"It's like Jaws... but in space."

"Oh, what a nice hobby!"
"So, does your (husband/boyfriend/family/significant other) support your career?"
"Y'know, you can fall in love as easily with a rich man as you can with a poor man"
"Are you going to go back to school?"


Every so often, some well-meaning soul flatters me by saying that I seem to always say the right thing, that I just am soooo together. And every so often, my brain shouts "AS IF" while I blush and politely thank that person.

The four statements above seem rather harmless, if not a little insensitive. It may seem hard to believe, but I've actually had these things, and many variations thereof, said to my face numerous times over the past few years. They're said with good intentions, usually as some sort of conversation filler or perhaps as a bit of good advice from some self-proclaimed "experienced" soul.

They cut me to my soul every single time, like a roundhouse kick to the heart.

I am not a parasite. This isn't Alien - I don't latch on to other beings solely to use their resources and reproduce. I am a theater professional. Like many others, I work incredibly hard to try and sustain my own career. Like many, I often fall short. Like many, I sometimes need to rely on favors and a little help from friends and family.

BUT I DO NOT INTEND TO NEVER BE SELF-SUFFICIENT.

Yes, my career has a reputation for not paying well. This reputation is often unfortunately accurate. And when I need to, I will take whatever jobs I can get - whether it be taking in seamstressing and alteration projects, or getting another part time job to help pay the bills when the season is slow.

But I didn't go to college for a hobby. I don't intend to go back to school to learn something else, just so I can get my loans deferred. I appreciate the occasional help of my loved ones, and I intend to repay them a hundredfold when I can. And I absolutely will never ever marry with the intention of having a husband to support me financially.

If I were to fall in love today and get married tomorrow, even if that man was the richest man in the world, I would still get married in a church and have a reception in a park or in a backyard. I would still buy a hundred dollar dress, and be tempted to elope. Why would I want to start a new stage in life by going into debt for a wedding?

Many of my friends have elaborate Pinterest boards for their weddings. Some of these pins are brilliant money-saving tips, and that's pretty awesome. But looking at some of the price tags on cakes, dresses, locations, makes my heart start to race --- not in a good way. It's almost panic attack inducing. I don't understand any of it, to be honest. Maybe I'm just bad at being a girl, but my dream wedding doesn't include spending 2000$ on a dress I'll wear once, 500$ on a cake I'm just going to eat, and 400$ on tiny mason jars to put on string lights, though they may be cute as pie. If I make my own wedding dress, like everyone says I should, it's only because that would be the more economical decision. In reality, I'll probably just buy a cute, old-fashioned white dress off Modcloth. Even better if it's cotton based, so I can dye it another color afterwards and wear it regularly. A marriage doesn't last just for the wedding, so why should my dress?

I've digressed a bit, but the point remains the same. Yes, I could fall in love and marry a rich man, and he could support my "hobby" and we could live happily ever after.

But I would never be happy in that situation, no matter how in love I was, no matter how willing my man was to sacrifice money to let me do my own thing and pick up an occasional job here, a gig there, no matter how "perfect" our life would be. It's nice to be comfortable. It's nice to not worry about paying the rent.

It's not nice to sell out, to give up. And you may say that the above scenario isn't either of those things. Maybe it isn't. But I think I would feel resentment about not having tried, really tried, maybe tried and failed over and over again, to make an underpaying, overworked career work for me. Resentment would eat away me, and that's not a healthy situation for anyone involved.

So let me struggle to get by. Let me fall in love with a man and not think about his financial situation. Let me go back to school only if I truly feel like I want to learn. Let me not be a parasite, waiting to burst out of your chest screaming "Viva la arts!"

Listen to the rythym of the falling rain...

The first night I can sleep with my window open is always a special one. I've got it open right now, a softly warm night - cool breeze wafting in. I'm all snuggled up, listening to the spring peepers. Nature is a stirring out there - all sorts of critters are out and about, starting their families.

My dog knocked me over when I got home, shortly before midnight. She may be 13 but she still greets me like a puppy. I put her on a leash and took her out for a perimeter check. 

We paced around the yard: she sniffing up a storm, while I examined the prints from my LL Bean boots in the soft earth. 

Over the past few years, I have lived in several cities. Cities are great for walkability, being close to my work (they don't generally put too many theaters in the 'burbs). It's all fine for that... But I miss the seasons.

Now I know the seasons still occur on the city, I'm not stupid. But I miss seeing Nature at her best. I never feel more comfortable then I do near the trees.  The signals that nature gives our bodies are not to be sneezed at - I know it's a significant part of my spirit.

Tonight at Adoration, Father Matt was speaking about silence. I love silence. As a crazy busy theater artist who always takes on too much, I never get to make time for true silence. In fact, sometimes I think I can be afraid of the silence. My brain races a mile a minute, even at night.

When I'm in the city, as I am most nights, my window is shut. I can still hear the muffled sounds of cars whizzing by, couples shouting... I can't sleep. It's so very quiet. I think about everything from guy troubles to "if someone was to walk in with a machine gun, where would I hide for optimum safety?" to the scariest scenario of them all (my future! Ah!)

But here, near nature, I get the song of the peepers and the lilting odes of the owls to calm my brain and let me soak up the silence of the mind. Now if only I was camping outside.... Maybe it's not quite warm enough for that yet! 

42

Define Art.

It is a question proposed to most art students on the first day of classes. Usually to scare them a little bit, but mostly to open their eyes. I propose that we ask this question of everyone, not just the artsy kids with their crisp-clean sketchbooks.

Define Art.

It's a puzzler, ain't it? There are so many different kinds of art, how do you possibly include them all? How could you possibly exclude what isn't art?

The reason I put this forth, is because I have the firm belief that everyone can be an artist. Everyone is an artist. It's so easy to create art! I created a guide, just for you.

How to Create Art: The Definitively Indefinite Guide
by Patria A. Ferragamo

Create art when you are sad.

(write a poem)

Create art when you are happy.

(write a song)

Create art when you are in love.

 (paint a portrait)

Create art when someone breaks your heart.

 (paint an abstract)

Create art when you can't feel anything at all.

 (listen to a song)

Create art when you are bored.

(make a diagram)

Create art when you are exhausted.

(compose a song)

Create art when you want to talk and there's no one about.

(make a flowchart)

Create art when everyone's about and you want to talk.

(sketch their faces)

Create art when everyone's around and you want to be left alone.

(embroider a design)

Create art by yourself.

(pace a labyrinth)

Create art with someone else.

(scratch their name in the sand)

Create art with your hands.

(spin a vase on a wheel)

Create art with your head.

(make a perfectly organized spreadsheet)

Create art with your heart.

(dance in your underwear to your favorite song).

Create art with your soul.

(deliver spoken word at an open mic night).

Create art for the community.

(stitch a curtain for a youth group performance).

Create art for yourself.

(write a journal entry about your day).

Create art for everyone.

(paint a mural).

And I mean everyone.

(run for a political office, on a campaign you really believe in).

Create art for a price.

(take yearbook headshots).

Create art for free.

(style your best friend's hair for her wedding).

Create art at cost to yourself.

(knit hats for the premies at the hospital).

Create art at great cost for yourself.

(perform in an agitprop piece, get arrested).

Create art that doesn't accept the popular definition of popular.

(write a blog).

Create art when you are young.

(color Mom's face with mushy carrots).

Create art until you "can't create art anymore".

(glue pictures into a scrapbook).

Create art until you are six feet under.

(have flowers planted over your grave).

Create art even when there are bills to pay.

(write a book).

Create art even when there's Netflix to watch.

(learn to juggle).

Create art.

(make a promise).

I promise you that I can't promise everything. But create art - it's undefinable. Its liminal and fluid, impossible to grasp like water, but like water, we can't live without it. Art makes our time on earth, if nothing else, a little more interesting.

You know what else is undefinable?

The meaning of life.

Odd how two unquantifiable concepts seem to go hand-in-hand.

Faint Heart Never Won Fair Maiden. Fair Maiden, "tabula rasa", Ain't Worth it Anyways.

“I am a canvas of my experiences, my story is etched in lines and shading, and you can read it on my arms, my legs, my shoulders, and my stomach." ~ Kat Von D

Permanence.

/ˈpərmənəns/

Noun.

Origin:  1400–50; late Middle English, from Medieval Latin "permanentia."

The state or quality of lasting or remaining unchanged indefinitely.

Permanence.

If you're like me, that definition just made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. It might feel like a cool breeze just ran down your spine, making you shiver just a little - even sitting in bed, curled up in your favorite blanket.

Yet maybe, maybe you have this little twinge in your heart. Some weird pain. It's probably just a bit of gas, you tell yourself. But that's just how you sugarcoat exactly what you know.


Grief.

"Good Grief". ~Charlie Brown.

Some days are lost causes. You chalk them up to being Peanuts Days. You tried to kick that football, but the Lucy of fate always pulls it away at the last minute. And you can't talk to your therapist about it, because that football-pulling meany Fate is your five-cent therapist.

I'm not good at talking about grief. In fact, I'm really bad at it. This has been a long winter, and it has revealed this weakness of mine most thoroughly. I've watched many of my friends try to deal with it. Losing your friend, your sister, your mother, your daughter, your grandmother... I've just listened, no words to say, awkwardly reaching out to give them a hug. Holding back tears when they hug back. I've tried to deal with it on my own. I've had friends try to help me. And yet I sit silently next to them at the bar, mumbling something about the Bruins, stirring a sweet cocktail that I've no desire to drink. Zombies express more feelings for a cauliflower. But I appreciated that anyone would be willing to sit next to me at all in such a state.

Grief.
Permanence.

Isn't it the oddest thing? If I dislike grief so much, you'd think I'd be okay with permanence. If nothing changes, nothing can hurt. But if nothing changes, what are we supposed to feel? Are we supposed to be okay with every day being the same as the next, formulaic and routine?

If nothing happens, no one can leave me.
If nothing happens, everything can stay.

If nothing happens, nothing really means anything.

Let's blend together our fears. Let's put grief right in with the permanence. Let's throw it in a big ol' needle, cause what is more terrifying? Let's get our experiences tattooed all over our bodies, all over our souls. We are just a canvas for impermanence to change permanently. We cannot go back. We keep moving forward. Let's be raw, open and honest -- allow people to judge us for what they see, what we show. Let's tell stories about our images, our battle scars. Instead of keeping it bottled up, let us wear our hearts on our sleeves.

Perfect, fair skin... quilters say that "only God is perfect", so you must leave mistakes in the work. Even if they show on the outside, we record our imperfections with the needle.