Category Archives: 2007

The Happy Custom Framer Rant

I wrote Earning about a dollar more than minimum wage per hour when the Canadian dollar is worth a quizillion dollars on world markets today in my last post. And yes in is hard because it is the only negative aspect to the job I do four to five days per week.

I work as a custom picture framer at an art and craft supply store. I love my job. I frame original art, photographs, memorabilia, prints and certificates. I cut glass, matting and get to use air tools! Custom framing is an old trade of mine that I learned shortly after graduating from high school in 1991. I apprenticed as a picture framer for a local photographer for a few months to help with the Christmas rush. Later after graduating college in 1996 I began working as a custom picture framer for a local artist framing his prints and the odd job that came through the door. I work their for 14 months full-time.

Both of those times I earned about a dollar more than minimum wage. The thing is this, minimum wage has NOT risen a dollar in the last ten years. Ten years ago in 1997 minimum wage was at or around $6.30. Today minimum wage is $7.30 in New Brunswick. Go figure? Ten years… 10¢ a year it increased. Sad but very very true.

As for where I presently work, it is an OK job as far as jobs go. I work with 90% women which is awesome. I get to avoid the general public as the frame shop is it’s own entity. I work with the public but only those who want custom framing or those who believe we are the customer service department even though the whole back wall is covered with a thousand frame molding examples.

I get a good discount on art supplies. Yay! Enough said.

The biggest reason I chose to make a switch from graphic design to picture framing is simple; I burnt out BIG TIME from stress, relentless deadlines and working 50-70 hour weeks, week in – week out. This all lead to addiction. That lead to recovery and this Blog.

About two years ago I decided to continue freelancing, accepting the odd contract job here and there. That has been good and not so good as I completely flipped out earlier this year doing a small job for Scott. Maybe it was all the other insanities going on around me and needless to say Scott and I came to an agreement and all is good between us.

Thinking back to when I began college I chose Applied Arts over Fine Arts. I didn’t think I could make any money as an fine artist. As an applied artist I thought I could, because p.e.o.p.l.e, ADVERTISING will never disappear! Today I wish ADVERTISING would die. I wish I could stomp on it until all it’s edged frayed and every coat of varnish and 4 color press ink faded into smithereens. Your head can get damaged by all this when you are working against your heart year after year after year. I don’t care how good I was at it and at one time I was very good. I was best when sipping GHB hourly, sadly, gladly…

I don’t remember a time when graphic design didn’t make me want to puke. God. These words I’m writing feel cleansing yet they read harsh and unforgiving. I don’t want to forgive the Advertising industry. Thanks to you, I can analyze an ad, know why it works or doesn’t work, who the target market is and how to fix it if it needs fixing.

My ex listened to me every time the TV was on and a commercial aired. This design lingo would spit out of my mouth about what font they were using, colour scheme jargon, spit blargh… I couldn’t read the newspaper anymore. I could spot misaligned paragraphs, kerning and leading errors, copy mistakes and spelling errors. How could I be so good at something and have it make me sick to my stomach and worse be so scared to apply for a big professional job in that industry.

I’ve uploaded a measly amount of design work to this blog as I still retain some anger not at anyone in particular. Think Adbusters and what they stand for. I like them.

Money should never be a driving force in anything you do. It will freaking kill you. And when you are an artist trying to be a designer placed in the wrong communication firm can lead to your death or timely demise in that industry.

There are many Design jobs that come up here in New Brunswick and I’m qualified to do most of them and most of them would pay two to three maybe four times more than what I earn as a custom picture framer. I’m just not there anymore. For one thing I can’t sit still for EIGHT hours a day. I need to move. Out West I applied for one particular job. I got an interview. During the interview she said she received 400 applications. I ask her how many people she has interviewed. She says she’s interviewed 10. I happened to be one of those ten. I get called back for the second interview and then the third only to be told she hired the woman who had a kid. Not having kids as a young woman is another rant for another time.

I have to laugh right now. Hahahahahahahahaha Such is life eh?

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I turn 34 today and feel like laying around on green flowers just like this bug

©Jessica Doyle - 2007 - Pollinate with a bug - Detail

Pollinate With a Bug measures 2.5 by 3.5 inches.

©Jessica Doyle - 2007 - Pollinate with a bug

04-pollinate-with-a-bug.jpg

Pollinate with a Bug is the third ACEO I have created and pictured with a Canadian penny for size reference. It is signed, numbered (003) and dated on the back. The first miniature illustration, entitled 20000 Leaugues Under the Sea can be seen here and the second ACEO, Brown eyed Fossil, here.

This is an original NOT a print.

Pollinate With a Bug is painted with Windsor & Newton Watercolour and inked using both a green and black Sakura 005 Micron Pen on Heavy Cold Press Watercolour Stock. All materials used in this original are of the best artist quality.

I have more to say about it being my Birthday. Much more actually but must turn into bed and get up in 6.5 6 hours, go to work, then come home, eat and after that I’ll say what I gotta say. AND gosh darnit it’s good!

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Happy Halloween! Power Puff Girl Style

This year I’ll be working during the day and later handing out candy to kids in the neighborhood. We expect 200-300 trick or treaters to come knocking on the door this year.

The pics below are from a party I attended, at the Waldorf Hotel in Vancouver, in 2005. We created our own patterns and sewed the dresses up a few days before the event. We jaunted down to Chinatown, frantically searching for china flats which we found and purchased. We later found decent wigs from a crazy shop (I can’t remember the name…?) on Main St.

Power Puff Girls 2
From left to right – Me (Jessica), Michael, Leah, unknown guy #1 and guy #2

Power Puff Girls 1
From left to right – Leah, Lala, Junko and me (Jessica)

…and from last year, and more scary…

Have a great, fun and safe Halloween everyone!

•Photo credits – Darren Lee
•Mini opening photo credit – me

In the walking one finds solace from the haunting past

Thanks range for the spark to write this.

I attended a public elementary school where corporal punishment was practiced. Boys and girls were segregated in the playground each having to play on opposing sides of the school. In Grade three this practice was abolished. Corporal punishment remained all six years I was a student there.

In grade three when I was ALLOWED to play with boys, we girls and boys were very confused. Off school property we had no problems with this.

In the mornings we had to say the Lord’s prayer. Anyone who wasn’t of Christian faith had to leave the room. I didn’t like it.

This is what I remember in Saint john, New Brunswick, Canada from a couple of decades ago. There may have been rules or policies in place about the lord’s prayer that I, as a 5 to 11 year old were not aware of, but the memories of hearing the strap waft down that single corridor from the principals office and watching the boys play on the better side of the school playground still echo firmly in my mind.

Not all was bad at that elementary school. Three of those six years I was taught by fabulous teachers whom ignited the imagination and nourished the creative side.

But this post is about corporal punishment. Continue reading

In the midst of the cacophony ghosts danced

I awoke this morning horny. I had been dreaming of ghosts. A large party that covered whole city blocks. It resembled the downtown Eastside of Vancouver. All the buildings appeared as they do today except the streets, the windows, sidewalks and air were filled with cars, horses, wagons and people of yesteryear, some centuries old. I was four or five floors up in a hotel. It happened to be clean and comfortable decorated with furniture from the turn of the century. I questioned the dark haired female ghost next to me

“How old are you?”
“292 years. I’m old” She smiled appearing no older than 29, “You?”

I couldn’t remember how old I was. My early thirties I suppose then I thought I was 32 and began wondering why 32 just didn’t seem to be the right age. She had read my thoughts and said out loud,

“You are young and still alive.”

I felt fear nagging behind meas being alive around these ghosts although jovial could mean trouble. I moved on through the room content to let fear follow. An orgy was in progress. This orgy was not just sex. It encompassed everything and anything that could make people (ghosts) laugh and feel pleasure. There were ghosts eating. There were ghosts tickling one and other. There were ghosts painting and taking their clothes off comparing their wounds to that which they were painting.

I remembered being alive. I knew I was not dead and peaked my head out the curtainless window down the length of the street below, witnessing the final cacophony of ghostial bestiality… then all was calm.

My surroundings morphed into a dank apartment. This was real. My surroundings didn’t smell. It was dirty, unkempt and all shades of brown in color. I felt happy. It felt familiar. I heard voices in the distance and recognized them. Andrea’s voice sung out. She had climaxed. She giggled. I set about doing the dishes but they had all been cleaned beforehand. I set about putting them all away. There were mountains of them and drying racks everywhere. The dish towels were gross. I tossed them *dans la poubelle quickly. There were five drawers in the kitchen. Four of the five contained one kind of cutlery, forks, spoons, small spoons and knives. The fifth contained a cutlery organizer. I got confused. I began laughing.

The sound of a man came into existence. Jean Paul Tremblay walked into the kitchen. A bed appeared in the corner. We sat and I began studying his penis for drawing purposes.

Curley…

I certainly woke **happy today.

This is the first dream I remember upon waking in which I was not using drugs, I was not running or trying to escape something or someone and not fearing for my life, nor was I screaming upon waking up.

I awoke having an orgasm. This is the first time that that has happened in years.

*in the garbage
**…and it all began from an eargasm. Go figure?

How to Have an Eargasm

1 + 2 + 3 = 6ex

How to have an EARGASM

The above instructional How to Have an Eargasm illustration inspired this post:
He popped his cherry.

*Please proceed with caution as I will NOT be held accountable for any inner ear damage due to the onslaught of multiple eargasms attained by following the above illustrated directions.

I don’t know what I’m doing

I really don’t. I’m pooped. I’m tired. I’m just kind of waiting for something but I don’t even know “what” that is. Maybe I’m not waiting… maybe I’m glad I’m in limbo between mind, body and soul. Maybe this is what life is all about. Maybe there is nothing bigger or better. Maybe everything we have been taught is false and reality just doesn’t exist.

I’m not down in the dumps. I’m not down and out. I’m not happy BUT I’m not sad. I wanted to write but the words are confusing and ideas are smushing together lately.

The weather here in New Brunswick is odd for this time of year. It’ been hot for October. Leaves are remaining greener longer than normal. Normal is just an idea. An idea that someone made up to appease people into thinking they were all alike when in FACT we are different. I am different. I am NOT like you.

How do you clean your mind?

I began, a few moments ago, thinking about how I wished I could remove my brain, throw it in the wash with detergent and later dry it outside on the line in the crisp autumn air.

I can’t literally do that though and that fact irks me especially after a day like today.

I am only able to wash my skin if dirty, exercise if fat and eat if hungry. The mind is different and yes, every one of those things affects the mind indirectly but they cannot immediately rid it of dirt.

This got me thinking about drugs and how I crave them during moments of high stress. Yes, moments, for the urge can pass to instantaneously fix the sleepiness, stupidness or inattentiveness. On days like today though the moments turned into hours and the 15 minute break worked for about 15 minutes upon my return to working. I know, I know there will be days like these.

I wish I had that little bottle on days like these. I wish I had my magic potion. I wish I could sip it into oblivion and be unaware of my own existence, only conscious of other’s insistence.

Today I found two pennies.