How do you make a living as an artist?

It’s a question I used to ask other artists

before I became an artist myself.

And, do you know what?

Most of them didn’t know the answer.

The problem wasn’t their fault—

I was asking the wrong artists.

I only asked the small sample

I had contact with from time to time.

Some painted house portraits

or cat and dog portraits.

One only drew children’s portraits—

these little child heads in pastel

on large sheets of paper.

I remember seeing them line the hallways of houses,

every head the same size.

Some painted murals inside the giant houses

that began to rise up

around my picture frame shop in New Jersey.

These artists would spend weeks (sometimes months)

on scaffolding built high

in the entranceway or living room

of these giant mansions,

painting scenes of Italy or France,

or just using Venetian plaster

to mimic the walls of great houses

in these far-off places.

But none of these ways of being an artist

appealed to me.

They all sounded like jobs to me.

Art, for sure—

just art

being created

with someone else in mind.

One artist even gave me a bit of advice he heard from a ‘successful’ artist:

“If you paint a crow and you sell the painting,

make another one.

And keep doing that until they stop selling.

Then paint something else.”

This is not the sort of advice I was looking for.

It wouldn't work for me because:

I don’t know what I’m going to make next.

I don’t have orders

ready to be filled

I don’t have a list of commission requests

waiting to be completed.

I just have an empty table

covered in cloth

with a jumble of tools to one side,

and a bag of clay on the floor,

and my imagination

waiting

to be set free.

a good, old fashioned do-over

Did you ever have a do-over?

It usually happens during a kickball game

The older kids would suggest it

Usually for someone who was having a bad day,

kept missing the ball

or kicking it foul.

No one got mad

or said:

That’s not fair.

Nope, we all went along with it

We agreed it was right.

Because we were just playing a game,

Having fun

The outcome wasn’t going to change anything

Sometimes, I wish we had more chances at a do-over

Not a quit this and start over

No: a good old-fashioned do-over.

The score remains the same

The players are all on the field.

The outs and runs: all the same.

You just get another chance at your turn at bat.

What happened just a few minute before

has been wiped clean - like a dry erase board.

You get one more try

at swinging for the fences

or just getting on base

Making a little progress

instead of striking out

and returning to the bench

Everyone’s chance

at a second chance.

I haven't slept a full night since September

I have’t slept a full night since September

I can almost tell you the exact date

if you showed me a calendar

I have not climbed into my bed

and closed my eyes

to wake up with the sun

for months

And I don’t see it happening again,

anytime soon.

For me, it’s a tragedy.

I love to sleep.

It’s my favorite thing (besides ice cream)

in the whole world.

I’m not tossing and turning at night

because of worries or concerns

I have an old dog

who has an old routine

and it’s too late to change things now.

If things were to change

it would be forever

and I’m not ready for that, just yet.

What I did on my summer vacation

It was the title of so many

return-to-school essays,

come September.

Can you go back in time (in your mind)

to those summers

before you had a summer job

and were too young to drive?

When the only transportation

were you two feet?

There were long hours

when you were not required to do anything

(except make your bed)

We walked miles and talked about nothing.

What do you want to do?

Was the topic of many conversations.

Usually a walk to K-mart or a dip in the pool.

My friends bought eye liner

or cigarettes.

(I never had money for either)

Starting out strong

It begins each new year

I say: this is the time

I’m going to get it together

I’ll be more organized

Get my tasks done

Create lots of things, 

reach my goals 

follow through

I alway start out strong 

with my calendars and planners 

my note books and pens.

My lists and sticky notes

I always start out with good intentions

My weeks are full, my mind is focused.

I think:

This time will be different 

And it is, for a while. 

Work gets completed 

boxes are checked

Tasks crossed off 

But eventually life creeps in

In the form of a sick pet, 

or worse, a sick person.

Then whole days fall empty from the calendar 

because now the hours are not filled with getting things done 

but with waiting and worry

Long conversations and arrangements

(A different type of note taking and calendar making)

There is no time 

(or energy) 

for good intentions

They will have to wait 

until next week 

or month

Or next year. 

When I make a promise
(to myself) 
 

This time

I’ll start out strong
 

Again.


 

Words of advice

You get to choose.

Four simple words

I say them

over and over to myself,

like a mantra

I say them to others, too.

When people ask for advice

they say:

Can I ask you for advice

or

Can I get your opinion?

And I say

if I remember to say

(because, sometimes, I have lots of words of advice that tumble out of my mouth before I get to the four words I really mean to say)

which are:

You get to choose.

You choose

For me, it sound better than

you decide.

Because decide means decision

which sounds like alot more work.

A list of pros and cons need to be written,

A weighing of options

based on supporting facts

and theories.

You get to choose

Feels more freeing

Spontaneous

Gut driven.

It feels right

try it.

I lost a friend last week

Not like in lost: died

but like in lost: doesn’t want to be friends anymore.

I felt really bad,

for a while.

She was a new friend

someone who tried hard

to be friends with me.

Lunch dates, get-togethers,

evenings out

I said yes once or twice,

really once

For me,

this was a reminder,

that my friendships can be like houseplants:

I like the idea of them

but only the ones that can survive

without a whole lot of attention.

In the beginning I think:

I want one

I ask questions like: how often to water? How much light does it need?

Questions that mean:

I care and I’ll pay attention.

I want this to grow and thrive

and to be with me for a long time.

I do plan to care for it.

But what tends to happen is that I forget.

I forget to give them the attention they need.

Even if they are in the same room with me.

I get busy doing all the things I do

(sometimes I wonder what that is)

and time goes by

sometimes many weeks

It’s when I see them wilted that I think:

when was the last time I watered that plant?

I fill tall glasses of water

to pour into the pot

I say:

I’ll be sure to remember next time.

I’ll do better next time

But soon the leaves are brown again

and falling to the floor.

I haven’t killed any from neglect

I tend to get the tough kind that hang on forever.

I have a ficus from ’94 or 5

hauled around for 30 years

Someone said once:

      Ficus trees are temperamental

      They’re hard to keep alive.

But my ficus has held on,

all these years

Through countless moves

to dark corners or sunny rooms.

My friendships are like this houseplant.

My best ones have lasted a very long time.

They don’t require a lot of attention from me

Perhaps there is a fondness

that holds

until the next time we connect.

I don’t really know what it is

that keeps them alive.

I’m hoping that its just love.

Our dog would spend all day in bed

Our dog would spend the whole day in bed, if she could.

and I understand how she feels

there was a time in my life

I felt the same way.

We leave her in there

under the covers in the warm sheets

and let her decide when she’s ready to get up.

It’s best that way.

Carpe diem, seize the day…it’s not for everyone.

It reminds me of a sign

hanging from the door knob of a fancy hotel

the sort of sign that’s meant

to keep housekeeping at bay.

Three simple words:

Not quite yet.

I don't know if I was cut out to be a mother

a nice day for an adventure

When my son was little

I had a blue schwinn bicycle

with a basket on the front

and a baby seat on the back

It had been a birthday gift

from a person

that I used to know.

On days off from work

I would strap him into his seat

And we would ride

to the library

or to Roy Rogers

Sometimes we would go to a nearby airport

and sit at the end of the runway

eating French fries

watching the small planes

take off and land.

I didn’t have much money back then

and was probably

too young and irresponsible

to be in charge of another person

But here we were

connected forever.

I don’t know if I was cut out to be a mother.

But I really did try.

A good day for an adventure, stoneware paperclay, 2023

I love a good hero's journey

The good guy beats the bad guy

Lots of action and adventure

Sometimes a love interest
thrown in
to make things
interesting.

I always think of Luke Skywalker

And how his journey 

(the point of it)

Was to battle the bad guys 

And blow up 

The Death Star

But, really the hero’s journey is about 

who Luke becomes 

along the way

How he learns new things

Travels to far off places

Gets trapped in some stinky situations

With the feeling that the walls 

(sometimes)

are closing in on him.

He reaches out for help

makes new friends
with the unlikeliest of people

He does impossible things

And discovers an inner strength

That he didn’t realize he had

A strength to do hard things

He comes out the other side

A changed person

a bit battered

But more grown up

He realizes he can do alot on his own

Just using the courage
he has inside

An ordinary person doing

Extraordinary things

The real hero’s journey is not about beating the bad guy

Its about learning who you are 

As a person.

That despite the struggles

And hardships

The hero will make it to the 

end okay

And sometimes more than
just a little okay.

It was time to learn to play the glockenspiel

I was in the eight grade.
He was in 7th.
He played the snare drum for the school band.

I didn't.

I didn't play any instrument.
My brief time with the clarinet ended when school let out for the summer in 6th grade.

I was not to be detered.
I had fallen in love
I had seen him in the school yard or passing through the halls.
With his blonde hair and John Denver glasses.

A part of me thought
If he got to know me, he would like me.

I don't even know where the crazy idea came from.
Looking back now, it felt almost like a dare.

Someone suggested the glockenspiel.

The band had one. A huge metal thing.
Seemed like a simple plan. The band director entrusted me with the instrument, some sheet music and a plastic wand.
It was the thing I needed to get me into the percussion section.

There were early morning band practices
and after school band practices.
I had to carry that thing back and forth to school. 
I lugged it around for months.

Nothing ever became of that love affair. 
Or my musical career.

Years later a friend called me at home on a Friday night. 
She said,
Quick, turn on the t.v.
It was one of those hourly news magazine.
They were profiling a rock & roll band trying to make it big. 

The blonde hair was short and the glasses were different.
But he was still playing the drums.

A last good day

(or a Death in the Afternoon)

When you have a farm
You get comfortable with death.

I’m not happy to say that

But I’ve gotten very good at the end.

It’s not easy, 
Sometimes death is unexpected.

Going about your day,
you notice someone is not looking good.

Something’s  wrong.

A call to the vet.

We try a few things

Sometimes a turn for the better

Other times, not.

There are other occasions 
when we know ahead of time.

There has been a slow decline.

Over a few days or weeks.

Blood drawn
Tests run
Discussions had

When this happens

I am looking for the last good day.

I want them to have one last good day of life.

A walk down the driveway and out into the field.

On their own, with no assistance.

A good meal, a warm afternoon.

Laying in the grass, napping in the sun.

These are the hardest for me.

I have to chose the day and time.

This week it was Wednesday

At 5:00

The 50-50 rule

An artist friend shared some advice, recently 
She said to me
 

Fifty percent of the people will like your work

And 50% will not.

It’s up to you how you feel about it.

It was a fair statement.

One that I’ve experienced

While selling at shows

Some make a bee line for my booth

Others turn the other way.

Sometimes I overhear people

Saying:

those things creep me out

I’m not everyone’s cup of tea

I’ve embraced that.

I don’t create with others in mind

I just create for me.

Recently I was at a family gathering

A party that happens once a year

A collection of people

Loosely related

(Like a tiny thread hanging from a baby tooth)

That a gentle pull will easily dislodge.

Near the end of the afternoon

After some polite conversation

And one too many cocktails

I realized I was being heckled.

One person was nursing old wounds

Still angry over some advice I said in the past

Another expressed disapproval 

About how I met my husband.

It was not in that gentle way

That you get from siblings 

or close friends

It felt like a jab in my side from a broken stick

By a bully in the fourth grade

It was in this moment that I smiled 

and thought about the 50-50 rule:

Fifty percent of the people will like you

And 50% will not

And you know what?

The feeling is mutual.

27 years of doing the same thing

Fuzzy and the pips, stoneware paperclay, 8 x 14 x 6, 2021

How time just raced by

For years I would spend my days at a counter
listening to what customers wanted

Starting out, I only half listened 
I would show them all the things that I liked. 

It would take some time

Lots of back and forth 

I would eventually land on the one they liked.

 A few years in I got so good at listening

I could pick the perfect one the first time around

It was like magic.

I was efficient at making the customer happy.

I could pick for them

I built for them

I delivered for them

And they were always happy.

I earned a good living

and made lots of people happy 

But there was not much more in it for me.

Now I spend all my time listening to me.

I listen and I create

I create for the fun of creating.

Sometimes not having a clear end in mind.

Just playing

Trying to reach back in time to that spot on the playroom floor 

When the block towers could reach the ceiling

And my best friend was a fish

Fuzzy and the pips, stoneware paperclay, 8 x 14 x 6 x 2021

Life is too short to wear a suit that doesn't fit

This thought occurs to me as I struggle to fit into one that I had packed for a trip.

I knew as soon as I tried to put it on.

This doesn’t fit. 

It's too tight. 

It will make my back hurt if I wear it all day.

How do I know this? Because I had worn it before and I know it doesn’t fit.

Why am I struggling with this?

My body has changed.

Frankly, I don’t even know when I had purchased it.

But here I am struggling to get it on.

What am I doing?

I’ve been here before. 

Growing up on hand me downs. Things on sale.
Thrift store finds.

Wearing clothes until they just didn’t fit anymore, but not having enough money to get something new. 

Sometimes a swim suit was found at the bottom of a bag of clothes.

New to me. 
 

A little loose under the arms, longer than I would like.

But it would do. 
My friends would not know that it wasn't new.


That was a long time ago.
I decided it's time for a new suit.

My sister taught me to drive

I mean, my Dad took me out in the car a few times to show me the ropes 

and I had a weekly driver’s ed class
 

But my sister taught me how to drive.

She offered to take me the day of my driver’s test.

And let me drive her car to the DMV

I was really nervous.

I was thinking about all the things I needed to remember to pass the test.

When to use my blinker

Parallel parking 

The K turn

I was gripping the steering wheel at 10 and 2 and staring at the road directly in front of the car.

I could see the gravel on the road, but not much else.

We weren’t too far along when she looked over at me and said:

Don’t look directly at the road

Look further ahead.

No one had said that to me before. 

Once she said that I looked up and relaxed. I could see so much more. 

More of the street and the cars on the road. 

I could see the world around me. 

I felt more in control.

I aced the test.

I still take driving lessons.

Now my lessons are with a horse and carriage.

It’s a hobby I took up a few years ago.

I had not driven a test in a long time so I had a lesson recently with a new instructor.

I was concentrating on my pony and my hands.

I was thinking about how to get my pony to bend,

And to move forward

As she sat in the center of the ring watching me drive she said to me:

Just look 10 feet ahead

Once I did that I relaxed and my pony relaxed.

My pony was moving forward and bending.

I was just looking a short distance into the future and we were gliding gently there.
 

I think of this as I began to schedule my year.

Looking at my calendar
The feeling of overwhelm begins to creep in.
I have big plans.

Will I have enough?

How will I manage it all?

Will I still be having fun?

I realize that my best approach is to just look a little bit into the future.

Think about my first show

And then the second.

Before I know it I begin to relax and realize that I will gently glide through it.

Growing up I had a friend who gave the best advice

We would talk for hours on the phone. She could always be counted on to give her honest opinion of things. 

It could be love advice, makeup tips or how to negotiate a later curfew.

I could share all of my secrets with her.
Looking back now I can't even remember what we talked about.
It all seemed so important then.
Almost as important as breathing.

Time has passed. My friend is still my friend but we don't see each other as much anymore. Our worlds have grown wider, filled with more people.

Our conversations feel detached now. We are no longer connected by the immediacy of adolescence.

I don't share secrets anymore. 
There's only good news or bad.

My secrets, if I have any at all, fall away, unspoken.
Unshared.

Let's make believe

When I was in third grade my family moved away from the house I was born in. Far from the neighborhood friends I knew.

The new house was on a one way street with few kids and none in my class.

That first winter was hard for me. I spent long hours playing alone in my room. I found it hard to make friends at school. 

I was very lonely.

My mom would say, "just go out and find some kids to play with."
Which used to be easy in our old neighborhood with row after row of tiny houses packed full of kids.

Not so much on our little, tree lined, one-way street.

Winter turned to spring and my mother kept urging me out the door. 

Early that first summer I ventured down the hill towards the end of the street.
There was a house with a clothesline strung from the back door to a tree. That day I saw someone had fashioned a bed sheet over the line and had painted flowers and vines all over it.

It looked like a tent. 

I saw someone playing outside and I don't know what gave me the courage that particular day but I approached her and met the girl who made this handmade fort.

For me it was a lifeline.

A person who thought like me and dreamed like me.

Another person who loved to make things. Who used her imagination.

She became my best friend.

I woke every day that summer just waiting until I could go down the hill to play

Make believe.

Stoneware paperclay,  13 x 16 x 6, 2022

Do you have any functional art?

During a recent tour my studio was full of people. 
I was excited to see everyone who came.

One new visitor said,
"I love everything you make. Do you have any functional art?
I only buy functional art."

At first I didn't know what to say.
I looked around my studio at the shelves filled with sculptures. 
All of the faces looking back at me.
All those eyes filled with expressions.
The curious features and crooked smiles.

I hesitated, but just for a moment and then said:
All of my art is functional.
Their function is to make you smile
or to spark a memory
They remind you to have fun and
to give yourself permission to explore new things
To catch you at a moment in your day and make you dream about the life you want to live.

Do you have a secret super power?

I think we all have a secret super power. I think we all have something inside ourselves that nobody else has. Some secret talent that sets us apart from everyone else.

I’m reminded of the movie Ghost when Patrick Swayze’s character meets a stranger in the subway who shows him how to manifest the power to move things without touching them. At first Patrick Swayze can’t figure out how to do it. He can’t do it until he suddenly feels intense anger and fear and then he is able to move something.

The secret lies in feeling something deeply and at the pivotal moment in the movie he uses his deep love for Demi Moore to slowly slide a coin up the door and into her hand. He is using his super power to let her know that he is still with her.

I think we all have the ability to tap into our own special super power.

When I turned 50 I began to spend time connecting with the possibility of a super power. I spent time journaling and taking Artist Dates and listening to what I was feeling. I tried new things and gave myself permission to consider what was best for me. And I began to sculpt. My first figures were strange to me and I remember saying to my husband, “don’t ask me what they are, because I don’t know what they are”.

Mostly I was telling him not to criticize them (or me) because I was afraid that it would stop me from making. He honored my request.

And I gave myself permission to continue. And I did.

Each day that I sit in my studio I create a complete world of fantasy. Each figure exists only in my imagination until I reach down deep inside and search for that special emotion that helps me bring my sculptures to life.

It’s my secret super power.

Here’s a glimpse at my latest fish car: