Hello Lovelies!
Today I’m posting a few of the mosaics I’ve created over the past gazillion years. What a joy it’s been! I’ve taken a break lately due to wrist issues, but I’m slowly making my way back in and loving it. The new pieces will be smaller (grumble), but they’ll still be a joy. They range in size from 8 x 8 inches to about 14 x 20.
Who has a favorite?
And so it goes. Twenty-one days of beauty, bliss, fascination, sandy toes, storms, old friends, new friends, deep thoughts, waves, madly endless talks, creating, writing, wonder, books, poetry, deep sleeps, love, hugs, love, hugs, more love and more hugs. See you next year.
I wasn’t a huge September fan until I became a hardcore beach girl. As children, we always headed out smack in the middle of the heat and loved every minute. Of course now July summers are hotter than hades and a bit less attractive. I might still be willing to go … my mom did it … but I don’t. Instead I dig my toes into sweet September sand and let the softer sun have at me. She loves me, and boy do I love her.
And here’s a secret about September — the beach is almost completely empty. And that is surefire motivation.
The best fun is hanging out with our gaggle of girls, a stash of every kind of art supply, and burying ourselves in all-day creativity (and sometimes all night), conversation, and laughter each week.
And so we come, and we cook, and we eat, and we create, and we walk the empty beach and smile at the wiggly periwinkles trying to dig back into the sand after being disrupted by a wave, and ogle the starfish. But mostly, we laugh. Indeed laughter is so very good for the soul, but it’s also so much more than that — it’s healing and renewal.
Photo: My Mom and Dad on the beach when I was just a tiny thing.
A young man came into the gallery one day and, like many, stood with his mouth agape staring at the art on the walls. “What is this?” he asked. “It’s a mosaic,” I answered with a smile. “Well, how do you make it? Where do you get all these little pieces of glass?” “We cut them,” I said with a little glow.” “Cut them? You mean you have to cut every one of these pieces?” “Yes,” I said. “Every piece.” “Oh man,” he said,” he said. “Why would anyone do this? There’s got to be a way to streamline this process. Somebody needs to sell the glass already cut. Doesn’t anyone sell pre-cut glass?” “Well, possibly,” I said, ‘but then I wouldn’t be interested.”
And there you have the answer in a nutshell. I make art because it’s hard.
During the classes I teach, new students will often take on a familiar stricken look when they first start cutting. I tell them to relax and cut for the pleasure of exploration — that making mosaics means learning to love the process. And the process is hard.
Some might say I like a hard life in general. I’m a good one for trudging through the minutiae of a situation, considering every possibility, and then selecting the most time- and soul-consuming avenue. To me, this simply equates to actually living my life rather than just going through the motions. It’s the same way with cooking, planning, selecting (and decorating) a Christmas tree, traveling, thinking, loving, and art. Either I do it to the max, or I don’t do it at all. Otherwise, what have I gained? What have I given?
One of my favorite quotes is from the movie “A League of Their Own,” when Gina Davis admits that something is hard. Tom Hanks says “Of course it’s hard. If it was easy, everyone would do it. The Hard is what makes it Good.”
He’s so right.
It’s a funny thing about “easy.” There are many things I do because they’re “easy” for me, like sorting or folding laundry or unloading the dishwasher or writing a press release — I can have them done in the time it takes to think “oh — I should do this.” Accomplishment is a powerful feed-good, and we can rack up way more of the easies than the hards. But does that make them good? Well, no. None of my easies will ever make it to my Very Favorite Things list.
But give me something hard: determining and creating the ideal ratio of perfect cuts to “human touch” in art, cooking the (very) occasional meal that takes alllllll day, raising a child, or growing the balls to be my fullest self, and I’m all over it.
So yeah. I love mosaic because it’s damn hard. I think we all need to love and engage in something that tests us, that pushes us flat up against the wall and says, “Do your best. Now.”
It’s my favorite part of life.
Pam Goode Writes 