I have found myself in several completely separate and unrelated conversations lately and one theme keeps coming up. 
Why do we do that thing we do in that way that we do it?  Actually I’m not sure if that sums it up well.  I might write on, and see if this all becomes clearer by the end.
​
Danielle LaPorte has recently written a new book called White Hot Truth.  Her premise is something like this.  You know all that self help reading, self-proclaimed-expert advice seeking, program signing up, soul searching, affirmation reciting, clairvoyant consulting, life coaching, Insta-guru worshipping, all of that?  Yep, It’s probably all ensuring that you can’t actually get to what you already know you want to do or be or create.  It’s all just telling you on repeat that you are not quite enough….but if you just do this course, or that retreat, or read that book, of repeat that mantra, or follow these secret 7 steps, or spill your guts in front of this seminar audience, then you might just get there.  You might then be complete, you might then be ready….and if not, there’s always the premium program, or the invite only masterclass.   There's always somewhere to defer your efforts and your better judgement.  

Undoubtedly, there are some genuine and brilliant sources of guidance out there....but not many.  
​
​Danielle writes from experience, and I'm so glad that she has.

People often ask me where I sell my work and I feel a sudden urge to justify my existence.   The expected answer consists of a list of art galleries.  But that’s not my answer.  I have exhibited in galleries and art shows fairly regularly over the last few years, but I’ve got to say I’ve often done it for all of the wrong reasons.   There’s a lot about the experience that has felt in opposition to all of the reasons I do this work - for work rather than for a hobby. 
I don’t mean to rule out exhibitions for the rest of my career, and when opportunities present I consider everything, because it’s a bit stoopid not to.  What I would like to rule out is being the bunny at the end of the exhibition string.  Exhibitions where artists have to pay actual money to be considered for entry (yes, that’s a real thing) are out.  Exhibitions where the gallery staff “design” the art are also out (yes that’s a thing too).  

​Who am I, you may say, to be throwing stinky mud at the fine folks of the art world. 
No one is the answer, I’m no one important. 

But I am an independent artist and I’m allowed to say that certain aspects of the way art is marketed and sold are absolute bollocks, and as such I’m allowed to do it differently.  To my friends operating in gallery world who are blissfully happy and fulfilled, I’m clearly not talking about you here.  

So the actual answer to the question of where I sell most of my work, is directly to the people that love it.  Most of my work has been sold directly to clients via word of mouth, social media or more commonly through my private online events.  What I love about working this way is that I usually get to have an actual conversation with the person who is buying my work.  The people who buy my work almost always want to know how I painted it, or where the idea came from, and why.  And I’m happy to tell them.  It isn’t art-speak rubbish, it’s a real human connection.  It's also the reason I seem to do a lot of commissions - because conversations and human connections.  It is special to me that someone appreciates what I’ve made so much that they want to part with their money, in exchange for living with the art.  That’s quite a significant transaction.  I know that people put a lot of thought and consideration into buying something from me, and that’s the way I like it.   I want you to buy it only if you actually love it, and it has real meaning or feeling for you.  So perhaps you can see that whacking paintings up on a wall among a bunch of other “pictures for sale” feels kind of lacking something.  
People are frequently buying art to match the cushions, and it will all be junk when the next series of “The Block” begins and they realise the cushions and the art are no longer trending.  It’s hard to know what you love when you are always looking to a tv show or a magazine or to Instagram to find out what it is you are supposed to love at moment, what the cool people love.  People are buying art because it's trending, and mistaking that for discernment.   I find that a bit hilarious and a bit disturbing.  

Knowing what you don’t want in life is sometimes easier than putting your finger on exactly what you do want, and I don't want to be in next summer's garage sale.

The conversations I’ve been having lately revolve around this.  What is it you actually want and how can you actually go about creating it?  
Some of these chats I’ve been having are with friends who are right in full career change swing and entrepreneurs riding the waves of the journey.  Some conversations are with the “you’re so lucky” crowd, some are with curious bystanders.   
Here’s what I've learned and what I know. You just keep doing what feels right, what feels like you - not comfort zone you, but deep and true you, most excellent self you.  No one else’s 7 step plan was made for me, and at some point you need to stop seeking guru advice and top 10 recommendations and guaranteed quick fixes from outside of yourself, and start answering your own questions.  Then my friend, the rubber meets the road, you put your money where you mouth is, you start to walk your talk.  Please insert your own favourite “get that shit done” metaphor.

In the past, I have walked away from careers when I’ve gotten in deep enough to see the cogs and ugly machinations at work.  I’ve opted out and walked away feeling all noble for not being a part of it anymore (talking to you fashion world).  But I can’t walk away from art because I’m not sure what of me would be left.  So instead I’m working, and walking my less than traditional path in a career with no promises, and no limits, and of course no manual.  I'll be over here doing what feels right and I'll put my fingers in my ears and sing la la la la if I hear the words "If you want to be a real artist you should......"
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This is absolutely not an advice column, way too many of those already.  But if you know someone who might find this useful, please share it with them via social media, or any other way you like.

Thanks for sticking it out to the end!!  Let me know what you think, or if you can relate. 

Big love,
Jacqi

ps. I mentioned private online events (read exhibitions, studio sales, pop-up stores).  They are for my mailing list buddies only and if you think you might to be there, then I’d love you to join me with the form below .  I have something special to announce in about 48 hrs so don’t delay!!​

​Long long ago, my mum wandered into the studio and saw something she liked.  That wouldn't seem so unusual, she is my mum after all.  One may assume that being her daughter, she loves everything I do, but she doesn't.  
Nor would anyone, surely.   

But on this particular day long ago, she did.  The two paintings she liked, and wanted, were just little experiments that had gone awry (as experiments happily can).  They were paintings of the type that lean, face to the wall, in hiding, waiting to be painted over some day with the next experimental whim.  Nothing that I even intended finishing, let alone allowing them onto someone else'e wall with my name squiggled into the corner.  But Mum wanted them, and I said "Mmm maybe, ok, they're not finished, I need to just... when they' re done, I don't know, maybe next year?"  
I meant No way. Never.  How embarrassment.

A couple of house moves ago they were packed into boxes and somehow ended up in my parent's garage.  Mum, being mum, unpacks boxes and found them, and reminded me of my half-semi-sort of promise to finish them for her.  I entered her garage the next time I visited, with dread.  I thought I was rid of those things.   I had the same level of enthusiasm as you might have re-heating last Wednesday's dinner, knowing it wasn't even that good when it was fresh.  

But fresh eyes are beautiful things.   I'd forgotten what the failed experiment was meant to be and now I could see the colours and the shapes.  I could see movement, and delicate plays between the spaces.  I couldn't see any of this before of course, because I was busy searching for my amazing, miraculous experiment outcome, which wasn't there.   

So the happy ending to this story is that I joyfully finished the paintings and they became something new.  They are on Mum's wall now, and she loves them - she always did.  She didn't know or care what I was trying to achieve with them in the first instance.  She saw at the beginning what I couldn't.   These once rejected beauties have now inspired a new little series that I'm working on right now.  And I'm in artistic bliss.   The other part to this happy ending is that I've changed my attitude to all of those old or unfinished paintings that lean, face to the wall, in my studio.  Once libraries of embarrassment, shame, and self-torment, they are now paintings-in-waiting.   Maybe started too soon, or ended prematurely, they now wait for my fresh eyes to catch up and see them again, minus their unmet expectations.  
​They're waiting for my mum.   Still my best customer.

xx

Yesterday my family departed for the last time, from a special little piece of the earth we’ve been blessed to call our own.    This little piece of land has changed us all forever.  

I confess that I enjoy procrasti-searching on real estate websites.  It’s so easy to find yourself falling into real estate hypothetical la la land.  It’s one of my favourite ways to avoid folding the washing or cleaning the bath.  (I have many great strategies for this actually, but that’s another story.)  Anyway, one fine clothes-pile-laden evening, I found a ripper.  I’d been searching for pretty land in pretty places, but not because we were interested in buying.  I was searching for fuel to feed the yogi, artist, earth mumma, nature lover, beautiful-thing-maker, creator-of-something-out-of-nothing show reel that I play in my head when I need direction and inspiration.   

The photos of this property were oh so pretty, but that’s not unusual for real estate sites.  We’ve walked through enough properties to know that you can’t expect an actual property to match its super-lens, digitally-enhanced marketing photos.  We booked an inspection partly because the photos were incredible, but also because this property was just out of Marysville - a town that already had our hearts from many years prior, and also a town that maybe needed our love.  We hadn’t visited since the Black Saturday bushfires, and a day trip felt overdue.  We decided to arrange to visit this property just to see if the pictures were real.  They were not just real, they barely did justice to the beauty and the magic, and the vastness, and the wildness.  The scars were deep and still pretty fresh, but this land had us at “We’re here”.  We were like a corny tv commercial.  My husband and I walked in awe, glassy eyed around the land as the children squealed and ran and skipped from one new discovery to the next.  They ran their little hands over the charred tree trunks and forged pathways through bushes that scratched their skin and they didn’t even notice.  Big daughter hugged trees while little one collected “crystals”.   As an artist, my mind was wild with possibilities, ideas, projects, potential.  This fourteen acres of raw, wild bushland with a tragic past became ours 6 months later.
  
This is not the first time or the last time that a procrasti-search has ended in a purchase, but this was especially unexpected and could be filed under “Acts of Great Intent and Enormous Optimism”.  

Should we name it?  Suggestions from the back seat came fast “Friends Road!” from the older blue-sky girl.  “Long-time-to!”  from the little one who doesn’t like winding roads.  “The Beech” the front seat agreed, still in awe of the ancient Beech Myrtles we’d wandered through on the last visit.  We called it all of these things, and more.

As we spent time there over the years that followed, we made big plans and dreamed beautiful dreams of what this place could become.  Our children made markets and cafes from sticks, rocks and found rusty things.  They made billy teas from the plants they found and learned to recognise, and made perfume from whatever was around that particular season.  They made a skink hospital.  We met locals.  We made friendships we intend to keep.  We learned so much about our land.  Camping with a tent, and no running water or power, we had to.  We did endless research into the history of the land and the vegetation of the area.  We found Indigenous land management philosophies that were worlds away from what our trusted authorities prescribe.  No surprises there.   We did our best to give back to the land what it needed, and what it once had, but we also stood still a lot and watched nature’s recovery processes taking place.  All this, while every time we visited eagles soared above, watching us too.  We didn’t do everything we’d planned, not even close.  

Now we are handing it on to the next custodians and I know they’ll have big plans and dreams like we did - it’s that kind of place.   We hope they spend many happy years watching and learning and growing as they too become a part of this special land.  

So how has it changed us all forever?  How did Marysville make us?  I don’t yet know exactly what the special purpose of this whole exercise was in our lives.  Along with the joy and adventure, there was also some stress, backache, and a bicycle cog through a little big toe.  I do know though, that I will look back on all of this one day and see that it was transformative for all of us, and maybe I’ll even find the words to describe it.  It’s not so obvious in the present moment to see the effects of any such journey but in the rear view mirror of life I’m sure it will be clear.   
If not, that was some very expensive camping.

See you soon Marysville xo

I haven’t really done much.  I’ve not done mountains of things.  That’s why I’m perfectly qualified to write this piece about getting things done.  
I’ll explain…

If you wanted to lose 10kg (by the way, you don’t need to), would you go and ask the metabolically-gifted, naturally and effortlessly reed-thin friend who is always complaining about the problems associated with not being able to fill out the back of her jeans?  (Apparently these problems are real, don’t scoff)  Or do you go to your other person you know, who has battled a bit with their health.  Your friend who has made lots of attempts, and almost as many failures, but seems to be thriving with vibrant health and happiness right now will be a far greater source of wisdom.  (Youdontneedtolose10kgsyoudon’tneedtolose10kgsyoudontneedtolose10kgs)

So that’s where I come in.  I’ve not done lots of things and I have failed so many times in so many ways.  But there are somethings I have done.  Allow me to be your guru!!

Here’s how you do stuff.

1. Power Up
In order to get to the end of these 4.5 steps, you’ll need a some juice, some fuel.  This is kind of like packing your bags for a holiday, gathering ingredients for a recipe, or packing the entire contents of your house into a nappy bag (yes, memories permanently burned in).  Preparation is everything and you need to prepare your mind.  
I power up with inspiration that will convince me that anything really is possible, I am an amazing human being, and that the universe is on my side.  Podcasts, books, TedTalks, meditation, time spent with world-conquering friends.  Any or all of these are great at getting your mind where it needs to be before you begin, and you must continue engaging in these mind-feeding activities.  Forever. 

2.  Start
There comes a time when you have to actually start doing your thing, whatever that is.  At this point, you must tell someone that you have started and what your end game is.   Not your dog.  Tell your world-conquering friends, tell your cheer squad.  Don’t have any world-conquering friends or a cheer squad?  Tell someone who does stuff.  It’s likely that at some point you’ll tell someone that will respond with  something less than encouragement.  When this happens, grab a permanent black marker and write “DON'T TELL ME BIG STUFF.  MY MIND IS TEENY WEENY.” across their forehead.  This will protect you or someone else from making the same mistake in the future.  Return to Step 1 and re-fuel.  Once you have told the right person, the person who will ask you how it’s going next time they see you, you will feel a little nervous buzzing feeling.  That's just the cogs of good action starting to turn.  Now it’s time to gather your resources, make list of what needs to be done, and in what order, and place a goal date beside each.  And now do it.
I know you can't quite afford it yet, and you don't have all of the necessary expertise, and the timing isn't right, but just start anyway.

3.  Have a Breakdown
You are going to have an emotional breakdown of some kind.  Whether your thing is building a veggie garden, tracing your ancestry back to the beginning of time, getting a book published, or turning your little passion project into a multi-million dollar enterprise, you are going to have a breakdown or three.
What is important to realise is that it is just another step in the process.  An important step.  It’s not the end.  It’s resilience-building.  Have your breakdown, get a haircut, move on to the next stage.  Perhaps you need to re-visit Step 1. You won’t have a cheer squad celebrating every time you cross an item off your to-do list.  It will be lonely and tedious at times and you’ll find lots of excellent reasons to abandon ship.  For goodness sake keep going.  Have your breakdown, and then keep going.

4. Finish
I have two words for you.  Self sabotage.  
I know the things you do to that keep you small and safe.   You say No to little opportunities because you’re too busy, not experienced enough, have other responsibilities.  You refuse offers of help because you don’t want to inconvenience anyone, and you don’t put your hand up for help when you know you need it.  You let due dates slide, because then you’ve missed out and that lets you off the hook.  You listen to the naysayers on repeat in your mind, and you call them “voices of reason”.   I’ve done them all, I’ve resigned from awesome jobs, and turned down perfect opportunities because I was scared of failure, and also scared of possible success and the unfamiliar territory that success may land me in.  

I was in the audience for Missy Higgins’ first keynote speech where she spoke about her creative life and creative process.  She was an amazing speaker, and had a great story to tell.  Her advice for getting stuff done was “Don’t take any shit from yourself”.   Call yourself on your own crap, and get it done.  Keep going and don’t stop until it’s finished.  UNTIL IT’S FINISHED.  


The .5
The extra half a step accounts for the fact the you must keep returning to Step 1.  Tell someone you’re starting, return to step one.  Have a breakdown, return to step 1.   Rescue yourself from self-sabotage, return to step 1.  Finish you thing completely, return to step 1.  There are so many resources out there

In the comments below, tell me how you do stuff.  How do you Power Up?  and tell me I'm not alone in my self-sabotaging ways....?

Long, long ago in a life I can hardly remember, I worked in the fashion industry.   Designer,  Fashion Buyer and Visual Merchandiser were all badges I once proudly wore.  When someone asked me what I did, I was very happy be able to tell them something that seemed cool, creative and interesting.  (Actually back in those days, no one knew what a Visual Merchandiser was.)   I was bored, frustrated and unstimulated in these jobs, but I felt compensated by the “cool” factor.  I thought that creative sounding careers were just that – careers that sound creative.  I didn’t know anyone who was actually satisfied in their creative career.    I was creatively numb, but I felt safe and accepted.   My concept for the spring store layout and window display was approved by my boss before it was rolled out to 100 stores.   My men’s knitwear range was discussed and tweaked and fine tuned by a team of people who knew their stuff before 1000s of units were shipped from faraway lands and distributed around the country.  I confidently showed the product of my labour, it fit the brief, and everyone smiled.  I’m not saying that the rag trade is all easy, but at that time for me, I was in a comfort zone with padded walls.  I couldn’t lose.

These days I’ve swapped the safety, security and straight-jacket of those jobs, for the Tarzan swing of independent art (let’s be real – I swapped it for full-time motherhood and I wedge art into the spaces).   I don’t have a senior colleague to run things past before I make a big move, there is no team to collaborate with on the next collection, no manual to consult over how things should be done.  

There are a million different ways to work as an artist.  My way right now is as a one-girl-band.    I leap from assured self-confidence, sometimes swinging all the way across to trembling fear, often swaying somewhere in the middle known as vulnerability.

We hear from all corners lately that vulnerability is powerful, important, and the key to human connection.  Brene Brown’s Ted Talk articulates this beautifully and if you haven’t heard it I highly recommend you do.   My paintings are not finished until I am supremely happy with them, and once I’ve reach that point it I don’t really mind what anyone else’s reaction to them is because I’ve already spent hours and hours listening to my own inner critic and cheer squad.  I’ve already heard it all, good and bad.  That process is my work, and I love it. 

One of my favourite quotes is from American artist Georgia O’Keefe who said in regards to her work:

“I have already settled it for myself so flattery and criticism go down the same drain and I am quite free”.   

I really relate to this now, but years ago....not so much.  

I used to be very reluctant to show my work to anyone in case they didn’t like it.  I knew they wouldn’t say so, but I’d “just know” they didn’t like it and that would be awful.   I was so reluctant that I would hide pieces when people came over.  If no one thought badly of my work then there was still a chance that I was a talented artist with a bright future right?  I know it sounds ridiculous now, and I a teeny bit embarrassed writing it here (vulnerability right?).  In reality, my efforts to avoid certain judgement, shame, disappointment and embarrassment, were also ensuring I never experienced the joy, satisfaction, sense of accomplishment, and deep pleasure of embracing the truth of who I am and what I do.   In avoiding the downsides, I was ripping myself off of the upsides and not just in my art, but in everything.     The risk of showing who I truly was, was so great to me then, because if I failed at being me, then what else was there?  

Clearly, the risk of not showing up as myself was so much greater.  

I don’t expect everyone to rave about my work, nor to even mildly like it.   When I exhibit new paintings, I’ve already had the tussle for hours on end in creating it, and enjoyed every minute of the tussle because it’s me.  The idea was me, the painting is me, the imperfections are me.  It’s my expression of who I was and what I felt during those hours.   Each time I exhibit a painting, or snap a page of my sketchbook for Instagram, or spill my guts in a blog I'm reminded that now I get to be me.  I’m not a fashion puppet anymore (no offense).  There a little celebration going on inside every time, and it has nothing to do with how many “likes” I got.   This is me being completely me, and the more me I am, the better I feel, the better I paint, the better I write, parent, connect, love.  I feel vulnerable for sure, and occasionally it’s excruciating but it doesn't stop me from allowing people to see me, not anymore.

The fact is, we all spend our lives swinging on the rope of vulnerability.  Being open to possibility means open to every possibility and if you are not willing to be vulnerable to the feelings you don’t want (fear, shame, embarrassment, disappointment) then you also won’t be there for the elation, excitement, the bliss.  The pendulum (and the Tarzan swing) swings both left and right, or not at all.

I once lamented that I 'd never be able to paint or draw like the artists I admired.  But I've realised that they also can't paint or draw like me.  That's the whole point!   We don't expect to be "as good as" someone else, just as good as we can be every time we apply ourselves to the practise.
I don’t expect to ever make a painting that will be loved and celebrated by all; in fact I don’t think anyone ever has.  

Jx

This has been a few months coming, but I can wait no longer, nor should you have to.
The little critter you see below is the Sand Bubbler Crab, and I met him and his squillion relatives late last year on a family holiday up north, way north.

I have much to say about this encounter and I'm not sure that I'll get it all out today, so might be just a meet and greet.
It wasn't the crabs we encountered first but, but the work of the crabs.  We had spent most of our first day travelling and taking care of logistics, such as making sure we had enough tropical produce and watercolour paper for the week we'd spend deep in the Daintree Rainforest.  On day two, we were ready to expel any remnant funk of our long Peninsula winter and to immerse ourselves in sweet tropical happiness.  

After an early morning session on the deck, and second stop is obviously the beach, and here is where the wonder and amazement began.
As we walked on the the beach, it was clearly low tide and our isolation was apparent.  It was one of those beaches where you think there's a chance you might be the first person to step onto it - except that the was a stick tied to a rope, tied to a tree, so the discovery wasn't ours but at least the'd left us a swing.   Once I'd tested out the swing and then been kicked off by my littl'ns, I noticed an uneven texture to the sand right across the whole beach.  We had all day, actually we had all week, so I went for a little wander.  I cannot think of a word that adequately conveys my delight at discovering what this "texture" on the sand was.  Part thrill, part enchantment, part David Attenborough curiosity.   I think it was the thrill component (certainly high pitched) that came out of my mouth as I insisted everyone else stop what they're doing and get their eyes to this magic right now!!!!  

My family were suitably impressed which meant that I didn't need to spend the following days trying to put my awe into words for them.  They got it.  At this point we still didn't know how these tiny pearls of sand came to be, and we had no mobile coverage for googling.  There weren't even any locals to ask for a few days.   
Of the week we spent in the Daintree, not a day went by that I didn't gaze into these mini creations and marvel.   Marvel at their number, their precision, the incredible shapes they were laid in and the sheer work ethic of the thing that put them there.   Wandering along the beach at Cape Tribulation a few days later we saw our first Sand Bubbler Crab. The teeniest little creatures, only visible when they moved, cover the beaches in these little spheres every low tide.  Watch the vid up top for an explanation from Sir Attenborough himself.

What has this holiday brag got to do with drawing and painting and whatever else it is artists do?  Well everything now.  My creative life is now divided clearly into the Pre-Bubbler Crab period and now the Post-Bubbler period.   Crouching down, studying the little gems in their arrangements I first thought "Wow, Mother Nature must be pissing her pants at the slop that us two-legged hacks call art".  Compared to this, how was anything I created going to be a thing of "beauty". 
A few days later, I changed my attitude.   There was a reason I was so taken with this.  A reason why I couldn't get enough.  People are drawn to different things at different times.  Not everyone was as obsessed with these forms on the beach as I was.  (Equally, I was not as "into" the roadhouse-style chicken and chips on offer as some others were.)   Some people are moved by birds in formation, others by the drama of a thunderstorm.   I think that marvels of nature like this are placed on the earth for the joy and inspiration of those who "see" them.   They challenge us to look closer, sit more quietly, for longer, and see what happens, see what's possible.   
Rather than laughing at me, I think Mother Nature has issued me a challenge.  Sand Bubbler crabs create from instinct, from their source, from their truth.  They're not trying to out do each other, or or imitate, or impress.   They get up out of their burrows and do what they do because that's what they do and the rhythm of the turning tide is their deadline.  That I happen to stand around, take notice and indeed be moved by the results of their actions is irrelevant.  They're doing it whether I'm there gushing or not.


The challenge afoot is for me to do the same.  To work and create from my truest, deepest me.  To work on, regardless of the opinions of those around me good or bad.  And to let myself be guided by the natural rhythms that are around me. 
In essence - get out of my own way and let the art emerge.

So it’s really true.  It’s the year 2015.  Contrary to what we were led to believe when as youngsters we watched a science show called Towards 2000, we actually don’t swallow our meals in capsule form, our cars don’t hover above the surface of the road and we still have no comprehensive manual for raising a child.  Instead we’ve got the Thermomix, Skylanders and sexting, none of which I’ve needed yet.

It’s nice to get a little introspective at the beginning of a new year.   To think back over the previous year, successes and failures, wins, losses, and still-not-sures, a little self study; it’s an important armchair (or banana lounge) journey that needs to be taken.  I’m a fairly contemplative person and I get this way about every half-hour, 365 days a year, so I like January when everyone else joins in.

We spent the first half of 2014 in a bit of domestic limbo.  With a fairly spontaneous house purchase, we quickly swung into house selling mode.  This was closely followed by packing mode, moving mode, live-out-of-suitcase-for-a-month mode, and finally unpacking mode.  When I popped my head up to take a breath, June!!  There’s nothing quite like a little self inflicted whirlwind to shake you out of the rut you didn’t know you were in.  

Instead of painting (studio packed in boxes for four months), I did lots of drawing last year, a practise that I hadn’t given much time to recently.   Within this drawing practise I rediscovered some materials I hadn’t used in years.  Oh the joy of really great coloured pencils!!  ...and the aggravation of bad ones!!  I also found some new loves.   How you doin’ ink brush/pen thingy ;)   

Pastels, watercolours, pens, markers; yes it’s been an expensive year, but a year of learning and many firsts.  I’ve spent many creative years successfully avoiding drawing faces.  If we've hung around together on Facebook (and if we haven’t, please let’s FB) you'll know that last year I drew a buzillion faces.   The fact that I'm even on facebook at all is a fairly big deal too.  I’ve always been very careful (ok, fearful) about who saw my work and which finished piece they saw.  I would never have shown you casual sketching or work in progress.   Growth man!

Last year my art was about growth, experimentation, and finding a joyous rhythm to life now that my babies are both at school.  I'm not sure I found the joyous rhythm, and that was probably not a realistic expectation, given we are living without a dishwasher.  But the opportunities to experiment without pressure, and grow both creatively and personally, to lay my sketchbooks open for anyone who cares to look feels far less painful than I’d imagined.  Actually, it feels really good.

So I am leaning in to 2015. I've got a new pretty diary and I'm ready for the next adventure.  I'm ready to continue the experiment, to marvel at the ghastly explosions as well as the beautiful breakthroughs.   
I have squandered many years, but I won’t waste this one.

.....when does school go back?