Your Courageous Life

Short Snippet with Rachel Ann Austin from Kate Swoboda on Vimeo.

I was wandering around a local shop in Alameda, California, when I first spotted Rachel Ann Austin’s work. She had this really lovely series of paintings, mixed-media, notecards, necklaces…all so fun, all things I wanted to scoop up for myself. I contacted her about doing an interview for Across Mediums, and she agreed.

It wasn’t until we were in the midst of our interview that I realized: yowza! This is one busy, busy woman. She does a lot of art shows and art fests, sells her work privately, and more. Also, she has a family–a husband and daughter with the most adorable name ever: Adelaide. Here’s the official bio:

Rachel has long been passionate about creating new, beautiful things.  She
began her career as an artist building tables and went on to study
woodworking at the Oregon College of Arts and Crafts. With this unique
perspective, she soon gathered books full of sketches into a growing body of
paintings.

Rachel continues to explore a number of themes with her paintings.  Many of
her current works resonate a sense of the simple beauty found in the spare
and innocent scenes of everyday life.

Rachel lives and paints full time in Portland, Oregon.  Her husband, Jon,
also helps her part time cutting frames and just generally taking care of
business.  They work at home, since they have a cute two year old, Adelaide,
and need to chase her around and give plenty of mini bear hugs throughout
the day.

I’m so thankful that she was open to the idea of doing an interview for Across Mediums! To learn more about her, visit http://www.rachelannaustin.com or to see the entire interview, order Across Mediums.

(A snippet of my interview with BellaWish creator, Stacy DeLaRosa ).

Awhile back, Stacy and I collaborated on a wee bit of a project–to herald the coming start of the Courageous Year in January 2010, she designed a “courage” necklace. It was a limited edition necklace. I ordered my own (of course) and at so many points during the first few months of flying solo, I found myself rubbing my thumb across the letters on that necklace. It was a talisman for me, something that grounded me.

Recently, I asked if Stacy would do an interview for Across Mediums, my creativity course, because I thought that it was time to bust out of the mold of flat paper or canvasses and start looking at the creative process from a different perspective. Another reason I wanted to talk to Stacy? Quite simply, she’s a mother. She doesn’t have a phat studio space and gobs of time and a nanny running along behind her to tidy everything up. (P.S. I noticed when re-listening to this that I said that “of course” she had a husband. Consider this one of those moments where I want a “re-do,” and a shout-out for all of you who are mothers and don’t have the support of a partner, yet you’re still rocking this life).

What I appreciate enormously about Stacy is that she still works with what she has, moment to moment, and creates something really beautiful. Furthermore, she doesn’t come up with pretty, packaged answers. She gets real about her experience (whew!).

After doing this interview, Stacy and I agreed–it was time to bring “COURAGE” back (feel free to sing that to the tune of Justin Timberlake’s “I’m Bringin’ Sexy Back,” because that’s what I’m doing right now and I’m laughing).

So here it is: The COURAGE necklace, re-released out into the world. Enjoy this interview snippet with Stacy! And to learn more about Across Mediums, click here.

An Interview With Jamie Ridler from Kate Swoboda on Vimeo.

I can’t remember how I first connected with Jamie Ridler. Was it Facebook? Twitter? Just out and about in the online world?

I definitely remember the first time she re-tweeted something I’d put out there on Twitter. It was so very…”un-coaching-world-like.” I mean, one Coach, sharing the work of another Coach rather than the more typical desperation and clinging and gotta-get-my-piece-of-the-pie stuff–had we stepped into an alternate dimension?

I began following Jamie and noticed that I loved her enthusiasm, passion, and integrity. So I proposed that we collaborate on something and before I knew it, here we were–two Coaches supporting one another. I did a podcast for Jamie Ridler Studios, and then we gabbed on the phone for another half-hour after that interview. I loved her energy and am so excited to return the gesture and interview her and have her featured here today.

Funny thing about this interview–this moment, almost towards the end, when I was going to follow my “interview script” and move on to the next question because, uh, isn’t that what you do in an interview? But then I stopped and said, “Wait. Let’s go back a second.” There was such energy that had come forth when Jamie responded to my question: “What’s the most courageous thing you’ve ever done?” and I felt it and we couldn’t leave it. In that moment, one part of me was in total panic (holyshityou’renotdoingitrightwhat’shappeninghowwillyouforumlatethenextquestion?) while another part of me just knew that if I got really present with each of the next words that were coming out of my mouth, I’d be a-okay.

And we totally were. And she rocked out with this unexpected detour.

Enjoy the interview–AND!–after you’ve finished listening to the interview, enjoy entering yourself in the giveaway, below!

Here are the details: Giveaway! All big dreams start from the same place: knowing who you are. Soul Reflections is a collage and journaling workshop in a box designed by creative living coach Jamie Ridler to connect you to the truth of your heart and spirit and help you on the road to your dreams. Share your thoughts on today’s interview and you’ll be entered in a draw to win a copy of Soul Reflections (e-version)! Enter them into the comments below. We’ll do a random draw from the comments. Giveaway ends at midnight Pacific time on August 11th.

** The original Courageous Year participants who first began their journey in January 2010 are now more than halfway through their Year! It has been such an exciting process to bear witness to their courageousness and transforming in all sorts of ways. I’ve begun the process of talking to participants about their experience, and will be featuring their interviews and loveliness, here on the blog! **

1.) Details : Name: Darlene J Kreutzer

Location (City/State): Edmonton, Alberta, Canada
Website: http://www.hippyurbangirl.com
Occupation: policy advisor / photographer / writer

2.) When you started the Courageous Year, what did you decide would be the focus of that year? Has it shifted or changed?

When I started the Courageous Year, I didn’t really have a clear focus. I wanted to finally lose the weight I had gained when I was pregnant with my twins and the weight I had gained when they died and I was grieving. I wanted to move forward with my life but I wasn’t really sure what that looked like. It would be easy for me to say that because I didn’t have a clear focus, there was nothing to shift. However, that wouldn’t exactly be true. My focus for the year really shifted into being present in the moment and living in the breath of myself, trusting that I held the answers. My focus for the year became learning to trust myself. I should add that to date I have lost 40 pounds so even though my focus shifted, I still saw the results. Funny what being present in the moment will do to all aspects of one’s life.

3.) I believe that each of us has our own idea of what “courageous living” is about. When you hear the term “courageous living,” what do you think of? And how does that term apply to your own life?

When I hear the term “courageous living”, it makes think of the way I used to be and thought I wanted to be again. I thought to live courageous meant to do the things you wanted even though it was scary and in the past I used fear as a guidepost and when I was fearful to do something (obviously not something like heading off alone down a dark alley in a scary part of town) then I knew I had to jump full force into it. At some point during the Courageous Year I came to a realization. I realized that I used to be scared of everything and that jumping into that which scared me was the only way I could move forward otherwise my anxiety paralyzed me. However, I was holding this story as truth when the reality is that over time I lost my fear of doing new things, only I was still living within the same story and it was no longer serving me.

I have shifted the meaning of how courageous living applies to my own life and now I see it as the recognition of our own personal power and truths and the understanding that this may shift continually over time as our experiences change and as we rewrite our personal stories. For me, courageous living is not the big dramatic leap (I am good at that already) but rather the quiet strength of walking my path and living fully in my life. “Courageous living” is making choices that serve me by honouring who I am in this moment. “Courageous living” is trusting my own unique voice.

4.) One of the first things that the Courageous Year taps into is the concept of BEing your journey, allowing all parts of your journey to exist rather than trying to push away the things that we’re less comfortable with. What’s an example of some way in which you’ve seen yourself work with a situation that was frustrating, uncomfortable, scary, or otherwise “not your favorite,” and then work through it while BEing your journey?

My grief. In April 2002, my sister died after months of intensive care. It was a long painful journey that I never fully came to terms with. In April 2006, I gave birth to twin boys and later held them in my arms, against my skin as they died. Every April since, I have participated in poetry month and have distracted myself with the writing of poetry everyday and posting it on my blog. This year I didn’t. This year I allowed myself to be present, to be my journey and I allowed myself the pain and the moments of weakness. I allowed myself joy and laughter and the comfort of friends and life. I welcomed it all and have emerged changed in ways I am only just now starting to understand. I feel braver and more courageous, quieter and more deeply involved in living my life. I feel a contentedness and inner peace that I never believed I could experience.

5.) You’ve told us a bit about who you BE, now tell us a bit about what you do! Feel free to share not just about a profession that “pays the bills,” but also about a chosen profession—the work that you’re most excited about.

I am a teacher by trade but 10 years ago, I took a job working in government because I was going through a divorce and I had a 5 year old son that needed my attention and I needed the security and flexibility that this job afforded me. I am choosing to continue to work at my job because it is important to me to be able to provide my son with a university education and a sense of security as he grows. I work in a challenging environment where I am always learning and growing and I am learning that while it may not be my passion, I can bring my passion and creativity to the job and everyone benefits.

I started a photography business a few years ago and have been shooting bands, artists, weddings and families. I am taking a hiatus this year because I found that it was too demanding on my time to be working all day and then working most nights and weekends. I would rather spend that time with my family and working on art for me. This was a huge shift. I am very excited about photography and I love shooting people but for me, making it a profession turned it into something else and I found that after a good 7 years of packing at least 1 and often 3 or 4 cameras with me 24/7, I was happy to not pick up my camera when I wasn’t working. My passion started waning and my heart felt lost and so I am on hiatus for the moment. I would like to come back to it at some point but on my terms and with a much lighter schedule.

I also do some freelance writing and have had poems and non-fiction published in print and online. I not so secretly want to devote some time to writing fiction because fiction is my first love and why my first degree is in English focusing on literature.

6.) What are you most passionate about, what excites you, lately?
Polaroid Photography. My husband bought me a Polaroid SX-70 6 or so years ago and I have been addicted ever since. It’s embarrassing at this point to reveal how many Polaroid cameras I own and how full and bulging my fridge is with packs of film not to mention the pretty boxes filled with photos but I glow as I think about that next shot.
Film of any sort excites me and I own a slew of medium format, 35 mm, toy cameras and even a few homemade pinhole cameras. My husband is also a bit of a photo junkie so we literally have cameras strewn around the house. It is wonderful!!

Darlene shooting a wedding

Art. My son recently moved into the basement and I acquired my very own room and it is wonderful to go in there and make a big ol’ beautiful mess. These days I am obsessed with Polaroid print transfers, mixed media and encaustic wax. I am working on an exhibit which I have not shared publicly as I suspect it will be a good year in the making.

Writing. After a long hiatus, I have started filling journals again, madly scrawling poetry and stories. It is my meditation and I am starting to find my way back to the dream of writing my book. It makes me dance around the floorboard happy.

Music. I am married to a musician and our house is always filled with the music of the bands he plays with. They rehearse in our basement studio and as the music comes up through the floorboards, I write or paint or make Polaroid vignettes. My son plays the saxophone and my husband plays the drums. A secret, I am taking drum lessons from my husband as well as voice lessons from an amazing vocal teacher. I love that I am finding my voice, the voice that speaks of joy.

7.) What’s next on your horizon?

I am plunging into another of my passions and returning to my love of teaching. I will be teaching an e-course on the beautiful basics of photography, the nuts and bolts of ‘how do I take that photo!!’ I have a lot of beautiful artistic friends who take the most beautiful compositions but don’t really know how to shoot in certain lights or how to get that beautiful bokeh (background blur) the first time around. Like me, their eyes glaze over when someone starts talking all the technical f-stop and aperture and blah blah blah. So, I will be teaching the basics from an intuitive perspective, demystifying the science if you will though I will, of course, also include the technical terminology as an aside. I am also including fun things like how you can get a studio looking shot without anything but your camera and how to shoot product like jewelry and art.

I have been blessed with beautiful friends who have watered this seed as they have watched me with my cameras and taken my little tips and use them to create their own magic. They have encouraged me to move forward with confidence and I have to admit that though I am a bit fearful, I am mostly just really excited to empower other women to shoot with confidence and learn how to create the photos that they see in their hearts.

More beautiful examples of Darlene’s work:

photo by Darlene Kreutzer

Photo by Darlene Kreutzer

* * *

Darlene, thank you so much for taking the time to share about your life and experience…I personally can’t wait to sign up for your course! For more information about Darlene, visit her website at http://www.hippyurbangirl.com .

~ with big love ~

Kate

Carmen Torbus, rocking the mic. Photo by Casie Photography.

Carmen Torbus is a mixed-media artist, supporter, speaker–and Across Mediums interviewee! She interviewed me awhile back for her Inspiring Minds and I really enjoyed her questions–and I became curious to know how she would respond to them. So I asked if she would allow me to ask her the same questions that she’s using for her Inspiring Minds series, and she said yes. Here we go…

1. Will you tell us a little about yourself and the inspiration behind what you do?

Kate! Thank you so much for turning the tables and interviewing me. I’ve recently escaped the corporate world and I’m super excited to say for the first time ever that I’m a full time creative entrepreneur. I’m an artist, author, inspiration maven & cheerleader for creative entrepreneurs. There is nothing I love more than hearing someone say, “I’m so inspired right now!” so following my dream of creating a business focusing on empowering creative women to get fired up about their passions really fires me up! I love sharing knowledge and helping others see just how awesome they are!

2. What inspires you more than anything else in the whole world?

Oh my gosh, inspired people just rock my socks off! People that are passionate about something and following their dreams get me so fired up it’s ridiculous! Love, love, love inspired people!

3. What is your big dream? Yes, the BIG one! The really, super big, pee your pants when make it happen dream. The one you feel a wee bit nervous saying out loud. Yep, that one!

My biggest dreams keep evolving and expanding! Right this minute, there are three. (Hold me.) My biggest, scariest, pee my pants when I make them happen dreams are:

• Develop and launch an empowering and inspiring, self-discovery, powerhouse course/seminar/extravaganza of sorts for creative dreamers.
• Create a coaching/consulting/conspiring program for creative women and begin taking clients that are ready to get excited about their lives and take action toward the life of their dreams.
• Start speaking to audiences of creative people. I’m a cheerleader at heart, so the idea of cheering, mic (or megaphone perhaps) in hand, for creative people makes me giddy!

I’m exploring the possibilities on all three fronts right now and I get super excited and become a ball of nerves at the same time just thinking about it!

4. Tell us how you’re going to feel when you make it happen!

Oh my gosh, like a million bucks! Empowered, inspired, pumped up, ready to take on the world, eager to continue on to see what the Universe has line up next for me and the people I work with! And eternally grateful.

5. What would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail and fear didn’t exist?

I would speak up more often. I would ask for what I want and need more often. I would reach out to people I admire more often and share my ideas with them. And I would purchase or lease a large space near the beach to convert into a studio with space to hold classes, workshops and retreats, plus have an onsite gallery.

6. What’s next for you?

I’m finishing up my first book with North Light Books, titled THE ARTIST UNIQUE: Discovering Your Creative Signature Through Inspiration and Techniques. It will be available next Spring. I’m working on putting together some local art and self-discovery workshops. It’s really exciting to be able to commit more time to creating and expanding!

7. What are you working on right now that you could use some support and encouragement on?

Just taking this leap of faith in pursuing a creative career full time. It’s so exciting, yet really scary. The possibilities, opportunities and my amazing Support Squad (THANK YOU!) are keeping me motivated and inspired! So keep the cheers of encouragement coming!!! I appreciate it (and you, yes YOU!) so, so much.

8. What advice, tips, resources, and overall good-to-know information would you offer someone just starting out with regards to finding passion & inspiration and digging in?

Just begin. It really is as simple as that. And listen to and believe in the little nudges you feel along the way. Go with them, even when it’s scary. Reach out and ASK for help and support. Tell people exactly how they can support you. Don’t wait. Do it now.

9. Is there anything else you’d like to share?

Just that I love this creative community to pieces and I’m so grateful to be a part of something bigger than myself. It’s an amazing feeling.

10. Where can we find you online and what is the best way to connect with you?

You can find me on my website: www.carmentorbus.com

On Facebook: www.facebook.com/carmentorbus

Facebook Fan Page for my art and creative endeavors: http://tinyurl.com/fbfanct

Twitter: www.twitter.com/carmentorbus

The best way to connect with me is via email: carmentorbus AT gmail DOT com

***

Thanks, Carmen!

A Short Bit With Carmen Torbus from Kate Swoboda on Vimeo.

First, it just has to be said: I think it would be hard to find someone who doesn’t like Carmen Torbus. Re-listening to this snippet of our full-length interview for Across Mediums, I thought that again and again. Sure, when I asked questions she could have had a (fake) pre-prepared answer that made her look all hip and more together than you and me, but instead she dove straight into the heart of the matter and got honest and real about looking at her life, noticing what works and what doesn’t, and being open and curious about how it’s going to shape up along the way.

Awhile back, Carmen did an Inspiring Minds interview with me. I loved her questions so much and was immensely curious as to how she, herself would answer them! She agreed to share her responses, so next week, I’m going to be sharing another interview using those questions.

I’ll also pass the baton to readers: How do you schedule your time? What systems have you found to work best for you?

P.S. Today is the last day to get a pre-order bonus with Across Mediums!

A Short Piece with Angelique Weger from Kate Swoboda on Vimeo.

Often when the inner critic pops in around creativity, it can be easy to tell ourselves that people who are “real artists” have their own studio, hours and hours at their disposal, and a degree in art (maybe even a fancy one). Angelique Weger is a Florida based artist who took a more “circuitous” path to putting art-making in her life, and part of that path included spending some time as a shadow artist. A former Across Mediums participant, a full-length interview with her is included in the new Across Mediums e-book course module.

I’m so excited to share a bit of our interview with you! Her website is still under construction, but when it’s up it’ll be here: http://www.miscellaneaarts.com/. For now, you can catch Angelique’s work here, on Flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/miscellanea/

One of the things that I’m including in the new e-book incarnation of Across Mediums (whoa! Pre-order goodness ends in just a few days…) is interviews with artists and other lovely creative souls. I started contacting people who I’d run across who, in some way, had a message or a way of communicating that really resonated with me. My big questions were: are they really involved in crafting something? Do they seem like “real” people–people who are like you and me–who are finding ways to meld together creativity and family and self-care, and who are willing to be honest about some of the fear that comes with that experience?

One of the people I contacted was the lovely Darrah Parker, a Seattle-based photographer who took these yummy shots:

We talked about doing an interview for Across Mediums in which she would share a bit of her insights into her craft. One thing that really resonates with me is the fact that Darrah just started working for herself within the past 12 months–I can definitely relate to a lot of what she shared!

To view a snippet of our interview, click the “Play” button below. To have access to the full interview, and the other interviews included with the Across Mediums e-book course module, head over to order. Pre-orders (before July 15th) will get a free coaching session included!

A Short Bit with Darrah Parker from Kate Swoboda on Vimeo.

P.S. Consider joining Darrah’s “Slice of Life Tuesday” Flickr group!

Antique shop, Petaluma, CA.

It’s been a few days since my last entry, in which I shared a wee little secret I’d been keeping to myself for a little over a week–that I am writing a book (and by the way, the response to this news? So encouraging. Everything from comments to emails to FB posts–so much love going around).

It has been a really lovely couple of days, marinating in this writing process again. I’m really glad that I gave myself some time to let the work I am doing be my own little secret, to get some momentum. I’ve written before about how it is that we can choose to let telling others be part of our work with commitment and accountability, and in this case I noticed that having started some of the work before announcing the work, I was able to make some headway. I think that had I not started this work and just announced it, first, I would have experienced more fear of the “Oh, shit, I just told people I was going to do this sort of BIG THING, and now I’m going to “have to” do it because I told everyone” variety.

So, okay. I’ve told people what I’m doing. I’ve been working myself. And now the question comes in, one that is so important for projects of any scale, though particularly so with creative projects, and that is how to handle deadlines. Deadlines will either kill you or save you. It’s all in how you hold them.

I’m thinking of getting my M.A. in writing when I’m thinking of this. I had a friend who was really a lovely writer, with the one main consistent critique of her work being that she meandered a bit too much, went on a bit too long with a passage and then lost the narrative thread of the story along the way. And it occurs to me now that perhaps some of our strengths and weaknesses in writing (or anything else) are tied up in how we handle deadlines.

This friend of mine often struck me as paralyzed around deadlines. Our fiction workshops were set up in such a way that at the beginning of a quarter a rotating schedule would be determined to see who would be presenting on a certain day. This was done so that you’d know well in advance when you had something due, and you could make the appropriate number of copies for everyone in the workshop the week prior to when you were reviewed. Then we’d take those copies home, review them, and come to the next week’s class prepared (and the next writer in rotation  would be there with copies for us to take home and review).

Some people in the program wrote in big, passionate bursts–not procrastinating, but clearly following some kind of wave of creativity that would come in big and strong like water crashing onto the surf, then receding. I always leaned towards the “put a bit of time in several days a week” method. Other writers forced themselves to sit at a desk every single day, berating themselves if they missed a day. My friend tended to treat writing like it was “due,” an assignment that she needed to take care of. I can’t remember ever hearing her talk about writing just for pleasure during the two years that we were in school together, and as I look back I wonder how much I really knew her inner workings at all.  But I do remember what I observed, and what I observed was that she avoided writing in the weeks leading up to when something was due. Perhaps she’d do a bit here and there. But she didn’t really, really put time in until just a few days before, and the night before, she had to bring the photocopies to class.

Then she’d show up in class with a worried look on her face, circles under her eyes, her hair clearly unwashed. And she was such a lovely person that I remember really feeling something for her in that, really having empathy for how much struggle she clearly put her tiny body through just to make that deadline. Had she felt she could drop the deadline altogether, I believe she would have. I mentioned that a common critique of her writing was that it was strong, but sometimes meandering–there were threads that went too far, things like that.

Had she had a different relationship with deadlines, would she have given herself time to see where things went to far and been able to edit them out?

This is where we get into deadlines as both friend and foe, the thing that will either kill you or save you. What kind of relationship do you have with deadlines? Do you loathe them? Are they paralyzing? And why?

As I’m working on my own book now, and I have a September deadline, I also have another deadline coming up–my own self-care vacation/hiatus. Back in October of 2009, I sat down with a 2010 Franklin Covey calendar and planned out my own Courageous Year–when I’d like to launch new things, when I’d like to hold retreats, when I’d like to take a vacation so that I could get some rest. I’ve learned over the years that my vacations are like savasanas in yoga, a space I can create between postures to completely relax and thus rejuvenate (P.S. Look for my upcoming article on this in the Courageous Conversations column at Wish Studio).

My savasana will be from June 12th-July 12th. I’ve been giving my postures (my life, my relationship, my work, my creativity) 100% of myself in these past few months, and I look forward now to just letting go in the in-between. I’m still going to be popping into the blog now and again–as someone who’s been blogging since 1998 as a labor of love, not something to do just for marketing props, I find it a perfectly fun thing to do while on vacation–but I do want to have the bulk of my workload mapped out. And I am finishing work on the Across Mediums e-book course, and adding a lot to it, and generally rocking out there.

So it’s all about how I hold the deadline. How much tension do I want to have around it? How will I hold space for meeting a goal? Will I hold it as a “have to” or a “get to”?

I think that deadlines are fantastic motivators. I know how great it feels to meet a goal, and I know that what I’ve found works for me is to create slow but steady work each day. I try not to get too caught up in the days when not a lot happens, or when I realize that after some editing, I’m cutting a substantial amount of work because it just wasn’t a fit. In the end, my ultimate deadline is to create this body of work that I look in the mirror and feel genuinely proud of, and I think that that’s what’s happening with me, with the Courageous Year e-book. I am waking up in the morning enthusiastic about something that I can put my heart behind. That feels amazing.

How do you handle deadlines? When are they helpful, and when are they not?

YOU MAY ALSO LIKE:

* routines routines routines

* thirty days

Okay. So some of you might remember this post, where I realized that after taking some conscious time away from writing, I was ready to dive back in and start making it a regular part of my life practice, again. It has been a really blissful experience to fall back into this. I have started attending my writing group again. I feel at home.

And then something in me whispered: “It’s time to write that book.”

What book? I’m thinking. Which one? Because if there is anything that a writer has a lot of laying around, it’s those books that have been started but never finished. (“Creative abortions,” my grad school cohort darkly termed such things).

And then I realized what book it was.

The Courageous Year.

Of course.

There have been any number of moments of panic that I’ve had since I started flying solo. Unfortunately, being someone who rocks out at holding space for others does not mean being immune to such pitfalls as looking around in total fear and going, “What the hell am I DO-ing?” And after each of these moments, what I keep coming back to is that what I’m DO-ing is I’m being courageous. What I’m DO-ing is I’m having my own private Courageous Year, right here right now, and the cool thing about that is when I sink down into just living my truth, and that’s all it’s about, a switch gets flipped–the switch from DOing to BEing.

And that BEing is pretty blissful.

Which is why spending three hours in the library today, working on a book called The Courageous Year left me with that same wobbly-legged ecstatic natural high can you believe it life is so beautiful feeling. Also why a quick dig through a box of writing stuff in my closet quickly revealed the early drafts of this that began working on back in 2008, drafts that I had almost completely forgotten about the existence of, drafts that I had bound and sent to various corners of the United States to get feedback from test readers.

My inner little girl is doing the happy dance right now, because my goodness but it’s real–I’m writing a book. And this is something she has always wanted to do, and has done before, but then they get finished and filed away.

This one will get to see the light of day, because I’m going to turn it into a digital e-book. I’m going to include all of the videos and interviews and general courageous goodness and encouragement and the You Matter and the woo woo stuff that’s so fun and the practical tools, and then, because I don’t believe a book on its own can change anything and also because talking to people one-on-one is the best part anyway, I’m going to combine it with coaching. Also, I’m going to form a Courageous Community, giving people working the book the opportunity to connect with one another.

My inner little kid is doing a total happy dance right now because yeah, we’re totally going to combine things she loves and rock out and play with it. Also, she’s pretty happy right now because, uh, we actually already started working on this book. And it’s FUN.

The Courageous Year will be available as a downloadable book in September 2010–and I’m doing pre-orders, now. And rather than trying to do the scarcity-fear-harried-panic thing, I want to inspire “I get a bonus!” glee in anyone who decides to pre-order, so all pre-orders are getting a chunk of immediate downloadable goodness called Shift : Plan. Click here for more details.

Courageous Question: What gleeful, joyful desire lurks beneath your waves? What would have your inner little kid doing the happy dance?

YOU MAY ALSO LIKE:

* Water the Plant

* How do you deal with non-supporters?

Painting in my office.

This weekend, Andy and I went by the DeYoung Museum’s new exhibit of Impressionist paintings that are from one of my favorite museums in the world, the Musee D’Orsay, in Paris. Ohmigosh. So, so, so very beautiful.

I left the museum that afternoon feeling something that I feel every time I leave a museum: With that delicious feeling of, “I wanna do that!”

I call this following your “inner YES!”, that feeling inside that knows it wants something, craves something.

Some of us are people who have a LOT of inner “YES!” feelings, and then the challenge becomes knowing which ones to follow. I am one of those people. There is so much beauty, so many beautiful things that I’m attracted to, that in the past I have frequently found myself thinking I needed to figure out what my calling was, and stick to it.

Right now, one group of Courageous Year participants is being lead through a series of exercises on Passion & Play. Today, I shared with them that I used to think that passion and play were not “the serious stuff,” that what I really needed to focus on was something like getting my life all pulled together and balanced.

It was only after my coach asked me to make a joy list and do at least 2 things on that list, daily, that I realized how much resistance I had to passion and play. I had plenty of experience with anger and sadness, but my childhood and subsequent early adult years had not provided me with a lot of training in how to have a really fun, balls-out joyful experience. Sure, I laughed and made jokes. But did I walk around with an experience of real and true deep inner joy?

No.

And the side of me that was in need of a lot of healing told me that it wasn’t “practical” to expect that I would feel a lot of joy during my day. It wasn’t “realistic” to expect to be joyful within. And besides, weren’t those joy-filled types the ones who got made fun of as cheesy and ridiculous? I wouldn’t want to be one of those people.

Or would I?

There’s this thing that happens when we start tapping into more passion and play in our lives, this really cool thing where we start realizing first that the more unhappy one is, the more it is a choice. And second, that there’s an immense amount of compassion to have for anyone making that choice (not pity–compassion. True acceptance that that’s the choice they make, it’s painful, it isn’t easy, and that they’re making the choice for good reasons, while holding space that at any moment they’ll choose to shift out of that).

Choosing passion and play in my life has turned out to be the most practical of choices, the choice that strings life together in a completely different way. And yup, it is even practical to believe that one can occupy that space a good amount of time (the part that gets people into trouble, usually, is when we expect ourselves to be that all of the time, to never struggle, and then we want to give up at the first sign of setback. I totally get it.) Also, the joy-filled types do get made fun of–and that’s okay. I’m choosing the experience I want to have on this earth, and others are choosing theirs. Why not simply accept that they have as much right to choose theirs as I do, my own? I’m fully behind my choices for my life. They serve me.

I think it’s a Story that there is just this one thing we are meant to do with life, or that there is a “Jack of all trades, master of none” thing going on. I think that it’s totally possible to dive into following your Inner YES! with abandon, and that all sorts of lovely things come out that way. I also think–and this is important!–that all of the bits and pieces of our lives need not be perfectly aligned for joy to come in.

We can start now, and start small. I don’t have an artist’s studio. My “studio” is a 2×3′ table purchased for $20 from IKEA. Many of my supplies are stored in a disorganized and haphazard fashion. I have to pull almost all of them out if I want to create anything. I remember the days when I told myself that I needed “a space” to create. I also no longer believe that one needs lots of “time.” Twenty minutes a day can go a long way towards connecting you with your passion and play.

This is one of those areas where the question must be asked: To what are you more committed, your vision or your resistance?

It’s okay to be in a resistant space. You’ll still be loved. Just keep noticing what you’re more committed to, moment to moment, and be prepared to make a leap when you’re ready for something to shift.

Where would you most like to introduce a lightness, a sense of fun, more passion, and more play into your life?

YOU MAY ALSO LIKE:

* Across Mediums

* The Courageous Year

Me, in the midst of a post-natal photoshoot. Photo by Andy.

So before you worry–that’s my own couch I’m standing on. No, I do not do photoshoots where I go to people’s houses and step all over their furniture. I promise.

It’s kind of amazing to me that we all start out in this one, same place: the Belly.

(oooh, lens flare goodness!!!)

How is it possible that we all get our start in there? I mean, it’s trippy if you think about it. We all start in there, and then somehow we’re out of there and in the world and this whole new person exists that did not exist, officially, in the world just one day before.

I was really excited to meet Owen for the first time, to marvel at this new person who is welcomed into the world. And how TINY! Holy spark plugs–will you look at this? His mother’s hand–a normal, everyday, human hand–is as big as his head. Even though he cried a few times (I mean, who wouldn’t? We kept changing his clothes while he was trying to nap, and that’s got to be annoying), but when he wasn’t crying he was looking at the world wide-eyed, or making delicious little grunty noises, and his toesies were just scrumptious.

Life is just so very, very fun.

What are you in the process of birthing in your life? What in your life has just recently been born and is finding its way around this new world?

Your Life Speaks

A few years ago, I wanted–really desired–to be a working visual artist. I’d gotten back into painting, really loved it, and had had some minor success with some local art shows while working part-time as a teacher. Why not make the leap? I decided. I loved writing, painting, coaching, and photography. Why not make them all work?

I took a leave of absence from teaching and spent the next several months struggling with the newfound pressure that I had created in my life. Painting stopped being the thing that balanced out the stress that came up with teaching, and instead became the thing that was another source of stress.

I hadn’t realized when I’d decided I’d start really trying to sell my work that it required so many things–like a marketing plan. I spent all of this time pouring over books at the library, pulling together portfolios, CDs with high quality copies of my images, cover letters. I submitted my work to greeting card companies and I contacted galleries. The galleries were not at all interested. I did manage to get a few small shows at local coffee shops. This was really gratifying–and a lot of hard work. There was the work of creating 15-20 pieces (depending on size; lots of large pieces = fewer of them) and there were deadlines. While waiting to be brought to the show, the pieces needed somewhere to live, so this took up quite a bit of storage space. When it was time for the show to actually happen, usually the owners wanted us to come by close to closing time–10pm, 11pm, or right when they were opening. Then there was the physical work of hanging the pieces themselves. Add in the publicity of the opening night, the awkwardness of standing around when few people showed up (oh, my). Depending on the place, the owner of the coffee shop either monitored sales (and took their cut) or I handled the phone calls and inquiries; it really depended on the shop. When something sold, the owner usually requested that I create a piece to hang in its place.

When it was all over, anything that hadn’t sold needed to be taken down, brought back to the house, and stored.

Now, I do realize that some people might read this description and think, “Uh, what’s the problem?” Maybe it sounds really exciting to them.

Those people, I think, are the people who are far more aligned with doing the work of being a visual artist, than I am!

The thing is, I just really like to paint. I like to get messy with glue. I like to play around with color. I fell into showing or selling my work by accident–either someone made a request for a print online or I was asked to be part of a show. Things sort of went from there. I didn’t actually like doing the marketing, the pressure to create so much work at once, fielding phone calls from shows. I liked the creative part, and I really liked it when people would meet with me to collect their piece–it was so fun to see where something was going.

But that’s it.

So since that time, I’ve mostly been creating in a haphazard way. The biggest hurdle for me has been: “What’s the point?”

What’s the point of creating something that will just sit in my house? What’s the point of spending all of that money and time? What’s the point of making something no one is ever going to see?

That’s the inner critic that comes up, but something fiercer and stronger inside knows: the point is the point.

The point is just to make a point of getting messy.

The point is to play.

The point is to create simply because it feels good to create.

Why would I need to make myself wait for something more than that?

A new group of Across Mediums peeps will be beginning their journey this weekend. I’ve been tweaking the course since last time around, adding in bits and bringing more of that emotional component to it–what are our barriers to just creating for the sake of creating? Where do we use “what’s the point” as an excuse to back down?

Anyone else with me, here, on this “What’s the point?” feeling? I feel that I’ve really gotten over a lot of that by diving in and having fun–by practicing that simply by walking into creating, I see clearly what the point is. How about you?

The people who know me the best, the ones who have known me the longest, know that there is one thing–one–that I have wanted every since I was a little girl. There has been one thing that I have loved above all other things, one passion.

Writing.

Before I could write letters, I drew my stories in a fat binder of dot matrix paper that my father brought home from work. I have had this passionate affair with the written word since as long as I could remember. My parents like to tell the story of when I was just two or three, and would plop myself in the aisle of a bookstore with a book from the shelf, “reading” aloud. I was missing words and making up some of the storyline, but apparently it was convincing enough that other customers really thought I was reading word for word. I love books. I love holding them in my hands and turning their pages. The Kindle and other electronic readers make me sad on so very many levels, because I can see how, because it is a cheaper form of producing something, it probably will take over the world and eventually (a long eventually, but still–eventually–) kill printed books the way newspapers have been pushed aside by the internet. This breaks my heart. I think we need books. I want the tactile sensation of books, of turning to a particular page in a bookstore, of smelling paper.

I was seven when I sent my first letters to book publishers, trying to interest them in a book. I took creative writing classes all through school. I was encouraged. In undergrad, I decided to try my hand at writing freelance articles. I was never particularly successful at it, but I was learning a lot about the process of sending my work out. I went to graduate school for creative writing and it was there that something shifted for me. Namely, what shifted is that I was no longer one of the 3 or 4 good writers in a class, as I had been during my undergraduate days. Now, I was walking among many other writers who were really good. It was with some embarrassment that I clearly realized that in fact, I was not even among the best writers in my cohort. In fact, I was probably somewhere near the bottom of the cohort in terms of talent or ability to communicate something that resonated.

Also, I sometimes look back and think to myself that of all the angsty years of my life, those two years in graduate school were tops. There was lots of drama about the creative process (which I was compelled to muse about and write about online, much to the snickering of some of the faculty and students I went to school with) and breakups and friendships and who am I? and all of that going on. Not so much on what I know are the fundamentals of creating good writing: read good writers + write daily.

Yet I knew that nothing quite makes up for lacking skill, like hard work. So, I finished grad school and I worked hard. I sent out my work. And re-sent my work. I did everything the books tell you to do. I identified which literary magazines I most liked to read, and sent my work to them, and then once I received a rejection I simply sent a piece on to the next person. I did not keep rejection slips. And I really did try my very best to improve my writing. I won honorable mention in one novel writing contest and at the awards dinner, I received encouragement that I sorely needed, having been out of the writing world for a little while. “Keep going,” they said at that dinner. “You’re really close.” Then one of the authors suggested an agent, who I of course contacted, and the agent wanted to see my book.

I sent it via next-day airmail.

Thus commenced 2 months of waiting anxiously for some kind of response on the book. To say that I prayed would be an understatement. It was around that time that I was gifted a consult with a psychic as a present, and the psychic told me that I was going to get my book published, so of course I was running around each day high as a kite with glee. “It’s finally happening, it’s finally happening!” I would think every morning, until it became clearer that what I’d written was apparently not such hot shit that anyone wanted to get back to me. Finally, I did the one thing the books tell you never to do–follow up–and received an embarrassed response from the agent, who had not yet looked at the book and who said she’d reply the following week. She did. No dice.

But still–no giving up! Writing is my DREAM I told myself. I continued to write, almost daily.

I attended a writing workshop, which (for me, in my experience) was not helpful in terms of agents or editors because everyone was clamoring for the attention of agents and editors and it was difficult to watch as some of those agents and editors clearly were courting attendees–but it was incredibly helpful to have this entire week really intensively focused on writing. Something shifted for me with that workshop, some synapse connected and I was able to edit my work with a more discerning eye, to see where there were lazy images that spread words across the page but that did not paint a picture or tell a compelling story. I published more writing in the year following that workshop than I had before. Photocopied formletter rejections were replaced by formletters that were on nicer paper, maybe with a nice little handwritten “P.S.” at the bottom from an editor: “This piece wasn’t a fit–but keep submitting!” and things of that nature.

Then came August of 2008. The months leading up to August of 2008 were hard. The economy was–what was it, again? The phrase everyone was using? Oh, yes, here it is–the economy was “going to hell in a handbasket.” I was trying my first stab at letting go of teaching. It was not happening so successfully. I was sending out my writing and getting little trickles and it was fantastic, yet overall, there was this need for reckoning in my life. I was just getting so exhausted with sending out writing, spending all of that money, using all of that paper, and often as not, not hearing back, or getting a generic rejection.

I decided to do the one thing I’d never allowed myself to do–not once, not ever–and that was take a break from writing. No more guilt trips if I didn’t write. No more pushing myself to send out work.

The thing is, writing had gotten too painful. It became too painful because I made it that way, focusing more on the result than on anything else. Also, I was pretty hung up on comparisons. Being in graduate school had been a wonderful experience overall, one that I’m thankful for because much was invested into me. The downside is that I got really into the game of comparisons. Who was succeeding first? Who was the most serious writer? Who did it every day? Who was getting extra office hours consultation time with the department chair? Who was already published?

I stopped doing something that I loved because I wanted it to perform for me in a certain way, and that is just no way to have a relationship.

So I consciously quit.

I knew that I was not “out of the game” of writing, and I still journaled, wrote on the blog, did a few things here or there. But I did not send out any work. I did not take on any projects.

When I came back from Italy last year, the number one thing I was itching to do was write. When I came back from Italy, I was in this headspace that was so freaking clear. I had this clarity about life, this absolute immersion in flow, that I have never had before and have wavered in and out of since (it’s a practice, people). What I knew when I got back from Italy was this: I needed to write. For awhile, I sat down each day and tapped the keys. The writing flowed.

Then, you know. Life. We moved (again). Letting go of the job, getting a new business set up. The holidays.

I sat down yesterday for the first time in months and opened the old files. I re-read everything I’d written during those post-Italy days. The process took several hours. When I was finished, I felt out of my mind, walking out of the library on wobbly legs like I’d just lost and found my mind, like an endorphin rush, like a really good stretch that sends fresh blood flowing.

I realized that I had fallen in love again.

I realized that I am ready.

All of My Days from Kate Swoboda on Vimeo.

You know that feeling you get, right after a really long, hard, cry–suddenly something in your body unlocks (for me it’s across my chest, my heart) and then shoulders drop and everything feels incredibly calm and clear?

I’ve spent the past few days just sitting with my sadness. Not busying myself with stuff, not running about, but just sitting with it. Camping out in front of the computer watching instant downloads on Netflix, reading books, taking naps, avoiding folding the laundry.

I believe that we need these places–these unproductive places, these places where seemingly nothing is happening. “But Kate,” someone might say, “If someone is severely depressed, and they start doing what you’ve just described, it will only get worse.”

Ah, but I think there is a difference between sitting with something, which is a highly active process despite its seeming lethargy, and being mired in a severe depression. In case you’re thinking next time a sad space comes you’d like to try out the “sitting with”, here’s a few key pieces:

Sitting with:

* Conscious of and willing to reach out for help at any time, and committed to doing so if the feelings get too overwhelming.

* Setting up ways to check-in with oneself (i.e., “I’m feeling sad/resistant/frustrated; I’ll check in again in one hour to see how I’m feeling and if I feel ready yet to do something that might lift me out of that.”)

* Openness to trying new things.

* Willingness to feel the feelings as they arise, without denying them or shaming oneself for them.

So while I’ve spent more time “watching television” (we actually don’t have a TV, Netflix on a laptop is about it) in the past week than I have since May of 2009, I’ve also been crying a lot, journaling, sitting quietly, focusing on using my tools, and–yesterday–trying new things. For me, that was painting.

I have not sat down for a “real” painting session since at least February of 2009. In February of 2009, we packed up our things into a storage locker and began a short-lived career as house-sitters. Then I went to Italy for the summer and told myself that I’d spend time painting there, even if I had to re-buy supplies at EU prices. Nope, didn’t happen. Even after getting my office completely arranged and making room for creativity here in November, I didn’t really get out my supplies. When I started the Across Mediums e-course, I loved that it gave me a real reason to pull things out. Yet even this was not a “real” painting session to me, because I knew that I did need to document what I was doing so as to have pictures to go with the course. I didn’t totally feel like I was working just for myself, without any goal of showing it to anyone, and I didn’t really have the indulgence of pulling out all of my supplies. Additionally, one of the points of the AM course is that one needn’t–shouldn’t–spend a lot of time trying to work on a project or final project. The point is to spend 20 minutes a day on something, do what one can, and let go after that.

So yesterday, I pulled out all of my supplies. (My office right now is a blooming mess.) And I couldn’t find the plastic plate that I use as an easel. Whine, whine whine–pull out tinfoil and cover a regular plate already, Swoboda. And all of my paintbrushes had these odd little things on them about the size of pieces of sand, which I take to mean that spiders or some other bug laid eggs in the bristles while they were in storage. Ew. And–okay. Put some dirt on it, Swoboda.

I painted for hours. I listened to Krishna Das and the soundtrack to Vicky Christina Barcelona. I painted past and through lunch. I literally forgot to eat. Then I finally did eat and there was a letter in the mail that opened my heart and as I read it, I cried big, hard, long tears while holding it and sitting on the couch.

When I was finished crying, something in me was unlocked, and the first thing that I wanted to do was make this video. I had been inspired to take footage of a day that I went out with my SX-70 and shot pictures of magnolias and then with my Canon Digital Elph I filmed the pictures while they were developing. I’d also taken some beach footage while Andy and I stole away to Pacific Grove last weekend. And did I mention that I found a really awesome pair of cowgirl boots, all tooled up and tricked out and fancy? (I feel shy about wearing them, yet when I do I feel like a total superhero. Where’s my cape and a trusty steed?)

I had such fun making this video, and it felt real and funny and true. It came together in about an hour, which is super fast for me with video making of this kind.

I share it with you, in the hopes that if you are going through a raw or tender place right now, it inspires adventure, or that you know you are not alone (you are never alone), or that you laugh, or that you feel the urge to go wake up your cat to pet her cute little nose. Something.

I love the last line of the song: “Even breathing feels alright.”

I feel like I can breathe, again. Turns out it was me who needed to give myself permission.

Photo credit: Thea Coughlin

Last week, I did this really lovely interview with Pixie Campbell, momma + artist + retreat leader extraordinaire for The Courageous Year (which starts in five days, for reals!). In essence, the interview was about integrating all of those aspects of herself, about not–as she put it–being a mom from X time in the morning until X time at night, at which time she could officially stop being “mom” and start being “creative.”

It was as she was sharing this that it hit me: I totally carry that Story, the Story that if I do have children I’ll need to divide myself, categorize myself, be one way at one time and another way at another time and divorce myself entirely from “real me.” I do see how on some level, we are always–with or without children–giving more attention to some parts of ourselves than others, and in that sense we are categorizing creatures. But I literally have carried this Story that having children will be a sacrifice that will require such compartmentalization that I could lose myself–and it utterly terrifies me.

So in the midst of this interview, as she’s sharing I’m having this “A-ha!” moment, and then when it was my turn to speak again, it was like: Out with it. (I actually kind of like “outing” myself. Do you? I think it’s delicious when someone else is courageous enough to do so and then that creates permission for me to wave my hand around and go, “I do that, too! I think that, too! I’m afraid of that, too!”).

You may already know a lot about Pixie, or perhaps you know very little. One thing that I think is the bee’s knees is that she is going to be leading a Pixie Session at Squam this year: http://squamartworkshops.com/sessions/session.php?id=11. If there is one thing I’ve picked up on from my friends who do have children, it’s that one certainly can raise kids in a bubble, but it’s a hell of an easier ride when there is community and support, other people around with whom to bond over silliness. I’ve felt really lucky that so many of our friends who have kids have actually embraced Andy and I as part of their “family” of sorts, even though we don’t have kids. I like being a part of witnessing something.

Yesterday afternoon I opened up a wee package from Pixie–in it was a card that lifted my spirit (her artwork was on the front) and some herbs. “Place this anywhere you need a charge,” it read.

So I’ve had it tucked close to my heart all of this morning.

Babies have been on the brain lately. Andy’s sister is pregnant with her first. I did a photoshoot a few weeks ago with this seriously scrumptious baby, the kind of baby where you want to nibble on its widdle fin-ders and toesies. And then yesterday evening, Andy and I caught the tail of a baby shower that we had originally thought we’d miss, and I had my camera equipment with me so the next thing you knew, Andy played “gear boy” and I did a photoshoot right there–radiant swelling belly and lots of kisses from dad-to-be and the light up on top of a hill overlooking the entire bay area was that utterly perfect golden light.

Being a parent scares me, but, as I told Pixie, I am so glad that she’s in my stable of people to call when I have no idea what in the hell I’m doing and need someone to tell me that that’s okay.

It was a few months ago that Susannah was visiting San Francisco and while she was there, a small group got together for tea at the SFMOMA and she showed us some Polaroids she’d been taking. I had known about her website for awhile, even signed up for her e-course, and thought that her pictures on her website were beautiful. And yet it was when she pulled out the stack of photos she’d taken on that trip that I connected with the Polaroids and went, “Ooooh, that’s fun. I want to do that.”

I put the call out on Facebook–did anyone have an SX-70 or some other old Polaroid camera that they were open to letting me have or play with? Within an hour, someone said they were happy to give me their old Polaroid 600 camera. And it was my search for film that lead me to The Impossible Project.

The Impossible Project took over the last existing Polaroid plant in an effort to find some way to continue manufacturing the film. This year, they plan to be in completion of that “impossible” goal of producing their own version of the film. This is exciting for Polaroid lovers, and while I don’t profess to be nearly as well-acquainted with this form of photography as so many others are, I am definitely having a lot of fun with my camera.

Now, the Polaroid 600 camera (which you could probably find for $2 at your local Goodwill) is a lot of fun. But I was hungry for the dreamy vintage tones of the SX-70. So I began the arduous task of hunting down a working SX-70 on eBay (I advise that if you decide to bid on anything, make sure that the person offers a return policy, because my first camera was billed as working on eBay, but did not in fact work). My second try was better: I found an SX-70 and it worked.

The Impossible Project’s store, the PolaPremium site, sells SX-70 film but I had already purchased 600 film locally to go with my Polaroid 600 camera, and I wanted to just use that in the SX-70. 600 film can be used with the SX-70 but it’s a faster film speed, so it needs to be adjusted with an ND (neutral density)  filter. I ordered one from PolaPremium but it didn’t show. I contacted them and Anna was all, “No worries! Must’ve been lost in the mail. I’ll send another out.” Lovely service, yes?

I received an ND filter in the mail a few days later–fantastic! But suddenly, yet another one arrived! It was then that I realized that the first ND filter had been only been delayed by the mail service, not lost, and now this second one had arrived and I had two.

So why not do a giveaway? I suggested to her. And then she added the idea of throwing in a pack of film to the giveaway winner!

So, then–if you are a Polaroid lover, an SX-70 fan, someone who’s loved Polaroid photography sites such as Darlene’s, someone who would love to have a pack o’ the good stuff and an ND filter to boot to save for a rainy day when you find your own working SX-70…

Giveaway: One ND filter and one pack of 600-speed film to the lucky winner (to be determined by the random.org number generator). To enter the giveaway, leave a comment here describing either a.) the best shot you’ve ever taken with your Polaroid camera or b.) the type of dreamy shot you’d love to take!

Giveaway ends: Wednesday, Feb 24th at 6:00am Pacific Time.

Important: You’ll need to check back here on Wednesday morning to see the winner announced, and contact me no later than Thursday afternoon if you are the winner. If I don’t hear from someone, I’ll need to choose an alternate.

A thank-you to PolaPremium for the giveaway!

So I confess that this is an example of the type of radical, discharge from the perfectionistic thinking creativity that we’ll be experimenting with as part of Across Mediums. Try something new: draw something upside down (or, hey, see how long you can hang upside down and draw something, if that is what works for you).

When we draw things upside down, we engage our brain in new ways. You’ve probably read before about the roles of the right brain and left brain, and if you haven’t you might really love this book, which I found to be a fast read and fun while not lacking in focus. It’s also a way of being silly, of indulging in that creative play that thisyhere life skills coach is always talking about. (Trust me, if you’d known me six years ago, you’d have said then that I was just about the LAST person to ever end up in a profession where I pimp positive thinking, empowerment, or being downright silly. I was a little devoid of the silly at another point in my life).

But really–when’s the last time you drew something upside down? Find a picture–any picture, just grab the magazine nearest you or something–put it upside down and then start drawing a rough outline. If you’re worried it won’t turn out right–well, you’re drawing upside down. It’s probably not going to be a masterpiece. The point won’t be to draw it “right,” it’ll be just to draw, to be funky, to stave off the winter doldrums with a little piece of silliness.

When you finish your drawing, feel free to take a picture, upload it to Flickr, and then put a link in the comments!

If you’re interested in more creative play, see Across Mediums.

P.S. How did the computer break go?

According to the Lomography.com about page, under the section titled, “What the hell is lomography?”, lomography is “an international socio-cultural movement using photography as a creative approach to communicating, absorb and capturing the world. ” I reduce that definition to basically–use photography to capture the world around you, and when we step away from digital we reduce our dependence on machinery or “getting it perfect.”

There are 10 golden rules of lomography, or “lomo” as it is affectionately referred to in shorthand. They are:

1. Take your camera everywhere you go
2. Use it any time – day and night
3. Lomography is not an interference in your life, but part of it
4. Try the shot from the hip
5. Approach the objects of your lomographic desire as close as possible
6. Don’t think (william firebrace)
7. Be fast
8. You don’t have to know beforehand what you captured on film
9. Afterwards either
10. Don’t worry about any rules

Now, I dunno about you, but that seems like a pretty fun list. There is a whole range of lomography cameras that one can use as part of creating the funky pictures of this movement. I’ve been having fun with this Blackbird, Fly camera pictured above, my dad’s old Voigtlander Vitoret from the 60′s, an old Polaroid 600 Land Camera (still waiting for my ND filter to arrive so that I can hit the town with my Polaroid SX-70 Land Camera), and a Holga.

Now, lest you worry that this must be expensive, the Holga is only $25 smackers. And developing 120 medium format film can be costly, however, I have learned that Photo Works SF will develop film via their mail order system for only $10 a roll (this is compared to $7.99 a roll at most local drugstores like Walgreen’s or CVS, which work with 35mm film). So the film development is more expensive, but the more you poke around with lomo, the more fun it is. And dare I say, it’s fun just to press a button and turn the crank on the film, and not know quite what is going to come out!

If you’re thinking that you simply don’t want to buy another camera, there’s also the ultimate in lomo style: making your own. You can make a pinhole camera from your home with a few assorted materials, or even buy a set that is flat-packed and ready to be assembled.

Try something new: get out of the digital and into the lomo for the day. And if it’s been awhile since you even dusted off the digital, try something new by getting out and taking pictures, no matter what.

Yup, the voices may come up that this is stupid or there isn’t enough time or what’s the point anyway. Those voices come up. We get to choose what we’ll do in response to them.

Across Mediums: An Experiment In Radical Creativity from Kate Swoboda

So, okay, maybe you’re looking at this and going, “Really? Try something new–like your e-course? Come on, now.”

But really! I am suggesting that you try something new, and I am looking forward to the utter wild reckless fun of Across Mediums. I’m looking forward to it in large part because now that my days are so full (far, far fuller than I had envisioned them to be when I let go of teaching and set out to, you know, be my own Boss Lady), it is harder to find time to just tap into a wee creative project and have some fun. I see this as being a space where I’ll be able to have some fun while leading others in creating something wild, something that actually makes use of the art materials that I hoard.

Registration ends in less than two weeks (the course starts right after Valentine’s Day!). Click here to sign up (the cost? Only $35–I’m not trying to make a pretty penny off of this course so much as I welcome creating a community of diving in, experimenting, and having fun!).

Now, let’s say that you’re not into e-courses in general or know that you won’t have the time, or it’s not your thing. Cool. For today, try something new by taking the normal amount of time that you spend doing something creative, and now double that.

This is not without merit in the overall scope of our lives. I believe that within us there are aspects of our personalities that are still little kids, and those aspects of our personalities were never meant to stop playing! We were always meant to still laugh, have fun, dance, listen to great music, and color.

Try something new: go to the store and buy the BIG box of crayons, and any coloring book at all will do, and lay on the rug like you used to as a kid (building a fort is totally optional) and just color for awhile. 

Sure, you might feel silly doing it. Sure, some voice might tell you that there are dishes to be washed and fifteen other things to do.

That voice will come up when we try something new. We get to choose whether or not we listen.

P.S. Registration for a whole new group of participants in The Courageous Year is opening right after Across Mediums closes. Make the next 12 months of your life the months that support you in shifting something BIG that you have wanted to shift. Sign up for the mailing list here to be notified when registration for The Courageous Year has opened.

Okay. So you’ve heard of the classical artists like Picasso and Van Gogh. You’ve probably even heard of some modern painters and commercial artists.

But what about graphic designers?

Stefan Sagmeister is an Austrian-born designer who has created some amazing work in the past few years. I confess: I have a bit of a crush on him. I discovered him by a happy accident when I saw his TED talk on how Design can make you happy, and found it to be humorous and multi-faceted and not taking himself (or design) too seriously, yet having a focused quality to the work.

Here is Stefan Sagmeister’s Four-Part Design process, according to his book, “Made You Look”

1.) Think about the project from any point of view–your mom’s, yours, from the point of view of color, from the point of view of form–and write each response down on an index card.

2.) Spread all the cards down on a table to see if you can find the relationship between ideas.

3.) Forget about the whole thing.

4.) The idea will miraculously strike you when you least expect it.

So this got me to thinking–in addition to “trying something new” by now seeking out Stefan Sagmeister and learning about him, I wondered: could his design process be applied to a life challenge of sorts?

So, Try Something New: Think of an issue that you’ve been grappling with lately. Write it down from your point of view, your mom’s point of view…choose like 10 people. Put each point of view on an index card. Then spread them all on a table, and look for the common thread between all points of view. 

Then walk away.

Trust that the idea will strike you miraculously when you least expect it.

It’s “Try Something New” month, so consider that there’s embracing this as a fun way to approach a sticky situation, or there’s declaring it won’t work from the get-go…to what are you more committed?

When I was making the video for Across Mediums yesterday, I dug out art supplies that had been neatly tucked away, and as always was laughing at myself for completely and totally forgetting about what supplies were still there. I am the type of person who will walk around an art store for an hour, getting inspired, my check card burning a hole through my snazzy little purse as I lust over new pens and galkyd and tubes of paint and spackle and thinners and ephemera and papers and think, “I wish that I could get all of these supplies!”

And then at home, there are more than I know what to do with, half the time.

When I was working through the Across Mediums project solo a few years ago, I found that I connected with something elemental that I had not been using on a regular basis since childhood. Remember what it was like to just color on the floor? I could do that for hours. It was so entertaining to just be with myself. I noticed that when I first started Across Mediums, the voices telling me that I was not enough were much stronger than when I stopped doing the project a few months later. It had grown easier and easier to just dive in, not make too much out of what I had set out to do, and simply put pencil to page, glue to ephemera, pen to lined notebook, and go for it. I was not trying to make something, I was simply trying “to make.”

Yesterday I was thinking about the element of play, and how necessary it is even in our adult lives, and how hard it can feel, how challenging, to make time for it. Yet just five minutes of sketching can soothe. One of my favorite headache remedies is to go out and shoot pictures. It has cured more than one intense headache. Dancing to a good song can lift me out of a bad mood. Journaling can clarify my thoughts. I’ve been accused more than once of being too “in my head,” yet when I look around the truth is that I step out of my head and onto a page, into a room, into some music more often than not.

And MUSIC–I didn’t realize what a tool it was until I got an iPod a few years ago. I’d been wondering why everyone was so addicted to them (and finding it a wee bit pretentious, I confess) and then I got my first–a freebie when Andy bought a computer–and before I knew it, that thing was full. I loved being able to take any music with me anywhere, change it up to suit my mood, and easily play a song over and over (remember the days of having to rewind a tape to hear your favorite song?).

What I’m bringing to the Across Mediums e-course is that same sense of playtime, of just getting to dive in and get messy and not worry at all about technical ability. There’s really only one rule of sorts: get in there and do. Of course the voices about “not good enough” are going to come up. Of course. And yet, just get in there and draw on a page. Tear it up. Draw over it. Take a picture. Glue the picture face down. Whatever. I’m referring to the course as an experiment in radical creativity, because the point will simply be to create, not to get technical know-how (and to be clear, I’m certainly not bashing technical know-how or saying that skill is pointless! Of course it’s valuable–it’s just not the focus of this particular course).

I’m curious to know–how do you PLAY? I posed this question to the Courageous Year participants recently. How do you get out of your head? What songs do you dance to? Where do you go to sketch when the sight of your own same four walls are too much? Do you read trashy magazines over coffee? Find someone to take a power walk with? How do you PLAY?

So raise your hand if you’re someone who…

*  hoards art supplies, telling herself that she’ll use them (and then somehow that doesn’t happen).

* secretly longs to quit your day job and spend long days sketching or painting or collaging at a studio desk

* gets totally inspired when she buys the canvas at the art store, then feels paralyzed with fear or resistance when it’s time to sit down.

* someone who makes the first brush or pen stroke, sighs and thinks, “That sucks,” maybe gives it another few minutes and then gives up.

* would love to do something creative, but doesn’t have the time or money to go to art school

* would love to do something creative, but doesn’t want to have people critique her work–why can’t it just be fun?

* would love to create lots of artwork, but what would one do with it once it’s finished?

* promises herself that this time, she’ll finish that sketchbook and yet…yet…yet…

A few years ago, I was really inspired by an exhibition I saw at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. It was a retrospective of the artist Joseph Cornell, who did a lot of collage art and 3-D work. He was a self-taught artist. What struck me moreso than his finished pieces were these glass cabinet islands in the middle of the room that documented his planning process. This man collected clippings, and bits and baubles, and sketched the bits and baubles, and brainstormed, and made notes, and wrote about objects…he did all of this work before he even began the piece itself. Through these glass cases, I had a window into how much pre-work he did before he got to the actual work, and it struck me that this was one way to let go of how “precious” art can be–you know, that feeling of “I can’t fuck it up” and “well, what’s the point? It’s not like I’m going to make money off of this anyway.”

That feeling.

I was also really struck by how he worked across mediums–with painting, sketching, collage, photography, even incorporating math and physics in the sense that some of his pieces were made into clocks or mazes for a silver ball to wind through. What experimentation! What a melding of sculpture and portrait and color and image!

So I went home and started something that year–a project called Across Mediums. I brainstormed some themes and then each week I sat down and did pre-planning for that theme in which I wrote, brainstormed, etc. Then I tried to use that theme across different mediums like photography, painting, sketching, and writing. So if my theme for the week was “birds,” I would brainstorm all of my associations, then I’d write about birds in either a non-fiction or fiction piece, I’d try to photograph birds, I’d sketch birds, I’d paint birds. I found that this process did two really great things:

1.) By the time I had experimented with the subject in so many ways, I was producing better work than if I’d simply tried a bunch of stabs at it, again and again;

and

2.) I was really, really unattached to the final product, because I’d put so much time into process.

It was a really helpful process for me in doing creative, visual art.

On New Year’s Day, I woke up thinking about the Across Mediums work that I had done, and felt this sudden flash of inspiration: turn it into an e-course, a space to dive in, get inspired, shake up the artistic process, be completely unattached to outcome. In the past few weeks, I’ve been fleshing out what I actually did with my own Across Mediums process to make it more detailed and specific and e-course friendly, and I’m excited to announce that next week, I’m going to open registration for Across Mediums, which will start in mid-February!

The course will be two weeks long–fourteen days straight–and ideal for someone who is going to put in 20 minutes each day for those days. Each and every day will have a new opportunity for you to do more across several different modes of creativity (painting, 3-D, photography, sketching) on a particular theme.

By the end of the process, participants will emerge having had some fun with what they were doing, actually using those art supplies (!), and the best part is that the course will guide you to a place of just letting go with art-making and not worrying about outcome. It will present a series of challenging twists and turns–not artistically, but mentally–for you to experiment with and see what happens. It’s also a great way to connect with other people who like to play with art-making from around the world.

The course will be $35 and registration will be very limited, so if you are interested in joining, add yourself to the spam-free announcement list on this page so that you’ll be notified when registration has opened.

Photo by Andy (that’s me down at the end, snapping away…)

I don’t know where I first heard about lomography. I can’t remember, which is odd for me because usually I can pinpoint a specific idea that started something off. What I do remember is that somehow I found out about Holga cameras and decided that I’d get one because they were so cheap (ha! Little did I know that it’s the film developing costs that will kill you with lomo) and because, from what I saw online, they produced really fun, interesting results because the cameras have “light leaks” that allow light in at odd places, and this has a natural effect on the film. I imagined roll after roll of fantastically interesting shots.

My first roll on the Holga was an absolute disaster. Such a light, small, plastic camera? I could not hold the thing still in my hands and almost every picture turned out blurry and completely un-usable. What made things worse was that I didn’t know where to get the film developed at the time, and the place where I took the film quoted me $16 to process it and then I was charged $24 (because processing and printing are different, and they did not explain that). So, it was some ridiculous price for one roll of black and white 120 film, and then $24 for printing blurry pictures–not the adventure I’d been hoping for. Now I have found SF Photo Works, which will develop 120 film for $5 and print for $5 more (you can mail it in!). Also, I’ve figured out that you can get 35mm backs for Holgas and other cameras that normally take 120, which is of course less expensive. Furthermore, I’ve figured out that if you just tape the back of your Holga and count 35 clicks when winding, you can use 35mm film with a Holga even without buying the special back for it (I figure I’ll pass along the trade secrets in the hopes that others of you won’t need to do as much trial and error as I’ve been doing).

Another thing you might not know about me is that I have a huge fascination with old, abandoned buildings. I do not often wish to have been born with a penis, but when I see old, abandoned buildings and want to go explore in them, I do wish I were a guy so that I could explore such structures with less of a chance of being victimized by any characters who might happen to be living in there. I once found a photography book where the photographer had gone in to old buildings and taken pictures of what he found there (have no idea if this was done with permission or not). He matched up his pictures with pictures of what the place had looked like at one time, and I was fascinated (and, unfortunately, still in my “cheap” phase…I passed on that book and have always regretted it, and the store that carried it closed down and I have no idea what the title/author was). I am obsessed with vintage photographs and have quite the collection (a smattering of my very favorites can be found in my vintage set on Flickr).

All of this leads up to the story of Christmas Day. Andy got me two books for Christmas–one on the Holga, one on Fisheye cameras, and I was so inspired that I said, “Let’s go out and shoot pictures!” We headed out first to see the side of this building, which I had spotted a few months ago and had been telling myself I wanted to come back and capture on film:

It was Andy who said, “What about getting shots of that train station?” There’s this abandoned train station here in the East Bay that I have always wanted to get shots of. This is all part of my obsession with abandoned structures–the tracks of the station, including the elevated tracks–are still standing. There is a high chain-link fence around the entire thing, but in my secret fantasies, I would actually be brave enough to wiggle through the bent places in the chain link and take pictures. In my biggest fantasies, maybe there would be an open door somewhere, and I’d be able to just go inside and actually get photographs from the inside–beams of sunlight coming through cracked windows, dust particles caught in the light.

We drove over to the train station. No one was around, since it was still before noon on Christmas Day and no one was working at the nearby industrial complexes. I saw many places where I could have wiggled through the bent chain-link, but all of those places were so exposed, and I was too afraid. Then–who knows why–there was a place where a gate door was open to allow cars access. We parked the car across the street from this area, and after a moment’s hesitation, I said these words to Andy:

“Look, I have no priors. Let’s just do it.”

If I were to get arrested for trespassing on private property on Christmas Day so that I could take pictures, would that really be the worst thing in the world? I was willing to find out.

To my utter shock and amazement…from this completely open gate we were able to walk all the way along a set of train tracks to the abandoned station. Andy took pictures with his iPhone camera and I was snapping away with both my Holga and my Blackbird, Fly camera. (P.S. This 35mm camera is cheaply made and more fun to carry around than necessarily producing brilliant pictures. But still–) There were signs everywhere warning of CCTV, but they were bluffing–there was no a camera in sight, and if there was, no one was watching them on Christmas Day. No cars were really driving past. Andy I were whispering the entire time, just in case. With it being Christmas Day, and morning, the entire world was already quiet. Here, it seemed even quieter.

I took a deep breath and mounted the staircase to the upper level.

Being on that top level was both incredibly anti-climactic as well as a total high. It was anti-climactic in the sense that I didn’t really see many beautiful shots–what was more interesting to me visually was the lower level–but it was a total high in the sense that I knew I was doing something completely illegal and that in addition to that, I was standing in a spot where thousands of people had walked before me, people from a totally different time and era. What were they like? What were their stories? Did they think, as I sometimes can slip into the habit of thinking, that the way the world was for them at that moment in time was the way it would always be? That women would always dress that way, that cars would always look that way? This station actually didn’t close until after the Loma Prieta earthquake in the late 80′s, but I was having such fun imagining what it would have been like after the turn of the century.

I found this Flickr set that contains copies of old archival photos of the station, as well as a lot of modern shots that are probably going to turn out to be remarkably similar to what I shot on Christmas Day.

Oddly enough, I felt–despite intellectually knowing otherwise–that I had a “right” to be there. There was something beautiful to capture here. It needed to be captured, and I had wanted to do this for so long. Given these tough economic times, I imagine that the city of Oakland could make quite a mint of money if it would allow artists access to some of these older buildings (and given that there is an entire Flickr group dedicated to capturing shots of this beautiful station, there’s a market for this). Sadly, what the city is going to do instead is “restore” the area by putting up a bunch of truly ugly looking condos (they’re already blossoming) and a “retail center.” I read that as meaning that this beautiful old station will someday be a new retail outlet for the likes of The Gap.

My only bummer about lomography is the obvious–there is no immediacy, and for now, the only photographs that I can share are ones from the iPhone because I need to send out my 120′s and 35mm’s for processing. I’m crossing my fingers that these rolls of film come back looking good, because I would be so horribly disappointed if it were roll after roll of blurry film.

Then again, regardless of whether or not the pictures will turn out as anything, there is also something to be said for the beauty of experiencing something right in that moment. When I alighted the last step and was standing on the top platform, Andy was downstairs and I was just standing there alone, looking around, looking at the pool of water that had collected on the tracks, looking at the highway in the distance, feeling totally present and totally alive and totally connected both to this moment as well as to all of the people who had walked those same steps. It was silent, and a little cool, and the sky was very blue, and I couldn’t stop smiling.

Then the  moment was gone, I lifted a camera to my eye, and began to shoot.

Alameda, CA

I have a bit of an obsession with Alameda. I’ve pretty much been ecstatic about living here since I moved into my first apartment, a terrifically big studio apartment with utilities included and the old-style radiator heat that got things all nice and steamy warm. Born and raised in the Midwest, there are certain things that this gal just never has gotten used to in the San Francisco Bay Area, and one of them is having trouble finding parking on a street where I live. Alameda is the only place I’ve ever lived where parking is free and abundant, even on street sweeping days. There’s really not any crime, yet it’s not suburban.

Ole’s Waffle Shop. (Andy is in the lower left corner, holding a latte).

It’s got this “little old town” feel to it, with a box mart shopping center conveniently tucked away on the edge of things for those times when there’s no getting around it–you need a Safeway, or a Kohl’s, or whatever. It only takes five minutes to get anywhere. Rents are lower than anywhere else in the Bay Area and it’s only 20 minutes to get into San Francisco (and there are multiple options–car, transbay bus, parking at BART and taking public transit in, or the ferry). I do my running along the beachfront, where, on a clear day, the Bay Bridge and the City of San Francisco unfold themselves from the midst, a faraway hustle and bustle.

Outside the Bonniere Bakery, Alameda, CA.

On Sunday mornings, things are so quiet that one can hear their own footsteps. It is my favorite time to talk a walk.

But beyond anything else, I love how friendly everyone is. I love how my Peeps at Peet’s (as I call them) know my name and drink. I love how there is a Starbucks across the street from Peet’s (gee, guess which one was there first, and which one moved in just to be a corporate a**hole?) and how, when patrons from either place are crossing the street and happening in the opposite direction of the other, we arch eyebrows at one another’s cups but still smile and keep moving along. On this little island it is not uncommon to run into friends, start talking, and then realize you’ve finished half of your latte. There are good restaurants, a promenade of Queen Anne victorians (head down Grand Street to see them, and make a right onto Clinton Ave to see more), and–dare I say it? dare I “throw down” in such an aggressive way?–the BEST freaking library, ever. (P.S. It warms my heart that there is always a crowd of people waiting for the library to open each morning. As long as there is a crowd of people waiting to get into the library–a whole big two-story pile of books–the world cannot be in too bad of shape).

View from my front porch

When Susannah was in San Francisco a short while ago, she had a meetup at the SFMOMA cafe, and I was heading into San Francisco that night to meet my students for our semesterly “Class night at the museum” at the SFMOMA, so I went in a bit early.

I had never given much thought to Polaroid photography. Actually, I confess I didn’t actually think it was an art form–I was under the mistaken impression that you can’t really control much with a Polaroid and that the good shots are simply a matter of luck. After looking at her gorgeous photographs and hearing her talk about manipulating Polaroid cameras, I had that feeling–that “I want to do that” feeling–and promptly began looking into getting a camera off of eBay. But before I did that, I put a notice out on Facebook that I was interested in finding a Polaroid in case anyone had one they were interested in just chucking, and within minutes Julia, writer extraordinaire and my new Patron Polaroid Saint, said I could come pick up her old 600 Land Camera, as it was collecting dust.

Cue the hunt for film, which I finally did find–at $25 a pack (and there are only ten shots in that pack…)!

And now I have taken my first shots and find that I really love the quiet grace of a Polaroid shot. There is something that I respond to when I hold a Polaroid in my hands. I don’t know how to explain it, except to say that there is something palpable about it. I keep looking at the photographs again and again, inspecting them, just enjoying the looking.

Now let me shift just a bit into what I’ve been thinking about, ever since taking on a type of photography that will cost $2.50 per photograph, with the fore-knowledge that much of what I do will be a flub, because the best advice I ever heard about becoming a good photographer is “Take lots of pictures.”

I am a photographer–I’ve been doing portrait sessions since 2006. I am the kind of photographer that a certain sect of photographers really hates–the self-taught photographer. Really, there is a certain sect of people in every art form that hates self-taught types. There are artists who disdain of any artist who didn’t go to art school. There are musicians who think any musician who didn’t start out with a solid foundation in classical training is a hack. There are writers who disdain of anyone who hasn’t studied under some established writer  (though oddly with writing, there is a lot of moaning and complaining about how all writing programs do is produce crappy writers and that “real” writers don’t need writing programs because “real” writers just write–with the help of a mentor, because to go it solely alone would hint at arrogance).

I began experimenting with photography before I ever knew what an F-stop was or what ISO meant. I did it quietly, without really sharing what I did because I didn’t think I was a “real” photographer. I bought a Canon Rebel that took 35mm film. An awful boyfriend had his brother sell the camera to me used for $250, claiming it was a deal, and I was such a naive thing that I took him at his word and then my mouth dropped open in shock when I saw the same camera at Target, brand-new, for the same price (sigh).

It was when I graduated to the Canon Digital Rebel XTi that I actually began to learn a thing or two about photography. The digital age has allowed me to teach myself a lot that I wasn’t able to teach myself when time delays made it necessary to wait to see what certain camera settings would produce. With a digital, I could set the camera to a certain setting, take pictures, see how that turned out, tweak it, take more, notice what made a difference–all without spending a ton of money.

More than anything, being able to play with a digital camera taught me a lot because I was able to make mistakes. Unlike when I was a kid and had a little Vivitar 110 camera and had to save up my allowance to buy or develop the film, using the digital has given me the freedom to play and experiment to my heart’s content.

The Polaroid, by contrast, is such an expensive camera to operate that my first time out with it I noticed that I was reigning myself in–hesitating to take pictures for fear that they would turn out badly and I’d waste $2.50 on a bad shot.

And then I thought, “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

I’ve been reading a lot more about the left and right brain lately–inspired by Daniel Pink’s “A Whole New Mind,” which I taught to one of my English classes this past semester. I’ve been thinking about how hitting the continuous shutter button on my Digital Rebel is so about going with a moment, not thinking, just diving right in and seeing what comes up–a much more right-brained experience. Using my 35mm Blackbird Fly or the Holga or even my Dad’s old Voigtlander Vitoret, and now the Polaroid, I take much more care in sizing up a shot. Especially with the Polaroid–who wants to spend $2.50 for a shot and get a blurry mess? I mean, that’s my latte budget we’re cutting into.

But from the perspective of craft, I can see how having some arenas where some outside influence causes me to go into a different mode than the one that I usually exist in, one that reigns in my excesses and gets me to carefully consider a move, can be a good one. When practicing the piano, one always starts slowly and then works their way up. You start slowly because otherwise you will practice mistakes in, which is to mean: your muscle memory will retain certain patterns that are incorrect, and you want to slowly train your muscle memory to reach for the right notes, and then build speed from there. Maybe there is some similar element for photography (one that I don’t know about since I didn’t go to school for photography). Maybe there is something about how I size up shots or evaluate lighting that I’ll notice and then integrate into what I do when I go back into the free form of continuous shutter on the digital.

I would really like to hunt down the Polaroid SX-70 land camera. If you have one floating around your attic or basement and don’t want it, please do contact me. Even if it’s broken, I’ll give it a try and see what happens.

And if you’re interested, I’m watching The Impossible Project closely, and recently got a tip about Rollip.com from O Magazine.

Was heading home today and listening to Deb Talan (of the Weepies)–her solo album, “A Bird Flies Out.” One of my favorite songs on that album is “Big Strong Girl,” which has the line:

“You can’t do it all alone, and if you could, would you really want to?”

It is a line that speaks to me about collaboration and support, something that I am feeling such gratitude for these days.

I notice that I tend to trust people more when I know that they have witnessed me “completely fuck it all up” (that’s the way the Gremlin likes to put it), or, more kindly, “not step into the vision of myself that I want to step into,” and then they are willing to let go of that and be connected or supportive anyway.

I was thinking of Christine today when I was listening to Deb Talan’s song, because Christine has seen me “completely fuck it all up”/”not step into the vision of myself that I want to step into,” and I’ve watched as she has not bought into a picture of me as “that way.” I appreciate that so much. I feel really grateful. 

Here is who I believe Christine to be–someone who is authentic to her core, even in revealing the parts about herself that might be scary to reveal. When you see that Christine supports another artist on her blog, it’s not because she’s pimping a product. Instead, I know Christine to be someone who actively seeks inspiration in the world, and because she’s a collector of it, it comes to her quite naturally, and then she gets to share it.

I see Christine as someone who actively lives the belief that “there is enough for all of us.” 

I love her book, Ordinary Sparkling Moments. I bought it around the time it first came out, and have looked through it many a time. It’s a book that I love just spending time with, whether it’s to drift among the beautiful pictures or read her words. I gifted my mother with a copy last year for her birthday, and she loved it, too.

I am actively fantasizing about what it would mean to take a little weekend trip down to L.A. to see the show that she’s participating in (Anne Carmack is putting it together, I hear). At the moment I don’t know how that would work out, what with me moving and so much going on (and goodness but yesterday was frustrating, as it now appears the place we were all set to move into isn’t going to work out, because yet again while showing us a place, someone said that work would be done prior to our moving in–sure, no problem, easy, three days, already on top of it–and now it’ll probably take 8-10 weeks. To paint a house and fix a broken porch column. Sigh. NEXT!).

But I’ll hold that possibility anyway, and nonetheless just feel really grateful for who Christine is and how she shows up in the world. If you haven’t already picked up your copy of Ordinary Sparkling Moments, consider gifting yourself! I am an official “Book Fairy” who is distributing two books at supah-secret SF locations for people to discover a part of the 100 books project.