A Playing Card Book - In progress

My training is in art therapy, and the truth is I've been needing a bit of that myself lately. I've been searching online for ideas and have been pretty inspired to use my many random school supplies and oodles of magazine cutouts and MAKE something with them to help process all this stuff rolling around in my head. I'm really interested in creating little books, something contained that will bring some of my experiences together in a cohesive format. I have tons of little envelopes and baggies and I love the idea of using date and number stamps to represent literal or imaginary dates, and to number things, which reminds me of my weekly quest to make productivity, and the sheer amount of information I process on an hourly basis. The stamps, envelopes and baggies bring order to my chaos.

I've been particularly interested in using playing cards in my art because I spend a lot of time playing cards with my clients. Interestingly, pre-adolescent boys love to play War. It is a game that takes no skill whatsoever, and I watch them struggle literally with the hand they've been dealt, wanting so desperately to beat me. And we have good conversations about what it feels like to win, how important it is to be in control, to predict the outcome, and soon they get lost in the monotony of the game, playing psychic guessing tricks and finding ways to keep the game going forever. The compulsion becomes safe as they master it.

I've thought too about the number of tough conversations I've had over hands of Rummy, with eyes carefully focused on putting together a series of cards and hoping for just the right one to pop up. I usually lose, because I am thinking about which questions to ask about a father, a sibling, a behavior, a feeling. My family plays cards at every get together, and its usually a rowdy affair with lots of laughter and goofiness. I am acutely aware of the difference between those carefree games with my family and the intensity of these games with my clients. For me, there are stories in playing cards. I felt I could use the same structure for myself to create some art and possibly process some of my experience.

I have several decks of incomplete cards, so I pulled out the Ace through 10 of spades, and started painting the backs white. My intent was to decorate the backs, punch holes in them and link them into a book. The white paint didn't cover well and I found that the face of the card was not as important as the idea and shape of it, so then I began to pull out images cut out of magazines from my ongoing magazine project (to cut down on my mega-magazine collection, I'm pulling out articles and pictures and recycling the rest).

I love how this is turning out because I feel a story coming together. Once the basic images are glued onto the cards, I will begin to layer with other words, images, textures. I have some statements that I've done image transfers of that will layer over images ("And that was what now she often felt the need of - to think; well, not even to think. To be silent; to be alone."). I enjoy the process of identifying images and bringing them together to create a narrative. I will share it once it is complete.

**This art is just for me, and my process, so I use magazine images just to get the process flowing. Utilizing magazine images is a researched art therapy technique and is a great way to find imagery that speaks in a way you can not. Some artists would disagree with this and prefer to make everything themselves, or cite this as copyright infringement. So to be clear, this is a process. The images are not my own, but the expression is.

I covet...

A washer and dryer.

I want it to live in my apartment or house. I want to be the only one who uses it. I want it to be clear of other people's bleach, hair and residues. I want it to have more settings than whites, darks and gentles. I don't want to have to feed it money. I don't want to always make sure I have enough quarters or old five dollar bills to pay for it all. I want to leave my laundry in it overnight or put in everything down to my underwear. I want to do a load of towels today and a load of darks tomorrow. I don't want to worry about running into the crazy lady who takes my clothes out and puts it on the table. I don't want to worry about the creepy dude and my roos. I don't want to put all my clothes in a giant bag and drag it through my building. I want to do one load and have it actually get washed. I want all my laundry to dry. I want it to be available all the time.

I want my own washer and dryer.

Silent Sunday

Rehoboth Beach, Delaware

oh baby

"Babies freak me out."

Why did I blurt this out during a staff meeting, to the horrified look of the former child and family therapist slash recent mother? Maybe because the baby was making its rounds to me and everyone was in that baby stupor cooing and oohing while I could feel a rising panic that made me want to sit on my hands and look everywhere but baby so they wouldn't put it in my arms. Maybe because my supervisor decided to announce my co-worker's early pregnancy (oh, the poor etiquette on that one) and I needed to break the awkward silence. And maybe because all I've been thinking about lately is, "is it time to have a baby and what would I do with it?"

I'm not going to lie, I hate holding other people's babies. It makes me deeply uncomfortable and I want to give it back instantly. I remember playing with my baby cousin and I have a little brother (although I don't remember him as a baby, I don't think I was keen on his addition to our family), but I've never had much interactions with babies. I get freaked out when they cry, I hate it when they get hiccups, and they are so wiggly, I could drop them at any minute. Ugh and their soft heads. But besides all this, I love babies and think they are absolutely adorable. Except when they scream. I can't help but think that the love part is hormone induced and the rest is pure logic. We're supposed to be drawn to and want to take care of babies, because they can't take care of themselves. But why do we force babies into the arms of people who don't want to hold them? And why is there always the one baby hog who can't give the baby back? Oh, and while we're on it, why do people touch pregnant women? That is so wrong.

Maybe there is something in that. Why is it that when women are pregnant it is perfectly fine to touch them with a full hand on their bellies without their permission? And babies cry for a reason: maybe they don't want to be touched and cuddled by every random person. Something about pregnancy and babies makes people violate boundaries. I did some research and found that there are mothers who don't want people to hold their babies at all. The belief is that by always holding the baby, it makes it feel more secure. Not to mention, all those grody adults with their unwashed hands carrying diseases that their bodies are already used to. And now that I think about it, who would bring a three week old to a mental health clinic anyway?

The truth is, I would be a fine mother. I love children, and for the most part, they are cool with me. I'm fairly trustworthy, and have a decent moral compass. I know about things like how to swaddle a newborn and hold a bottle; poop, vomit and snot, I am not so comfortable with. I guess I would get over it. I'm 100% certain I will give my children complexes, as I would ask them how they feel and discuss punishments with them in a calm voice until I freak out and scream at them when they don't listen. Ah, see, I like children who can talk and walk, smile and laugh, cry and become potty trained. The other truth: I have a lot of respect for the baby and its ability to get its needs met while scaring unnecessaries away. So maybe we should honor the baby and its noble wishes.

So why do I get so freaked out around babies? Is it because they are so vulnerable and I am a big mess of not knowing which cry is for pain and which is for food? Is it because it makes me question my role as a woman, my ticking biological clock, and the genetic potluck of my husband and I? Are we sociologically programmed to respond to babies in this ooey gooey manner, and by holding a baby we are somehow doing our female duty (look at me, I hold good baby) and I am a miserable failure? Or maybe because holding a baby makes me feel sad, because I wanted babies many years ago, and I'm worried its too late. Maybe its as simple as the fact that I am not really interested in people I don't know and their newborns and their poor ability to decide appropriate places to bring babies, and certainly don't want to snatch it up for my own satisfaction while they watch me cuddle and love a child who is not my own. Its all about me; it has nothing to do with baby.

Things I do know: When and if I decide to have children, I will not be telling my supervisor I am pregnant until she needs to know, I will not take my baby to work and let it be passed around to people I don't love, and if anyone touches my pregnant belly, I will punch them.

Don't call it a comeback (or, coming out of the closet)

A long time ago, I posted that I was looking for a job and then dropped off the face of the earth. I owe you all an explanation. I did find a job and have been immersed in it for about six months now, which is the main reason for blog silence. Working is good, making money and paying my student loans is better. And, added bonus, I have a lot of good stories to tell.

I am working as a mental health counselor at a community mental health clinic (meaning we see Everybody and Anybody), and am both learning and stressing a lot. But it has come to my attention that I have completely neglected my artistic side, which for me is akin to letting a piece of me die. Horrifying, I know. Especially since my mental health training is based on using arts as therapy, with the idea that art is essential for well being. I am so not practicing what I am preaching.

If the inside of my art closet is any indication for the inside of my brain, well, things are a total mess. I spent the weekend cleaning up the closet so I can actually get to some of my supplies. I have a ton of projects unfinished (quilt, knitting, who knows what else), and loads of unused supplies. My biggest frustration now is having a place to spread out, make a mess, and really snuggle into a project. But I am recommitting to making art. There is no better way to process my work, and to plan for where I want to go next. Stay tuned.

Silent Sunday

Oahu, Hawaii

Silent Sunday

Mohonk Mountains, NY

Silent Sunday

Halema`uma`u, Kilauea
Taken from this webcam.

the jobs that got away

After years of studying and interning, I've finally graduated and am looking for a job. The weird thing is, its not just any job, which is what I used to do, but a specific job in the field I have chosen. Its a strange feeling to have to just pick one. I think i did pick a field where I get to do a bit of most things that interest me, but I've been recently thinking about the jobs I almost did (aka the jobs that got away). I thought I'd share, and wanted to know what others daydreamed about being when they grew up...

1. Pastry Chef
Why I would rock this: I love to bake, I think because I'm good at following directions.
What I could do with this: Open my own cupcakery!
Why I didn't end up doing this: While I usually rock a recipe the first time I try it, subsequent tries never seem to live up to the amazingness of the first batch.

2. Chef
Why I would rock this: I am a tidy but creative cook who likes to make food that looks pretty. I also love how people look after they eat a meal I made (its good, trust me).
What I could do with this: Open my own restaurant! Have my own tv show!
Why I didn't end up doing this: Too many rules about how to cut this or that, and I would refuse to make fish, anything with mushrooms, and anything from the liver family.

3. FBI Agent
Why I would rock this: In high school, we had to research and present on what career we would like when we graduated. I was shocked and disappointed when my teacher and classmates stared at me in disbelief when I presented on this very topic. I mean it, folks. A good FBI Agent is the one you least suspect.
What I could do with this: Take down bank robbers, go undercover and bust drug rings, catch mass murderers.
Why I didn't end up doing this: I think it was the moment that Johnny Utah had to let Bodhi catch the big wave. Or, when I realized you had to be in shape.

4. Lawyer
Why I would rock this: I could seriously rock the LSAT, especially the logic section. I'm good at seeing both sides of a situation, and I would love to work with disadvantaged clients.
What I could do with this: Become a district attorney and uphold justice.
Why I didn't end up doing this: Too much paperwork.

5. Psychic
Why I would rock this: This takes a bit of reading people, which I can do. I can also use those dusty old tarot reading and horoscope skills.
What I could do with this: Setting up a stand at the boardwalk, and having drunk people ask me if I knew they were going to harass me. Or, helping the police solve crimes.
Why I didn't end up doing this: I could foretell that this was not for me. Plus ghosts freak me out.

6. Writer
Why I would rock this: I like to write, and am thinking of book ideas all the time.
What I could do with this: Write all these books I daydream about! Become a NY Times Bestseller! Make movies from my books!
Why I didn't end up doing this: I can never stay focused enough to get a whole book done.

7. Reporter
Why I would rock this: I love researching anything and everything, and I'm good at digging into the heart of an issue.
What I could do with this: Travel the world and learn everything I can.
Why I didn't end up doing this: I don't know. Hey! I should do this! Oh, unless I had to cover politics.

8. Nurse/Doctor
Why I would rock this: I like working with people, and making them feel better. I'm good in a crisis.
What I could do with this: Have a rewarding job!
Why I didn't end up doing this: Blood, urine, vomit. Oh, and passing chemistry.

9. Florist/Gardener
Why I would rock this: I love flowers and growing things.
What I could do with this: Open a greenhouse, or just have a beautiful yard.
Why I didn't end up doing this: I think its the allergies. And the bugs.

I challenge you to come up with 10 jobs that got away.

Silent Sunday

World's End, Hingham MA