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No Doubt, the Universe is Unfolding as it Should...

29/3/2015

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For several years I've been hanging on to the idea of creating a "coincidence sketchbook."  This would be like a journal which would record all of those life "coincidences" and would house found objects and sketches to help tell the story of my lifeline.  This sketchbook still just lives in my head.  And all of the time there is a situation that occurs that makes me think, "this would be perfect for my coincidence book!", a thought which is, without fail, always proceeded by, "I really need to start that project."  Tonight I had another one of those moments and in an attempt to actualize this idea, I've decided to write a blog about it.  At least then I'll have written something down that I can refer to later, even if it's only with wistful regret for not having pursued it further.  And as my husband likes to quote: "a journey of a thousand miles begins with one step."

So here's a bit of backstory, just to get the ball rolling and to put this into perspective.  When I was in high school the only thing I wanted to be more than an artist, was a writer.  I loved English and Literature classes.  I really wanted to go to college and come out as a journalist.  Life events got in the way and although I managed to make it to art school, the furthest I ever went with writing was to keep inconsistent diaries and and intention to get to it someday.  Yet, I continue to let life get the way.  Or maybe it's not that at all; maybe I've just been allowing life to happen, to provide me with fodder to draw on for my future writer self.  And I guess in some ways, writing my blog is a way of me practicing a craft that I have such a strong desire to delve into..."someday".  Anyway, the biggest moment of "coincidence" took place several years ago when my husband and I took a trip to Malta.  I packed a big, thick novel to take on the trip; it was before I'd had a child and could actually had an attention span that enabled me to make it to the end of a novel!  So the novel was called "Last Night in Twisted River" by one of my favorite authors of all time: John Irving.  There are so many things about that book that touched me deeply which are probably best reserved for that novel I'm going to write someday, but the thing that really stood out was the reference to Chief Wahoo - mascot of the Cleveland Indians.  I'd just read a section of the novel that was about luck and chance and the mascot was like a talisman of sorts.  I was sitting on a bus - enjoying the brief reprieve from the heat, but suffering the torturous and terrifying ride that comes with the territory of riding a bus in that country - reflecting on the scene I'd just read when we passed by some derelict buildings which had been defaced with graffiti of all sorts.  If you know nothing of Malta, it's important to know at least this much: in the height of summer it's landscape is a dusty, monochromatic khaki.  So anything of color - like its striking flowers, for example - really stand out.  As does graffiti.  Especially when it's a four-foot image of Chief Wahoo grinning wildly from the side of a building.  I couldn't believe it.  If this wasn't a sign, I don't what was.  I took a picture.  I just kept thinking about my coincidence book, my desire to be a writer, and John Irving.  Much like the oppressive heat, these thoughts lingered through the rest of the holiday and absolutely devoured that novel, reading with a furver I haven't had since God knows when.  When I got home I still couldn't shake it.  So like any self-respecting nerd, I wrote a letter to Mr. Irving.  I know.  Pathetic.  Teenager heart-throb kind of shit.  But I had to do it.  I posted my letter from England to New England thinking it would end up in some pile on somebody's desk - someday - never to be read.  Or read by some bored and careless intern.  So you can imagine my excitement and shock when I got a letter in the mail several weeks later from none other than my literary hero, Mr. Irving himself!  It was typed, but hand-signed.  And maybe one of his minions wrote it, but it felt like it was in the voice I've come to associate with the author.  I smiled for weeks.  I got a pang of excitement in my heart that wasn't unlike finding out a boy in school liked you, too.  

In my letter to John, I'd told him about going to Malta and reading his novel there and stumbling across a painting of old Chief Wahoo and how it was like fate's way of telling me I was on the right path.  He wished me luck.  Fast-forward three or four years and I've yet to make strides in my literary pursuits.  But coincidences seem to follow - like the film I watched tonight which was just about "signs" and being open to those "signs" - whatever they are - and following them.  Which moved me at least this far.  And I've also made friends recently with an author, and that in itself is probably one for the coincidence book.  But it's getting to be my bed-time and my little alarm clock of a 19 month old doesn't understand the sleeping needs of her mama, so I'll get little repreive if I don't follow my instincts to go to bed.  And I had a whole other direction I was going to go with this blog about realizing dreams and all that.  But maybe that's part of my journey and something that life wants me to write about on another day, as a way of giving me plenty of fodder to draw upon in the future.  And with that I bid you good night and adeiu, until next time.  Maybe then I'll actually have started that "coincidence journal."  :)  
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Rediscovering the Creative Muse

12/3/2015

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PicturePicture by Wednesdays in Marblehead
The Bohemian Pearl studio is situated in the lovely little town of Marblehead, Massachusetts and lies about 16 miles north of Boston.  I was excited when we moved here because after several years of living England where you basically experience two seasons - fall and spring - I was finally going to experience all four seasons again.  I lived a great portion of my life in the Midwest so I'm familiar with what it means to survive tough winters and because I'd been away from that for so long I knew I had to mentally prepare myself for what this winter was bound to bring.  And at first, it was OK.  It was cold, but nothing I couldn't handle.  There were threats of snow, but for the longest time it just never seemed to fall.  And I remember saying to myself, "I wish the sky would get this over with and just dump some snow on us already, instead of teasing us with that stupid grey sky!".  There are times in life when we regret the words we shout out to the universe.  This is one of those times.

As if granting my wish the sky did, indeed, open up.  It snowed.  And snowed.  And it just kept coming.  In a period of about three weeks we were bombarded with about seven feet of snow.  Having so much snow fall in such a short space of time was even astonishing to this native Iowan.  Needless to say it's been a long winter.  So when the temperatures reached 60 degrees yesterday, it was as if we were handed a gift from the tropic gods.  I was in heaven!  Finally, I was able to resume working from my studio.  Bliss!  Now, I realize that there's part of the story you're missing here so let me fill you in.  All through the fall and winter I was happily working from said studio, which is actually a three-season room.  I put an electric heater in the space which kept it reasonably toasty.   But then the ice dams starting forming on the roof.  And the leaking began.  In the most awkward of places - it was basically seeping through the top of the window frame which means that it would just slide down the window and splash on the windowsill which sprayed all over anything within a three-foot radius.  Not good when you work with paper, like I do.  And because this leak was in such an awkward and horrible place I couldn't just catch it in a bucket and work around it.  I had to shut off the heat which was warming up the ice, contributing to the melting effect, remove quite a bit of my stuff and just shut up the studio.  There it lay dormant for the next several weeks, inhibiting any creative output.  And dampening my creative muse. 

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I relayed the sad news of our leaky windows to our landlady and after a few days a wonderful, magical man came and removed the snow from the roof and chipped the ice away.  The incredibly warm temperatures quickly melted away what he was unable to remove from the gutters and - presto! - I again had a usable studio!  Oh glorious day!  So I spent a good portion of our unseasonably warm day clearing out my studio of all of the crap we dumped there as its time as an unusable abyss, returned some items to their appropriate places, and did a little re-arranging of supplies and I have to tell you, it filled me with so much loveliness and inspiration inside!  So good was this feeling that it gave me pause to reflect on how important spaces are to us as humans and I think especially to those with a creative pulse.  I was beginning to think that maybe my creative instincts had left me and that maybe I would cease to be an artist.  After all, I had absolutely ZERO motivation, inspiration or desire inside to draw from.  I just stopped caring and was about to write a eulogy to my departed muse.  Funny how one warm day can change everything.

So I'm happy to report that, with my energy restored, I'm writing this blog from my renewed space and it feels great.  And I feel like I can tackle some projects which have been laying on the backburner for quite some time now - namely, a bespoke piece of artwork which was requested by a friend as a birthday present to her husband.  Thankfully, I was able to tide him over with a mini piece of artwork in the meantime.  I can't wait to get started! 

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    Author

    Erin Singleton is an artist currently living in the bucolic seaside town of Marblehead, Mass. She loves to explore her creativity in her studio and in the kitchen.  She also loves to read, watch movies, spend time with friends and enjoy the great outdoors with her husband, Dave, and their daughter, Maisie. 

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