-sleuthing, and found, to my delight, a list of rules Corita Kent created and kept posted in her classroom when she taught in the Immaculate Heart College Art Department. The gem above is one of them . . . but the others struck me as equally important, inspiring, and bravery-bolstering. I keep a printed copy of the list stuck on my filing cabinet, a mere arm’s length away, for easy reading and a soft-yet-effective kick in the pants.

Maybe you’ll find Corita’s rules as heartening and revitalizing as I did, or maybe you won’t . . . Either way, happy writing, reading, creating this week!

p.s. I have every intention of writing rambling thoughts about some of the other rules soon. You have been warned. ;)

p.p.s. The picture at the top of this post is a digital image of one of the paintings created by participants in Running With Brushes–and the original painting is being auctioned off tomorrow night (Friday, Sept. 27, 2013) at 7:00 p.m. at the Terrace Art Gallery. It’s 5′ by 4′ and absolutely gorgeous. Perhaps I’ll see you there!


An artist’s date, a.k.a. playing with paint

Playing!In my late teens/early twenties, I decided that was it. I was done writing. I would never pen again. I quit. (I could bore you with stories of my insecurity, of neuroses and perfectionism, of worries about what people might—gasp—think of me and the horrors that come from my brain, but as I now think all those “blocks” are common stuff that all artists struggle to work through—that might even be a necessary part of the process—I will spare you. Or I’ll spare you for now. I may write about young Ev someday!)

For many reasons I couldn’t, I wouldn’t, listen to the deep inner-whisper that never let up, Write, write, write, write, you need to write, it’s you to write, you love to write, write, write . . .

Then one day I was at a friend’s cabin on Lakelse Lake (Mark Anson—I am forever grateful to you!), and I came across The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron.

I asked Mark about it, and he raved about how good it was, then added, “Actually, I pulled it out because I was thinking you need to read it.”

It sounds cheesy to say the book revolutionized my life. But that’s what happened. I “did” the book. (It’s laid out as a 12-week artist recovery program. But don’t laugh. That’s exactly what I needed.) I answered all the prying questions. Took the assignments seriously. Adopted a habit of morning pages. Started taking artist dates . . .

And by the end, though I realized I’d no doubt be plagued by insecurity again off and on (and that’s definitely been the case!), I had the tools to overcome the negative voices that would see me stifled and sure I couldn’t create—and more importantly: I was infused with joy and excitement and a huge AHA! I was a writer. A storyteller. Maybe even a poet. Not crazy. (Or at least, not all the time.) Not depressed. (Ha—again, at least not all the time!) Just angst-ridden because I wasn’t doing what I was meant to do. What was essential to making me me.

Does it all sound more than a little self-helpey? I guess so. But did it help me? Absolutely.

To this day, whenever I feel my courage regarding my writing start to wane, whenever I begin to second guess the time and effort I put into something so “selfish,” whenever I doubt that I’m working in the direction I need to be, I return to the steps in The Artist’s Way. I take up morning pages again. (I probably should never stop them to begin with, but that’s another topic.) I strive to “fill the well,” which basically just means intentionally doing things that nourish your soul, like going on artist dates (a.k.a. visiting inspiring places), taking classes or workshops directly related (or not!) to fostering/developing creativity, treating yourself to a little craft-related splurge, etc.

This month I found myself needing a little encouragement, a little more play in my work (and a lot less obligation), so I decided to bring back artist’s dates. Yay! (What’s not to love about taking time out to do things that you know will inspire or refresh you?)

Running With BrushesMy first “official” date was a workshop called Running With Brushes, led by Noreen Spence and Dianne Postman. It was incredibly fun. And what we “put out” was . . . Well, I actually have to say, it was art. :) Judge for yourself.

The two-hour paint fest was pure fun, but it also had practical carryover for my writing life—a reminder (with exuberant “practice”) to not over think, plan to death, obsess about each detail . . . just CREATE. Worry about craft and polish at some far off date when the created work is out there in full, where you can see its whole shape, wackiness, potential, nightmare spots, etc. At least that’s what I took from the workshop anyway. :)

I don’t know if you’re feeling a bit slumpish, or burned out, or burdened with lofty goals in whatever creative pursuit you hold dear . . . And don’t get me wrong. Goals are good. Plans are great. But artistic dreams shouldn’t feel like drudgery or chores. There will be agony and sweat and work, yes—but there should also be joy and euphoria—fun!If you’re experiencing lots of the former, not so much of the latter . . . Maybe you, like me, need to give your inner artist a play date or two. I highly recommend paint! ☺

Now I leave you with a quote Noreen gave us at the beginning of the workshop. It was exactly what I needed to hear, to remember, and to celebrate. :)

“Nothing is a mistake. There is no win and no fail. There’s only make.” ~ Corita Kent

Running With Brushes!


You work where?

Photo by epSos.de on flickr

So a friend of mine just shared the incredibly exciting fact that she’s made $400 this year from her short fiction. Yes, that’s right, short stories.

If you’re an author, you’re jumping up and down because you know how difficult that is. She published short fiction in paying markets. Multiple stories. Multiple paying markets.

If you’re not a writer, you’re thinking $400 bucks? She’d better not quit her day job. And don’t worry (and thanks for caring :)), she hasn’t.

She experienced this reaction firsthand a few days ago when she met up with a friend she hadn’t seen in awhile.

“How’s the writing going?” the friend asked.

Very excitedly, my friend replied, “Great! And guess what? I made $400 last year selling short stories.”

Her gleeful announcement was met with something weak like, “Oh . . . That’s . . . really good,” and an awkward silence ’til the subject changed.

It’s hard to explain to someone that $400 can be a huge symbol. That it can represent all the time and labour that someone else’s 40K does.

And I had a similar moment this week. Someone whom I’ve never met came into the office where I work and recognized me because of my Just a Thought column that I write for the Terrace Standard.

“You work here?” she asked in a tone that suggested she’d just discovered I did lice checks for a living or something. “But you write.”

“Well, I do, yes, but I also work part-time to supplement my income,” I admitted, trying not to feel like the failure it felt like she was implying I was because I can’t subsist on my art.

“Well . . .” She seemed genuinely lost for words, even a little put out. “Well, I’d just have thought you’d make enough from your column to get by.”

??? !!! ??? !!!

(Sometimes excessive punctuation is all my brain generates as a response. Unfortunately, other people can’t see the string of type running in my head, so there’s often an uncomfortable pause as I sort myself out and try to find words.)

I was flattered. She thought my column was worthy of pay that would support me all month! I was also confused. Had she actually heard of a columnist who could get by solely on the income generated by their column? I felt like asking her to repeat her comment into a voice recorder, so I could play it for my editor. . . . :D

As I’ve said before, I write for a myriad of reasons and none of the primary ones centre around money. Yes, I’d like to make a living purely from my words alone someday (because then I’d have even more time to write!), but if that day never comes, I’ll still be working my day job and I’ll still be writing.

It makes me sad that financial compensation for a job well done is the language our culture understands best. “Success” is too often equated with a dollar amount.

On far more than one occasion I’ve been asked, “Why don’t you just sell a novel? Then you’ll be rich.” (Just. You can tell that comment is not from fellow writers!)

Selling a novel is seen by most—even, yikes, by some aspiring novelist—as akin to winning a lottery. It’s those writers I feel badly for. What will sustain them when they realize that even when their stories start selling, it’s likely they won’t be receiving Stephen King-esque advances and royalties?

All of society is poorer when it buys into the idea that only activities that make money are worth pursuing. It’s just not a point-of-view I agree with AT ALL. And if, in saying so, I’ve jinxed myself? Well, I’m okay with that. I’ll still be writing. And, yes, working there.


To Capture the Moon

The yellowed-ivory moon rose over the snow topped mountains in the near distance. Huge bellied and magnificent, she sat heavy in the periwinkle sky of the early spring evening, queen of all she surveyed. And I, a peasant beneath her, awed by her visage and her serene scrutiny, deserted my leaf-raking and flowerbed cleaning and ran for a camera—completely taken in: this was the night I’d capture the moon.

I fetched my camera, and . . .

Completely failed in my quest. I have seen gorgeous photographs of the moon. The people who take them are magicians. Or perhaps they too think, You call this image beautiful, breathtaking, magical? No, you should have seen the moon that night. I didn’t even come close.

I know in seeking that illusive picture of the moon, concepts (magic spells!) like aperture, ISO, and EV 1 or 2 units come into play, along with tools like telephoto lenses, tripods, and the like. I have heard that I can master them. And perhaps I will. Strive. Try.

My first pronouncement—“completely failed”—softened under her encouraging glow as the night darkened around her. I emerged instead with a lesson, applicable to my writing and so many other parts of my life. The attempt is the joy, is the success, is the purpose. The moon will never be captured fully, but she can be suggested, alluded to, conjured, imagined, dreamt. . . .

And as if to affirm that truth, I discovered that two of the twenty or so shots I took turned out . . . not bad. Though nowhere close to how beautiful the moon actually was on April 6, or how she overtook the horizon and my imagination, I hope they hint. . . .

So the aftermath of my night’s chase? Most often with words, but sometimes using picture, paint or other, I’ll keep seeking to express the beauty and mysteries that sometimes surprise us in the day or wait and appear only fleetingly at night. And most often I’ll miss the mark, not accomplish what I’m shooting for, but that’s okay. I accept the quest. I revel in it. I delight in it. And who knows? Sometimes I might come . . . close.


When words fail me

How’s that for a grabbing blog post title?

It’s a bit of misnomer, however, as words rarely fail me (more like I occasionally fail them!). I do, however, like to dabble in other forms of artistic expression and while I would never call myself an artist, more and more often these days, I find myself taking a black Sharpie (TM) to paper or playing with paint.

And seeing as I think this is going to be a regular part of my life, I decided to dedicate a page on my website to sharing some of my creations. There are only two pieces up right now (“Family Portrait” and “I am your mother!”), but I’ll add more as they come into being (and when I take digital images of existing ones).

How about you? Are you strictly a writer or do you create in other modes and mediums as well? If the latter, do you feel it adds to or detracts from your writing? How so? Inquiring minds want to know. ;)


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