For my first visit to the Luli Creative House space, I arrived extra early to make sure to find parking and get up to the space in the elevator and find a seat. Greeted at the door by a friendly person telling me where to go was greatly appreciated. Entering the fourth floor was a bit mysterious as you are not yet in the Luli space but a gorgeous raw warehouse room where things are stored and people are buzzing around in a corner getting ready. It may have helped to have a couple more friendly faces to guide you all the way in to the room and explain where to sit, but it was also a nonthreatening adventure.

I stopped in the restroom, which had fun full lengths doors, a nice touch I always like to see. Then in the space, I took in the colors and beauty of the light and two main seating areas. Asking someone where to sit, they explained it really could be anywhere and the dancers would either dance on you or move you as needed. I took a spot on the end of a long couch with tons of pillows – my favorite so you can arrange them according to how your back feels at the moment. People were friendly and talking to each other and it was a warm comfortable environment in general. Music was eventually turned on so that could have been set up a little more in advance but not too noticeable.

It seemed like there was extra time built in at the beginning and the end for late comers, getting settled, and conversation, which was helpful but also made me wonder when it would begin. I liked the casual tone of the introductions and welcome, and though a bit more polish may have been expected, I don’t think that is the tbd style and I don’t know about the Luli style yet. Megan Siebe was set up to do a solo set on cello before the dance, though I don’t think that was clear in all of the social media or other explanations I saw (unless I just missed it). She began playing a mesmerizing set of unique melodies and songs and atmosphere, created, she mentioned half through, with the help of a new effects pedal. Something about the sound of a cello pulls directly on my own heart strings and I teared up a bit. The calm, bright, sunny, warm friendly room and the delicious resonant sounds all caused me to breathe deeper and appreciate just being there.

There was a short break and then the dancers took places around the room, causing you to look all around to discover who was moving first. Two people  began what became a complex, layered, gentle but tough performance all around the room. Incorporating the furniture, fabric, fans, the windows, a mirror, and the viewers, a magical half hour ensued. With the title “Overlap”, it seemed to refer to the layers of people and fabric and interactions with the space. The description referred to the dancers engaging with the architecture, the light, and the colors of the space and that was evident in the fabrics, climbing up to windowsills, and the costumes with fringe matching two of the chairs. A few times the people who had to sit on the floor near my feet had to shift and move out of the way, causing backs to lean on legs and other close quarters interaction, but it was friendly and warm and added to the experience for me, which was frankly surprising.  

What I read into the performance may be totally off base, but it also has to do with what I know about the space, the creators and the events that happen there. Luli House was established by women and is often used by women owned businesses and the events often seem to focus on women. What I saw in the dance movements was women supporting each other, stretching each other, pushing each other, but gently and supportively. The dancers used the space in many different ways, which is what happens each week there. They played with fabric and created scenes but also flow. They watched out for each other and brought new members into the group. They tried different combinations and reacted to the stunning soundtrack – also created by Megan along with her husband. The end was the older dancers gathering up a newer group and wrapping them in a cocoon of fabric on the floor.

I have to make a side note about these musicians and the group of other musicians they are friends with who all play together in different combinations and are, as I tried to explain to them tonight, like an amazing cauldron of talent that keeps recombining in fascinating ways.  Head down to Grapefruit records and you will find at least one of them to tell you more.

This brings me to the part where I rave about the talent in Omaha. I often feel like I do not fit in here in Omaha and like I am watching the cool kids from outside a window (or a screen), and that is generally ok with me. From the musicians in this and other groups, to the writers, several of whom where also there, to the organizers and other doers who put this on or were also attending, to filmmakers, artists, and marketing gurus, Omaha really is filled with top notch under appreciated creators. One of my many dreams since I was a teenager has been to have a venue to present all of this talent to the world, especially to the youth of Omaha, so they can find hope and creative expression, and support. I had a version of it for a minute at Holy Family Community Center (RIP), but am totally in limbo and lost right now, looking for a version of what I experienced tonight.

Events like these give me hope and excitement and make me want to get out more and expose my kiddo to it all. I seem to especially struggle with connecting with women at times, but tonight’s performance featuring so many women literally leaning on each other in a women run space was a beautiful depiction of what women working together creatively can look like. I really do hope to find my tribe of women to support me and that I can in turn support. And who knows maybe a space even half as lovely as the Luli Creative House.

Thank you to everyone involved for an amazing afternoon of art.
 

My kiddo was just telling me about a podcast they were listening to about Brutalist architecture and liminal spaces, and it occurred to me that that is exactly where I am  - in some hard edged, Brutalist waiting room of sorts. A place where no one shows up to your events, no art sales (except shout out to mom!), no job offers, no consulting gigs, no follow up from friends for that elusive meet up for dinner or even a drink.

Maybe I wasn’t supposed to write that in public, but see there is this dichotomy happening, at least in my corner of the algorithm, where you are supposed to only present happy positive encouraging images of success (ahem, LinkedIn), but then you are also supposed to be as honest and true to yourself as possible to find your tribe and unlock the flowing blessings of the universe (I see you Instagram).
So, I am stuck trying to figure out how much to share and where and when and grow my followers but not sell out but follow my dreams and live off my art but support my kiddo and on and on. And frankly things have not been going the best, but I am trying everything I can think of to get to the next place in life. When no windows are opening and you have closed all the old doors, you are in the Brutalist Waiting Room. 

And when you are not in the workplace, homeschooling, and tend to be reclusive anyway, this leads to too much isolation. Trying to balance believing in myself, my abilities and my work and trusting that something great is on the way with lots of scrambling to apply for whatever I can, reach out occasionally for help, spreading my energy way too thin in too many areas is all exhausting.

Which may be why I am longing for tenderness more than ever. Softness, kindness, support, love even. Of any kind, it does not have to be the heart stopping romantic kind, in fact I have come to realize that I don’t want that fireworks kind of heart racing feeling, at least not only that. Sure, I would love that electric, eyes locking in synchronicity thing you read about or see in movies, but then I want to feel at rest and a calm, sure, strong sense of peace.

Support is the main word that keeps coming up as what I seek, then I think am I doing enough to support other people? I try to send messages, show up when I can, keep in touch; I know I could do better, but there are many factors (to be described in a future post) that affect how I can show up in the world. Which brings me to thinking about presentation. How I present myself to the world as a person and through my work.

I have never been too concerned with appearances, the right clothes, the best makeup and hairstyle, heels, and all the things I grew up being told by society I should care about. Even today, when I walk into a professional setting I feel out of place and like I don’t stack up. I have to wear Hokas right now or I am not leaving the house. I have to wear oversized clothes that maybe aren’t the most flattering or professional because my weight has been fluctuating, or actually just increasing for a while now. I cut my own hair and wear a bare minimum of makeup, but does that mean I can’t help you design a strategic plan, or fundraising campaign or marketing timeline, certainly not.

But if I packaged myself differently, would I be getting more interviews or job offers or consulting gigs? If I showed up to more networking events at 8am or 6pm or was able to travel at an employer’s whim, would I be climbing to that next executive level? The thing is I have always sought balance and now more than ever. How can I be truly comfortable with myself and find a supportive workplace or income stream to take care of my kiddo? I have to be there for them more than some other parents, but I also have to leave to earn money to take care of them, so it seems. But we’ll rant about the state of women in America another day. This is an art newsletter, and all this applies to my work as well.

If I framed my watercolors behind glass, or polished the edges of every panel, or applied to every show or attended everyone else’s openings, would I then be deemed sellable, supportable? Just how many followers, comments, likes, ads, events do I need to participate in to reach that next level in art? Is the work even ready for a show? Am I holding myself back or do I spread myself too thin with all my other attempts at making a living and having a life that I can’t quite get the work polished enough to get into shows. Again, exhausting.

So, support is on my mind and presentation. Again, just the beginnings of these thoughts, but that to me is what a blog is for.

Seeking Clarity and Saying Thank You
The other day my dear friend and former co-worker, Bruce Noble, came to the studio to help me photograph some work that is too big for my scanner. I was prepared to shoot some old oil on canvas paintings that I had repaired but are not on stretcher frames. I thought it would be easier to ship them rolled if anyone wanted them. I could also offer an extra option to have stretchers built, but as I was looking at these and thinking about who could afford the paintings and the stretchers and the crate for shipping and the shipping and have walls large enough to hang them, I started thinking that population is pretty small. I have always preferred art that is more accessible and affordable. And the paintings themselves are over 30 years old and from a not very happy time in my life, so possibly not really of interest to anyone anyway.
I am going to keep three of them and have them re-stretched for hanging someday, and the rest will be painted over at some point. But this is not that point in time. Talking with Bruce about what was up in my studio gave me so much clarity, it’s hard not to feel like I should have already known some things. Like much of the work is old, from the past, and though I love some of it, it is holding me back. I keep getting these horoscopes about letting go of the past and I thought I had and was ready to move forward a while ago, but this was it – the thing that lingered. Trying to salvage my old work and make it sellable is what needs to be let go.
I think painting large in oil also needs to be let go, at least for now. I got this latest large studio thinking that was what I needed to feel good, to be happy, to be myself. I had been resenting it when people called me a watercolorist. In my mind I was still a bada$$ large scale oil painter, emphatically not a watercolorist. My ideas about being an artist were also still stuck in the past, from a time when you had to have gallery representation to be taken seriously. I blew that chance in 2001 when my MFA thesis show was visited by a well-known gallerist who purchased some record jacket paintings and wanted to set up a studio visit. I had already planned to move back to Omaha for reasons I will go into another time, so I actually said no, thanks anyway. They of course said good luck with that.
It was actually very confusing growing up in the 80’s punk scene of DIY and never selling out, but then wanting to become a famous painter in a named gallery in New York. I think my brain did not make all the connections to the fact that mostly only wealthy people could buy art then, so I was already contradicting myself. I resolved it somewhat in that thesis show where all the paintings were on blank record jackets and sold for the cost of an album - $15.
Which brings me to cost and money and making a living. Part of that not selling out edict had to do with only making art that was true to your soul and not making things that were easily consumed, sold or commodified. It has taken me so many years to get past that attitude. I have always resisted anything that made my art easier to sell, from matting and framing to trying too hard to get shows anywhere. But I loved to sell work for very low process and work on paper so it was affordable. But then I don’t think I have been taken seriously, so back to the contradictions and confusion.
Well as I face yet another bought of unemployment, I am really rethinking that DIY ethos. Yes, it’s great but I don’t think it has to be exclusive from art sales, in fact rather than make large oil paintings and hope they sell for hundreds or thousands, I would prefer to make small watercolors and let people print them on bags or paper or buy small originals they can actually find room for in their homes.
I realize as I write this that I don’t have all these thoughts worked out, not a clear thesis statement to be found yet, but I am on to something. And I am open to any possible way to make art and make money from it. I would love to find an interior designer who likes my work enough to include it in projects. I am very prolific, and it could be a great partnership. I am going to look into making wallpaper and fabric pattern designs. I am already offering my work on a site where you can customize and print it in many affordable ways.
Through all of this discussion and thought the other day with Bruce, and again in response to many recent horoscopes, I am narrowing my focus down to the work I love to make, that comes easily to me (oil does not right now), and that may fit into someone else’s life and home. In my panic about not finding a paid job or consulting clients or selling any work I have been asking, even begging the universe for help, clues, signs, support, next steps, etc. But then one more message came to my feed that said wait a minute, you need to remember to be grateful for what you have first. So I realized I need to focus on saying thank you for what I have rather than asking please for what I don’t.

I am so excited to share that I was invited to participate in this art feature in Vanity Fair UK! this was out of the blue but I am taking it as a sign from the universe to refocus on making and sharing my work. Look for more exciting announcements soon!

In the winter of 2000-2001, I was beginning preparation of my MFA thesis art show at Hunter College in New York City. Struggling with my painting let alone coming up with a thesis, I tried to remember the things I loved the most, that made up me. That’s when I knew music had to play a big role and then I realized it could give me the whole structure of my show. Thinking about one my first favorite records, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club band, I connected it to one of my first favorite places, the Antiquarium. This was a used book store, art gallery, record store that acted as a “lonely hearts club” on a regular basis. I had collected records from a young age and it occurred to me I could use them as the physical structure for my painting. This would allow me to work on a massive series and try a wide variety of mediums and techniques, while remaining a cohesive whole. I took it further and built record display bins, a sales counter, posters, a listening area with a mix tape, and a display wall. Here are some photos from that show as I look back once again, trying to remember what I love and who I am.