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And Suddenly it’s Almost Summer,
Women
The Night Flier
Thank you all for the incredible opportunity to see, to learn, and to love once again in this magical place called Listowel.
If you’re in town, please join us tonight, 5:00 – 7:00 at Olive Stack Gallery, where Laura McKellar and I will be shamelessly flaunting our passions.
Love Always,
Pam
Stripey Rocks and Cows
Yesterday was magic.
In truth, I’ve never happened upon a day in Ireland that hasn’t been magic, but the point is that Yesterday was MAGIC. And not only was it MAGIC, but it was MAGIC over and over again.
“What would you like to see?”, asked Olive. “Stripey Rocks and Cows, Please!”, I said all atwitter. There was a slight pause and a bit of a smile and then, “Well okay!”.
It started with the rocks — a mystical evening just beginning to turn, but bright enough to see a glow everywhere (because … IRELAND!”) And suddenly they were everywhere.
Plus a boot.
And then of course, the rest of the story ….
(Press to Play)
Well hello there lovelies!!!!! You made my day!
Becoming, Friday, April 28, 5:00 – 7:00 PM at Olive Stack Gallery, Listowel, Ireland
Inspired by a month-long artist residency graciously provided by Olive Stack Gallery, Listowel, Ireland, Day 27
Becoming
As the theme for our artist residency this month, Laura McKellar and I chose the word Becoming.
And aren’t we all?
And isn’t that a wondrous, endless gift?
Even when we’re smack in the middle of those upper years and think we know exactly who we are, the fact is that we change not only yearly, not only daily, but every single moment. We constantly evolve.
Life isn’t stagnant for any of us, nor is it set out neatly, nor is its progression a given. And aren’t you glad? Well no, many times I’m not glad at all for the changes that arrive unbidden, but I do know that all change brings growth — and sometimes we need that push.
When I registered for this residency, I knew it would be a step out for me and it certainly has been — in all the best of ways.
There’s a poem I discovered during my early feminist stages that has always stuck in my head. The opening line by Jayne Brown, which is repeated multiple times, reads: I’m becoming the woman I’ve wanted. It’s a process and not always easy, but I’m so very grateful to the many women and men who have stood beside me along the path.
One of the best of those is Olive Stack (whom we often call Wonder Woman, and rightfully so).
And so as we ready our selves and our words and our comfort zones and our joy, I’m incredibly thankful once again for this opportunity to share and grow and become the woman I want to be — the woman who opens her soul and scatters bits of it across the skies, the waters, the friendships, the todays and the tomorrows, all of which are so much richer now — due not only to this residency, but to the many, many friends and teachers I’ve gathered along the way.
Thank you, Olive Stack Residency, for the thousand-fold ways in which you’ve invited and allowed me to grow.
And to those nearby (or those who whimsically decide to fly on over), we’d love to have you join us for our exhibition:
Becoming, Friday, April 28, 5:00 – 7:00 PM at Olive Stack Gallery, Listowel, Ireland.
See you there!
Pam
The Night Fliers
She takes me by the hand and
points toward
life,
then whispers
— you can do it —
all it takes is one great gasp,
and truth is lightning
in your hands
and heart
forever
more.
Barcelona Anyone?
I’m heading back to Barcelona in June with a group of fabulous women. It’s one of those cities that I just can’t spend enough time in for oh so many reasons. A few, and only a few, are listed below.
1. The first thing you’ll notice about Barcelona is that she’s raucously colorful, and I do mean COLORFUL. From the exteriors to the ceilings to the street art, Barcelona is vibrant, shimmery, and alive.
2. She’s her own self, legally separated from Spain proper, and proud of her independence.
3. Barcelona reeks of art, from the galleries, to the buildings, to the streets, to the people.
4. Don’t get me wrong — everyone still wears black of course, but they’re too nice to snub you if you show up in chartreuse.
5. She’s easy peasy breezy — fully walkable with a mild Meditteranean climate.
6. And of course, it’s smack dab on the ocean. You can walk a few blocks and stick your toes right in that gorgeous sea.
7. Did I save the best for last? Food Heaven. Lots of bits and bites everywhere you go, and the restaurants are top notch and inventive. You should know that restaurants open at 10:00. P.M., of course.
See below for descriptions of the images above:
- 1, The Rooftop of Casa Battlo, otherwise known as The Dragon. And yes, they do have events up there!
- 2. The face of Casa Battlo. After a tour, have your photo taken from one of the balconies.
- 3. Political Street Art
- 4. Palau de la Musica stained glass
- 5. Mosaic and tile ceilings at Hospital Sant Pau
- 6. Beautiful Street Art
Stay tuned — more soon!
Please Don’t Shoot Me
I’ve always loathed being on the lens end of a camera. Maybe that pre-teen awkwardness was something I never grew out of, or maybe I just hated having people stare at me, even for the two seconds it took to focus and push the button. But mostly, I think, it’s that I can’t find the Me in photographs. Shortish with dark hair and a penchant for bare feet, self recognition seemed to end there. Whose face is that? Are her dreams my dreams? Why doesn’t she smile? There’s a disconnect there and I don’t know how to piece it together. I suppose I just don’t want to be noticed, sometimes even by myself. I do wonder if I write to leave bits of me here and there — a picture in scribbled words where there are no images.
I’m not the only one. My mom hated having her picture taken, and solved the issue by grimacing or sticking her tongue out for every click of the camera. It was a pretty effective way to erase the possibility that maybe this was her real face, or worse, her real soul, being shown. Me, I just duck and turn my focus elsewhere.
I don’t know why. I think it started as shyness and morphed into reticence over the vast array of personalities out there, particularly in the early school years. How anyone gets through them is a mystery.
Of course the older I get, the less often someone asks for a photo, and that’s okay with me. As the decades have floated by and I’ve had to learn (or fake) adult interaction, it’s gotten easier — but I’ve also learned to turn off interaction when necessary. Life is filled with a zillion different kinds of people; the wise ones know this and celebrate diversity with careful choices. And on the days when all the crazies are out, there’s always the choice of an innocuous mask. Or a donkey. Donkeys are great attention grabbers, and they never, ever ask to take pictures of you.
5 Things I’ve Learned about Being an Artist
Late Bloomer, © Pam Goode. Glass, Stone, Beads, Thread, Carborundom
I still remember, and always will, the moment I decided to draw. Pretty much everyone in my family was artistically inclined, and at 7 or 8 I wanted to try my hand. I scrounged up a pencil and some paper and set to it — nothing too difficult — just a self portrait (insert laughter and/or groaning here). I was pretty chuffed at the result, but it only took one comment from one person (who was NOT an artist), to send me right back to the closet for a few decades.
Older and wiser, I now realize that art is created differently by each of us; that art has deep power no matter the subject or colors or latest craze; and that whatever originates from your hand and eye always, always contains something magical.
Here’s what I’ve learned:
1) Do it your way. Do it every way. If your art looks just like the photograph, what’s the point?
2) It doesn’t matter if anyone likes it. Sometimes, it doesn’t even matter if YOU like it. We’re here to create, to learn from both our successes and failures, and to keep at it. Don’t allow your psyche to get stuck on any one piece. It’s a waste of your time. Keep creating.
3) If it moves you, it will move others. Work in a vacuum. Don’t listen to anyone. Follow your heart.
4) And then get out of the vacuum. Input feeds output. If you don’t point your brain in a new direction every now and then, it gets crusty and stale.
5) People, and often strangers, will sprinkle insights here and there that never occurred to you. It’s a gift. Take it!
6) Step back. Look away. Reunite. See with fresh eyes. If something nags at you more then once or twice, rip it out, smooth it over, and make it speak your voice. That’s what we’re here for.
7) Do I still draw? Yes I do, but now I do it with thick glass instead of a skinny pencil. Find your passion.
An Armful of Days
I don’t have cancer.
Not uterine cancer anyway, or at least not on this beautiful day in a (momentarily) beautiful world. It feels so very, very good. I do know how lucky I am.
And here’s how the news has affected me:
I’m suddenly doing all the things I’ve put off. All of them, with glee and abandon. It feels so very, very good.
I’m smiling more and worrying less, visiting those I’ve missed, creating, loving, talking. It’s a very good place to be. A very good place to create. A very good place to make jubilant new plans.
Why does it take an ISSUE to jump start us? Are we tired, depressed, discouraged, tired? Did I say tired?
I get it, especially the exhaustion, BUT it comes and goes, does it not? And when it goes, and we’re suddenly energetic again, do we choose to dive in with gusto? Or do we hang about?
I think I need to tape this to my bathroom mirror. And maybe to the kitchen window. And slathered across the front door.
I’m not sure why we forget to live sometimes, but it will be quite a while before I forget again.
And when my armful of days runs a bit ragged, I’ll be grabbing the next one.
Lots of love to all.
On Hold
STOP
Today, as yesterday, the day before, and the day before that, I’m on hold.
It’s not a good kind of hold, where you wait for your best friend to come over, your children to visit, or your new puppy to stop chewing the furniture (it WILL happen, right???)
It’s closer to the kind of hold where toilets overflow, your husband gets stuck at the airport, and there’s no food in the house.
But it’s closest to fear, to possible loss, to an unwelcome “change in schedule” that you can’t undo.
I’m not a stranger to cancer, having worked my way through that nightmare ten years ago and I’m in no way inviting it back. But I’m dealing with a suspended moment in time, and in several days, my life will either remain cancer-free and open to (almost) endless possibilities, or … well I can’t say it. I don’t want to say it.
To be blatantly honest, cancer fucking sucks. I’ve lived it, I’ve watched friends live it, and I’ve watched friends die from it. It fucking sucks, period.
Waiting sucks too, BUT … … … it does give you time to reassess your life, and that’s no small gift. I’ll admit that I’m currently in pain from an ungodly tryst with a masochistic female doctor who felt the need to burn off every uterine particle with an 18 inch fire stick while I literally screamed in agony for 10 solid minutes until I almost lost consciousness and whom I will never, ever, ever use again, BUT … … … there is still the presence of time, the gift of awareness, the opportunity to reassess, relive, re-love, and renew. Only the timeline is missing.
In truth the timeline is always missing, and always a surprise, and always (almost) too soon.
So yes, I’m mad as hell, and yes, that’s okay.
Pam Goode Writes 