So I'm in this samba group here in Austin, and on Saturday, we performed a Dia de Los Muertos show at Central Market. That's Skeletor me, above.
Right before we went on, everyone was running around putting on their finishing makeup touches. I couldn't stop taking pictures of everyone's faces!:
This is Rendi (left) and me, being serious skeletons.
Happy skeletons!
When I was a kid growing up in San Antonio, I used to see touches of Dia de Los Muertos here and there: Pictures of dancing bride and groom skeletons, carved skeletons in people's houses. I even had an art teacher once who gave us plastic white skulls to decorate, and having gone through a brief Jem and the Holograms phase, I painted pink eyeshadow on mine and gave her awesome pink earrings with a pipe cleaner. She still didn't look as pretty as realJem, but that was only because she lacked ... skin. A serious handicap.
But even as Dia de Los Muertos surrounded me, I didn't understand the holiday for a really long time. As a child, I found it freaky and morbid.
When I learned later what Dia de Los Muertos was all about though, I thought it heartbreakingly beautiful. And it's funny, you know? All that exquisite San Antonio culture I took for granted while I was living there. I'm just now able to appreciate it. We performed in San Antonio on Sunday too, and I was reminded of the whole "more is more!" ethos of San Antonians. They LOVE parades and they LOVE bright colors and they LOVED us dressed up as skeletons. I was telling Ross that I may have to do my makeup like this every day, because you get treated so incredibly well: Smiles, nods, doors held open for you! People really do respect the dead.
(This is what a skeleton looks like when she's getting ready.)
Return to the living!
here's to your beloved dead, and speaking of spirits ...
Have any of your friends started abandoning Facebook?
(And I don't mean abandoning Facebook FOR Google+.)
A few of mine have. One dear friend never got on Facebook at all, despite the pleas of her peers. But I think she might be onto something.
***
About seven years ago, I taught after-school art classes at Oak Hill Elementary. One of the co-teachers and I got to talking about this guy, and this girl, and the fact that the guy liked other guys, and no one found out about it (including the girl) until he posted it on MySpace.
"What's MySpace?" I asked her.
"It's like, this site where you can build your own profile, and talk to friends and stuff," she said.
"Oh ..." I said, still confused. "Like a dating site?"
"Sort of," she said. "But it's not really for dating. It's to connect with people you know, or get to know online."
Huh. That sounds weird!! I thought. Only losers with no friends must be on this "MySpace."
In thinking about my life around that time -- 22, teaching kids' art and yoga, living in a tiny studio apartment on 45th and Speedway -- it's amazing to remember how much a computer was not a part of my day. In college, it had been purely a means to an end: A device with which I wrote papers, performed research for those papers. I wrote email of course, and occasionally Instant Messaged people. Sometimes I checked out a few culture sites who had gotten their act together early in the Age of the Internet: Salon.com, Slate.com.
But when I got home to my apartment after that conversation about MySpace, I didn't curl up with my computer. (Which I do a lot now.) Instead, I probably performed my typical 22 year-old routine: Went to Vulcan Video, rented some movies, came back home and watched them on the falling-apart TV/VCR (!) that I had inherited from the last person who lived there, made myself dinner, read a book, and went to sleep.
Sometimes I met up with friends.
And you know what? I miss those days.
***
A year later, I had a MySpace profile, three years later, I had a Facebook profile, four years later I started this blog, and five years later I was on Twitter. Somewhere in there, I got a significant phone upgrade, one that is basically a tiny, super-advanced computer.
It is shocking to me how much my life has tipped toward the computer screen just over the past seven years. I love having this little corner of the Internet where I can write, practice my photography, talk to the world about the city that I adore. But I think it's a hallmark of my generation that we were basically the last ones to grow up without the Internet, and as a member of that generation, I constantly find myself straddling this psychological space where on the one side, social media and the computer and texting is totally AWESOME (and novel), and on the other side, I just want to go outside and lay on a blanket for hours and hours, far, far, away from the polite-but-persistent ding of new email, and pet my cat.
***
So I guess this is the point of this blog post: I'm thinking about instituting a weekly Technology Free Day.
Many of my friends who got off Facebook did so for privacy purposes. Privacy isn't my fear here (though I guess I should be more worried about that kind of thing); technology overload is.
I posted about this idea on Facebook (oh, the irony!) and one of my friends commented back, telling me about a Digital Sabbatical that Gwen Bell does. I'm not sure who Gwen Bell is, but she seems like a nice lady, and sorta famous.
Gwen takes a whole month off from technology: No computer, no checking email, no texting. I guess that to successfully pull this off, you either have to be self-employed, work in a job that doesn't require gadgets, or have the kind of job where your boss would be cool with you, um, not working for a month.
Which to me, sounds difficult. But intriguing!
As a blogger who people read, I often feel like I'm not online ENOUGH. I mean, I only post a handful of times a week. And frequently, I think to myself:
You should really post on the weekends. Less blog competition on the weekends! Capture all those readers hanging out on the Internet!
Or,
When was the last time you Tweeted? Yesterday?? Oh dear God, it's almost noon. Get on there and say something witty, STAT.
Or,
What if -- just hear me out -- you posted 10x/week instead of 3-4x/week, self? You could totally do it! Just a few more hours each day in front of the computer! Think of the TRAFFIC!
And then I think: Ah, welcome back, ego! It's been a while.
***
Now, truth be told, I think my technological neuroses might largely be an Austin thing. Do you live here, Reader? If so, you'll know what I mean when I say that social media is just in the air here. Twitter was launched here in Austin, at SXSW, in 2007. I've got buddies who work at Gowalla, Facebook, and Google, all a few miles from my house. In Austin you can tweet to national companies that were founded here, like Whole Foods, and they tweet you back.
It's a startlingly plugged-in city.
It may be different where you live. But no matter how social media savvy or not your home is, we all know what it's like to be having a conversation with someone, and suddenly, they get a text. And then they read it. And then they text back. And then they turn back to you and say, "uhhh, what were we talking about?"
(I have certainly been on the other side of that scenario before, too. The annoying one texting.)
So in this Technology Free Day experiment, I'd like to ponder this thought, too:
The single greatest and most valuable commodity in the 21st century is undivided attention.
I'm not sure who said that, but I think it's brilliant.
So I'm going to try this out on Saturdays. Tomorrow will be the first one. As my friend Adam sarcastically suggested, "don't forget to post about it on Facebook when you're done."
And you know what? I may.
have you ever taken a digital sabbatical? did you enjoy it? would you ever start doing a regular technology-free day?
UPDATE, 10/28/2011 at 11:36 AM:
Nicole left a link to this video in a comment below, and I LOVE IT. Exactly the thing to do on Technology Free Day!
A couple of weeks ago, Ross and I went to our absolute favorite local food event of the year: La Dolce Vita.
It's a fundraiser for the Austin Museum of Art, and has been going strong for 22 years. It usually sells out too. Why? Oh ... perhaps it has something to do with the fact that 50 Austin restaurants and wineries come out, and sample their absolute yummiest, most tempting delights.
Samples top to bottom: La Sombra, The Driskill, The Alamo Drafthouse, The Carillon, Sao Paulo's.
Ross and I basically starve ourselves for the day before this event, so we can feast in full gluttonous fashion. Last year I was so entertained by the people running around in full-body colored latex suits that I could hardly CONCENTRATE on the food ... but this year, I resolved to take my eating more seriously. So I brought Danger Kate along with me for the task! (Danger Kate is my camera.)
Our favorite savory dish was this roasted pepper, olive oil, grilled fish, and bacon (of course) sampler from Sao Paulo's -- one of our regular Date Night haunts.
We definitely sipped lots of wine while we were there, but judging by the photos below, we were even more enthusiastic about the dessert options ...
Samples top to bottom: Word of Mouth Catering, The Melting Pot, Chez Zee, WOM Catering, Sugar Pop Sweet Shop, SPSS, WOM Catering, Urban: An American Grill.
... I mean, can you blame us?
Here we are below, savoring La Dolce Vita, sipping wine, pretending we are Italian.
As we strolled out, stomachs full and mouths very very happy, we encountered this delightful warning:
My cat Claudia has this low, guttural meow that she reserves for very emotional occasions. A typically quiet feline, this meow can signal one of two things:
"Get me out of this God-forsaken prison." (She did this a lot after we moved and had to lock her inside for a while)
Or,
"I have captured prey."
It's like the act of killing small creatures, always accompanied by a formal presentation to Ross and me, awakens her wild nature. And if this meow weren't frequently accompanied by a mouse struggling to survive inside her clenched jaws, I would find it so cute, because it's her tiny house cat version of a proud lion roar.
This is what Claudia looks like when she's about to murder something:
Can you believe this fish is still alive? That's Jeremy, looking pessimistic about his chances for longevity.
Anyway, I was feeling a little bit like Claudia yesterday.
Do you ever have one of those days when you know that the universe is trying to teach you something? And it's as if the same scenario, or the same type of scenario, keeps repeating itself in the span of 24 hours so you will learn the lesson?
For me, Sunday's lesson was about patience.
Here's how it started:
My husband, whom I had just shared an absolutely lovely anniversary dinner with the very night before, calmly told me that he thought we should consider some alternatives to my awesome Curtains in the Living Room Plan. You don't need to know the details of Curtains in the Living Room Plan (boring); suffice it to say that I really, really wanted to try it out, and really, REALLY needed him to drill some holes in the wall for me so we could see how awesome it was!
ME:
Let's put up the curtains right now!
ROSS:
I just want to weigh all of our options here before we drill holes in the wall --
ME:
Right. Now.
ROSS:
Because it could end up that we actually don't like it? And maybe it's best to just kind of talk about other ways to utilize the curt--
ME:
RIGHT NOW!
ROSS:
Wait why are you getting all worked up about it?
ME:
[Stomping around outside]
Needless to say, I don't recommend this particular conversation tactic.
Now, I adore my husband. He is a thoughtful planner, always quick to help me with my projects. And he simply wanted to have a chat, like grown-ups do, about ... curtains. That's all it was. Curtains.
But instead, I acted like a possessed demon. Who needed things done this instant. Why was that?
Shortly after that exchange, I decided I needed to go on a run. Realizing that perhaps some zen would be helpful, I cued up some Zencast in my headphones and everything was going great. That is, until, the podcast ended and I tried to cue up a new one ... but my iPhone's 3G service wasn't having it.
"Please ... show me ... the list of available Zencasts," I seethed to the phone. Nothing.
"I WANT -- to SEE -- which ZENCASTS there are," I whispered menacingly, while my phone struggled to retrieve the list, the computer Internet equivalent of a slow-loading screen.
"I JUST WANT TO FUCKING LISTEN TO THAT ONE ZENCAST ABOUT ANGER! GOD!!" I screamed inside my mind, the irony of the moment not lost on me.
Finally, sometime after my run, the list appeared.
Still feeling like I had energy to burn, I decided to go to silks post-run. And on the way, grab a little lunch. Tacos. Healthy tacos! I would totally eat healthy tacos like a healthy person.
But in the car eating them ... I discovered a problem.
The egg whites / ground turkey filling inside my healthy tacos were too much for the flimsy corn (not flour!) tortilla to bear. Instead of going back inside to ask for a fork, I angrily shoved bites into my mouth, thinking, I'm in a hurry! I don't have time for forks!
This, as salsa-coated crumbles fell down my shirt and stained it.
***
I felt like yowling, à la Claudia.
Not because I was proud of myself for killing a small creature, but because I was experiencing something. Something emotional, that needed to be addressed: Patience.
Or rather, my lack of it.
This is a picture of Ross and me on our honeymoon, circa 2007. His parents arranged for us to go to Puerto Vallarta, and it was one of the most fantastic trips we have ever been on.
In this book I'm reading right now, The Happiness Project, Gretchen Rubin talks about the stages of happiness (kind of like how we have stages of grief): These include anticipation of a happy experience, savoring it as it unfolds, expressing happiness, and recalling a happy memory. By the end of the day Sunday, I so desperately wanted to get out of my gross impatience cycle, that I decided to call up a happy memory. And you know what? It worked.
This memory is pretty recent ...
When I came home from New York on Thursday this week, it was the exact day of our four-year wedding anniversary. These goodies were waiting for me on the kitchen counter when I got home, from my sweet Ross.
Above is a card, with an ink rendering of the school where we met, and the exact location on the school grounds where we got married. Where in the world did he find this gem?
Next to it is a bag that came from Terra Toys, a toy shop around the corner from our house. Every purchase from Terra Toys is placed inside a delightfully kid-colored bag, courtesy of Austin children. I like the face that flower is making.
And inside the bag were two CD's, with music that is very dear to me.
The first is Tabu Ley Rocherau, a contemporary of Dr. Nico -- this African jazz guitarist from the 1960s whom Ross and I are obsessed with. We discovered him shortly before living in India for a summer back in 2005, and listened to him incessantly. Dr. Nico's music is island-y, laying-in-a-hammock stuff, but more importantly, its an instant portal for Ross and I back to India. It reminds us of our time there, the soft daily rains, the eating with our hands, the elephant that lived down the street from our house. And to be honest with you, most of the time, that whole experience feels like a dream. But playing Dr. Nico somehow reminds us that it wasn't, that we actually did in fact do that, so strong is the tether between his songs and that one summer.
The second CD is a compilation from "our" band, Yo La Tengo. Instead of being a prisoner of impatience ... I think I'd like to be the kind of prisoner Yo La Tengo has in mind.
In truth, it's a crush we both share, Ross and I. Austin's beloved fair trade store beckons to us with a life I think we both secretly want: To live in remote countries with artisans, making flatware sets out of discarded Coke cans and playing our handmade didgeridoos. I heard this NPR segment recently where they were talking about the artist community in Haiti, and for a brief moment -- right there in my temperature-controlled vehicle with comfy seats and yuppie coffee -- I thought, "I wanna go there."
And who knows? Maybe we will someday. Now that I've accepted hiking into my life, I'm up for all kinds of crazy adventure.
But back to our store crush.
Now a few months back, I went to The Austin Fair Trade Film Festival, hosted by Ten Thousand Villages. PS, you probably know this already, but Ten Thousand Villages is an ALL fair trade store. If you've never been inside, I encourage you too, because it's filled with qurky handmade art and jewelry and musical instruments from 38 countries. You'll find my husband in the corner, whispering sweet nothings to African hand drums.
Anyway, at the film festival, I watched a highly disturbing Wal-Mart documentary (The High Cost of Low Price). I'm so tempted to let this post devolve into Wal-Mart is A Hooved Devil! kind of a post, which is true, but instead I'll just encourage you to go here and read up.
BOTTOM LINE: That was the film that 100% renewed my crush on Ten Thousand Villages, and fair trade in general. Which for way too long was just a trendy, idealistic concept I latched onto in college, but now I actually spend my money on fair trade things.
I mean let's get real here: Part of the fair trade impulse is (for me at least) a warm fuzzies one. A little part of my brain goes, "you're welcome, karma!" when I see the little white fair trade label on something I just bought.
But on a less self-congratulatory level, I think the IDEA of fair trade, while new and imperfect and applicable to only a tiny fraction of all traded goods, is an incredibly worthy one. Aside from its explicit mission, to give artisans and workers in developing countries better wages, I think fair trade is good for Americans. It makes someone like me, who despite all my preaching against Wal-Mart still has a hard time giving up Target, think about the whole backstory of my purchase. (Which is always a bit invisible when you buy Isaac Mizrahi for Target shoes or whatever, no?)
One silver lining of the recession is that it's created a handmade renaissance of sorts, encouraging us to learn how to do things ourselves -- sew, plant a garden, cook -- and to be more careful with our money. I am NOT a perfect shopper by any means, but I think I have an easier time paying a bit more for something I really like, and buying less stuff in general.
(Even though I've still got a Target habit in a bad way.)
All of these pictures are shots I took at Ten Thousand Villages last week, from the collection of art that will be on display at One Reason Why: A fundraiser for TTV's Austin store, and their Artisan Special Needs Fund.
From TTV:
Ten Thousand Villages' fair trade partnerships also provide long-term benefits to artisans’ children, who gain increased access to education, health care, safe and affordable housing, and clean water.
The event is on Thursday, 10/27 at Art on 5th Gallery (1501 W. 5th Street) at 7:00pm. I'm going to try to go myself, so if you're in Austin, maybe I'll see you there!
I've been on this career advice-giving kick lately, dispensing wisdom to any disgruntled worker who will listen. I'm not sure where it's coming from, since I suspect I may be unqualified to give such advice.
But when you listen to my sage counsel, you will inevitably walk away thinking: "That girl is definitely unqualified to give such advice."
Here's a good example. My latest gem has been to tell people not to do what they love for a living. The logic being: If you turn the thing you love into work, it'll stop being magical, and you'll end up resenting it. That's what happened to me with freelance writing a while back, so naturally, I assume it is this way for all people.
Only, it isn't.
Take my husband, for example. He just built a freaking music studio in our backyard, to enable him to do what he loves as a profession: Teaching children how to play rock music. He's pretty ecstatic about it.
I'm especially intrigued by young people, really young people -- recent graduates I mean, all idealistic and motivated and uncynical -- who manage to support themselves doing what they love. Particularly when what they love isn't, say ... accounting, but rather, something artistic.
Such is the case with Austin's Kiah Denson, whom I met last summer.
Kiah paints large-scale art for children's rooms, which immediately endeared her to me. (And if you click on that link, you'll appreciate that Kiah doesn't shield children from the truth of the Jurassic period. Her dinosaurs look like DINOSAURS, not like Barney.)
She also creates these wall-length, nature-inspired murals with detail that will blow your mind; she faux finishes, she paints abstract art. But it's Kiah's spare, lovely portraits that I like the best. They remind me of those old sewing pattern packages, from McCall's and Simplicity, with tidy, well-dressed women from the 1940s gracing the front.
Only Kiah's women are more sensual.
Kiah's first studio show happens this weekend on Saturday evening, for the East Austin Studio Tour Preview Party. It will be held at Bay6 Gallery and Studios (5305 Bolm Road), and to celebrate this big opening for such a young talent, I asked Kiah to sit down to a little Eavesdropper Interview. Particularly since she confounds my current career advice, and is a perfect example of why you should do exactly what you love for a living.
Ah! I can't get enough of those women portraits! Isn't there something glamorous and Gatsby about them? Can't you hear the jazz quartet on the lawn? I can.
Ok, ok -- reining it in, let's do this interview. Welcome, Kiah!
1. You are a visual artist who paints, draws, creates fantastic murals. How did you get on this path? When did you know you wanted to do this not just for a hobby, but a living?
To be honest, I don't think art was ever really a hobby for me, except maybe occasionally when I was a kid. I've had art as a class in school my whole life and always treated it like any other subject -- work hard, do well, make a good grade. I was blessed with the most amazing art teacher from kindergarten through eighth grade. We were doing things that some people never get to try. In first grade we carved animals out of soap, and in seventh grade we made stained glass. We were probably learning three-point perspective drawing when other kids were making pasta and pipe-cleaner ornaments. Being saturated with that type of creativity for so many years is probably the biggest reason why I do what I do.
I got my bachelor's degree in Studio Art because it was the only thing I really felt strongly about, not because I was actually planning to make a living as an artist. However, enough positive things have been laid out in front of me since then, so I'm determined to keep it up. Kind of like what Paulo Coelho talks about in The Alchemist - you have to follow the omens because when you really want something, the universe will help you achieve it.
2. Do you come from an artistic family?
There are definitely some creative people in my family. My mom is very musically inclined; she sings in a choir and plays percussion and piano. My dad is the ultimate handyman; he can paint and draw but he just uses it for building and fixing things. So I grew up being very hands-on with work and play, which helped encourage the art-making.
3. Describe your studio to us.
Oh I looove my studio!
I just moved my home studio to a space on the east side (Bay6 Gallery and Studios) that I had been eyeing for some time. Really wonderful local artists have worked in the space before me, and I think there's something to be said for "good juju." Working from my home studio for so long doing commissions and decorative painting projects, I'd really hit a stagnant point in productivity and creativity when it came to my own art. Having a special place now to go to create, without distractions (no internet/pets/chores/etc), has really made a difference.
I have one of the four studios in our complex, and I adore the other artists -- I feel like I have 3 new mentors now. We get along so well and our artistic styles really compliment one another. We have a shared gallery space for shows, and the walls are high and white. There's no AC, but its so open and airy and we have lots of industrial fans. I just love it.
4. I was just reading this article in Mental Floss about quirky ways artists summon the muse -- Beethoven apparently kept rotten apples in his desk, because the smell inspired him. So do you ever get the artist's equivalent of "writer's block?" If so, what do you do to cure it?
Hmmm I've got some banana peels in my studio trash can... maybe I'll leave them there for a while and see what happens? Lately, I haven't had too many blocks because I've been on a creative high being in my new studio; however, I know that can't last forever. Since I paint and draw with water-based mediums (ink and acrylic) on both paper and canvas, I can pretty easily switch gears if I need a change. I usually go into my studio with some idea of where I want to start, and with a plan B if I need to switch it up.
I have a thing for the 2D side of fashion: illustration, couture print ads, vintage Vogue photography and drawing...
So if I need a spark, I'll flip through books, magazines, blogs and Google to freshen up. Even if I'm planning on doing an unrelated abstract piece, I still get inspired by the colors and compositions. Sometimes, though, all I really need is a break.
5. Favorite cartoon show as a kid?
So many! I loved all the ones with animals, like Looney/Tiny Toons, Heathcliff, Talespin and definitely Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I went through a Spongebob phase as a teenager when my parents finally got satellite TV...
6. Favorite mid-day snack?
Triscuits or pita chips with spicy hummus and any kind of cheese. I don't think I've ever gone a day without cheese.
7. What's the secret to living a creative life, Kiah?
There's a secret!? If you figure it out, let me know! I'm still learning, but so far I've found that being flexible is key -- there are so many varying degrees of ups and downs and changes, so going into it with a specific or absolute mindset probably isn't going to be too helpful. But that's life, isn't it?
Also, setting a schedule for studio time and treating it like a "real job" -- because it absolutely is -- has been really important for me. Ultimately though, having support from friends and family is number one. I think it is important to be surrounded by positive voices of people who encourage, challenge and remind me of why I should be doing this; a little affirmation and understanding go a long way.
thank you for hanging out on austin eavesdropper, kiah!
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