Five years ago, I started this wee blog. Can you believe it? My first real post was actually about a super taster test that Charles and I both took. I had no idea where I was going with this blog. I just wanted a space where I could write things that didn't involve the writing I did for my job. We had recently purchased a small house that had originally been intended as a vacation home. Charles and I soon realized that buying a home from the '70s that had a lot of deferred maintenance was going to require a great deal of our attention. 

That attention also meant that along with writing and art and food, this blog also began to talk about the trials and tribulations of trying to fix up our home. Eventually, the lifestyle and home improvement posts took over to such an extent, I created a new blog for my food and wine posts. I mean, people who know me are used to how I jump around from subject to subject without an obvious stream of consciousness, but there was no reason to subject my readers to the crazy bouncing my brain does. Mostly.

I have a gut feeling that 2015 is going to present a lot of changes for my Charles and me. I have no idea where those changes will take us, or even what they might look like, but if you've been reading this blog o' mine for any length of time, you know that we're not strangers to change. My Book Syrup blog and my pixyofwhimsy persona have always been mutable, and there's no reason to think that will stop any time soon.

So what does that mean for my five year old site? I guess we'll all have to tune in to find out.

The internet is very Jekyll and Hyde. You can access amazing information, including lectures from top universities, step-by-step videos on how to repair almost anything, and GIFs of corgi puppies for purposes of smiling. People can also be at their cruelest online. It can be so easy to knock someone else down when you don't agree with them, or even when you're just having a terrible day and want to share in the misery. Prejudices and bigotry are in full force on the internet, and it can be all too easy to lose faith in humanity.

My main goal for 2015 is to embrace joy. 2014 was pretty rough for me, especially the latter half, and I want to switch my focus to the good this year. My most popular post on Facebook this January has been, "I've grown weary of cynicism. This year, I'll focus on joy."

I'm already attempting to do this on social media, posting positive, life-affirming stories instead of let's-be-angry articles. I'll still work on improving the world in ways that I can, but I'll leave the day to day burden of bad information to the news.

And what about Our Little House? My goal for this year is to make it more functional for Charles and me. We're still playing with the idea of turning our 3 and 1 into a 2 and 2. A second bathroom would be amazing, and Charles and I can share an office. We don't both need one, especially since we usually just end up on the couch in the living room with our laptops anyway. I'll share our journey with the process on here. I'm also planning on finally updating the kitchen. There's some deferred maintenance that has to be dealt with this year. Plus, there are still a couple of things I want to do to our (currently) only bathroom, including some little projects that are finally happening.

I hope you stay tuned to Charles' and my adventures in 2015, and don't forget to embrace the joy.

A little less than 12 years ago, I got a call from two of my best friends. Ryan and Val had recently bought their first house and had discovered that the previous tenants had taken their cat with them but left her kittens behind.

A tortoiseshell kitty with gorgeous green eyes had been tentatively coming up to them lately, and they were wondering if I’d adopt her?

The poor, little half-grown miss had been abandoned and left to her own devices. She was a little survivor. Of course I’d take her. I decided I’d name her, Jazz.

The next day, Ryan came calling with a scared, wee thing in a carrier. Our eyes met as I opened the door, and I knew it was love. I’m not sure she shared that sentiment, at least at first.

Week one was a lesson in patience as my new kitten hid behind the toilet in the downstairs half bath of my townhouse. I’d quietly clean the litter box, freshen her water, and leave her food every day. By the end of the week, a dark shadow could be seen darting about the house from time to time. 

Her bravery rewarded with a larger, much more interesting space, Jazz began to seek my company. While still afraid of strangers, she was comfortable in my lap – and even more so – comfortable sleeping on me each night.

A couple months later, her sister, a faded calico, was caught and added to my little family. Mabel repeated the hiding that Jazz had done, but as the bolder of the two, soon, she too was out and about, snuggling with her sister and finding sunny spots to lounge.

My kitty companions were there as I achieved my second B.A. They moved with me from the townhouse to a house with roommates to Charles’ and my first apartment together. Jazz’s easy acceptance of Charles was a miracle and a testament to what a great guy he is. Both kitties timidly accepted our first place in Grass Valley and whole-heartedly embraced the converted barn, and its glorious sun room, that we rented before buying our little house.

No matter what our environment, my Jazz slept on my side or stomach each night, purring quietly in the night, easing my insomnia, and loving Charles, me, and Mabel with all her might. Bodie, it must be admitted, was never her favorite.

At the beginning of November, Jazz and Mabel had both put on that layer of fat which meant colder days were coming. By Thanksgiving, Jazzy had lost that layer and more. On December 1, I took both cats to the vet. Mabel got a clean bill of health. Jazz came back two days later for an ultrasound. My poor, brave kitty had liver cancer, a rarer type that didn’t cause her liver to swell, so it could only be detected by tests and machines.

I spent the next two days hanging with my little fur ball, finding food that she still enjoyed eating, lavishing her with as much attention as a cat could stand. Jazzy rallied, and I went back to work. She would hang out with her sister at night and wander around the house, but would always return to sleep on me, quieting my restless dreams.

On December 13, Jazz’s spark was dim. She seemed frail and tired. She had already crawled into her favorite daytime spot while I was getting ready for work. I picked her up and held her, petting her for as long as she’d let me. I set her down by her food, and patted her head, telling her we’d be back in the afternoon. She looked at me with her brilliant green eyes, a look both weary and full of love. When we got home from work, Jazzy didn’t come out to greet us. I found her in her favorite spot. It looked like she had passed soon after we left. She smelled slightly of food, and she was stretched out in her favorite sleeping position.

She passed in warmth and comfort, without any fuss, and I’m grateful for that. But boy do Charles and I miss her! Mabel misses her, too. She spent all of yesterday in Jazz’s daytime spot. The house seems too big sometimes, now. Jazzy may have been timid, with a quiet little purr, but she was a huge spirit. 

It’s hard to sleep now. It’s colder, and there’s no comforting weight of a little, fuzzy cat that always kept insomnia at bay.

I thought you all might be interested in my artist's statement. So far, I've gotten some good feedback on the show, mostly from people who don't know it's my work and start to comment on it -- before they're clued in by someone else -- or my sly smile, whichever comes first.

Patterns of Nature

While touring an art museum this spring, I ran across an Abstract Expressionism exhibit, and my world changed. Something about the sense of movement and gesture in each piece awakened my inspiration.

Each of these paintings flowed as I worked, and while I may not have been quite so free as my inspirational artists, I strove to stay true to that feeling of movement.

The show’s other influence was nature. Anyone who follows my Instagram feed knows that I find much to thrill me in the wider world. My goal was to channel that sense of beauty into my work. I hope I’ve succeeded, and these pieces thrill you as much as they did me while I created.

Thank you for viewing “Patterns of Nature.” All artwork is acrylic paint on canvas, plus one nifty fiber art piece.

Find more information about the artist at pixyofwhimsy.com, sapidcellardoor.com, @pixyofwhimsy, and instagram.com/pixyofwhimsy.

The art store was packed. Maybe it was because people were stocking up on things for the holidays? I managed to wind my way around the crowds and get the items on my list: paper for my Artist’s Statement, a nice pen for writing (I’m handwriting my tags this go-around), one more canvas, some picture hanger wire – the heavy duty stuff due to the bigs, a bunch of eye screws, and some more paint – always more paint. The bill came in less than 80 bucks – the cheapest I’ve gotten out of the art store since I started working on my current project.

Since I curate the store’s gallery, I often get asked why art is so expensive. Part of that is the perception of what is expensive based on what they see. Not all art speaks to all people; in fact, most of it won’t speak to most people. There’s the supplies, obviously. Art supplies aren’t cheap. She can save a bit of money by picking up frames and canvases in thrift stores, replacing what was in or on those pieces with her own thing, but that’s only a fraction of what the artist will need to spend. I’m more blessed financially these days, so all of my canvases for this show are new – or were until I covered them in a king’s ransom of heavy bodied acrylic paint.

Then there’s the time the artist spent on the piece. Back when I wrote features about artists and galleries, I once interviewed a gallery owner who showcased new artists. Most of us don’t know what to charge for our work until we’ve been doing it for a while. Her suggestion was to charge cost of goods plus minimum wage for time. Even that factoring usually makes for more than a hundred dollars a piece.   

Then there are the more abstract – no pun intended – expenses. Most of us have been working at our craft for years, slowly discovering how our muse speaks to us and how we represent that. There’s a lot of time and experience – and many trashed attempts – that are a part of that art piece you’re looking at. You’re also investing in the way that artist makes you feel. If you purchase art, she will be more able to create a diverse range of art pieces. People buying your art is also good feedback, so the artist knows that she’s on the right track.

Artists will continue to create no matter what, and realistically, until they really make a name for themselves, most of their artwork will go unpurchased. When I do a show, I hope I at least break even. I don’t think I’ve accomplished that yet. I’m actually afraid to add everything up to see how much I’ve spent on “Patterns of Nature,” but even if I don’t break even, I’m grateful for the evolution I’ve witnessed with my own work. I’m proud of these paintings. However, I feel I still must say…

Here’s to selling some art! Here’s to selling all the art! 

UPDATE: "Mermaid's Embrace" and "Burned Out Stump" are now on my Society6 page.