Making Stuff Up

intentions in art, not fabrications that is

Hi friends, I’m coming to you on a gorgeous fall day here in KY, the third Sunday of November. Welcome, new readers, and thanks to the over 1,000 of you (wow, I’m humbled) who have been here for the long haul. A special THANK YOU to my paying subscribers. You all rock!

I’m sharing a health update at the bottom of this letter; mostly all good. On to Making Stuff Up: Intentions in Art, Not Fabrications. This month is a short read. Next month, I’ll be sharing a story about traditions. x

Making Stuff Up

The beauty of living longer means that if you’re healthy and able, you get the chance to slow down, focus on what’s important, and not let the prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain that has been people-pleasing and nurturing for half of your life, rule your world. Now, at sixty-four, I have that luxury — I live by daily intentions — one latte, daily flossing, yoga, and meditation. Make the bed, check. Walk Cooper, check. Move freight, check. Eat small meals often, check. Hydrate, check. Drink wine, check. Listen to nature, check. A partner who gets me, who is funny to my serious, and wants to give me the moon. Lucky me. (Yes, he snores and we snip at each other too). I have a small group of friends whose values are similar to mine, and I have the luxury of time to enjoy an art practice.

About that practice. I sometimes find myself envious of those who have been practicing art for decades. They know what they want to do, or if they don’t, they make it seem like they do. As an art observer, I’m comforted by seeing a body of work that feels cohesive and recognizable. As a practicing artist, I feel like I might be getting there, but I’m not there yet. Over the last several years, I’ve produced a few small-ish bodies of work: Girl on Fire, the African Wildlife Vulnerable series, and my latest Nature exhibit. And some days, I’m not even sure what I’m working towards, but when I get too far up in my head, I remember that by not focusing on the result, producing art becomes easier. Besides, developing a style involves experimentation and play. It requires intention, even if I don’t know what that is.

If you’ve been around for a while, you’ve seen my fine-detailed wildlife and bird art. So, I suppose it was only a matter of time before I evolved into anthropomorphic art. One day, looking at the blank page, I thought, I want to marry my love of women’s fashion with birds. Hah!

Untitled anthropomorphism journal work, watercolor, pen, bluejay feather (not adhered)

I don’t know where this idea originated, despite numerous cultural signals (Mickey Mouse, SpongeBob, and the hugely popular kitschy art series "Dogs Playing Poker" by artist Cassius Marcellus Coolidge, to name a few). Still, I hadn’t been studying anthropomorphic art, which is the practice of attributing human qualities to nonhuman entities, until after I created the bluejay above. Not surprisingly, there is a rich and detailed history. Once I dove in, I realized how much anthropomorphic art I’ve seen.

I don’t know where this new pivot will lead me, although I have a vision to create a large (to me) piece, 22x30, that features six or seven bird species at a cocktail party and includes gold foil. Or perhaps I’ll create an entire series. Who knows? I’m having fun, and that’s what’s important.

Similarly, like the moss art I’ve been playing with lately. Below is a piece I created on a whim. I had the intention to create five smaller pieces after I produced and sold East to Nirvana and West to Nirvana. But something about a tropical landscape called to me (the seasonal change from summer to fall can produce shifts on all levels), so I recycled the frame from my Introduction panel from the Wild exhibition and heated the glue gun.

TROPICAL DREAMS, preserved moss and plastic, 40X32. Inquire privately for more details.

I like the mystery of not knowing what’s next as much as I yearn for cohesion. It’s an interesting place to be.

Below is another example of me making stuff up. The Garden Girls sketch and wash in my journal is a rendition based on the sitcom The Golden Girls. I envision the same sharp, snappy, relevant, and critical issues in the show for my Garden Girls, but with a focus on trees and flowers, climate and fashion, as well as gardens (both secret and not-so-secret), in a Nora Ephron-style voice. Will I follow through? Probably not, but maybe someone else will?

Making stuff up is a curious intention and will always bring something surprising, even though the result is not a means to an end.

The Garden Girls, watercolor in my journal.

Health Update and Healthcare BS

The other day, I wrote a Note that I was “that woman,” you know the type — angry, pissed off. Honestly, I didn’t recognize myself. After cutting someone off on the highway (because they weren’t driving fast enough), I shopped for a few bags of groceries, minus $100, and by the time I pushed my cart into the return slot, the fluorescent lights in the parking lot were blaring that obnoxious yellow light. I drove home holding one hand over my eye because I can’t drive at night anymore without seeing double and glare. Merging onto the highway is the hardest with this long-distance double vision issue, which thankfully, after a second opinion, isn’t sixth nerve palsy as initially diagnosed. It’s just a weak muscle, and tired, stressed eyes intensify the effects. When I got home, I cried.

Operative word: stress.

For the last few weeks, I’ve been mentally and emotionally preparing myself for my six-month cancer scans, which were scheduled for November 17-18, but since I hadn’t heard from the hospital to confirm, I checked MyChart, as one does, to see if something had changed. Sure enough, my doctor’s appointment was rescheduled for a week later, and scans were scheduled for the week after. Well, the math didn’t work since there was no reason to see the oncol without getting the scans. I suppose since I’m not under treatment, and it’s been two years since my second diagnosis, that I’m far enough out that I’m not a priority for the hospital system. Though to be fair, I’m not alone in this predicament. Hospital systems are a cluster, and staff and admins have more work on their hands than ever, in addition to the loss of research and focus on billable time. Things are not good in OZ. Cancer screening is essential for early detection, but it is also an annoying part of post-cancer care. In addition to the stress of the what-ifs associated with a potential recurrence (dedifferentiated liposarcoma has a high chance), I take a 400-mile round-trip road trip, plus the additional cost for lodging, food, and Uber’s (I have to premedicate; I developed a late allergic reaction to the IV contrast). I’d love to skip the scan, but I know better.

To add to the stress, I received a notice about renewing my insurance in the mail as we do every November, and boy, do I wish I had waited until after the business day to open that bomb. $426 per month increase, new total: $1,694.40. Not better coverage or lower co-pays — just the same old insurance. I’ve never wanted to be 65 sooner so I can start Medicare! Seven months to go until I can apply!

Oh, and my scans were rescheduled for early December. Please keep me in your prayers and thoughts. xo

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Maureen xo

Cooper, post-spa in the car, showing off his gorgeous sculpted jawline, and also ready for his nap.

Stay curious. Stay safe. Make an impact.