It's been 4 years to the day since my last post. July 29th. Ironically, the day of the death of Vincent van Gogh. I did not plan that, I swear!
Starting today, I'm reviving this blog.... and an old dream with the same title as this blog.
In 2009 and 2010, I was beginning my life as an artist, while at our home in rural Elbert County, Georgia, and I had an idea! With the 3 acres we had, and the nice, LONG living room in the house with a wall of bookcases, and I thought, "What a cool Art Gallery/Consignment Shop/Used Bookstore this could be!!!" I imagined a relaxing, park-like setting outside, with flower gardens and trees, and what an "Art Retreat" it could be.
This is part of why loosing that home, before even being able to try to bring that vision to life, was so devastating. So, now, while living in what I call "Purgatory", and having no regular income, just what I make when I manage to sell a painting.... I am looking for a way to pursue this dream.
Any ideas, happy readers???
Friday, July 29, 2016
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Go fund Me.... and bring my forgotten gardens back to life!
http://www.gofundme.com/xdkd8
If each of us helped each other in the ways we can.... we could bring a lot more balance and peace into the world. Please have a look at my page, here, at "Gofundme.com " and if you are able to help, Bless You!
If each of us helped each other in the ways we can.... we could bring a lot more balance and peace into the world. Please have a look at my page, here, at "Gofundme.com " and if you are able to help, Bless You!
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Sunday, July 1, 2012
My Relationship With Art
When I was little, I was enchanted by the drawings I saw my friend Laury do. Since I could not make pretty horses like she could, I assumed that I just did not have that "gift", so I let drawing be something that I did in private and let no one see, because it was obviously not something to take too seriously, or allow myself to be embarassed by, which would happen if anyone else saw my cave-man like drawings. Besides, having been able to read since I was 4, I was now interested in writing stories. But, most of the ideas for the stories I wrote came from T.V. shows I liked, and I was teased for never doing anything "origional". Maybe that wasn't "my thing", either. Then, my friend Laury, our new friend Tonya, and I, got REALLY into "The Monkies", and I was THRILLED by singing. Singing was like flying to me, and so I thought maybe I'd finally found my passion, my talent, my Art. Still, even after the 3 of us tried out for "Trio" in high school, and at least got to be "alternates", since the 3 girls that got picked were older and more talented....I still didn't feel I was "good enough" to think of singing as my Calling. That broke my heart almost as much as having to give up my dream of being a racehorse trainer. Still, the truth was, I was not good enough to make this a career. Singing in the shower's the most I could hope for. By this time, I'd gotten interested in acting, and though I still drew in the margins of my English Lit. notebook, and sang in the car, I thought, "Maybe acting's the way to go". I remember my line of thinking was.... "If I'm going to pursue something, it needs to be what I have the greatest aptitude for. Something I'm obviously 'meant' to do!" But, then, over those last 2 years of high school, I got so much negative feedback regarding any of the things I felt great passion for, such as horse training, singing, writing, acting, building a time machine..." (grin).... that I kept being reminded there was no future in any of these fields, and I needed to find something more down to earch, to secure my future. A lot of people began to recommend that I look into becoming a counselor, since I was good with people. So, I went to college, met a really great guy named John Gray (who was in a rock band out of Atlanta, btw) and got interested in singing again. Also, a new interest popped up, since he was magoring in criminal justice...... I had long daydreamed about being a P.I. Now I was more confused than ever. "No one can make a living as an Artist, Writer, Singer, or Actress, and being a racehorse trainer or P.I. is just too dangerous!"
Then, of course, came the car wreck of November 2nd, 1992, which effectivly took the choice out of my hands entirely. I've been stuck ever since. These are MY "Forgotten Gardens". I have felt sub-par my entire life. I saw that, yes, some extraordinary people managed to achieve great things in the arts, but it must just be the Magical few gifted ones, and since I didn't shine like a star, it was best just to go with the flow, and find something I really could excell at, in order to ensure I had a job and an income.
At the age of almost 40, I have done embarassingly little with my life. I had a bit part in an Internet movie that I also wrote for, based on the T.V. show "Millennium", I sang on the radio once, I sweet-talked my way into taming an Arabian mare who'd been abused and was afaid of people, but I have never ridden her. (my mother would not let me try) I dabbled a little into detective stuff, just enough to piss a few people off, but there's not much more you can do without years of college, experience in law enforcement, and a license.
And now I've come full circle, having had an artist friend try to teach me to paint. Chris' talent intimidated me even more than Laury's, and he so posses the heart and soul and Passion of an artist. This was Obviously always his calling, since it's been his passion for most of his life. This enthusiasum was then turned towards me, since, for some reason, he fixated on me in regards to painting. So over enthusiastic he was that I could not take him seriously. I felt either he was just trying to boost my self-esteem, or that he was trying to mold me into the artist he felt he'd falled to become. Either way, I did not feel I should take painting too seriously. "There is no future in art", I've heard all my life. Even from him. "The time of value being placed on art are long gone." Yet, at the same time, he tried to fan me like a flame, and became very frustrated that I did not take art as seriously as he thought I should. By seriously, I don't mean I disliked it. Quite the opposite. I'd spend hours pouring through books of Impressionist and Abstract Impressionist and Surrealist painters he'd bring to me from the library. I was awestruck at the emotion their work evoked in me. What I didn't take seriously was ME. MY contribution. To me, this was a fun pastime, but that was all. And, besides, in this day and age, in the Big Picture of Life, the Universe, and Everything, how important are pretty pictures painted on walls or canvas? I would not change the world like Vincit Van Goagh, so why allow myself to get sweapt away by something that would only end up breaking my heart, while preventing me from doing what I needed to do to Survivie? Shouldn't my energy be used on something that would have the greatest impact on my society, plus make us some money so that we could survivie? Wouldn't I look like a very conceted person if I went around, daring to call myself an artist and letting it take control over my life?
There was this intangible, yet tangible feeling that I got while living in that house for 2 years. I've long thought it was some sort of Engergy I sensed, like spirits. Or, maybe I was just crazy. But, after recently reading "Living Color", by Natalie Goldburg, I wonder...was that Spiritual experience I had there actually coming from ME? Goldburg actually described a very similar experience, since she is a painter as well as a writer. Now I wonder, was this the effect that art was having on my Spirit? This little hobby that I put very little stock in, may have actually been responsible for the most uplifting spiritual experience of my LIFE! For a while, living at the house, I thought that this.... Whatever I was experiencing, was a message to write some kind of "Save the world" kind of environmentalist book. Again, I was looking for something that was benifit the most amount of people, and or help change a line of thinking that would benifit the world. I never saw my experience as important to me, unless it benifited EVERYONE. This is a life-long pattern. Write a ground breaking book, Introduce a new way to train horses (I came up with the "Horse Whisperer" thing back in the mid 1980's)... being a counselor... etc. My own sense of self-worth is so low that all I focus on is large, grandiose things that will serve others. Being a therapist. Letting myself get swallowed up by art, when I do not feel I am gifted enough just seems so egotistical and selfish. I do not want to be one of those foolish looking "Art snobs", and end up falling on my ass, because I'm not really that good. That's why I never took painting very seriously.
So, what now? Should I try to break out of this mindset? Am I actually a talented painter who's finally been born, and I should pursue this with passion and devotion and "take it seriously"? Or, is that just a foolish idea, and I'm being conceted even to think of such a thing? And, does art even have a Place in the world anymore? Or are we so addicted to our X-boxes and our I-pads (whatever the hell those things are) that no one gives a rat's but what I spend 15 hours straight in the middle of the night to bring to life?
(sorry for any misspelling. the spell-checker's not working for some reason)
Then, of course, came the car wreck of November 2nd, 1992, which effectivly took the choice out of my hands entirely. I've been stuck ever since. These are MY "Forgotten Gardens". I have felt sub-par my entire life. I saw that, yes, some extraordinary people managed to achieve great things in the arts, but it must just be the Magical few gifted ones, and since I didn't shine like a star, it was best just to go with the flow, and find something I really could excell at, in order to ensure I had a job and an income.
At the age of almost 40, I have done embarassingly little with my life. I had a bit part in an Internet movie that I also wrote for, based on the T.V. show "Millennium", I sang on the radio once, I sweet-talked my way into taming an Arabian mare who'd been abused and was afaid of people, but I have never ridden her. (my mother would not let me try) I dabbled a little into detective stuff, just enough to piss a few people off, but there's not much more you can do without years of college, experience in law enforcement, and a license.
And now I've come full circle, having had an artist friend try to teach me to paint. Chris' talent intimidated me even more than Laury's, and he so posses the heart and soul and Passion of an artist. This was Obviously always his calling, since it's been his passion for most of his life. This enthusiasum was then turned towards me, since, for some reason, he fixated on me in regards to painting. So over enthusiastic he was that I could not take him seriously. I felt either he was just trying to boost my self-esteem, or that he was trying to mold me into the artist he felt he'd falled to become. Either way, I did not feel I should take painting too seriously. "There is no future in art", I've heard all my life. Even from him. "The time of value being placed on art are long gone." Yet, at the same time, he tried to fan me like a flame, and became very frustrated that I did not take art as seriously as he thought I should. By seriously, I don't mean I disliked it. Quite the opposite. I'd spend hours pouring through books of Impressionist and Abstract Impressionist and Surrealist painters he'd bring to me from the library. I was awestruck at the emotion their work evoked in me. What I didn't take seriously was ME. MY contribution. To me, this was a fun pastime, but that was all. And, besides, in this day and age, in the Big Picture of Life, the Universe, and Everything, how important are pretty pictures painted on walls or canvas? I would not change the world like Vincit Van Goagh, so why allow myself to get sweapt away by something that would only end up breaking my heart, while preventing me from doing what I needed to do to Survivie? Shouldn't my energy be used on something that would have the greatest impact on my society, plus make us some money so that we could survivie? Wouldn't I look like a very conceted person if I went around, daring to call myself an artist and letting it take control over my life?
There was this intangible, yet tangible feeling that I got while living in that house for 2 years. I've long thought it was some sort of Engergy I sensed, like spirits. Or, maybe I was just crazy. But, after recently reading "Living Color", by Natalie Goldburg, I wonder...was that Spiritual experience I had there actually coming from ME? Goldburg actually described a very similar experience, since she is a painter as well as a writer. Now I wonder, was this the effect that art was having on my Spirit? This little hobby that I put very little stock in, may have actually been responsible for the most uplifting spiritual experience of my LIFE! For a while, living at the house, I thought that this.... Whatever I was experiencing, was a message to write some kind of "Save the world" kind of environmentalist book. Again, I was looking for something that was benifit the most amount of people, and or help change a line of thinking that would benifit the world. I never saw my experience as important to me, unless it benifited EVERYONE. This is a life-long pattern. Write a ground breaking book, Introduce a new way to train horses (I came up with the "Horse Whisperer" thing back in the mid 1980's)... being a counselor... etc. My own sense of self-worth is so low that all I focus on is large, grandiose things that will serve others. Being a therapist. Letting myself get swallowed up by art, when I do not feel I am gifted enough just seems so egotistical and selfish. I do not want to be one of those foolish looking "Art snobs", and end up falling on my ass, because I'm not really that good. That's why I never took painting very seriously.
So, what now? Should I try to break out of this mindset? Am I actually a talented painter who's finally been born, and I should pursue this with passion and devotion and "take it seriously"? Or, is that just a foolish idea, and I'm being conceted even to think of such a thing? And, does art even have a Place in the world anymore? Or are we so addicted to our X-boxes and our I-pads (whatever the hell those things are) that no one gives a rat's but what I spend 15 hours straight in the middle of the night to bring to life?
(sorry for any misspelling. the spell-checker's not working for some reason)
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Weeds in the Garden
As I stood in the doorway, cup of coffee in my hand, wanting... no,
NEEDING to go out to the well house, (which, next to the bathroom, is
the closet thing to privacy I get here) and jot down a few flickers of
creative thought.... she continued to read out adds for yard sales,
planning out this week's "hunt", I guess, and bitched about how they
were all too far away or uninteresting. Then, as she finally noticed
that I was standing there with a cup of coffee and a notebook, I
explained that I needed to go write down a "few thoughts on a writing
project that's been "shelved" for years....she made some disparaging,
self-deprecating remark about she had no creativity, and it
turned into ten minutes of a pointless pep-talk about how I felt she had
to get out of her own way, and change her attitude, and work on
cultivating what I call the "Huh. That might be neat." factor. Which,
of course, she then argued about and said she couldn't reach "that
state". To which I responded, "You could, but you have to let go of
judgement and expectation first." I then wiggled my way out the door.
Finally having a few moments to myself, I stared at the painting I
started 3 days ago, that I now don't even remember starting, nor where
it was going. "What was I going to write?" All my creative energy has
been drained away. I am held in a position of Not Succeeding, so that
she does not have to be reminded of her own shortcomings.
I think that the root of so many of my blocks (creative and otherwise) stem from how much I devalue/disregard myself. My inability to "pick a major" back in 1992 was the result of this. I asked these constant, insecure questions.... "What does GOD want me to do?
What would be the best choice, given my abilities, to allow me to do the most good in the world?" I never considered what I wanted to do.... What filled my heart with passion. What energized my soul. And now, 20 years later, I have found myself struggling with the "concept" of "Forgotten Gardens". For a long time, I thought it should be a book, speaking out about ecological, environmental subjects. "I could CHANGE THE WORLD with this book!" But, every time I tried to work on it, I realized that I was trying to pull a masterpiece out of a starving soul. The accounts of my two years on Stinchcomb Road are buried deep within, and are afraid to come out. What would people think? I already know that my mother thinks I "never should have had that house in the first place", so what business do I have, doing what I wanted to do during 2009 and 2010, and go running into the street in the middle of a rainstorm, shouting to the world that fairies are real?????
Some of the greatest weeds in our creative gardens are the expectations placed on us by other people, which are fed by the expectations we place on ourselves. I "should be more giving/forgiving". I "should get a Respectable job", and earn an Honest Living. I "should do something responsible and not spend so much time daydreaming, or puttering in the garden, or playing with the dog".
What will people say about me if I die next week? "Oh, she was SUCH a good LISTENER!" Yep. That's been my badge of honor all my life. I'm a good listener. What's it gotten me? Middle aged, with no clear idea of who I am or what I want, having accomplished embarrassingly little of what really makes me happy, and with an ever-increasing feeling of frantic guilt. "I'm not 'there for' my family enough. They could be dead tomorrow and I have not done enough or helped them out of the quicksand they've intentionally stepped in. I have not done something really great to contribute to society, or the environment, or to a spiritual pursuit. And WHY is that? Because I'm SUCH a GOOD LISTENER! I am listening my way to an early grave! I am neglecting my Own garden, to try to pull the weeds out of this person's garden, and water that person's garden, and maybe sew some new seeds in this other person's garden. Meanwhile, my own is withered.
Take some time this week, to consider where the weeds in YOUR garden are.
--
I think that the root of so many of my blocks (creative and otherwise) stem from how much I devalue/disregard myself. My inability to "pick a major" back in 1992 was the result of this. I asked these constant, insecure questions.... "What does GOD want me to do?
What would be the best choice, given my abilities, to allow me to do the most good in the world?" I never considered what I wanted to do.... What filled my heart with passion. What energized my soul. And now, 20 years later, I have found myself struggling with the "concept" of "Forgotten Gardens". For a long time, I thought it should be a book, speaking out about ecological, environmental subjects. "I could CHANGE THE WORLD with this book!" But, every time I tried to work on it, I realized that I was trying to pull a masterpiece out of a starving soul. The accounts of my two years on Stinchcomb Road are buried deep within, and are afraid to come out. What would people think? I already know that my mother thinks I "never should have had that house in the first place", so what business do I have, doing what I wanted to do during 2009 and 2010, and go running into the street in the middle of a rainstorm, shouting to the world that fairies are real?????
Some of the greatest weeds in our creative gardens are the expectations placed on us by other people, which are fed by the expectations we place on ourselves. I "should be more giving/forgiving". I "should get a Respectable job", and earn an Honest Living. I "should do something responsible and not spend so much time daydreaming, or puttering in the garden, or playing with the dog".
What will people say about me if I die next week? "Oh, she was SUCH a good LISTENER!" Yep. That's been my badge of honor all my life. I'm a good listener. What's it gotten me? Middle aged, with no clear idea of who I am or what I want, having accomplished embarrassingly little of what really makes me happy, and with an ever-increasing feeling of frantic guilt. "I'm not 'there for' my family enough. They could be dead tomorrow and I have not done enough or helped them out of the quicksand they've intentionally stepped in. I have not done something really great to contribute to society, or the environment, or to a spiritual pursuit. And WHY is that? Because I'm SUCH a GOOD LISTENER! I am listening my way to an early grave! I am neglecting my Own garden, to try to pull the weeds out of this person's garden, and water that person's garden, and maybe sew some new seeds in this other person's garden. Meanwhile, my own is withered.
Take some time this week, to consider where the weeds in YOUR garden are.
--
Erin McRaven
Bucksnort Farm & Art Studio
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
A Walk through Forgotten Gardens
I want to tell you about a world. A world where people are at one with nature, and art is not a talent or a skill..... It is a way of life.
In this world, people don't just imagine faces in the clouds, they perceive the souls of the trees in their own front yard.
I had a glimpse into this world, and I cannot be the only one.
Can you sense the magic in a rainstorm? Can you pick out it's "hum" from the hums of the honeybees? Would you like to?
"Bucksnort Farm & Art Studio" was my home, and was a place where one
could walk in both worlds. On this blog, I invite you to experience
the magic that was alive there, as well as my little herd of Nigerian
Dwarf goats. It is possible to have a little piece of heaven right here
on earth. Just ask Ray from "Field of Dreams". The magic is inside of
us, and in the rocks and trees and the flowers that bloom and the rain
that falls.
The reason that most people are not aware of this (that includes me from
time to time, right now included) is that we get so overwhelmed with
what we are told is the Real World, and the push and grind to "make
something of ourselves", and all the expectations placed on us, that we
loose sight of the magic. When did you stop believing in Santa Claus?
WHY did you stop believing in Santa Claus? If "life is what we make of
it", isn't the whole reason our lives are so "f-ed up" somehow directly
related to the fact we don't believe in Santa anymore? Where did the
little kid go? Where did belief and faith in magic go? I've lived at
both ends of the argument. There was a time when I literally believed
that the power of my belief could change the world. And, there are
times I feel totally powerless. I'm sure that's true for many of you.
What has happened is that we left our Gardens untended. Much like all
the houses I looked at with a real estate agent a few years ago, most of
which just depressed me, because I could see the "half-lives" of the
former occupants. The Gardens, sometimes figuratively, sometimes
literally, had been left alone, and were now hopelessly overgrown, and
parts were now dead.
Imagine what would happen if we tended our own gardens, and kept our
noses out of the gardens of others, unless we were invited over for
coffee? Come back here, and take the walk with me, as we walk through
"Forgotten Gardens".
--
Erin McRaven
Bucksnort Farm & Art Studio
Monday, June 11, 2012
Forgotten Gardens (by Mads Langer)
I have a trouble in mind
and so have you?
You might be colour blind
but you can tell false
from true
What is the colour of my eyes?
You're in walking distance
from yourself
but you'd rather stay away
tonight
The streets are dirty
and so is your past
restless timeless shadows
moving way too fast
Destination unknown
and these days you can't tell
days from nights
Is It dark,
is It light,
is It just another fight?
Nightingales cross your path
in the forgotten gardens
singing songs of your past
in the forgotten gardens
Reflect the sound
of silence in the moon
you're a frozen pearl
waiting to be
a flower in bloom
and let you
to their collection
of the lost
Sleepless nights
are not even that bad
it's just that
you've lost something
you never had
Nightingales cross your path
in the forgotten gardens
singing songs of your past
in the forgotten gardens
I lay the blame
outside the door
please please
don't come back for more
silence,silence
is what outside is
lay the blame
outside the door
please please
don't come back for more
silence,silence
is what outside is
Let forgotten gardens
Nightingales cross your path
in the forgotten gardens
singing songs of your past
in the forgotten gardens
Memories
cross your path
in the forgotten garden
singing song of my past
in the forgotten garden
and so have you?
You might be colour blind
but you can tell false
from true
What is the colour of my eyes?
You're in walking distance
from yourself
but you'd rather stay away
tonight
The streets are dirty
and so is your past
restless timeless shadows
moving way too fast
Destination unknown
and these days you can't tell
days from nights
Is It dark,
is It light,
is It just another fight?
Nightingales cross your path
in the forgotten gardens
singing songs of your past
in the forgotten gardens
Reflect the sound
of silence in the moon
you're a frozen pearl
waiting to be
a flower in bloom
and let you
to their collection
of the lost
Sleepless nights
are not even that bad
it's just that
you've lost something
you never had
Nightingales cross your path
in the forgotten gardens
singing songs of your past
in the forgotten gardens
I lay the blame
outside the door
please please
don't come back for more
silence,silence
is what outside is
lay the blame
outside the door
please please
don't come back for more
silence,silence
is what outside is
Let forgotten gardens
Nightingales cross your path
in the forgotten gardens
singing songs of your past
in the forgotten gardens
Memories
cross your path
in the forgotten garden
singing song of my past
in the forgotten garden
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