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I belong to an arts organization I founded in 2007. We recently created 6″x 6″ art canvasses to donate to an organization that raises money for vision-related healthcare abroad and on domestic Indian reservations. The organization takes the canvasses on the road to art fairs and galleries and sells them for $50 each.

I went to a fair yesterday where our group’s work was being displayed. I began chatting with a staff member and told her I was with the guild. She asked if I had any artwork in the show and I said I submitted it, but didn’t see it on the wall. She asked me to describe it. She lit up and said, “Oh, I bought that one. When I saw it, I just had to have it!” Then she asked me to pose with her for a “photo with the artist,” which of course I obliged.

I felt so good on so many levels. I raised enough money for someone to receive eye care, doing something I love to do anyway. I took a $5 canvas and increased its value to $50. I made the buyer happy to have a picture with the artist and finally, just being acknowledged as an artist was in itself rewarding. If you’ve read other posts about my lifelong struggle to earn the street cred to call myself an artist, you’ll get that last part.

I have volunteered and donated a lot of my time and services over the years. I would say without hesitation, that I got more out of it than the recipients of my deeds.

I encourage you to lend your hand, your time, your talents to those who need them. I promise you that you will receive more than you give.

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I love to write. Just as I love to make art. But it is an interesting struggle to do it. On closer inspection, both have one thing in common. Both are creative expression, and had been so stifled in childhood that it feels almost forbidden. My mother forbade me to go to art school, in spite of a teacher who advocated for my talent. Standardized tests (SATs included) measured my writing skills as paltry. So what was a young girl to do but shut down the creative instincts. From time to time I wonder what my life would have been like if I had let loose all these urges.

Despite years of therapy and self awareness, at age 63 I still fight with myself about using all the tools and supplies I’ve been able to afford. I hoard them. As any artist knows, paints and glues dry out and end up wasted if not used. Then I tell myself I have to do all my “chores” before I get to play in my well appointed studio. So it collects a lot of the junk we move out of other rooms when we clean up. And starting an art project means first having to make the space, which adds to the amout of time I need to get started. So it happens too rarely. Crazy, right?

I know it’s crazy, and I hate feeling I don’t deserve the time to create. Yet it is not only a desire to create, but a NEED. My therapists have given me strategies to “make time for art,” to put it on my calendar, and I have. But life always seems to get in the way and push it aside in favor of something more important. But is any of it really?

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“Gratitude” is becoming a cliche. Everybody’s talking about it. “It will heal you,” they say. “Letting go of the negativity prevents cancer,” shouts the Internet. Even doctors are saying taking time to count your blessings is good for your health. Is this just a passing fad, or is there something to it?

I did a Google search on “Gratitude’s healing power.” There are about 998,000 hits. Wow, there must be something to it, even if the Internet is not the source of scientific material. But wait, there are hits from respectable sites like Harvard University, the Georgia Psychological Association, The NY Times, A PhD professor from University of California, Davis, WEB MD, the National Institute of Health. What do they know that some people don’t?

I’m no scientist but I have a degree worthy of being able to analyze whether a study is reliable. I know how to judge whether the population studied is large enough, diverse enough (or not, depending on the study), the variables were controlled, the methods used in the study, and I understand basic statistics. But I also trust my gut – A LOT!

I know that when I feel grateful, I feel good. It’s THAT simple. We encounter so many negative, energy-sucking people in every walk of life, and it seems to cut across every socio-economic group. I’ve met wealthy people who have everything, including great support networks, etc., who just feel they are always lacking. And some of the very seriously-down-on-their-luck people, that I had the privilege of serving lunch to at the soup kitchen, were joyous and grateful for the simple meal and my company.

Many neuroscientists studied brain activity under conditions of gratitude and observed positive brain activity. Biological markers like immune system function, sleep patterns, blood pressure, etc., were positively affected in grateful people.

So without further ado, I give you the short list of things I am grateful for, even though I was just diagnosed with a genetic defect that will throw my next few months into turmoil.

1. A supportive and loving husband and life partner, who loyalty never wavers.
2. My two sons, who are beautiful human beings and bring me joy beyond explanation.
3. Friends and family members who offer meals, rides, errands, and check in on me to make sure I’m OK.
4. Co-workers who didn’t bat an eye even though my absence will mean they have to work later or harder.
5. Access to the finest surgeons, who were able to respond to my needs very quickly.
6. An upcoming 60th birthday trip to France, in between operations, to rest and recharge.
7. A lovely and comfortable home.
8. The ability to buy the food I want and need to nourish me and protect my health.
9. Two dogs to cuddle with and love.
10. Any art supplies and tools I need to express my creativity.

LIFE IS GOOD!

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As I sort through the incredible volume of possessions accumulated over 40 years of my life, I am ready to let go of more than I ever have before. Maybe it’s the practice I got emptying my mother-in-law’s home, which had more years of accumulation than I have. Maybe it’s the “clean start” one wants when moving to a new home. Maybe it’s the realization that I will never learn guitar, I will never need 2 shredders, I’ve long since replaced the china closet with another, my kids have taken or stored everything they want to take from my collections, and the overwhelming feeling of organizing and packing what I want to keep.

As I put my guitar into the hands of its new owner, she admitted she might never have the time to learn, what with a job and a small child and all. I smiled and nodded in recognition of my 35 year old self. The kids didn’t want the furniture, so it was time to move it out. And all those duplicates? Time to reduce to one of anything, sell some things online, some through local tag sale sites and prepare for one helluva tag sale.

The difficult thing is that some things are attached to dreams. The guitar for instance. I always wanted to play it. Now I forfeit that opportunity because I no longer have the instrument to play. There are others. It doesn’t really matter what they are; I let go the dream of doing, with the disposal of the object.

The great thing is that every time I shed a piece, I feel lighter. I am freeing myself of something that needs care, cleaning or attention. I am replacing money in the coffers for the incidentals that will be needed in my new home. It’s all good. Lightening my load, lightens my head and heart.

Except for art supplies. I am parting with but a tiny percent of an entire room full of things that could create art by combining them, when creativity strikes. Yeah, that stuff is going to take a whole truck by itself. I’ve already identified the beneficiary of all of it when I die, so all it will require is one phone call by the family.

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I suppose you will be remembered in history books if you founded a country, but what about the founders of smaller things? Perhaps significant on a local level, or important to a cause. When that cause gets a life of its own, the founder is often dismissed as far as having any role in its being.
To be fair, some entities pay some sort of homage to the founder(s) in their history, but most do not.
This line of thought was precipitated by a wonderful conversation with one of my patients. At age 83, he has a sharp mind. We connected on some geographic and ethnic commonalities. The conversation led to Israel and he told me a story about his relative named Ra’Anan (not sure of the spelling), who had gone from NYC with a band of others early in the 20th century, to a town now known as Ra’Anana. He had become their Mayor, hence the name of the city honoring him.
I was fascinated by this as I know two families who live there. So, back at home, I tried to research the history of this town, to no avail. There was some reference to a group from NYC going there, but no one by a name similar to the town’s name appeared in any of the articles. I believed this man’s story. Thus, the founder had been forgotten.
I experienced a similar situation. When I lost a job I hated anyway, I turned to my passion – art – and decided to make a go of it. Practicing the craft was only a part of my goal. I wanted to create a community of artists of all kinds; visual and performing, to feed each other’s creativity, and bring us a sense of belonging. I rallied some people I thought would be interested in helping me. I requested the library’s community room, placed a tiny article in the paper. And they came! The need was evident!
From this group, a board was formed and we set out to deliver a community of artists in my own town. Life was good. When we were offered a chance to hire, at a very heavily subsidized rate, a consultant to help us set a course, make a plan and work out some kinks, the group began to splinter. Just a tiny bit at first, but then a huge, gaping hole opened up. Suddenly, my allies were my foes. They didn’t share my vision, which until then was working. When I started to enlarge the dream, the rebels came out.
Now power was being usurped and when I called them on it, they denied it. To shorten a long, painful story, I left the group behind. My only pleasure is that the organization continues. Sadly for me, the work I wanted so much to do is now happening – but I am not part of the community I brought to fruition.
So, that brings me back to the forgotten founder. I have moved on and do my “art thing” with other, more welcoming people. Some of the original cast of characters and I remain friends. The splintered faction is still splintered. I’m OK with it all. Except for one thing. Wouldn’t it be nice to be acknowledged as the person who brought together this community of artists? Yes, it would be.

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Like many creative pursuits, production is part inspiration and part discipline. My problem is the latter. I get going on my new project, and when something new tantalizes me, I’m off in another direction. It’s not that I don’t like my first (second and third) projects. It’s just that I am easily distracted.
And to add another barrier to producing regular blog entries, I am studying French and taking a writing class, which focuses me on writing at least one story a week.
So that’s a good thing, right? Yes and no. I am producing, but not for my audience, who is following any one of my blogs, not my storytelling. So, I owe you a big, fat apology.
If you will stay with me, I hope you will at least get something out of those blogs, when I publish them. Hey, here’s another idea? While I am taking this class, would anyone be interested in reading/critiquing the stories I am writing? More eyes on them, with constructive feedback would be most welcome.
Let me know! I thank you in advance.

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OK, I admit it. I have ADD. No, I’ve not been officially diagnosed, but I recognize the symptoms. I can’t seem to finish any one thing, instead leaping from one thing to another. At the end of the day, I feel like I’ve accomplished nothing. It’s not that I have accomplished nothing, it’s just that nothing got finished! In fact, as I sit here and write, I’m doing laundry, cleaning up the studio, unpacking, and making phone calls. I just thought I was overdue for a blog entry, so here I am. Ah, but what to write about? How about this phenomenon? Wait a minute while I put the clothes into the dryer. . . .

OK, I’m back.

So why the connection between ADD and creativity? Creative minds seem to be all over the place at once – examining, synthesizing, figuring things out, making things better, noticing things, appreciating beauty. Is this not a list of ADD behaviors too? It’s just hard to BE in stillness. The only way I get into any kind of zone is when I am immersed in creating something – but the truth be known, the ADD sometimes gets me stuck at organizing first, so I can “relax” into the process. We see possibilities in everything.  We hoard objects  (another ADD/OCD type behavior), knowing they will come in handy for some future project. I know I’m not alone in this, after talking to so many other artists about it.

Maybe we create art, because we have ADD – just so we have an outlet to calm ourselves sometimes. It’s the only way we can still our minds, even if only for a short time.

Well, I’m feeling guilty that there is so much else I should be doing and am procrastinating because I hate to do them (like bills, and taxes). But before I go, I need to confess . . . . .

I interrupted this post 9 times: to take/make 2 phone calls, wash, dry or fold clothes, eat (twice), check email, Search for a restaurant online, make a reservation, watch a Ted Talk and let the dogs in or out a few times.

Oh no. Will anything get done (finished) today?

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