Studio News
{Photo taken in Big Sur last weekend.}
A few new bits & baubles from my studio in Santa Monica…
* The lovely Amanda Crabtree interviewed me to discuss The Business of the Studio for the latest issue of Where Women Create.
* I’m also a featured artist on the new, astoundingly inspiring website Create Mixed Media. Stay tuned for some custom desktop wallpapers!
* My latest essay for In the Wish Studio was just posted yesterday.
* I’ll be interviewed for the upcoming e-course Do What You Love ~ registration is now open and the class begins March 14, 2011.
A few more goodies are coming down the pipeline. In the meantime, my book deadline is now two weeks away. The official countdown has begun.
Where Women Create
Where Women Create February 2011 Christine was interviewed by Amanda Crabtree to discuss The Business of the Studio for this inspiring publication
Listen, Witness, Release
{Photo taken by Pixie Campbell}
The list of items lost, forgotten, broken, or misplaced is long and, for one thing in particular, heartbreaking. But as I work my way out of the self-loathing I decided was a good course of action when I realized the heartbreaking item in question was, indeed, gone ~ clinging to the belief that it was nothing more or less than my own irresponsibility that made me forget the phone charger, lose the camera battery charger, render useless my brand new portable iPod speaker with a spilled bottle of water, smear a sweater, a dress, and a t-shirt with tiny globs of tar from one misstep on the beach, and ~ I almost can’t bear to write it ~ lose one half of my favorite pair of earrings in the world ~ I step closer to the realization that I can also blame my uncharacteristic absent-mindedness on being blissfully lost in the small handful of moments I was given this weekend with a dear friend in a magical part of the world.
I’m not even sure that paragraph-long sentence makes total sense ~ that’s how far up in the clouds my head floated over the weekend. I’m not entirely convinced my brain is completely back down to earth yet.
I am about as organized as it gets. I reach my appointments on time, I meet my deadlines, and I never ever lose things ~ especially when I travel. I am the most methodical packer you’ll ever meet, and I always have what I need wherever I am in the world. This is how I am wired and who I am, and although I am sure I sometimes come across as too tightly wound, it is difficult for me to function any other way. Being a responsible grown-up is ~ and I know this sounds weird ~ something I am quite passionate about. So when one thing after another got lost, forgotten, broken, and misplaced over a mere 48-hour period of time, I was ready to hang a scarlet I on my chest for being so Irresponsible and drown myself in shame.
As the realization that my earring was lost sunk in, and I started griping and groaning more enthusiastically to my friend, she asked, “What do you need?” and when I thought about it, I saw very clearly that I didn’t need anything except to stop my demons in their tracks. After a few minutes of considering this, I said to my friend, “This is what is going on ~ I am totally beating myself up about this,” and proceeded to explain the negative thought cycles that were beginning to spin out of control (because by this time two chargers, a small speaker, and three articles of clothing were already toast thanks to me.)
Part of being a responsible grown-up is not only being attentive to the details of life as they pertain to those around me ~ which speaks to things like being prompt and writing thank you notes ~ but also to myself. So although oddly alluring, it would have been irresponsible of me to let the voices that wanted to flog me continue to run wild. I needed to call them out, pull them into the spotlight, and see them for what they were ~ judgments based on shame, negativity that would serve no purpose other than suck the joy out of a magnificently beautiful weekend.
Maybe my head was in the clouds, and maybe I was a little too caught up in running on the beach in a sequined dress, writing poetry in the sand, and feeling the cold water wrap around my ankles. Maybe I didn’t pay attention enough; maybe I should have kept that uber-organized part of my brain on high alert. Or maybe it was time to let go of that sweater, and maybe my lone earring can now become my favorite necklace. I can buy a new battery charger and a new portable speaker. With a little time and effort, I can get the tar out of my tulle skirt. What I wouldn’t have been able to do is get back that time, and that would have been the biggest loss of all. All it took was a willingness to sit still for one small moment, observe what was happening, and say out loud what that was ~ to listen, to witness, and then, most important of all, to release, and then go back to the business of having fun, to send my head right back up to the clouds.
Brand New Day
I took the photo above on an afternoon when, sitting in our hotel room, I watched a storm move across Tokyo. Dark clouds hung over parts of the city far in the distance and then slowly made their way across Tokyo Bay and towards us. I was expecting to see and hear big fat raindrops pelting our window, but what happened instead was the briefest of snow flurries. One instant I was looking as closely as I could outside ~ almost pressing my nose against the window ~ to confirm they were, in fact, snow flurries, and the next instant they were gone. Then almost just as quickly, the sun began to peek out from behind the storm front that continued to move past us, revealing the blue sky above.
On another morning last week my husband and I both woke up before sunrise, and once we each realized we were both awake ~ still lying in bed in the dark ~ I suggested we watch the sunrise. When the shades were drawn open, we saw this:
And before too long, we were rewarded with this:
The photo doesn’t really do it justice, especially not the moment the sun began to burst above the horizon, a brilliant, flaming red like a giant ruby above the urban landscape of grays, whites, and silvers. And it can’t possibly capture the time I spent sitting at our window, watching the sky brighten tiny bit by tiny bit, savoring the beginning of a new day like I hadn’t in I don’t know how long. This was the Beginning of a New Day. This was a present unwrapping itself before my eyes. This was a tiny sliver of time when all I did was watch the sun and earth do the same work they do every day, day after day after day, whether or not I notice it, whether or not I celebrate it, whether or not I offer it any gratitude.
Sitting in the middle of Tokyo that morning, watching the city come alive, I was reminded of what an extraordinary gift we are given each day ~ which is the day itself. We bemoan growing old, the signs of age, the way our bodies don’t let us do as much as they once used to past a certain age. But considering how many things can go horribly wrong on any given day ~ considering the memory I have of the day I learned my 14-year old classmate was killed in a car accident, or the day I got the phone call telling me my best friend’s 18-year old brother died in another one ~ I’ll take the tiny signs of age that are beginning to creep in, because they remind me of the long life I’m living.
I don’t know how many more sunrises I’ll make the effort to watch so intently, and that might very well be the last time I see the sun rise in Japan. But I still might get to smell the air in China, watch my puppy grow into a dog, hold my husband’s hand, and write a few more stories. I’ll take every ounce, every inch, every moment that I can ~ for all it’s worth, for all it will allow, for all it will let me inhale.
All The Time in the World
{Photo taken last week in Omotesando, Tokyo, Japan.}
{Kirsten Alicia is our Final Give Away Winner! Thank you again to everyone for participating. More Give Aways are coming later this month.}
If downtown Los Angeles is as big as the salt bowl on my table, then Tokyo is the size of the table. An endless sea of skyscrapers and neon, all connected by a vast underground subway system. If I wanted to be constantly on the move while I was there, I would have had no problem. I could have exhausted myself and barely scratched the surface of everything Tokyo has to offer. But on this trip that wasn’t my goal. More than anything, I was eager for a change of pace and environment. It just happened to be in Tokyo.
There were so many reasons for me to not go on this trip with my husband. It made way more sense for me to stay home, dote on Tilda, and take advantage of an entire week to focus on my book, which is due in, oh, three weeks. But when it comes to travel, I rarely make the logical choice, so off to Tokyo I went ~ not even because I was especially interested in seeing anything new, but because I wanted to visit my favorite spots. This was my fifth trip to Tokyo (something I can still hardly believe), and because I only had three full days there, I went with no agenda except to spend time in the places I loved most.
I did, indeed, visit those places, enjoying the strange blend of anxiety and sense of adventure I always feel trying to figure out the Tokyo subway system. It is totally manageable, until a ticket is inserted into the turnstile and a red light flashes a message that says “See attendant!” This happened to me about a half a dozen times before I finally figured out the system of changing tickets at one particular station. So by the time the day of our departure arrived, I had it down pat. Victory!
When I wasn’t in the midst of one of my shopping rampages, I was simply wandering, watching, and daydreaming. There was one morning when I sat on a bench with my iPod plugged in, listening to music while watching everyone going about their day. As I sat on that bench, I relished the feeling of invisible-ness ~ that no one in the world knew precisely where I was, and no one walking by gave me much notice. It was just me and my music by a market in Roppongi, and I had all the time in the world. How often do I let myself experience this sense of quiet being? Not nearly enough, I suppose.
I also spent more than a few hours sitting in our hotel room, admiring our view, thinking, and writing in my journal. I was reading this book on my trip, and because it discussed how little time we now give ourselves for quiet contemplation because we are so often plugged into some form of social network, I felt inspired to indulge in as much of this down time as possible, even though I was in Tokyo, where there is still so much for me to see and experience. I walked, window shopped, rode the subway, ate a Bento Box lunch, and also spent time alone, with no distractions save my journal and pen.
Usually when I return home from a trip, I am kind of a crazy woman. The minute I walk through our door, the deluge hits me ~ the laundry-mail-grocery shopping-unpacking-puppy training-email thought bubble, the one that feels like it is about to burst until I get it all done. This time, there was no such pressure, and ~ imagine! ~ it all still got done. I can’t help but wonder if the ease that I allowed myself on my trip to Tokyo didn’t stay with me on the journey back home. I can’t help but notice the connection between that morning I plugged into my headphones in the middle of Roppongi and right now, when I have the day’s To Do list already fully formed in my mind, but I observe it with a sense of having enough time. There is a story to finish that is due today, there are photos to format, there are packages to ship, there is a rental car to procure, and, oh yes, there is the book. And there is enough time. Surprisingly enough, it just might be as simple as that ~ to decide there is enough time and then begin each day. There will always be enough time for what really needs to be done, and everything will be done in its own time, at its own pace.
Much of my time in Tokyo was about quiet and stillness and letting the minutes drift by me like wispy, barely-there clouds. To know Tokyo as well as I do ~ and I still know so little ~ I would have never guessed I would be able to find such a deep calm within me while there. But on every journey, there are always surprises in the most unlikely of places ~ unexpected treasures that I can’t record, purchase, photograph, or in any way document, but simply notice, and remember, and continue to be mindful of beyond the borders of wherever I happen to be.
Today’s entry is brought to you by the Ginza Subway Line, and the sounds I heard on one of my first rides of the week:
