The Cutting Room Floor

I often feel I need the answers
to the deepest longings of my soul,
the unknown, the unknowable
I search them out as if they sit perched
on a lovely tree branch around the corner
just around the bend of the path
my feet happen to be walking upon

I often feel my heart beating to
escape the fortress so carefully built
to protect it during times of war
and this, my dear, is not a war
tis but a dance of life,
brimming with promise
and possibility and adventure
this my dear, is not a war
and vulnerability is not a crime

I often feel terrified of becoming
what I have been, something I once was
not to any true fault of my own
but a commodity, a thing for simple pleasure
it is not the way intended
but wouldn’t it be beautiful
to shed that reasoning and simply be

I often feel the residue of cynicism
darkening my expectations of what could be -
the burns and the scars have not gone away
and I wonder if they ever will
and can I be free of or redeemed from
something that wounded the core of my being
so horribly and thoughtlessly

And yet I often feel hope
and desire trust above all
to live a fulfilling, awe-inspiring life
that speaks of Greater things
that declares love and freedom
redemption and potential
that nothing we are is thrown carelessly
to the cutting room floor

Intoxicated

You know the perfect buzz you get after a beer at the end of a long day or even after a delicious cup of coffee first thing in the morning? It’s the feeling you get when your soul feels free, when the general area around your heart is warm and tingly and when your brain feels like it could release creativity or thought better than it could in the five minutes before the alcohol or caffeine had hit. This is how I feel when a particular word hits a chord in my heart: intoxicated. Something spreads through me that makes the tips of my fingers long for a pen and paper.

I’ve had this feeling consistently for weeks. Unfortunately for me, it wasn’t a word that hit me, it wasn’t a life event (I don’t think), and it isn’t anything I can peg. I feel words walled up in my mind like tumultuous water logged angrily in a small space with growing intensity. And yet, and yet, I cannot beg them out. I cannot find the key to unlock the mystery of this room. Something, some thought, some emotion, some message is begging to escape and I cannot find the solution.

So I am trying something new. I’ve learned over the past few weeks that I need to begin practicing writing. It’s not something I do just because I love it or because I simply want to do it; it is something I must perfect and experiment with over time to find out who I am as a writer. It is a part of the journey of my becoming. As I begin to practice writing I am trying to form a couple of new habits. One is to allow myself a time to write out my stream of consciousness for about 30 minutes each day, only with a direct focus such as a word, phrase or thought. The other part is to start a new journal (yes, ANOTHER one to add to the five or six I currently keep). This one will be for words only. Not connected words, however, words that evoke feeling in me — mainly aimed at my own personal dictionary to use in poetry writing.

I’m thrilled and excited about this new journey. I’m hoping to find what exactly has been intoxicating my soul and to finally let it reign free on paper (or screen).

A string of words

I often find myself going through artistic phases: I draw, I sew, I turn old things into new, and sometimes, but more often than not I find myself writing. I have a countless number of journals, four of which I write in consistently (each journal has its very own purpose, of course). The pen to paper is to me romantic, whimsical, meaningful, beautiful and almost forgotten in this era.

I have found myself falling deeper into a love affair with written (even, spoken) expression. To my mom that is no shocker. For as long as I can remember, she’s loved reading my papers in school, the blogs that I now write and everything else that fell in between. For me, I never really noticed how much I loved writing. It is simply a part of who I am. And then I realized it’s a part of who I am. It seems the realization was something I desperately needed.

Admittedly, I am not a very practiced writer, nor do I feel I always have something important to say. There are many times where words are not necessary; the silence, a soft touch or a look might be all the communication that is needed in a moment. However, I have found that there are many, many words that need to be said. There are millions of people every day who do not get to say or write or express what needs to be communicated. Their voices are smothered and silenced. These are the voices of the oppressed. The enslaved. The persecuted. The tortured. The forgotten. I’ve discovered that more important to me than any silk, any beautiful design, any poem is this raging passion to speak for those who do not have the chance.

In order to cultivate this passion (seeing as “cultivate” is the buzzword on this blog) I am headed back to school. This is kind of a hand in hand announcement, I suppose, because this also means I’ll be closing up shop. That’s right, I’m bidding adieu to Ania Designs (and silk, and marketing, and business, and lace…). I have come to realize that when you take time to discover your passion, what truly makes your heart beat, what really sends the blood coursing through your veins, you must take time to cultivate and follow that passion.

Here is a poem I wrote a few weeks ago. I was having a stunning conversation with a friend of mine about love and risk, and even though that was the subject matter, somehow it seems this string of words may fit a number of scenarios. I hope you enjoy.

Life seems to be shades of grey
Seemingly imperfect visions of
What is or is to come
The warmest sun
The coldest wind
Are reminders of truth and reality
Amidst the confusion
As life gives nothing we expect
But all that we hope for
It’s all greyscale
And struggling to find the eye
In the ever pressing storm
The yes and the no
And into the water are only my toes
When deep inside my heart
It screams I should simply jump in
To the dark, the depths, the unknown
That I might explore and taste
Only the most beautiful adventure to be had
A complete surrender and lack of fear
To immerse my life in love and sacrifice

Artist’s Block

When Andrea asked me (Sarah) to be a part of her vision- Cultivated Beauty- I was certain the inspiration for new art would flow painlessly through my fingers. That has not yet been the case. Today I am sitting in a coffee shop on Broadway in Portland looking out at the changing leaves against the blue sky and thinking about inspiration as an artist. I’ve struggled this year in finding my “voice” for my art. I have my easel with a canvas in the corner of my room at all times and even when I paint, it doesn’t seem right somehow. However this week, while visiting someone in Portland and discussing art over a few games of pool and a few drinks, I suddenly am completely, incandescently inspired. I’m envisioning a series of mixed media pieces reflecting hope, dreaming and the power of connection. I see this new series of paintings I’m dreaming up as fresh paint for my heart as well, a new expression of creative self and a passionate response to the end of an artist’s block. As I produce these pieces you can expect to see them here, and also at the Art Fair at the Bend Environmental Center in December.

Sometimes I think life takes on a bit of artist’s block too. When the dreaming, hope and desire for ongoing romance (not just passion), but romance in the sense of finding complete joy and light in your day to day living, artful living is blocked. It seems that many people I’ve talked with are experiencing a stuckness (yes that is a word…as of right now) in relationships, work, faith and even their own art, and sometimes something as simple as a change in perspective is all we needed. Using words sometimes feels less vulnerable than putting my heart entirely on a canvas. Art can be so much more raw, holistic and messy. But it’s the messiness that often produces the best pieces. I did a giant red abstract a few years ago that hung in my living room in Seattle for a long time, until in the chaos of a redecorating scheme, I painted over that canvas to make it fit with my new colors. Now I wish I still had that piece because it was bold, striking and captivated your attention from the moment you walked into the room. I want more of that boldness in my life as a whole. This week in my attempt to get over the “block” I’m finding I have a gumption I hadn’t recognized in myself before. The artist process is truly a beautiful thing. As I begin this series, I promise I will share it here with you. I’ll post pictures when I get back to town. As for now, I’m spending the weekend getting inspired.

A little fashion…on the edge

Let me take just a moment to introduce myself. My name is Andrea. I’m the fashion designer on this blog for the time being (I’m truly hoping we find more!). As Sarah mentioned in the previous post, we are hoping to build a group of artists who are passionate about art that will explore and seek inspiration together, share bits and pieces of what we are doing on this blog, and to cultivate the beauty we find in life through art. My obsession happens to be with silk and lace and pretty white things (usually…).

Currently I’m doing a small amount of work for a friend’s photo shoot. Katie is an extraordinary makeup artist. That’s pretty evident, as you can see.

I’m excited to be a part of the next shoot. This one is a bridal shoot (go figure as to why I’m involved, right?!). One of the models is a gorgeous friend who I worked with in May on her wedding gown. Without much effort on my part, we’re gonna add a completely different twist of amazing-ness to her wedding gown. Let your imagination run wild, these are some of the items we picked up over the weekend to use. Image above and images to come by Ben Edwards (a local and awesome wedding photographer) will be ready in about a month-ish. Yay!

Dreaming Together.

This morning Andrea and I (Sarah) met over our favorite nutty love mochas at Thump coffee in downtown Bend and brainstormed a collaborative art blog effort. It will be a place to share art, writing and nurturing creative thoughts. We were so excited about it that Andrea pulled out her Blackberry on the spot and hopped into Word Press to create our account: Cultivated Beauty. I’m thinking of cultivated in the sense that a field is cultivated to prepare for the growing season. We are preparing for explosions of beauty in our lives and are excited to see where this takes us. Bear with us as we are recruiting a few other women to join us in this accord.
I guess I should take a minute to tell you why I got equally excited about Andrea’s blog idea. I have been taking photographs, writing and painting… oh for about my whole life. My first job was as a photographer’s assistant, and thus began my love of travel photography. I remember proudly carrying my dad’s camera as we boarded the plane to Boston on one of my first travel assignments with him in middle school (the perks of working for your dad). Since then I carry a camera at all times, but painting and writing have been on the forefront of my passions lately. I’m in the studio working on a new series of little paintings which will debut at an art fair in December. I love being in the presence of other artists, something about the way we talk with each other, encouraging each other and pushing each other to perfect our arts even more. This will be a great adventure.