I was never on Twitter, but now Twitter is Dying. An ambiguous loss? 

Instagram reliably makes any day that I use it a bad one. 

Should I be here? Should I be anywhere? 

Long hikes, longer drives, and quiet nights in the 4Runner provide ample space for the mind to reflect.

I'm thinking lately of the Hermit, number nine in the major arcana of the Tarot. He's a man walking backward into the future, holding a lamp in front of his face, yet behind his trajectory, to better see where he has been; using the past to inform his next steps.

I think about how I got here. Why I am here, doing this thing that I'm doing. Some of my reasons have shown themselves to be projections that I or someone else made upon me a long time ago. Some hold strong. Some just mean different things now than they did.

There is a crystal hanging from my rear view mirror that scatters spectra around my body while I hurtle down the road.

When I was staying in Mill Valley I took breaks to lay in the hammock next to my work desk, and often I stared at the complex orientation of the reflections in the window to my right, trying to break them down to understand exactly what's being reflected by what. I made a diagram in my journal. I was trying to imagine how I could possibly paint such a thing, or how on earth it passes as making sense to my brain until I stop to think about it.

This is par for the course of my mental life, staring at convoluted reflections, mirror images, projections, and trying to break them down into understandable parts so that I might be able to paint a clearer picture of what's happening for myself or perhaps someone else.

Some connections are mirrors. We can only love the other as much as we love ourselves. In this way, I have loved completely. I have also looked away in anger, or run scared. If the other becomes an object of fear it is important to ask what I am avoiding.  If I'm the object of fear it's not because I'm frightening, but my eyes are the mirrors that they can't bear to look into.

Compassion and a wide open heart can stop the ricochet, as if it's that easy.

Let me start out by highlighting that I’ve been in a particularly intense situation since I left Austin to live in the van, so this post isn’t a how-to for working on the road, nor is it generally applicable to everyone. I haven’t been handling the normal hardships like theft, bad weather, creeps, or overrun campsites, though I did deal with some car trouble and freezing nights. Rather, this is my personal, crazy story that you might find interesting, followed by some lessons learned.

Ok, here we go.

My relationship immediately started deteriorating once my boyfriend and I hit the road, and like a trapped animal it seemed to panic and claw everything in sight, paying no mind to damage done to itself or the surroundings in the process. This spanned almost 6 of the last 7 months, before we managed to end things warmly and lovingly, with big opportunities for growth on both sides.

Additionally, the company I work for (I am maintaining a part-time day job) got acquired only a month after taking off, so I’ve been rolling with those changes and stepping into an entirely new job description. This has been absolutely lovely and such a good change for everyone involved, but all changes are stressors.

A month after that, I landed a big, fantastic illustration project. I started work the day after I dropped the boyfriend in LA to tour with his band, the day I started traveling solo (though we hadn’t broken up yet.)

A month after that, the van started having trouble in Southern Utah, serious enough trouble to spur me to actually rent a room for two months in Salt Lake City while I found a new vehicle (which I did, pictured above, isn’t she lovely?)

A month after that, my only sister had her first child, Hildegard, who had my heart at hello.

A month later, my boyfriend and I had officially cut the cord, and I came to Mill Valley to work in a beautiful apartment, so graciously offered to me by a friend who out shooting a documentary all month.

A month after that, I wrapped the project and turned 30 years old the next day.

Holy hell, are you still with me? Am I still with me? What even is life?

So in the little bursts of travel between being with family at Christmas, a [day-job] work trip to Canada, a week house-sitting in Vegas, a week at my dad’s house in the guest room, two months in my SLC room, and a month in an apartment in California, I learned a lot about “working from the road.” Mostly I was taking day hikes near whatever desk I happened to be borrowing. Not exactly what I had envisioned, but definitely not a bad situation either. And, I learned some things. I learned so many things. Here are just a few of the main things:

First Lesson: Ask for What You Need

I’ve learned this one before, and I learned it again. A while into this work I ended up asking for an extension on the deadline. Asking was scary, but I’ve found that 9/10 times people surprise you with kindness and flexibility.

Second Lesson: Traveling without Free Time is Driving

When I was too busy to immerse myself in a place, I started to feel less like I was traveling, and more like I was just driving and parking. Additionally, I started to feel less like I was creating and more like I was working a job, so finding places to stay became crucial to continuing to enjoy the work itself.

Third and Biggest Lesson: Short-Term Projects Only

From this experience, I think I could maintain about a 30 hour work week on the road. Twenty hours at my day job, and 10 to dedicate to maintaining my business including producing, marketing, administrative stuff, and everything else. That’s slow going, but it’s enough to maintain and even to progress in bursts. You can do a lot in 10 focused hours. If I were to get a client project that put me at 40-50 hours for a week or so, I could probably handle that so long as I had margin surrounding each project to enjoy my surroundings.

Reality and Reasons

Why is it so much different working on the move?

When you live nomadically, especially alone, everything takes longer. Brushing your teeth, washing dishes, getting ready for bed, getting ready for the day, going to the bathroom, getting to a place to work, and especially cooking. These extra minutes added to every activity can easily add up to hours in a day, hours that I no longer had. On top of normal life stuff, I also needed to factor in things like building and putting out fires each night because it was getting down to freezing fairly reliably (I was in the eastern Sierras for the first few weeks in February), and of course driving time, dealing with mishaps, car maintenance, errands, traffic, and so on.

All of this amounted to essentially a constant state of rushing, and I’m a person that thrives on slowness, quiet, and contemplation. I found that I was sacrificing eating 3 meals or exercising any given day, just so I could squeeze in some quiet time for me around work hours. I also quickly realized that it hardly mattered where I was, because I didn’t have the time to go out hiking, meeting people, or climbing anyway. So that’s when my borrowed desk/room/apartment hopping began.

What Now?

As much as I’ve been a bit heartsick as well as antsy to get moving, I’ve also been so grateful for the exciting work opportunity that I just had, and for the forced slow-down that it provided. I got some really good insights during these months that I may have otherwise been too distracted to see, and I’m taking a hard look at my trajectory in life and mainly, in work.

I’m so grateful for any of you who are along for the ride with me here. I’m excited to share my hard work with you, and to get going on some changes for the future.

Some mountain inspiration from the van window driving through Wyoming last week.

Final printing notice: There are 14 more of these Peony Burst prints forever

During EAST I realized that some of my work had been in production for a long time. I want to keep things fresh. Therefore some of my most loved pieces are now in their final run.

I Love Myself and Others

I’ve talked here once or twice about an experiment I successfully performed when I was 18.

In a nutshell: after I graduated high school I was so ready to move beyond the things that I felt were deadening about that social world that I decided to cut some of them out of my life cold turkey.  The first to go was gossip.

I stopped saying negative things about other people completely. Even if I still had the thoughts, and felt thoroughly justified in those thoughts, I just made a decision to keep them to myself. Eventually I stopped even thinking negatively about other people.

It’s almost unfathomable to me now, but I remember the experience very clearly. I gave everyone the benefit of the doubt, remembered their suffering, their beginnings, forgave them their trespasses and unawareness as I’d like to be forgiven. It became my default, and as an unexpected byproduct, I stopped saying and thinking negatively about myself too.

This was my first lesson in the effectiveness of faking it until you make it. Though after 6 months or so this experiment got derailed when I stayed too long in cosmetology school, I still notice some effects to this day.

I’m an Artist

My next big lesson in faking it came when I first allowed myself to call myself an artist. 

This felt fraudulent, like a half-truth, at best. I feared people calling me out, saying what a poser I was, cataloguing the art I’d made in the years prior and deciding that I lacked the prolifery and experience to have earned the title of artist. Or worse, I imagined being ignored completely. 

Plus, didn’t I work at a coffee shop? Art was just a hobby.

But the more I said it, the more I realized that no one started out by doubting me, and I could simply talk about my ambitions, efforts, and failures without judgement. In fact, I related to more people more easily as I discovered they were more than just a server at that restaurant, but played guitar in a band, they were passionate about making tinctures from native flowers, or dreamed of living by the sea as a surfer. That they always wished they could draw for a living, but gave up before they started because they figured everyone else doing it was too far ahead.

More importantly, I also realized that it was true. I am an artist, and I was even then. Art was what I had decided to pursue for a living, and I was working at it close to daily, regardless of how recently I had started or how good I was or if I had made a dime from it.

Writing this now, I had to take a minute and thank myself for taking this step back then, and to recognize how at this point I don’t even flinch at calling myself an artist. Hey, that’s progress.

I’m a Naturalist

As a child I was obsessed with animals, especially the idea of endangered species. I felt I could commune with trees, and even laying in the grass in my yard felt imbued with meaning.

Today I read books about everything from walking in the woods to mountaineering. About water reclamation, botany, mushrooms, bird nests, and super novas. I take binoculars on my morning walks in case I see or hear an interesting bird. Much of my day, every day, is consumed with a deep, almost grief-stricken longing for open, natural spaces. My entire Instagram feed is people who lead lives centered around plants, animals, rock, mountain ranges, watersheds, seeds, soil, and stars. 

Despite growing up in Utah, I only recently put together the idea that I’m a naturalist, and am just beginning to fumble through what that means and how it looks for me. Will this turn into be being a skilled alpinist? Conducting field studies for a State Park? Camp counseling? Survival school? Guiding? Nature therapy? The spectrum is thus far very broad.

Will I be able to weave this important thread into the life I’ve been building as a visual artist?

I have no idea. But a big piece of my heart has been placed into the puzzle of my life story, and  it’s really helped the whole picture look a little clearer.

I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m talking about it. I’m writing about it. And, I’m going. Like in AA, the first step is admitting, and then suddenly, your’e on the path home.

Fake It ‘Till You Shake It?

Something to note in all of these examples is the inaccuracy of the term “fake it ‘till you make it.” I might say instead, “act and speak consciously in order to reflect more precisely who you truly are and your deepest life values.” But it just doesn’t have the same ring to it. 

The Breakthrough

This past week I had major breakthrough on the Tarot deck I’m designing, Tall Grass.

Over coffee one morning, I got a little tap on the shoulder. Out of nowhere I started thinking about one card in particular. Every time it came up I would stop whatever I was doing to see the thought through. I listened and stayed curious. For a while there wasn’t much to grab onto, but eventually there was enough there to grab a pencil. Slowly, like a fog clearing, the meaning of the card began to solidify, and imagery started emerging.  

Once I started to grasp onto actual elements, I pinned them down in thumbnails and sketches, until it was time for ink and paint, and suddenly there it was.

Designing this Tarot deck has felt like developing an entire language; a visual, symbolic language. Now that I have this one card done I feel like I have the grammatical system ready to keep going.

I'm stoked.

This energy has been great, but this happened only after months of being creatively blocked.  I have a feeling that’s not a foreign feeling to anyone reading this blog. 

The Blockage

By the winter of 2015, after several months of writing and study, I had managed to squeeze out 10 minor cards. By then I felt stuck and intimidated by the whole thing. I was even questioning the 10 I'd done. I couldn't bring myself to work on it, but felt the fire of competition and jealousy when I encountered a new deck being created (I still feel this sometimes.)

I tried to do some iterations of some cards when I was feeling disheartened, and they were all immensely dissatisfying, if not catastrophically bad.

A little flutter of progress arose again in early spring, when in a wonderful moment I conceptualized my take on the 16 court cards. I was (and still am) actually really excited about the idea that came to me then, but after dozens of thumbnails and sketches nothing solidified, so I lost traction yet again.

Then, life happened, like it does. I got caught up with client work and went on a big road trip. By the time I came back I felt so distant from the project and frightened of continuing to ‘fail’ that I started on other personal side projects. Sometimes I’d still write or sketch about it to try to jumpstart some old ideas, but this was mostly fruitless.

So what happened? Why do we get blocked?

Perfectionism

In my own observation blocks most often stem from some form of perfectionism. Perfectionists believe that any mark is permanent, visible to the world, and all poor first attempts will be judged harshly. They, ok we, have the neurotic idea that whatever we put down on paper has to live up to what we see in our heads, and the fear that it won’t.

This bubble burst for me a long time ago: it won’t. You just have to do a lot of something before you nail it.

Even knowing this down to the bone, I was discouraged by my awful first takes on cards, and wanted them to be great immediately.

But you can’t steer a parked car, as they say, so we have to sit down, start, and be uncomfortable. And at least at first, we have the benefit of anonymity on our side, no one’s watching yet. We can experiment, fail, fall flat on our faces. We can change our minds. 

Comparison

Sometimes we worry less about living up to what’s in our head, but to what’s in our Instagram feed. We look at tiny snippets of hundreds of people doing only what they do best, and we feel like failures in comparison before we even get started, or maybe after our first try doesn’t knock it out of the park.

Comparison and perfectionism are like demented twins.

When we don’t like the outcome of our efforts and we’re comparing them to our role models, it creates the feeling that theres already enough of whatever we thought we wanted to put into the world, and that we couldn’t possibly do it better than those already doing it. 

There’s a phenomenon when you start getting into a niche that makes you feel like it’s the focus of the whole world. I happen to be someone who notices when someone else is making a tarot deck. It’s hard not to feel like everyone’s making a tarot deck, and there’s not going to be any room in the market for mine.  And of course, everyone’s much further ahead, finished, or at least fully funded on Kickstarter. But the truth is of course that very, very few people are actually making tarot decks. 

This is true even with something as broad as watercolor painting. There truly aren’t very many watercolor artists compared to people who would purchase art from them. There’s always room for our own take on something despite saturation. There is space for you. 

Ignoring the Call

If I’m getting hit over the head with an idea, I do whatever I can to clear enough space in my life to commit what I can to it. I post-pone that dinner date with a friend, refrain from going the extra mile at work that week, and forego some relaxation time. Springs of inspiration are finite and temporary so I've got to get it while I can.  

After the flood, I try to follow the trickle until it’s a drip, then let it go, trusting that the rains will come again.

There's a difference between letting something incubate for a while and avoiding. There’s something to be said for not banging your head against the wall and stepping back for the right reasons. Reasons that aren’t fear of failure or frustration at being less than perfect.

Then, it really only matters how that time is spent. I know that it should be a time of gathering, balancing and enriching other aspects of life, and working toward other things. The way I see it, time is only wasted if I waste it, and the only way to truly blow it with time away from an endeavor is to do nothing but distract and numb.

Meet Strength, XI in the major arcana series of the Tarot.  

This is the first of the series that I've designed for Tall Grass, the deck I'm creating.

Strength is all about following your instincts, listening to your gut, and a return of vital energy, particularly to sexual and creative aspects of life.  

"I don't know where I'm going, but I know I'm on my way."  Carl Sagan

Something’s happening.  I think I’ve been trying to write this for months.

I’m feeling compelled to write. To write my story down, to share what I’ve learned over the years, and what I'm still learning every day, as an artist and as a human. I didn’t know I was afraid of doing this until I was confronted with the task.  I can't even say what or who it is that's doing the confronting. We all have different names for that call.

Trying to figure out where to start is like being adrift in the ocean. But to recognize and trust in the value of my words feels like finding my place in the world. I believe in story, I believe we learn by it and have from our beginnings. Every culture has had their versions of the same stories, and we never tire of hearing them.  We never need to hear them any less.

Maybe my voice is the one that breaks through to someone and they feel less alone.  Maybe it wakes them up to something they’ve been sleeping through. So I'll start here, by telling you what's inside of me even if I can't wrap it up into a neat package yet.

I'm also, as always, filled to the brim with eagerness to travel, and particularly to spend time in nature.  Somehow writing and travel and nature are braiding themselves into my career as an artist.  I can only see a few feet ahead on this path so far, but I'm finally allowing my heart to lead the way. 

I'm still afraid.  Afraid that complex humans can't survive in a world of commerce. That people have put me in one box and realizing that the box is carrying a life is too complicated to maintain interest.  But I'm letting go of the need to know what's around the bend in the name of trust.  Everything seems right.

My aim is to live a creative life. Not to create something, and then to live. I don’t want to compartmentalize everything anymore, because it’s not working. I want all the parts of me to be wrapped in the blanket of my body and to let the light that accumulates there shine through everything that I do.  

Where I live, how I love, the choices I make: these are all creative acts no matter what, so why not design my life rather than falling into one? I don't want to default into ready-made life choices. I know too well the rewards of deliberate, creative effort.

I want to read, make a painting inspired by that reading, write about the feeling I was having while painting, take a photo that captures the essence of what I was writing about, share that photo and my thoughts with my community and hear what they have to say, then go home and meditate on it all. I want to follow creative trails deep into the woods.

I’m talking, on some level, about freedom.  Some thing is opening, and for the first time in my life instead of just knowing that I’m free, I’m starting to feel free. It takes me a long time to integrate emotional knowledge into experience.  It’s really hard work. It’s the hardest work.

But the feather of true, life-wide creative freedom has touched down somewhere on the surface of my life and the energy is rippling outward. I can feel it, and these small waves washing over me between the noise make clear that everything I thought was reality has been a reflection.  Often a very beautiful reflection, but one nonetheless.  

I'm about to look up.

So, I’m going to write about it, and I'm going to try to make a serious habit of it. Honestly, I’m going to try to make a business out of it. I’m terrified because I don’t know what that means or where this is going. I’m terrified that I’m not good enough at writing or business or anything else vital that I’m going to need to see whatever this is through. I’m terrified that I’ll lose anyone who was interested in my art work as soon as writing starts competing with it. That's real.

But it’s time to bring it all together. I have no idea how. But here I am, starting to try.  And to anyone listening, thank you.

"I don't know where I'm going, but I know I'm on my way."  Carl Sagan

Something’s happening.  I think I’ve been trying to write this for months.

I’m feeling compelled to write. To write my story down, to share what I’ve learned over the years, and what I'm still learning every day, as an artist and as a human. I didn’t know I was afraid of doing this until I was confronted with the task.  I can't even say what or who it is that's doing the confronting. We all have different names for that call.

Trying to figure out where to start is like being adrift in the ocean. But to recognize and trust in the value of my words feels like finding my place in the world. I believe in story, I believe we learn by it and have from our beginnings. Every culture has had their versions of the same stories, and we never tire of hearing them.  We never need to hear them any less.

Maybe my voice is the one that breaks through to someone and they feel less alone.  Maybe it wakes them up to something they’ve been sleeping through. So I'll start here, by telling you what's inside of me even if I can't wrap it up into a neat package yet.

I'm also, as always, filled to the brim with eagerness to travel, and particularly to spend time in nature.  Somehow writing and travel and nature are braiding themselves into my career as an artist.  I can only see a few feet ahead on this path so far, but I'm finally allowing my heart to lead the way. 

I'm still afraid.  Afraid that complex humans can't survive in a world of commerce. That people have put me in one box and realizing that the box is carrying a life is too complicated to maintain interest.  But I'm letting go of the need to know what's around the bend in the name of trust.  Everything seems right.

My aim is to live a creative life. Not to create something, and then to live. I don’t want to compartmentalize everything anymore, because it’s not working. I want all the parts of me to be wrapped in the blanket of my body and to let the light that accumulates there shine through everything that I do.  

Where I live, how I love, the choices I make: these are all creative acts no matter what, so why not design my life rather than falling into one? I don't want to default into ready-made life choices. I know too well the rewards of deliberate, creative effort.

I want to read, make a painting inspired by that reading, write about the feeling I was having while painting, take a photo that captures the essence of what I was writing about, share that photo and my thoughts with my community and hear what they have to say, then go home and meditate on it all. I want to follow creative trails deep into the woods.

I’m talking, on some level, about freedom.  Some thing is opening, and for the first time in my life instead of just knowing that I’m free, I’m starting to feel free. It takes me a long time to integrate emotional knowledge into experience.  It’s really hard work. It’s the hardest work.

But the feather of true, life-wide creative freedom has touched down somewhere on the surface of my life and is rippling outward. I can feel it, and these small waves washing over me between the noise make clear that everything I thought was reality has been a reflection.  Often a very beautiful reflection, but one nonetheless.  

I'm about to look up.

So, I’m going to write about it, and I'm going to try to make a serious habit of it. Honestly, I’m going to try to make a business out of it. I’m terrified because I don’t know what that means or where this is going. I’m terrified that I’m not good enough at writing or business or anything else vital that I’m going to need to see whatever this is through. I’m terrified that I’ll lose anyone who was interested in my art work as soon as writing starts competing with it. That's real.

But it’s time to bring it all together. I have no idea how. But here I am, starting to try.  And to anyone listening, thank you.

"I don't know where I'm going, but I know I'm on my way."  Carl Sagan

Something’s happening.  I think I’ve been trying to write this for months.

I’m feeling compelled to write. To write my story down, to share what I’ve learned over the years, and what I'm still learning every day, as an artist and as a human. I didn’t know I was afraid of doing this until I was confronted with the task.  I can't even say what or who it is that's doing the confronting. We all have different names for that call.

Trying to figure out where to start is like being adrift in the ocean. But to recognize and trust in the value of my words feels like finding my place in the world. I believe in story, I believe we learn by it and have from our beginnings. Every culture has had their versions of the same stories, and we never tire of hearing them.  We never need to hear them any less.

Maybe my voice is the one that breaks through to someone and they feel less alone.  Maybe it wakes them up to something they’ve been sleeping through. So I'll start here, by telling you what's inside of me even if I can't wrap it up into a neat package yet.

I'm also, as always, filled to the brim with eagerness to travel, and particularly to spend time in nature.  Somehow writing and travel and nature are braiding themselves into my career as an artist.  I can only see a few feet ahead on this path so far, but I'm finally allowing my heart to lead the way. 

I'm still afraid.  Afraid that complex humans can't survive in a world of commerce. That people have put me in one box and realizing that the box is carrying a life is too complicated to maintain interest.  But I'm letting go of the need to know what's around the bend in the name of trust.  Everything seems right.

My aim is to live a creative life. Not to create something, and then to live. I don’t want to compartmentalize everything anymore, because it’s not working. I want all the parts of me to be wrapped in the blanket of my body and to let the light that accumulates there shine through everything that I do.  

Where I live, how I love, the choices I make: these are all creative acts no matter what, so why not design my life rather than falling into one? I don't want to default into ready-made life choices. I know too well the rewards of deliberate, creative effort.

I want to read, make a painting inspired by that reading, write about the feeling I was having while painting, take a photo that captures the essence of what I was writing about, share that photo and my thoughts with my community and hear what they have to say, then go home and meditate on it all. I want to follow creative trails deep into the woods.

I’m talking, on some level, about freedom.  Some thing is opening, and for the first time in my life instead of just knowing that I’m free, I’m starting to feel free. It takes me a long time to integrate emotional knowledge into experience.  It’s really hard work. It’s the hardest work.

But the feather of true, life-wide creative freedom has touched down somewhere on the surface of my life and is rippling outward. I can feel it, and these small waves washing over me between the noise make clear that everything I thought was reality has been a reflection.  Often a very beautiful reflection, but one nonetheless.  

I'm about to look up.

So, I’m going to write about it, and I'm going to try to make a serious habit of it. Honestly, I’m going to try to make a business out of it. I’m terrified because I don’t know what that means or where this is going. I’m terrified that I’m not good enough at writing or business or anything else vital that I’m going to need to see whatever this is through. I’m terrified that I’ll lose anyone who was interested in my art work as soon as writing starts competing with it. That's real.

But it’s time to bring it all together. I have no idea how. But here I am, starting to try.  And to anyone listening, thank you.

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