today in the studio ... black linen

Ahhhh, it's good to have black linen back in stock. Just staring into makes me happy. Is that wrong? No.

ye olde Adler

I just finished and mailed away a black Parachute Something Husk that someone ordered on Etsy. I forgot to have Mr. Lentil take a picture of it to add to the listing choices so I made the olive one black and white in Photoshop as a consolation prize to myself.

pretend this is a black one

At least I make myself laugh.

I also worked on the destroyed / distressed sweaters (see yesterday) and OH my goodness am I having fun.

today in the studio ... distressed sweaters

If there's one thing I've learned in my years of making clothes and selling them online, it's this: nothing is more boring than a picture of a heap of fabric.

See? But in this case I dyed it myself so I'm forcing the issue. It's a very lovely wool-blend jersey that I'm turning into a handful of lightweight drifty hole-filled distressed layering sweaters. That's the plan anyway. We'll see what happens.

i'm a flip-flopper, or, decorum!

I go back and forth.

Well, I could stop right there.

Of course I won't.

I go back and forth. I am at once a candid and protective sort, in an uncannily odd mix. Once a person I had just met referred to me as "a log cabin on stilts." I'm fine with that. I prefer self-deprecation to boasting, and don't mind telling the story about how I peed my pants when I was 16, (because it's funny!) but I also really, really like protective boundaries and keeping them and keeping company with people who also have their own. Decorum! Decorum, people, it's not the same as shame, or secrecy, or anything nasty like that.

But sometimes my quest for balance is just stupid. There, I said it. Stupid. A while ago I started a second blog. I had this idea that I wanted to write about making things and and the making life, and that I would somehow benefit from keeping it separate from Secret Lentil. Well guess what? Secret Lentil is basically my child. I love it and even when I don't it's still hanging on my ankle dragging across the kitchen floor, screaming something about "Wrong cookies! Wrong cookies!"

I think I just wanted what the mother of every toddler wants: a few minutes alone in the bathroom. Well, people, there is no such thing. So I'll be okay with that too. The handful of posts that follow have been moved over from there to here. All eggs, one basket. Enjoy.


ps: I can barely keep bean sprouts alive for 3 days and am not even qualified to use motherhood as an analogy, but I did it anyway. I claim poetic license.

it gets better, the angst-ridden edition

we can experiment with how to do work

It occurs to me that there is a bigger picture even when I can't feel it. And that I am figuring out how to do this. I get glimmers now and then.

Do you know what helps? I've started talking to / pestering any full time established artist who will share details of their process with me. I think full time is key because they are pushed in ways that others aren't: their plates and houses and pants are on the line. They can't afford to be romantic. (whew)

And oh boy, do I ever recommend it.

Yesterday i joked to my painter friend P. about how I dream up a new scheme every week for what will work for me. His eyes lit up. Without taking a breath he said: We don't have security. We don't have someone writing a check for us every week. But we can experiment with how to do work. In fact, it's the one precious thing we have that no one can take away from us.

It's a thing we have. Not a fatal flaw! My curse is his blessing - and it all spun around for me.

Still I wish I had some sort of "It Gets Better" campaign for artists. I want to know if this all works out. I want to know if my struggles are worthwhile, if I'm planting seeds or just ensuring I'll be an unemployable freak after all of this .... Yup, of course, as soon as I write that I know I don't want that. I just think I do. Carry on. As you were. Onward into the murk.

humble pie

The caveat is: I had a big wedge of fruit pie this morning - warm, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, along side a gorgeous mug of espresso ... so when all this buzzy brainy hovery goodness wears off this might not make any sense but here's what I'm thinking right now:

Well first I'm thinking everything should start with a caveat. It loosens things up nicely.

Then I'm thinking: staying calm is my job.

That is it. That is all.

This is not a new thought. I've had it before - that being calm is Job Number One. Things don't go well when I am a spastic mess or an internet zombie or a crying heap. But what I didn't do before is remove everything else from the list.

Nothing else is my job. I'm using a lot of italics so I think I really mean this. The dreaming, the sketching, the magical act of creating, the customer service, the web design, the blogging, the bookkeeping, the learning new skills - these are all a hobbies I will do in my spare time, after I'm done doing my job.

And what did I say that is? Staying calm is my job.

This is the trick that will get me through today. It might even work tomorrow, if I add some pie.