Spent.

Upon finishing this painting today, I felt thrilled and utterly exhausted.  I’m spent, but in the best way.  I’ve given my all this week, to life, to love, and to art. I even cleaned the kitchen. And it feels great.

I mentioned earlier this week, the affirmations and messages that were pouring in to combat the questions and fears, and they keep coming.  From the exact supplies we’ve needed simply being handed to us by the boxfuls  to encouragement from strangers.

In the words a friend, take it in, drink in the little victories along the way.

And that is exactly what I will do.

Art, when you need it the most.

The past few days have been a struggle, tiny little teeth are reeking havoc on our sleep and the baby’s mouth.  As I’m preparing to show my art this weekend, I feel this flood of ridiculous ideas, things that want to hold me back from sharing,  silly nonsense that is trying to combat my excitement. I know it’s all opposition, a force trying to damper this amazing creative surge that I’m experiencing.

It’s no coincidence that signs of encouragement are everywhere, whispering, we are intrepid, we carry on.  All these little messages reinforcing, pushing me on. I sign into twitter and I read,

"Blessed is he who has found his work." —Van Gogh

I read new posts on blogs I follow and this jumps out of the screen,

“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.”

-e.e. cummings

You’d think I’d get the message.  And I do. Most of the time.

But on occasion, I’ve felt silly for telling people I’m an artist, when they ask, what I do.  As if, being an artist isn’t a real thing, like an accountant or a nurse.  I think, well, I play around with paint and I design stuff.

As if being an artist isn’t a real thing? Surely, my most ridiculous thought to date.  Because, I know more than anything that it is.  I mean, just look at nature.  Consider how every single day we are given these works of art, in the painted sunrise, the fall trees ablaze with the season’s greetings, the sparkling, blue waters dancing in the sunlight, how mountains take your breath away, the magic in your daughters eyes when you have come to the end of yourself and then she melts comforted into your shoulder, the mischievous smirk of a little boy rolling in the crunchy fall leaves.  The way he gets really close to his little sister, looks her in the face and says, hi pretty baby. It’s all art.

And the thing about art is this, on the days when you fail to recognize it for yourself,  it has a way of reminding you, exactly who you are.

It’s simple. Birds never question their ability to fly. You were meant for greatness.

Find this painting in the shop.

What helps you when you start to wonder if what you do isn’t a real thing? What speaks to you in a way you’ll notice?  Where did you find art today?

 

On art shows and transparency

This week is all about art, as I’m  getting ready to display my collection  at a local coffee shop.  It will be my second official exhibit, but technically my third.  You see, I went to a college where boys and girls were not allowed in each other’s dorm rooms, except for a few hours a week, as crazy as that may sound, it was just fine.  One day some friends wanted to see my art, so we brought it all out and lined the balcony.  My funny roommates felt left out so they searched for art projects made by the preschoolers they taught and other random things and displayed those too.  It was the best time, but I was terrified that all my mystery would evaporate as certain individuals looked at my paintings. I wondered if my art would give away secrets that I was probably already failing to keep. “Trust me, everyone is less mysterious than they think they are.” A few random people walked by on their way down the stairs, but it mostly a private exhibit, with a handful of friends. So exclusive.  I’ll never forget it.

Here’s the thing about sharing your art with others.  It’s wonderful. It’s great. It’s terribly frightening.  Strangers standing face to face with some of your truest expressions.  Things to marvelous for words uttered in hues of paint. What if they hated it?  What would they think?  And you never know because you leave your art in a foreign place and willingly welcome critics.  Maybe artists are crazy, after all.

But beyond the crippling roadblock of transparency, you know art is meant to be shared, because you, the artist have something to say, a message, an idea, a dream.  It begins deep inside and as it grows,  it begs to be brought to life.  You never really know how it will speak to others, but you are only responsible to create.  You art will speak for itself.  

I’ve been sensing for a while, this shift here on The Saturated Palette, a return to the things which led me to blogging in the beginning, art, creativity, meaning, faith, inspiration.  So, if you have questions or things you’d love to start a conversation about, let me know.  You can leave comments here or send me an e-mail, liv AT furthermorecreative DOT com.

Also, I’ll be removing most original paintings from my shop for the show, so if you’ve been eyeing one for your home, they will be available until Thursday, September 29, 2011. 

And, have you entered the caption contest yet?

Art: Morning Glory

I place the paint brush on the palette and I breathe.  The adrenaline of completion overcomes me.  I blink. When my eyes open, I can see nothing clearly.  I look around, everything is distorted and blurred. I flex my face and blink a dozen more times, nothing changes.   Each blink is shocking, almost painful, because I realize that I exchanged blinking for the dance of brush strokes. Artist eyes.

I bring my espresso up to my face.  I inhale the aroma, my eyes shut again.  A long pause.  Then world around me is a million blurred dashes. The only thing I see clearly is my painting.   I get lost in the colors, the shadows, and every nook.    A presence surges through me,  I am still.  The greatest force, the most astonishing beauty, the one from whom creativity flows.  Here with me.

This is how I worship.

Every stroke, a praise.

Every smudge, a prayer.

This is how I connect.

--

This place I’ve painted out of my heart, translated onto canvas, I’m certain that I’ll see it one day. And when I stand on the cliff, adorned with wild flowers and look out upon the sun rising over the speckled see,  I’ll know.

Buy it here.

Wednesday's art.

Two paintings in one week. I feel amazing,  my kitchen does not.

Luckily, kitchens have zero feelings,  so all I see when I look in there is a successful week of creativity.  My home is often clean, but I have no problem getting lost in the creative flow first.  In fact, I feel much better about tackling the kitchen after I finished a painting or a sewing project.  My creative voice is so much louder than the one that says, you need a spotless kitchen.  The latter voice is a very quiet whisper that can only be heard when I can't find a clean mug for my coffee.

Now, I know there is a balance. I have a family, who is my heart and it's nice for them to have clean forks and to be able to find the floor in our bedrooms, but primarily they need love, peace, comfort, and encouragement. And I'm better at all those things when I'm creative.  If I always had a clean home, I'd just be tired and grumpy, who wants to be live with a person like that?

Yesterday, I told my husband, I know the kitchen is a mess, but I had to paint.  He answered, good. I love that about him.  He understands.

I'm not really one who struggles with guilt or feeling like I should do something. I tend to reject the things that go with "shoulds", because mostly those voices are from somewhere else, not so much inside.  Outside voices bring clutter, clutter of thoughts, time, and energy, this does nothing for creativity

Even still, sometimes, I feel like there is this societal pressure to have a perfectly clean home, be super busy, and be everything to everyone, where does that come from?  Honestly, society doesn't live in this house, we do. And society probably isn't going to knock on my door to check if my home is pristine anytime soon. I leave the house maybe 2 or 3 days a week, I don't even mind.  I hate being busy, it sucks my energy dry.  Creativity requires energy.



Lately, I've come to this realization that for too long I've been idealizing an image that I don't even desire. It's an image of a busy, super-involved life.  I struggle on and off with this idea that we're not doing enough things.  But, in moments of peace and clarity, I remember that because I'm not doing all those other things, I'm painting, baking, reading stories to my kids, writing, taking care of my family, taking walks, noticing the sprawling shadows on the sidewalk, breathing in the deep comforting aroma of my coffee... all the things that fuel my creativity, make me better, and allow me to serve and love my family more.

Life is huge, but I told a friend recently, that creativity keeps me sane.  I suppose that is the point of everything I just said.

Thoughts?

This painting was inspired by one I found by this French artist.  I was moved in a deep, I can feel the wind sweeping up my hair, gazing at the masterpiece that is the sky, kind of way.   So, I wanted to attempt a reproduction for myself.
This one will find a place on our home, not in the shop out of respect for the artist of the inspired piece.

The new Furthermore Creative website launch and a caption contest

 

We’re growing our little greeting card baby and would love for you to check out the new website.  To celebrate the launch, we are holding a caption contest for our new card design, below. 

Visit the new site for details and to enter your own caption. I can’t wait to read them all.

City by the sea

The city streets are a frenzy with motion, but just beyond lies a sea of blue, with a power that will reach into your soul and whisper, be still.

In the shop. || Prints available soon.

Penguin backpack || LLTSA#2

I loved this project and that penguin, he needed to be in my home. My kid makes the cutest penguin noises. I don’t know what letters to type to make that sound, so, take my word for it.

One thing I’ve come to love about sewing this year is that if you can follow directions, you can make just about anything.  The people who make these patterns do such a great job of giving you all the information you need, taking away all excuses not to try.  You cut out all the pieces and little by little you see your project taking shape.  And was my little encouragement to all the I-can’t-sewers out there. Because, you can. No seriously, you can.

Jessica and the rest of us are working our way through the wonderful Little Things to Sew book, by Oliver + S. This month, the backpack.

Whenever he puts it on, that little boy of mine does this running dive.  Apparently, it’s also a magical super hero backpack.

a list.

• It’s grey and outside all is a frenzy in the wind.
• I cooked a whole chicken first time.
• Which means, I proceeded to make chicken stock.  So freaking delicious.
• Pumpkin spice latte cupcakes. I told my husband he could bring some to work to share, he declined.
• The leaves are on fire with fall.
• After just two chilly days, I started browsing through knitting patterns. Just like that.
• I find myself thinking about Earl Gray tea, thanks to my friend Danielle.
• A giant pot of jambalaya. Husband informed me it’s already on the all-time favorites list.
• New Coldplay single.
• Bob Dylan + harmonica, my favorite.
• A new card is coming next week.
• Started reading Jane Eyre.
• Someone’s going to be crawling any second.
• Also, the Curious George movie is hands down the best $10, I’ve ever spent.
• A visit to the apple orchard is in our near future.

DIY Infinity Scarf tutorial

 

These amazing things are popping up everywhere, see: (here) (here) and you know what I saw, scarves for everyone. Well, I say that at home sometimes, not usually proclaiming it in the streets. I’m not so much a street proclaimer. I say it like the Banks family, “POSTS EVERYONE!" Because life should always include Mary Poppins.

Please know, I’m not the best instruction giver, but hopefully this will show you the basic steps to make your own. I just used fabric from the pile of clothes that I no longer wear, which I was saving for sewing projects.

1. This skirt was from a pleated dress, it measures 30” x 66.”  You could use something much shorter.  Scarves hang all crazy, so I wanted it to be “reversible,” as in there was no wrong side to it. 

2. This old crochet type shrug, the closest thing I had to a lace, but together they feel like fall to me. I like fall. 

3.  Press the main fabric, then fold the right sides together, in half. Press again.

4. Sew one straight stich down the fabric about 1” from the edge.

5. You know have one very long tube.

6. Press the seams again.  Then, fold the edge up, right sides together about 1”.  Press. Then fold that back under so the unfinished edge is inside. Repeat on other end.

7. I cut the sleeves of the shrug. If your fabric is already a rectangle, take a break. Mine is wider at the ends, which made it rather bulky for the next step, but it wasn’t too bad.

8. Take your second fabric and place the edges inside the tube of the main fabric.  Ideally you would pin in place, but this was way bulky already.

9. Sew a straight line about 1/2 inch from the edge. Sew another close by for reinforcement.

10. You should have this. Repeat on other end.

Done.  Now spend ten minutes in from of the mirror seeing how many ways you can wear it.  Here are some examples…

If you have any questions, leave a comment. I’ll try to answer, if not I’ll find an answer.  Let me know if you make an infinity scarf of your own, I’d love to see it.

I’ll be wearing this for the rest of forever.

The Sewing Report

    

 

First, the Explorer vest from Oliver + S, Little Things to Sew.  I skipped the size that said up to 3, since he’s almost three, but I apparently forget he’s the skinniest almost three ever. It will fit someone day.  Same fabric as the hat, but he’ll likely outgrow the hat before he can wear this, so no over-matching issues. That would be a disaster.

This was my practice for the LTTSA later on, there are some major problems with this one, but perfection is not required for playing outdoors, only for perfect land, where we do not reside. Next time, I want to use a solid fabric, this looks rather woodsman to me. Cute, but not my favorite.

My sister brought home this lovely, brown wool skirt from France, I knew it would make the perfect coat.  I used the Chic cocktail coat from Heidi & Finn.  The smallest size of the pattern is 12M/2T.  There are some 12 month clothes that do fit my sugarplum, so I thought she’d definitely be able to wear it this winter, ewww, winter.  Well turns out that super skinny almost three year old of mine could wear it now, so maybe next year for her.  I used the leather and circle closures from the skirt, instead of the bow suggested in the pattern, but I definitely plan on making another one with the giant bow. The world needs more giant bows, as far as I’m  concerned.

Le fin.

In the lane where all things play

In the late morning hours, the sugar plum naps and we make the best kinds of messes.

love captured. love painted.

They were sitting on the balcony, my husband and our daughter.  She was batting at the wicker arm of the chair, cooing and creeping further into his heart as every second passed.  We would be leaving soon to head home, so I left them to gather our things.  But, I found myself in the bedroom looking at the same sunset they were watching.  I’m a sucker for sunsets, a new masterpiece each night, a little gift that says, “I love you, here’s something pretty to hold you over until the stars.”

I stretched out on the bed and heard through the open windows,

“Do you see the sunset? It’s pretty, just like you are.  (Coo.) Yes, I know. You’re one of God’s greatest creations, it’s true.”

Love between a father and daughter captured as love was painted across the sky.

see the wind

On nice days, we lay the quilt on the ground under the shady oak tree outside.  We sit and watch the world around us. He chases the bugs and collects sticks. She kicks and coos with delight.  I watch, revel, and take pictures.

His mind is curious, an explorer by nature, he is a child and a boy.  He believes he can climb very tall trees and wonders where the bugs go when they sink into the cracks on the sidewalk.  The world is alive and ready to be learned.

A breeze is often blowing in from the lake down the street, filling the leaves with a joyous rustle, a summery tune.  One day, he pointed as he watched them dance.  I told him, that’s the wind in the leaves.  Wind, he responded in his own way.  Now whenever he looks out and sees the world caught up in a flutter, he says, wind. I don’t correct him, because I’m beaming with delight.  His mind free from the haunting of impossibilities is so pure, vivid and mesmerizing.

Last night, we were visiting my mom and as he looked out the windows of her third floor home, the trees below danced to a melody only they could hear.  She asked, What do you see?
Wind, he answered.

She was taken back by his answer and laughed out loud, because every adult knows that you really can’t see the wind.  Adults are silly like that, how they get all sensible and such. Then a sense of pride washed over her face at the wonder that is her grandson.

But children, they are eager to soak in the magic of life, optimists by default, ready to discover the great big world. They are sponges and they hang on our every word.  Words about trees and words that affirm them.  Like many, I read The Help and was so moved at the love that Abileen had for Mae Mobley. When her own mother wanted little to do with her daughter, Abileen, the maid, took it upon herself to instill in that girl a very crucial message. “You is kind. You is smart. You is important.”  She told her every chance she could, but maybe it only took once for her to capture that affirmation and store it deep inside.

We have this great opportunity to pour into these little lives, these messy, little, exhausting darlings and if we are intentional, they will grow up to believe that they are all the things we tell them.  They will see the goodness in people and in themselves, they will find truth, beauty, and hope.
In a world were so many have traded in the possibility of magic for the realism of sensible, they will see the wind.

P.S. The most beautiful post.

the pie project– brown butter and cheddar apple pie.

 

 

I was drawn to this recipe because, hello, cheddar in an apple pie? I need to know more.  But it’s not such an unusual combination, because beyond the crust, apples and cheese are darlings. While reading the notes I saw,

“She employs no cinnamon or nutmeg to cloak their sweet perfume; instead she browns some butter, which complements the apples with a faint nuttiness.”

I realized probably every apple pie I’ve had called for those spices, so I was intrigued. This wasn’t overly sweet and syrupy like many apple pies, I enjoyed that. So often desserts can leave you feeling heavy, this was light, crisp, and delicious.  The apples were slightly sweet, but mostly tart.  In my opinion, the crust was the star of the show with that hint of cheddar at the end.  It was the kind of melt in your mouth flaky that floods your mind and heart with memories of comfort and happiness.

 

Paired with a French press of Starbuck’s Café Verona blend.

Apparently, a pretty pie crust is an art to be learned, because mine looks sad.  Look at this post full of great tips that I found this morning from everyone’s favorite Pioneer Woman.

Do you have any clever little pie tricks? Does making pies terrify you?  What should I make next time?  And if anyone decides to attempt their own pie project or (insert you own whatever here), let me know.

the pie project

Last weekend during our lake escape, we asked the motel manager for eating recommendations.  First thing he said was, “Betty’s Pies.” I’m certain we heard nothing after that and  knew we would go.   The service was slow-ish, the food was good, but the pie… I guess that’s the whole point.  I spent most of my meal staring at the menu, because this was a very important decision. We choose French Blueberry Cream and we were not disappointed.

As my son and husband built towers out of coffee creamers, I decided right then that I wanted to make more pies.  I also want to grow old to be one of those ladies who people beg to make her famous pies. Pies don’t get the recognition they deserve in the unjust world.  Cakes can be so iffy with all that nasty buttercream icing, so uncertain, but pies ooze comfort from under their crispy, buttery crusts.

And there’s coconut cream and rhubarb and pecan and my friend Danielle’s amazing chocolate pie.  I’m just saying, pie.

So, I’m starting a little project,  mysteriously named, the pie project, where I will try a new pie recipe every two weeks.

 

 

1. Since I grocery shop for two weeks at a time. 

2. Because we can’t eat pie everyday, well …we could, but we’re not.

First to celebrate our awesome sauce anniversary is this browned butter and cheddar apple pie from food52.  

I’m making this as soon as nap time commences. But for now, I need to know, are you team pie or team cake?  And if then, what is your absolute favorite?

I’m also taking reservations for coffee and tea time.

If you are on pinterest, I started a Pie Project board here.

 

Image 1 || Image 2