Saturday, March 28, 2015

An Instagram Ode to Lace

Y'all, I have MAJOR lace obsession. 

https://instagram.com/p/0QN6QVNyWf/

I love lace. 
Like, really love it.

I love the texture when it's printed on. 

https://instagram.com/p/r7Sodmtycm/


I like sewing it together to make big patchwork sheets of lace. 

https://instagram.com/p/0pxgvENyX3/

I especially love dirty and old lace.

https://instagram.com/p/0sxDtBtyZ8/
Frankly, I can't understand why there isn't MORE lace in the world.

When Good Artists Go Bad

I think every "professional" artist who opts to make their studio work the focus of their career - as opposed to choosing a more understandable path, like teaching - has heard some variation of how they don't have a "real" job.

A customer, who thinks they could make your work just as well for half the price.
A family member, who thinks you should grow up.
A child, who says mom or dad don't have a job.

My inner optimist doesn't believe that these people are trying to be hurtful (well, except for that jerk customer, but that's another post); they just don't get it. It's a different way of looking at the world and employment from them. It's more comfortable for them to be in a different field, or to have a boss instead of being the boss AND the sole employee. The world of a working artist isn't something they covered in Home Ec after you took your career aptitude tests, or even in your professional development course in college (if you were lucky enough to have one). So they don't understand it. It may concern them, because they care about you and your success. I really don't think they're trying to be hurtful.

But then there's another set of individuals. The individuals who should know better. The individuals who by all rights should be identifying with you. The individuals who you should be able to sit down with over a plate of cookies and have a bitch session about all the people who think you don't have a job if you're a working artist.

The OTHER ARTISTS who say these things.

Seriously, what is UP with that? It's a strange phenomena that I personally have encountered several times now, both directed at myself and at other artists. Where does it come from? Fear? Jealousy? Societal pressure to conform?

I think the answer is resentment. With maybe some fear thrown in. Because something I've noticed in my encounters with this strange mentality is that it often comes from artists whose careers didn't follow their ambitions; artists who wanted a creative career, but something stopped them. Either they found it too hard, or maybe they got sucked into a "day job," that became their career. Maybe they were told one too many times that art only belongs in the realm of hobby, and they came to believe it. However it happens, I believe it breeds a resentment against artists who are able to make a go of it (or at least try to). Because, at least in my experience, their words hold a lot more bitterness than those of non-artists. And they get so angry about it too.

A small compare-and-contrast, based on my own experiences:

My mother (with whom I am fairly close) and my sister (with whom I frequently don't get along with) have both, at one point or another, questioned my career choice (and further back, my college major choice). My mother has been known to frequently ask, "But what are you going to do for a job?" My sister was surprised to hear that people make a living selling art work at festivals and fairs. But both always spoke in tones of concerned curiosity (I use the past tense because they finally "get it" now...I think...).

An older friend who, at one time, aspired to be a theater actress and director, and currently works for the local government organizing community events and teaching community theater classes. Another friend, close to my own age, who aspires to be a musician and recently quit his job, in theory to pursue music full time. The former at one point denounced me as being completely unrealistic, with no idea how a "real job" or the "real world" works and claimed I was trying to get her fired with a suggestion I made to a problem she was having. The latter recently lectured me about how hard it is to make music, that I don't understand that he can't just "sit at a canvas and make something appear." (In the interest of full disclosure, that diatribe of his was the motivation to finally write this blog article, but not the sole inspiration)

What I can't convey well through text is the vitriol in their words. The first, now former, friend's hateful look and nastiness in her voice. The second friend's insistence that I can't possibly know anything about making music (I admit I'm not musical, but I married into an extremely musical family) and that I can't compare creating music to creating visual art (my husband, a writer and musician himself, disagrees). It's dismissive. And to add more insult to injury, these individuals frequently are bewildered as to why this would be offensive! Cue a round of "you shouldn't be offended just because I completely dismissed you and your work as somehow illegitimate." Which is just as frustrating and hurtful as the original insult.

So here's my eternal question: How can we fix this?

How can we support artists, all artists, so that no bitterness breeds in the first place? Is it even possible to fully support artists in a society a where art is frequently cut from school programs, despite evidence that it improves tolerance and critical thinking skills? What are other artists' thoughts on the solution here?

Sunday, January 25, 2015

Cherry Bomb Mama

The conversation about having children came up once with my son's biological father (in the abstract sense, clearly not in the having-them-together sense). At the time, I was pretty adamant that I had no desire to be a mother. I distinctly remember him telling me, “Just watch, in 10 years you'll be a soccer mom.” I remember it so well, because I was highly offended at the time.

Well. It's 10 years later. And I'm afraid he might have been right.

It's silly, but that comment is part of the reason I've refused to get a mini-van or SVU every time I've gone car shopping in the last 10 years. It's part of the reason soccer fliers from school have discreetly gone directly into the recycling bin, without the usual, “Are you interested in this?” that I ask my kids about everything else.

And yet. I find myself leading the Girl Scout troop, helping correct dance postures, sewing on karate patches, gearing up for the lacrosse season, and having play dates with other parents and children. I work from home so we can save money on daycare, so I'm at the bus stop every morning and every afternoon.

And I am happy. But slightly lonely.

Turns out, there aren't many other riot grrrl soccer moms. Especially in suburban CNY. Forget other young moms; I'm the youngest parent in both my kids' classes. The next youngest parents are a good 8 years older than me; just old enough to have had little in common growing up. Most are actually closer to my mother's age than mine (oh, the joys of chronic early motherhood in my family). Other mothers either have conventional, out-of-the-home jobs, or are stay at home mothers; both groups view me as belonging to the other. And I don't have the typical “soccer mom” attitude towards my kids; as Urban Dictionary would say, I don't view my children as “little angels” who can do no wrong.

As a result of the vast differences between myself and other parents, and the fact that none of my closest friends have children, I've found I actually don't know how to relate to other parents. Like, what do parents talk about? I really don't know. I know what I talk to my friends about: politics, social justice, philosophy, art, horror movies, books we've read. But as I said, most of my friends don't have kids, and it hasn't seemed appropriate to bust out with the philosophical/social justice debate while all the munchkins run around in dress up clothes.


So what's a cherry bomb mom to do? Make awkward small talk at play dates and continue painting weird things at home, I guess. It seems a little like leading a double life. But, moms are pretty much superheroes, after all.

Thursday, December 4, 2014

Pieta

Pieta
2014
Watercolor
11" x 14"
Framed and ready to hang
$100 email mandabrezicky@gmail.com for purchase info

It's been a while since I just lost myself painting. I forgot how freeing it can be to trust my skills and turn my conscious mind off.


Motherhood is such a funny/sad thing. 

Wednesday, December 3, 2014

Time To Get the Blog Back Together

                  There's always this moment
                  when I meet other parents at      
                  school and they're like, "Oh,
                  what do you do?"

                  "Oh, I'm an artist." And then I
                  can tell if they're from my
                  neighborhood or the more
                  affluent neighborhood.

                  Because the parents in my
                  neighborhood are all, "Oh,
                  cool! That's very neat, what
                  do you do?"

                  The more affluent parents
                  get a little quiet, and then,
                  "So, do you teach, or...?"

                  "No, I sell art. That I make."

                  "Like at craft shows?"

                  "Nooo, large art festivals."

                  And the more affluent parents
                  never ask me substantive
                  questions about my work -
                  they're only interested in the
                  money part. Maybe next time
                  someone asks, I should say, "I
                  embroider dicks and paint
                  dead babies for cash."

A random thought I posted on Ello a few months back, when I went to my kids' Curriculum Night. Sadly, I have not yet implemented Operation Dicks and Corpses - somehow I think even the usually non-judgey parents I have befriended would disapprove. Ah well.

Sunday, May 26, 2013

Monotype Mania

What better way to pass the day between fights with a screen, than monotype? Although to be honest, I don't know how I feel about these.

Saturday, May 25, 2013

Printing Madness

Dear Gojo,

Roses are sometimes red,
Violets are...violet.
I love the way you smell,
And the ink from my hands you take all of it.