At the Fremont Sunday Market in Seattle.
Pioneer Sq. and reflective pottery during a sunny stroll on Saturday.
The Page and I go on Sunday walks each week. Green Lake has been our usual haunt but last Sunday we decided to go check out the cherry blossoms in the Japanese Garden at the Lake Washington Arboretum. The admission was a little steep, so we opted to take a trail walk instead.
The view of the Japanese Garden from the trail made me feel pretty good about our decision; there were lots more blooming cherry trees on our street in Capitol Hill than at the Garden.
And the trail wanderings made for more interesting photos, I think.
“Writing is a solitary occupation. Family, friends, and society are the natural enemies of the writer. He must be alone, uninterrupted, and slightly savage if he is to sustain and complete an undertaking.”
~ Jessamyn West
It’s a cruel truth that as a creative person, the more productive I am, the more isolated I become. Writing is a solitary undertaking, and I’ve yet to find a way around that fact. I often become, as West says, “slightly savage.” Deprived of sunlight and sleep, you can do away with the “slightly.”
Making Art Things (the official name for any of my myriad creative undertakings) can be slightly less ostracizing. My various dabblings, from paper-clay flowers to mixed media collages, do not require solitude. One can at least talk and operate a hot glue gun simultaneously, given adequate safety gear and enough caffeine.
In early December, I headed over to Joni’s house to make holiday cards en masse. We sat at her big oak dining room table, a sea of paper, paints, rubber stamps, punches and stickers spread out before us. The 70’s funk Christmas CD she found was playing as we cut, pasted and adorned our individual cards.
I like the idea of holiday cards in the abstract, much like I enjoy thinking about camping. It would be nice to do, just not today. Or like running, which I never enjoy, but always enjoy having done.
But making cards with others, chatting over espresso and sparkly brush pens, was a whole different experience. I loved it. And as a bonus, everything I owned was covered in glitter for the next week. I even found some on my cat, who was not in attendance that day. It was like finding sand in your shoe a week after a trip to the beach.
So imagine my delight when my friend Kerry let me in on a little secret called Crafterday. I could barely contain myself.
Like Joni, Kerry makes mixed media Art Things. Her artwork is amazing, and one of the best housewarming gifts I ever received is a two-part canvas hanging on my wall.
The last two Crafterdays I attended involved field trips, and I have to admit, those are my favorite kind. Saturday we went to JoAnn Fabrics in Bremerton after an adventurous jaunt on the ferry. I was totally overwhelmed with the sheer volume of art supplies there. And they were having a half-off sale on all their paper crafts – i.e. the stuff we came to buy. I tried to control myself and was marginally successful. I got this behemoth book of cardstock called “Pocketful of Posies.” It’s all juicy floral patterns embossed with – brace yourself – glitter!
After our field trip we went to Adria’s and indulged in her innumerable rubber stamp treasures, paper craft books and a waist-high stack of patterned paper.
My favorite part of the whole Crafterday experience is the talking, listening, and bonding that comes through sharing time, space and art. There’s magical alchemy in mixing three women together in a kitchen over crafts. It reminds me of the long tradition of sewing circles, the modern day version of which I’ve heard called “Stitch and Bitch.
I’m realizing how important it is to connect with other creatives in face time. After countless hours submerged in my digital world, population: 1, the warmth of voices and comfort of friends reminds me what I’m really a part of.
I had an appointment downtown the other day. It’s on the very top floor of one of the skyscrapers towering above the city, one of the sleek and mirrored ones that reflect blue sky and white puffy clouds on clear days. The top floor has its own elevator; you have to take the regular elevator up to the 33rd floor and then get on a separate elevator which whisks you upwards 12 feet to the penthouse above.
As I exited the elevator at the top, I passed an office with enormous glass doors. I could see right through the office and out the floor-to-ceiling windows cradling this executive’s suite. I saw it out of the corner of my eye, and did a physical double-take when I realized the shaft of white I saw was the Space Needle. I backed up three steps and stood there, mouth agape.
The enormous windows framed the Space Needle perfectly and the office was the same height, so level with the observation deck. It was unreal. It seriously looked like a fake picture.
There was the guy with his desk abutting the window, talking on the phone. On a bright Tuesday, sun streaming in onto the floor of his office, the Space Needle sparkling like some real estate ad in Architectural Digest.
And I wondered – when this guy walked into that office on the day he was hired, did he say, “Okay. NOW I’ve arrived”? Was that a watermark morning for him? Such a lush and tangible proof of accomplishment?
I keep wondering what my moment will be. If I’ll have one of those moments. If it will come slowly, if it will sneak up on me while I’m busy doing dishes or writing another rough draft.
Or if I, too, will be handed the keys to something so undeniably full and bright. Unlocking the door to some proverbial room to discover the Space Needle wrapped up just for me.
