Make Art! Make Art! Make Art!

So said Glen Hansard, the winner of Best Song for the movie Once, in his acceptance speech at the Oscars this year. I loved the film, loved the music, loved the story of how it was made for $160,000, found by a vacationing Sundance employee, and catapulted to huge success. Great inspiration for all us struggling-artist types.

Closer to home and even more inspiring for me is First Person, a film directed by my friend Ben Herold, which premiered at the Philadelphia Film Festival last Sunday. I will disclose here my awe of Ben’s vision, courage, and cojones. But putting that aside, his film is a powerful, beautiful, stop-your-heart, challenging work of art (that incidentally won Ben the Philly Film Festival’s award for best new director.)

Just as amazing as the film is the story behind it. Ben was involved with a program that helped Philadelphia public school students make it to college and had an idea to follow a group of the students through their junior and senior years of high school, documenting their educational progress. I don’t know much about what is involved in making a film, but I know it takes a lot of money, time, people and expertise, none of which Ben had when he came up with this idea. But he began it, feeling his way and figuring it out as he went. And with lots of help, perseverance and good old-fashioned chutzpah, he created an incredible piece of art.

First Person is not just about the six kids featured, or Philadelphia, but the challenges that face our children, our education system, our neighborhoods, cities and societies. The film raised many questions for me. Like what is the difference between these kids and myself? I grew up within miles of these children, and my life couldn’t seem more different. Why is that? And what can we do to make sure that we don’t lose the potential, the talent, the gifts that our children have to offer? When bright, ambitious kids end up failing out of school, working at McDonald’s, or God forbid, in jail, we all lose. What can we do to change this? How do we support our teenagers to keep them from falling through the cracks, from giving in to the temptations that surround them to devastating effect?

Big questions, I know. One could feel overwhelmed by such questions. And I think the answers are different for everyone. Some of us can give money (right through the First Person website - check it out!) Some of us can give time, talent, love. Some of us can and should make art.

Art? you ask? Yes. Because as shown by both Once and First Person, art challenges, provokes, makes us feel and think, shows us new perspectives, introduces us to people, ideas and circumstances we might not otherwise see.

Thank you, Ben for making your art and sharing it with the rest of us. None of us knows the good that we do, the ripple effects our actions have. None of the creators or fans of First Person know how it already has or will continue to affect people. But I believe it has already greatly impacted many lives. And that is a beautiful and inspiring thing to witness.

Feathering My Nest

Nesting is not an instinct of mine. A friend of mine bought a house a few months ago, and already it looks beautifully homey—pictures on walls, bright pillow arrangements, knick-knacks artfully displayed.

In comparison, I moved into my house three years ago, and my walls remain mostly barren, the home lacking much indication of who we are. Now, in my defense, having bought our home from my Great-Aunt Minnie, who God bless her, hadn’t done much to it since the 1970s, it took three years to transform the kitchen from a superfund site (see photo!), repair plumbing, replace ceilings, remove wallpaper, paint the entire interior and put down new carpet. So when in February we finally completed our initial work plan by having the floors refinished, maybe I just needed a break.

But recently, my lack of a comfortable work space began to bother me. And perhaps my vacation, where we stayed in other people’s homes for 12 nights straight, elevated my need to have a little corner of the world all to myself. So this week, I finally finished fixing the wall in my office. Then I set out to create an artist’s altar for myself, one of my assignments from The Artist’s Way. The idea is to have a place that belongs solely to me, a place filled with things that inspire me and lift my spirits.

So after a week of work, I now sit at my brand new desk, looking out my front windows at the dogwood tree that is just beginning to think about blooming. To my left are two curvy glass vases that fit into each other like puzzle pieces, one a deep pink and one carnation. To my right is a magenta candle, lit, in a black ceramic dish. On the windowsill are two fuchsia frames—one for a photograph of hot pink tulips and one for a card I received when I left my job that says “Sometimes you just have to close your eyes and go where your heart takes you.” In either corner sits a new lamp, one short with a long, narrow pink shade, the other a floor lamp with a multi-colored shade covered in circles, stars and flowers.

And sitting here, well, it feels like home. My very own writer’s home.

What I have learned is that we get back what we give out. So having put energy into my work space, through physical work, thought, time, and money, my work space is now giving energy back to me, through inspiration, comfort, motivation and joy. Pretty good trade.

3 Cities and a Funeral

We’ve been gone for 11 days, flying first to Oakland, California, then Portland, Oregon, then back to Philly, then hopping in the car to drive to Syracuse. I’m thrilled to be a)back in our quiet house in Narberth, b)writing again, c)not having to drive or fly anywhere for the foreseeable future. Before moving forward, allow me to recap our trip.

Part 1 – Sophia

I love the Bay Area, and have logged a lot of time there over the years. Every time we visit I fantasize about moving there. About waking up every morning to the sun shining on the Bay, surrounded by calla lilies and birds of paradise. California has always been magical to me, first in my imagination, and then in reality. It was where I met my husband, and is closer to my ideal in temperament, temperature, and philosophy than the East Coast has ever been. Is it my spiritual home? The fact I would even think or write that sentence may answer that question.

But the highlight of this trip was my niece Sophia. She is 11 months old, and we have that instant chemistry that is so rare in human relationships. For whatever reason, we instantly understood each other. Love at first sight. Her little face made me smile every time I saw it. Above is a picture so you can understand what I mean. I didn’t know someone could be goofy at 11 months, but she is. What a ham. She’ll do anything for a laugh. Come to think of it, maybe that’s why we understand each other...

Part 2 – Suzy and Barry

Suzy and Barry are my dear friends from college. Suzy was my roommate, and Barry was her boyfriend, (now husband). Suzy and I also had that rare, love at first sight experience. We used to speculate if we hadn’t randomly been assigned as roommates freshmen year if we would have found each other and been friends. The answer, of course, is yes.

Suz and Bar saw me through one of the roughest times of my life. I hope everyone is so lucky to have friends who can just be there, at your ugliest, neediest, saddest, most pathetic moments, without pity or forced cheer. What an amazing gift. Thankfully, that period of darkness is long behind me, but these amazing friends are still in my life.

In a weird cosmic twist, at the same time I was leaving my law career and embarking on this writing journey, Suz and Bar were making some drastic changes of their own, leaving New York after thirteen years, changing careers, and moving to Portland, Oregon. It was great to see them in their new environment, to see the changes and to know that whatever changes life has in store, we can always reconnect, using humor as our home base. And food, of course. Who knew they had such amazing barbeque in Portland, Oregon? Suzy and Barry deny that played a role in choosing Portland, but come on, guys, I know better.

Part 3 – Gramps

My husband’s grandfather died while we were on vacation. What to say about Gramps? He was father to 12 children, grandfather to 41, great-grandfather to 26. Yes, those numbers are correct. I am honored to be one of the spouses who married into his tribe. He attended daily mass at his beloved parish church, Most Holy Rosary, and I’m told he especially loved the stained-glass windows. During the funeral mass, the sun broke through the clouds, illuminating the window with words from the Hail Mary, and I knew that Gramps was still with us.

My favorite thing about Gramps was his wit. He left behind hundreds of jokes, one-liners and stories. My favorite recent example was from just last week, lying on his deathbed, apparently unconscious. He woke up, looked at his daughter and asked if any mail had come. She asked if he was waiting for something. He said, “Yeah, I want my check from George Bush.”

God bless you, Gramps. Thank God you passed your humor on to your children and grandchildren, and apparently, the lovely Sophia. His legacy of laughter, love, and family will live on and on.

A Return to Love

I just re-read a collection of love poems I wrote about my husband during the first flush of our relationship. Poems are the easiest way for me to capture intense emotion—having to be linear and logical inhibits the deepest things I feel. The poems capture the fear and uncertainty of new love, but also the awe, the wonder, the radiance.

I read A Return to Love by Marianne Williamson a few months ago. One of my favorite concepts of the book was the idea that the early phase of love—the honeymoon phase, when all you see is your lover’s perfection, is not an illusion. Rather, that image of your loved one is actually the truth. That is who they really are, in all of their God-given perfection and wonder. The fear, the doubt, the ennui, the annoyance, that creeps into every relationship over time is the illusion, the world getting in the way of divine love and goodness.

Do I buy that? I don’t know, but I like it. I’d like to think that my husband is truly the man who inspired crushing love and devotion in me all those years ago. And that the person who leaves his coat on the couch, his piles of schoolwork all over the house like a dog marking his territory—that person is the illusion. My focus on the idiosyncrasies that make him sometimes hard to live with, or my perception that he fails to meet my expectations, that is the world obstructing my ability to see him as God does, perfect just the way he is.

I still have glimpses of that first, perfect person. Fairly frequently. Sure, it’s easiest when he’s sleeping (because then he can’t mess it up by doing or saying anything.) But also, sometimes I am overwhelmed by affection, just seeing him reading in bed at night. Or slumped on the couch watching tv. Or running in circles around the kitchen island with his nephews. He is still my shooting star.

Below is one of the poems for your consideration.

Santa Barbara Mountain

Crossing the retreat grounds
the nighttime air caressed me—
cool, fresh, clean.
My eyes turned amazed
toward the heavens,
to the moon as bright as the sun,
and stars twinkling against a velvet blanket
that wrapped me in beauty
as I lay on the grass to moonbathe.

I imagined us meeting there—
the breeze scattering my hair
against my face,
the crickets our only witnesses.
You look into my eyes
and silently offer me your heart.
It is that simple.

The spark of a shooting star
tore me from my reverie
just as your form emerged
from the shadows.
Did you see my vision?
I waited in tense anticipation,
a lifetime
before you flashed
through my vision again,
another star trailing
across the sky above you.

You both disappeared,
leaving me
awe-struck.

Support-Key Component of Bras and Life

I have been overwhelmed since my blog’s debut with postings, messages, and words of support, which got me to thinking about the myriad words of encouragement I’ve received since I decided to leave The Firm to pursue writing. Something about this change I’ve made inspires the best in people, and they freely share it with me. Maybe it’s like how I feel about my friend Ben, who followed his heart and made a documentary film—I want him to succeed, because his success helps me to believe that I can too. (And because he’s awesome—check out the website for his film, First Person, which will debut at the Philly Film Fest on April 6! http://firstpersondocumentary.org/) Or maybe like the Oscars. My Diablo rant notwithstanding, seeing so many dreams come true is inspiring. If for them, why not for me?

Whatever it is, the support is a huge booster for me, readers! Sending out an email about my blog was difficult for me, felt like that icky self-promoting I loathe. But then I thought that maybe instead of self-promoting, it was sharing my work. And that maybe, at least some of you would actually want to read my work. That in fact, many people have asked me how the writing was going, and actually wanted to know.

So I swallowed my fear and my pride, sent out an announcement about the blog, and lo and behold, was inundated with encouragement. Hooray! Thank you to everyone who posted comments, sent emails, or otherwise reacted. I know, intellectually, that I have many friends and supporters, but your words about the blog made me FEEL the love and support. For that, I am very grateful. So often I choose to suffer in silence, when if I just asked for help it would appear. Why do we do that?

My adventure of the past few days, regrettably, was struggling with some nasty flu/cold/virus type thing. I used to think that getting sick was my body’s way of slowing me down. But body, I must ask you, how much slower can I get? For months now I’ve been sleeping 8 hours a night, eating well, exercising pretty much daily and doing work that I love. Still, I fell to the Super Bug. A-ha! But another thought occurs. Being sick requires that I ask for help! Ok, Universe, I get it. I should ask for help when I need it, share my work when I need feedback, ask for encouragement when down. Lesson learned. Ya. So can you clear up this ickiness now, so I can get back to work?

Stay well, readers!

I Hate Diablo Cody

For the two of you who haven’t heard of her, Diablo Cody wrote the movie Juno, and just won the Oscar for best original screenplay. And I don’t really hate her, but I am seething with jealousy. Not because of the million dollar shoes she supposedly wore to the Oscars (which apparently was just a publicity stunt by the shoemaker), but because she has the success I want. I know that’s petty and awful. But Julia Cameron says jealousy can help us figure out where we want to go by pinpointing what we envy, and planning a step we can take toward having that for ourselves.

So what do I envy about Diablo? Her success, her deal to work with Steven Spielberg, and her Oscar, certainly, but most of all, her ability to say her work is good enough, to let it go, and to promote herself. Juno may not have been perfect, was not the best screenplay ever written, but she finished it, and got it made into a movie, a movie that I must admit (begrudgingly) was really good, funny, and yes, well-written.

In other words, I am jealous that Diablo overcame her perfectionism. How can I do that? One step is this blog. If I can finish one little blog entry each week, let it go, and share it with others, then maybe someday I’ll be able to do the same with poems, articles, and the novel.

Paul Gardner said, “A painting is never finished. It simply stops in interesting places.” Julia Cameron, my fairy godmother, writes in The Artist’s Way, “Perfectionism is a refusal to let yourself move ahead.” And then, “Perfectionism is not a quest for the best. It is a pursuit of the worst in ourselves, the part that tells us that nothing we do will ever be good enough—that we should try again.” I just laughed out loud at myself as I struggled for five minutes over how to use ellipses in the above quote. Ah, perfectionism, my constant companion.

Just yesterday I thought about re-reading my novel from the beginning again, rather than continuing to move forward in writing and editing. Thank God I read Julia’s words about perfectionism, which convinced me to keep moving forward in faith. Because right now, I need to get through the second draft. I hope and believe that once I do, the beginning will sort itself out.

So thanks, Diablo. I might not be a stripper, an Oscar winner, or even a paid artist (yet), but I’m doing the best I can, learning and growing and getting better every day. Is a screenplay my next project? Maybe. Who wouldn’t want to wear million dollar shoes?

Anything for Material

Seven months ago I left a prestigious, high-paying attorney job to write my first novel. This blog will document my journey in creating both a novel and a writer’s life. So far I've completed a draft of my book, and a handful of essays and poems. Along the way I’ve collected adventures, lessons, friends and teachers.

One great discovery: writing is an excuse to do things I otherwise wouldn’t do. Like take a surf class, work at a florist for a day, study Italian, make collages, take swimming lessons from an Albanian champion swimmer, swing on the swings by myself in the middle of the day, and befriend all kinds of unlikely characters, from the Colombian beauticians who wax my eyebrows, to Tony, the Sicilian chef who promised to teach me how to make pasta. In the service of getting material, it seems I’ll do just about anything. (Hence the title.)

And while I’m using material as an excuse to try new things, I’m learning all kind of lessons. Like how to be more open to the flow of life, when to push through barriers and when to stop, and the importance of accepting gifts, especially when they are unexpected. I have become more gentle with myself and am discovering what this self wants, what she loves, what she hates. I’m learning that the perfect really is the enemy of the good and finding the joy in doing, creating, participating in the process.

I look forward to the surprises, efforts, and failures that are sure to follow. Because if we're not making mistakes, we're not doing a good enough job of living. You hear that, Oprah? That's what I know for sure.