Fighting Disillusionment

Disillusionment with everything, really. Politics, the economy, the art market, humanity's appreciation of art and artists, the community in which I live, jobs, money, savings, travel, myself, my career, my interests, my options.

There was an article published this month in the New York Times called Maybe It's Time For Plan C about independent business owners and artisans experiencing the downsides of pursuing their dreams.

To say the least, it was disheartening.

I took a bit more time off from painting than I intended to. I spent time reading, thinking, exploring new/old hobbies, pursuing interesting avenues to augment my business. During this time I began to wonder... Am I even doing the right thing? In general? In life?

Will I one day be sitting in a pile of broken canvas after some inevitable apocalypse wishing I'd spent less time thinking about my art business and more time learning to fish, to garden, to (God-forbid) sew?

Okay, maybe not. I'm not banking on inevitable apocalypses. Yet.

Ultimately, I love what I do and I do it because I'm good at it, dammit. These are my skills, and that's what I'm offering to the world, and you know what? I keep discovering that I have more skills than I thought. My definition of "artist" continues to expand, and that excites me. It involves so much more than paint. Regardless of what one might think of my art, I'm good at being an artist.

And I don't just want to be good at it, I want to be unearthly badass at it. This might take me the rest of my life, of course. Which means, counting backwards, I had better be on my way this very second.

Here's where the kicker really happens: I know that I am on my way. I know this because I'm working towards something. I know this because I'm pursuing it wholeheartedly. I get up early, I do never-ending "business things," I paint, I write, I plan, I dream, I even freaking make videos now, I work, I work, I work. All. Day. Long. Even when I take time off, I work. I'm constantly pursuing more work. I'm always trying to add more in my life, not less.

Most importantly, I know I'm on my way because I can see a distinct and measurable difference in my life over the last 10 years. 

Hell, that's even true exponentially over the last 5 years.

.forward motion.

I just have to stay pointed in that direction. One foot in front of the other. Always.

I have no interest in "retirement." I am not looking for a scheme by which to get rich so that I can stop doing the very things I was born to do. I am not going to let my life pass by in a series of intentions and promises.

I've started painting again. I've almost finished a new piece. I'm about to start three more.

The fog is lifting.

The Makings of an Art Career

I started thinking of myself as a professional artist in 2006, but I've made art since I was a toddler. There's a picture we found of me as a child, maybe 2 or 3 years old, standing on a chair so I could reach the counter, paintbrush in hand, paints before me. I didn't think of myself as an artist growing up, because I was just making use of the art supplies my mom had around and bought for herself anyway. I would get my own occasionally, whenever I asked, but that was just for my own entertainment. It wasn't Art. Or was it?

Either way, I generally had a rehearsal to get to or an audition to prepare for, so I didn't have time to think of all the art I was making outside of performance as Art.

Ironically, I remember seeing artists and their little studios and lofts in movies and thinking it was just the coolest thing ever, and I knew at some point I wanted to live in an artist's loft, with paintings stacked against the wall and supplies strewn about everywhere. I didn't specifically want to be an artist, but I definitely wanted to live in an artist's studio. Ha.

[Anyone remember Jordan from the movie Cocktail? That.]

Looking back, I realize now that I even had my first real "art studio" in 2003. It was my closet, of course, but it was the only space I had for making "real" paintings, as I called them. Stuff I was serious about.

Between 2003 and 2006, aside from painting, I arranged a couple of large scale art installations, walk-through sculptures you might even call them, but we didn't photograph the events properly or even know to think of them as art installations, because that was before we realized I was already having an art career.

I was just making stuff. I had lots of ideas. I had help and people who believed in my ideas, and a bit of funding even, and together we made some awesome and artsy experiences. It was through some of these art installations that those around me began referring to me as an artist. I was still catching up to that knowledge, and what it meant.

My painting mentor at the time, Ray Friesz, upon viewing one of these large scale installations, commented that he wished he'd known ahead of time what it was, so that he could have invited a bunch of his important Art World friends, because this was "just the kind of stuff people in New York were doing nowadays." What? Really?

He knew I was an artist. I didn't. I was, however, getting suspicious about the way everyone kept referring to my work as "Art."

At some point soon after that, I realized that I was, in fact, an artist, and more than that I wanted to pursue a career in Art. Staggering. It was a revelation for me, if not anyone else.

That was many years ago now. I've been doing this almost full time for years. With intention. With purpose. I feel liberated in it now. People ask what I do, and I boldly, proudly explain that I'm an artist. Generally people don't know what that means, and assume I paint stuff every now and then with hopes of being an Artist one day. I know this because they follow up by asking me what I "do for a living." It's perplexing for them to comprehend that Art is my career.

For me, at this point, it's just natural. The career happened because I was pursuing Art to begin with. I was always working toward this. Now I know.

To be sketched

We were going through some of our old journals and sketchbooks recently and I came across these drawings my husband made about 8-10 years ago. There were lots of sketches of me actually, some of just my eyes, which is sort of alarming to stumble upon. A page of eyes!

In the middle picture, I'm reading a manuscript a friend of ours wrote.

There are others too, ones I won't share on my blog (naked!!) that you might have seen if you were friends with us pre-2005 when we felt uninhibited and showed people drawings of me in that, um, state. (naked!!)

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Sun Splatter

My husband wanted to do a little photo shoot a few weeks ago when the sunlight was still warm and bright, and fortunately I'm always a willing participant. I was wearing a hat that made pretty crazy sun splatter patterns on my skin.

Truthfully, I've been loving all this rain we've had in California lately. Normally October is a month of dryness and despair for me (I hate dryness) but this year I've enjoyed basking in the wonderful, cool humidity. My plants are happier too.

The only downside is, I can't wear my giant sun hats outside without looking a bit freakish. Oh well. Maybe everyone will think I'm being Summer for Halloween. ;o)

Ten Little Facts - An introduction

[Well, since I've gained over 500 (and counting) new followers since Sunday on Twitter, I thought I should properly introduce myself.]

Hello new people! Nice to meet you. I'm an artist, you probably figured that out by now. I do this full time. Crazy, right? My art is Light Reactive, which means it changes colors all day, reacts to different lighting, and then glows in the dark. GLOWS IN THE FREAKING DARK! 

The quick version of me:

1. I live in Orange County, California, but I want to live in Hawaii. So instead, I travel to Hawaii more than I should. I'm going to Japan next Spring though. Because why not.

2. I'm 30.

3. I'm married to Walking Awesomeness. That's his official name, but most people refer to him as "Colin." He's also on Twitter. He's a graphic designer. He writes games too. And he makes Sad Robots and Fat Ninjas. Now you know.

4. I used to be an actor. Sometimes I still am. And by "acting" I mean "auditioning, driving to LA, and occasionally snagging a speaking part in a low budget independent movie that you'll never see."

5. I'm sort of obsessed with pop-science, cosmology, geophysics, and planetary disasters. I watch The Science Channel a lot.

6. I can beat you at Air Hockey.

7. The best advice I've ever received regarding my art was "Don't make it good." A mentor taught me that.

8. My only tattoo is of the coordinates N19º 58' 51" W155º 49' 45", which is written on my forearm, facing me, because I'm the one who's supposed to read it. It's my direction in life.

9. I've been eating sushi happily since I was 5, and now my art is on permanent installation at my favorite sushi restaurant.

10. So far, Enlightenment is my favorite painting I've ever made. This might change soon, because I'm really excited about my new collection.

That's it for now, we'll do 10 more factoids soon. In the meantime, comment, @reply, say hi, let me know who you are. I generally only follow people back if they reach out and talk to me!

And follow my blog for updates on me, my life, my art, and upcoming shows. :o)

Again, very nice to meet you all.

Fire Bad; Tree Pretty

Buffy: "I haven't processed everything yet. My brain isn't really functioning on the higher levels. It's pretty much: fire bad; tree pretty." 

I think I'm approaching show recovery. I'm getting better at it, I have a system down now. Sometimes shows are casual enough that I don't need recovery. Others are incredibly busier than I planned for.

The day after a busy show is spent in a haze. Reflecting, discussing, ruminating. Comparing notes. Scheming for the future. Organizing a million different next-steps that came about because of the show. A lot of it is spent too exhausted to think about any of these things. Find food. Sit. Eat. Sit.

Two days after a show, usually a Monday, it's time to regroup and reorganize my studio from the chaos it was left in during "show week." Paint bottles, jars, brushes, plastic sheets everywhere. The camera and tripod set up and abandoned in the middle of the room. Empty boxes strewn about that I was too busy to throw away after supplies were delivered the week before. Drawers left open.

Also, I'm a clean freak, so facing this on Monday morning is traumatic. I wouldn't be able to focus on anything if I didn't "restart" with a clean house and studio anyway. So, I spend Monday cleaning and reorganizing. I always start with a spotless kitchen, because I have a thing about spotless kitchens, and it makes me happy. I get anxious and uncomfortable if my kitchen is messy. We have a belief that all home organization "starts with the dishes." It's step #1. If the dishes aren't clean and put away, you're screwed. It's all downhill from there.

That's what works for us, anyway.

And these are my "days off." Exhaustion and frantic reorganization. I don't remember when I last had a leisurely, rejuvenating day off. 2 weeks ago? I'm not sure. I don't remember. I'm careful to never complain about that though. I loooove my job. Making art for a living is exhilarating and wonderful, even when it's stressful, emotional, exhausting, and never-ending. I feel fortunate. Blessed, even.

I remember when I was 18 and working inside Star Tours (the ride) for 38 hours a week (not quite 40 because then Disneyland would be forced to give you benefits) and having the freaking Star Wars theme song trapped in my head and my retinas burned electric blue from the lights. Everything looked blue. Milk was blue. I dreamed in blue.


I remember being 21 and smelling like Chinese food 24 hours a day, everyday, because that's where I worked, both as hostess and delivery driver. I only ate Chinese food, because I got one meal a day free and sometimes they'd hand over the "mistake" orders to employees who wanted them. Since we couldn't really afford luxuries like "food" back then, that's what we ate. Every. Single. Day.

I still can't eat Chinese food without feeling nauseous.

I remember first delivering flowers for a flower shop and then being moved into the floral design department, where I did get to use my creativity, but it was hard work, and I generally spent my days covered in (sometimes rotten and smelly) flower parts. Hours each week spent shucking roses. So many freaking roses. But, I really enjoyed my years at the flower shop. I loved being around all the colors, and experiencing the changing of seasons based on what flowers we'd keep in stock. Another designer there was also an artist, and she encouraged me a lot. Eventually I got to design the window displays, my favorite of which was a Harry Potter themed fandango for Halloween. School books, jars of herbs and glowing potions (blacklights were put to great use), owls and feathers, etc. It was a big hit with everyone.

I quit the flower shop because I was offered a job doing more "professional" work for a successful and semi-famous wedding photojournalist, who hired me because he was looking for a "cute girl to receive people and answer the phones." (And do all the Photoshop work.) It was more money than I made shucking roses, and I got to wear cute outfits and heels all the time, which I was thrilled about until I found myself having to lug gigantic wrought iron easels downstairs and to his car for him while he walked next to me carrying his Louis Vuitton man-purse. He also gave me daily assignments through the door while he was peeing, and spent more money on crocodile-skin shoes than I spent on rent.

This situation quickly deteriorated for me. Admittedly, I learned a lot from him about how to operate your own business as an independent artist, how to interact with clients, how to brand yourself and your business, and that it was okay to shoot for ridiculously high dreams. I'm incredibly grateful for this knowledge, and one day if I get over the pee thing, I might tell him so.

By this point, I'd managed to work my art career into a place that people wouldn't laugh at me if I threw caution to the wind and quit my regular day job to focus on art. It was a huge risk.

Refusal to go back to any of those jobs is what motivates me, even today. I haven't looked back. This is the best I've been at any job, even though I'm still learning what the heck it is I'm doing. It's truly amazing, and I love the opportunity. I work hard. I have freedom. I wake up each day with the purpose of expressing myself to others, to the world. I finally feel like I'm contributing something important.

My next goal is to learn more about myself, and why it is I do what I do. Why I am the way I am. Ideally, I'll learn better how to come out of my shell more and share these things with you.

One of the things I've learned is that being an artist isn't just a full-time job. It's a lifestyle. I'm never not an artist, and therefore never not working. I just distribute my hours differently than most people. If I wanted to, I could do nothing for a week, and believe me, sometimes that happens. If I'm sick, I don't have anyone to answer to. The flipside is, it all falls on me. If I'm not working, it only hinders my life. There is no one but me to kick my ass into gear and get going. There's no one but me to take the blame, and no one but me to determine my future. I am free to fail and free to succeed. I have no limitations on what I can accomplish.

I absolutely love that.

I didn't mean to stop acting.

I was discussing life with a producer friend of mine recently, and the subject rolled around to acting. We have it in common. In fact that's how we met 14 years ago when we were both cast in a play. He didn't mean to stop either.

I don't think either one of us is comfortable saying we "stopped" doing anything. We simply started doing other things.

Painting, something I'd dabbled in throughout my life, became my obsession.

I loved creating with my hands, to make art that didn't exist before, and couldn't unless I made it. I felt like I was contributing something more important than just "my type" or "my look." I'm not responsible for what I look like, nor am I responsible for the script I might be reading. To create art, in my mind, required something more. Something from nothing. Something beautiful that I can take full credit for, something that requires my own mind.

A great performance is a rare and wonderful thing, but it's always a group effort. I do miss it. I adore the process of reading a script, highlighting my part, memorizing my lines, rehearsing rehearsing rehearsing. I love that thrill of being on stage with others and having to react and account for whatever someone else chooses to do in any given moment. It's hard. It's great.

But, I needed to know that I was capable of something else, that I was doing more than just standing in a long line of pretty girls. When people look at my paintings, they're not looking at me. They're looking at what I made. What I think.

Perhaps I was trying to prove something by my art. Maybe I still am.

Either way, I'm ready to come out now. I might define myself as a painter at this point, but I'm actually lots of things. There are many facets of my life that influence my paintings, and I think I'm ready to show them. I've been finding myself in the last decade, and I've discovered that I'm an artist.

Paradigm Shift

(Yosemite, May 2010)

Those who know us know that we've been on a self-improvement kick since, oh... 2002. It's not just the self-help meetings, and the self-help books, but a genuine desire to be on a path of betterment and personal growth. Even those who resent us for it could not say we aren't far better off than before. Subsisting on top ramen and leftover Chinese food from my job as a Chinese food delivery driver does not particularly make for adequate health or a desirable lifestyle. (Nor does smelling like Chinese food 24 hours a day. Yuck.) Hooray for being in your early 20s!

At some point during this, we realized that our lives as emotionally and financially broken people was not something we wanted to continue. So we started the slow and steady journey away from it.

We've learned over the years that those who resent us for this journey can suck it. That's right. There, I've said it.

I've started reading The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People again. I've started it at least twice before. Colin has read it. My favorite part of reading it now is seeing his notes in the margins and paragraphs he's highlighted. I try to pay special attention to those paragraphs.

We used to talk a lot about paradigm shifts at Immersion. [long story] That's where I first understood the concept. Altering the framework by which you view something in a profound and significant way. Relearning what you're seeing and experiencing.

I think I'm going through another personal shift.

I tend not to think of myself as a successful person, despite having various successes that I am fully appreciative of, and having others point out my successes to me often. This paradigm of myself has always been a bit shifty. Lately, with the increasing workload I have, I've been thinking about my situation a lot, and contemplating my future. I have many plans. I want (need) to know that I will be capable of accomplishing them. I need to change my view of myself so that it fits the future I am planning.

If I don't see that I'm strong, then I won't be.

So this is what I've been doing for the last two weeks. In my head, anyway. I've also been frantically painting, sketching, and planning fairly significant upcoming events. Many of my current, exciting, amazing plans don't involve direct means to make money. This confuses me, but I'm thrilled at the projects themselves. As an artist, it's been awhile since I've done much art-for-art's-sake.  I've not only been re-energized, but I have a clearer vision of who I am, and where I'm going. I'm daunted by the work involved. I'm apprehensive about how I will have to change in order to make it all happen. But, when I look at the person I plan to be on the other side of it, I'm proud. I'm confident. I'm capable.

Lots of stuff to tell you about this week. :o) Big news, big plans. Can't wait. ;o)

Separation Anxiety

(halloween, 2002)

It's always when something sudden and unexpected happens that I am suddenly and unexpectedly forced to face the reality of my own beliefs.

Last night I was informed that one of our best friends was up and leaving for the Gulf Coast, for an indefinite amount of time. Perhaps a few weeks, perhaps months. Perhaps we don't know what will happen to change the timeline once he gets there. He found out yesterday afternoon, we all found out yesterday evening, and now he's on a plane to Louisiana. Huzzah. No time for any sort of going-away shindig.

Colin and I have been struggling over the last few months (maybe the last few years) to balance our social, recreational lives with our careers. A typical adult problem, I realize. Colin has it worse-- he spends his days in a design studio designing things for other people. In order to work on his own art and career, he must do so during nights and weekends. (Assuming the daytime gig doesn't run over into nights and weekends itself.)

I work perpetually. I'm never really "off" unless I leave the house and go somewhere, away from my supplies, away from my computer. (Which is a lie anyway, since I'm glued to my iPhone whenever I leave the house.)

We discuss this constantly. We feel guilty, isolated, and boring much of the time, holed up in our house, working. Yet, we know that we have to make a choice. We know we cannot do both all the time. We have to focus on our careers at some point, otherwise we never will. We were available constantly for "socializing" at other points in the last decade, and consequently we didn't get very much work done. Nowadays we enjoy working, and enjoy the ways in which our lives are changing because of it. Our goals are different, and we look forward to accomplishing them. The process is amazing to experience.

It's an odd thing to grow up.

We have been better about balance lately. We've had a very extroverted last 6 months. There were trips to take, shows to have, friends' weddings to plan, families to see, and various friends to visit. We've noted specifically that ever since we went to Yosemite the weekend of May 15th, we've seen a different set of friends every single weekend since then. Truthfully, I didn't realize I had that many friends. I feel very grateful for it.

Even so, there's always that twinge of feeling like you're missing something, especially with the group of friends we've spent the most time with over the last 10 years. We used to see them daily, then weekly, then monthly, now we're lucky if we see them once a quarter. If we can't be around all the time, then we can't be around all the time. We're okay with this, it's an understandable thing, we all have lives. It all makes sense to me and I don't usually worry about it. That is, until one of them up and leaves.

I've always been a fan of change. I encourage people to go off and leave the nest and fly far, far away. It's essential to life. I'm thrilled when people do so. I'm thrilled for Kevin, and I think this adventure in his life is going to be awesome. I'm both proud of him for taking this step and excited to see what will happen.

Yet I still find myself shocked, and wish that maybe, somehow, some way, I'd found time to be around more. I wish there was an indefinite amount of time in my life that would allow me to do everything and see everyone and be everywhere.

I really am happy for us all growing up. I love watching us all change. It's beautiful.

Hero Worship

A number of years ago, a friend spoke to us of the dangers of Hero Worship, as he called it. I was in my early 20s at the time. This concept was fairly revolutionary to me, though it struck a cord immediately.

There was reason to take his advice seriously. He had achieved a bit of success in his particular industry, and many regarded him as a hero of their own. He had fans and fan pages, websites that are still active to this day. I got emails from strangers asking about him. He would occasionally be recognized in public. When we would go to concerts, the band we went to see would hang around after to speak with him.

So I listened when he told us this.

I'm not knocking role models. Having Role Models can be quite helpful, especially if you need a bit of extra education in life (like me). As children, I think we emulate our heroes because we don't yet know who we are.

When I was growing up, I idolized first Marilyn Monroe, and then as I became a teenager, Julia Roberts. I don't know why I picked Julia, I haven't actually seen a movie of hers in about 10 years. I think I wanted someone a little closer to my age, or at least someone who was actually alive. I collected pictures of her and taped them to my wall. (I'd already amassed a pretty hefty collection of Marilyn photos by that point.)

Fortunately, I grew out of this when I turned 20, although I still have a few choice photos of Marilyn around my house, for decor purposes. She is most definitely iconic. I don't think I was making a mistake in idolizing Marilyn and Julia when I was young. I learned from it, and I appreciate the qualities in them that I originally admired. I don't actually want to make similar choices to either of them, especially doomed Marilyn.

As an adult, I learned that Hero Worship is no longer helpful. It can convince you that you are somehow different than the hero, that you don't have the same potential as they did before they achieved success. It makes it hard to see that potential in yourself. I want to know that I am just as capable of attaining my dreams as anyone I greatly admire. If I become too fixated on them, their power, their success, it will distract me from achieving my own. They are not better than me, they are no different. To view myself beneath them confuses the reality of the situation, which is to say, that I am just as capable as they are. I am special too.

Occasionally I am guilty of it still. Recently I discovered an actress that I hadn't heard of before, and found her to be particularly interesting, particularly pretty, particularly lucky, particularly deserving, and I felt jealous. I wished to be in the right place at the right time too, to experience such fame and fortune and magazine covers.

I had to stop myself. I am particularly lucky. I am interesting, I am deserving. I have things that others do not, that others envy in me. I am in Love. Greatly in love, more than I was ever told was possible. If I achieved nothing else in my life, I consider myself rich. This is not to say I plan on halting my long list of impossible, lofty goals. It just means that I am particularly capable of achieving them, and I must always remind myself of such. I am on the right path, already.

My future is going to be very exciting. My now already is.

A Successful Weekend

I'm learning some things. First off, when lots of exciting career stuff happens, I shy away from talking about it. Why this is, I'm not sure. I'd like to move away from that.

But I'm learning other things too.

[Like, for instance, to remember to bring a camera to art shows. Then, when I debate over writing about the art show, I have any sort of visual image to bring to the blog post instead of a long, boring page of words. Alas.]

It's funny to me how different people measure success, or rather what they think success must mean to me. Not that non-artists should automatically understand the life of an artist. I realize this.

Take sales. I was asked a number of times this weekend if I "made any sales." I've realized, having done this a few times now, that "sales" are a vague concept that's impossible to measure in one night. If someone walks into the gallery and loves my art and takes a card and follows my website for a year and then buys a painting on Etsy, does that mean that I made a sale at that particular show? What if they buy something next week? Their interest alone means so much to me. There was a lot of interest.

[Comments about it being a "small" gallery. Was it? Every gallery at the art walk was that size. Your expectations being absurd are not my problem. Thanks for the support, by the way.]

Also, and this is important, sometimes it's good to just show your artwork to people. I made this. Look at it. Do you like it? Either way, it's done, and I made it, and here it is. Claiming my own ideas, maybe. Or perhaps it's just an act of showing confidence, and being bold with my life. I've said that I don't want to be bashful in my 30s. We are a go.

One of the things I valued most this past Saturday night at the Santiago Art Walk was getting to speak with other artists. Live and in person. Amazing. I made some contacts that night that I'm pretty excited about. I stood, next to my art, with other artists standing next to theirs, and all of us were participating to show the rest of Orange County that even if you might not be looking for it, culture and art exists amongst the beautifully paved streets, beige houses, shopping malls, and mega-churches. We are here. Hi.

That was an important lesson for me. Maybe one of the reasons I hate Orange County so much is because I, myself, don't look for elements of value in it. I am the problem. If I don't work to create any, then it certainly doesn't exist for me. Not only that, but there are others working to create some too.

It was a very successful evening. And that was just Saturday.

On Sunday, I carried my ambition forward and drove up to LA to another awesome gallery space that I'm considering as well. Between all this and the show we're planning on our own, I feel like my goals for the year might suddenly be on track.

How can I measure that?

Happy Birthday, Grandpa

Today is my Grandpa's birthday. He would have been 86. He was an actor, a baseball player (he was even drafted into the Brooklyn Dodgers before the war), a navy veteran, an Elk, and elected to local government. He was Greek and French, and in his youth had black hair and dark skin. He whistled all the time, and constantly sang songs under his breath as he puttered around the house. He tried teaching me to swing dance, but I was never very good. He collected rocks, and had his own rock cutter. When I was 16, he bought me a dog, the best dog in the whole world, who's sleeping next to my chair as I type this. He loved history and science. He died before the Angels finally won the World Series. He never knew that I would ultimately end up an artist. He didn't meet my husband, who reminds me so much of him.

When he was alive, we always celebrated our birthdays together, because his was on the 11th and mine is on the 13th.

I don't think I've enjoyed birthdays as much since he died.

hi. Welcome to the beginning of the rest of my blogging life.

Truthfully, I started this, quietly, a couple of weeks ago, and had been planning it for, oh... 3 years now.

Actually the "shayoa" thing was never supposed to be permanent. I don't really know what it means either, so if you were ever waiting for me to explain it, there is unfortunately only a lame reason behind it. That being, a joke between a friend of mine I that spawned a blog address that was supposed to give me an opportunity to "try out" blogging and a have a place to upload paintings for people to see. I was originally only going to use it for a couple of weeks, maybe a few months, and then move over to an "official" name, whence I became comfortable doing so.

And now here we are. :oP

Everything from the previous blog has been transferred over, so my whole entire blogging history still remains, but now it's attached to my actual name. Progress!

Not that I only just now became comfortable with blogging. This was mostly a result of laziness. Also, the more I blogged over there, the harder it seemed to switch. In fact, I have a stack of new moo cards that all have the shayoa blog on it. What am I going to do with those?

Give them out, that's what. I'm not going to wait on timing to be perfect anymore. So what. People will see the other, final blog post that says I'm over here now.

But anyway. Yay! My official name and everything.

If you're so inclined, go back and read the few bits I've (secretly) posted that only exist on this blog. Yes, there is a really, really long one about Iron Chef. Deal with it. It might happen again. You have been warned. :oO


[This new blog begins today. Everything from the last 3 years has been transferred over.]

I don't know what it is that holds me back from blogging. It has to be something. I have the time. I have the interest. Well, I'm interested in the concept of blogging, and I'm interested in the fact that other people I know have the capacity to blog regularly. Whenever I sit down to actually blog any of the millions of random things floating around in my brain at any given time, I freeze up and forget what I wanted to say in the first place, assuming I don't suddenly feel completely and utterly bored with it, bored with myself. I think I find myself uninteresting. This of course makes me fear that others will find me just as uninteresting, and that makes me shut down blogger and check to see if Twitter has been updated in the last 10 seconds with anything that is interesting.

Welcome to my introversion.

But, this mentality totally conflicts with a couple of things.

1.) I want to be BOLDER in my life. I've been saying I want to be less bashful in my 30s than I have been in my 20s. I have exactly 43 days to figure out what that means and how to do that.

2.) I want to regroup and retool my business, my art career, and my public/online presence relating to those things. I want to do that yesterday, so I'm kind of behind in figuring out how to do that.

We are in process here. Can you feel it?? Can you feel THE PROCESS?!

Oh wait, you don't even know this new blog exists yet. Well, HA. hahahahhaa. A secret. Something that you don't know. Unless you google my name. Then you might. Okay maybe "secret" isn't the right word. I just wanted to feel special about something. And maybe "new blog" isn't the right term either, since it's the same blog, with the same stuff, except for this post you may or may not be reading now. But LOOK! MY NAME!! In the URL!! :oO


Top 3 Reasons I Resent Having To Leave My House

Occasionally we find ourselves lolling about on a Sunday afternoon not really wanting to do anything other than enjoy ourselves and laze about on the carpet.

And why wouldn't we? I love my patio. So much do I love my patio.

Sidenote: Everything that yawns is cute. Everything. Look how cute he is:

Sometimes I Forget What I Look Like

...and other times I wish I didn't remember.

[I once contemplated having dread-locks, but I was afraid my stylist would disown me. So instead, I dyed my hair punk-rock burgundy. My stylist almost disowned me. Well, he canceled all his appointments the day I finally grew tired of it.]

My personality tests always come up "extrovert," but you wouldn't know it from how often I go through cycles of wanting to hole up and hide. Lately I've both been wishing I was less involved in certain things, and more involved in others. The problem is figuring out what those things are.

[I was in a movie on the big screen once that went to all the festivals.]

The last 5 years have been so full of art and paint that I've lost myself within it. Not that there's anything wrong with that, in fact it's really helped me find myself. I just occasionally forget if there's anything else to me. I worry that because all I do is paint, all I am is a painter. But that can't be true, can it?

[ For a minute there, I lost myself, I lost myself...♫]

[This is my Johnny Depp face. I'm not going to explain that further.]

There's a really beautiful light that pours into our home during the daytime because of this white, gossamer-like curtain that hangs in the window...

This is totally related to the fact that I turn 30 in January. Totally. I think the 29th year is supposed to be filled with self-reflection. I'm not at all depressed about reaching another decade, I'm just introspective about it.

[I can recognize physicist Dr. Michio Kaku's voice while flipping channels on the radio.]

So here's to more learning about who I am.

There will definitely be more art soon. Oh yes. I may not have been blogging about it much lately, but I've definitely been working on some stuff. I have ideas for new work that I think is so much more complex than I've done before that I'm scared to start working on it. It might eat my mind.

[if LOST doesn't first.]

I'm such a dork.

Have I ever mentioned that I like disaster movies? Not like I think they're some high form of cinematic art or anything. Quite the opposite. I find them entertaining for their very ridiculousness. What can I say? They're awesome. Things shaking, comets slamming into planets, tidal waves. Awesome.

Hey, some people like zombie movies.

Like, just now, I noticed something called "10.5 Apocalypse" was on the Sci-Fi channel, and I had to turn it on. The title alone was enough. See, now, some disaster movies will be dramatized stories about things that *could* happen (even if it's unlikely) such as an asteroid hitting the earth. That could happen.

A 10.5 earthquake? That isn't scientifically possible. Read your pamphlet on how the Richter Scale works. Well, assuming we're not talking about the earth cracking in half or something. I knew immediately that this was going to be particularly entertaining. Granted, I just turned it on, I'm not even positive what's happening. They already mentioned something about the Gulf of Mexico flooding the Mississippi and separating the United States into 2 parts. YES.

Oh, wouldn't you know it. That poor nurse covered by falling debris and slot machines and pool tables in a Las Vegas casino just found out yesterday that she was pregnant. Darn. What timing.

Ahhhh, sweeeeet. George Washington's face just shattered and fell to the ground at Mt. Rushmore. AWESOME.

It's kind of freaking me out that every person who has an important medical, science, or government related job in this movie looks to be my age or younger. Seriously? Are they qualified to be doing this?

Look, I could have told you that rappelling down a broken elevator shaft during the apocalypse was a bad idea. Duh.

....And they just advertised "NYC: Tornado Terror" on later tonight. Heh.

I will not be watching that.