The Parable of Talents

“And remember the parable of the talents, will you now. Do you mean to stand before God, come the Last Day, and tell Him you spurned the gifts He gave you?” The Scottish Prisoner by Diana Gabaldon

I was reading this morning before I felt I had to get up and start my day -- another day of not feeling like I was ready to get back into the studio and work -- when I came across this passage. I did have a Christian upbringing, complete with Sunday School, and Confirmation classes, and regular church attendance, so the reference niggled at my brain, mainly because of the word, “parable”, but I didn’t quite remember it, so I took to Google, and quickly came up with a reference in the Bible: Matthew 25: 14-30. While I do consider myself a spiritual person, I have had struggles with organized religion from almost the moment I got out from under parental control. I do find a bit of humor in this particular struggle since my upbringing and related education also leaves me with that unique form of Christian guilt, which lately has been about how I approach my work.

Everything about living as an artist is a self-directed balancing act, and I have always found this the most challenging aspect of the whole enchilada. Work vs. downtime; making stuff that you know will sell vs. making stuff that feeds your soul; the work involved with the making and the work involved with the making a living (given a choice, I would make stuff and give it away if only I could); and what seems like a million other pairs of diametric opposites sitting across from each other on the see-saw. I know some would argue that you’re only supposed to be making stuff that feeds the soul, but I think as an artist, I try, but only partially succeed in this. You’ve got to throw a lot of chocolate at the wall before some starts to stick. The stuff that doesn’t stick is not completely unworthy, and in fact plays a major role in getting to the yummy stuff stuck to the wall. It’s chocolate, not crap!

Needless to say, I hadn’t cracked open the Bible in quite a while. Lately, I’ve been revisiting my form of spiritualism, and making some attempts at beefing things up in that department a bit. This is hard for me in that I am not a particularly nostalgic person, nor do I like to waste time trying to answer the big unanswerable questions, like “Why am I here?” or “What happens when we die?” Ironically, the only folks that can answer that question are dead. I also continue to struggle with what to make and why I’m making it. The answers change over time I think. When I first started this particular leg of my life journey in 1998, the answers in the beginning were quite simple -- in hindsight. I was just starting out, so I could get away with answers that were easily satisfying and quite black and white. For example, I was honing my skills, both with my art, as well as learning to live as self-directed person – as an artist and micro business woman. Then, in the more recent past, I used to think I shouldn’t think too much. That what I make “in the zone” automatically has that mystical quality built in. I am merely a vessel for a much larger planetary force. Just do it (the best tagline of the 20^th century, in my opinion). The work will speak for itself. The more you work, the more you want to work. That all worked for quite a while.

But, I really have to come out and admit that this is no longer enough for me, nor has it been for quite some time, and more and more I have been thinking I need to start answering some tougher questions and creating in a more mindful spiritual environment. Don’t confuse spiritual with religious. Whether my spirituality translates in some way into religion remains to be discovered. Another gem I recently ran into comes from Twelve by Twelve by William Powers, “…faithfulness to the path given.” That needs to be on a T-shirt. Or embroidered on a pillow. That you sleep on. So I’ve been asking myself a lot lately, “Am I being faithful to the path given me?” The rub is that I think there’s room for improvement, but the how is eluding me.

I’ve also discovered that the less you work, the less you want to work, unless you have a really good reason to work, which isn’t about money in this case, although it may come to that. So this is where I currently am at on my artistic path. I do still believe in that mystical thing that happens once in a while when you are creating – where you really can feel yourself being used by a force greater than yourself for something good. In fact, I think I still believe in all the mantras of the middle phase. I just need all that and something more.

Once I (re)read the “Parable of Talents” I remembered it from my childhood. I’m more impressed now than I was then, which is another truism I’ve discovered – sometimes you’re just not ready to hear or appreciate the message. “Talents” in this case are pieces of money. But in the way of parables, I think you could also use talents to mean the gifts you have, what you are good at, which for me is creating stuff. That part I have never doubted. I’m convinced I was put on the earth to make stuff.

But it’s the what to make and why make that, that is the bigger deal these days. If I can answer these questions more meaningfully, I’m convinced my talents will multiply. As I wrestle through trying to find the way to go and the answers that will satisfy me now and going forward, I cannot help but wonder if I am completely living up to my potential. Have I been doing the work that will multiply my talents? Lately, I think I could do better. So the timing of running into the Parable of Talents could not be better for me and it does make me wonder if there isn’t “someone” looking out for me. I don’t really believe in coincidences. It certainly is easier to bury your talents in order to go the safe route. But if you want them to multiply, you have to use them wisely and prodigiously and courageously. I’ve got ideas; I just have to go into the studio and make stuff. “Just Do It” still does apply. But it should also encompass answering the tough question of “Why?” I’m hopeful I’ll always be able to define and bring to fruition a worthy idea, and that these will always eventually overpower any natural inclination I have for safety.

Inspired by Reading Book Club and "Paris to the Moon"

I recently joined a book club named, "Inspired by Reading," the brain child of Andrew Thornton whose blog can be found at http://andrew-thornton.blogspot.com/.
The book club has a Facebook page, which can be found at
http://www.facebook.com/groups/inspiredbyreading
and of course we have a Pinterest Board, which can be found here:
http://pinterest.com/JDRshrineart/inspired-by-books-group.
The basic idea is that we create artwork inspired by the book we are reading.

Our first book, Paris to the Moon, by Adam Gopnik turned out to be a disappointing read for me. I was excited to begin reading a book about Paris because it's a place I have not been and I hope to visit there someday. However, the author could not have been more dull in his descriptions. I could conjur almost no visual images solely from reading the book, and I found his stories to be largely uninteresting and narcissistic. My guess is that if the author didn't already have a foothold in the publishing industry he would have had a hard time finding someone to publish such a dull tome. It has been a long time since I have been unable to finish a book, as I am an avid and stubborn reader. I wish I could recommend this book, but alas, unless you are having a bout of insomnia for which this book is the perfect cure, any other book with Paris as its theme would probably be better. Having said all this, I did make a couple of things that were inspired by Paris from other sources, such as other reading I have done and from our group's Pinterest Board. It bothered me greatly that I could not be inspired solely from the book. Or more accurately, I was not inspired at all by the book.

Despite what I felt was a disappointing book, I do hope to find time to develop the ideas that are here in their infancy. I was intrigued by a more earthy palette, and the sort of elegance and beauty that only comes with extreme age -- the colors of the past before so many synthetic and modern chemicals. I was also trying to combine these ideas of color with some of the unique attitude of fun, joie de vive, and humor of the French people. This aspect is more challenging and will require more reading and development because the concept is more abstract, but I am looking forward to continuing with the challenge. 

This is why these sorts of self-directed projects are so valuable. They stretch you uncomfortably, and sometimes with much complaint and grumpiness in new directions. Here are a couple more shots of my first attempts:

If you look closely at the top heart pendant, you will see some cracking. Perhaps some of the glass is incompatible, or perhaps I had heat control issues while trying to juggle the new ideas in the torch. The bottom heart pendant turned out fine in that respect, although I will be honing my color scheme in subsequent attempts and tightening up shape and patterning. I like the idea of the plain stainless bails and might try darkening them with some sort of patina. Or coloring them with metal coloring techniques. So off to the next book! Wish me luck. If anything, this club will get me to post in my blog approximately once a month or so...

You are Probably NOT a Self-Taught Artist...

Go to http://www.avam.org for more information about the art of "self-taught" artists. Such a cool website, and a very cool museum to visit.

It would probably surprise some of the folks who refer to themselves as self-taught artists that a formal definition for this term already exists, and they are not included in this group of special artists. Type "self-taught artist" into the search engine of Wikipedia for example, and you are redirected to "Outsider Art." This entry contains other synonyms such as art brut, raw art, rough art, naive art, and art of the insane to name just a few. Outsider Art is one of my favorite art genres, and with a short read, you can find out about this incredibly interesting and inspiring art movement.

See: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Self-taught_art. For the purposes of this blog entry, I'm agreeing with the definition set forth there. My point in this blog entry has to do with this quote from the article:

The term is sometimes misapplied as a catch-all marketing label for art created by people outside the mainstream "art world," regardless of their circumstances or the content of their work.

I'm agreeing with that premise, too, although "sometimes" should probably be replaced with "most times". To be polite, I find it confusing when someone refers to themselves as "self-taught." If I weren't going to try to be polite, I'd think the person was ignorant at best, or a pompous ass at worst. Although I guess making stuff and then trying to sell it to make a living does require some sort of ego, I daresay. Generally though, I consider myself a kind person and return to the feeling of confusion and wonder what he or she is really trying to say? And if they call themselves "self-taught" to an editor of an art magazine for example, doesn't that make him or her sound ignorant of an entire named and recognized art movement?

Ironically, true self-taught artists would most likely not realize that they were self-taught, or even call themselves artists at all.

While a small portion of the definition does have to do with education, that is not all there is to it. It seems that this part of the definition has been grotesquely mutated in order for those who use self-taught to describe themselves to take some sort of extra credit that is ultimately unearned. It implies the artist thinks of himself as gifted in some way, because he didn't require any of that pesky directed education in order to do the stunning work he does. But the opposite is true, and in no way does that set the artist apart in any special way whatsoever.

"Self-taught artist" does NOT mean that you practice alone in your studio a lot. It should go without saying that any artist spends a great deal of time honing their craft and communing with the Muses or other higher power (or not) to create something that somebody might one day proclaim as art. (If this hoped-for proclamation is the reason you work, well...uhm-m-m-m...hmm...bigger confusions might exist.)

"Self-taught artist" does NOT mean you lack a college or art school education. And since when is that something to brag about anyway? I mean, where does that get you? Because by misusing the term, you're already illustrating a certain lack of education, whether self-directed or not. I'm not sure I'd want sole credit for that misunderstanding.

"Self-taught artist" does NOT mean you did a bunch of metaphysical research on your own, either. Nobody cares except in how you're able to morph that into your art in some way that speaks to somebody else. Or not. Nobody should care but you.

Think about education, formal or otherwise. Did you watch somebody's YouTube video? Page through their books? Watch a dvd on the topic? See a how-to spread in a magazine? Try and follow a tutorial? Take a class? Watch a demo? Go to college? Go to art school? If you did any of these things, you cannot consider yourself part of the self-taught art movement and you are misusing the term. More importantly, you are not giving credit where credit is due. That's where I tend to get off-track in my thinking and find myself wandering along the pompous ass track.

If you were one of the self-taught artists in the creative vacuum described by the Outsider Art movement, you most likely wouldn't be reading this blog, or even using the term. Another quote, one of my favorites, was coined by the person credited with defining the Outsider Art movement, Jean Dubuffet:

"Art is at its best when it forgets its very name."

I only wish my intentions could be a pure as a true "self-taught" artist. As it is, I'll spend a great deal of the rest of my life trying to attain that goal and put forth great effort. And as the term "self-taught artist" is misused and overused, I'll probably continue to put forth great effort in attempting to understand what the artist using the term -- and making a first impression -- is really trying to say.

The Art vs. Craft Discussion

Studio, thinly disguised as a garage...

I've always found this discussion to be mildly annoying and for me moot because the only way to settle the distinction is through the work itself. That is, if there is even a distinction to be made, of which I am unconvinced. And if you're talking about it, you're not working on it. And if you're not working, you'll never create work that somebody will want to try to put in the "craft vs. art" box. Also, I should mention that I hate boxes. Which is kind of funny, because while I've recently had to conclude that I am not the neat freak I thought I was, I am somehow obsessive-compulsive enough to try to organize my belongings, and I routinely find boxes of stuff within boxes of stuff, within other boxes. But I digress...

I oftentimes think these sorts of "intellectual discussions" are rather clever methods of procrastination disguised as important. I also think the more intelligent one is, the more clever and sneaky the procrastinations, to the point that even the person procrastinating doesn't realize he or she is in the throes of a really good one. For example, I find myself writing in this blog about a topic that I've already mentioned I find mildly annoying if not altogether moot -- don't think for a second that the irony escapes me.

Ultimately, the work stands on its own, and I find this reassuring. But if you're thinking and talking about art vs. craft, you're probably not working. I'm stingy that way: anything that takes time away from my working time sucks for me, and that includes esoteric discussions of whether or not an artist is engaged in making "craft" or "art." When I make something, I'm doing it because I have to for the most part. That is, I have an idea of something that I have to make, and I cannot be satisfied and therefore happy, until I have made it. (If you consider yourself an artist and are working for any other reason, we can talk about that issue another time.) Generally, I don't give a damn how somebody wants or needs to categorize the work. The mildly annoying part for me is that by attempting to categorize an artist's efforts, the categorizor is judging whether the categorizee's work is "better" or "best." This pigeon-holing has no bearing whatsoever on what I make next. It doesn't create some sort of intellectual shortcut that allows me to skip steps on my journey, so again it becomes moot.

The other problem I have with the art vs. craft debate besides the fact that it is an argumentative time sink, is that it sucks the magic right out of the artistic soul. For example, sometimes I get an idea to make something, and something else happens during the process. This type of event can be extremely cool or extremely frustrating. Either way, it gets me farther along my artistic path.

Or sometimes I sit down to make something, and I have an amazing out-of-body experience where I am at peace and in that place of absolute nirvana, and it's as if I am merely a conduit for something greater than myself. That's the adrenaline rush. That's why I keep working. Because quite frankly, I can probably count those times on one hand. And I've been "making stuff" since I could grip a pencil and hit a sheet of paper with it. Don't get me started on cardboard and some paste. Anyway, the art-vs.-craft debate could not be farther from my motivation in either of these two examples.

Lot of surface patterning. Or superficial design?

Were I to analyze a feature of my own work, I would say it's no mere coincidence that I enjoy pattern-making on the surface of my glass -- I'm not at all interested in the artificial perception of great depth that can be achieved with glass. Just as I hate wasting time on unanswerable questions. Don't even get me started on, "Why am I here?" or "What is the meaning of life?" So debate away. I would find it extremely disappointing if anyone ever answered the question of whether something is art or craft in any sort of definitive way. Meanwhile, I continue to do the work so that there is something upon which to pass judgement, for ultimately that's the reason for the debate. And quite frankly, the answer will not affect this artist's pathway. And if it did cause some sort of effect, what kind of artist would I be?

Too Short, Grasshopper...

This big guy showing up on my window screen reminds me of the fact that summer seems to go by so quickly. I know I was complaining just last week about the heat this year. It's hard to sit in front of a torch and kiln in the heat of summer. I did a show up in the Philadelphia area this past weekend, and when I got back home, the signs that summer is almost gone are evident. I know before I left -- a mere three or four days ago -- I'd been sleeping on top of the covers with the ceiling fan on full blast, and now I find myself sleeping under the covers with no ceiling fan action at all. Soon I'll be closing windows, and after that configuring the storm windows. Then there will be that day when the heaters are used for the first time. Of course there have been signs of the end, such as the shear size of the big guy who's peeking into my window. And the tomatoes ripening on the vine. As summer progresses the insects get so loud here in the country it could be characterized as deafening. Those who think the country is quiet have never spent an evening in the country in late July and August. One has to practically shout to be heard above the din some evenings. The days still get "too" warm, but there is that hint of cool air in the undercurrent. And the nights cool off making for good sleeping weather. So my hope now is for a long, slow, lazy autumn, because conversely to summer ending so fast, it always takes such a long time to for it arrive again only to go through its seemingly disproportionately short timeframe. And while there's always the hope of an "Indian" summer, it is just one more sign that indeed, summer has gone.

Becoming Reaquainted with a Lost Love

Before I was a glass beadmaker, I was a papermaker and book binder (among other things). I have not spent much time on the bookmaking in many, many years. Lately however, I've had a yearning to get back into it. I love books and reading so much that I almost cannot be without a book within reach or physically on my person at all times. Sometimes I even fall asleep with them, and both sides of my bed are flanked by floor to ceiling bookshelves, the nightstand is stacked with books, and there's another pile on the floor that belong to someone else that I need to read. Thank goodness for my Kindle, where at last count I had over 500 books. It has cut down on the weight of books that used to be in my purse.

So I've been trying to combine my "vices", and I've spent the last few days reacquainting myself with various book binding skills.



Initially, I have made "little" books, more accurately categorized as "miniature" books by the book arts community. They are approximately 1.5 x 1 inch when closed. Since I really don't like being without a book on my person at any time, that concept provided the impetus for my little books. They can easily be incorporated into jewelry or other adornment. All are blank and awaiting owners to personalize them in some way. I'm working out how exactly to combine the books with my glass art, but for now I think I'll just enjoy the book binding separately since it's easy these days to burn out on the beads. I've made 4 each of 3 slightly different kinds. The top picture is a closeup of one of the leather books. The three pictures on the left are groups of 4 little books of a kind (don't ask me why 4 of each, but it is kind of bookish in that each sheet in a signature-bound book has 4 pages, so one tends to think in multiples of 4). The top photo are books that I made of upcycled material, mainly packages and paper bags, with an exposed longstitch binding, decorative endpapers, and ribbon and bead closure. I added an anodized aluminum jumpring to the top of the spine for hanging on a necklace or something. The second picture shows the leatherbound version, with same exposed longstitch binding, little folders built into the endpapers, a leather tie closure, and jumpring. The bottom picture is a group of leather clad japanese tortoise shell stab binding books with decorative endpapers. I made a special wireworked hanger for each, and then crafted a leather button and braided ribbon and bead closure.

I must say I'm enjoying myself immensely, and several more ideas have sprouted as is usually the case when I'm working. It's one of the laws of artmaking -- the more you work, the more you want to work. I think my next step will be in making 1-, 2-, or 3-signature books in a size that would easily fit in a pocket -- maybe a size similar to the moleskins I like so much. Also, I discovered a really cool binding that combines an accordian fold spine with origami and a very clever way to hold in sheets without glue or sewing. And even more cool is that the sheets can be removed or moved to other places in the book. Since I'm constantly changing my mind, this might just be the perfect book. I'll keep you posted!

Edited to add labels.

A Lost Poem Found...

So in the process of cleaning out 2 tall bookshelves, 2 bedrooms, and 3 closets, I came across the following poem that I had written...

How to let him out?
But no.     No.
Life if you leave it is scary empty
                                            overwhelmed.
     Do not go so soon.
We are old but young;
     try mad wild experiments with me...
paint    watch people    dream    create
   compose    live free    live deepest.
Imagine purple bold love returned.
                                  We can, too.
                           Write me here --
                    Hurry before I have to go.
                                          Capture me.
      You are shimmering so gorgeous!