Approaching Glory

Facing Choices

One of the issues I've been struggling with since last month is whether or not I will go back into teaching.  If you are looking for a job as a teacher now is the time to get your resume out there.  Today, our county is holding its annual Teacher Fair.  The newspaper reports there are around 500 people there.  I'm not one of them.  I've prayed and prayed about it.  And I kept coming up with - no - you don't need to go.  Hubby got the same thing - which I think surprised him.  I've sent my resume out to several online teaching opportunities.  I believe the Lord will open the door I need to go through.

Now - about those 10-12 paintings.  I must say that while I'm flattered at my teacher's suggestion, at the rate at which I paint - it might be sometime before I have that many paintings in my cache.  First things first - we need to do a ruthless clean in the middle bedroom - strip down old wallpaper - paint and then move my arts/crafts things in there.  It would make a big difference in decluttering the house. Having an art table in the living room and an easel in the dining room isn't house user friendly.

After reading Jan's post on Lasagna Gardening - I did some online research myself about the subject.  I think it may be what our family is looking for as well.  I talked to hubby and he thinks it is a family project worth pursuing.   We definitely want some tomatoes, summer squash, zuchinni, corn, and some herbs.  With the grocery prices going ever higher - having some fresh vegetables on the table with summer and fall will be welcome.

We also need to replace the freezer that died.  I made my best "defense" presentation regarding the money that is going down the tubes due to not having a freezer - as in being able to cook big batches and then separate and freeze.  We are settling for more packaged goods due to little freezer space.

On the knitting front - I continue to knit on gifts that were supposed to be for Christmas. I would be really bad about this but I know I'm not alone on this point.  I do surf other knitting blogs and see that other people are in the same boat.   BTW - the tree did get up, gifts were wrapped, guests came over for dinner, Rich, Jason, and I got the flu,  Jason had his wisdom teeth removed, hubby went through a time where we were concerned with his blood pressure, Jason joined an ensemble group, I reunited with an old friend from J's NGCSU days, helped a friend get moved, and the other normal daily routine.

Note to self:  start next year's Christmas gifts now.  Right.

Creative Voices Part 2

  Where were we?  Oh yeah....  And then....

Well, I went away to a conference.  This conference was filled with creative people who are doing artsy, crafty, things in their lives.  I met a spinner who was wearing a shawl of her own creation (made on a triangle loom if I remember correctly).  Click the link to a place that has triange looms and shows you a bit about them.  I'm intrigued.  Deborah's  friend has alpacas.  And Deborah bakes scrumptious bread which she brought to the conference to share. 

I watched as several musicians came together with their instruments and blended to make one sound.  It amazed me to see them share their knowledge with one another and then all take off playing together - like they had done it for years.

Some people wrote journal entries, some people wrote poems - still others had a chance to share a part of their manuscript for some feedback.

All these people have artistic voices and are blessedly using them.  It was like someone blew across the embers of my heart and stirred them up again.  The desire to write began to rise.

And then - I think a buzzer went off somewhere in my head yesterday at my art class.  I wasn't in the best of moods, and decided to take my supplies and go to a corner in the back.  My last painting attempt had frustrated the hound out of me and I just left it at home.  I took out a blank canvas and determined to do something with which I would have some success.

So - I returned to leaves and flowers.  I sketched a little outline on my canvas and applied the underpainting on with turp and oils.  Hmmmm, I thought - that is going to be one bright painting.  But I doggedly continued.  One lady came in and saw me and brought her things in right next to me.  One by one most of the other painters would be begin to make the rounds of "look - see".  "Oh color!" they all exclaimed. We like to see what's on everyone's canvas.

Now - I am the type of person that likes to keep my picture to myself until I feel comfortable with exposing it.  A trait which came back to haunt me at the above mentioned conference.  One poor lady tried to peer over my shoulder at a journal entry drawing and I left a lasting impression - I'm afraid it wasn't a good one and I later tried to apologize for my less than cordial behavior.

But I think I have a greater understanding today than I did just days ago why I am that way.  I've known for quite awhile that when you paint you often find your heart on the canvas.  I liken it to having to have the guts to go on an American Idol tryout.  You take your voice and put it out there to  potentially be trampled upon.  Or perhaps your worst fear will come true and you will discover that you have no talent whatsoever and your friends have just been overly kind to you.  It's a risky business and frankly -  it doesn't fit with the pysch needs of affirmation, edification, and acceptance.

So - at the end of the day - my instructor takes a gander at my canvas and smiles and nods his head.  He then asks me if I realize I keep coming back to this subject and style.  I look at my canvas and realize I have a painting voice and it is coming through - whether I want it to or not - whether I want it to be something else or not - it is what it is.  My fellow painters have often remarked that we can tell each other's work without seeing a signature - we are distinct individuals - with distinct voices.

My teacher wants me to do try some things different with the paint (thicker - different blending techniques) but then he says he wants me to produce 10-12 paintings all in this style.  He thinks it is time to think about approaching gallery owners.  I am slain.

I'm voiceless.

Creative Voices Part 1

Voice Play

© Susan J. Belcher, 2005

“The creation of something new is not accomplished by the intellect but by the play instinct acting from inner necessity. The creative mind plays with the objects it loves. “  Carl Jung

“Are you absolutely sure you wrote this?”  The school librarian wore an expression of mixed superiority and cynicism.

I knew it didn’t matter what I responded, my mother was going to be called.  And she was.  They could not believe a sixth grade student capable of creating a parody of Shakespeare’s voice.  They awarded first place to another student.

I am glad to say that I continued playing with words. I eventually became an assistant editor on my high school newspaper, and a contributor to several literary anthologies.  There have been hundreds of essays, research papers, stories, and poems penned. Years ago, while obtaining my undergraduate degree, I took a college creative writing class.  It was there that I first became aware that each writer has a voice.  Some writers hear voices too, but this is not about that. 

One of my fellow pool mothers recently talked about her son’s writing for his English class.  Kevin was concerned because he felt like he didn’t have a voice. Frustration swept over me.  Part of me was happy the child knew there was such a thing as a writer’s voice, and the other part of me wanted to cry at my overwhelming desire to discover my own.

I decided to do something about it.   I signed up for some online writing classes.   The pursuit to uncover my voice began.  The classes were highly informative.   I acquired many new writing ideas.   However, I quickly learned that there were two things the instructor was not capable of providing:  1) she could not write for me, and, 2) she could not give me her voice.   I have a voice - somewhere.

The teacher was smiling as she turned off the tape player until she saw the horrified expression of the child.

            “Why honey, what’s wrong?”

“Who is that on the machine?” questioned the wide-eyed child staring at the machine.

            Mrs. Gilworth comfortingly put her hand on the child’s shoulder.

            “Child, that’s your voice.”

Perhaps I need to assure my voice that I will play safe.  It could be that my voice needs to know that I will appreciate it no matter what it sounds like.  So – come out; come out, wherever you are.  I am ready to play.

Added Today:  I feel like I've had writer's laryngitis.  I guess other's would say writer's block.  Lots of "stuff" going on since I last blogged.  I've considered many times just saying - "Okay.  After all these years of doing this - it's over.  But in my heart I yearned to write again.  I would come and sit down and the computer and look at it.  Then I would go and surf other people's blogs and I would think of things to write about - but not do it.  And then......