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ast weekend I went to a concert of someone I’ve technically known since I was five, and despite the fact that she’s fairly popular, I was woefully unfamiliar with her music and had never seen her perform (unless you count living room karaoke.) It ended up being pretty incredible to watch, not just because the music was awesome (which it was) but because I was witnessing this person that I’d interacted with in a casual way perform as she does best, in her element, in front of her fans, in the spotlight. She displayed a great command of experience and talent in exactly the moment she needed to.

As artists, we’re familiar with this situation to varying degrees. Any time we’re at our own shows, or even doing something as simple as releasing a painting for public view, we summon all necessary skill and confidence into a fixed period of time in which we allow ourselves to be stars, to lead the room in a chorus of our own making. We understand the necessity of doing so, at least in short bursts, especially when we’re promoting something specific.

But what happens the rest of the time? Why do we tend to put our public selves into stasis when we’re not attached to the art? We still have a duty to be artists, which is doing more than making art. We have a purpose to live artistic lives, with intention and passion. Our lives should be as interesting and inspiring as our art. Being an artist is an action, not a title.

We should, in theory, have endless insight to communicate about our lives, whether we write, speak, or photograph it. We have a responsibility to the universe to explore, to think, to interpret information and put it back out into the world. That’s why people pay us. That’s why they care. That’s what they want from us. They trust us to be creative in our lives, and we honor that by doing so, by thinking creatively, by processing life in an artistic way. Even if it’s wrong. Even if it’s ugly.

After all, we’re each just works in progress. We’re all working toward a unique and complete narrative. Our lives should be art.

Not every artist is willing to share themselves. I personally fluctuate between sharing and hiding, but I’m working hard to give more of myself outwardly, because I think it’s the right thing to do. It’s unnerving to show wounds, but I’m learning to be more comfortable with that too. Not that it has to be gross to be authentic. Even the bad stuff can be thought out, edited, streamlined into a valid account of our personal story. We just have to be sincere with our emotional process, and forthright with our learning and growth. Of course we will change our minds.

I’ve noticed lately that the artists online I’m most interested in, whose work and blogs I regularly follow, tend to share more of their personal struggles and ongoing battles. It’s raw. It’s real. It’s compelling to watch. Sometimes I don’t even care for their art, but I really enjoy watching them be artists. At the same time, I often feel bored with artists who share nothing of their personal journeys, even if I respect their art. It just gets dull to only read about exhibits and sales and new work. I want to know the artist is a human being. I want to know they have good days and bad days. I want to know how and why he or she is really fucked up, and how that contrasts with the awesome, inspiring person they are on other days. If there’s no visible depth, it’s kinda empty.

I guess I’m learning that the art is just a byproduct, a symptom of being an artist. Our real purpose is to live as fully and completely as we can (which goes for everyone), and translate that into a unique form of communication. We have the opportunity to affect change, heal hearts, and shape culture, just by our creative thinking. That’s a powerful position to be in.

Maybe we ought to start thinking of ourselves as explorers.

–Written by Shayla Maddox for Art & Musings

What’s your poison? Chocolate? Video-games? LSD?

Self-consciousness?

Artists have become notorious for substance use, addiction, and a good measure of crazy, which is probably intertwined with our ability and our need to make art. Not that all of us are crazy (yeah, right) and not that we’re all addicted to chemical head changes.

Or… are we?

As artists, our way of processing things, everything, is a bit different than people who don’t have the inclination to make art. We feel everything strongly, we see color differently, we look past reality into a world that doesn’t exist without our imagination. That in itself is a bit trippy, and we wouldn’t have the wherewithal to make grand, fantastical statements out of paint, thread, or music without a tendency to latch onto the emotional vibration of life. It’s not that everyone doesn’t do this to a degree, but artists take emotion to a whole new level. We breathe emotion into life. Often in beautiful, awe-inspiring ways. There’s an ebb and flow to be sure, with much of our time spent in frenzied creativity, overflowing with inspiration and ideas, high on nothing more than our need to create.

But there’s a flip side. Sometimes, if not properly nurtured, our emotional processing skills get broken. Sometimes everything gets black and dull and scary.

We can be addicted to all sorts of emotions, good and bad. Sometimes a simple bad habit (like laziness) can move so far down the rabbit hole that it becomes its own beast. We can’t see the obvious trajectory of chaos we’re in, even if we’re not enjoying it. We are addicted to the problem because we’ve been doing it for too long. We lose control.

My own greatest addiction is anxiety. Not very glamorous, I know. But it has plagued me since I was a child and it’s not something I ever seem to be free of. I truly just can’t stop. I can muster anxiety about anything. I can even take good situations and find all sorts of things to worry about. So it begins and ends. Anxiety leads to insomnia which leads to exhaustion which leads to having no motivation for anything which leads to not making art which leads to extreme self-doubt which leads to incredible anxiety which keeps the whole process firmly in place.

Hooray.

Over the last couple of months, I fell into a pretty severe case of depression. I didn’t see it coming, but I can see it clearly in retrospect. It started with a bad cold, followed up a month later by another bad cold. It zapped my energy. From that, my fitness schedule waned. And then there were the holidays, and that vacation, the indulgence of both wrecking havoc on my mostly-vegan, mostly raw dietary preferences. (Not to mention the increase in holiday booze.) Plus, holiday schedules, and birthdays and… who has time for art anyway?

Add to this a hefty dose of ongoing personal grief mixed with a few very life-altering decisions that needed to be made and you’ve got a cocktail of utter despondency and sheer panic.

At some point within this, I lost sight. It was hard to feel like doing anything. All around me life seemed dreary and heavy. My lack of time for art evolved into a lack of interest. And my depression worsened. I was sad. A lot.

Then suddenly, probably out of boredom, I had this incredible urge to make art. I thought maybe I would just head downstairs and do one little thing. That one thing turned into six hours of focused work on five different paintings. I even started more paintings. The following day, I did it again. And then again. And the weird part was, I was actually feeling pretty darn happy about life. The sun came out, I was back in my beloved fight classes, I was even eating salads and smoothies all day. Fortuitous!

I started to wonder which came first, my renewed interest in creating or my improved mood? Were they related? It was the creating that I had been missing. The lack of art, as an artist, was directly affecting my ability to do anything else. I lacked the very core of who I was as a human being.

I wasn’t meeting the emotional requirement to create, which is part of what being an artist is all about. Sure, sometimes it’s hard to push through, and as my last few months demonstrate, we can’t be on top of ourselves at all times. But waiting to feel like creating was missing the point. Of course getting myself a second (or third) glass of wine on a Tuesday was easier than picking up a paint brush. I’d totally reversed my priorities in life.

My epiphany lately is that I want to be more addicted to other “drugs” I take, things that make me high without all the downward spiraling and sadness. More fight class. More sleep. More art. Lots of art.

Art is a curative. Art is strengthening. Art is what taught me that I am an artist. Art is what keeps me healthy. If I’m not getting my fix, everything else will suffer. I need it.

I don’t know why it never occurs to me that Art is a drug. A good one.

I want to be a user and a dealer.

–Written by Shayla Maddox for Art & Musings

When you make assumptions about something, especially someone, it can become hyperbolic to an enth degree that perhaps you don’t realize until well after the climax. It’s so easy to generalize and compartmentalize people’s actions and words into man-made stereotypes that we forget that none of us fit into them, nor should we fit into them. We may carry or display a few of the stereotypical characteristics but ultimately we are all at least a little bit unique in how we adapt to situations that arise that took us by surprise.

You kind of get to a point where you know you have to snap out of it and move forward and stop sobbing, pacing and begin eating properly again and get back into the game even with the broken heart. I didn’t realize it was a broken heart until this morning when I woke again with that familiar pang in my central chest that I haven’t felt in a very long time… years maybe?

And I feel so foolish and just don’t understand even what happened over the last few weeks… a complete 360º spun wildly for sure.

I’m well aware that some of you who are reading this know both myself and the man involved but here’s the thing I don’t have anything bad to say and that is why this hurts so much. It really shouldn’t hurt this much right? It’s just the timing is off right? We were not meant for each other right? The stars were not aligned right, right? The age gap was too big? He’s just not that into me right?

And here I’m thinking and asking myself why I keep attracting the same man over and over again and expecting a different result when in actual fact this person is not the same as my two long-term ex’s at all. While there are similarities it was the emotions I was experiencing while spending time with him that made me think he was similar to my ex’s when in actual fact this man was quite different.

It was exhilarating to spend the holidays with him at each of our respective households. We both were not working (on holiday) and kind of jumped head long into a whirlwind romance. Maybe it was just what we both needed? We could talk about anything, cook and eat food together and both enjoyed walking immensely. We had things in common but really we had much that wasn’t in common and that is what I enjoyed so much. He told me stories and sang to me while playing guitar while I drew in my sketchbook. He introduced me to his family and friends and he likewise met some of my people too.

And while I can pin point a few things that made our relationship end I really don’t understand why it ended but have resolved that it has indeed ended.

I’ve dated some men over the last few years in search of a long-term relationship and have experienced break-ups either of my own doing or of the man’s doing and I was always able to pick myself right back up and move on with no regrets. For God sakes… I’ve been eating chocolate for the last three days. I DO NOT eat chocolate ever. Chocolate bars have been known to go stale in my fridge.

This time… it’s not so easy to go back to online dating.

So how can one learn from this experience?

Throw everything you know out the window and just let yourself feel and be vulnerable to whatever is happening.

When we base attraction only on physical it can lead to being attracted to the same people over and over again and expecting different results. I think this is where people’s “types” come into play. Like always buying apples and hoping one apple will become an orange. Well, I met Mr. Clementine in mid-December and he was tasty. And then, my dating patterns and beliefs were smashed to smithereens which is a very good thing.

Yet, this whole experience is beyond bittersweet.

I miss him.

The illustration above is from the children’s book Every Someday that I illustrated a couple of years back. I have a few soft cover copies here in the studio. If you are interested in purchasing a signed edition get in touch and let me know.

Sometimes I just want to slap myself.

I have terrible mood swings regarding my art. One minute I think my work looks great and my career is going to be swell and everything is awesome. The next, I downward spiral into despair that nothing looks good, nothing is working, I’m a hack, it’s going to fail, people will laugh and mock and cry.

It’s all part of my process.

Generally at some point during every single painting I’ve ever made, I love it; I think it’s the best work I’ve ever done. At another point, with every single painting I’ve ever made, I hate it. It’s trash. It’s not worthy of continuing. And I do this back and forth throughout the entirety of creating each piece until I’m finally happy and satisfied with it.

There’s something about the emotional struggle that makes it Art to me. Maybe I have to summon extreme emotions to make the work as sincere and interesting as I want it to be.

It’s the struggle that makes it good.

My husband finds this amusing. He’s constantly reminding me that this happens with every new painting. He’ll find me frantic, practically seething with anger at some half-finished piece of art, smile, and tell me that this is when “it’s about to get really good.” To him, it doesn’t look much different than when he last saw it, but to me, one tiny splotch of blue paint has ruined everything. EVERYTHING.

And then the next day I’ll add a different blue splotch and somehow that turns the painting back into awesome. It’s not a process that makes much sense. But it works.

I’ve always been aware that part of my purpose in creating art is to explore the control of chaos. Sometimes I think it’s a microcosm of my life. I hate not having control, and I hate being surprised. I like to make changes in my life, not be subjected to the shock of them.

In my art, I like to risk ruining everything, only to eventually save it. I’ll often do something drastic, like throw blue paint where it wasn’t intended, and suffer the repercussions of doing so as though it were a surprise. I’m sure there’s a very obvious psychological reflection of what that means in my own personal life, but hey. That’s why I’m an artist.

I create these situations. When I first dream up a painting, I feel happy and blissful, and everything in my mind looks serene and pretty. Then I drum up anxiety so that I can get angry and fearful over what I’m making. Otherwise I don’t have anything to “save,” anything to make right again. The highs come in when I’ve finally worked through all the chaos and completed the art.

There’s something to that. The manner in which I make art allows me to both control elements as well as feel out of control. Gravity and water do weird things to paint, things I cannot foresee each time. It’s always surprising, and every painting always ends up looking different than I imagined it in my sketchbook. Usually for the better.

Maybe I’m testing myself. Maybe I’m trying to win out over something I feel controlled by. Perhaps this is therapy. I can’t really think of a healthier way to work through all of this, nor a better expression of who I am as a human being. Yay art.

I’m just glad I can make a career out of it.

–Written by Shayla Maddox for Art & Musings

Why is it that when you really like someone you get all crazy and can’t contain yourself and blurt out the wrong things and repeat yourself, asking the same questions over and over from sheer excitement because you do indeed like the man. These last few months have been nothing but extraordinary for me and I’m desperately trying to plant my feet on the ground again which over the last week has happened in a most intense and disastrous way.

I need downtime and traditionally January through to April have been the months when I steel the time to be alone or in one on one calm atmospheres to create, paint, write and choose to be home more often than not.

I’ve lost the ability to write openly and freely here on my blog because everyone knows about it now, especially here in my hometown, and I’m doing my best to come to terms with this and kicking myself for allowing said outside sources to dictate what I could and could not legitimately write about last year.

Have you ever found the honesty, respect, integrity and intimacy you’ve been searching for in a man only to have it hit you in the soul so blatantly hard that it makes you step back and go is this f#$%ing real? Then your wall falls down and you are so vulnerable and cold and shaking and needing warmth yet terrified to let someone else take control. And then they take control and you hurt and shake like nothing you have ever felt before because they choose to leave and do the opposite of what you hoped for?

I’m just over seven weeks smoke free #Quitsmoking um… yeah and ohhhhhhhhh so grateful that I stopped smoking for myself and for no one else or I’d likely be smoking again given the life circumstances that have arisen and that I seem to have found myself in and facing over the last seven weeks.

I haven’t been a man’s girlfriend in a very long time and I’d like to know what that feels like again for real. This isn’t really a finished blog post or even one that makes complete sense… but…

You should never trust so blindly or simply give up. Plain and simple… really?

I give up. And yes, giving up is a choice and this doesn’t mean that it’s a negative choice. It’s just a choice to change direction and reevaluate why doing the same things over and over again and expecting different results is an exercise in futility.

I‘m a wannabe minimalist. I dream of location-freedom and spend a lot of time figuring out ways to be more nomadic. You know, just in case I start traveling all over the world at a moment’s notice. In fact, this year I’ve decided to participate in the 100 Thing Challenge.

I hate being owned by stuff. Stuff doesn’t prove anything about your success in life, other than that you like to accumulate stuff. It is not memories, it is not living. It’s just stuff. Stuff and things.

I think it all started about 7 years ago when we decided to live without a microwave. We moved into an apartment with a very (very) small kitchen. It didn’t come with a microwave and we decided it was unnecessary to get one. We had an oven. It would require more thought and time put into our eating, but so what? When we moved again in 2009 to a place with a much larger kitchen, there was a microwave on the counter. I asked the owner to remove it as soon as we signed the lease. We’ve never missed it, and the counter space is awesome.

We also ditched our couch. I needed the extra room for art and we rarely sat on it. So? Poof. No couch. Not only did it provide space for art, but it also had room for yoga! And Krav Maga! And spontaneous breakdancing! Plus we didn’t have to clean it.

Every single time we’ve let go of something we previously thought we “needed” in life, it’s given us the freedom and opportunity to accomplish so much more than we intended. We’ve had such good results that I actually get excited at the prospect of ridding ourselves of more things. Things and stuff.

I feel the need to clarify that I am, in no way, one of those anti-TV people. In fact, the staunchly anti-TV people I know don’t seem to be anti-video-game or anti-crappy-movie, and spend equally if not significantly more time in front of the screen watching nonsense than anyone I know who “watches” TV.

I have always been a true TV fan. As a child it was soothing. It provided I Love Lucy reruns and Seinfeld. I loved award shows and holiday specials. I loved the comforting click of channel flipping. I love old movies, political debates, and super-science shows. I even appreciate the value of TV as art.

Sometimes. Occasionally.

But over the last few years, I just haven’t been watching it. We keep up with maybe one series at a time. Weeks go by without the TV ever being on. We own like five DVDs. We don’t even go to the movies more than twice a year. And besides, we’re keeping the internet. God bless you, Internet.

I’m still working through all the various justifications that keep popping up in my mind. Mostly, that I will miss something. Something important. IMPORTANT TV.

Yet… Is it really worth it? Do I even care? Where is my focus? When I think about my life and my future, I don’t seem to include anything about the television shows I’m watching. And it does cost money.

So, the TV is going. I haven’t turned it on in weeks. Already since making this decision, I’ve been painting and writing more. I’ve even made lists about my goals for the year. And I’m excited to start my taxes. WTF?

And maybe in 8 months I’ll realize I’m going to die without TV and I’ll worry about it then.

In the meantime, more time to live. More room to grow.

–Written by Shayla Maddox for Art & Musings

And at this time of year anything can happen.

Over the last month or so I haven’t wanted to talk about me or what is going on in my life online save for the occasional tweet or Facebook update. I’ve been doing my best to pay attention and more than that just to be present with what is happening around me and within the circles of people that I spend time with in real life.

It was a needed break from online activity and this change of pace gave me a chance to attend and sell my art at five live art shows and sales during the months of November and December. These shows were amazing and I got to speak to many people and fans and it made me feel very humbled to be able to create for a living but more than that break out of a stagnant routine that was ultimately killing me.

I quit smoking five weeks ago. Passing that one month mark last weekend was almost more than I could stand. The moment was surreal as I was prepping for my fifth and final art show of 2011 in a neighboring city, planning a first date with a man (whom I’ve since been on two more dates with BTW) and fighting mental exhaustion from producing enough stock to bring to the shows to sell.

And shit has happened over the last five weeks and people have been mean and things have occurred that would have easily made me smoke in the past but for some damn reason I don’t care about any of you who want to see me fail or anything that wants to undermine my health or safety. I don’t wish any of you ill or harm or anything bad I just need the space from the negativity and harsh judgements that you seem to have.

I began the year 2011 talking about not being afraid and I must say this year caused me more angst and fear than any other in recent memory. But what a beautiful year it has been and what a wonderful time it is to be alive and to be not afraid.

I am fortunate to have not have lost my house this year.
I am fortunate to have regained my health.
I am fortunate to have conquered the last addiction that I had.
I am smart enough to know the difference between a good a guy and a bad guy.
And I am so lucky to have family and friends who love me.

I wish you all a safe and happy holiday season. I’ll be transitioning into blogging and working online more over the coming weeks. I miss talking with you all.

Merry Christmas from Missy two the cat, Little Orange the cat and myself!

xo

The Three Wise Men are available matted in the shop!

Well since my master plan of getting a tree and making things semi-festive this year has not panned out due to our house being infested with illness, I thought I might do a little dreaming instead. If I can’t decorate, I can still use my creativity!

Here are five things I dream of doing, some easier to accomplish than others, but one day I’ll have done them all.

1. Throw a big festive dinner for friends and family. Vegan options, not-remotely-vegan options, wine flowing like wine. In a big decorated house.

2. Spend all of autumn in a place that really shows its seasons. I’ve always dreamed of renting out a nice house from maybe September through December, somewhere like Vermont, where I can watch all the leaves turn colors and then fall off while the world around me morphs into a giant snowglobe. And everything will smell like apple cider, and people will walk their dogs through piles of leaves and the dogs will be wearing scarves and sleigh bells will jingle in the distance. That’s how it is there, right?

3. Make hot white chocolate for my husband. I’m not a fan of white chocolate either (the darker the better) but the poor kid is allergic to regular chocolate. It’s so sad.

4. Buy mistletoe and hang it somewhere.

5. Go stay in a shnazzy hotel in a big city that’s all decorated and bustling for the holidays, with window displays and people running around and lights hanging from everything. Like Paris. Or New York.

Despite not yet having a tree or even knowing if I’ll be able to get one, I know I have a few things to look forward to this year either way. Hanukkah party at our friend’s house. Sushi on Christmas Eve. Driving around looking at lights with my husband. Mulled wine and watching Downton Abbey with my mom.

But in the meantime, I’m gonna keep dreaming of a healthy weekend.

–Written by Shayla Maddox for Art & Musings

A couple of years ago, as I approached a new decade, I decided that I was no longer going to be bashful in my 30s. To me this meant developing the strength I knew was there, and blossoming into the perpetual self-confidence I felt I deserved but never embraced. Why shouldn’t I? I was young, healthy, smart. I had good ideas, and with a little hard work, a great future.

Suffice it to say, now in my 30s, this is still an ongoing struggle.

So what’s the problem? What I didn’t know in my 20s is that being confident is a verb, an action. It’s not a feeling that floats around inside you. Doing the things of a confident person is what makes you confident. You have to do first, feel later. You cannot sit around waiting for confidence to find you, or blame the lack of it on your inability to accomplish tasks. The years continue on around us regardless of whether or not we feel confident enough to participate. Life is not a dress rehearsal.

From a basic level, it starts with self-respect. You have to respect yourself enough to care for your own person, your own life. Self-respect means you eat properly, stay fit and healthy, get enough sleep so you can function the next day, clean your space so that you can live and work, and work at something that gives your day a purpose greater than watching television. You do all this because you respect yourself.

Personally, I feel more confident when I wear clothes I like and spruce myself up a bit. But usually I don’t, because I work at home, and I have to wear clothes I’m willing to splatter paint on, and why waste make-up or hair products if my day consists of writing, painting, and running to the post-office? There have been a curious number of times in which I didn’t answer the door to the UPS man because I wasn’t wearing pants. I could stand a bit more effort than falling out of bed and onto a canvas each morning. I know this because by the end of the day, I begin to feel messy and unkempt and self-conscious. Not a coincidence.

Three and a half months ago I joined a Krav Maga class (it’s like street-fighting), which is something I’ve been putting off since I was about 16. That’s half my life. I’ve always wanted to know, deep down, that I could protect myself and kick a little ass if ever I needed to. I’ve never been very athletic. And fighting is hard. Very hard. I have bruises up and down my arms. Last week I came home with a phew-that-could-have-been-worse scratch on my eyelid. During my third class, a guy’s nose was broken. Almost always, I am either the only girl in class, or one of maybe two or three. Tops.

And I freaking love it.

And now I do feel more confident. I am, truly, in all ways, stronger. I was hesitant to go in the first place, and I still drum up anxiety before each class. But I force myself because I know that the feeling of power and confidence I leave with is absolutely unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. It’s the action that comes first. A hesitant person makes a confident action and then feels confident. I can’t believe I waited so long.

It’s a lesson I could do with applying to other aspects of my life. I often shy away from taking action because I don’t feel confident enough to do so. That’s backwards. If I string enough confident actions together in a row, wouldn’t that automatically make me a confident person?

Those who are truly empowered don’t wait. They just are. I’m envious, to be sure, but not for long. I’m catching up.

—-It’s almost a new year! Let’s make it a confident one. Is there anything in your life that makes you feel more confident? I’d love to hear your stories.

–Written by Shayla Maddox for Art & Musings

So I’ve learned something.

I went to Kauai to find answers, not really even knowing what my questions were, but feeling like there was something I was missing that I needed to find. Or maybe I needed to be found. One of those. I don’t know.

I wait for answers too often. If I want something to happen, I assume things are simply going to work out, eventually. Someone or something will swoop in with neon signs and arrows showing me every step of the way. 

But clearly, for awhile now, I’ve been unhappy. I’ve felt unsettled and awkward, almost like I was intentionally avoiding something. And for the first few days in Kauai, I wasn’t settled either. I was thrilled to be there, of course, but I felt a little like I was phoning it in. The truth was, I was starting to panic. What if I didn’t find answers here? WHAT IF THERE WERE NO ANSWERS?! Gack.

Fearing this, I became determined to find that answer, no matter what. It was there. Somewhere. Dammit.

We were on horseback, in the rain, clip-clopping through the Kauai jungle when I got an inkling of what I was looking for. Oh gawd, I wasn’t going to have to come up with these answers… myself, was I? Oh no, no no no, there had to be an easy way for me to just find the magical path of direction where it already existed. Right?

The next morning, we were having tea on our lanai, listening to the waves, about to head off for the day, when I heard this little voice inside my head say, “Help.”

I was praying. For a sign, an answer, something obvious. Please, I thought, let there be something obvious.

A few hours later, meditating in a beautiful setting intended for true inner peace, I said the same thing. Help. Where? How? What? When?! I asked.

Immediately I got a reply. The same voice (sounding a bit wiser) said, “It’s your choice.” 

Fuck. I really was going to have to figure this out myself. No sign. No direction.

This was not the answer I was hoping for. I was hoping for something easy.

Yet… wait. You mean if I just committed to something and set a date that would be… the answer? That’s it? Said and done? OMG that was too easy. That can’t be right. Can it? 

Suddenly the stress disappeared. The weight I’d been carrying was gone. I knew that I’d gotten my sign, and that inner voice I’d heard earlier was smiling proudly at my accomplishment. The answer had been so… obvious.

What the hell? How did I go from clueless to confident in three seconds?

I had been afraid. In retrospect, it seems silly, since the fear that comes with not taking action is so much greater than the fear of choice. I can’t avoid choices. Well, I can, but it’s not going to forward anything. Kind of like running the wrong way on an escalator. Choices are opportunities, not catalysts for paralyzation. Waiting is death. Actions are what make up the very purpose of our lives. It happens so fast. I’d rather meet life at each point, run up to it and plan something amazing so that I don’t get lost in a whirlwind of wishing and waiting. 

Not that I’m very good at it.

I learned, yet again, that I have to be the person I want to be. I have to live the things I want my story to be about. Always.

The truth is, it’s all up to me.

–Written by Shayla Maddox for Art & Musings

Somewhere in between determination, heart palpitations, lethargy and giddiness I stopped smoking cigarettes eleven days ago. Oddly enough I feel more level headed than I’ve felt in a long time, albeit a sleepy time.

I slept 16 hours per day during the first three days of the quit and sporadically puffed on a Nicorette Inhaler and on a nicotine-free electronic cigarette. The constant dizziness from quitting didn’t subside until day four and it’s still lingering today. And I can’t beleive the manufacturers of the Nicorette inhaler want you to use 12 cartridges per day! I’ve been using one per day since my quit and puffing on an electronic cigarette five to six times per day. And now, eleven days in, I’m weaning off both the Nicorette and the e-cig.

I’m not really sure what prompted me to stop smoking on November 19th, and can’t really say why I feel good or how come I haven’t gone crazy or regressed back into smoking again. I guess when the time is right you just do it and say frack off to everyone and everything else that gets in your way of completing the task at hand.

There are numerous reasons this quit is sticking…

• I had no roommates last week so I could be as crazy as I needed to be at home
• I stopped working for one week
• I used Facebook for support and asked people to write in with suggestions
• My Mom (love you Mom) kept her distance for a few days until the fourth day when she showed up in sneakers and said lets go for a walk right now
• My Dad decided to quit too
• My closest friends and family do not smoke
• I have been reading blogs about relationships, humour, hope and self-esteem and not about quitting smoking or about health
• I stopped reading the news
• A good friend stopped in unexpectedly on the first day of my quit and sat with me while I went nuts then she told me to get dressed so we could go get Pepsi and more electronic cigarettes so I wouldn’t suffer through major caffeine withdrawal
• I washed all my clothing and bedding
• I threw away the tin and ashtrays that were outside on the sundeck early on the second day of my quit
• I cried rivers three days into my quit when I couldn’t find a cigarette anywhere to smoke but was grateful that I didn’t find one afterwards
• I’m ignoring any smoking friends and acquaintances for a little bit (sorry guys and gals)
• I drew a fish and coloured it
• I played with the cats a lot!
• I chatted with that great guy
• I drank some wine in the evenings
• I cut my Pepsi consumption by 2/3 from 6L per week to 2L and suffered though the headaches of decaffeinating oneself
• I cooked and ate regular organic meals even when it was hard to do so
• I did NOT buy candy or chew gum to replace the addiction and have held my weight at 130lbs
• I speed walked to the grocery store, to the post office and to the bank multiple times
• I went out with the girls on the town one night
• I didn’t think about failing
• I watched Zombies on TV
• I masturbated – you know it works.

When you have both Hypothryoidism and ADHD it can be mind numbing to stop smoking as that tiny hit of nicotine stimulates the sluggishness of a low thryroid while it simultaneously organizes the hyperactivity of the ADHD brain.

I had tried earlier this year to quit and that did not go well and I understand why it didn’t now.

Deep down, we inherently know when something we do will last or if it will fail. The mental and physical freedom I feel over these last eleven days is akin to what I felt when detoxing from GHB for the third and final time in 2005, and cleaning up from the second major surgery from Crohn’s Disease in 1997.

To know you will die if you do something again is scary. I have convinced myself and rightfully so that if I ever smoke cigarettes again that I will die and if I ever use GHB again I will die and if I ever eat too many processed, sugary and fatty foods again I will develop Chron’s again and need more surgery and then die.

Next time you want to stop something and don’t know how, beg, borrow and steal the time to make it happen because you are worth it. I don’t feel bad about losing 10 days… in fact I turned my little home and surrounding outside neighborhood into healing central and made sure I got what I needed to make it through and now it’s time to give back and say thank you.

Relaxation doesn’t come easy for me, if at all. I’ve battled severe insomnia since I was a child. I’ve always had difficulty shutting off my brain. Over the years, I’ve developed pretty good skills at hiding it from the outside world, but internally I’m usually worrying over something. I like to drum up things to fret about if otherwise there’s nothing.

Working for myself is both a trigger and a relief in this regard. Since I’m obsessing over details anyway, I might as well direct that energy toward my own business. I work excellently on my own. I don’t need anyone to point out all the various nuances of business that I should be watching. (Even if I’m conversely too lazy to take action on them.)

Occasionally I must take drastic measures and run away somewhere. Travel is my drug of choice lately. It’s the only thing I find just as exciting as art. Sometimes more so. Sometimes it’s exactly what I need to inspire me to do more art. Often, while I’m gone, I still try to work. I answer emails, renew listings, send out invoices, keep everything moving along.

I think I’m afraid to let go.

As a society we’ve come to this point where we fear relaxation, like everything we’ve accomplished is going to implode before our very eyes if we stop moving for one second. We can’t sit still. There’s competition everywhere and if we look down for just a minute, someone is going to take our spot. It’s a cutthroat existence, this self-employment thing. We live to work. We make it a war.

I just wish I could enjoy myself when I’m enjoying myself.

I’m getting better at it. Slowly. It takes practice. I never realized when embarking on this Artrepreneur lifestyle that I would have to learn how to be away from it.

So, this week, right now as you read this in fact, I’m away on a trip to a quiet, beautiful, meditative place. (I didn’t even bring my laptop!) There will be much sitting and staring at gorgeous landscapes. There will be hiking on cliffsides. There will be warm, tropical, cleansing rain. I want to think a lot, and dream. I am chatting with my muse. I am exercising my right to relax. I am renewing my artistic spirit.

My goal in this is not just to inspire my art with beautiful, poetic scenery (although that’s a given.) I’m using this time to reawaken myself, me as a human being. I haven’t taken enough time to look inward while absorbing all that is around me. I focus so much on my art that I forget to restore my mind. This time is about healing, and rest, and reinvigorating my very soul.

That will make me a better artist.

–Written by Shayla Maddox for Art & Musings

Do you decorate?

I’ve always adored holiday decorations. Or, at least, I used to, before I had adult responsibilities and recognized that I was short on space. (Clutter didn’t bother me as much as a child.) Even the holiday decorations in stores made me giddy, and I dreamed of which “style” I would put up if I were grown up and had my own home.

Now I am, and I do, but I’m not very interested in decorating. Which makes me sad.

In fact, I’ve become less interested in decorations the bigger my home has gotten. I put more effort into decorating when I was 21 – and squished into a small apartment with 3 other people – than I do now. I don’t know why.

Well, yes I do. Now my priorities are different. My business is my focus. My studio has expanded exponentially with each move we’ve made, thereby rendering any “bigger space” irrelevant. I also grew to hate clutter, in part because I spend all my time in a messy studio. It doesn’t help that I try to be all minimalist and Zen. It’s hard to fit multicolored lights and reindeer into that.

Of course I still dream of living in a giant house that looks like the Pottery Barn threw up on it, with a roaring fireplace, mugs of cocoa and fresh pine branches everywhere. Pine branches are minimalist, right? Vacuuming never factors into my vision. I live in a small condo, most of which is taken up by art and art supplies, and that’s my choice. And I’m happy with my lifestyle. Really.

I think the part that makes me sad about my current predicament is that I see decorating, for any season, as an example of personal expression. Whether you prefer traditional, kitschy, or modern, it’s a reflection of one’s style. I’m not getting to express my style.

It’s also a way to mark the passage of time. As it stands now for me, there’s very little difference between Winter and Summer, except the heat, and the commercials on TV. I hang a few ornaments in the window. We get a little rosemary tree for the counter. That’s about it.

We don’t even buy each other gifts, which always shocks people, and that amuses me. It’s one of our favorite choices in life. We hate accumulating stuff we don’t need. And if we need anything, we make those decisions when they happen. We like to travel together as much as possible. Our money is spent in a way we enjoy. We much prefer to save for and spend on experiences together.

Don’t get me wrong; I fully intend to fulfill my wintery decor dreams at some point in my life. But not now.

We leave for a tropical journey tomorrow, a very un-traditional way to start the holiday season, and we’re thrilled with that. What does traditional even mean anymore? It’s a cultural habit either way. We want to choose how we spend our time, with thought and intention, rather than being swept up in the chaos. It’s hard to fight. The chaos is thick, and heck, sometimes it’s enjoyable too. But in a life with so many distractions, we want to create our own memories. We want to live the life of our dreams. Being together in a place we adore is what we wanted.

I can’t think of anything to be more Thankful for.

–Written by Shayla Maddox for Art & Musings

I wasn’t always a painter. Sure, I’d dabbled before, but it was never something that had any sort of hold over me. In fact, I found it boring. Then one day, out of the blue, I had this terrible, burning, incredible need to paint. To really paint.

So, I did the only natural thing to do. I found this awesome painter I was acquainted with, who had a long and successful career as an artist, walked straight up to him and said,
“I want to paint.”

He didn’t blink. In fact, he told me exactly what to do.

The most important thing, he said, was not to spend too much money on materials. Specifically, he told me to start out with house paint, preferably the “oops” paint (the cans that had been messed up at the hardware store), because it was cheaper. At first I thought this was in case I decided I didn’t like painting. A good point, to be sure, but in actuality he didn’t want me to feel guilty using up anything I’d bought. Which I would have.

Then he told me what continues to be the best advice I have ever received about art, ever:

“Don’t make it good.”

I thought this was profound. I still do. And now that I’ve graduated to using fancy schmancy expensive materials, that piece of advice has stuck with me. It has fundamentally changed how I work.

I always laugh when I hear artists admonishing fellow artists about “proper” materials and methods. It’s so stifling. There’s a time and place for it, and that time is not when one is starting out. In fact, if it ever chokes one’s creativity, it’s wrong. The artist who mentored me, a “plein-air abstractionist” he was called, painted outside, in the wind, with the bugs. There were tree parts and dirt stuck in the paint. It never once inhibited his career. People bought up his paintings like crazy and he was well respected in the community. Personally, I think it made his work even more special.

I once knew a girl who wanted to be an artist. She bought an expensive art desk. She bought expensive art supplies. She rarely used them, and perpetually looked like a startled bunny whenever faced with making art. She would doodle amazing little drawings absentmindedly while at her desk at work, but the idea of making “real” art petrified her.

Sometimes I think we like to overcomplicate things in order to justify procrastination. As children, art was easy. No one expected us to meet any sort of arbitrary, high-minded standard of excellence. We just made things because we felt like it. We wanted to see what the colors looked like, how the materials felt on our fingers. It was purely experiential.

During some of my worst and longest blocked periods, in which my output shuts down, I have no ideas, and I’m temporarily convinced that I’ll never make art again, I always realize that I’ve been trying to make good art. I want it to be good. I want people to think that it’s good. I stop thinking about the paint, and the color. I stop feeling the art. There’s been many occasions in which I’ve had to ruin my work in order to continue. I’ll splash black paint over the whole piece, or paint it all white, just to erase the previous blockage out of my mind. I’ll even cover up the parts that I like. It’s an exercise of release. It frees me up. I’m no longer trying to make art that’s “good.” I’m just making art.

Inspiration has no judge. It’s about expression, whatever that may be for you, whatever that looks like. If you’re concerned about “making it good”, you’ll lose your unbridled creativity, the very thing that made you want to create in the first place. You’ll judge yourself. You won’t be raw. Your true self is what makes it art. There is no good or bad in that. The façade you maintain for others cannot be inspired. Creativity comes from within you. It is your soul. You want it to be you.

Being good at something either comes naturally, or takes years of practice (or both.) It isn’t something you can put on, like a hat or a British accent. It really has no relationship to why we make art. Perhaps we can aspire to be good, but we can’t fake it, so it doesn’t matter. The only thing that truly matters is that we do the work that represents our collective soul, our personal story. We have to prepare our art to be seen by the world, but create as though no one is watching.

That’s what makes it great.

–Written by Shayla Maddox for Art & Musings

In life we either get it right or we don’t as there really isn’t an in between nether world that we can climb into when things aren’t going the way we want them to. However, I tend to crawl into that purgatorial space when the creative bug hits and begin drawing the creatures that float around in it, in an attempt to make sense of what was, what is and what could be or write, right here, on the blog.

And it isn’t that things are going bad right now, they are however at a stand still of sorts and testing the limits with the timing being off and locating the on switch seems to be out of reach and dangling in front of my fingertips. I have to laugh at that because what else am I to do when it comes to men?

I decided to put my online dating profile to rest a couple of weeks ago and haven’t logged in since. I’d much rather meet a man in real life and talk with them face to face as between both Facebook and Plenty of Fish the men I’ve met through those sites are not what they make themselves out to be.

There was the man who after five or six painful dates simply couldn’t say more than “Well, uh”, “What do you want to do?”, “I’ll have whatever you are having” or “Whatever you want to watch is good with me”. Conversation was extremely painful and the thumb rubbing and clenched jaw and darting eyes and feel sorry for me look on his face at all times made me want to silently scream. I’m sorry, but always agreeing with me on everything is a complete turn-off. He was not man enough for me. But this next guy was too much man…

This guy seemed nice enough on the first date but on the second, third and fourth, the warning bells went off as he couldn’t sit still, kept dodging his eyes away from mine and when asked any sort of direct question and would not answer the simplest of questions and responded half the time with only questions by turning the conversation back to me. He promised the world to me and many high paying creative jobs but really he only wanted to dig into my brain and learn everything I knew about WordPress and working online and more than that get into my pants which is fine when you both want sex (who doesn’t) but when one person says no, then it must stop. And when a woman says they are sick and have been throwing up and want to cancel and you still invite yourself down and travel to see them and then lift their legs from their flat laying down position and jolt them over onto your own when when you crash down on the couch… well that is just douchebaggery. And having to pee every half hour 24 hours a day/night is a sign of disease or drug abuse or something. And when you ask why he needs to urinate so much and the man won’t answer to say why he’s peeing all the time there is a huge red flag that waves goodbye. And then lecturing me on smoking and asking for a smoke to smoke yourself is hysterically hypocritical.

BUT what makes me sad is when you DO meet someone and because the timing is off it stalls and can’t or won’t begin and I know this isn’t making sense, yet I’m thrilled that I am meeting people in real life who seem to enjoy just who I am without the need to point out the imperfections or judge me on past actions, income level or age and who aren’t stalking, harassing or begging me for help with Photoshop or WordPress.

And there is one man whom I met recently and had the pleasure of getting to know over the course of five weeks. Nothing ever happened between us physically and nothing has become of what was. I smile knowing that I’ve leaped forward in getting to know a man just for who he is without getting seriously involved immediately. But I’m left wondering what could have been and left thinking why things happen the way they do. He is one of the most intelligent men I’ve had the honour of spending time with while he was renting a room here in the house. He spoke his mind, was genuinely kind and while we disagreed on many things, the conversations just kept going irregardless of our opposing tastes. He loves his family, pets and loves to eat at home rather than eating out and works with his hands in trade and is down to earth and loves the outdoors and has a fantabulous smile and eyes.

He is the kind of man I see myself with and although nothing may come of the intense crush I have on him (although I secretly hope something will) I did learn something very basic over the last few years and that is this… I will no longer date men who are afraid of commitment, afraid to be honest, afraid to show emotion, who want to keep me a secret, who promise the world after two dates, who don’t want to meet my friends and family, who are mean, intolerant or racist, men who can’t look me in the eye, men who can’t accept that I work at home, men who don’t keep their word, men who belittle me and most of all men who who can’t be men because they inwardly hate women.

But I will keep putting myself out there and meeting men in person until the timing is right.

And boy I wish the timing was different so I could get to know this guy more. As time goes on I want someone that shares my values and core morals much more than someone who has everything in common with me. Common ground is a bonus but it certainly gets boring if your values, morals and future ideas and goals don’t add up.

The photo above is of two wooden beads that I painted recently using acrylic paint and varnish. They have since sold. I’m hoping to paint more soon!

If you’re not familiar, ‘Work of Art’ is a reality TV show on Bravo about artists, in the same vein as Project Runway. Artists with different styles and backgrounds compete against each other toward one last battle, the prize being money and an official show in a fancy art place, displaying all the crap they made over the course of the season.

Each episode presents a new “challenge,” or theme, to inspire the artists to make a piece of art that will be judged against all the rest, after a time limit of one day in which to conceptualize, create, and finish their art. It has to be unique, innovative, something that passes the approval of “qualified” judges, and must never be too reminiscent of their own style or in any way similar to what they made last week.

It’s not much different than pulling in ten random people off the street, throwing them into a craft store for 20 minutes, and then demanding they produce genius art in a day.

This is not a venue in which these artists are allowed to display their lifetime of creativity, the progress in their own careers, or their unique fingerprint of inspiration. It’s a pressure-filled war zone where they are emotionally blindfolded, dropped off in the middle of nowhere, and told to build epic cathedrals out of popsicle sticks. Their reward is a harsh critique from some dude who owns a gallery in New York and the possibility that maybe, just maybe, Sarah Jessica Parker will grace them with her presence.

Given these strict confinements, the artists are generally left at a creative loss. Understandably. Which is probably why they often resort to taking pictures of themselves naked. Poof! Instant Art. (Unless you were the poor guy from last season, who photographed his overweight body in a desperate attempt to express his inner turmoil in life. He got voted off for it. But naked chicks? ART!!!)

This is the art world at its worst. Yet… I watch. I’m intrigued. Maybe I want to know my enemy.

There are moments, few and far between, where we get to see an artist creating really fantastic art. I also enjoy watching how they react to the limited circumstances they’re forced to work with. I’m glad I’m able to sit back and mock them instead of having my own career of work judged on one single challenge in which I’m not allowed to use any of the skills and inspirations I’ve developed over the course of my lifetime.

There was a girl on recently whose art reflected her battle with Crohn’s Disease. She couldn’t make anything else, or take criticism, so they kicked her out. Though it contradicts everything else I’ve said, I agreed with the judges’ decision. I guess in that moment, I realized that although this show is a poor example of it, artists do have to learn the skill of absorbing their outside environment and translating it into art. If you can’t go with the flow, there’s probably a key ingredient missing anyway. I hate that they are reprimanded for this, since it’s a skill gained during the course of one’s career, but I accept the lesson that, as artists, we will always have more to learn.

I just don’t think the lesson should come from this show, or these people.

‘Work of Art’ is, at the very least, basely educational. I think artists should watch it. If nothing else, the emotional response we have to each moment can be part of our own process. It’s unfortunate that this is what the general public may believe about art, and I’m angered that this is the state of the supposed art world.

To create a situation in which the souls of artists are judged against the opinions of game-show hosts for nothing more than advertising dollars is perverted.

I’m honored to be part of a new generation of artists that don’t value this sort of treatment. We are not cattle. Our experience and unique creativity are valuable. These things are not anecdotal. We spend hours a day for years perfecting our own form of expression, and we should be valued for doing so. It’s a lot of work. It’s a lot of soul. We bleed ourselves.

Art isn’t a trick that’s performed on cue. It is a language expressing the totality of our experiences.

–Written by Shayla Maddox for Art & Musings

Lately it’s been difficult to hit that Publish button within the dashboard of this blog… as I’m questioning what to share and what not to share… what to say and what not to say… who to talk to and trust and who not to talk to and most of all questioning what it all means.

The bigger you get the harder you fall is hitting REALLY hard lately as my life becomes more and more public. It hits home instantly when you walk outside and while waiting for the bus or are having a sip of wine with a friend or are grocery shopping and are stopped or pointed at and someone says I know you from somewhere and then they ask your name and it registers with them that you are a blogger or worse if it’s a man they recognize you from a dating site (which is somewhat creepy) especially when said man who recognizes you is someone you don’t want to be in touch with in the first place.

I attended a large arts and crafts show this past weekend at Brunswick Square in Saint John from November 3rd to 5th (an didn’t even share it here on the blog due to being overwhelmed with prepration) selling my art and paper goods. It was an amazing show. I talked to many wonderful people during those three days and many of those same people recognized my art immediately from Etsy or Facebook or Twitter or from here on my blog. That in itself, is, very humbling.

I cried myself to sleep Friday night. I hadn’t truly cried in months and with a vengeance the teardrops fell. I also started my period (TMI I know!… deal with it) the following morning. You should have seen my swollen eyes when I awoke after four hours of sleep, haha, knowing it was going to be another 16 hour day standing on my feet and talking with the public. Ice cubes on the eyelids were in order. I pulled through though, and do prefer being half asleep, at times, as it shuts my damn brain down to be able to focus on you, rather than the inner workings of an over-active imagination.

The lines of privacy and publicity are being blurred at the moment as I celebrate my 38th birthday today, both online and offline, and if you’ll all bear with me while I sort this out in my head I’d be eternally grateful. I’ve been struggling with running away from it all and entering the workforce but after numerous rejection letters it certainly begins to wear on one’s confidence. But this past weekend gave me strength and renewed hope that I’m doing just what I”m meant to be doing.

Anyhow, I’m 38 now and that is okay. YAY! BTW, you can calculate your place in history here by using the nifty human calculator tool found on Population Action International’s What’s Your Number Calculator.

And that is me in the photo above holding a stack of freshly made 2012 Desk Calendars. You can get one (or two) here.

Lately I’ve been pondering the relationships artists have with other artists.

I think in some ways, there’s this mistaken dream that artists all gather collectively the way we imagine it was done in 1920′s Paris; a utopia of sorts for artists to mingle, support, and commiserate with each other.

A scene from the movie Midnight in Paris:

Gil: I would like you to read my novel and get your opinion.
Ernest Hemingway: I hate it.
Gil: You haven’t even read it yet.
Ernest Hemingway: If it’s bad, I’ll hate it. If it’s good, then I’ll be envious and hate it even more. You don’t want the opinion of another writer.

Well put.

Online, I’ve been fortunate to connect with many artists, mostly visual artists, but artists of other genres as well. Perhaps it’s the distance between us, the safe barrier of computer screens shielding us from the snickering, eye-rolling, and snide comments we’ve experienced in real life. Maybe it’s the sense that we share a common bond, not only of marketing ourselves as a business online, but also a common lack of artist-to-artist relationships in the real world.

Or, maybe we just have a wider audience in which to find people we truly click with.

In real life, at least for me personally, I find an odd, awkward distance in communication between myself and other artists. For whatever reason, conveniently, my real-life artist friends are the least likely to comment on my Facebook updates, acknowledge anything about my life, or ask how I’m doing when they see me.

Occasionally it’s been downright antagonistic. One artist friend actually broke up with me over it. She would say, of course, that there were other reasons, but the increase in eye-rolling, snideness, and inability to be near me that began the moment I announced my first art show was rather obvious. My favorite was the ongoing insinuation that because I hadn’t been to art school, I was practicing art without a license.

Why do we find it hard to be happy for our friends? Something good happens for another and we’re struck with scarcity complex, convincing ourselves that our friend is just luckier than we are, or that some magic fairy dust landed upon them that didn’t hit us. I’ve had to check myself on many occasions and remember that there’s plenty of success to go around even if I lost out on a single opportunity. We each have examples in our lives of someone we feel is living an “ideal” situation, and that person has their own example of the same thing. It always feels different inside our own heads.

Oh, resentment, the poison we drink in hopes that the other person dies. And for what? To prove that we aren’t lacking? Because we would rather the people we care about weren’t successful for fear of them making us look bad?

I want to be surrounded by people who are all doing their own thing, passionately, who are happy for others’ success because they honestly aren’t competing with anyone. True artists don’t compete because they would be doing their art regardless of what was happening around them. They would be artists in a wealthy castle, and they would be artists marooned on an island. If we’re not happy for our friends’ achievements it’s because we’re not content with ourselves. In my dream world, we’re all confident in what we’re each doing, regardless of how we compare to one another. Success is an individual achievement and means something different to everyone. If other people achieve their dreams, great. That means it’s possible for all of us.

It’s our own individual job to find it, and fight for it, rather than fighting with each other. I want a close-knit community in which we’re all made more successful by knowing each other, networking where we can, rising up together, and creating that utopia of artistic fellowship that doesn’t exist otherwise. If we work together, we grow together. If we fight each other for the top position, we fail. We all fail.

Perspective is everything.

–Written by Shayla Maddox for Art & Musings

People seem to forget that on the other end of the email, convo, comment, message or blog, that there is a REAL human being with feelings. I’ve never encountered more asshattery since opening an account on a dating site in search of that special man.

I’ve been harassed, threatened and chased by men who don’t know their a$$ from their mouth. At one point one man had sent 40 emails in two days demanding to know my real name and where I live all the while professing his love for me stating that we are meant to be together and are soul mates. After a week of this from numerous men I finally located and learned to use the block button.

While, I have met a few nice men on the site who seem to be genuinely looking for a long term relationship I have yet to meet up with one of them in real life and I’m beginning to ask myself why?

I’ve been single since late 2006 and while that in itself has some benefits it doesn’t make for what I want out of life. It does get lonely and it does get frustrating dating man after man after man only to realize one date, two weeks or three months into it that he is an assclown, a player or emotionally unstable or worse still involved or in love with his ex-wife or girlfriend. And this comes back to me… I’m attracting the wrong kind of man which is something I’m deeply concerned about for my own self-esteem and well being. I do not blame the men but myself in this situation.

I don’t beleive in settling and I used to think I wanted certain things from a relationship but I’ve now found myself thinking over the last year(s) and want someone who shares the same morals and values that I do and this doesn’t necessarily mean that we will enjoy the same books, movies or hobbies. Having everything in common certainly makes things very boring after a while.

While I had hoped this dating site would offer an alternative way to meet a man, it’s proving to take much more time away from my real life than I initially thought it would. I’d like to meet a man in real life and as such am taking a break and may eventually delete my account to explore the city on it’s own terms or use the site in conjunction with real life. I need to trust my instincts and take the initiative and immediately delete and block the men who want nothing more than a shoulder to lean or to get me into bed so that I can read the emails from the men who have taken the time to actually write more than “how are you” or “You are beautiful” or “Wanna chat sweetie”.

Online dating has worked out very well for some of my friends and family but for me it seems I have to wage war against crude and significant amounts of men who have chips on their desperate shoulders who are parading around impersonating themselves with stolen pictures and false or insignificant profiles. These men are drowning out the real good guys, ’cause good guys… I know you do exist out there.

Have you ever used an online dating site and what were your experiences with it?

Don’t get me wrong — Being a self-employed artist is absolutely the most rewarding and fascinating journey I have ever undertaken. It lights my soul on fire and makes me happier than I ever thought possible. I feel empowered and capable. I absolutely love getting up every morning. I adore my job.

That doesn’t make it any less lonely though.

I’m not talking about the hermit-like lifestyle I lead all day, every day, in order to get work done. I’m talking about the absence of true connection with other people who don’t pursue goals in the same manner.

I’ve met many people who work 9-to-5′s and generally assume that I work very little, and that my daily life consists of TV, napping, and leisure. Somehow, amidst this life of endless stasis, my artwork, marketing, and writings burst forth into the universe simply because I think them into existence.

Whenever I achieve something I’ve been working towards, someone inevitably comments about how “lucky” I am. Ha.

Then there’s the suspicion from outsiders. Since obviously I just stay home all day, I obviously have plenty of free time to meet people for lunch, go shopping on a whim, and spend all day on a Thursday at the beach. That’s what other people do on their days off, right? And, as an Artist-Entrepreneur, I have every day off! Yay!! If I refuse activities too often, my friends begin to take it personally, because it’s interpreted that I simply don’t want to spend my endless free-time with them. It’s hard to overcome this misunderstanding.

It’s not you, it’s me. Really.

As those of us who choose this wacky lifestyle know, we don’t start work at 9 and end it at 5. IT NEVER ENDS. Ever. There are no real vacation days. We have to force ourselves into taking any time off, and even then we sneak peeks at our phones to check for new emails.

I crave interaction with those that understand me. I find myself disproportionately excited to meet a new possible friend who lives the same lifestyle as I do. Hooray for the Internet. Outsiders might snicker that we call each other “friends,” but we share a camaraderie that, at the very least, helps with the feeling of perpetual loneliness. (Not to mention the business opportunities we tend to pass around to each other.)

It can’t be forced in real life. Believe me, I’ve tried. I’ve started conversations about Entrepreneurialism with strangers in order to gauge their interest on the topic. I’ve drunkenly blathered about Moo Cards and Twyla Tharp to someone in a foreign country on the vague possibility of connection.

Alas.

I know, in the long run, this is a lifestyle we each go alone. Hopefully we have families that love us and support us through it, and understand our ways. And the people we meet online really are a special breed of companions in an otherwise island-like existence. Truly I enjoy reading what each of you are doing with your day-to-day activities, your thoughts on marketing, and your experiences that match mine. It’s nice to know that you’re out there too, obsessing over your own careers as I am mine.

In that way, sincerely, I have an ever-growing, ever strengthening support group of like-minded individuals. It’s lovely to know that we’re in this together.

–Written by Shayla Maddox for Art & Musings

I met Shayla a while back in early 2008 on Etsy. We quickly become friends and even exchange handmade Christmas balls at Christmas each year with each other. While we have never met in real life, she is as dear to me as the friends I have in real life. And above that, she understands what it’s like to work online and be self employed in the fine art and illustration business. She is a beautiful person inside and out.

Shayla lives with her husband and works out of her home studio in Southern California. Shayla will be contributing one blog post each Wednesday to the Art & Musings blog. Her posts will be about… to quote her…

A bit back I suddenly had this burst of an epiphany, from watching Sex and The City no less (which I wouldn’t say I watch regularly or am even a fan of, but there was nothing else on while I was sitting on the ground working on my Christmas balls and now I’m thinking it was bizarrely fated that I watched it.) Anyway, I suddenly saw myself writing a column, a Carrie Bradshaw like column, though discussing art and life as opposed to dating in NYC.

And a bit more about Shyala in her own words…

I paint, and travel, and absorb the universe. And then I paint about those things. My work is a blend of science, Zen style, and Sacred Geometry.

I am inspired by stars, moons, sunsets, tropical beaches, humidity, coloring books, crayons, glo-worms and lite-brites, the Disneyland Main Street Electrical Parade, Jules Verne, The Science Channel, ancient technology and civilizations, the study of the universe, spirituality, stained glass windows, sea glass, telescopes, down-tempo music, Zen wisdom, rainbows, fireflies, water and light.

You can read Shayla’s personal Blog here and visit her Etsy Shop here.

Her first post will be up tomorrow!

Welcome Shayla! xo

If you look at the diagram above you’ll see three different print sizes that I offer for sale in the art shop. The smallest measures 5×5 inches, the medium sized measures 8×8 inches with the largest measuring in at 12×12 inches.

A 5×5 inch print gives you 25 square inches (156 square cm) of art.

An 8×8 inch print gives you 64 square inches (420 square cm) of art.

The 12×12 inch print gives you a whopping 144 inches (930 square cm) of artwork and is the best value to purchase from my Etsy shop!

Today, I have put the 12×12 inch, 11×14 inch and 9×13 inch prints on sale for $40 which is 20% Off their regular price. This sale will run until October 25th. Do shop early for the upcoming Christmas and Holiday Season to guarantee that your order arrives on time for gift giving.

The prices are already reduced in the large print section of my shop. All large sized prints are securely packaged by me into flat unbending fiberboard mailers and ship from my studio located in Saint John, NB, Canada. And I do ship internationally.

Thank you

The first is called Peter Pain and the one below is a family of spooky eyeballs just in time for Hallowe’en! Both measure 10 by 10 inches (25cm by 25cm). I’m hoping to complete them both this weekend. I’ll expand upon the significance of each illustration once they are done, scanned and blogged individually.

Hope you are all having a great weekend!

It is with great pleasure that I share this feature with you. An acquaintance of mine, Judy Farquharson emailed it to me today and then Judith Mackin, uber-talented local, Saint John Interior Designer let me know about it too.

My 2011 Sea Life Wall Calendar is featured in the makeover of Psychologist Dr. Jane Walsh’s Office. How exciting!

You can read all about the design makeover and see the before and stunning after pictures on Judith’s fabulous blog.

Thank you Judith and Judy.

Photo credits go to Hemmings House Pictures.

And if you are looking for the 2012 Creatures of Whimsy Calendars they are listed on Etsy and in digital fine art download format on HandmadeCloud.

After much thought and deliberation of what illustrations to use in 2012 calendars I couldn’t help myself and used all the crazy creatures and fantasy themed illustrations that I’ve been creating over the last year.

The wall calendar is 14 pages and includes a back and front cover. This calendar measures 4.25 by 11 inches (10.5cm by 27.5cm)

The desk calendar measures 4 by 6 inches (10cm by 15cm) and is 12 pages with a neeto paper wrap-around that shows each calendar month on the back.

Each 2012 calendar features a different whimsical creature from The Land of Whimsy for each month including a collaborative piece with author, Christopher DeWan for the month of November. The popular Chasing the Dragon is also featured for the month of September with The Messenger of Whimsy leading you into January.

I print each calendar page using archival ink on cardstock. The wall calendar pages including a front and back cover are bound together with a sheer ribbon while the desk calendar is palced into a sturdy jewell case for display.

The wall calendar is available here.

The desk calendar is available here.

AND you can download either one in high resolution print ready pdf format from HandmadeCloud to print and assemble on your own, from the comfort of your home, as many times as you like!