Dreams and Reality

     If I think back to 10 years ago, I would have never believed that this is where I'd be now--married, house, baby...  I remember back at MassArt in '94 I took a class where the teacher had us write a letter to ourselves freshman year (which we'd get back on the last day of class senior year) where we had to predict where we'd be in 5 years time.  I think I wrote something along the lines of, "getting started in my own studio and creating art full time."  How far off was I?  Hmm....I was about 50% off.  I did get my own studio in South Boston and I was creating art, but was I doing it full time?  No.  Financially that would've been impossible, unless I was amazingly talented and was discovered right away, or if I was independently wealthy with a trust fund or something to play with.  I did make art as close to full time as I possibly could, enjoying every minute of it and really dedicating myself to it.  The feedback was positive and I was driven.  I kept up with photographing slides (at the time there was no digital photography handy) and I maintained my artist's statement.  On my desk I had a sample "gallery packet" to someday have a professional successful artist to look over for me, which would then be used as a template for the real thing.  There was no stopping me!  Except......

     A few years later I broke the lease on the studio due to a few break-ins and retreated to my mother's basement where I developed a different attitude.  The motivation dissipated completely.  It was cold and damp down there and I was lonely.  Keeping up with the slides was getting expensive and I didn't like anything I was producing.  I then developed an artist's block that I haven't been able to shake in 10 years.  I couldn't get inspired to make the art that I thought was worth showing or that others would appreciate.  I thought that everything I learned could no longer be applied to my style or medium.  I couldn't make ceramic sculpture anymore because I didn't have a kiln to fire in.  I tried oil painting, but didn't have the constructive criticism I needed to keep going as this was still an unfamiliar medium to me.  I tried more mixed-media works but I would give up on a piece before I even developed a concept.  The excuses just kept piling up and so did the crap in my mother's basement.  

     Then one day I had a brilliant idea--to go back to school!  I could use my art degree and sculpting talent towards gaining a certificate in jewelry making and repair!  What an idea!  Well, not really.  It would have been a great idea if I had the mindset like a few of my classmates;  that is starting my own business or freelancing as a jeweler...however it didn't come that easy for me.  School put me in massive debt and though I thoroughly enjoyed making jewelry and working with metal again, I was broke and stumped when I got out of school.  Working at the jewelry store was fun for a while (when I was actually repairing and creating pieces), but then the reality of my hatred for retail set in as well as my hatred for being a manager over others.  Also when I got home from work, the last thing I wanted to do was sit, with my brain sucked dry, at my jewelry bench and tinker on pieces I couldn't complete because I didn't have a torch or the oomph to get cranking.  More excuses....

     When we bought the house the plan was to have the unfinished side of the basement as my studio.  I was ready for "Danielle's Renaissance" of 2009!  I had one wall for an art studio and the opposite wall for jewelry making.  This was going to be great!  Now when people were to ask, "Danielle, you make jewelry, right?" I would be able to say, "I don't have a torch, so I'm limited as to what I can make, but yes I do!".  Or, if people brought up my making art, "Have you been making sculpture again or doing any paintings?", I could say, "Yes!  I am SO inspired!  I have been creating some amazing mixed-media pieces these days as well as some painting!  You must come see my studio and critique my work!".  Guess what folks?  This never happened.  Granted, there were a few pieces here and there that I have made for some folks as gifts, but to actually invest time and sweat into something I would consider "art"--that hasn't happened.  

     I think the main reason why I develop so many excuses is because I'm intimidated.  Kind of like what writers go through after having their first novel make it to the best seller list and they are commissioned to come up with a second novel....there's a lot of pressure to top that first successful book.  I mean, I haven't created any art that would be considered "best" that needs a better follow-up, but I am putting a lot of "false" pressure on myself when it comes to creating anything nowadays.  This is mainly because I'm intimidated by that old love and blood equity that I invested into that work.  I feel like it's something I can never relive.  I'm not sure why.  It's really hard to explain, but I find that a blank canvas (be it a page in a sketchbook, a sheet of silver, or a literal canvas) is the most daunting thing in the world.  My sculptural inspiration and concept back in college and for a short time thereafter was death.  After having witnessed my grandfather's death as a sophomore, I drowned myself in everything and anything that had to do with death (without getting all goth about it).  I researched every aspect of death and created pieces that referenced what I learned.  It was pretty morbid but it was exactly what I needed at the time.  After creating all of these pieces over a period of 3 or 4 years, I got tapped out on the death theme.  Also, I heard comments from people post-college that the subject of death was such a cliched subject of students' work and that it was so over-worked.  Hearing this soured my attitude and weakened my spirits, hence the intimidation factor because I couldn't think of myself making art about anything else.  What was there that I needed to express now?  I know I shouldn't let comments like that dictate my passions in any way, but they did and somehow still do.  I'm blocked thanks to all of this.  I have no idea where or how to start back up again.

     I guess, too, that I'm envious of the college friends that have succeeded as artists and that also contributes to my being intimidated.  I know I'll never be the same type of artists that they are or even feel like I can consider myself an artist compared to them.  I'm envious of the ones that have the gusto to dive in head first and not care about what people think or how they'll pay their rent.  I'm envious of the ones that have the self-promotional skills required to make themselves known in the art world and the time to spend in the studio to live up to their dreams.  I'm envious of the ones that have all of the tools and supplies that they need to fulfill orders or to complete a commissioned work.  I'm envious of the ones that receive checks for more than the asked price on the wall.  I'm envious of the artists that have unlimited drive and passion to create anything that their bodies and brains are telling them to express.  Why can't I have any of that?  I guess it all comes down to my being lazy.  My laziness prohibits me from being able to attain any of the above.  My being a huge sloth is putting a damper on my dreams that I've had since I was a little girl.  How can I fix this attitude and become an artist again?  How can I become inspired?  Where the hell do I start?  Is there a way to avoid feeling like all of my work is lame and that it's expressing a valuable message other than a cliche?

     I think that this blog will be a new letter to myself to outline the blueprint of the upcoming 10 years.  Once the basement gets cleaned out and reorganized to the way it was before the baby, I will brainstorm.  I will let the pencil scribble and scratch without my controlling it and I have faith something will snowball into an impeccable body of work.  Who cares if your ideas are cliche, Danielle?  They shouldn't be ideas, anyway.  The work should be expressions from within that are a necessity to get out onto that canvas.  They will be because I won't be lazy or intimidated about it any longer.  I'll let my emotions call the shots and I won't let anything hang over my head.  I'll have a new Danielle Renaissance and maybe I'll sell a piece or two because digital photography and the internet will make it easier to put myself out there.  Who knows, maybe my dreams from when I was a little girl WILL come true--I just have to stay positive and forget about everyone else.  "10 years from now I will be the artist I've always wanted to be, because I have a lot to express--it just took a while."

     

     

     

They just don't make dungarees like they used to.

     So, if you saw my post on Facebook the other day, I split the ass of my jeans.  Not sure how it happened, but it was most likely bending over to play with the baby on the floor.  I didn't even notice--it was my Mom who did:  "Danielle, honey, you have a hole in your jeans by the back pocket...".  This really bummed me out because I've only had the jeans for 2 years.  I picked them out at the Wrentham Outlet stores and dropped a good handful of dollar bills to make the purchase.  Studying the back pockets later that day, I realized how thin the butt area had become from wear.  "From wear?", I thought to myself, "but I've only worn them collectively about 100 times in 2 years!  What crap!".  These will now have to be put aside to patch because I'll be damned if I have to throw them away after 2 measly years.
      I have a variety of jeans, but there's a specific pair that I adore.  I believe I bought them at a Salvation Army somewhere within the last 5 years.  They were too big for me last summer but I've held on to them and I am glad that I did because they fit me again after having gained quite the muffin top since having the baby.  I probably wouldn't have thrown them out or donated them anyhow because they are actually "jeans"---100% cotton through and through.  The fabric has a perfect gauge of thickness and amazing denim patina.  They are frayed and faded in all of the right spots, yet sturdy enough to give me the mileage I need.  Putting them on the other day I felt confident and fabulous as they have an ass I can trust time and time again.
     The jeans that tore, on the other hand, are the new version of the "jean".   That is--they are stretchy.  Stretchy like jeans shouldn't be stretchy.  I'm not sure if it's only women who experience this or men too.  Here's my dreadful purchasing strategy for these types of jeans:

I go to a store and skip breakfast and lunch so that I feel skinny and bloat-free.  I pick a few pairs in different shades, perhaps, or in different styles.  For sizes, I grab one pair in the smaller size that I dream of fitting into, one in the size that I know I should be, and one pair that are enormous.  I don't know about you, but I try on the pair that should fit me first.  Moderately satisfied (if I'm having a good day and if I'm not I get really cranky and pissy), I then try on the smaller pair, which won't even go past my thighs.  To rally back and feel good about myself again, I try on the largest pair and smile at the fact that my body is swimming inside the waist.  I go to the register with the one pair that fit and pay.       Commuting home from the store and going over the purchase I just made in my head, I'm already doubting the item that is sitting in that bag.  I'm thinking that I should have bought the smaller pair.  Why should I have bought the smaller pair?  I know, I know--the smaller pair were so skin tight that I'd have to put them on like a pair of pantyhose, but you know what?  By the end of the day they'd fit perfectly.  The ones I've got all folded in that bag by my side will fit when I try them on in front of the mirror, however within a few hours of wearing them they'll be all ridiculously stretched out and I'll be pulling them up by the belt loops all throughout the rest of the day.  They'll be stretched out in the waist, thighs, crotch, and ass...These will now be the jeans that I only wear around the house...Argh!  I should've bought the smaller pair and suffered in that way, but then I would have regretted buying that pair too!

     This stretching is all due to the fact that jeans are no longer 100% cotton. They have all of this other crap (nylon, spandex, rayon, etc) blended into them now that diminish the quality of the material.  When I go to wash the jeans (even in cold water) and dry them on Low or even just slung over the back of a chair, they shrink down 3 sizes and end up fitting smaller than that smaller pair I tried on back at the store. The length even shrinks! How disappointing.  Not only have they shriveled up all over, but they now look like skin-tight-painted on-sausage casing-clam diggers. If you are lucky to even get them onto your body, expect them to stretch out again within just a few hours to where you are pulling them up by the belt loops. Otherwise, bring a belt with you in your travels so you can sling it on when the need arises. After this one time wear, you'll need to wash them again just so they'll fit perfectly for that one lucky hour. It becomes a vicious cycle of wearing and washing.  All of this washing ultimately impedes on the original thickness of the material and decreases the total number of times you can wear the pair of jeans, therefore giving you much less bang for your buck (or in this case 'jean for your green'!).

     Now take the cotton version of the jean;  Trying them on can be the same ritual as above, however you can actually bring home the pair that fit you in the dressing room with confidence.  When you wear them for 12 hours, they may be oh-so-slightly stretched out by the end of the day, but they will not be stretched out so big that they've gone up 2 sizes.  In fact, you can wear them multiple times without washing them because they will not fail you.  They won't stretch out any more than they already have!  They may shrink again slightly after their next wash, but they are guaranteed to fit like a glove all over again very quickly.  These jeans will then become your best friend every time you put them on--always reliable, always complimentary, and always trustworthy.  They last years and sometimes decades and can be patched over and over again.  The thickness of the material is hardly depleted and you can always count on a luxurious soft feel and beautiful vintage look over time.

     Unfortunately you can't find the latter type in stores any longer.  It's cheaper for companies to produce the kind with the spandex in their makeup, yet charge more to make the moolah.  I find it dreadful given that cotton is a renewable resource and is promoted in commercials as such all of the time.  Pretty soon you won't even be able to score a pair in a thrift store because they'll be obsolete.  Afterall, they just don't make dungarees like they used to, so you have to scoop them up when you can!  That's why after the ass blowout I experienced this weekend in the nasty stretchy jeans, I'm heading to every SAL's in the greater Boston area to pick up some 100% jeans in my size.  Don't try and stop me!

"I'm breathing the same AIR as her!!"

     What in the heck was the last concert that I went to?  I think it was the Black Crowes back about 4/5 years ago at the Somerville Theater in Davis Square.  I gotta say that it was one of the best shows I've ever been to due to the fact that it was so intimate (and so close to home at the time!).  There was such a great crowd and the band seemed to have a blast on that stage.  I used to go to concerts all of the time.  Used to hit about 5 per summer and come fall, probably about 3 or 4 when a good band/performer was playing at the Orpheum.  I used to walk up to the box office after work and buy one ticket to sit as close to the stage as possible.  All by myself which is the best way to buy a concert ticket!  The best show I saw by myself was Sigur Ros at the Boston Opera House.  It was a super last minute spur-of-the-moment type deal and I had never been to that theater since they had renovated it.  I saw that they were playing in an article in the Boston Phoenix and headed there in time enough to get third row.  What a gorgeous venue and to see that ethereal band play there was almost a magical and artistic experience.  I hadn't even heard any of their music and only knew who they were thanks to Bjork's speaking so highly of them in an interview I read somewhere.  Glad I decided to check them out because I'm a fan now!
     I miss going to shows.  From Great Woods (or whatever it is called now) to a small place like Toad in Porter Square....from the Garden to the Middle East in Cambridge....sigh.  I used to have a blast!  I remember my first-ever concert was Pearl Jam back on April 10th or 11th, 1994 (it's killing me that I can't recall the exact date, and I'm too lazy to search for my saved ticket).  A kid named Chris in my Physics class had an extra ticket and knew I was a huge fan so he asked if I wanted to go.  I had to run across the street to my Mom's work and beg her for the $65 to pay for the ticket before anyone else had a chance to claim it!  I remember the stage that seemed miles away was darkened to a navy blue with candles lit all over the stage and equipment, and you heard Eddie's voice humming into the first song of the set, "Release".  I sobbed because this was all a tribute to Kurt who had died a few days earlier....another lead singer with whom I was obsessed!  Sadly, Nirvana is not on the list of the many bands I have seen.
     Another great show (and they were great both times I saw them) was Radiohead.  I saw them back in the end of August of 2001 at Suffolk Downs in Revere.  It was a beautiful summer night--sky was clear and pink with sunset, and the air was warm.  I went with my friend Anthony and we were able to get into the blocked fan area towards the front of the stage.  We kept creeping closer and closer to the stage while the Beta Band and Kid Koala were opening up for them.  I could see Thom jamming out in the wings of the stage. It was neat to see a member of the headlining band enjoying his opening acts!  I worked hard at creating a pillow of sand at my feet that I could stand on but it didn't help because I still ended up with a fractured right foot from standing on my toes in platform flip flops the whole night.  Since the venue was so close to Logan Airport, we were able to see airplanes fly over head: creepily low and loud.  Weird to think that September 11th happened a little more than 2 weeks after this concert.  


Let's visit some more memories of those nights:

• "Are you sure we shouldn't turn back and skip seeing Rage Against the Machine with Wu Tang opening?  It's pouring rain with no end in sight and we have lawn seats...."
--thanks to garbage bags, we lived to see the next day.

• "No Doubt sucks."
--and that is why we left after Weezer and Luscious Jackson opened.  

• "The Sheila Divine are playing their last show ever?  At the Paradise?  Of course I'll go!!!"
--said Danielle to some guy she was dating about 10 years ago....needless to say, it never ended up being their last show because they play reunion shows at least once a year now.  Regardless, it was an awesome time.  I couldn't believe that people traveled all the way from Belgium to see these nerdy guys from Boston, but they did.  I think I got the CD of this show somewhere.....

• "Tina Turner AND Cindy Lauper?"
--you betcha and I brought Mom. 

• "I'm breathing the same AIR as her!!"
--my reaction to seeing Madonna. 

• "WHAT?  NKOTB are reuniting??!!  Even Jonathan?"
--Yep, and I am proud to say that I sobbed my eyes out when they cascaded down those bleacher stairs during their opening number.  My younger sister laughed at me but at the same time was sympathetic to my strong, guttural emotions.

• "Wait--Poison, EnufZnuf, Quiet Riot and Warrant are all playing at this show?  I will finally be able to see Bret and Janie in one night?"
--Mmmhmm, and Danielle made her own puffy paint T-shirt to commemorate and still has it in the closet and will take it out to show off upon request (RIP Janie).

• "G-Love and Special Sauce just free-style rapped about my Bon Jovi concert T-shirt that I'm wearing!!"
--Yes, true story and I have witnesses (2nd row at UNH, opening for Run DMC). 

• "Hmm...I dunno.  $250 to see Morrissey?  Yikes.  Second row though?"
--I couldn't bounce that check fast enough!

So many other shows attended and tremendous times had, and so little time and space to write about it.  They really add up to a big part of my past.  I guess this proves that I'm really getting old and settling down.  Unless I can get to a show sometime in the next year or four (and Sesame Street Live won't count), I doubt you'll spot me at one.  Hell--I don't even know what bands are cool these days or who half of them are that are listed on the Marquis! Instead I'll continue following all of the bands that keep reuniting or keep coming out with new albums.  I'm sure years from now I'll be looking forward to when they end up playing at venues like Foxwoods and Mohegan Sun.  Oh! And I'll get all dolled up and hit the Casinos for the free cocktails as a pregame to the big show!  Eeeeeeeeks!

Ooops.  No offense, Mom.   

Tractors, Tools, Giggles and Strong Coffee

     I spent a lot of today thinking of people from my past--namely my Grandparents (all four of them).  As I was holding my son and trying to soothe him into sleep by swaying in my living room, I walked by some old photos that I have displayed.  I'm not sure if it's the postpartum hormones or just the fact that I miss the shit out of them all, but I got a little weepy.  I glanced at the picture of my Mom's dad--"Grandpa"--sitting in his leather recliner holding proudly my sister's and my baby dolls, almost as if he were holding actual great-grandchildren.  Next I looked over at my "Grandma" (my Mom's mom) who is sitting on a chair holding my cousin as a newborn with my sister on one side and me on the other--all of us grinning from ear to ear over the excitement.  My Dad's dad ("Papa") is in another picture and it's a close-up of him sticking his purple tongue out at me after just eating my homemade blueberry pie. Then there's my "Nana" (Dad's mom) standing oh-so-small in a doorway (trying not to be seen) with her slender arm on her hip and her mouth opened in a "oh no! you got me!" face, watching the lame attempt my Dad was making at grilling in 30 mph wind.  I remembered each of these moments as if they happened yesterday.
     I then thought back at my relationship with each of them.  Grandpa was like the Dad we never had.  In fact, we even called him "Grandpa Dad"!  He spoiled us rotten.  We were his babydolls, his darlings, his girls....all pronounced with a drawn out Southern accent.  He was an amazing and creative man.  He could fix anything he got his hands on.  He was a wonderful listener.  He loved to learn and for someone who didn't graduate high school, he was very intelligent.  He could make anyone laugh.  He was compassionate for both humans and animals.  I never felt more loved than when I was with him.
    My Grandma was my amazing little buddy.  She was such a strong and smart woman.  She put her family first like her husband and was always worried about our well-being.  She wanted us to be safe, comfortable and secure.  I loved listening to her stories no matter how many times I heard the same ones.  I think back at the patience she had trying to teach me piano (of which I never got the hang of), and of all of the talent and plethora of skills she possessed.  She helped shape me into the woman I am today.
     Papa and Nana lived in Nova Scotia, so we saw them once a year when we were younger and the same when we were older.  There was a large gap in between when we didn't see each other and I have to say that the first meeting after so many years was a moment that I'll never forget.  Happy tears all over the place!  Papa was an old-school stoic and kind of a control freak.  He was hilarious and spontaneous.  Like Grandpa, he could fix anything too.  He invented all sorts of tools that would lay all around his barn/garage/workshop.  He was proud of his land, home, his service to his country, and his family. His devotion and love for his wife was something that I looked for in a husband.  Nana was my comedic twin.  She was plain, simple and delightful.  She made the most out of everything and adored her grandchildren.  She was the world's biggest recycle queen before there was even recycling!  Her lightheartedness and stress-free attitude are qualities I will always  aspire to have.


     While I was reflecting over the photos, I also thought about how I've learned more about myself and the traits that they inadvertently passed down to me. I have recognized that my creativity and compassion for animals comes from Grandpa.  My patience with people and love for knitting comes from Grandma.  My being a control freak and spontaneous comes from Papa.  My sense of humor and simplistic ways come from my Nana. I'm proud that I can pick out their individual traits within my personality.  It makes me wonder if they were able to see it this way as well?


     Argh.  Writing all of this makes me want to say that I don't like that I don't have any of them around anymore!!  I can't hold Grandpa's hand when I need to.....I can't enjoy a cup of strong coffee and watch the news with Grandma any longer (she passed very recently).....I can't show off pictures of my house to Papa when I go up to visit the old homestead.....and I can't giggle endlessly over nothing with my Nana.  Most of all, I don't like that I can't introduce any of them to their first great-grandchild.  This is something that I've had to accept.  All I can do is share with him all of my memories of each of them and of how much they meant to me.  I can tell him about the time Grandpa helped me build a chair with all of his tools for my Art School project.  I can talk about how Grandma used show us how she would communicate over CB radio with people all over the world for fun.  He'll be able to hear about how Papa used to instruct us on how to drive the tractor over the field.  And I can't wait to tell him the joke Nana used to crack about the time Papa proposed to her on that hot summer day way back when!  .....So many moments shared but still not enough.  But, they'll have to be enough. 


     In thinking of the future, I hope that my son is able to build wonderful relationships with his grandparents like I did with mine and that he can establish a mental database of memories to hold dear and share.  Afterall one day, more than likely, he too will be passing by some old photographs while soothing his baby into dreamland.   Will he become teary-eyed while glancing over at them and reflecting??  We'll have to wait and see!  Chances are, though, if history is known to repeat itself, yes he will--especially if he takes after me and has my traits!


   

Ignore Me

......so this is my first ever one of these and I couldn't come up with an original intro no matter how hard I tried.  Why am I starting a blog?  Well, I got inspired to do a little writing by a couple of people I know who have blogs of their own (of which I thoroughly enjoy reading: Jeff's and Seija's) and thought it may be a great outlet for me to blab away into a big box and not take up 50 lines within my FB "What's on your mind?" field causing people, including my husband, to put me on Ignore.  That would make me sad.  Come to think of it, though-- I probably already am on Ignore within many people's profiles because I became one of those people who I vowed never to become; you know that one--the one who posts pictures of their baby's adorable face on a daily basis and who also posts daily blurbs about being a new mom.  People hate that.  I should know as I used to be one of those people who hated that.
     Anyway, I titled my blog Bric-a-Brac and Binkies for a couple of reasons: a) I have a soft spot for that department within a Salvation Army,  b) entries will be all mish-moshed (much like the bric-a-brac shelves at SAL's), and c) I had my first baby in January, so I--you guessed it-- have a lot to discuss there alone. I'm horrible at discussing Politics so I won't bother with that topic.  You would automatically either shake your head in utter disgust that I wouldn't know what I'm talking about or you'd be horrified at how little I know about what's going on in our political world.  Therefore, I shall stick to my large mental library of useless knowledge, useful knowledge, and comical observations of daily life.  
     All that being said and the fact that it took me over an hour to write 3 paragraphs, I will digress for this evening.  I hope that you like a sarcastic sense of humor, run on sentences, daily mentions of an infant, and references to the early 90's.  By reading my blog, you'll help me make use of this laptop that I never use! I look forward to attempting an entry every day and I hope that it doesn't turn into another one of my projects that I start and never finish or a lonely piece of bric-a-brac that no one buys that is laying all dusty, chipped and sticky on a shelf at SAL's.