Colorful Memories

I have a freakishly good memory.  And by “good memory,” I could not tell you what classes I took my freshman year of college, but I can certainly tell you about the time in first grade when my friend stole my crayon out of my Spacemaker pencil box and how mad I was because it was my favorite “green blue” color. Not “blue green”- that one was dull and muddy, but “green blue” was more intense and turquoise.  I could also describe the situation where Martha yelled at the old man across the street and she was wearing a matching knit navy blue shirt and shorts, or all about the pattern of my favorite red floral leotard from my glory gymnastic days. 

Using descriptive colors always serves as my “proof” that I’m remembering correctly.  My mom thinks it’s hilarious because apparently it’s an unconscious habit.  When I’m recounting an event, describing the surrounding colors seems equally as necessary as who was there and when it happened.

This theme of my life is actually so significant that it inspired my mom’s most epic wedding toast to me and my husband Ryan on the night of our rehearsal dinner.  (My mom is LITCH-rally the most thoughtful, hilarious, smart woman, but she is a horrific artist), so when her toast is complete with a giant drawing pad of crayon drawings of my life, you can imagine the entertainment she provided.  She prefaced her speech with an annotation of my habit of color-recounting, and then proceeded to show her drawings of memories and stories of my life which included EACH family member and friend in the room, leading up to when I met my husband and our new life together.  

By the end, our cheeks were sore from laughing (not only at her creativity and narratives, but also at her stick-figure drawings) and streaked with tears. She toasted our lives to “happy and colorful memories,” and I can’t think of anything more appropriate to incorporate into children’s lives and my art.  As a person who still vividly remembers the colors of my nursery and the art that hung on the walls, I want to provide these memories for my daughter and all other families who find the joy of teaching their children through art.

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A Child's Prayer

“Hear and bless thy beasts and singing birds, and guard with tenderness small things that have no words.”

This is the child’s prayer that set the wheels spinning. 

Martha was my second mother.  And by second mother, I mean she was really like my other parent, second to my [amazing] biological mom.  She cared for my sister and me while our parents worked from the time I was 6 weeks old.  As I understand it, I was no easy baby. Colicky and hefty, Martha spent an inordinate amount of time rocking and soothing me, singing Home on the Range, and feeding me.  I got over the colic, but not the hunger.  Martha continued to feed me for another ten [okay, 25] years with the most delicious, buttery culinary wonders that no one has ever been able to replicate. We spent our non-eating time coloring, painting, gardening, reading, and watching Guiding Light. I had it made.

Fast forward 26 years later, and Martha developed COPD and her health rapidly declined (I can’t possibly compact a lifetime full of Martha stories into one blog post- that’s provided me with enough content for a few years’ worth of writing). In the last week of her life, we spent our days talking, laughing, crying, and planning a funeral.  There was a quote that she wanted on her headstone, “Dear Father, Hear and bless thy beasts and singing birds, and guard with tenderness small things that have no words.” If ever a single sentence could sum up the essence of an immensely impactful woman, this was it. I spent the following days and weeks after her death dwelling on this prayer- how it encapsulates her spirit, how she inadvertently taught me to love this same way, how I wanted my new daughter to not only understand this concept, but also the woman who taught me.  It inspired a nursery piece I made shortly after I returned to a reality where Martha didn’t exist, but an 18x36 hanging board didn’t seem like enough.  I wanted to create more art (beyond what I had already done for my daughter’s completed nursery), and I wanted to show it to her the same way my 10-year-old self would bring her drawings from art class. 

I started simply; a sweet water color blue bird, a little fuzzy bunny- neither of which I had intentions for, I just wanted to see them on paper.  After a few pushes from friends and family and a sense of lost purpose (and admittedly, an empty wallet), I decided that I could turn this prayer into tangible art to share. ­

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Why I'm Here

It all started with a cracked screen and 32 GB of iPhone storage completely dominated with photos of my baby girl.

I have no idea what to blog about.  I don’t self-promote; bragging is unattractive and so not classy.  Based on the extremely scientific and accurate measurements of the average number of likes on my Facebook posts, I’d say there are about 200 people who care what I’m up to; only 50 of who are actually engaged, and even that is likely only because my child’s massive cheeks are so irresistible, or my dog’s dangling jowls and gnarly limbs are too cute to ignore.   So when I’m suddenly 87 articles deep into how to grow your Etsy shop into a full time job and there’s so much focus on blogging and so many words I’ve never heard of, I guess I have to start somewhere?

I started all this because I didn’t want to spend 25% of the price of new phone on fixing an old phone’s screen, and suddenly 128 GB of storage seems completely necessary; however, I guess there’s more to it than that.

My insanely brilliant husband is a first year resident, (aka- underpaid, overworked), and I stay at home with our 1-year old daughter.  For the previous 4 years, Ryan was in school and I operated a screen printing shop.  Working was awesome.  I loved my job, the people who surrounded me, and coincidentally bringing home a paycheck.  We knew that lifestyle was temporary, and completely re-starting a career in a new city seemed unappealing.  Staying at home with my baby was a wonderful decision, but an extra mouth to feed, a more expensive city, and my insatiable craving of fine wine (just kidding… kind of) meant I should probably try to earn a few extra dollars.

Friends and family have always told me I’m talented and should sell my art, but don’t they have to say that?  I always responded that I wasn’t creative enough, and that the market is already so saturated with people who are far more creative.  With a little extra push from a friend (and a credit card balance that’s uncomfortably high), I decided to give it a shot.  Somewhere along the way of reading “simple tips” to starting an Etsy shop, it became painfully evident that it was going to take something more than posting pretty pictures of my pretty drawings to actually make some money.  As my friend said, "if it was easy, everyone would do it."

Is that enough content? Does that count as an entry? Stay tuned?