How to Observe Without Absorbing

I have been described by several people in my life, whether it was in the spiritual sense or the social sense, as an empath, and I have a very tenuous relationship with my skills for feeling the energies of other people.

Once, many years ago, I met up with a few friends at a bar called Dirty Franks which was only a few steps from the entrance of my apartment building at the time.  I remember playing darts with them and drinking 2 or 3 gin and tonics before finding myself completely engulfed by a conversation with a stranger at the bar. I don't know what I said to her in those first few moments, but she very quickly shifted to talking about my gifts as an Empath, as well as the burden of such gifts.  I started to cry.  It had never been described to me as something useful before that night, and I had never really collided with another empath who was willing to read me so quickly.  It was touching to feel so understood. I had often been described as 'too emotional' and 'not a ton of fun to drink with' because someone else's energy was always effecting mine.  Could this be a skill? A tool to be mastered?
I felt ready to take a next step in my self awareness.  Over years I started to become more aware of what this 'gift' meant:
1. That I couldn't be friends (for long) with people who focus on negative topics frequently.
2. That, when hearing gossip, I would ALWAYS be compelled to map out the potential inner workings or emotional state of the person being talked about (and that REALLY pisses some people off)
3. That I was most conscious of my ability when I was surrounded by negative energy (because when you're surrounded by positive energy you're just 'having fun' or 'being productive')
The first step in using my skills to benefit me needed to be cutting the fat.  The friends of mine who focused more on the negative actually ended up doing this FOR me, though I didn't come to know or appreciate that until.... now.  But these people were the same ones who, when complaining about someone, would often be on the receiving end of one of my "well, she's going through [this] in her life right now, so she could just be lashing out emotionally and not mean what she said to you..." sidetracks, which most people don't want to hear when their feelings are hurt. So, no harm no foul. Because I was the one being dropped, it was hard for me to appreciate the benefit to my psyche that not having these friends around would supply.  Luckily, I had closer friends who talked me through it, in their way, encouraging me that the energy those people brought to the table wasn't right for me. They convinced me that my lost friends' leaving was necessary for both my sanity, and learning about the places where my ability to empathize with EVERYONE can be useful, and where voicing those views can be insensitive.
Next, I had to become aware of when I was using this "skill." Too often I would find myself in a funk after a long conversation with a friend who needed support in a tough time, or exhausted after watching the news.  My emotions were giving me energy as well as sapping it. I needed to make a note of when it happened and what I was feeling.  When a cold hard pit forms in between my ribs and my immediate reaction is to want to go to bed, I ask myself if I am feeling my own emotions, or absorbing someone else's.  (Having kids helped a lot with this. You can't go in your room and pout when there are dependents in the living room trying to find things small enough to put into their mouths). If it was someone else's emotion I was feeling, I talked myself through it:
"You can't know exactly how she feels, because you ARE NOT HER."
Which brings me to my situation here and now.
I am working on understanding that empathizing is IMAGINING someone else's emotions, NOT FEELING THEM.  I am not that person, with their personality, history, and baggage.  I am my own person and i bring my own baggage that colors my perception of their pain.
My gift is useful insofar as it supports understanding and acceptance.  When I think about this, my immediate reaction is to want to develop the skills to "turn it off," but so far that seems impossible, and causes more discomfort and drama. So how to proceed? I am trying to learn to observe without absorbing, and to understand that my experience feeling the emotional or situational state of other people is a PIECE of empathizing, but it isn't the end result.  I do no service to someone by simply joining them in pain.  I need to use that information (feel it, but not linger there) to inform my next steps.  Sometimes listening is enough for someone, and in that case, feeling their state, and letting it flow through me is the best course of action, so I can be quiet, receptive, and emotionally light for them while I listen.  Other times people will need solutions.  Feeling their pain can be helpful in understanding how to frame information in a way to be most beneficial to them.  Do they need an excited brainstormer to shift the energy? Do they need gentle suggestions? Do they need to be reminded of the positives in the situation?
I also need to keep in mind that, while I do appreciate having this gift, no one else's happiness can be my responsibility.  My empathizing cannot take their pain away (and often they don't want it gone anyway, they feel they have EARNED it), and it should not effect me to the point where my emotional state is now being flattened by a host of other people's problems.
My happiness is in my control, and my happiness and emotional lightness is often what other people need.  More importantly, my emotional lightness is what I need.
I have in no way mastered this.  There are some lessons in life we have to keep re-learning, and this is one of mine.  The desire to make everyone feel good is so compelling for me that I often end up doing the opposite or making myself unhappy... which brings me to my last point...
I am not perfect and I cannot expect my emotional reactions to be perfect.  It is ok.  It is in the nature of emotions to be messy.  I am not a robot that can sense human emotion, I am one of these cartwheeling tornadoes of nonsense myself. Use empathy when it's useful, feel it and move on. If I feel the feelings and think "I shouldn't be feeling that" and tramp it down, it does me no service.  If I feel thankful for my gift and let it flow through me like water, I have more space for my own feelings and for getting shit done.

Thank you, Mr. Bowie.

I didn't like him for cool reasons.  I never saw him in concert and I didn't hear many B-sides until about 3 years ago.  I spent my formative years listening to Roxette, Paula Abdul, and, braggably, REM, but not Bowie.  But I didn't just like him, I loved him.  

I remember so clearly (like 7 million other people my age) watching Labyrinth when I was 6 years old, over and over and over, the same way I had run The Last Unicorn into the ground the year before.  It must have driven my parents nuts.  What I remember the most clearly is being really, deeply confused.  I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that Sarah would reject the Jareth's offer to turn her brother into a goblin muppet and, I guess, marry her or something.  Inside I would be screaming, "Stay there!  Don't you want to stay there?! What's wrong with you?" And at the same time knowing full well he was supposed to be the villain and wondering if there was something wrong with me for hoping the ending would magically change and he would win.

But there was nothing wrong with me.  The man was magnetic.

I joked about my love for him once I got to graduate school and even drew myself riding on the back of a David Bowie centaur, but I was still confused.  I still wasn't really listening to his music even though I liked his popular singles.

It wasn't until his death that I really realized what his role had been in my young life.  He had given me permission. A free pass to do whatever-the-fuck-I-wanted artistically.  To see the beauty in whomever-the-fuck-I-chose to see it in.  And a full grant to do as many different things as I want and not feel like it is thinning my purpose or diffusing my voice.  At an early age this confusing lust was a sort of opening up of possibilities that I felt in the center of my ribcage, and at the time, it tasted like a brand-new and somehow fearless fear.  "Go ahead," he said, "do it."

There have been other artists who have given me permission (or reminded me of my inherent permission) throughout life, but Bowie was my first, so his death felt very personal.

I don't normally cry when a celebrity passes because I feel like it's not my mourning to do- it's not my right.  But I felt like I knew him (which I know is ridiculous), but he was genuine. I cried twice and welled up a few other times.  I welled up talking about the fact that I felt ridiculous for crying so much over someone I hadn't met.  But we don't need to know someone directly to have been touched by them and what they left behind.

He left us elegantly, in the same way he did everything.  Including dancing with muppets.

There was a phrase that kept bobbing around in my head on January 11, so I chose to draw him (probably not for the last time), and I used the phrase that stuck to the inside of my skull as the title:

"I can't believe that's the last I'll hear from you."  I really still can't believe it.

Philosophy for Babies

Like every parent, I believe Asa is a truly gifted child.  Objectively, I know that he is both the most attractive baby, and the most intelligent... But I also feel bad because it's super unfair for one baby to hold such a monopoly. (Yes, your babies are all really cute, too.)

One thing that tipped Dan and I off to the fact that we birthed the übermensch is that he is pretty close to being literate at 5 1/2 months.  We started reading to him at about 2 months (because he was colicky and awake CONSTANTLY and my God we tried everything), and he paid WAY more attention than we expected him to.  It has been really neat to see him focus... He looks at the type, and then the pictures, and sometimes right at your face while you read.  He gives a big smile and is usually quiet while you're reading (which is not typical) and he enjoys 3 or 4 books in a row.

He has some normal faves like The Very Hungry Caterpillar and The Rooster Struts.  He also likes the Nancy Tillman books Wherever You Are My Love Will Find You and On The Night You Were Born, which are beautifully illustrated and occasionally make me cry while reading them.  His favorite book, however, was a bit of a surprise to me, and it makes me very, very happy.  Every time I put him in his seat and show him the cover, he lights up and kicks his legs.  It's called We Need a Horse, and it's eloquent, simple, fun and beautiful.  I bought it years ago from a McSweeney's sale and only really flipped through it before putting it on our children's book shelf.  It follows a horse as it finds it's purpose and place in the world, and it is written in a way that is reassuring and uplifting, touching on very important concepts in very few pages.  We are all here for a reason, it's ok to just be, and you can love people FOR their quirks instead of despite them.

I highly recommend.  And good news: it's still available on the McSweeney's site:)

Virtually Sensitive

This is just a quick post to let you all know that my deck is now available for virtual purchase through the Phuture.Me Tarot and Numerology App for iPhone and iPad,

AND

to let you know that now I am available for remote readings!  You can purchase a remote reading of 3 or 10 cards through the BirdQueen Designs website.  I practiced with some friends and acquaintances and got some really positive feedback!

"I asked a very general question about money and my career. The answer and reading Gretchen responded with was so clear and insightful and got the the heart of the matter. My hesitation has been deeper than money it has been about losing a connection. The reading also helped me see that there will be loss but the greater loss is being paralyzed with indecision. I've had readings of other sorts before but never has one actually pushed me into action and motivated me like this one. Her accuracy and specificity in response to such a general question was surprising and made me want more. I highly recommend." -Casey, Philadelphia, PA

Playing Priestess

Instructions for Practice: the daily card reading:
1. Take the deck in your hands and focus on your intention for the reading.
2. Slowly fan the cards from one hand to the other, making sure to touch each card in the deck, and infuse it with your energy.
3. Shuffle the deck as you wish.  When a card pops out at you or otherwise draws your attention in a way you feel is significant, pull it aside.  You may also choose to simply shuffle until you believe your card is on top.
4. When you're ready, look at the card.  Then consult a guide (or website) to find the meaning of your card.
Engage in this activity every day to get to know your deck, and apply the meaning as you see fit.

Today my card is Strength.

Strength is a card that, when I pull it, I feel recognized for my resilience and for the difficulty of my situation.  No one wants to hear that they have it easy, but even just typing this couple of sentences makes me realize the difficulties others face in their lives.  In the big scheme of things, on the sliding scale of human suffering, my problems are miniscule.
This is what I find so rewarding about learning to read tarot; I feel like the metaphor and symbolism forces me to do 2 things:
1. Recognize important aspects about my personality and how they govern my actions
2. Practice mindfulness and empathy through encouraging awareness of the conditions of other people.

There are plenty of other types of readings an amateur sensitive can draw to practice, but this one is the most simplistic; Drawing a Card of the Day.  You can do this for your own advice or for friends and family.  You can find practice guides and thousands of fabulous tarot decks (including the BirdQueen Tarot) at aeclectic.net.

I have enjoyed the focus required to pull cards.  It has been a little like meditation, especially when I am able to pull cards for myself.  There is a certain calm ceremony about it, or ritual.  I breathe deeply and try to focus solely on the question, which is a much- needed exercise for me because I typically have a few things rattling about in my head at the same time, and I tend to be a shallow breather.  I liken it to the psychology of a smoke break:  when a smoker goes outside for a cigarette, they step away from a typically stressful situation to breathe deeply and be still for several minutes.  The same can be said of practicing tarot: the magic happens partially because I am stopping what I'm doing to focus on ONE THING to breathe deeply and slow down my movements for several minutes.  That quiet creates an opening for your inner priestess to state her piece...  And in the quiet, one can actually hear what she's saying.

So all of this magic and ceremony has gotten me inspired, and I started a little experiment in energy to help me with my cloudiness when it comes to my professional future.
I have 8 possible directions written on pieces of paper that I have taped to the back of 8 cardboard drawing plates.  Then I started drawing and sketching.  When the drawings are done I will choose one that I connect with the most, and see what career path is tucked away behind.  We will see if this experiment does anything for me.  If not, I will have enjoyed playing Priestess.

What I have learned in 2 years and 10 months

First of all, I've missed the hell out of you, my darlings.

It's been way too long, and for that, I apologize.  Much has happened in the almost 3 years that have passed since my last post.  I have had a few exhibitions, as well as many new drawings and pieces of jewelry, I got married, and I even had a baby.  His name is Asa and he's pretty awesome, as evidenced by this pic:

Some other things have also happened... I found a new strength and an undefined spirituality which, unsurprisingly, coincided with the beginning of my pregnancy.  It's impossible to predict how the barrage of hormones will impact any woman.  That being said, pregnancy is a pretty magical thing (save the nausea, swelling, acne and clumsiness), and I would expect that other women have had similar experiences during this biologically transformative time.

In January of 2014, before I found out I was expecting, a friend suggested I illustrate a tarot deck.  I didn't know anything about the tarot, but I was intrigued, and as I learned more, I found that the language used by many guides was extremely positive and supportive.  It was suggested that using the tarot was more like an exercise in perspective, and less of  a form of fortune telling.  This made me comfortable enough to start playing; reading my own cards with the beginner Rider-Waite tarot that my friend had given me and sketching ideas.  My first image came to me suddenly and with some force, and I began illustrating The High Priestess.  She is the representation of our intuition and personal psychic abilities, which some (including me) believe we all have and sometimes need assistance in getting acquainted.  

I set up an exhibition with B Square Gallery for June to light a fire under my ass, and by the time the show rolled around, all 79 illustrations were complete, cards were designed, and decks were printed and ready for sale.  It felt good to be surrounded by the drawings and the energy they created.

Since that time, I have been doing amateur readings for myself and friends with my own cards.  I'm thinking about making remote readings available online for a small fee, since it is something I can do from home with the baby nearby.  I'll let you all know if that happens.  

The other piece of the puzzle (which I will delve into more in the coming posts) is a new sense of magic and ceremony in my actions and artwork.

In December of 2014 I was laid off from my job, for which I maintain much affection.  Teaching at a college level felt like a calling.  It came naturally to me despite my speech anxieties and inexperience in the field, and my students and supervisors were consistently pleased with my work.  Rave reviews from my classes would rejuvenate me, and criticisms would spurn excited overhauls of my curricula.  This past quarter, the classes were simply not available, and after 7 years at my job, I still had the least seniority, meaning it was my time to move on.  I oscillated between mourning the loss of a fabulous job with amazingly supportive students, coworkers, and administration, and accepting that this is what the universe intends for me, and being excited about the incredible breadth of possibilities that lay before me.  Now I find myself more firmly in the second camp, but I am dealing with a bit of an identity crisis that I'm sure all the moms out there will be able to identify with;
I don't know who I am supposed to be anymore.
This baby demands a lot.  Much more than I had foolishly anticipated.  And I had not expected to lose my job at the same time.  It turns out the timing is fabulous because I can be home with a high-maintenance little man while I think about what I want most out of my professional future... But the timing is also incredibly difficult.  When I was pregnant, I felt like a uterus with legs.  I had no identity separate from being a baby-builder, and all of my major and minor decisions revolved around the happiness and well-being of this person I had not yet met.  When he arrived, we quickly realized that appetite would not be a problem for him.  He wanted to nurse around the clock.  He would sleep for an hour and a half at best, and I was not comfortable pumping yet, so I transformed from a uterus into a pair of breasts with legs; my sole purpose being to bring food to this very hungry baby.

So, now Asa is 4 months old.  He is happier and less demanding, but still a bit high-maintenance.

The challenge now for me is forging a new identity.
I had always BEEN what I was DOING.  I had never spent any time BEING and getting to know what that means, and my intrinsic value as a person, friend, daughter, wife, artist, and mother.  I have always placed so much importance on product and productivity, and it is difficult for me to go a day without drawing something, selling something, teaching someone, writing something, or, ideally, all of the above.  But I am being forced to figure it out and to see who I am and to love myself for it.

.........

"Asa" is a Hebrew name and it means "healer."  His challenges are gifts to me, and the more I can focus on that, the happier we can both be.  A perspective of gratitude can help me navigate this new territory.  I am a mom, I am an artist, I am a teacher, and I am more than the sum of my parts.  I will do my best to raise this baby to be strong, confident, independent, kind and good, but I will make mistakes, like every mom does, and my baby will learn from those mistakes too.   I will take time to offer myself kindness, even when it seems impossible, and know that there is value in it.  I will trust my intuition and try to help others do the same.

Next time, I will share an experiment in intuition with you.  Until then, much love,

Gretchen

An Intimate Conversation in Public

A few months ago, I began working towards a show which will debut at B Square Gallery (614 South 9th St) in July of this year. The series I will be creating is comprised mostly of shrink-film constructions (inspired by my jewelry line BirdQueen Designs) which showcase characters attempting to forge meaningful relationships, suspended in time and space, and debilitated by their own self-absorbed nature and personal baggage. These pieces are not intended to be judgmental about their characters, but rather they are an attempt to show this... inability to take one's focus off of themselves... to be entirely unselfish or completely objective and understanding. That being said, "these things that keep me from you," the piece shown, features 2 characters trying to reach one another, but having difficulty getting to the person behind all of the defensive walls, expectations, and external pressures. It is fascinating to me that we can never truly know anyone inside and out... it's simultaneously frustrating and liberating. Keep an eye out for more pieces from An Intimate Conversation in Public, and come see the show in July!

Creepy is the New Black.

<-- I <3 Juliette Lewis

Well, maybe not "creepy" but, at least weird. From what I have learned from such films as White Christmas and Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, there once was a time when "coolness" came with a certain degree of poise and elegance. Being fashionable and chic were one in the same. Maybe it's just my artschool upbringing, but it seems like chic-ness illicits eyerolling among the very coolest of the cool. If you are chic, expensive, well-tailored... you're simply trying too hard (even if you make it look easy). "Be Yourself," has metamorphosed from a lets-all-get-along saying to some sort of a challenge... and, part of me likes it.

So I challenge you to "Be Yourself," but not in a comfortable way. Be a cartoon of yourself, or, yourself to the Nth degree.

It seems like part of the effect of this onslaught of information associated with the world wide web has been a perverted self-awareness. We post about what we like and what we know about ourselves, all the while perpetuating our cartoonish external identities. We are encouraged so much as children to differentiate and embrace the things that make us different, and make us stand out, that it becomes difficult to know what we have been pressured to believe about ourselves, as opposed to what is actually there to begin with. It's exciting to live in a time that I believe favors differentiation to conformity. It's liberating! But are we putting too much pressure on ourselves to be different? To stand out? To invent?

I was just talking to one of my classes about this (vaguely). We were discussing how the English language is disintegrating, and I had what I think may have been an 'aha' moment. Typically I would quietly complain to myself about the fact that 1/2 of the papers I had to read were completely illegible because of an inconsistently twitter-like sentence structure and abbreviated words... But this time, something different happened. I thought, "Maybe this is the way language is supposed to evolve." Plently of philosophers believe that language itself is flawed- that using arbitrary symbols to try to get a message across is downright stupid. Someone go wake up Neitzsche. Tell him we are on the way back to images from abstract symbols. If we get a few more murals up in Philadelphia, future generations will think that we communicated that way anyway.

What did I start out talking about here? Oh, right. Creepy is the new black. So anyway- there is more emphasis placed on the person today rather than the generation, the family, or the nation. It's really fine with me. People are making more and more amazing things every day- and sometimes I think it's genuine. Here is a new piece that I made for BirdQueen Designs, as well as a piece from ilovegreyskies (below).

"In My Body," "In Loving Memory of Yellow," and the rest of 2011

So, one of my new years resolutions SHOULD be to get better at posting more often, but, instead I will just take advantage of this snow day as an opportunity to catch you all up on the fantasticness in my life.
In the end of 2010, a multimedia project titled "In My Body" began with an exhibition of Leah McDonald's encaustic photographs of female nudes. To oversimplify, the objective of the project as a whole was (and is) to explore feminine self-image and self-esteem as it relates to gender roles and imposing societal norms. Shortly after the opening reception for McDonald's work at the Wexler Gallery in Old City, Wexler hosted an expert panel discussion about women and body image featuring a personal trainer, a plastic surgeon, an emerging fashion designer specializing in plus-sized women's denim, an ex-ballerina, a psycho-therapist, and a Qi-Gong instructor. I had the priviledge of attending and was enthralled by the conversation which was both engaging and eye-opening. It was interesting to have the plastic surgeon in there, sprinkling the conversation with slightly tense moments that sparked some confused and dissatisfied mutterings among attendees.
The last piece of the puzzle was a multimedia performance featuring vocalists, musicians, dancers and projections of McDonald's photographs. I had the pleasure of attending on this past Saturday evening. I have to admit, performance art is not my favorite, and hearing people sing sometimes makes me uncomfortable. Before the performance I was tense and nervous that it would not be something I would enjoy, but I was pleasantly surprised. For the majority of the performance, one dancer from the Melanie Stewart Dance Theatre would perform a movement piece while McDonald's photographs of that dancer were projected behind her, and one of the vocalists would read a personal story written by the dancer about her relationship with her body. Some of the anecdotes were incredibly moving, and the choreography was both beautiful and expressive without being too lyrical or literal. When it came time for Melanie's solo piece, the audience was completely engaged. While the vocalist told her story there was laughter, a gasp, and then silence- her story had been so personal and so well-paced. I found myself wishing I could run up to her and give her a hug and tell her that most women would kill to have her body, and I found myself wishing I belonged to this dance company.
So, that is one decision I have made about 2011- it is time to dance again.
At the end of the performance, Marissa Hines, who had been narrating through the entire evening stood up with her microphone and started belting out the song that had been adopted as a theme for the entire show. I was amazed. Her voice was absolutely astounding. I want to know what else she does, because it was quite possibly the most impressive voice I have ever heard live. The evening ended, and I was very glad I had attended this event.
"In Loving Memory of Yellow" is a short story and drawing project that I have been working on for the past 2 years and it is finally coming to fruition. The 33-drawing series will be showcased in an exhibition titled "Old Bones" which will hang at either Bambi Gallery or Proximity Gallery in Philadelphia with a first-friday opening next week (we are waiting to hear about the venue). "Old Bones" is a two-person exhibition featuring my work and the work of my boo, Daniel Hoffman, who will be showing some of his recent works in the other half of the gallery. In Loving Memory of Yellow is also now available for sale through createspace and features 5 written short stories based on my strange and surreal dreams, plus "I'm Already Married to My Habits," a short story comprised solely of the 33 images which will be featured at the opening reception on the 4th. You can buy the book here. Please come out to the opening reception next Friday if you can!!
On Tuesday Feb.1st, Dan and I will be closing on our house in South Philly. Very exciting!!! I will post pics when we get some things set up, but we are both very happy to be getting into a place with a LOT more space.
As far as the rest of 2011 goes, I am optimistic. I have a lot of work ahead of me, as well as a lot of opportunities. BirdQueen Designs just keeps growing, and I will be taking a more active role in the promotion of my jewelry in the coming year. The images on the site will be getting a little bit of a makeover so they will be consistent and more professional-looking, and, as always, you can look forward to seeing more designs on a monthly or bi-monthly basis (if you're interested).
2011: New house, big exhibition, first book and hopefully vending at a lot of prestigious fairs this spring and summer.

You had me at "Jewels Verne."

I was recently inspired to look up some funky engagement rings by a friend who confided in me that he is thinking of "popping the question," and now I have become completely obsessed with jewelry websites and making myself familiar with some very talented designers working in upscale materials (as well as some fun plasticky etsy designers).

First, I was looking for engagement rings and I came across the ring of MY dreams, which isn't necessarily helpful when suggesting sites and rings to someone else. To the left is the interesting-enough-for-me-to-care-a-little-about-diamonds masterpiece by Shaun Leane; a designer who sells through the Astley Clarke website and specializes in organic-looking enamel and precious metal pieces for the chic hippie. This particular piece is the most understated in a series of oversized cocktail rings, pedants and earrings that incorporate cherry blossoms and buds. His other works featured on the site are also inspired by flowering trees and the juxtaposition of metals, precious stones, enamel (occasionally in fun colors) and pearls.

Another designer on the Astley Clarke website is Stephen Webster. While a little goth, I can definitely appreciate his sense of humor in both design and titling. His "Jewels Verne baby jellyfish" collection had me rolling around on the floor (inside), whilst still admiring the simultanaeity (?) of beauty and ridiculous punny-ness.

If you are looking for something a little more affordable, this lovely bird cutout bracelet is sure to make any nature-lover happy. Fresh and lightweight and great for matching with winter whites and spring and summer brights- a real year-round treat from Etsy designer Miss Blue Bird and Oscar. Also, it's only $14.00. Lovely.

And, lasty but not leasty is a couple of adorable elephant cufflinks for the distinguished gentleman in your life- available in purple or blue, these enameled sterling silver cuff-buddies march proudly around the end of your man's sleeves. Designed in-house by Astley Clarke for the well-dressed man with a cool sense of humor.

My Memory's Not What it Used to Be...

But, I think, in some instances, it has actually gotten better.
For those of you who know me and the bodies of work I have been kicking around for the last couple of years, you know that memory has played an important role in my subject matter. Whether it is sketching out an idea for an installation or fleshing out the details of a dream-inspired short story, I rely on my fractured memory to piece together the details. In the short story I am presently working on, I deal with this issue directly. In an effort to honor my grandfather, I am trying to tell the story of my relationship with him, through a series of conversations which prove what I "know" about him to be false. This story is based on actual conversations and, since beginning this project, I have all but lost faith in my ability to recall accurate information.

However, there is still something beautiful to be found in this inability to conjure. The invented events do not change the amount of love that I felt for my grandfather. They are simply born of assumptions I made about him based on clues that I remember quite vividly (for example: I thought he worked for YELLOW trucking company because of a notepad he always had next to the phone in the kitchen). My ability to "make something up" has leaked out into my day-to-day activities and perverted my ability to recall facts... but has not affected my enjoyment of these snack-sized memories. I loved my grandfather, I loved his notepads, and I loved the fact that I believed Mentos didn't exist outside of my grandparents house.

To counterpoint, I actually HAD a memory today. As in, I recalled something that I hadn't thought about or known in a very long time. My friends and loved ones know it is very common for me to forget something, but this moment of remembering (without someone saying, "remember when...?" and describing a scene until I finally recalled it), is rare and special.

I was working on a drawing for Fleisher's Dear Fleisher invitational biennial benefit exhibition (not the piece featured above, I won't be able to show this new piece until the sale and exhibition at the end of September), and the particular blue I was using to fill in an area of the drawing looked, for a moment, EXACTLY like the sky at my cousin Courtney's house when we were kids. Then I remembered how special the sunsets were there. She lived in Bethlehem, and I lived in Stroudsburg. In my hometown, uninterrupted skies were impossible to see through miles and miles of dense forest and rolling hills. Bethlehem, however, was fairly flat (where Courtney's house was) and, on clear evenings, you could ALWAYS see the sunset from her swingset. We would make sure that we were sitting on top of the monkeybars at the right time to see the pinks and oranges in the sky, and we would talk and laugh and hang upside-down.

She also had romper-stompers (hand-me-downs from Grant), a monkey swing, and Grape Escape. My only punishment for this bounty of worldly delights would be the occasional dinner with beets as a side dish. I still think they taste like dirt.

Worth Saving For

Ok. I just made a 29th birthday pledge to myself to cut down on my material posessions. I intend to root through my closet, bookshelves, art supply bins, and that dreaded cage in my basement that houses my most expendable items to find the things I do not use and purge them from my life. But of course, in the spirit of all things born of good intentions, I have already deviated from this good natured task. Yesterday I stopped at Ann Taylor to use the birthday gift card they gave me on a new top (it expires at the end of August! I HAD to!), I brought a discarded storage box and a sewing machine in from the sidewalk (someone HAS to have a use for it, I just need to check and see if it works before I offer it up), and today I have already recieved a lovely birthday present from my coworker, James, and a beautiful fashion illustration textbook from my boss, Alison.

And then I went to the Fabric Workshop's website.

I am putting together a sheet of information for my Product Development students about block printing and silkscreening, and (in the off-chance that one of my students becomes interested in textile design) I wanted to put together a sheet of information about the Apprenticeship program at the workshop, and was snooping around the website for info and cool images. One of the special things that the workshop offers are artist multiples... and one of the featured artists is KIKI SMITH. YES!!!! So I have posted images here of some of the items you could purchase at the gift shop by Kiki- a creepy peoplehead bird that has a motion detector inside and it makes some sounds or something, and a ceramic sheep bank.

So, once I get rid of 100 or so of my worldly posessions in this mega-purge, I'll reward myself with my very own work of Kiki Smith art. *sigh*

Nightswimming in Murakami

I don't consider myself to be what anyone would call a prolific reader. I made a goal for myself at the beginning of 2010 (and the same goal for every year for the past 3 or 4) to read a book a month. To a lot of people this would seem like the opposite of a challenge. My older brother can park himself in a quiet room for 7 hours solid and polish off a good-sized novel. I have simply never had that ability. I find my mind wandering while I read and often have to re-read a paragraph 3 or 4 times before the information sinks in. Needless to say, reading is not quite as relaxing for me as it is for some, it is an exercise in concentration.

Murakami was suggested to me by my grad school professor, Michael Moore (not that Michael Moore) when I told him I was interested in writing short stories based on my dreams. At first it seemed like a marriage of convenience (I couldn't pay attention for long and most of his stories were under 30 pages), but after a while I realized that there was something truly magical about the worlds that he painted and I fell madly in love with his writing. Jeanette once told me, of a person she admired that she wanted to "go swimming in his brain" and that is the best combination of words to describe how Murakami's work makes me feel. He is adventurous in subject, adept at wordplay, and unafraid of cliches and inexplicable situations. I admire Kiki Smith for the same reasons; They are both exceptional at what they do, and are unafraid of laying their brains out naked for everyone to see.

But enough gushing.

I just finished Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman," and it is my FIRST book that I have read this year. A little behind schedule. The balance and flow of the 24 stories was impeccable. Some stories remained unresolved and frustrating while others tied up as neatly as Murakamily possible. Some stories revolved around perfectly realistic happenings and others involved mythical characters and talking monkeys. My favorite was "A 'Poor Aunt' Story," which involved a little of all of the above- ordinary situations with ordinary people, and an element which is inexplicably ...hazy. The reader leaves the story not knowing what has actually transpired, with no real reason to pick the story apart to solve that mystery. Every Murakami story is just the way that it is, leaving you wondering if that name appeared in another tome, and if that has some significance to the present story. I feel a strong sense of the present in his work. A lack of nostalgia. No real pretext for the future. Just ... is.

I'm not really making any sense, but I wanted to share how I feel right now, after JUST having finished this marvelous book; Supported, encouraged, and inspired.

A Fair-Weather Health-Nut on the Broad Street Run

It's kind of silly that it took me this long to blog about the Broad Street Run that took place on May 2nd, but better late than never.
Emily asked me to participate in the 10-miler with her about 6 months before it happened and I gave her a hesitant 'yes.' While most people were training for the challenge, I shoved running to the back burner with the excuse, "I can always quit and catch the subway." I started "training" about a month before the race. I was surprised how easily my body adapted to running, and quickly realized that my stamina is better now than it was in high school... you know, when I was taking 5 dance classes a week and cheerleading for 2 hours every day after school.
In my junior year of high school, Kristin and I tried to train to run a mile for our presidential fitness testing in gym class. The fitness testing was insane. As a student, you were graded on how flexible you were, how many chin-ups and sit-ups you could do and how fast you could run a mile. The grading was not based on improvement, it was based on ability, and as one of the more 'in shape' students in the class, I couldn't even imagine what it would have been like to be an overweight or sedentary student. The mile grading scale went like this: under 8 minutes= A, 8-9 minutes= B, 9-10 minutes= C, 10-11 minutes= D, 11+ minutes= fail. I got a "C" and felt like someone had hit me with a bus when I was finished. If you had told me then that in 12 years I would do that x10, I would have peed myself laughing.
Before the Broad Street Run, I had been eating uncharacteristically well under the supervision of my hippie-holistic-chiropractic-dietitian-spirit guide. He had put me on a strict diet of no red meat, dairy, sugar, vinegar, coffee, alcohol, corn, or wheat. I lined up the first week of the cleanse with my period, so I had this amazing coffee and sugar withdrawal mixed with menstrual exhaustion and I was a miserable bitch. After that hump, I started to feel light and amazing. I carried over some of the dietary suggestions to my everyday life (it was a 30-day diet), and by the time the run came along, I had begun to re-introduce food items to my diet. For some months before the run, Emily and I had gotten into the habit of (in my case, erratically) attending spinning class at the 12th street gym. The intense cardio must have prepped me for the run, because the first time I practiced I ran 3.2 miles in 30 minutes and didn't have to stop to walk.
The Actual Run:
Standing at Broad and Olney, City Hall is nothing more than an imaginary dot behind gently rolling hills of concrete. Suddenly running for 2 hours solid sounded horrifying. The morning was hot and the Broad Street Run staff decided to open the fire hydrants along the route to cool us of as we rolled down the street in a river of bouncing Phillies caps. Emily and I ran for the first 4 miles solid and then lost each other. RAN FOR FOUR MILES SOLID. INSANE. Obviously, the run got harder and harder as the miles ticked away, and progress seemed a lot slower when I hit mile 7, but overall the experience was inspiring. 30,000 people moving together in relative synchrony. From Olney to the Naval Yard, spectators lined Broad Street with signs to encourage their friends and family members. I never thought I would be so excited to see Girard Ave.. Around mile 8 or 9, I started to feel really worn. Nearing the finish line my feet clumsily slapped the ground without rhythm, and I eeked out one more bit of energy to finish as strong as I could, crossing the line at 1 hour and 57 minutes. I felt very peaceful and happy for about 4 hours afterward, and around 6pm I experienced a depressing crash. It was kind of annoying that I am so emotionally sensitive that a natural endorphin rush can result in an emotional low. My joints ached that evening, and for the next 3 days my muscles ached... but that was it. My knees kept with me the whole time, only complaining the evening after I made them do twice what they had ever done in the past.
Needless to say, I haven't been back to the gym since... but I am going to try spinning tonight.

Kiki Smith: Sojourn, at the Brooklyn Museum

I "met" Kiki Smith in Philadelphia in 2007. She was here for an opening of an exhibition that featured her print work at the Fabric Workshop. I immediately recognized her from an Alex Katz painting that I had seen in W magazine. I began swatting at my companion, whispering raspily "that's Kiki Smith, that's Kiki Smith!!! What do I do???" when she touched my arm and said, "The other artist will be speaking in the next room in a few minutes." I turned and stared at her with wide eyes, saying nothing until she wrinkled one of her eyebrows and walked away from me. I'm smooth.

The point is, she is my absolute favorite artist. Her work is so diverse and inspiring- I frequently think of her when I feel like I am dipping my hand in too many pots and need more focus. I believe she chooses her media in the same way that I do; first the idea comes, and then you think of a way to translate that idea into something visual or experiential, hopefully finding the method which enables the most people to feel something of it... And then you have to go out and learn how to use that media. Her drawings are my favorite, but she also works in paper mache, cast plaster and metals, paint, wooden construction, and cut paper. It's freeing to see her work because you feel simultaneously stimulated by many different types of work, as well as unlimited in your own methods of communicating with the public.

I found out a few months ago that she was installing a solo exhibition on the fourth floor of the Brooklyn Museum where mostly feminist art resides, and I knew I needed to see it. Now that I have seen it I know I need to see it again. Dan and I decided to make a day of it and see Sojourn, and the William Kentridge show (as well as the Tim Burton show) in the MoMA. We started out in Brooklyn, which was beautiful- I had never actually been to that part of New York, and we spent a good long time taking in Sojourn, and happening upon Judy Chicago's Dinner Party, which I had never seen in person.

Sojourn was incredible. Smith chronicled the lives of a few women, and in her intimate, awkward way, displayed private moments, dealt with platonic love, death, and lonliness, and filled and utilized the space in her many rooms with greatness. Lightbulbs covered with glitter hung from the ceiling, beaming rays of wax paper and toothpicks. The image shown is my favorite moment from the show. There is the old woman with a young woman flying from her lap (which I loved only slightly more than the sexy lady in lingerie with a little dove perched on her hand). I'm not going to pretend I know what she was trying to express, but there was all at once, a serious sense of letting go, loss, and freedom. I especially loved the way her world surrounded me and held me. The good news is, it is up until September 12, and the Museum is right next door to the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens... I smell a girly day coming up!

I would encourage anyone to go see the show; it's endearing, inspiring, and heart-breaking.

The Kentridge show was also incredible. I have to go back to see it again, because it was extremely heavy and political, and there was a lot of video work, which I can only watch for so long without getting museum-head. I saw about 60% of it and needed a break, but what I saw was fantastic, visually stimulating, masterfully executed, and full of intense messages of loss, depression, and the emotional effects of racism. I need to go back to take in the other 40%.

The Tim Burton show was overcrowded and a little disappointing. It was more of a collection of his movie paraphernalia than an exhibition of his works. There were lots of dolls from his stop-motion movies that he did not create, lots of storyboards that he didn't draw, and interpretations of his drawings in the form of sculptures that he did not mold. If you love Tim Burton's movies, and know what you are going to see from the get-go, then go see it. If not, it's completely missable.

New Artist's Statement

I had to come up with something a little new because I am applying for a few exhibitions and I think my last artist's statement does not apply to my current body of work. Let me know what you think:

My current bodies of work deal with sequence and storytelling. Born from the stuff of illustration, these intricate drawings and embellished sculptures enable me to bring my dream life into the realm of the real. I am frequently inspired to give a visual voice to my own writings, inspired by my overactive nocturnal imagination, as well as the poems and short stories of friends and professionals. The result of this is sometimes embarrassing, often beautiful, and always uncomfortably intimate.

this is a holdover

i know it's been a while, and i plan to post some smarty-arty-farty writing soon. but for now, enjoy this; my favorite animated music video. xoxo, gretchen

2 girls with no sense of direction take a day trip to New York

Mariya and I planned to meet around 10:15 at 10th and Market to take the 10:30 Chinatown bus to New York for the day. I was a couple of minutes late, and we decided we were hungry, so we stopped into Wawa for macaroni and cheese and bottles of water before sitting on the 11:00 bus and waiting the 20 or so minutes for it to fill up and depart. The trip was relatively un-notable. There was a baby who made surprisingly little noise, a squeaky bar in the stowing compartment, and everyone slept in silence like a big group of old friends when a slumber party finally dies down.

Neither of us have ever navigated New York. Each of us were used to coming from Philly with someone who knew where they were going who would guide us around, neither of us independently paying attention to street names or whether we were walking North or West. When we got off the bus, we realized we didn't even really know what direction we should be walking in to get to Chelsea. Finding our way to things proved difficult. Remembering our way back was braggably easy. We asked strangers for directions, texted friends for advice and high-fived when we realized we were actually better at getting around than we had previously given ourselves credit for.

Chelsea,

Let's go join the circus.

You can take the trapeze.

I will tame the lion.

Walking around Chelsea was interesting. The first 10 galleries were awful and we were starting to collectively lose our interest in stopping in any more when we stumbled upon the work of that guy up there. Paolo Ventura. Actually it was that exact piece that made us stop and turn around to check out the Hasted Hunt Kraeutler Gallery. His work was delightful. He puts together these little models and photographs them. This exhibition was titled "Winter Stories" and included mostly circus themed scenes, or circus-y happenings. In one scene a man is being lifted off the ground by a cluster of balloons tied to his back. There was just something excited and pure and lovely about the little models which were available for viewing in a plexiglass case in the center of the gallery. In this gallery, there was also the work of photographer Edward Burtynsky- that guy that photographs industrial sites. His work was beautiful, too. And for me to say that means something- I am not typically partial to photographs.

We walked a little further and noticed a sign outside Kent Gallery that announced a show for Irving Petlin who was one of the critics at Pafa when Mariya and I were in grad school. We climbed the stairs and were excited to see his interesting and beautiful paintings that blended various styles and, to me, seemed obviously the work of someone who has been making art their whole adult life and is effortlessly cramming all of this information into a single picture plane. It was mature and lovely, and each piece had enough variety of subtle colors and textures to keep a girl interested for a significant amount of time. We walked toward the back of the gallery and noticed a group of important people in the backmost room, talking shop. I asked Mariya if one of them was Irving, and she said yes. At the receptionist's encouragement, we went in and said hello, and he was kind and happy to see us.

We ate in the garden section of an Italian restaurant between 24th and 25th street on 10th avenue.

We left Chelsea to look for KGB Bar in Greenwich Village.

Oh, the building numbers in New York, why don't you make any sense?!?!

We picked up the C subway to 4th Street and made our way east looking for KGB Bar at 85 East 4th Street, but got really confused when we found 86, and crossed the street to find 91, and nothing else but a Bank of America. Frustrated and walking around in circles, we finally crossed to the opposite block and found our destination. Seriously, New York City, 85 and 86 should be on the same block. It's confusing enough that you are mostly comprised of numbered streets and avenues, with random names strewn in between. Paris is the same way, 88 and 59 are across the street from each other.

So, we found the bar and went up to the second floor to find a charming red-draped room with a long bar at one end. I found my cousin Matthew, hugged, and exchanged introductions. Mariya and I found a place at the bar and got cozy with a drink. The bar was full of candlelight and it was warm. Before the poetry reading there was a buzz of conversation that kept itself at a reasonable volume. Shelly Reed got up to start the reading and Matthew was first in line. I was familiar with a few of the pieces from Pearslip, and he read a few poems that I hadn't heard before. His voice was soothing and had a beautiful performative quality about it. It was nice to hear a combination of familiar and new pieces. This was my first poetry reading ever. I did not know if I would enjoy it, or feel uncomfortable. Something about poetry sometimes makes me feel 17, like it's so personal I shouldn't be reading it. But the nature of the reading alleviated my discomfort, and I think I was able to diagnose the problem. When I read poetry, it is my voice in my head, my stories being told, and the subject matter is usually alien to my own life experiences. I have a hard time getting out of myself. The truly fantastic thing about a poetry reading was that I could let them be someone else's stories. I could hear them, instead of telling them to myself.

The combination of dim lighting, warmth, and collective silence in the room allowed me to leave the building, and my head behind.

Matthew finished and the crowd applauded emphatically.

Other readers followed. Elizabeth Rees's work was good, serious work, and was, at times a little merciless. Some of the stories were painful to listen to, and written in such a way that it took me a second to understand the actual events taking place. I picked up a copy of Elizabeth's chapbook for Nicole on my way out. Christina Olson's work was hilarious. I met her for a minute in the bathroom line only to find out that there wasn't actually a bathroom line and I had just sauntered up and joined in on a group conversation with a bunch of ladies I didn't know. The girls were gracious, giving me compliments on my boots and ushering me through to the ladies' room. Christina gave me a pin with a lobster on it that said her name, encouraging me to keep an eye out for her book that would be published in a few months. Damian Dressick read last and his work was really wonderful. He would quickly switch back and forth from funny to shocking to awkward, leading the listeners through a full range of emotions while never losing our trust. I am excited to see his work in the future. It smacks of McSweeney's in it's unexpected intimacy.

Mariya and I chatted with Matthew and his roommate for a few minutes before walking to the Chinatown bus to go home. We walked down Broadway to Division and Forsythe and wandered around a less-than comfortable chunk of Chinatown before finding our way to a couple of buses parked on the street near 88 East Broadway. Hear that, Mariya? 88 East Broadway. Now we can always get back when we take a day trip.

I won't get into the scene from Malibu's Most Wanted that unfolded a seat behind us on the way home, but I think if I heard the phrase "nah, son" one more time from one of those polish northeast Philly mama's boys, I was just going to lose it.

All in all, it was a stellar day.

TODO2010

It's my favorite time of year. Time to think about all of the awesome things that happened in 2009, as well as all of the hard lessons learned. New Years is becoming more and more my favorite holiday because, to me, it marks a point to make promises to yourself that can spark dramatic self-improvement. I love making lists and setting goals, and it has become a tradition for me to create an ambitious year's checklist to keep the momentum of the previous year going, and to mark turning points in my personal goals and priorities. Last year's list proved to be pretty challenging, and I completed only 11 of the 30 things I set out to do. Regardless, I may not have tried to do any of those things, had I not made the list in the first place. So, pat on the back for the 1/3 of the list which was completed, and let's make myself a promise to get a little closer to completing the list this year.
Problems with last year's list: 1. I only looked at it at the beginning and end of the year. This year's rough draft is written out in my checklist book, so I should not be able to ignore it for months at a time. 2. Some of the goals are a little ambitious while still remaining vague. "#23. complete 2 bodies of artwork" No, Gretchen, "complete all drawings for the 'I'm already married to my habits' series" is much more specific and therefore, more likely to be achieved. 3. dance classes are expensive and I was paying by the class.
So here goes, the New Year's Checklist 2010:
1. Read 1 book a month and post a blog to review
2. Complete 1 drawing a week and post image to myspace.com
3. Submit 1 short story to McSweeney's
4. Complete and update BirdQueenDesigns.com with links to purchase items
5. Apply to vend at ArtsFest (by Jan.29, 2010) and the ArtStar Craft Bazaar
6. Participate in 5 charity events (AIDSwalk: October 17, and others to be named later)
7. Obtain a balance of $5000.00 in savings account
8. Pay $5000.00 extra towards student loans
9. Clean up banking: get rid of M&T, clear CC debt
10. Go to the gym twice a week (starting in March)
11. Show artwork in NYC
12. Finish 'I'm Already Married to my Habits'
13. Get jewelry into a boutique in NYC
14. Finish 'In Loving Memory of Yellow'
15. Visit the West Coast
16. Take 1 week off of buying things per month
17. Cook 1 new meal a month
18. Have a me day once a month (massage, pedicure, facial, haircut, somethin like that)
19. Attend PB critiques at Pafa
20. Apply for 5 grants
21. Watch Art 21 Series
22. Subscribe to McSweeney's AND collect the entire 33 existing volumes
23. Go to NYC once a month
24. Visit the PMA once a month
25. Get a SOLO exhibition in a gallery in Philly.

The End! Keep on me about it!

29

I went to Borders Bookstore a few weeks ago (or a couple, or a month, you know i have a shitty sense of time), and was looking for books of short stories to add to my to-read list and asked for assistance. The customer service rep pointed me in the direction of the short story and essay anthologies in the literature section. I was looking for Dave Hickey, but was pretty open to anything. I found a beautiful hardcover book with creative cutouts on the front cover and a 60's-looking silkscreened image of 2 space dogs on the first page. I leafed through it and it was certainly beautiful. It was called "McSweeney's 29" which of course didn't mean anything to me until I noticed the 4 or 5 other books with McSweeney's written on their spines. Eack book looked completely different, all hardcover, all beautiful, but in various sizes and with completely contrasting designs and color schemes. Nothing connected them apart from the name, and I immediately wanted all of them. I settled on the space dogs book I had originally picked up and went to the register. I started reading it that night, crying by myself in my room at 2am during the first story by Brian Baise (which is a pretty big deal- I have never, to my memory, cried from something I have read before). The rest of the book did not disappoint, and though 2 or 3 weeks is not fast for most people to read a 178 page book it is a pretty big deal for me so back off.
At any rate, I have begun my collection, and am planning on having the whole lot AND a subscription by then end of 2010. That's one goal. The other McSweeney's-related goal for 2010 is to submit a short story for inclusion in one of their anthologies. Inspired by the book, I wrote a short story based on one of my dreams from this summer at 4am last week, and am considering it for submission. I also did a drawing (shown) based on this dream which will be featured in January's "Things we've made since September" show curated by Gabrielle Lavin. Stay tuned for opening dates and submission updates.