Pixel Dance

Some of you know that I like to write songs. I write melody and lyrics, and then my uber-talented husband does the real composing and the producing. We do it for fun, as a way to keep sharp and collaborate, and frankly, because we both love it. It’s been very fun to be married to a man with a passion for music (plus he’s just cool and wonderful and funny and warm and . . . ). I can’t tell you how many times, in a low spot or a sad moment, that he will go get the guitar, and we will sing one of our songs. Sometimes we cry through it. Sometimes we laugh — like when he plays “Riders on the Range” (an ode to my Wyoming upbringing) — or when we laugh about my lyric that sounds like Meatloaf should sing it, or the song that sounds like juggling bears should come out of the woodwork. I didn’t say we always write good songs . . .

Okay, so, here’s my thing. I’m always thinking about the perfect lyric. I love lyrics. I love their progression, the way they infuse meaning with sound and melody and rhythm. I just think it’s cool. My favorite lyrical line of all time is “the shadows of misty yesteryears” from Paul Anka’s “Times of Your Life.” That line does the job in so many ways. It’s beautifully written, creates a wonderful picture, and connects with everyone. I thought it would be fun to hear your thoughts on favorite lyrics. What’s your favorite one line? What’s your favorite chorus? Song as a whole? What song do you always go back to? I can never get too far away from “Unchained Melody” or Pachelbel’s Canon in D. Do you have a pick-me-up song? Really, I am interested in it for discussion’s sake, but I’m really interested to know what moves people. And if you give me an idea, I just may make a song out it. Thanks for playing.

You can always feel a cold front coming through our area — it generally just blows your socks off. The other day, I heard the cold-front wind kick in, and decided to harvest the blooms from my roses before the petals ended up in Kansas. I was clipping away at stems, running through the yard form one rose to another like stops on a gameboard, snipping whoever was next. I started in the rose garden, and nabbed a handful of purple “Melody Parfumees.” I sheared the white climbers on the way to the english roses, where I grabbed a delicate, creamy rose with pink edges. These three roses are in different parts of the garden, so I never see them together. But in the palm of my hand, they were a lovely combination. What a complimentary and breathtaking bouquet they made.

The next day, I spent some really fun time with my dear friends, Kevin and Rachel. As we talked and laughed and played, I couldn’t help but think of that bouquet. Kevin and Rachel are designers, too, and we are a rare bunch. Which is why it’s so fun to be together with them. I feel the most authentic when I am with them — it’s as if they know where the good stuff is in me, and they know how to bring it out. And whenever I leave (which is usually late, because time evaporates when I’m with them), I leave feeling high on life. I feel like I’ve been enjoyed for who I am, and I’ve been given the chance to enjoy them for who they are. It’s darn fun.

So, the juxtaposition of this bouquet and my little friend-bouquet got me thinking. I have some other gorgeous roses in my yard, like a firecracker of a red-to-yellow rose named “Cherries Jubilee.” It’s just marvelous, but I’ve got to tell you, put it with my purple-toned bouquet, and it looks yucky. I don’t see it’s beauty. I just see it fighting to fit in a place where it doesn’t belong.

Confession time: for years I tried to fit everyone into my life. I felt the need to accept everyone, to accommodate their needs. I thought if I cared enough, we would all live happily together; if I put them first, they would fit into my bouquet. But now that I’m older and wiser (and a little more bruised), I see the beauty in allowing other people to look great in their own bouquets, where the vibrant orange or the stunning yellow can draw out the best in them. Because, really, some people will never enhance my bouquet, and I would never enhance theirs — no matter how hard I try to fit their palette. And some people, no matter how long you’ve known them, will just light you up, cast you in great light, and be the best thing near you in years.

So, I’m a little less friendly than before maybe, and definitely less inclined to change who I am so others feel more comfortable. I’m so grateful for my friends who let me shine just the way I am — who pick up on the highlights. And I’m really grateful for that thrown-together bunch of roses on a windy day.

I have a wonderful group of illustrator friends from working at Citizen. Mark Brewer’s style fits our magazine very well, and he’s great fun. I like his loose style and the alternate world he creates. Here’s his story:

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My first piece was printed in our local weekly newspaper when I was fifteen years old. It was an editorial cartoon. I drew an editorial cartoon at least once every week, sometimes as many as four, for the next ten years of my life. Drawing editorial cartoons taught me how to compose and write concise ideas in a single panel. Of course having friends who were professionals in the field helped a wee bit I’m sure. Prior to that I was selling a small line of my own hand made greeting cards to a local card shop in town. I always knew I would make art for a living, although I wasn’t sure exactly where I would fit in. That was no secret around my family and friends. No matter how many times I heard, “you need a back up plan in case the art thing doesn’t work”, I never considered a back up plan. Not sure whether that was recklessness or stubbornness since I display both of those traits. In the early part of my professional career I worked for Disney, Archie Comics, Warner Brothers and other publications that kept my mind open to an entirely different direction than editorial cartoons. Looking back now I was waiting for a particular “something” to grab me by the shirt collar and say, “this is what you’re going to do!” I knew I was just working for these companies to pay the bills and was lucky to have been able to do that when so many talented artists would kill for any opportunity. I still know how fortunate I am and not a day goes by that I don’t think of that. My last “real” job was at Pepperidge Farm food stores stocking the shelves in their walk in freezer. I was eighteen. It was cold in there but since I was by myself it gave me the chance to come up with ideas for pictures I could draw once I got home. It’s always been important for me to say something in my art. It’s not enough just to draw a “pretty picture” although there are some assignments that call for nothing more than that. I’ll compensate by noodle-ing in TONS of detail but the drawing never seems to work as well as an illustration that has an insightful thought behind it.
I’m not really sure where I am in my career. Or maybe a better answer is that I try real hard not to know where I’m at in fear of becoming complacent. There are many artists with more talent and even more to offer that I’m never certain my phone will ring tomorrow with another assignment. I need to try to keep going to wherever it is that I think I’m going to even though I haven’t figured that out yet.

I love Spontaneity. My work, mind and life are happening spontaneously and the color and line in my illustrations often reflect my mood at the time I’m working on the assignment. Artists have the opportunity to let down their guard in their art. People who know me can sometimes see right through my work. It’s a feeling one might have if they are ever made to run down the street naked. “Exposed” would be a good word to use. It’s that very feeling an artist can put out there in an illustration or a song that can make a connection with another human being that’s so special. For me personally, there are few things that stimulate, motivate and move me more than when I find an illustration that resonates with one of my own experiences.

For the last two years I’ve been drawing portraits of people I find interesting. Some I draw with an editorial twist and more are just “Brewerized” versions of how I see them. Obviously illustrators have been doing portraits for years, but this is a new and exciting chapter for me. We all bring something unique to the table so looking at it from that perspective, it’s something that has never been done before.

For life, I say be happy and follow your dreams. None of us are any more than the sums of our influences. Mix many influences together into your own illustrative concoction. If you do it long enough (years), your own creative agenda will show itself and you’ll be making art that you can truly put your own stamp on.

Something we all wish we would do yet few of us make the choice to do, is to follow our dreams. On the surface these words are full of magic, promise and are more colorful than the brightest flower. There’s a pot of gold waiting for us on the other side should we capture the dream. The road after is a red carpet paved with rose pedals we can walk on with our bare feet. Even the friendly conversations we have of the challenging tasks that lay ahead in pursuing these dreams seem to have a sweetness to them. I’ve been following my dream since that first cartoon was printed and I can tell you the road is dirt and it has no promises. It’s been sweet countless times but far more tart than one might imagine. The “pot of gold” has come but in forms I had not imagined. I believe the red carpet we roll out is man made (in China) and self-indulgent. The real magic happens when you find yourself naturally laying down a few rose pedals on that dirt path for a pair of young feet to follow their own dreams in pursuit of a life’s worth of rich experiences.

Remember that none of us are any more than the sums of our influences yet we all bring something unique to the table. I’m still amazed when I hear a professional artist say to me or another illustrator that our work looks like someone else’s. Most people mean well, however, the comment can seem insensitive coming from another professional. Perhaps they haven’t spent as much time on their own craft to realize what many of us have come to learn. You don’t spend seven to fifteen hours in your studio each day, six to seven days a week, trying to be anyone other than yourself. It’s almost impossible. Woody Guthrie heavily influenced the legendary Bob Dylan as much as Michael Bartolos’ was influenced by Jim Flora’s work. Illustration, music, photography etc. has been a communal and collective growth for thousands of years. That’s why artists are often asked the question,” who have been your greatest influences?” It’s an interesting question because everyone has their own unique set of mixed influences that make up their very own creative concoction. Artistically speaking, if you do anything long enough your own creative agenda will show itself and you’ll be making art that you can truly put your own stamp on.

–Mark Brewer, Illustrator

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That was fantastic, Mark. Thank you for your thoughts. You know, this is why I like having my friends on the blog. Encouraging each other, telling the truth, sharing what we know, this creates a community that I consider valuable. To me, hearing how artists especially overcome the urge to just “get a job, make a living, get a retirement. . . ” is inspiring. It helps me to think about the things I could do, and the things I might be overlooking that I could really love. So thank you, Mark. I appreciate you sharing with us.

It’s about frost time around here, so I was out taking pictures of the last flowers of the season. I snapped this one of one of a morning glory on my trellis. Morning glories are usually bright cobalt blue. But this one is pink. Utterly neon pink. Not at all what you’d expect from a morning glory. I can’t tell you how many people ask me what it is, and then stare blankly at me after the answer. And I can see what’s running through their mind: “It can’t be. Morning glories are blue.” Yes, they are. And they are pink.

Pink morning glories are a little out-of-the-box. And, you know, I’ve found that we say we want out-of-the-box, but usually, I’m not sure we do. It’s too uncomfortable, frustrating, not expected. We want the box. It tells us what to expect, so we don’t have to be fight-or-flighty. It’s safe and fine, and generally gives plenty of room to feel right. Because I think that’s what we really want — to be right. We like the tags of ingenuity and “outside the lines,” because we don’t want to be seen as stuck, or old-fashioned. And we like the sound of so many things. We like to be spiritual people. We like to be tolerant. We like to be open. It sounds so progressive. But in the end, it’s kind of a broad brush to generally make us feel OK with it all, in our rightness. And I’m not knocking that. What else are we going to do? We don’t want it to be true that we are in-the-boxers. There’s nothing wrong with wanting things to be steady and go well. And you can’t live life entirely in the unexpected. Life throws enough nasty-unexpected our way that we start to equate unexpected and nasty, and the whimsy goes out the door.

I don’t think we know how to leap the edges of the box because we’ve developed everything into a system. There’s a system to learn writing, to design your closet, to count your calories. There’s a system for finding a spouse, reaching happiness, reading the right books. There’s a way to do everything right. Which means everything done out of sheer inspiration or impulse is probably seen as “the wrong way.” Impulse = uncontrolled. Inspiration = undisciplined. Life = safe.

I don’t know about anyone else in the world, but I’m a slave to whimsy. I don’t want to fit in the system. I want to see what happens if I don’t. And I’m not talking about things of morality or social conscience. I’m talking about a song whose second verse doesn’t resolve. Or some hot black boots with a purple dress. Or a pink morning glory. What is the harm in testing the box walls? It may just be delightful out there. . .

The person you are meeting on the blog today could change your life. And while I tend towards the hyperbolic, this time I’m not overstating it. Andy Paige is a style consultant, and she travels the country helping everyone — from glamorous stars to ordinary women — dress and look their best. Not only does she teach the right colors of makeup, style of hair, and fit of clothes, but she teaches how to do it all on a budget. Her tag line is “who says you have to spend a fortune to look like a million?” Here’s a little about her:

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I’ve been in and around the fashion industry for 25 years. I started out as a model in my teens, and was a fit model for years (fit models are women with standard proportions for a particular size, and they try on clothes before they go to market to ensure proper sizing). My grandmother taught me how to sew, and I sewed my own clothes for years. I took for granted that everyone knew what I knew — what clothes were well-suited for their bodies, what a rise was, how to apply makeup. It wasn’t until I realized that everybody didn’t know what I knew, and until someone validated my talents, that I began to be aware that my skills had the potential to become a business. So I started Cents of Style.

Cents of Style is a solutions-based business. My general mission is to encourage, guide and teach my clients the skills of economic beautification. I teach women to care for themselves, and look their absolute best in all regards. And I love to see the transformation. I love the confidence I am able to build, teach and establish. That’s the downfall of every woman in America; a completely unneeded lack of confidence. But I give people (I style men, too) the power and encouragement to fulfill their dreams. That’s an amazing gift. Outward appearance is not just fluff — it is the spine of confidence. And I am confidence-building.

My philosophy is that you can be a mother, achieve your dreams, love God, do good in your community, and look fabulous doing it. It’s not either/or. There’s no need to sacrifice your image — if anything, your image is the catalyst to your dreams.

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Andy has an incredible gift, and she is something special. I hired her to come to Colorado Springs two years ago to guide me through a transformation. And I’ll be honest, I had some judgments that had buried themselves in my skin. I really didn’t want to look “all foofy,” because I wanted people to realize that I was deep, smart and spiritual. But I finally realized that all I was showing the world was that I didn’t care about myself. I was telling the world that they didn’t have to take me seriously. And — here’s the painful part — I realized I had judged put-together people as shallow. And you know when you judge, you cut yourself off from that very thing. So how could I look nice if all nice-looking people were shallow? That would mean I was shallow too. Ouch. But thankfully, you can decide to change at any moment, and I confessed my judgment, risked allowing myself to look shallow, and pressed into letting the real me out. And I am telling you, folks, I am smarter, funnier, brighter and more clever now than anyone ever thought I was in the frump stage. Because what you look like is what people have to go on — so tell them who you really are. Another thing — you may think it is an expensive treat to have Andy come, but in the long run, I spend a lot less on clothes and makeup than I ever did throwing the credit card willy nilly at what I thought might work. I now have a laser-sharp sense of what to buy, when to buy it, and what to add (inexpensively) to look like I shop all the time. I tell you, Andy is brilliant. It’s one of the best thing’s I’ve ever done.

You must save your pennies to have Andy come, or visit her in New York. You can find out information, and even hire her on-line at www.centsofstyle.com. Even if you can’t do that yet, she has a million great ideas on her Web site, and I visit it all the time to keep up. And she sells wonderful accessory suites — a small group of accessories, with usually a purse — for $49.50. Every month there is a new one, and they are fabulous and smart. But the pièce de résistance is her brush set. If you were an artist, would you paint with whatever paper towel you could find? Not-so-professional results. Makeup application is the same. Andy’s brushes are professional, and no woman should be without them. Check it out on the site, and ask for (or buy them for yourself) as a Christmas present. They come with instructions, and her site has videos that help with application as well. Don’t be afraid to be beautiful. Don’t be afraid to shine. And let Andy polish you up – she’s great at it. Thanks, Andy. Still.