In praise of stormy Saturdays

Saturday mornings aren’t usually stormy. We think of the weekend as a sunny space, full of promise that leads to fulfillment and productivity. However, when it pours, there is often less distraction. With any luck, the comfort of a hot cup of tea will morph into caffeinated focus. The elements prevent us from running hither and yon. We are forced to remain indoors and deal with the task at hand.

When the stormy Saturday morning happens to land on the first morning of your vacation, this can either be a disaster and portend of doom-filled days ahead, or fire you up with such enthusiasm, giddiness and high emotion that you feel you are capable of anything and everything. Of course, you must announce this on every available social media channel, albeit in varied ways in order to keep it fresh. (But face it, you don’t even fool yourself.)

The thunder makes the bed nest even cosier. It’s as though nature is encouraging guilt-free exploration of the internets. I land upon a photo of the most exquisite lavender honey-glazed duck. It is not even remotely attainable, but perhaps a drive in the car to find out whether locally produced gourmet, gluten-free pop tarts live up to the hype could be a quick fix. It turns out that the best way to say on track is to eat leftover peach pie (also locally produced and within walking distance) and pick up your library books. Yes, the latter does involve going outside, but opportunity happens to fall within the only dry-ish window of the day. More books can only make a rainy day better, especially if they are free.

The thing about rainy days is that they drastically cut down on fear of missing out. They level the playing field somehow and feel like a fresh start. (I am a huge fan of the fresh start.) Today I can turn my life around without distraction … that is, as long as I either put my phone into someone else’s safekeeping or drive out of range. Anyway, grand plans for renewal are hatched, announced and then even pursued. Painting gear is laid out, a new sock has been cast on, requisite number of words has been entered … the rain has not let up. In fact, it beats more strongly on the tin roof. It speaks to you directly. This muse is stronger than the rest and reminds you that a vacation nap is as glorious as life can possibly get. That nature’s concert is best enjoyed with one’s eyes closed. That in order to truly honour the giver of this gift, one must give in to its rhythms.

There is nothing better than a rain-wracked Saturday if it falls on your first full day of renewal.

Staycation or self-directed creative retreat? It’s all in the self-talk

Time off usually means a road trip, an overnight flight or the use of a passport. It could also mean a retreat into the woods, complete with a week’s worth of chips, library books and booze, also known as family time.

Alas, what we once knew as the family vacation has become a thing of the past. There is less opportunity for the summer days to drag on deliciously, now that my boys are more interested in using their time to make money. This is a good thing. This is the second summer of our transition. We still spend most weekends together, but a work-sanctioned week off is no longer what it used to be. We straddle between the city and the country, no longer privy to a solid nine days of unplugged isolation. But it is still what we make of it.

How’s that for pressure?

I’m really good at generating ideas. Too many. I have lots of plans, projects and dreams. I’m not so good at making them all come to pass. I’m easily over-excited, distracted and then dragged down by my own inertia. I get overwhelmed and never know where to start or how to keep on track. It’s a lot easier to give up and take a nap. However, somehow, last year I got my shit together long enough to build a website. I was pretty pleased with myself and the accomplishment ended up being the highlight of my summer.

So, faced with a week off and no need for another website, I am fearful. Like the rest of us, when I’m at work I crave time to throw myself headlong into my many projects and “really live my life”. But when quitting time comes around, I’m tired. All I want is to sit on the porch and have another glass of wine.

I have the gift of a week. What if I blow it?

That was my fear. Well-founded, right? After my porch-sitting, I was even more tired. I hauled myself into bed and reached for my book. But first, I needed to make sure there were no great revelations from the universe.

But there was. Just one was all I needed. And I found it on the Twitter. It would be more charming, of course, to pretend that inspiration came at me through the printed page or via whispered words of wisdom, but the fact is that I found it online on the sticky screen of my damn smartphone. But the fact is also that the words I needed to see were from a poet of my acquaintance, someone like-minded enough to have congregated with fellow writers and other assorted creatives three months ago in Reykjavik. He mentioned, very simply, that he needed to work on his blog.

Ah!  The eureka moment when you are reminded of your path and gently guided back by a signpost. When a comrade’s to-do list mirrors yours. When you realize that by reaching out, you can get a leg up. That the words aren’t just for looking at, but actually have meaning.

I woke up this morning and knew that the power of the week will stem from the words. So instead of letting a lazy staycation wash over me, I am opting for a self-directed creative retreat. I’m heading into the woods with my paints and my canvases, my wool and my needles, and my laptop. I will finish a pair of socks and maybe start another. I will map out a series of paintings and hopefully complete a couple. As I swim, I will think more about a story that’s in my head and eventually let at least part of it out. I will add pieces to a bigger project and feel that it is a work in progress. And I will hammer out my thoughts by way of these keys and turn them into words.

I will read the many books I brought and lose myself in the umpteen New Yorkers that make up my decor. I will drink wine and eat snacks. I will play games, talk rot and recharge.

But first I will take a nap.

New Year's Resolution 2016

Over the past couple of years, I have found it easier to manage just one resolution at a time. Nevertheless, having only one is no guarantee of having it come to pass within the year. Still, reading War and Peace and building a website may have taken it little longer than intended, but their eventual accomplishment makes me confident that I’ll be able to tackle this year’s challenge. For a challenge, it will be.

I will not buy anything.

Oh, of course, I will spend money on food and shampoo and wine. I will shop for gifts and art supplies. I will go to craft shows. I will support local businesses and makers.

I will try to resist buying books and art, just for this year. It will be difficult, especially as these are industries I want very much to support. But as I still have about 15 unread books at my fingertips and artworks waiting to be displayed, perhaps it is time to get my house in order before inviting anything else in. What about magazines? I have a weakness for shiny covers, or, even better, those that are rich and matte. Again, best to deal with the at least a dozen or so unread and the scores of collections that linger. What of those? If I buy music, and I so rarely do, it will remain in the cloud.

What about travel? I shop when I roam the streets of far away. The things of far away keep far away with me when I am no longer there. I let them define me. So what will happen? I don’t know. At the very least, I will be more mindful.

When I am not far away, the moratorium will be on clothes and shoes and such like. No whims for the home. No gadgets for the kitchen. No impulse buys, no sales, no bright ideas. I will fight the dangers of Ikea even though I did plan on buying a light there to match the one we have before it is discontinued.

I will try to refrain from getting excited about new ideas that involve new investments. It is not as though, after all, I don’t already have enough going on on every burner and up every sleeve. This mindfulness will help keep me from further distraction. I hope.

I will wear out what I have. I will shop my closets and the contents of my house. I will use what I’ve put aside for “good”. I may have to replace essentials like bras or black tights that I can darn no more. I meant to stock up before December ended. Never mind. It makes the challenge more interesting.

Absolutely no more bags of any kind. The last item I bought for myself was on November 17. It was a silver tote bag and I agonized over it for a few days. It was what led me to this resolution. The decision helped me to rationalize my purchase. I am very good at selling to myself.

Upon much reflection over the past six weeks, I've come to the realization that I am often very careful about what I buy. I am by no means a mad shopping machine. I need to fall in love. The problem is that I fall in love quite often. With people and places and pictures and narratives and feelings and ideas and, yes, things. I need to learn to fall in love with simplicity.

In my defence, I come by my consumerist tendencies quite legitimately. After over twenty years of working with fashion, art and design, it is time to curate my collections more precisely. To possess less, but more thoroughly.

Can I do it? I think so. I hope so.

Nota: The silver tote is, indeed, very practical.

In contemplation of ... snacks

On my way home from school, if it were a really good day, I would remember suddenly that my parents had done the groceries the night before. A warm glow washed over me, as I knew that meant there would be a fresh batch of snack opportunities awaiting my arrival.

I have been an adept of the notion of snacks all my life. Appetizers are my favourite part of the meal; hors d’oeuvres are my favourite food group. So imagine my delight when I learned of 613 Snack Time – A 3-course serving comprising a snack potluck, an art show and a publication. Any event that pays homage to the snack is pretty much guaranteed my participation and enthusiasm.

So my thoughts have turned to snacks, of course. Not in a quick-fix, let’s-eat-it-now sort of way, but on a more intellectual level. How do we as a society or culture define snacks? How do I? What is a snack? Simply any food we consume in between set meals? What differentiates a snack from a dessert? Is treat synonymous with snack? So many questions, so many snacks, so many direct routes to diabetes and the ire of the self-righteous.

To be fair, the idea of snacks in art is not a new one. I have long been a fan of Evelyn Eveleth’s sensual, larger than life donut portraits, Wayne Thiebaud’s cakes, Pamela Johnston’s candies, and other two-dimensional evidence of our snack pursuits. Oddly enough, it is only now that I am even contemplating the addition of such a subject into my own oeuvre. It is an exciting moment.

However, when it came time to decide upon a contribution to the aforementioned snack potluck, a collaboration between House of Common and Possible Worlds, I hit a wall. My long-term relationship with the idea of snacks was so serious that I felt my snack needed to reflect this, and, in essence, me. I ruminated long and hard, overwhelmed by the breadth and depth of the potential. The event coincided with the advent of Hallowe’en, so I was snug in the knowledge that a full bag of Rockets would make up part of my offering. There is nothing better than discovering a rogue roll of Rockets in a pocket or at the bottom of a purse. “What else should we take?” I asked my partner in snack pursuits. “Jalapeno poppers,” he suggested. “I found a recipe.” On the surface this sounded good – intriguing, even – but this would be a new thing for us. It could not represent who we are as snackers. However, it ignited the truth. “Cheese biscuits!” I cried. THAT is who we are and who we are meant to be. The mere thought of a batch of our signature cheese biscuits hot from the wood stove will make my mouth water and set off a craving.

In the end we set forth into the darkness bearing snacks that were worthy of our attentions. We joined our tribe of fellow snack lovers for grilled cheese and other treats as snack footage was projected onto the walls around us. We went for the snacks, but the real treat was the company.

To some, this could have been but an amuse-bouche; to me, it is the continuation of a life-long journey and the start of new explorations.

What are some of your favourite snacks?

November: The notion of a cup of tea

November comes as a respite after the hurly-burl of a headfirst plunge into fall. It’s as though we want to show the summer that we can manage just fine without you, thanks very much, so we’ll just go ahead and embrace the whirl of September and October. It’s rather a mad dance, in fact.

Socializing takes on a new intensity after not being able to connect over the summer because of plans that never mesh despite all those promises at the start. Summer get-togethers are flings. Labour Day announces a new round of involvement that is all-immersive. September is the real new year. October is for out-doing September.

By mid-October, post-Thanksgiving, post-apple-picking, post-birthday, one starts to think wistfully of November.  And there’s still the fevered pitch of Hallowe’en to come. November will be a time to pick up the pieces, a time to rest, a time to look inside and sort things out. A time to clean house and actually work on all those projects we got started in the frenzy. Time to keep promises.

November is a time to pause.

November is for nesting. For books you don’t have to return quickly to the library and music that you don’t have to dance to.  For actually painting, not showing, not talking, not doing all the non-painting. November isn’t gloomy, but cosy.  It’s a time to reflect, to collect one’s thoughts and to pull them together or let them go.

It’s a time to reach out with intent.

In November, I will think of more cups of tea than I will drink.  It is the very idea of changing gears and resisting the lure of saying yes to every temptation that will ground me and help me focus. Even if I do go out almost as much and take as many steps. It is the notion of a cup of tea that will keep me safe and slow me down.

November is a frame of mind.

Straddlescapes at Chinatown Remixed

When I answered a call for submissions with an offer to do live painting as a performance during this year’s edition of Chinatown Remixed, I wasn’t convinced I knew what I was talking about. I was over the moon when I found out I was accepted, but then the reality set in. I was meant to be entertaining passersby by plying my craft, something I usually do hunched over a canvas in a room by myself.

And what if it rained?

The doubts set in, so I asked the organizers what the expectations were. If I were meant to do tricks by producing rabbits from my nest of messy hair or doves out of my ears, it was time to ‘fess up and bow out gracefully. I was much relieved by the answer: “Remix is a great way to liven up our community, meet and engage with people, most important is to have fun.” I was encouraged to bring more art, and even music.

The first step was to get my DJ working on an appropriate playlist. I put in an ask for lots of c-, j- and k-pop. The next step was to haunt the neighbourhood to check out my spot in front of Kowloon Supermarket and take strength from the Chinatown Gate. Painting outside IN FRONT OF PEOPLE was a concept I needed to build up to. In the meantime, I had to make sure the series of work I was going to display was ready and that I was set to start the next painting in the collection.

Straddlescapes is an on-going series of small canvases depicting the urban citycape as it flows into the countryside. Most of the paintings include a small wooden hut in the woods that, to me, is the refuge or safest place. Residing within this hut is Baby Doll, a kewpie doll that has grown in importance within this series. He has gone from a more innocent forest dweller to a larger than life presence that looms over both city and country to keep watch. Some would, and do, say this is creepy. I find it comforting. But I love that Baby Doll makes people react.

I checked the weather report approximately 37 times a day, every day for two weeks. It changed every single time, but there was usually at least some rain predicted. I made use of #prayforsun. I borrowed a canopy, practiced putting it up and smashed my fingers in it.

It was all very exciting.

Until I found myself struggling with the canopy and my partner on a busy Saturday afternoon on a Chinatown sidewalk where shoppers navigated around us as they tried to do their chores. Outside my comfort zone? Only by a million miles. But this location is reportedly good for you, so I told myself that all those dirty looks were a good thing. And no one ran over us.

It was all very exciting again.

Seated behind my table, tunes plugged in, paints set out, it was time to get to work. Once I got going, it almost felt normal. Even when one lady stopped by and pointed out that there had been two murders in the basement beneath me seven years ago and that I “probably wouldn’t do very well in that spot because Chinese people are superstitious”. At a loss for the perfect response, I just asked her name. We introduced ourselves, she wished me luck and went on.

But what if it rained?

Just as I was right into my painting and feeling ready for a photo opp, the ominous winds picked up. It rained. I tucked everything in closer to me under the canopy and carried on. My partner did some fancy umbrella work, as dictated by the gusts from various directions. It never simply rains straight down, does it? But it was fine. It was just fine. I actually felt cosy. I was just where I was supposed to be, painting away on a sidewalk in Chinatown while it rained.

Then it stopped! What didn’t stop was the steady stream of lovely people passing under our canopy on their way to their Saturday afternoon destinations: errands, birthday parties, picking up race kits and, of course, Chinatown Remixed. Some slowed to look at my paintings, others stopped to chat. All were happy to nod or smile back at me, at the very least. No one made me feel unwelcome or out of place. They loved it when I slowly pulled the real Baby Doll out of my bag to let them sneak a peek.

Community. The streetscape. User-friendly living. Our neighbourhoods are what we make of them and an art festival such as Chinatown Remixed is a grassroots way to connect to each other. One lady said they saw me when they drove by and decided to park and come see what was going on. That’s what it’s all about. Encouraging people to explore, to simply want to know more.

Because I was seated behind a table, the children were eye-level. They could lean and chat and stare. They asked their questions unabashedly and made their observations unhindered. I didn’t always have answers, but that’s nothing new. One girl looked at all the paintings on display and said, “These tell a story!”

The words every artist wants to hear. I was so happy.

I spoke to people about how much Ottawa has changed and how much choice we have now. How much there is to do and see, if only we let ourselves. The afternoon was an affirmation. To community, to saying hi to your neighbour, to sharing our stories.

By the end of the day, I better understood what my Straddlescapes are. They had started out as an ode to the woods and the countryside, but because I have always been a huge fan of city living, I couldn’t help but betray my leanings towards both. No greys and browns for my skyscrapers; I prefer them in candy tones. Baby Doll tries to keep things in balance while watching over us with his big blue eyes. A lady asked if the cityscapes were meant to represent actual cities and, truthfully, they are not. But I’ve come to realize that to me, this is Ottawa, a city I do love, and the hills and woods just beyond, which I love even more. It’s okay to love both. And here in Ottawa, we don’t have to choose.

A huge thank you goes out to Chinatown Remixed for giving me the opportunity to participate in a truly enriching event. To experience firsthand how public art can lead to conversation was a gift. It doesn’t have to be complicated; it just has to start with me.

Outside the Box 3.0 - Call for submissions

‘Outside the Box’ 3.0 Toronto Design Offsite Festival January 18-24, 2016

CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS

Are you an Ottawa designer or maker?

Would you like to exhibit your work in Toronto and New York?

Project Brief

After its successful debut during the 2015 Toronto Design Offsite Festival (TO DO), and at WantedDesign Brooklyn, the third edition of ‘Outside the Box’ will be presented during the Toronto Design Offsite Festival, January 18-24, 2016.

Shipped across the country in bankers’ boxes, the Toronto Design Offsite Festival and WantedDesign unpack, install, and present a dozen distinct national and international showcases at a prominent venue in downtown Toronto. Working with local correspondents, each box includes original works from local designers, reflecting the particular resources and makers of each area.

The exhibit will also travel for presentation at WantedDesign, part of NYCxDESIGN in May 2016.

More information on the project, and previous editions, can be found on the Toronto Design Offsite website.

Theme

This third edition of ‘Outside the Box’ features responses on the theme “multiple.” Ottawa is a place where we deal with extremes such as weather (how do we deal with temps that range from -30 degrees to +30 degrees?) and settings (how efficiently can we make the leap from our cubicles to the deep woods via bike paths and roadways?). We respond to the extremes with multiples. We use multi-purpose items to multi-task because we have learned to become multi-faceted.

The first Ottawa edition of Outside the Box 3.0 invites designers working in all media and formats to submit any work to which the theme could be applied. We are open to work in 2- or 3-dimensions, but it must fit into a cardboard bankers’ box (typical dimensions 15” x 12” x 10”) along with the work of other participants.

We will consider submissions of work that has already been produced, as well as prototypes.

How to submit

Submit your expression of interest by:

1. Describing the object or work in one paragraph, making sure to include these details: title, materials, dimensions, year, and how it fits the theme;
2. Submitting a short bio on you and/or your creative practice (max. 150 words);
3. Submitting 1-3 images of the object or work; and
4. Submitting your contact info (name, email, and phone number); a CV; and website URL, Twitter and Instagram names (if available).

** Send all of the above items in ONE PDF FILE (max. file size 5 Mb) by email only to sabinemodder@gmail.com. **

Submissions are due Monday, October 5, 2015.

How much does it cost?
There is no fee for this submission, or for participating in the Festival Exhibition. However, selected participants will assume all travel costs if they choose to attend events in Toronto and/or New York. If selected, you will be responsible for arranging drop-off and pick-up of your work to the Ottawa curator at a central location to be determined.

What happens next?
Selected designers will be notified by email by October 23, 2015.

Questions?
Email your questions to Outside the Box Ottawa curator Sabine Modder (sabinemodder@gmail.com) with the subject line: Outside the Box + your name.

Thank you!

One of these things is not like the others

A childhood spent in front of Sesame Street taught us to pick out the item that did not match. A neighbour in the woods remarked recently that a painting hanging on the wall is a different style in relation to the other landscapes huddled on the sideboard beside it. I would not have made this distinction myself, but it made sense. The landscape in question was done under the coaching of Ottawa artist Gordon Harrison and does reflect his style of painting, which is somewhat of a departure for my usual painstaking efforts to “get it right”. I had admired Gordon Harrison’s work because his strokes seem so free, so unstudied. They imply movement, excitement and a real connection to the land around the artist. His colours are glorious. All of which is in complete contrast to my often uptight attempts and earthy colours.

So I was thrilled to be able to study with him this past winter. It was liberating, but also quite a challenge, as I don’t usually work in oils. It took me a while to adjust my brushwork and expectations, but in the end I was pleased with the results. One of my pieces has landed in a group show by 22 of Gordon’s other apprentices. The exhibition takes place from August 30 to October 12 at Plumes et Glisse, a bed and breakfast at Mont Tremblant run by Jenny Pearson-Millar and her partner Craig. There will be three vernissages and open houses, as well as other opportunities to view the work. I’m going to make a day trip out of it and explore the area while I’m there.

Not being like the others is not always a bad thing.

Storytelling

I’m still thinking about last Friday’s vernissage at La Petite Mort Gallery – what a wonderful turnout! We took a look at artwork (prints, etching, watercolours, sketchbooks) by Christine Ross and heard some powerful stories about mental illness. Although the exhibition is called Christine’s Escape, it was clear that a variety of artists use their creative process as a means of escaping the ravages of mental illness, be it their own or that of a loved one. What came out of the evening was an emphasis on the need to share our stories so that no one suffers in isolation. Some of us can be the storytellers, while others take on the role of listeners. As long as we engage, we can help each other lighten at least some of the darkness.

Christine Ross, who is now retired from her art, was a prolific artist. It is clear that her practice provided her a much-needed haven. Imagine if she, and artists like her, could create unimpeded. What we do know, although she might not, is that her story might help to remove a few obstacles for others.

I think I chose the portrait above because at a glance it will make me think of Christine, her struggle and her gifts. It will remind me of my own mother’s struggle, and the gift of my friendship with Christine’s daughter with whom I am able to share my stories. This portrait will remind me of the storytelling, the mothers who went walkabout and the daughters who grappled to make sense of it all and to keep their mothers safe.

Christine’s Escape

I’ll be MC’ing a fundraiser tomorrow evening to raise money for artists with mental illness. Christine’s Escape is an exhibition of artwork by Christine Ross, an artist who has battled mental illness throughout her life. Held at Ottawa’s La Petite Mort Gallery, the vernissage features talks by Christine’s daughter, Siobhan Arnott, who tells the story of her mother’s career and Herd Magazine founder and editor-in-chief, Stephanie Vicente, who will speak of her own struggles with mental illness.

When I was asked to pitch in for the vernissage, there was only one possible answer. This exhibition is about Christine Ross, but it is also about our need for good mental health and our ongoing battle to achieve or maintain the equilibrium we all seek as individuals. As such, there are elements of my own story that tie into the evening.

My own mother fought a raging war against vascular dementia. She tried so hard to be the general in command of her situation, but instead was forced to rely on my little family and me to act as her frightened foot soldiers. We spent much time in some very emotional trenches. It was through beating a retreat into my own creative practice that I found the nourishment I needed in order to push on and, indeed, to sleep at night. For when you have no control over the mind of a loved one, it is profound gratitude that you embrace the things over which you do. So to see an image take form or a narrative develop at your own hand is a great gift that can help keep your head above water.

Christine Ross is my friend Siobhan’s mother. And, I feel confident in saying, her favourite artist. For years they have struggled together and part, but always against the same enemy we try so hard to tame: that which is mental illness. This exhibition has come about as the result of much hard work and even more deep love.

All money raised from the sales of the artwork will go towards funding The Art Studio, a service offered by Family Services Ottawa that gives artists coping with mental illness supplies and space to work.

It has occurred to me that I, too, could donate the proceeds of my next sale to The Art Studio. So I will. Promise.

Black raspberries yet to come

Black raspberries yet to come is a small painting of mine that is currently on display at the local Roast ‘N’ Brew down the street. The 12” x 12” canvas is part of a floral-themed group show that continues through the end of August. I’ve no idea what these flowers are called, but what I loved about them was that the different colours were blooming on the same plant. Like candy. The flowers grow in our madly untended garden in the woods in a patch where black raspberries will eventually appear.

This painting makes me think of granny teacups or old, faded wallpaper. I peer into the coffee shop every day as I walk by; it’s nice to see it from the sidewalk. I wave to it with my mind. I guess I sort of miss it.

Would that this were everyone’s truth

It may not have garnered brilliant reviews, but Us by David Nicholls is a worthwhile, yet uncomfortably close look at a long marriage. I think what made this a keeper for me was this most wonderful passage that jumped right out at me shortly after I’d started. “But none of this is a surprise. I’ve been expecting to watch you grow older ever since we met. Why should it trouble me? It’s the face itself that I love, not the face at twenty-eight or thirty-four or forty-three. It’s that face.”

Want to read about the family life struggle set amidst an updated Grand Tour? This is the story of a quiet man of science, his just-out-of-reach arts-bent wife and their seventeen-year-old son and their last ditch attempt at a family vacation through various European centres of culture. The Guardian did not sing its praises, and nor did The New York Times, but David Nicholls has written the most romantic words I have read in a very long time. Funny how a few lines could endear a difficult character and, indeed, his whole story to me.

When I die ...

... I want Janet Cardiff's Forty-Part Motet as an installation at my funeral.

Before I die, I want to be immersed in this piece of art so many more times. One of my all-time favourite pieces of art is currently on at the National Gallery of Canada until January 8, 2016. Time is running out to step into the Rideau Street Chapel and be moved to tears by the Janet Cardiff: Forty-Part Motet. Free on Thursdays from 5 – 8 p.m. Wish I could cross paths with another Janet Cardiff installation or walk sometime soon.

The cobbler's children have no shoes

One question: Why? Why do I want a website?

Well, it would be practical.

I could show people my work.

Ah, the irony of it all. In my day job, I combine editing, web content development, blogging and a heavy dose of social media. In my life as an artist, I have done none of the above. At a recent Facebook event, I ran into an artist I recognized from a group show we had both been in. I introduced myself, we chatted and he wrote down my name, intending to look up my work. Awkward pause. I had to resort to the old “website-under-construction” chestnut. He told me of the issues he was having with his Facebook page. I didn't have any issues to share because I don't have one of those either. He gave me his card, but all I had to give him was my word. "Trust me, I'm an artist," is pretty weak, so I just shrugged and tried to blend back into the crowd.

It is as though, as an artist, I do not exist.

Resolution resolved

Approaching 2014, I thought I'd play it safe with one New Year's resolution. Just one. A website. A whole year. How could I fail?

Easy. I was missing at least one verb. A noun on its own wasn’t going to materialize. A website was the goal. To get there, I would have to design a website. I would have to hire someone to build a website. I would have to think about a website. These are all action verbs, so it never happened.

Approaching 2015, I had a resolution ready to go. Buoyed by this level of preparedness, I felt it could actually happen this time round. So I started testing action. I put it out there. I crowdsourced opinions on site builders. I said it out loud. I roped a child into looking at options. And I did it.

Today I built a website.