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I'm enjoying my summer of denial.
I'm spending a fair amount of time denying that I'll be back at work full time rather soon.
I'm spending time denying that my boy will be packing up for his first year of college far, far away in a couple of weeks.
I'm also spending time denying that my garage needs a good clean out.

This means we've had days of indoor reorg, cooking, movies and walks with dogs and now, finally, some art.

I'm taking this super fun online class at CreativeBug with the quite wonderful Pam Garrison. A class on Creative Sketchbooking with the first exercises intended to help you free up art ideas. So up my alley.

Here's my first non-dominant hand ink and paint process.

My girlie was sitting along and drawing along with me and she urged me to try a bird like Pam's. I love birds (see blog title) and kinda laugh at the outcome. Fun. Fun. Fun.

I see a bit of influence from the art journal peops I tend to follow. And a lot of me. Leaves and hearts seem to show up quite a bit. And blueberries.

You should try this course! I don't know how I missed out on the VALUE of Creative Bug. Monthly price ($4.95?) and seemingly unlimited opportunities to learn and play
Even the amazing Yao Cheng teaches watercolor. Really how did I miss this?

Go! Find something and create.

Persistence rewarded.

Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not: nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not: unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not: the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent.

-Calvin Coolidge

As a parent, I'm all too often concerned about getting it done, arriving on time, being sure they've eaten, said their prayers and finished all the homework. We're at the end of the school year and for one of my two, the end of high school itself. The end of the year seems to bring heaps of homework summarizing what they've learned before studying for final exams and then the end-of-the-year concerts, try-outs, banquets. 

In these weeks of work there are also honors. My daughter tried out for our high school's elite Madrigal Choral group and made it, and she was offered a singing spot on the Praise Team. She and her big brother performed a beautiful guitar and vocal rendition of City of Lions Shining Star. And after 4 years in the top jazz band, which meant Zero Period two to four days a week (depending on the year), my son was honored with the Louis Armstrong Jazz Award at the final jazz concert last night. Sure, I'm a proud mama, I'm thrilled for both of them truly. But the thing I'm most delighted about is that they get it. They understand the thing my dear, dear Uncle Jimmie shared with me and my cousins in our generation -- it's all about persistence and determination. And they have it in buckets. Buckets they're willing to carry and fill just about every day to get where they hope to go.

He wants to direct films, so since he was a freshman he and his friend Noah have shot footage, cut videos and made a couple of films to enter in festivals. (Both of them have taken top honors more than once together and on their own.) When my son didn't get in on the first round of (pretty competitive) film school admissions applications, he wrote appeal and support letters detailing the co-curricular work he does to augment his and his peer's school experience. He connected with counselors, admissions officers and deans to give them the reasons he should be a part of the student body. I was astounded by the quality and volume of work he did. And, it yielded an awesome result. He got in to one of the top 10 film schools in the country last week. It's a wonderful thing, the reward. But I honestly believe the gift was in the exercise -- perhaps the most valuable of his life.

In 6th grade my daughter and I attended Mother Daughter camp and found ourselves on a treasure hunt where, at one site, we were to share with each other something we really want to do in our lives. She shared that she wanted to become a singer. We wrote both of our dreams on rocks with a Sharpee marker and prayed, promising to uphold and support each other in these dreams. The very next week I sought out a vocal teacher who agreed to a six week trial for her. Five years later, after weekly sessions learning how to use her voice, she got into that Madrigal Choir and onto the Praise team.

God provides talent and I believe He also instills the dreams, it's a beautiful thing. But how many dreams do I have, do you have, that weren't really nurtured and attended to? Several for me. But those that get/got the attention and support of the sometimes agonizing work, are the ones we get close to or actually put our hand on.

When someone said the other day that my kids are lucky I graciously agreed (probably correcting to the word blessed in my head). But what I wanted to say is that they are lucky to understand that hard work is the only way you get what you want. Good old, determination and persistence. Not money or connections or even talent. Work.

My daughter was just invited to audition for a choir which, if she makes it, will perform at Carnegie Hall. She's ready to get to work preparing an Italian Song and one more classical offering for the audition tape. I'm excited at the opportunity she'll have -- upping her game in a tough genre. But ya know what came into my mind first? The joke.

How do you get to Carnegie Hall?
Practice.

Keep Practicing!

I have a newfound appreciation for the art of practice.

My very earliest recollections of practice were when I was eleven and a violin was placed in my hands. Initially the practice was just to be able to find a note. Get a sound.

But then, it became about finding a string of notes, a lyric, a rhythm and at some point it became about playing. Oh! The double entendre. Playing. Not so much for me at the time. I was working! I wanted to be really good, I wanted to have my teacher and my friends notice this. But of course, it takes facility. All this practicing wasn't building to one point, it was the point. Somehow either the adults around me never said it, or I just didn't get it.

Practice is exploring.

Practice is learning.

Practice is the path.

It can be that we practice what we love. If we let go, we can fall in love with what we practice. 

Since seeing the movie Whiplash, my son, a fairly talented trumpet player, has taken to loads more practice sessions. He sees the connection. Practice is a path leading to the level where he'll have more freedom. 

Me? I love to write. I have since high school, (which was a while ago). I began, then, filling spiral bound notebooks with words. And poems, and ideas and rants and schemes and dreams. I wrote and write because I love words. I love connections. I love the connections that words allow. Words in my head and words on a page. Strings of words that at some point become a real idea. Many mornings as I get those pages filled, I'm simply exploring -- practicing moving my hand and my mind together.

I've tried to keep this in my thought as I've approached other arts. So, some twenty months ago the words art journal came across my path and I added some art to a journal and then more and then, I, who know nothing about art, was making some art. Gratefully, I could hear my own words -- the ones I'd said to my kiddos when they were little and playing with art:

Art is an exploration.

Today Pam Garrison shared a bit about how important the rhythm of practice really is. Her work is wonderful. Always an inspiration, and because she writes about it in her fabulous blog -- we get a peek into how she thinks and all the joy she spills all over the place. While you go there, just look at all the practice. (It doesn't look to me like she wants her teacher to notice what she got right.)

All of this reminds me of the Ira Glass quote floating around right now. 

Then I remembered, I'd found something similar on the interwebs a while ago and pinned it somewhere. It's important. Oh, and it turns out Pam Garrison put dip pen to paper to share it. 

Here's my take: Practice doesn't make perfect. Practice makes possible.

Oh, and thanks Pam.