in honor of my recent participation in trust the mess, i thought it would be fun for you to have the opportunity to play in a board book the same way i got to with sabrina ward harrison!  it was tons of  fun, and a board book really lends itself to being painted, washed, scraped, sanded, slathered, and layered. the creative possibilities are open and endless!

what you need:

a baby board book (whatever size or shape you like – the one’s with windows for the cover are very fun!)

a sheet of medium grit sandpaper (or a power sander if you’re feeling wild and crazy)

gesso mixture (3/4 gesso and 1/4 warm water)

brushes for applying the gesso and also for painting if you so desire

glue, gel medium, or modge podge

you favorite paints, papers, vintage and new ephemera, and other fun mixed media or collaging supplies

scissors

what to do:

1 ~ using your sandpaper or sander, sand the surface of every page of your book.  be sure to get all the corners and edges too. once done, the pages should feel like suede and not appear glossy any longer (though you will still be able to see the images on the page).

2 ~ gesso each page and let completely dry (stand up and fan out pages).

3 ~ start layering and playing on your pages: add some color, pretty papers, writing etc.

4 ~ let dry between layers of paint and and glued items

have fun creating your book, working through it intuitively and with an open mind. don’t feel like you have to work on each page sequentially or in it’s entirety all in one sitting. just go where the page moves you.

maybe your book becomes a journal for you to write in.  maybe it is a little book of inspiration filled with things you love. or maybe it’s a momento of a special event or time (like mine is). whatever you book becomes, enjoy the process of creating something meaningfully made by YOU!

watch out! these are addictive ;)

by shona cole

i’m fresh back from my weekend spent in swirly’s studio and being deeply immersed in sabrina ward harrison’s amazing 2 day workshop.  i’m still processing everything i learned and gained from this weekend.  there was so much… meeting such lovely, talented and creative women in the class, making some crazy inspiring art, hearing stories and words and feelings spill, and feeling deeply rooted in my own truth and journey.

i loved sabrina’s process of  “droppin in”, saturating us with beautiful verses and poems she read, then helping us to peel back the layers through our own writing and the claiming of our words all to create a deeper connection to our art-making.  for me it was an incredible journey within a journey, in part the whirlwind trip cross country and then also the adventure through the unfolding of every juicy moment i was there.

i feel so wonderfully blessed to have been able to experience this weekend from the inside out. i was in it nose deep spending every moment in the wake of christine’s big-hearted and rock solid magic, and sabrina’s bohemian and wildly inspiring spirit. i got to sit squarely in the eye of that perfect storm for two whole days drinking life in big delicious gulps and creating something that really has no words wide enough to describe.

in every way i completely threw myself into this experience, arms flung wide open, to trust what would be… i gave up sleep.  i showed up for myself. i let go of the guilt of being away from my family. i cut off 8 inches of my hair. i painted with my hands. i read my own words aloud to a group of strangers. i believed i was good enough. i made memories that won’t ever be forgotten. i dreamed and i learned and i made, but mostly i just leaned into the experience and let it fill me up. i still am overflowing.

by kate swoboda

We could put this in the “What I Think I Know For Sure” file: Life will present you with lots of opportunities to tell the world who you want to be.

It was an average Wednesday. I fired up the computer in the morning, checked email, my personal Facebook page, and then my Facebook fan page–where I discovered that someone had reported every single individual link I’d posted to the fan page as “abusive.” Thus, anyone clicking on the link would see a message that the link had been reported as abusive, and that was that. Why someone would do this when not a single link I’d provided violates Facebook terms of use (that is, unless they’ve now established a moratorium on writing about love, connection, acceptance, and the like!) was beyond me. Why Facebook shut down the links without sending so much as an email message to me to say something is also beyond me.

I sighed. Annoying. I started searching through the links to contact Facebook and report that I’d been reported. A half-hour later I finally managed to find a way to contact them, and having done that? I commenced with “The Script.”

The Script. We all have one. It’s the thoughts that come to us, usually in the same order, right after we feel we’ve been wronged, gotten a bum deal, or had our asses handed to us. The Script will vary from person to person, but fundamentally it’s Victim Radio: All Victim, All The Time.

Any of the following could be part of your Script when things don’t go well: Why did that happen to me? Why do these things always happen? Can’t anything go right? People are assholes. I’m sick of this. What’s wrong with people? _________ is stupid. _______ can’t be counted on. I can’t believe this. It’s not fair. I’m going to tell ______ what a jerk they are. I’m not speaking to ______ anymore.

The Script usually runs on auto-pilot until we start getting savvy to its game. Getting conscious about your Script is Tool #1. Otherwise, it can run for hours. Days. Weeks. Months. Lifetimes.

I was pretty aware that my Script was running because–for instance–I was thinking things like, “Man, I’m just not going to use Facebook anymore.” Laughable! As if my boycott of Facebook would make this any better! I was also in “People are assholes,” mode, angry that someone had decided to be passive-aggressive, as opposed to just writing me and sharing their thoughts.

Tool #2: After you’ve noticed The Script, notice the predominant emotion. For me, anger was coming up more than anything. And if there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that underneath anger there is, 99% of the time, some sadness. So even though it felt vulnerable, I dug a bit deeper. I found the part of me that was thinking, “Why did that happen to me?” The part of me that felt hurt, and tender, and a little picked on. The part of me that yearns to be connected to all people in some way, and that was feeling disconnected in this moment–the part of me that was a little hurt, and sad.

But I didn’t want to stay there forever, either. I decided that I’d get out of the house for a bit to do my most-est favorite-est thing: grab a small soy chai latte (no foam).

Then I pulled out Tool #3: Move. In the car, I listened to Corinne Bailey Rae’s song, “Put your Records On” followed by Cold Cave’s “Life Magazine” and KT Tungstall’s “Suddenly I See.” My butt bopped in the seat a bit as I drove.

This lightened the mood enough for a little whisper to come in, a soft voice that asked: “Kate, who do you want to be in this situation?”

And there it was. I contemplated. I didn’t want to give my power away to this situation. I didn’t want to spend the day mucking around in it. I wanted to trust that it’d all work out. I remembered what two of my personal heroes, Rich and Yvonne Dutra-St.John of Challenge Day (www.challengeday.org) say about criticism: it’s often a sign that in some way, you’re making yourself seen, and that’s the mark of a leader. Visibility.

Tool #4: Ask, “Who do I want to be?”

Then, of course, there was my tattoo. A few months before, I’d taken a deep breath and had “love + acceptance” tattooed on my arm, in a highly visible spot. I’d done that because that’s who I want to be in all moments. It’s my highest vision. I don’t want to forget it, even in my most frustrating moments.

So who do I want to be in this situation? I want to be love and acceptance. As I said before, life will present all of us with lots of opportunities to show the world who we want to be. I’ll consider this to be one of mine.

Right then, life felt too short to care about Facebook fan pages. The music sounded good. I had a chai latte in my hand, a home to return to, a loving partner who I knew would give me a hug, Poppy the wonderkitty sleeping on a chair in my office, a day before me of doing work that I love, an interview scheduled with someone who really inspires me.

And that didn’t sound half-bad.

So that’s what I’m declaring myself to be, today. How about you?

by michelle ensminger

Last month I participated in the Wish Studio postcard swap.  After I completed the 5 required postcards I found I couldn’t stop making them.  I continued to cut postcard-sized rectangles from empty cardboard boxes.  I created a collage on the front of each out of scraps of paper and other random things I have a tendency to collect.  Even after I accumulated a nice stack of cards I still wasn’t certain what I would do with them.  At the time I was reading Carpathia, a beautiful and breathtaking book of poetry by Cecilia Woloch.  She has several poems in her book that are written as postcards to the people in her life—family members, friends, ex-lovers, even strangers.  I fell in love with the idea of receiving a postcard with a poem scribbled on the back.  And then I fell in love with the idea of writing these postcards to the people in my own life, to the strangers I notice throughout the day, to the people who cross my mind unexpectedly.  I have so many bits and pieces of poems in notebooks and day planners and on scraps of paper, little fragments of poems that come to me that I tend to jot down and then forget about.  So I have started a “Postcards and Poetry” project.  It’s still a work in progress and I’m not certain exactly how it will unfold.  What I know is I’m spending my evenings sitting on the floor surrounded by glue sticks, colored paper, and boxes filled with collected ephemera. I’m flipping through old journals finding forgotten fragments of poetry. I’m listening to the moments of my day and the words that may want to surface so that they can be captured and written on the back of a postcard.

Below is a glimpse of my “Postcards and Poetry” project…

Postcard Poem 1

today the trees teach us how to let go,

how to fall without fear,

how to be broken with grief

…

Postcard Poem 2

this day, in its emptiness, in its fearlessness

your body, as familiar as my own breathing

I have dreamed your scars, bright stars

on earth-toned flesh

I have dreamed this longing, this choked-back

urgency in my chest

…

Postcard Poem 3

right now, this admittance is a kind of prayer,

the only prayer I have

see it dwindle into the call of something

dying

…

Postcard Poem 4

I seem to fit loosely around his index finger

everything I am reduced to the size of

the circumference of this one finger

I am like a tattoo, a birthmark, a freckle

something permanent, but small

when he walks I get dizzy

when he sleeps I grow numb

and when he reaches for another’s hand

I feel my whole body shake with grief

…

Postcard Poem 5

she said the opposite of sound

is blue bowing to the evening,

is death in a tattered skirt,

is the nothingness under the chaos

….

Postcard Poem 6

the peace of one,

the fullness of one:

one horizon

one grain of sand

one pebble

one beginning

one breath

one kiss

by jo packham

Art is something that has a different “definition” for each of us. For some of us it is painting on a canvas, for some it is creating collectable pieces of jewelry, for some it is the sanding and rubbing of wood until it is as smooth as glass.

And Art is something that is created for different reasons for each of us. For some it is a hobby; for some it is our livelihood; and for some it is just the most practical, inexpensive, and creative way to get the job done.

That is what Art was for my mom … only I don’t think she ever realized how artistic she really was. She was creative yet practical and she was extravagant in a very frugal sort of way. She always reminded me that we were never to consider ourselves “poor” … broke maybe … but never “poor” and she loved a beautiful home so to have what she wanted she simply found a way to create one that she could afford all by herself. My mom painted every room in our house every year … and always a different color. She did not  have the financial resources to hire someone to do it for her so she taught me. I think I was only six when my mom put a paintbrush in my hand and showed me the proper way to load the brush, how to put the paint on the wall so that there were no streaks, and always how to properly clean up after myself.

I didn’t mind painting with my mom. She needed the help and it was better than when I had to clean out closets for her or scrub the kitchen floor. And I loved the immediate satisfaction of seeing a room change right before my eyes.

In fact painting my room with the skills my mom had given me, all by myself, is one of my fondest memories. When I was about 11, I announced to my mom that I wanted to paint and decorate my room, all by myself. I took my money from picking peonies, got on the bus, and went to town. I bought several gallons of chartreuse paint. It has always been my favorite color. I then proceeded on my journey to purchase a cotton candy pink bedspread and matching pillow shams, ruffled cotton candy pink drapes for the window, and a cotton candy pink fuzzy bathroom rug to put by my bed to keep my feet warm on winter mornings.

I went home and while my mom was at work I painted my room, including the ceiling the brightest boldest happiest chartreuse green you can ever imagine. I let it dry, hung my drapes, made my bed, and stood back to enjoy my “work”. My mom was stunned by my new room, in fact every time I left for school she would close the door so that when she walked down the hall she would not have to see what I had done to a room in her home. But she never said a word and I loved that room, I still love that room. It was a safe happy place for me all through my teen years. It was my own personal shelter in the storm … and I had created it all by myself!

I taught my children to paint just like my mom taught me. We painted Sara’s bedroom every year. One year we took cans of spray paint and grafittied the walls, one year it was light pink, one year it was all white, one year it had gardens painted and imaginary windows.

When Justin was in college he moved in with his girlfriend and one Friday morning he called me with a sound in his voice I had never heard. He asked me if I could drive to Logan NOW and because it was so unlike him I got in my car and left. When I got to their new home I pulled up in the driveway and tried to remain calm. It looked like a vacant building that should have long ago been condemned. What was left of the grass was brown and filled with weeds, the screen door was falling off its hinges, and the there was little paint left anywhere on the outside of the house. I walked in the living room and Justin and his girlfriend were sitting on the couch very close to tears. I said, “Sweetheart, is this your new place?” and he looked at me with a look that tears a mother’s heart apart and said, “Mom, I think I have made a huge mistake here.” After a little discussion I learned that they had rented the house because they wanted to have barbecues in the yard with their friends and they wanted a place that was “theirs” to fix up.  But, oh my hell, you should have seen the inside of that house … it should have been torn down.

So I cheerfully and confidently said, “Not a problem … everything can be fixed with a new coat of paint”. We went to Lowes and bought a different color for every room, and they were having a special on “Persian” rugs so we bought those too.

We went home and in 2 days, 4 of us painted that house from top to bottom, inside out. We even painted new enamel in the bathtub. It was fabulous. We did have one minor set back while painting the living room – which was quite large. We had 4 gallons of paint mixed, Addie started at one side and Justin started at the other side. When they met in the middle they discovered that the clerk at the store had mixed two different colors of paint … that did not look good together … so one half of the room was taupe and one half was kind of this golden pee color. I asked the kids why they hadn’t noticed and they simply said they thought they would dry to be the same color. So we went back to Lowe’s, had them remix 4 new gallons, and started again. This time starting them both in the middle of the room and moving to the sides.

When Sara and Brett were 5 months pregnant with the twins they bought a new house. It was all white and Sara hated it … she just couldn’t live in an all white house so we painted it … all of it. The night we got started Brett was standing in the kitchen with “that look” on his face. He said to me, “Jo, this is a really big house”. And I said, “Just look at one room at a time, one wall at a time – DO NOT look down the hall, We will get it done before the babies come.” It took us 2 weeks but it was done when Sara went into labor 3 months early.

Since then, among other things, Justin and I have painted the ceiling in our store Ruby & Begonia to look like aged copper, Justin has painted his latest new apartment, and I taught my 4-year-old grandchildren how to properly “load” a brush and how to paint the walls so there are no streaks. There are walls in Sara’s house that they have painted all by themselves and they are so very proud of their “art work”.

Art for my mom was in the form of sewing clothes that could not afford to be store bought and painting her home to be colorful and beautiful, always fresh and new.  It was practical, a necessity, always a labor of love, a time-shared, memories made, and her own individual artistic expression.

For her daughter, her grandchildren, and her great grandchildren it is the same.

by connie hozvicka

I cut so much class my senior year of high school, that I almost didn’t graduate.  Yeah, that’s my dark secret.  Luckily after a few  long conversation in the principal’s office and well, it doesn’t matter.  You see I wasn’t your average cool kid cutting school to sleep in and get high.  No, I was way more dorkier then that.

I had a mission.

I cut school so I could paint.

Instead of learning to be a good citizen in Mrs. McCracken’s Civics class or dissecting squids in Biology I could be found driving around the metro parks of Cleveland scouting for a good place to paint landscapes.  Or maybe, if I was feeling nervy enough, you could find me sketching on a street corner downtown or in a coffee shop twenty miles from school.

I had it all figured out at age 17.

It’s just a pity that it has taken me another 17 years to figure that out.

I did everything a good Artist should do…like earn a scholarship, go to Art school, get good grades, a degree, an interesting job, be included in a few shows, yada yada yada.

In other words I did everything I thought I was suppose to do.

Truth is, I’ve always wanted to be the Artist I felt like when I was 17.  The one who would risk anything to stay true to her Art–to nourish her Artist soul.  Back then I didn’t care that there were consequences for cutting school to paint….I just knew that’s what I had to do.  For me to truly be me.  For my heart to fully be fulfilled.

And here’s the beauty of it all, I got away with it back then.  Teachers knew what I was up to–heck, they even graded me on the work I brought in from my excursions.  I never got anything lower then an A my whole senior year.  I even told the principal that I had to…it was my passion that was ringing in the scholarships and quaint little dinners with recruits from Pratt.

I knew then who I was.  I knew what my purpose was.  I knew what it was all about and the Universe supported me.

Dang, I had it all figured out.

So I’m not going to bore you with what happened next through those 17 years.  I’m sure you could figure out that something just wasn’t right.

Instead I’m going to fast forward the saga and take you back to a few weeks ago, when I finally gave fear the ol’ middle finger and handed my letter of resignation into my job–  you know–the one with excellent benefits, retirement, paid holidays and vacations.  The one that looked so great in theory–but never felt completely right to me.

I finally decided that it’s time I pick up where I left off when I was just 17.

Now I would never waste space on the amazing Wish Studio just to blab and blab about me.  Noway, that would be rude and inconsiderate to this great community Mindy’s got going.  I’m sharing this story because there’s a deeper meaning here that I’m in complete awe of.  I’m sharing because I want you to see it too.  I want you to believe.

I had it all figured out at 17.  I did.

And so did you.

The thing is, we just started to listen to all those voices that were outside of ourselves.  We started to believe that fear would keep us safe.  We started to think that it was us against the world and we better be prepared, ready, organized, qualified, and most of all responsible.  We started to believe that we really don’t know.

I’m here as living proof to tell you that you do know what to do with this one beautiful Creative Juicy Life of yours.

You used to live from your truth when you were 17. Even if you were seen as troubled and  confused to those around you…even if you cut so much school you barely graduated….or even if you were the most popular cheerleader of the bunch…somewhere deep inside your actions–your dreams–your longings to belong…you knew who you were and had a drive to express it.

And I’m here to say there is no better time then now…to pick up from where you left off.

by jenny swanson

When the necklace came to me I was excited and a teensy bit intimidated to be a part of this project. No matter who you are and what you do, you most likely have moments (sometimes days) of questioning yourself: Who do I think I am to contribute to this? What will I make that will be good enough to be on such a lovely piece?

I had thought about what I would make to hang on this lovely collaboration and finally decided on a rolled paper bead, inspired by these women in Uganda.  Suubi means hope, and these women have overcome amazing odds and are providing for their families by making necklaces and selling them.  I have a necklace and a pair of earrings that I just love.  They take what they have and make it into something beautiful.

I made my rolled paper bead charm full of inspiration and hope.  I myself am facing a difficult season in my life.  I want to do as these Ugandan women are doing.  Drawing strength and hope from my Creator, I will press on and inspire hope to others, doing the best with what I have.

I wore the necklace and felt surrounded by the community of women involved in the project.  It feels as though we are a tribe, each contributing, each adding a part to a beautiful whole.  I wore it around the house doing mundane tasks, and I wore it out on a shopping/ play date with my sister and our kids.

I said a prayer over the necklace before sending it on its way, and I pray that everyone that wears it will feel embraced with love and hope.

by lisa ferrante

Today my morning started out like any other and then we had about a two hour speed bump (more like train wreck!)  My oldest daughter wouldn’t wake up no matter how many honey, sweeties and pumpkins I whispered into her ear.   After  finally  coaxing her out of bed with the smell of blueberry waffles she became upset because one of her waffles had a burnt edge so she refused to eat them but first she managed to get blueberries and syrup all over her last clean uniform shirt. My little one decided   to  pour her milk all over the floor and  then happily jump in it like a glorious puddle of rain. When I went to go get some paper towels to clean up the mess she went into the bathroom two feet away and proceeded to smear an entire tube of toothpaste into her hair and everywhere else her little hands could reach. She proudly comes out to tell us she smells minty! My oldest was now going to be late for school so I put a hat on the little ones head and we’re off! We get her to school just in time. When we  get  home I try to pry the little ones hat off that is now glued to her head with hardened toothpaste.  Bath time   ( ok,  now we’re getting somewhere!) We laugh and make bubble faces until she announces Mom I pooped! Just another magical morning in the Ferrante house!

You see my Mom died when I was five. This led to many years of imagining and sort of creating the mom I wished I could have had. I would imagine this playful, loving, silly mom who loved nothing more than spending time with me. I was not fortunate enough to have this but I was fortunate enough to realize that I could be her to my little girls.

Because I’ve had some hard times in life i’m blessed to know the difference  between  a real problem and a series of crazy events that when you take a minute to look at are quite funny.  I’m no saint, far from it but I try to live my life with few regrets. Sometimes we have to just laugh and think of it as a moment that will be over in the blink of an eye. My babies will not be babies for long. Pretty soon you’ll have nothing but free time to create and you’ll crave the beautiful chaos , the magical moments even the poop in the tub! The time I crave to paint will be replaced with the time I crave being with my children so enjoy it while it’s right in front of you looking at you with big blue eyes and fairy wings!

by brandi reynolds

Why do I fight this so hard? This need to slow down, take a deep breath, step away from the computer…

I think it’s because I fear disconnection. I fear not being seen by people, as if the only way what I say or do counts is if I have a record of it for people to comment on. What if, by stepping away from the online world, I disappear completely?

These are the kind of things I think about when I should be working.

But yet that little voice keeps insisting with more and more urgency-and frankly, some annoyance- that it’s time to slow down.

First I tried to placate the voice by doing something little-canceling my twitter accountt. I wasn’t using it much anyway. Nope…still cluttered up in there. Okay, then I deleted the state counter off my blog. I was driving myself nuts obsessing over who was reading and how many people stopped by. Still cluttered. I was avoiding what I really needed to.

And what I really needed to do was step back from the whole joy rebel imagery thing. I put my shop on vacation mode and I’m not actively seeking photo or design clients.

The little voice in my head breathed a sigh of relief. And I am in the process of letting go of how this little journey is ‘supposed’ to look.

It’s only been a couple of weeks (at the time of this writing) and honestly, I’m pretty jumbled up about how I want to create right now. Maybe this time of slowing down won’t yield answers. Maybe it will just be a needed break.

What I have found, though, is a soft freedom that comes from not having the answers. It seems I’ve narrowed my focus to the point that I didn’t feel comfortable exploring.

My wings are still glued to my back, but they are stretching a bit and they’ll be ready to fly soon.

this fall, carve out some juicy creative time for you and your little ones and join our online art playgroup!  the group runs for 5 weeks from august 30th through october 3rd.

every monday a new 1 hour project will be presented by a fabulous guest teacher encouraging you to play and create in a variety of different mediums throughout the weeks.  our virtual open studio allows you to work from home, at your own pace, and when it’s most convenient for you.  along with all the artsy fun you’ll enjoy connecting with other moms and sharing your work and creative time in our private playgroup flickr pool.  all projects are designed to be inspiring and engaging for both mom and child – this is not simply just for kids! supply lists will be provided in advance for you to gather everything you’ll need for each project.  our exciting  and exclusive schedule of workshops is as follows:

august 30th :: Mixed Media Love with Shona Cole

september 6th :: All About Me Photography with Tracey Clark

september 13th :: Hearts of Stone ~ Plaster Pendants with Stephanie Lee

september 20th :: Wish Jars with Mindy Tsonas

september 27th :: Spirit Dolls with Pixie Campbell

the playgroup costs $48 and you’ll find full class descriptions and registration on our workshops page.

hope you’ll join us!

see you in the studio