"Treasure"

A book I've been reading says to journal our worst experiences to bring to light faulty messages we’ve absorbed that are so ingrained in our thoughts we don’t even notice they’re in the muzak of our minds.  We’ve all got these kinds of crap thoughts.  How often do we actually look at them, or consider who put them in our heads in the first place?  Why do we allow them to poison our lives?

I have been called a lot of names in my life.  I was told the bad in my life was because I "deserved it".  I certainly won't say I'm perfect, but a lot of this is just blatantly untrue and unhelpful, and mining memories can either feel like I'm suffocating in an avalanche of negativity or mining treasure, or perhaps a bit of both.  There is gold in finding a better way to think and feel, but sometimes you've got to go into a very dark cave to get it.

But, when we look at the source, and question the statements, we can get rid of the running diatribe of verbal abuse someone else started and we continue in our minds.

If I am any of the nasty things I've been called, then let me challenge myself to improve those areas -- but that's not why someone said those things in the first place.  They are/were bullies who want(ed) to make themselves feel better by knocking me down.  I'd rather take self-improvement tips from someone who sets a better example.  Since the only person I control is me, then I need to set a better example for myself.

Somewhere I heard the advice to talk to myself as if I were a child I loved and wanted to guide in helpful ways.  For instance, I wouldn't call a child selfish.  It's a normal phase of development, a time when I'd encourage the child to understand the good in sharing.  Hoarding a game of checkers is less fun than playing it with someone.  Pushing the swing is sometimes as fun as sitting on it.

Doing these kinds of mental exercises makes me aware of things I like about myself no matter how much other people have tried to contain me.  That's the real treasure.

"Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven... For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Matthew 6:19-21

(Sorry for venturing into a biblical quote.  I really get enough of that at work, but it's on point and explains Dumbledore’s sister’s grave, something I’ve wondered about.)

Let's share our treasures this week.  Make the world a better place by saying nice things to others and especially to ourselves!

SLOW progress report on the floor, made slower my tendency to use a tiny #2 brush.  It doesn't help that I'm still a bit sore from falling off the deck and the realization that as I age the floor keeps getting harder and farther away.  I remind myself that the point of this insanity is that I wanted a long-term project for contemplation.

I told Bro I was going to paint money amongst the leaves for "treasure".  He said not to do that because he'd keep trying to pick it up.  When my friend John heard that he said I should definitely paint money on the floor.

"Money"

My neighbor offered me $5 to draw her cat.  I said no.  My sister ripped into me for it because I should’ve been grateful for the opportunity.  “I don’t want to draw her cat and $5 isn’t enough!”  Sis stomped off muttering, swearing about my uppity nature.  I was a teenager then, but I can’t say how many times I’ve lived moments like that since then.  I recognize exploitation.

I’ve been thinking about the way artists market themselves these days, and I don’t like any of it.  Somebody always makes more money than me when all is said and done – studios, businesses, galleries, websites, framers, art supply stores, whoever.  They all get a piece of me and I feel prostituted by a gang of abusive pimps.

I see people selling things on Etsy and other websites.  I also read the fees that go along with that, and read about how to push further up in line when customers search sites.  I got tired just reading about it.  I really just want to paint pretty pictures instead of selling all the time, and I strongly suspect that most of the artists selling have another source of income.

The median household income is $53,046 nationally.  That means if I only aspired to average, I should net $1,000+/week every week after paying off my pimps.  If I spent a couple of months on a painting, I’d have to net that $1,000+/week x the number of weeks I worked on that painting.  I’d have to include time spent gathering reference, buying art supplies, cleaning my palette, getting it framed, etc.  Keep in mind that if I didn’t have a “real job”, I’d have to pay for my health insurance out of pocket too, so factor that in too.

Then, think about the in between time of paintings.  What if I had a dry spell without ideas?  I’d have to figure out how much recuperation time I need and divide that into the weeks of the year and add that into the price of a painting as well, plus remember all that time I’d have to spend selling paintings too.

I’m really glad the internet lets us all post our work for free and lets us talk to each other about what we’re doing creatively.  People can buy cheap prints of a painting and feel happy.  On the other hand, there are so many people online that I don’t know if anything really looks that special to art buyers any more, or if they understand the difference between a print and an original.  How many people are out there who can afford a $25,000 painting?

I've been poor often enough that I can make do when funds are tight, but why are artists expected to live so poor?  We have skills that other people don't have, and why shouldn't those skills be compensated sufficiently to keep us sheltered and fed?

I would really like to know if anybody out there is actually painting what they want to paint AND earning enough with their art to live comfortably?  Please tell me how you’re doing it.  In the meantime, I’m keeping my day job.

"Rescue"

My high school friend was cute, fun and smart – and attracted troubles like a magnet attracts nails.  We stayed friends after school, but at some point I’d had enough with the drama and lost touch.  She found me online after a lot of years, and I have to admit I paused to consider before answering her email.  I remembered her crazy husband and other stuff I’m not going to mention here.  I still cared about her.  I just wanted to keep my sanity.

It was a bad time in my life when she contacted me.  I was laid off and broke.  People kept telling me I was “too old” to get a job and nobody would hire me without a current employment, but I kept applying and wondering what I was going to do with myself if I couldn’t get work.

Sometimes what people need most is money.  I hear politicians saying stuff about welfare and food stamps, and one thing I know for sure is that none of those people know what it’s like to really be poor.  I understand welfare doesn’t teach people how to fend for themselves, but we need a place to live and food to eat before we can think about stuff like career advancement.

Even in my poverty, I knew I was better off than a lot of people.  I’m healthy, smart, educated, and able.  I have friends who gave me emotional and financial support when I needed it, and they provide living examples of how to get through difficult times.  It’s so much easier to keep going when you see the road you’re supposed to be on, and I have to think that it would be much more difficult if you’re stuck in the country or in the ghetto without those kinds of examples.

I know it’s supposed to be shameful to accept money from friends, but mine gave me some in ways I was able to accept, letting me keep my pride and keeping my head above water.  My highschool friend said I had helped her when she needed it and remembered things I hadn’t given a thought about since they happened, like giving her $50 so she could buy diapers and necessities.  That $50 was a long time ago.  I never regretted it or missed it even though it was quite a lot of money for both of us at the time.  It’s just something she needed and I had to give.  I didn’t give it to her for a payback with interest 30 years later.

We can give to some people and all they’ll do is take.  They’re bottomless pits, and they use a lot of emotional extortion to get what they want.  It isn’t helping to give to people like that, but there are so many people like I was at that time.  I desperately wanted help, didn’t know how to ask for it, or how to accept it when it came.  It was far easier for me to give that $50 back when.

My highschool friend thanked me for past favors I had forgotten about.  She gave me credit for sacrifices I made for others that I didn’t think anyone else ever noticed.  I didn’t do any of those things for a karmic rebound a few decades later, but it makes me think there’s a lot of truth in the saying “what goes around comes around”.  Maybe not in any of the ways we expect, but things have a way of working out.

I offered to pay her back when I had money again, but she said “no, just help someone else in the future.”  Excellent advice, and something I admire in another of my friends.  Let’s all spread some hope to people who need it.  I resolved to help others in ways that helps them back to their feet.  It’s hard to know how best to help, but sometimes the simplest answer is best, and sometimes it means money for diapers.


(BTW, my highschool friend straightened her life out and it's been a pleasure talking with her again.)

"Spent"

I made this painting during a previous period of unemployment when I was making extra bucks substitute teaching. I was killing time during a free period, and it was pleasant to rag leftover tempera paint onto a scrapped piece of poster board. That didn't kill enough time, so I made circles over the background with a plastic circle template. I took it home and finished it with colored pencils. Somewhere along the line I decided all the circles represented coins, and I needed to bring more coins into my life. I liked the colors well enough that I hung it up at home, but I have often thought that I should've been trying to manifest dollars, not coins. I'm still trying to manifest dollars.

I liked substitute teaching. The kids were fun and often sparked new ideas in me for my own work. I liked popping in and out of their lives, hopefully leaving some useful tidbits behind.

One class, there was a very dry lesson plan about water cycles. Clouds rain, water flows downhill, evaporates into clouds... The kids looked like they needed poked with cattle prods. When I explained everything flows downhill, that all junk eventually ends up in their drinking water, they started to pick up a little. One punk kid made a joke about drinking pee. I said "exactly", and they all started talking. It was a lively, educational discussion, and I think I helped make about 28 kids more environmentally friendly.

Sure beats "killing time" between classes, but I guess even that goes to show that it's our choice what we do with our time. We can bitch and groan about time wasting, or we can use the time towards something more valuable.

On a completely different note, I found this Confederate money in a box this week. For those of you outside the US, America split in two in the 1800s over issues of states rights and slavery. A very bloody war was fought, and the Confederacy (Southern states) lost. My grandpa's family was from Tennessee, which is how this money ended up in my box. I doubt I could get $5 for it today even though it is 150 years old. Money from winners is always more valuable, isn't it?

The bill is very delicate, so I scanned it to look at it better. I haven't decided what to do with it yet, but it seems like there's an art project in it somehow? If nothing else, at least the South got an artist to design it in the first place, but it seems like bloody money. I just think it's interesting, and thought others might like to look at it too.