Beauty Breaks Free

I stood there crying at the polling place. It was 6:07 a.m. And as usual, I looked bedraggled: clean wet hair, no longer dripping; sun screened face, gleaming makeup free; glasses, shielding my tears.

You might think welling up befits a woman--weeping may be because I am a woman witnessing a woman's name on a ballot for president. That is my gender. That is the backdrop; I can't dismiss it. But that isn't what caught my throat.

Beauty draws out my tears.

And what about beauty this year? Where is it? Where has it been? Here. All along.

Beside, in front, and behind me were neighbors. I recognized very few. I'm new. I wouldn't even say I have roots yet. But they knew each other. Back slaps, good mornings, asking personal questions of each other. Here were humans. I found them. It was so strange to see a face not illumined by a blue light. Strangely beautiful to see eyes looking into eyes. This was beauty.

Then I saw a Beauty.

A woman held herself two steps from the bottom of the staircase. She was in her 80s maybe 90s dressed, not like me. Cherry red tam and matching coat, crisp pants that broke at the shoe, as they should. Her cane may as well have been a scepter. Regal. Erect. A queen, gripping the banister.

A woman offered her a chair and another waved it away and said, "She prefers to stand."

She prefers to stand.

This woman, her age, her gorgeous skin tone said she knew a time when she could not vote, when laws prevented it. Have you been full-hand slapped? Had the tears knocked onto your face? This was a slap of a thought. That was reality. And here she was resplendent.

My feet walked down each of the piano key stairs. My community surrounded me. Each of us there, at the core of it, for the same reason: to make something because we can.

We vote to say we are human. To say we are here. To say life matters. To say others matter. To say we have free will. And then to prove it.

That moment. That coming together was transcendent. A chorus. Holy. It was a sight to behold. Even though my eyes bleared it.

I don't know what will happen next. How it will unfold. But you can't snatch humanity out of a heart. You can't shrink down what a person is, who they are, how they live. No matter what the votes say and the power it grants. And if they try? Well...

I prefer to stand.

Words Escape Me

Well hello there. I've been breaking the first rule of blogging lately, which is blog.
That was profound. Maybe you should write this down:

Rule #1 of blogging: Blog.


I haven't been writing lately because of my other rules: be positive, don't complain, work through your feelings first before telling others. Truth is things have been downright exhausting, hard, and sad lately.

To keep all of my rules, I'm not going to go into it as yet. Just know that 2.5 weeks ago I intended to write a plucky piece about other things you can make when life gives you lemons. And I wanted to make this phrase viral:

When life gives you lemons, make lemon curd. 

Curd is such a gross word; it fits.

Here were the pictures for the positive post that I didn't write. This picture symbolized the things going wrong:

make lemon curd

This one represented controlling the "lemons" and making them into something useful and pretty:

bunt those lemons!

Shortly after taking this I almost keeled over because I was taking them on my back porch and overheated. I fled to Target to use WiFi, drink water, and get Advil. (I couldn't go inside my apartment because...it was filled with an asphalt smell. So much lemon curd to be made!)


At any rate, things have been difficult, and one thing I know and learned was after a lot of stress a person's higher level thinking skills (including creativity) plummets. It's simple brain chemistry. My brain was/is trying to help me survive.

I can fight. I can take flight, but unfortunately, I couldn't write. The thoughts were too visceral too raw, more meaningless onomatopoeias than words. It felt so unlike me that I wondered if I had brain damage. I asked friends if I seemed somehow altered, dumber, to test me, to be honest. But really it was my brain on cortisol over far too many days.

I think I see a glimmer after today of finding words again, which is a relief because I need to write to earn my keep.

For me, health and writing are linked, and they come only with quiet, peace, stillness and being alone. Are you that way?

I sat in silence for hours and hours driving. Hours and hours at home all alone. Hours in silent exercise in nature and another hour getting a massage. And I can hear myself writing now in my head.

So today I learned:

Until I am composed, I can't compose. 

Overheard in St. Louis

Not so long ago, I was walking to a coffee shop in a suburban-ish neighborhood. I was approaching a group of three workmen getting ready for their day to begin. Two had perched themselves on the trailer bed full of equipment. One was facing them and the homes. I could hear what they were saying from 15 feet away because of the quiet hour.

As I approached, I saw one of the men look up into a yard. He made a glottal noise- a mix between a grunt and scoff.

"They have a 'Black Lives Matter' sign."

I stiffened and felt my pulse quicken. Instinctively I was preparing myself for whatever he was about to say next. Trying to anticipate it, so I could respond.

Then I heard...

"Black lives do matter." 

One of the man's partners spoke up. Simple. True. Stated without anger by an African American.

There was no response. Not a rebuttal or effort to refute. It was so unlike what'd I've seen unfold online. No splitting of hairs. No, "But all lives matter," retort.*

Just, "Black lives do matter," and silence. It was beautiful, really to see and hear. It said it all.




*If you hadn't noticed already, this is an axiom leveled to negate the point of the Black Lives Matter campaign. Both are true. One needs to be said more and lived out.

We Are So Fragile

Maybe you have to know darkness before you can appreciate the light. 

Madeline L'Engle

Sunday was like any other. I was running late and to my car, 1/2 my makeup on the other 1/2 in my bag as I locked the front door and turned to dash down the stairs. That's as far as I got. The back window of my car was bashed in. I took one look, said "Oh" and pivoted to go back inside.

This was dangerous -- not the circumstance itself. I knew it would be costly and cumbersome and rain was on the way. Those weren't the dangers. Those were the facts. My danger was emotional, knowing that one random act of violence could set off a chain reaction in how I see the world. How I would respond. How it would strike my thoughts and could shatter my emotions. This isn't the first window I've had busted out, so I knew. The first time I convinced myself it indicated a coming lifetime of navigating the world and it's problems alone, unsupported, and vulnerable. It was damaging train of thought triggered by broken glass. Since it happened again, what would follow?

That past reaction let me knew I needed to proceed with caution. This isolated act of destruction could destroy something far greater, if I'd let it. I started the mental list and the calls: police, insurance, glass repair, car dealership. I studied the weather and reached out to a few friends.

Then I started to catalog and collect things of the day the good things. I knew the stress and heightened sensitivity would allow me to remember vividly, so I tried to shore myself up attending them rather than my feelings.

I remember things like:
The black cat chasing robins in the lawn;
The cashier's "I'm New" badge;
A bird that pooped on my hand (Ok, who wouldn't remember that?)
That my neighbor drank chilled white wine on her porch;
Someone left a frying pan on top of the dumpster.

Those were just things, but good happened too.

My friend drove his car around a marathon to help me buy groceries.

The sun came out.

All of the neighbors clucked their tongues and shook their heads.

Passers by looked at the scene in a horrified way, revealing what I think to be true, that this is not normal to do or to see.

Just when I thought it was impossible, I got those blasted UMSL parking stickers off the window after all. (P.S. UMSL, I still want my money back.)

In addition to the good things I observed, I learned a few things I maybe wouldn't have. And for me there's something inherently thrilling about learning things.

Things I learned: 

1.) Bricks can't be dusted for fingerprints because they are too porous. (I don't believe this, but that's what the dispatcher told me.)

2.) The police department when filing a report takes down (seemingly) irrelevant information like birth date, marital status and ethnicity before they ask you what's wrong. I get it! I'm single in my 30s and white, okay? It hurt my feelings.

3.) I like motive. I want to know the motives behind people's actions. The thrill of destruction was too foreign  a reason for me in this case.  Instead I decided the person had a vengeful dislike for Ernest Hemingway. Therefore, I learned I shouldn't have 3 Hemingway novels in my car at any one time, since it evokes an irrational brick wielding wrath.

4.) I'm sensitive. (See number 2.) I didn't learn this, just confirmed it for the zillionth time.

5.) I want to reason with people and set some ground rules. So you're going to destroy my car, okay. Please do it in a somewhat controlled and considerate way and heed these:

• If you're going to throw a brick in a car window, then don't do it on a Saturday night. Every repair place is closed on Sunday.

• If you're going to throw a brick in a car window, then don't do it in April. There's so much rain to contend with and it will be a mess.

• If you're going to throw a brick in a car window, then make sure they have a garage.

6.) My neighbor gives good hugs. She unhesitatingly took me into my arms and said, "This is such a violation." Then she let me use her garage until I got everything fixed up.


7.) The support of others makes a world of difference.

STL Heart Card
julie.johnson11007@gmail.com

Thank you to everyone who helped me. You reacted with protective compassion when I needed shielding.

Revive Your Wardrobe this Spring

There is one closet in my apartment. It is one of the drawbacks to living in an older home. I have still managed to fill this, 2 dressers, a wardrobe, and a few storage containers of Spring/ Summer or Winter/ Fall clothing (whichever seasons aren't happening).

I own a lot of things. A slightly embarrassing amount, really. But I have achieved it all economically. After moving to St. Louis, I got almost all of my clothes at The Scholarshop. Check them and their mission out here. Then I discovered the better Goodwills in town and let's not forget clearance racks.  

But lately (the past 3 years) I've been able to "shop" at clothing swaps around St. Louis. I've gotten more than my money's worth, have been able to completely change over what I own, and feel like a champion. 

Now, let it be said, I don't want to be a clothes hoarder. Before I ever go shopping, I comb through what I don't wear, or don't like anymore and discard. Only after that will I seek out "new to me" things.

Mostly I donate clothes to Revive Thrift Shop. It helps the Mission St. Louis JLT program, and I feel good about the work they are doing in my city.

Then there's the swaps. I am only familiar with 2 and really that's all I've needed to keep covered and layered up for every season.

I often go to Perennial's (and just went last weekend) held once or twice a year. (They also have a clothing swap for men and one for home goods!) 

And then there's the swap that was my introduction to the concept, The Covering House's Swap Till You Drop.  (The next one is April 18th!)

But let me explain something that happens to me at clothing exchanges. After a bit of milling around, surrounded by other people who are finding cute things and apologizing for bumping into strangers with their reusable bag, I start to get a little...frenzied. 

If you've ever been to the pay-by-the-pound Goodwill, you've seen this happen to a group of people. Swarming, territorial behavior that really someone should study and write a psychology paper about. (Someone do this for your thesis and dedicate it to me! It's a great idea.)

I feel it slowly start to well up in me.  It's an "I want that" mentality that springs to mind when a stranger pushes a hanger over revealing something that may or may not fit, and she starts to reach for it. Maybe I could grab it away. Maybe I could say "look over there" and distract her. Once I even thought of pulling a parka that looked as if it was made of hemp out of a person's over-stuffed bag. "She'd never miss it," I rationalized. I'm not Rastafarian, so why did I want it? Because I could have it.

This is the temptation of free things. It's easy to lose sight of what you need, want, and what is just questionable. I truly get into a bit of an alternate reality thinking. Whatever the reason, the proof is in my bag.

Once I get home from an exchange, I realize first, that I have more than I thought. Mostly I donate more than I take away, but it's still a bit surprising as I hoist it into my car. Then take out the things and spread them out at home so I know how to go about washing them. That is when it starts to dawn on me that, "maybe I shouldn't have brought this home."

I have a very loose concept of what I would wear at a clothing exchange. I won't be wasting my money and it's an opportunity to try something new with no regrets. This is how I came to try high waisted pants, crop tops, started my crochet cape collection, and learned about sweater skirts.

But I have also come away with other treasures like...

a belt with jungle beasts and bejeweled eyes
Nothing say fashion quite like elephants and panthers around your waist. Don't they look scared?

a power drill without bits 
Because sometimes you've got to fix stuff...or be almost ready to fix stuff.

These shoes 
Great for weddings where a certain former someone might be there. Of course he wasn't, and I almost died. 

a polyester vest with a yarn apple on it 
2-4 sizes too large and...why?

high waisted Wranglers that double as a corset. 

A shirt that says "chillin' like a villian" 
made for a child under the age of 5 (One you will immediately regret wearing when you bump into an ex. He didn't see the shoes; he saw a sweated up penguin t-shirt. Awesome.)

And it goes on.

If you want to revive your wardrobe this spring, do it. Follow these simple steps:

1.) Donate first at an organization you can get behind.

2.) Swap without regret. 

3.) Then after you get home see if you too brought home treasure or questionable items.

4.) Re-swap your questionable items...or

5,) Recycle your shouldn't be given away clothes at H&M. 

Did something come over you at your swap experience? Come away with something inexplicable? Not to worry! Tell me about it on the Facebook page. I want to hear about it. We can commiserate. 

Remember, Every Night is Ladies' Night

It was about 2 weeks ago that I declared to a complete stranger and a friend
"I hate ladies' nights."

This was not a good way to respond to an extended invitation to go out with some women later that week, yet there it was.

I'm not sure how this conversation went precisely, because memories are a tricky thing, but I can try to recreate what I believe truly happened.

Looks. 

Silence.

Me, instead of back peddling, charging forward.  

"I've been thinking about it and I don't know if I am going to find and meet a man, but I know where I am definitely not going to find him.

He isn't: 
1.) in my house (and if he is there, he's a creepy stalker) 
2.) at my parents' home or
3.) at a girls' night."


I think there was some feedback at this point, but the truth in my logic was finally finding words and I didn't stop.

I went on to explain that I keep getting invited to girls' nights by my women who are primarily married and dating. They want to hang out with all women. They get excited about these times, while I fight off mounting feelings of frustration or even anxiety when invited to one. For me, every night is ladies night. It's called going home.

When I unlock my apartment door I might as well yell inside "Welcome to ladies' night. WOOOOOO!!!"

Or really upon entering any establishment:

"Helloooo coffee shop. This lady has arrived, so the drinks are on me!"

Not sure how to respond to a "Let's do a girls' night!" I may respond with sound effects. Sound effects are highly open to interpretation and aren't exactly lies.

"Ohhhh"
"Eeeee" 
"MMMM"

What do those mean? It's up to the listener to decide.

What I am doing in that moment is doing mental math. I'm tallying up all the hours I will be surrounded in the land of women and all the money I spend in that world. And I am freaking out. "Nooooo. How am I going to ever find someone if I am spending all I have in this insular bubble?? I'm not. I'm just not! Men don't like to  go to wine painting parties. And I don't either!! I can't afford this." 

Meanwhile what I really want to do, if  not be with a significant other of my own, is hang out with BOTH sexes. Provide the opportunity to meet someone. To not sit around and hear about husbands and boyfriends or kids when they aren't around. I'd much rather be around all of them and get to know them.

Is this too honest for you?

With my wits about me I realize that it is nice to be invited to things. And I also see that possibly women who are requesting these events are striving to strike up balance in their lives. Possibly they are feeling an inequity in how their time and money is being spent. So much time around their spouse/ boyfriend/ kids is time not spent around other women.

So if that is sound, then logically it holds that the feelings that I am experiencing are equally valid and true. I have an over abundance of "girl time" with myself and 80-90% of my free time activities are spent with women and it's too much. I need something in the middle.

So, if you invite me to anything girly in the coming future, thank you. I'm grateful. But can we make it a Co-Ed night? Dinner party, poker, laser tag, dancing, bowling, movie, whatever??
Bring men, women, and children and we'll have a good time.

The Fault in Our Stairs

There are so many perks to owning or renting an older home in St. Louis: the charm, the neighborhoods, the older trees, the unique floor plans and architecture.

However, there are a few things inherent to the older homes that are problematic at best, the closets and the staircases.

I have been on the lookout for a wardrobe, since my home has one closet; I found one last weekend. After asking around, I got my friend to agree to help me transport it. We were two girls with a truck and the open road limited only by our upper body strength.

As it turns out that was a pretty great limitation. We got the furniture in the truck, back to my place, and on the porch. I suggested we stop there because my staircase is scary steep. But my friend decided we shouldn't give up before trying.

Tried we did.

First pulling, then scooting and lifting stair by stair. At a certain point, I thought we would very likely win a Darwin award for this effort. "What will I say to Steve if I let Natalie get smushed by a wardrobe before the wedding?" I kept thinking. But it made it up to the landing and there we came to a crossroads. Definitely we make a good team and I credit our communication prowess more than any brute strength.


With a lot of older homes, as I said before, the stairs are problematic. One case has a 360 degree turn from bottom to top. The other has a 90 degree angle and right at this bend we had to stop.

Brainstorming, wiggling, leveraging didn't work. After about 20 minutes we had 2 very viable ideas on how to get the wardrobe up the last 4 steps, but we also agreed we lacked the arm power.

And here it sat.
And sat.
And sat.
And sat.

I've imagined many grim and cartoonish scenarios about it sliding back down the stairs, possibly killing me or my cat, and most certainly smashing everything so if I am not killed I will have to pay for the damages to the home.

I have done extensive cat jumping simulations to test it's precariousness. And it has passed, while the fear has remained. I felt better leaving the house after adding a counter balance Because if there's one thing Autumn has taught me, it's that everything's better with pumpkin on it.

And here it will continue to sit until more friends, of the male gender, come and to help me.

How to NOT Wait by the Phone

We've all played the waiting game at one time or another, staring at a land line or cell phone willing it to ring or vibrate. Be it for the doctor calling with test results, the verdict on the job you interviewed for or the fulfillment of the "I'll call you" promise, it's downright uncomfortable.

I've been in each of these scenarios, but the most frequently occurring for me is waiting to see what a guy meant when he said he'd be in touch.

I have come to conclude (without criticism), that often a guy will say "I'll call you"  when he really means "please get out of my car, now." This seems to be the simplest way to get me to go away. I can't say that I fault the men-folk who have promised a call in the past and not honored it. I wonder if they thought I would burst into tears or refused to get out if they had simply said the truth, which is: "Yeah, let's never do this again. Ever." All this translates to is that I never know what will happen after stepping out of the car.

Often I catch myself creating elaborate stories to explain the silence. I try them on one after another like I'm shoe shopping.
Maybe he was caught in a hold up at the bank and is the only hostage still inside.
Perhaps there was a family emergency and he is fine, but grandma? Well...
He's somehow dramatically injured and whispers to a friend that they need to make a call to a girl, but they don't understand his gibberish.
After trying out a few of these scenarios, I know I have gone a bit batty. Perhaps it's a bit romantic to kill off a potential leading man or to put him in harms way, but also it's really morose and twisted.  Essentially this line of thought says, "I like you enough to fantasize your death as a plausible reason for you not contacting me; this collateral damage is superior to thinking you were lying."
Not good.

What I do know is the waiting game is full of wasted time, emotional energy and fantastical deadly stories, and I'd rather just re-channel all of it.

Here's what I've come up to do instead of waiting for technology to beckon me to converse... or not.
You should try some.

1.) Do something you typically put off.

For me that means either painting my nails and or shaving my legs.
How do girls do these things consistently?
Both take way too much time. And wet nails are essentially a prison sentence. I can't not use my hands, so it's always a mess.

2.) Go on a walk and find things.

While on a long ramble, I found this rock. It told me to turn it over,

and I was in a listening mood, so I did,

and I gave it some relief.


3.) Begin a series of hilarious pranks.
This is Yolanda the pregnant (and formally naked) paper mache yogi. I discovered her after she'd been kicked out of her home. Perhaps she was banished for being with child. Since the time I found her, she's been outfitted and passed along from friend to friend.

 

This week she baked cookies for a friend and delivered them in person.

I plan to write Yolanda a genesis story sometime in the near future.


4.) Write a blog post about not waiting by the phone. 

See what I did here? Yeah? Enough said.



5.) Put your phone somewhere where you can't see it and dance.

Really dance. And shoot, sing too. No one will see or hear and you'll feel better because that's how we were wired.

Be who you are, singing and dancing on the earth. When you do that, a phone, ringing or silent is of little importance.

Dance, when you're broken open. Dance, if you've torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of the fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you're perfectly free.” 

― Rumi

Finders Keepers Vol. 2 | Beauty Marks

Lately, I've been seeing graffiti pop up around me. It is everywhere, but what really captures my attention are tiny stenciled pictures in one color. I think of them as beauty marks. Technically, I suppose they are a sign of lawlessness. But they display seems to augment and elevate the object they are put on rather than deface it.
And there is a sense of whimsy about them.
Are they done by the same person? I'd love to know.

I've challenged myself over the last 2 weeks to spot as many as I could.

I accepted the challenge; these are what I've noticed.

1.) Thing One and Thing Two

2.) The Trinity

3.) Rose is a Rose is a Rose

4.) Quoth the Raven

Interestingly, this was the only stencil used on every side of the trash bin. 

5.) Other-worldly

6.) He loves me...?

7.) Man of Thoughts 

By far, this is my favorite find, sandwiched between two unsightly buildings offering quick money for strings attached. 

Did you notice patterns?

• Concrete.
• Monochrome.
• Stenciled.
• Often "framed" by the object  where it has been added. 

• Red stencil art East of Grand and Black is West. (I am not sure if there is a pattern yet. I'll keep you posted.)  

Bright Spot(light) on Joyce Hankins of MoonShadow Press

Last month, I had the honor of sitting down and talking with St. Louis artist Joyce Hankins from MoonShadow Press. Every time we talk, Joyce draws me in with her creativity, intuition, thoughtfulness, and ability to describe her point of view.
Hear what she had to share about her craft and feast your eyes on her thoughtful (and gorgeous!) pieces below.

Photo credit: MoonShadow Press

1.) There are a lot of new things in your life right now, lots of endings and beginnings, what's going on? 
 The main ending is that I just graduated from college! I made it! I learned a lot at Wash.
U. and I have been antsy to get out in the world and put it all to use. So, as far as beginnings,
being a “non-student” artist is a big one. Out of that has come my shop, MoonShadow Press.
Another super exciting thing going on is that I am getting married in August!

2.) Your Etsy shop, Moonshadow Press is an exciting development. How are you liking Etsy? 
 Etsy has been great! I really wanted to start a business where I could make and sell
artwork and Etsy provides a fantastic platform to do so. It is affordable as a seller and has such a
large community around it that there is a lot of potential and opportunity to sell work. It is also
inspiring to see so many other wonderful shops and creatives flourishing.

Photo credit: MoonShadow Press

3.) What is your dream for your shop? 
 Adding little bits of light and hope to people’s lives is the driving force behind my work.
Currently I spend three days a week in studio making artwork, building an online presence, and
doing market research. The other two days I work a part time job as a fine art consultant at my
church. Right now my hope is that MoonShadow Press will become a full time gig. I’m not sure
where it will go or end up, but this is a good place to start!

4.) What art form do you lose yourself in? 
Recently I have spent a lot of time making art about accumulation. I really enjoy repetitive, tedious processes that let my mind wander. I think that is why I love printmaking so much. Things like carving woodblocks or using tiny rollers for monoprints is relaxing and re-energizing to me.

Photo credit: MoonShadow Press

5.) What advice would you give to artists who are just starting out? 
 Considering I am an artists just starting out, I’m not sure how qualified I am to answer. I
will say that for me, I constantly have to fight feelings of discouragement and fear that I won’t
succeed. I am determined to fight the negative thoughts I have though because I know I will
never get anywhere if I at least don’t try. Trying to stay focused on one day at a time is also
something I try to do.

6.) How would you describe your aesthetic? 
I would call my aesthetic Poetic Minimalism. Minimalism is a theory of art which pares
down and reduces imagery to find its most simple form, or essence. I often use geometric and
linear forms, as well as muted color schemes. I also enjoy integrating language and text as well.
Some of my new work for MoonShadow Press is more colorful, but I like keeping the imagery
simple, which relates to a type of visual poetry.

Photo credit: MoonShadow Press

7.) Showing your creations/ creative process to the world can be a vulnerable thing-how does that look for you?
 I have definitely had to grow into being vulnerable, because you are right, art making is
extremely personal. To be honest, I am still learning how to confidently and graciously put my
work out in the world. In school we were told to separate ourselves from our work so that we
didn't take criticism personally. However, I don’t think that works. In fact, I think it does a
disservice to the work. If I spend hours of energy and pour myself into a piece, there is no way I
can then look at it subjectively. All of the emotion that was used to make it alive would turn cold
and distant. Instead, it seems like the lesson to learn is how to control where you find your
identity. If I only find personal value in my art, then criticism of any kind is heart-wrenching.
However, if I remember that I am more than just an artist, then criticism and rejection are not as
threatening. It is really hard though and I constantly have to look to God to remind me of those
things.

Photo credit: MoonShadow Press

8.) What do you do to revive your creative spirit?
 I love it when people ask me this because thinking about my inspiration makes me feel all
bubbly and excited inside! I learned a lot about how to revive my creativity while studying
abroad in Florence, Italy. My professors there told us all the time to “follow your muse” and “go
take a walk” when we didn't know what we wanted to do or were feeling stuck. Those walks and
allowing myself to do what I wanted without feeling stupid or guilty were important. I learned
that there is always something interesting to see when you look for it and that it is ok if your
ideas don’t always work out. Now, when I need inspiration I like to get out of studio and change
scenery. My favorite places to go are the Missouri Botanical Gardens and the St. Louis Art
Museum. I also keep my studio full of things I love. My favorite books are close by, my favorite
pictures and art are pinned up on a bulletin board, and the supplies I like to use the most are
within reach. This creates an encouraging working environment that allows me to easily recharge
or brainstorm.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Looking for more of Joyce? Let me help you.

Her shop is here on Etsy.

Also, Joyce is the featured artist at the upcoming RAW artists' show in August 21st. Tickets are on sale now.


**All images have been posted with written permission by Joyce Hankins of MoonShadow Press.

Compare and Contrast: July 15, 2013 vs. July 15, 2014 in St. Louis

Do you remember where you were a year ago today?

A few days ago, I was struck by the contrast of July 15th, 2013 with July 15th of 2014.

Last year, everything seemed to hit the fan at the same time.
I was sitting on the back patio at MediaCross and received a call from my landlord.
Earlier that day, I'd called to tell him there was mold in my apartment and could he relocate me into another unit while the problem was addressed.

 

This was a proactive step for me and very unlike my first dire thought: that the situation was unsolvable.
The call was not the rosy one my friends and family had encouraged me to hope for.

Explaining there was mold and that was why I was calling, he challenged with, "Where's the mold.  Where? Where is it?"  He cut me off, crescendo-ed, and then declared, "All the apartments have mold!"


Oh.


Years before, I had asked, and he told me it was coal dust coming through the plaster. This year it spread more than it ever had. After it appeared in every room from floor to ceiling following the air ducts, I thought he was either wrong or lying.

This declaration told all: lying.

This was upsetting, indeed, but instead of losing composure, I proceeded to sit and listen to my landlord break up with me.  By that I mean, he used all the language of a typical breakup.

"I think we just want different things."

"I don't think I can provide the standard of living you want."

"We've had a lot of problems, none of them were your fault, but I am ready to have us part ways."


I did want different things.
I desired my car to not be towed by my inebriated neighbors...again.
I wanted my oven to work during all months of the year, including November and December.
I did not want my dishwasher and sink to require bailing with a bucket after a rain.
Lastly, I wanted mold to not be growing up every wall in the house impacting the air quality.

"This is the best for each of us."

But this impacted everything. First of all, it meant the death of a dream.
My whole childhood I dreamed to live in Tower Grove.  It's the only dream I remember articulating, beside saying that I wanted to marry with Elvis. (This was an ill-fated desire.)
I had to let go of living near the Botanical Gardens, the park and my daily walk to the library.

Also, I had to put my cat into a emergency care because of his panting and labored breathing.  (This behavior was what caused me to challenge the coal dust explanation in the first place.)

Then, I held a garage sale to purge belongings and was helped by very loving and attentive friends.
Finally and frantically, I moved furniture into friends' homes and moved myself into my parents'.

I continued interning at MediaCross and started preparing for a new school year.

I found a new apartment, moved everything in and then found...more mold.

By August, I had moved 3 times, and then needed to move all of my school materials, files, filing cabinet, etc to a new classroom before the first day of school. By August 15th, I had picked up and moved every object I own in the world at least once.

It was too much. I was buckling under the stress and strain. My life felt fragmented, working in the city and sleeping and commuting from Illinois.  I had a wonderful network of family and friends around me, but they were bewildered as to how to help. One friend confessed it felt like watching a multi-car pileup as it was happening.  You want to help, but how?
It felt just like that.

I won't go through the whole domino effect. Use your imagination and fast-forward one year. (Don't forget to add in being rear ended.) I recommend picturing a montage; it goes faster that way.

On the other side of that series of unfortunate events, I can breathe.

.

Also I can take pictures of my feet, which is a growing symbol for free time.

To my knowledge, I haven't taken for granted having a safe, warm, dry, apartment that would pass health inspections.
I cherish that I am healthy and that Captain is too.

I'm glad to know I have solid relationships and networks of people who want to pitch in even when they don't know where to begin, and there is the likelihood of an explosion or two.

I'm so glad to know that after bouts of stress, unknowns, and lack of direction, the mind can re-awaken:

to beauty,

Credit: Julie Johnson

to humor,

to laughter and playfulness, 

Credit: Photomaton

and to serving others.

Credit: Gretchen Borzillo

I'm glad I have a second chance at MediaCross, one where I haven't shed tears over housing or anything else. I've just been cheerfully productive!

Mostly, I'm glad that I can wake up to my life everyday.  As unknown as some of the pieces are, as different as it is from what I anticipated it would be, I'm glad call it mine.

Credit: Natalie Waymack