Day One Hundred Eighty Seven: A simple story of me

Oh my, I gave this story as a talk at Toastmasters a month or so ago. I thought it might give you some idea of me. Enjoy, hiss or nothing. I just is:

Surveying one’s life is a daunting task. I traveled into a few mind alleys in the last couple days trying to figure out what might explain my path better than “What was I thinking?” and have yet to come up with anything rational except this: all my travel, tribulations and adventures contributed to my becoming an Artist.

And that, today, is how I define my driving force.

After 5 states in my first 5 years, we settled in Idaho. Apparently my dad was restless too. Growing up in Sandpoint, ID I was an avid reader. A taste for adventure was born in those pages, along with the notion that anywhere was more exciting and interesting than Sandpoint. What was I thinking?

The day after high school graduation began my first real adventure. I left on a coast to coast bicycle trip. My mom tells of her sinking feelings as my family left me, at 17, first time away from home, beside the road in Oregon with my bike. What am I thinking? She lamented to herself.

82 days of pedaling, from Oregon to Virginia, 13 flat tires, 20 lost pounds, 10 states  and two oceans later, I grew from dumb kid to confident young adult with an idea that the world has plenty to see and beauty comes in a myriad of forms.

College added knowledge of Economics, computers, ceramics, boys, beer, weed and sex. And after five years and five majors, I graduated with a degree in finance and got married. What was I thinking?

We moved to San Diego where I learned the beauty and physics of waves; that running in sand makes you determined, and bicycling on the boardwalk requires a beverage holder on your handlebars.

Lest anyone be fooled, I had no real plans to settle down and true enough in a couple years, idyllic beach life began to lack the culture I thought I needed and off to NYC we went.

I was learning photography by then and taking photos was helping me learn to see. 

But NYC gave me an overload of culture, art, metropolitan sensibilities and ample opportunities for emotional growth. I was able to travel to London and Scotland and Costa Rica and Greece, I learned to sail, I learned to smoke, I became a member at MOMA the Whitney and the Met. I saw Pavorotti in the Park, I saw BB KING at the Beacon, I worked 80 hour weeks, got high blood pressure, got mugged. I lost my nephew to suicide, my father to heart attack and my husband to apathy.

And I started to paint. (What was I thinking?)

And my restlessness festered.

My inner artist was still gathering material for future expression.

So, I gave up my rent controlled apartment and I quit my well-paid NYC job (What was I thinking?). I took my last bonus, my new boyfriend, my travel kit of art supplies and set off to see Europe and become Continental.

For nearly a year we traveled on a whim, hit every Picasso exhibit we could find, the Van Gogh museum, Notre Dame and St. Marks. We saw a chapel made by monks out of bones they robbed from graves; we took a tour deep in the champagne caves in France; because of the rains that knocked out train trestles, we toured Morocco in a taxi with another American and two Brazilian girls we met on the boat. We ate brownies from a girl on roller blades in Amsterdam. What where we thinking?

And even then, complete freedom becomes routine. And the dwindling money threatened an orderly transition back. So we went back to the states, gathered funds, and settled in San Francisco.

I learned that one out every 11 people there make their living in art, or related activities. All the while I am slowly developing my craft; more of a hobby at first, really. But the idea grew. And the supplies grew. And the canvases grew. And I started to find my own voice.

Finally we came back to Spokane and family. And he went his way to become a farmer and I plunged myself deeper into the process of making art.

I started showing. Scared witless for the first couple shows; I was nervous as heck to talk to the sweet faced college kid handing out wall space in a bar. What am I thinking? And then I soon had the entire venue. And I met more people.

I have done a number of things here to keep body afloat, but all things continue to lead back to the art and what might inspire me.  And rash decisions have been made. Consequences suffered. What was I thinking? Yet music and musicians, art and artists are around often and my circle luckily includes chefs, writers and carpenters and boys to fix my car.

And the art continues to evolve. Just faster now.

And due to Facebook and my daily art blog post and friends and my relentless pursuit of the process, the art is getting more attention.

And my definition of myself as an artist, that grows, That’s what I was thinking.

So there you have it, Me. 






Tuesday, July 6: The abridged tale of me.