Saturday, July 28, 2007

Pursuit of a Better Gift Tag

I told you I'm not crafty! But here I am making these craft-like paper gift tags to be presented to area shops. Sure they're cool, but they require a certain dexterity and endurance. There's a bit of assembly line construction going on, and I'm born and raised on original sin. They are one-of-a-kind, but there's going to be hundreds of them (i hope) by the time I get my line going!

My good friend inspired me, or should I say commanded me to make gift tags. She's always giving me great advice, but y'know I'll "yes" you to death before I even consider it. I'm all about self-sabotage. When I finally showed her my sample, there wasn't an immediate reaction like a squeal or gasp. I could tell by her initial look that it took awhile for them to grow on her. As time went by during our visit over coffee, her compliments would get closer and closer apart within the conversation. Thank goodness. Now she makes a point to remind me in e-mails how much she really likes my gift tags. Lord, there are men and women sacrificing their lives for me so that I can make gift tags! I better make them good. It ain't art folks, but it's keeping me out of a funk for now.

Why do I do what I do? I'm surrounded by paper scraps. I can't throw away anything bigger than an attractive 3x3 inch square. Especially if it's 110lb weight. I still have my boot box (see post "Wanna make..." filled with paper remnants. I have to create something before it becomes campfire kindling! I'm sure my mere stash makes me a lightweight next to some of these scrapbook nuts. I'm not a scrapbooker or a big time rubber stamper. It's too scary and conforming, but I certainly think ripping, folding, embossing, painting, collaging and gluing paper is way awesome. That's why I'm writing this post because I just want to justify why I'm making these domestic gift tags. I'm doing it for my friend to honor one of her heartfelt suggestions. I'm doing it to make a few bucks and I'm doing it for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness!

Sunday, July 01, 2007

Now Where Did I Leave Off?

This is agonizing really. Listening to this music. Without a mirror I know myself much younger. I am free-spirited; sitting on the floor and sketching, while the melody holds me suspended and keeps me alive. To those few friends that remember, I'm relishing in the plush lime green carpet and Ikea-like furnishings around me. I have posters of Bjorn Borg, florescent panthers, Heart, Frampton and spontaneous imaginative drawings animating my walls. It is a teenage haven. It is a room I could escape to and find the comforts of individual expression exploding on all available surfaces. I've never grown apart from this moment.

What did I know of life? My mother told me nothing. She led by example and I merely followed the songs of sun and sunset. I was naive and undeserving, however, my units were there for me to feed, shelter and support my immediate needs. I wasn't hindered from exploring and I observed their ideals but never understood their expectations. I knew where the fork and the spoon went, but I was free to turn my head either way. I missed out on knowing my mother's rebellion because I was too busy working on my own. She never led on, so I had to figure it out for myself. I am 22 years, what feels like light years, away from the heaven I knew.

1984 a dream, death and insanity were just the beginning signs that would prepare me for the worst years of my life. It was the fuckin' music like Heart, Foghat, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Led Zeppelin, Thin Lizzy, Benatar, and The Pretenders that sustained my confident and rhythmic stride. Many times this stride would stagger and on occassion I would crash and burn hard at the expense of a few observing friends who would smack or tuck me under their wing to safety. If not them, then the winds of angelic sympathizers would roll their eyes and guide me home. It had to be. I was saved for something or someone.

Never mind that. Right now I want to be lying flat on my stomache with my hands fanned out and my nostrils breathing in the fibers of cool lime green carpet. My soul aches for it and I ask why was it ripped away? I long to go back to my room to escape behind my closed door and listen for traces of familiar sounds that would remind me of the place I came from. From so many moves, I have lightened the load too often and now I am heartbroken again. I will never know what it's like to "come home." When will I be saved from this pillar of salt.

Music moves with me and I can only rely on its harmonic company to keep me sane. All doors are open...