The Truth About My Art...

"I think it's amazing that you make your living as an artist."

I cringe a little when I hear those words.  I am an artist - that much is true.  But...the rest of the  truth is that I don't "make a living" making art.  I am not a successful artist, at least not in the way you think I am.

The truth is that I have two part-time day jobs - one as a paralegal, and the other as a research assistant. Neither pays me a glamorous amount of money but they are in subject areas that matter to me and to which I am happy to give my time.

The truth is that because of depression, anxiety, and other mental health issues I manage to work about 25 hours a week total. And that most months I make just enough to cover my bills. And this year most months I've actually ended up in the hole.

The truth is that my art barely pays for itself. I don't generally make any money after studio fees, gas, teaching insurance, and all the other things that go along with creating and teaching.  I hope to change that, but the truth is (again) that when faced with marketing a class/show, or doing what I need to stay out of The Wallow – wallow prevention wins.  It has to...

The truth is that the small amount a few faithful Patreon subscribers send me each month has been my grocery and cat food money more than once.  I can’t express how grateful I am for all three of them (yup, there are only three). 

The truth is that I write about my art, talk about my art, share pictures of my art, A LOT because it is my art that keeps me from falling completely into a pit of depression and despair. And maybe because I write a lot about it so much and share it so much people assume I must be making a living at it...

The truth is my art is like air to me.  Without it I'm not sure what I'd do...

The truth is that art has saved my life more than once - just as being able to write is giving me this outlet right now – it has given me a place to put my feelings.  To express things I can’t express anywhere else or by any other means.  

It is in this way that I am a successful artist.

And I am successful at a few other things. 

I am successful at is sharing myself honestly. 

I am successful at providing spaces for those who want to explore.

I am successful at making art the moves people.  That speaks to them in some way. 

I am successful at connecting people. 

I am successful at keeping my head above water though I don’t always understand how. 

I must be successful at being alive because I’m still here.

I am becoming more and more successful at doing the work to heal myself.  And  I do believe that one day, I will be together enough that I will be a more conventionally successful artist.  

Right now my most important creation is myself.  

Peace

If you'd like to support my work and my healing journey, please considering joining my Patreon Page:  Joie Grandbois-Creatrix  --  Thank you. 

 

864 Emails (or how I never met a self help newsletter I didn't like)

Share a link to an online quiz that will help me discover my inner goddess archetype I’ll happily offer up my email to see the result. 

Maybe you can tell me what inner block is holding me back from being my best self – just send me a link for your free webinar on the five things that hold all women back and I’ll sign up in a flash.  

Better yet, send me an offer for an online meditation/self-compassion/embodiment/learn-how-to-love-yourself conference where I can get access to 96 free webinars ALL WEEK LONG.  I’ll take that, here’s my email address.  Thank you very much. 

Send me something that tells me how you can make me a better, more whole, more happy human being and I’ll hand over my email address without a second thought.  Some might even call me a sucker.  

I, like most of us, am just looking for some answers.  I want to find out why I’m not happy.  Why I’m not the success I want to be.  Why I’m not so many other things that I believe I should be.  And if you want to send me a little hope in my inbox, I’ll take it. 

Even though on some level, I know that hope is not the ultimate goal here.  The goal is to get me to sign up for a workshop, or an online course, or for a women’s spirituality group, or whatever variation of the happiness promise you have to offer.  For only $90-$500 a month I can take your course, connect with others just like me, learn to love myself, manifest my dreams, and, yes, yes (if I buy the bonus package) – I get to be a part of your exclusive Facebook group.  But I sign up anyway because hope is a thing I want to grab on to.  

Which is why this morning I found myself staring at a notification of 864 unread emails.  As I scrolled through my inbox I saw the same addresses over and over again.  Many were some variation of spirit this or that, with subject lines that included everything from astrology to women’s circles to inner peace; keywords – goals, manifest, Yes!, now, and you too can... 

I decided I’d had enough.  

It took me an hour and a half to review my inbox. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t missing any personal emails buried amongst the self-help hurricane my inbox had become.  I also wanted to keep the few I was actually interested in.   In the end I unsubscribed from 65 email newsletters, most of which I’d never bothered to open let alone read, and I stayed subscribed to 8 that I actually read on a regular basis. 

I know there is no easy solution for depression, anxiety, or self-loathing.  There is no shortcut to processing trauma, reprogramming my brain towards healthier coping patterns, or self-acceptance.  It is all process…process…process…stumble…process…process.  

For me it is also a lot of hard work…but it is work I need to be doing if I want to do more than just exist.  

The fewer distractions, the better. 

Peace.

If you'd like to support my work and my healing journey, please considering joining my Patreon Page:  Joie Grandbois-Creatrix  --  Thank you.

Sunrise

Sunrise - Portland, ME (2013) - J. Grandbois

This morning I noticed the sunrise.
I didn’t take a photo of it,
or seek a deeper meaning in it,
or think about what adjectives I might ascribe to it.
I just noticed it.
And the winter air on my face,
and the warm cup of coffee in my hand.
And the dark silhouette of the tree,
and the frost on the windows of the cars in the parking lot.
And the caw, caw, caw, of the crows in distant pine.
This morning
as I leaned against the carriage house door.


- Joie Grandbois, 2018

My Catastrophic Thinking...

Content warning:  This post includes discussion of extreme anxiety and some of the less than healthy ways I have dealt with in the past.  It does reference self harm and substance abuse. 

In the world of "You are not alone..." today I'm pondering my habit of catastrophizing. There was a meme that went around social media not too long ago:

Anxiety Girl - able to jump to the worst conclusion in a single bound!

 
Catastrophic thinking is like that, except I don't just go to one worst conclusion, my brain likes to supply me with a range of catastrophic options - four, five...hey let's go all out! Here are ten horrible scenarios for you to play around with for the next eight hours. Sleep? You think you might sleep? Muahahahahaha, you foolish woman!! Here, have two more horror stories to obsess over.

It is exacerbated by the belief that whatever the catastrophe is must also be my fault...somehow. Even if it is quirk of being born - "this terrible thing would not happen if I didn't exist." Yes, I recognize this is 100% irrational as my birth is something I really had zero control over, but the thought, however irrational it may be, is still there. And there is this belief that I am inherently flawed and thus I am always one moment, one step away, from causing something awful to happen.

I don't find the concept difficult to explain, I think everyone at least once in their life has experienced their thoughts going from zero to disaster in a moment. What is difficult to share is how paralyzing, all consuming, and debilitating it can be when it is happening. Once the thoughts appear they rise to a mental volume that does not allow for other voices to be heard. I find myself unable to focus on other things - important things like, eating, work, school, class planning, writing, painting, etc.  It takes over.

It is also difficult for some to understand just how irrational it can be.  An extreme, but true, example... 

I'm in a car.  I hear a thump in the back. My mind goes right to, "Oh you hit a dog...a cat...a small child...that thump was surely something alive."   

I stop the car. I see nothing.  I do get on my knees in the mud to look beneath it  I walk a quarter mile along the road the way I came. Nothing. 

I get back into the car and as I do I see the half empty bottle of windshield washer fluid against the back door.  Rationally I know the sound was this bottle rolling around the back of the car, but I still roll it into the door four or five times myeslf until I'm fully convinced that is what made the noise. 

Other times it is simpler...

My boss says she wants to talk to me.  My brain kicks into action and tells me that I am surely about to be fired.  How will I pay my rent?  How will I feed the cats?  In a few short seconds my mind takes me from happily employed to homeless and alone, and feeling the shame of my former friends seeing me dirty and begging on the street. 

It turns out she wanted to give me a raise...

It is like gas lighting myself. It is crazy making.  

I have not always dealt with this well.  I have self medicated with wine, bad television, and various sleep aids.  These are actually an improvement as many years ago I would cut myself for release.  I stopped that when I discovered that I could put an elastic around my wrist and flick it over and over until the pain of the sting was stronger than my horrible thinking. There have been times when I would have done just about anything to quiet the screaming going on in my head. 

Today, there are other things I do.  I try to remind myself that most of what happens in life is beyond my control and even if the worst thing does happen there is nothing I can do about it.  I breathe.  I reach out to the one or two trusted friends who I know won't dismiss my feelings.  I look back to other times and remind myself that the worst case almost never happens, and then tell my mental monster to shut up with it chimes in with, "But wait a minute...remember that ONE TIME..."

It comes and goes, and the past few weeks it has been back full force.  I have turned to wine more than once to quiet my mind.  I know it is likely to get worse before it gets better so I've made the decision to start therapy again just to deal with this particular issue.  I would encourage anyone who deals with this level of anxiety to seek help.  I know from past experience life does not need to feel like I am living in the midst of a never ending personal apocalypse. 

I believe it will get better. 

My Tiny Heart

Dirty tear streaked face; sticks in her hair.
My Tiny Heart lives in a cave.
She loves food and eats with her hands.
She digs holes in the dirt to bury her feet.
When she is alone she dances.
When she is not, she watches.

My Tiny Heart speaks in sounds
Moans
Cries
Screeches
Sighs
Giggles
A quiet hum of a tune you must stretch your ears to hear.

She will smile so brightly when you tell her she is smart.
Or pretty.
Or that you caught her dancing and it made you want to dance too.

And on the turn of a moment
She will push you out of the cave door.
Chase you out with ash and rocks.
Run into the dark until all you can
see are two wide eyes that never blink.

She’d claw off her own skin
right down to the bone
to find the flaw she knows must be buried there.

I wait, and pretend I do not see her there hiding in the cave dark.
I leave her warm blankets
And soft hugs wrapped in pretty paper.
I hum every happy song I can think of
And when she screams I hold her in my arms until
the rage, and fear, and loneliness is tired out of her.

My Tiny Heart
Child heart.
Overflowing emotional wild heart.
Does not know how to ask for what she wants.

I tell her I will not leave her.
I tell her she is as beautiful when she screams
as she is when she dances.

- Joie Grandbois, 2018

Ordinary Day

Today was a busy day.  I think busy days are ordinary days for most of us.  We live lives packs pretty full from rising to bed.

Mine began at 6:00AM and included working both of my jobs, working on an email newsletter, a nap, feeding myself, teaching a dance class, an episode of RHONY and being interviewed on a radio program to help promote  the 2017 Pagan Unity Day.

I'm tired.  And I have a bit of headache.

I've another ordinary day tomorrow!

Ordinary Emotions

I awoke this morning feeling...

...anxious
...a little sad
...self doubt
...hopeful

The anxiety is in part due to a very full plate in the coming weeks and I'm definitely worried about getting things done (and done well).  I'm also anxious about a close friendship that has hit some bumps and I'm not totally clear where things stand with this person. The sadness and self doubt are leftovers from the reemergence some old pain and hurts that I'm still healing from.  The hope is because unlike many other days, today I can identify what it is that I'm feeling and why.

When I went to bed last night I was feeling pretty good.  My day had a bumpy start but I managed to stay focused on work.  I had lunch with a friend, taught a dance class and hung out with other friends after.  I went to bed feeling fairly content and grateful for the people in my life.   I feel like I slept fairly well.  I don't recall my dreams from last night.

I got up, wiped sleepy bits from my eyes, fed the cats (dealt with a momentary hissing match - they are still adjusting), said good morning to my housemate, made coffee and, yes, took a moment to write my thoughts in my journal - which definitely helped with the hopeful part.

And now I'll go on with my day, feeling what I'm feeling.