Another Step Forward

October 13, 2019 Earnest Painter

A few years ago my partner and I went to New Orleans. I had never been, and I was worried that a hurricane might come along and wash it away completely before I got a chance to see it. I had talked about visiting New Orleans before, and the response was always, "We need to do that some day. We need to plan it." And then another few years would go by. So one day I decided that we were going and I began making plans on my own, with my sister's encouragement and a confused partner who kept trying to change the plan, or justify the plan by making it into a business trip, or find a cheaper hotel. But, that's why I took on the planning myself, to make sure it was a trip that I wanted to take. We stayed in a Bed & Breakfast on St. Charles Avenue, which was a converted mansion. We took a tour of the Garden District, the high point of which was the cemetery. (I love the way they handle above-ground graves. We could totally do that here in Texas.) We partied on Bourbon Street and visited art galleries and ate food, ate beignets and drank coffee. And ate some more.

I had taken a week off for the occasion. We left for NOLA on Saturday and stayed three nights. When we got back I was stoked. I was going to start a new life as an artist; I was going to leave my soul-sucking job. I was going to be different; I was going to be a new kind of fabulous with mad scientist hair. And mad scientist eyebrows.

I was going for it.

By the end of my week off I had talked myself down from my high. I had responsibilities and my art wasn't all that, and I'm too old to start something so drastic, and the way my friends sell art in festivals is tedious. So, I continued my job. (In all fairness, I learned a lot at that job, and stretched my limits in many ways. But it was still a soul-sucking job.)

Here I am over 10 years later looking back and wondering, Why? Why couldn't I have ridden that wave? Why did I talk myself out of it? Now I think about the fact that we all have only one body, which doesn't last much more than a hundred years, we live on a tiny planet in a solar system of nine planets (you're still a planet in my book, Pluto) that's in a ginormous galaxy, which itself is in an unfathomably large universe. Way back down here on this microscopic little spec called Earth, my plans to have fun making art, making people happy and making a living was irresponsible? To whom? I clearly had some ideas about life ingrained into my head and I don't even know where they came from. Perhaps a lack of security led me to cling to mediocrity. My job was not one that took me traveling and eating out with clients and truth be told, it barely had any security whatsoever. (One year about 5 people were fired in a matter of a month, and that was just from my department.) I was clinging desperately, hoping to die with enough money to buy food.

Now, I'm looking around again. I have a different job now, one that I briefly allowed to be a soul-sucker, but which I eventually got a handle on. It is not, however, a career—not for me anyway. I have written a novelette that I believe in, and I'm oh-so-close to being finished with a second writing of a mystery novel. I have a circle of friends who are creatives and I have paint and canvasses and ideas. I have lots of ideas for my art and for my partner's art and there is a spark inside of me that is growing into a flame again.

I left my previous job and came to this one with the express intent of writing and making money with art. Scary stuff, leaving behind secure mediocrity, looking for something more. Some people didn't believe in me and I have a lifetime of being a people-pleaser that I'm working against. "Oh, you don't think I can seriously make money with my art? You're probably right. I'm sorry." That’s more or less how it went down. And those people weren’t even invested in my life, just random people not believing in me. But, I’m back and it didn’t take me ten years this time. I will make art. I will be published. I will make money at it. I WILL be fabulous.

One other thing I'll say before I sign off. If you have depression or anxiety, deal with it. Go now. Stop what you're doing and find professionals who can help. The first person you find may not click with you, so you might have to look more than once for help. Do not give up. I was in the throws of depression years ago and I had this tiny little part of my mind that knew that there was a life that wasn't this dark. I call it a mustard seed of faith. There were times when I couldn't feel that other life; I couldn't even remember what it was like to want to live. But, that faith kept me going. I didn't know what a happy life would look like, but I did know that such a thing existed and I would have to keep working at it. So, if you are suffering from this, know that a life exists that is worth living, even if you can't feel it at the moment, even if you can't believe it at the moment. Know that it's true, even when you can't believe it. That's faith.

Library Pigeons

November 11, 2018 Earnest Painter

Raku pigeons by Glo Coalson look down on me from a bookshelf in my library.

Art Festival and Rain near Piney Woods in Texas

October 15, 2018 Earnest Painter

Edom Texas is a lovely village in East Texas near Tyler. The sign on the road indicates that it has a population of 375. There is a gas station and a post office, and a few houses scattered here and there.

Driving there is breathtaking, and a little spooky if you drive at night, because the tall, tall trees on either side of the road block almost everything. I’m used to seeing fields and cityscapes and miles and miles of Texas when I drive. In East Texas, the trees tend to limit this sort of landscape. You get to see a tunnel in front and behind you with sky overhead. At night, it’s a very dark tunnel with shadowy trunks and branches, teeming with ghouls and ghosts. The locals in Edom assure me that there are more people buried in the cemetery than living in the town. Comforting, that.

Our reason for driving there this weekend was to participate in the Edom Art Festival, 2018. The one street in town that I know of has artists and galleries in almost every building. It is a perfect place to have a festival, particularly one that is put on by the artists, for the artists. Edom has hosted artists and artisans at festivals since 1972. There were a few years when it moved to a different town, and then became dormant. But, now it’s back and building strength. Listening to Barry talk with his friends all of these years, Edom seemed like an artists’ Mecca. “Did you ever do Edom?” “Do you know the painter, Martha? I used to see her at Edom, back when it was huge.” While it was gone, people talked about the grand days of art, friendships and serious art collectors driving great distances to visit them and buy their wares. Relationships were built between artists and patrons. And, between the artists themselves.

This year Barry and I drove in the night before the show began, and managed to set up the tent that evening. On Saturday when the festival began we had only to set out the jewelry and we were ready. (Being this early is not classic behavior for Barry, even showing up in the dark the night before and setting up the tent with a flashlight.) It was a beautiful morning. The weather was warm, but not hot. I had had my coffee and was pretty much walking on air in this peaceful town. Soon, people began wandering around the booths, and I could tell that it was going to be a good day and a great show.

New Barry Earrings for the Edom Art Festival, 2018

This didn’t last, unfortunately. Our friend drove in from Dallas and she called to say that it was raining so hard she could barely see. She was afraid that the rain was going the same direction she was. It was a nice morning, so we told her to take care and we’d be here when she arrived. She did arrive, and we had lunch. Barry made avocado/alfalfa sprout sandwiches for us and for friends. Then, around 2 it began to sprinkle and the customers collected under the booths of the artists and artisans. The music continued and people were still milling about. Gradually, the rain began to come down harder. And harder. And harder… People left, darting through puddles trying to get to their cars. We were safe under a strong tent, but water began to collect in the grass at our feet. Because of the grass, it took a while for me to realize how deep that water was becoming. We were on a slope (as you can tell from the angle of the earrings in the picture above) so I thought that the water would flow through. Instead it just gradually became deeper and deeper. Sheets of rain blocked our view; we could no longer see the huge trees in the background. It was loud, and we could barely hear what she was saying when the coordinator came by in a golf cart screaming, “Pack up!”, trying to be heard over the roar of rain pounding on the ground and on tents.

We gathered up the jewelry and hung out for a while under a friend’s tent, pondering what to do for the rest of the evening. Some people who were trying to leave found themselves stuck in the mud. The rest of us wondered how we would get out. (Luckily, the fire department helped out those who were stuck.) Our hotel was in Tyler, and the idea of going to the hotel, and then back to the artists’ dinner didn’t seem likely. The dinner is held on the grounds of Woodhaven Cabins. It is a beautiful place, but it’s more remote than Edom and the road is smaller, there’s a dam over a creek… it didn’t seem like an intelligent decision, frankly. We left our options open, but the drive back to Tyler was eventful enough that we decided to stay in town and make our way back to the show on Sunday, rested and refreshed.

By the time we got to Edom on Sunday, though, the decision had been made to call the show off for good and let artists pack up and get their vehicles out. The radar indicated that another, larger, storm was heading toward us that afternoon and they didn’t want to take a chance that the artists would be stuck there overnight or for a few days. We all agreed that this was probably the best decision to make considering the circumstances.

It was a bit of a shock to everyone. We walked around and people were slowly, methodically breaking down tents, packing ceramic art and jewelry. Our friends were legitimately sad. We didn’t get the Sunday morning camaraderie. So much visiting and looking at new products didn’t get to happen. The weather looked clear and we all felt the loss, thinking about how busy and happy customers and visitors had been just 24 hours previous. Barry, in particular, felt he missed out. Sunday mornings is when he visits friends and people he’s known for decades. There is a close relationship built between people who, for years and decades, worked that circuit of art festivals across the US. They would run into each other at different venues in almost every state in the country. They’d discuss the art scene, other artists, their lives and the quality of the different shows. Show after show, month after month, year after year, watching children grow up and people buy homes, have grandkids, get sick, get well, take care of each other and send love to each other through this vine of interconnected artists. Over the last 10 years this art scene has changed so completely that they don’t even recognize it any more. Smallish festivals like the one in Edom are some of the few times they have the opportunity to get together like they always did. They will grumble that they are too busy during the show to have decent conversations, but truth be told, it’s the kind of conversations and relationships that they have known all their lives. It’s how they know each other. It’s what they lean on when they do come together like this.

Sadly, this year I didn’t get the opportunity to walk around and take pictures of people’s artwork. I did walk around, but I thought there was plenty of time for pictures. Barry and I packed up, visited with artist friends and made a date with a group to see a movie together in November. We met up with some other friends in Tyler for lunch. Then, we got on the road for the long drive home. We took our time, stopping for lottery tickets and visiting the Collin Street Bakery in Corsicana. It was still light outside when we arrived at 621. The cats were happy to see us. This is the life of a traveling artist, a life that is slowly fading away.

But, we’ll always have Edom.

Passing Time

October 11, 2018 Earnest Painter

While at a street festival in Waco Texas I got to explore the booth next door to ours. I asked permission to take pictures… well after I had already taken most of these. I have loved Barbara’s ceramic art since I first met her years ago. I love the patterns and textures she incorporates. I had the chance to see her studio and the various things she uses to the patterns. I almost moved in. Anyway, this is how I pass my time when I’m at art festivals.

Links:

Barbara Francis Pottery

Barry Perez Jewelry

The Staying Power of Art

September 29, 2018 Earnest Painter

I continue to think about the Notary Public idea, though I don’t believe it will accomplish what I want. It wouldn’t be bad to be a notary, but it’s not likely my name will go down in history that way. That tangible thing I crave wouldn’t materialize.

At work, I touch the archive paper. It has a nice texture, a definite tooth in its surface. The scraps that they have after they print our amendments get distributed. We use those scraps to manually print amendments, as well as use it as scratch paper. When I touch the paper, I really want to write on it. I don’t know what I want to write, but I long to sit and put a nice pen to that paper and feel the tip stroke across the surface. I want to look at my handwriting on it. That would be tangible. That has potential to stay around. Surely something written on this paper would be worth saving.

Sculptural Pendant

Pendant with Bone and Opal

Pendant

Pin with Labradorite

Tamara Inspired Bracelet

Detail

Custom Earrings

Pendant Like to Go Places

My friends are artists. Barry makes jewelry, sculpted with gold and silver. Glo has beautiful bronzes with social and cultural importance, as well as small ceramic pigeons. In our house ceramic bowls, plates and platters fill the space to overflowing, along with coffee cups and hand-blown drinking glasses. That is a mark left on the world. Those tangible items will be around forever. People 100 years from now will look at a collection of Barry’s sculptured jewelry and wonder about the artisan that made them. Some of his pieces have an Asian feel, others look vaguely African, with horse hair incorporated. All of them have his signature style that really ties the whole collection together. His work is all over the U.S. and beyond.

Shelf of Ceramics

Functional Ceramics

Jason Hooper Bowl

Hand-blown Glasses

China Cabinet

Salt Cellar

Richella & Barry

Richella with Kiss

Richella & Barry

Our friend, Richella - may she rest in peace - still lives through her tiny raku pots, even while the last of her brood of cats grows old, sleeping on our dining room table eleven years after Richella passed away. Richella’s art has been collected all over the United States and other parts of the world. Her goal was to be in a show at the Smithsonian. After she mastered the technical aspect of pottery, she judged her craftsmanship and her designs based on whether they could be accepted at the Smithsonian. Not a bad aspiration, and she would have made it had she continued to live and produce work.

A Greek potter a few centuries before the common era (BCE or BC?) would have thought they were hot stuff because one of their decorated pots would cost a day’s wages.¹ Imagine if they had known that 2000 years later their work would be sold for over $100K and be on display as an historic artifact. That person, whoever they are, has truly left a their mark on the world, even if we don’t know their name.

Mark Cartwright, "Ancient Greek Potter," Ancient History Encyclopedia, March 16, 2018, https://www.ancient.eu/Greek_Pottery/.

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