I heard through Facebook that an acquaintance had died a couple of days ago.
Here's the thing, though. He was more than an acquaintance, a friend, someone I went on a couple of dates with 15 years ago. But this hit me differently. Memories of the meet cute, a couple of dates, and then running into him years later after I had left the City of Angels came flooding back. He was a good guy who loved life and all that it offered. I wish I had told him how much he had helped me in that small snippet of time when we first met.
It all went down late summer 2007 when I was living in Los Angeles. I was still new to the town and it was a weird place. I was just finished with an intense relationship with a guy who turned out to be less than stellar, and feeling like I had just gotten off of a roller coaster, not knowing my bearings. Often I would drive from my tiny studio apartment in Mar Vista, get Pinkberry frozen yogurt and go upstairs to the local video store in Marina Del Rey. I'm not sure what movie I was renting, probably some rom com or indie flick. I don't know.
But I was in the store and some good looking, slightly older than me guy was looking at me. I looked up, smiled, probably blushed, paid for my DVD rental, then went back to my car. I go to my car, started it up, and he's standing there at my window, handing me his phone number. His name was Jean-Paul. An attractive man who liked that I could converse with him in his native language of French.
I called him a couple of days later and we had a nice conversation. Met up for coffee or dinner, I honestly don't remember. He was from Corsica, divorced, loved his kids, and a tour guide. We had another date on the beach of Malibu soon after that. We sat on the beach, he poured wine, we chatted, and he ran off to body surf with my dog, Angie-Mae. She loved him. We got shooed off of the beach (no dogs allowed) and I remember he wasn’t pleased. My dog had a blast!
I didn't feel the love connection, so things just kindof fell off from there. I would often see him around the neighborhood, having coffee with other guys at the local coffee shop or loading his surfboard into his car. We would chat and say hello. He loved to surf and when he wasn't in LA, he was taking people on tours around his favourite parts of the United States. Even at almost 50, he was ambitious and wanted to do new things. He had told me several times that he wanted to be a police officer. He certainly was in good enough shape to do it. I'm not sure whatever came of it.
I moved on, moved to Woodland Hills with my now husband, had a baby, then back to Venice and never really saw him around. Then I left LA in 2015.
A couple years later, I went to one of my favourite coffee shops in Venice and see this good looking gentleman looking at me. Then it hit me - there he was, Jean-Paul. We had a nice catchup and became Facebook friends to stay in touch. I came back to the place I were renting for the week with my husband and told him about him. A day or so later, my husband Dave ran into him at the coffee shop and they had a couple of nice conversations. I'm sure there were lots of opinions and some politics thrown in, he loved to chat about that stuff. Funny how life works that way.
I would see his life adventures on Facebook and he even called me out of the blue in 2021, asking me my opinion about the Covid vaccine that I had let friends know that I had received. I was honored that he cared about my opinion, but not sure what he ultimately decided. Life was turned upside down for all of us and I know it was a concern for how he would proceed with the job that he enjoyed and his personal beliefs.
We had another conversation or so and then I saw recently that he was getting treatment for lung cancer. I thought if anybody could beat it, he could. He crossed my mind the other day, and now I keep wondering if that was the moment that he passed to the other side. I wish that I had sent him another message or made more comments on his page, or even just called him. Ah regret.
I saw the announcement today about the paddle out to honour him and am sad that I am not close enough to get there. I'm sure it will be magical and a wonderful tribute to his life.
Here's to you, Jean-Paul. May you be surfing and enjoying the wild adventures on the other side. Thank you again for your kindness and for the example you led of loving adventures and Mother Nature. I may send you a message or two on Facebook messages just to say hello. I believe in that stuff and thanks for believing in me. You will be missed.
XO,
M.E.
Liz Mohler, a career and life coach from Los Angeles was coming to London and wanted to know if I wanted to join her and do a Street Wisdom walk together. I wasn't sure what that was, but I was all in. I love the collaborative energy of kindred Los Angeles spirits, so I knew that it must be good. I watched a videos on the practice, created an Eventbrite page and coordinated with Liz via zoom how to get a listing on the Street Wisdom website (thanks to the ever helpful Rachel from Street Wisdom who helped with the listing!). We also did some social media blasts to see who wanted to come along. We were excited.
The idea was to do a meditative walk in Hoxton in east London, then head to my art studio and create an art journal page. We set the time and date - Wednesday, March 30. Liz and her husband, Dan met me at Long White Cloud cafe, where I currently have a solo show. Sarah and Jasmine also joined us and we chatted at the cafe before starting our walk.
l to r - Jasmine, Liz, Sarah, Dan, and M.E. at Long White Cloud Cafe
Liz introduced us to the concept and led us on our way. We then started making our way for our meditative walk and talk (then were often silent) ... We reflected on anything from our favourite street in the world, opened up our senses, and tuned into what was really drawing us in. I tend to walk around with headphones on, but it was nice to really sense things more. To listen, to open up. Memories of my favourite walk as a little girl to the park just behind my grandparent's house in College Park, Maryland came flooding back. What joy.
Slowing down to look at this street art wall by Lily Mixe
So we kept moving. What were we tuning into and what was resonating with us? For me, it was the sound of kids in a playground, not visible but clearly there. The texture of the city, soooo many things that beg to be looked at and touched. A real life please touch museum without the requisite guards and alarms, warning you to stay away, to back off. The streets instead inclusively ask us to look deeper, to touch, to open up our senses. To slow way, way down.
I love this wall, featuring art by Zombie Squeegee, Donk, Neon Savage, Skeleton Cardboard, and Stinkfish
Street Wisdom chat at one of my favourite street art walls in east London.
Walking through the city is always full of the unexpected. I love how random city still lives just happen to present themselves to us - a chair, street art, an empty can, and some ivy created a lovely composition, random. Love it. Then I spotted a friendly spray painted corrugated metal wall with a sweet star, softened up with a friendly face. And on we went, to a splendid mosaic tile mural put together by school kids that could stand up in any museum. What a treat this wall was to see when we turned down onto Columbia Road.
Random city still life. Chair, soda can, and art by Subdude and unknown artist.
I love this smiley star by an unknown street artist.
Detail of the mosaic wall outside of Columbia Primary School 1987/1988
Next to the Columbia School mural, stopping to take in the scenes.
Cherry blossoms like pink popcorn. A little dog without a collar who seemed lost but sure of where he was going at the same time. He wasn’t hanging out, waiting to be rescued. He was finding his way home. Trash. All bagged up, ready to move on.
Zoomed in cherry blossom like pink popcorn
Off of Columbia Road...
At the end, Liz prompted us to ponder on a final question - something that could be answered from these moments on the streets. Here was mine: I often wonder if I'm really doing the right thing by pursuing my art. And so I asked the question - do I keep going, do I open another boutique? And so the answer came. KEEP EXPLORING is what I heard. This is often difficult for me. I don’t love the nebulous middle of things which is where I have found myself very often over these past 7 years. But the truth was in the walk - keep going.
More street art gems on Diss Street
Take Your Power Back by Charyl
A few gems on Diss Street - Art Under the Hood, Phoebe NYC, XLVII, and sweet lips by and unknown artist.
Afterwards, we headed back to my art studio to do a single art journal page, prompted by the walk that we had just done. I started out the exercise with a bit of flow writing directly onto the blank page.
Flow writing by me - "walking and meeting up with new and old friends. Slow down what do you see? What leads you to the next place? A flower? Sooooo many textures - what is next? Make a decision or keep exploring how have I gotten here? Why can things feel so difficult? Because you're not done. There is more to see and do. Keep going. Keep exploring. I got ya. You will grow and evolve even better. Be patient. It's not over It's just the beginning."
In my studio with Liz and Sarah
Then we got to work, adding bits of collage, paint, and embellishment to top off our writing during out morning session. What a joy to do this IRL, to chat with others about what they were doing. It was a safe zone to chat about what we were seeking. I love how the intermingling of walking, observing, talking, then processing through art can help us make sense of what often feels like endless chatter in our minds.
Jasmine with her piece.
My page with flow writing and embellished, based on the Street Wisdom walk.
I have to say, I'm so glad that I did this. I think I'll do it again. Thanks to Street Wisdom, and Liz and her husband Dan, and Jasmine and Sarah who came. And if you're interested in a full on art journal class in my studio, check out my in person AirBnB experiences that I offer in this same studio in the heart of Hoxton.
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Here we go...
]]>I've lived in London for almost 5 years and have travelled back and forth between the United Kingdom and the United States on many occasions. As London is coming back to life, I have been getting questions from friends coming this way on all the cool things to do. Unfortunately, some things aren't as exciting - like figuring out Covid tests, UK phone data, and how to get home from the airport. But someone's gotta do it.
Here we go...
Covid guidelines.
I think it requires a PHD to understand the ever changing nuances of traveling in the age of COVID. This link is helpful to see what's required from the UK.
https://www.gov.uk/uk-border-control
A few helpful tips:
- My parents only had a printout of their vaccination records to show the airlines when flying from the United States to London, not a "vaccine card" that was required. It delayed them by a day. Even though that card seems like an old school library card, it's what the airlines wanted. Go figure. Read the instructions, reread and over prepare.
- Testing. Check the current guidelines at the link above, but this is what we encountered late November 2021.
For at home tests required on Day 2 after arrival in the United Kingdom, we used Prenetics. Not super user friendly, but it worked. I may or may not have had to take a few deep breaths filling out the paperwork and helping my family with their required tests. I wasn't a fan to be honest, and will probably use Assured next time for in home tests if needed.
For Fit to Fly tests back to the US tests, I like going to the Assured Screening in Kings Cross. I mean, who likes putting a swab up their nose and throat? But if I have to do it, this place is organized and pretty user friendly. So far so good. And if you're a Harry Potter fan and getting a photo opportunity at Platform 9 3/4 is on your bucket list of things to do, it's a quick walk from the test center inside of Kings Cross Station. So is the gorgeous St. Pancras train station, so pretty.
Heathrow tips:
I love booking a driver in advance so that when I arrive, I can head right home. But sometimes I'm delayed in the long lines through immigration, so an Uber or the newer Bolt app are good ways to get to where you are going. Just make sure that you either get on WIFI at the airport or have phone coverage in the UK. See below...
If you're arriving at the International terminal #3, head to level 3 in the car park to meet your Uber. Get there by taking the elevator (they call it a "lift" in the UK) near the Cafe Nero and then walking up the ramp to the parking garage. Of course, things can change so here's the link for where to go.
Phone usage:
Talk to your provider in the US and see if you have any ways to get international coverage, even just a little to get you going for a day or so. It's really helpful when you land. You can also purchase a SIM card at a local phone store and get minutes and data and your own phone number while you're in the UK. That's what we do with my mom. We like the EE store at our local mall who did it for us the other day. I like having someone help me in person and the gal did it in minutes. Easy breezy and totally affordable.
Money:
I'm going to be honest, I don't like carrying cash. But a few British pounds are helpful when stopping at fresh food markets, tipping, and to use public toilets if you're out and about and desperate to use the loo.
The country is big on contactless credit cards to tap in and out of anything from public transport, to getting your coffee fix. If you don't have a contactless credit card, consider getting one from your bank before coming. It makes things faster and easier.
Let me know what you think of my tips and tricks and if you have other questions... my mom tells me that if I don't make it as an artist, I can be a tour guide. I joke and say that myself and my husband can be Covid Concierges for travel. How about both, Mom? Speaking of which, I'm doing some AirBnB Art and Travel Journal classes if you're interested in getting creative during your time in London. I'll be talking about that in my next post that includes some fun things to do while you're here.
Safe and happy travels.
XO, M.E.
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This sentiment popped in my head in late July when I was driving through Jacksonville, Florida to see my parents who live in nearby Atlantic Beach. By the time I moved there, living in a military family, I had lived in 5 other places. Jacksonville, Florida is the closet thing I have to a hometown. When people ask me “Where I’m from?” - I often pause, I could go on an on.
Anyway, in 1977, I moved to Jacksonville, Florida. Life was pretty good before that, but I had never really settled anywhere. Hence, I rarely saw change - the good or bad in where I lived. And granted, I was too young to probably notice it anyway. 1977 - the year that my pre-pubescent awkward 5th grade self moved from Okinawa to north Florida. My sister, Blue was just an infant and I remember crying daily for my best friend, Lisa that I had left behind. She had also moved, typical for a military brat like myself. We remained pen pals, but it was never the same.
At the time, Jacksonville had a population of approximately 500,000 people, but was the largest city (square footage wise) in the USA. Land was undeveloped, the mall was my favorite spot, and I was thrown into a new world of kids who had grown up together - cliques were already formed. I was no longer the fastest swimmer around (I hit my peak at 8) or the quirky hippy dressed girl. I was awkward, insecure, and muddling through it all.
As things progressed, I saw a bit of development - the sea salt infused melange of businesses that merged where the Atlantic Ocean began changed a bit. The ho-hum mall got a brand new wing, a pizza place with a big screen TV opened - so cool! New housing developments sprung up where semi tropical jungles used to thrive, there were constant talks about the development of a state of the art bridge, the hot young weatherman was the local celebrity. Mid 80’s now...Another fancy new mall sprung up, then closed just as quickly and converted itself to a local community college. There was progress, but I needed to get out. Spread my wings. So I did.
Fast forward to 2020 - I’m living in London, but have peeled away for the summer, a welcome escape from lockdown in the city. I drive into Jacksonville with my daughter after a couple of weeks quarantine in the mountains of North Carolina. The humid air feels like home. The Dames Point bridge that was in talks for years started construction when I went away to Florida State University. By the time I was finished, in 1989, it was done. The bridge still feels new to me. I get so excited when I see it. Progress, I like it!
Some things are the same - the signature iconic howl of the ape on WAPE, the “Big Ape” - it’s still popular now as it was when I was a kid, hoping to hear the latest top 40 hit. I hear some fresh songs, I save them to my Spotify playlist, aaah the irony. Then I dial it over to 104.5, formerly ROCK 105, the cool rock station that started when I was a young teen. The iconic emblem was the cartoon drawn rock with headphones on it, seen all over town on the bumper stickers of the cool kids. I miss that station. It’s now conservative talk radio, two guys are driveling on about something. I can’t deal. I feel nostalgic for car rides to school, listening to Van Halen - JUMP!
Memory lane appears as I drive - that’s the movie theater where I saw “Grease” many times over. Over there - that hipster cafe is the infamous spot that used to be a “Lil Champ”, the local convenience store chain...where my friend had a crazy fight with her then boyfriend. I still remember it like it was yesterday. I remember the moments, but the buildings seem to fade from memory as well. Often when I drive, I am disoriented, I don’t know where to turn.
I see an old phone booth, a relic from the past. I laugh as I’m not sure why it’s still there, maybe to remind me of the calls that we used to make to the operator to tell them that we had just been disconnected. I didn’t even know what that meant at the time, except that we saved 10 cents or maybe 25 cents and got to call home for free. I was a rebel teenager, I tell ya.
When I grew up, the lifeguards were the kings of the beach. They had flags that attached to their big lifeguard chairs and if something was happening, they would wave their flags, creating a domino effect. Each flag waved prompted the next lifeguard to wave their flags, notifying each other that something or somebody needed attention. These iconic red chairs symbolized that summer was on!
Things that I didn’t pay attention to before are now endearing - the hum of the cidadas, like sprinklers that never get shut off. The fluffy moss that clusters on telephone wires, dangling above the street. The daily downpours - the buildup of humidity and heat, and the sweet release of the rainstorm to take the unbearable edge off. Hunting for shark’s teeth ... I’m still not great at it.
I take a bike ride with my mom and niece and relish in the beauty, I miss it. I take a walk in my parent’s neighborhood, and I sense that I know the street. I do - one of my friends from the swim team used to live in that house. It was new when she lived there, now it’s matured like the memories in my mind.
Back to London with Bonnie-Blue. We quarantine at home - sweet, sweet comfort before venturing back out. Then today - it’s the first day of school. Again... that strange feeling creeps in. It reminds me of going back to a place that I used to live, but this time instead of seeing the progress, I feel the disappointment, the sadness. I felt this was last summer when i visited Los Angeles. The city wasn’t handling their pervasive homeless issue and it was visibly worse. I had seen it shift and change when I had a business in Venice ten years ago - the push and pull between being empathetic towards the homeless, and the shifting tides of “Silicon Beach” that wasn’t having any of that. I felt hopeful when I left. One of my homeless friends who lived in a camper next to my boutique had been assigned permanent housing. But now - it was like the city had given up - tents appeared on sidewalks in front of empty storefronts where thriving businesses once were. I was afraid to walk down streets for fear of the filth. The city had turned it’s back, seemingly given up on the challenge of the homeless in my eyes. It was so sad. Again, I digress.
So - today. School dropoff - it felt familiar, but strange all at the same time. What once was normal felt weird. Six months after lockdown, we were trying it a new way. New protocols for COVID made that exciting day of a fresh new year seem strange. Different places to drop off our kids, a new time schedule, all to make things safer. The good news is that since we can’t go inside of the school gates, Layla Rose can walk with us to school. I reminded her tonight that she is winning in this COVID game, winning!
Overall, though, my brain was having a hard time taking it all in. Plexi glass barriers are prevalent everywhere, but these invisible see through shields are also everywhere, even if not physically present. The barriers of communication, the loss of body language, the drifting away of endearing conversations that get muddled with a mask. I love wearing my super dark shield sunglasses, but combined with a mask, I look like I’m going to rob a bank. So today, I throw on some lighter pink aviators, eye contact - something, anything in this COVID bubble of claustrophobia. I’m exhausted. I head onto the London Tube. It’s been 6 months, and I haven’t missed it. A train is delayed for some reason or another, and I’m waiting on the platform for a good 15 minutes. My mind starts to race, realizing I’m in an enclosed space with a virus. Most people are wearing masks, some aren’t. When did I become paranoid? The train finally arrives and I get on, reminding myself to start riding my bike again, I really, REALLLLLLY don’t like this. Here’s the thing - I used to love London. But it’s feels like a cloak of sadness has been drizzling on it, when will the joy reappear? And where else would I want to live?
On to the pool, my favorite place. Except the joy has been sucked out of my former favorite spot. Will it become that happy place again, please, oh please, I hope so. The small special things are gone - zip tied away, like the visible barricades of “keep out” tape that I saw scattered throughout my day. It’s clean and the staff is awesome, but those little touches are gone. No lounge chairs by the pool, there are fewer lanes. I get a kick board, but now I need to bring my own equipment (hello flippers and hand paddles) and forget about the spa - the max is now 6 people, and it was to capacity when I was ready to hop in. The moisturizer and cotton swabs have been locked away, with polite notices that they are on lockdown. First world problems here, I know. I miss the simple pleasures of swimming outside, a pool with a deep end, blue water.
So as the day progresses, I try a semblance of normalcy - the mall. A throwback to my teenage years, and that mall that I talked about that was renovated in the 80’s. It was my place, my excitement - shopping. Aaaah. I almost had that bit of joy back, discovering John Lewis in person - I’m actually excited to be replacing our worn out bed pillows. A sweet woman comes to help me, oooh, I love this. Then at TK Maxx, there’s another reminder of this weird place we’re in - an overhead announcement, a cheeky British accent requesting payment in a contactless form. Money is money, but they prefer not to touch it. I don’t blame them.
I reach for another squirt of hand sanitizer. Everything and nothing was the same.
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Ever since school announced that kids in year 3 wouldn’t be going back this year, I have been quietly planning a getaway. The news cycle, the endless information about “air bridges” that the UK may or may not be in on, and figuring out quarantine logistics and the timing of the return to school in September has been weighing on my mind. I need to unplug. My daughter has been doing socially distant play dates and recently we started to “bubble” a bit with neighborhood kids and a close friend which has brought us a touch of normalcy. The thing is, this virus brings with it opinions from all ends of the spectrum. And I’m not a fan of unsolicited advice. So I keep planning.
In the meantime, the summer art fair that I love being in was cancelled, moving to an online format. But at this point, I just can’t. I need to see people. Social distance, mask wearing people. But IRL. In Real Life. If we are going to live with the virus, how do we live with it, around it, almost like it’s part of our family? An unwelcome one, of course, but it’s there. I’m going to be polite to it, set some clear boundaries, and respect it’s unstable presence. I’m not sure what it will do next, and I think it’s going to stay for awhile.
It’s the weekend of July 4 and 5 in London - lockdown is easing, museums and galleries are starting to open up and I’ve been cleaning up our formerly cluttered, carless garage. It’s almost go time. So I check in with my friend Angela Morris-Winmill to see if she would like to do an open studio with me. We met a couple of years ago when we did an art fair and were next to each other, our art looked good together back then and would look good together in our own space. We’ve recently had some fun times during lockdown, like our tie-dye art date that seemingly entertain the endless parade of people taking a walk and getting some fresh air outside of the house.
The day arrives, we throw open up the garage door and welcome in friends, collectors, and curious passers by. We spent the weekend talking about our process, selling work, and connecting. My favorite thing! The next one will be in the early fall - September 12 and 13, 2020. Feel free to sign up on my email list to get a reminder. We are planning on working on gold guilding and diamond dusting techniques while our art is on display. Ooooh, it’s going to be fun!
We pack up the show, I do a last minute application for an art fair, and I’m up all night getting ready up for our 6 week getaway. Travel insurance, car rental, downloading TV shows, you know the drill. And off we go!
I watched a segment on CNN recently where Sanjay Gupta talked about air travel during the time of COVID-19. So I had a better idea of what to expect. We arrive no earlier than 3 hours before our flight, are greeted with hand sanitizer and face masks, and check in. Lines move quickly, and security is way less intense since I’m not being hurried along by a crowd of people and the endless drone of overhead announcements. I can deal with this. Inside the terminal, I’m missing so many of many favorite food options. So many are closed, it’s weird to see businesses wither away. Instead, I stock up on yummy British biscuits for my mom and plenty of snacks for my gal.
Boarding the flight is also less crazy. The whole “hurry up and wait” that seemed to proliferate in the airport pre-COVID isn’t there. Yay for small wins. We board for Atlanta, 10 rows at a time. Except that the flight is at maybe 10% to 15% capacity. Empty rows everywhere. How is this international flight making money? The cutest couple is on board, masks and face shields. They are moving back to the US and their dog and cat join them on board. I want to chat, but mask wearing isn’t conducive to chit chat. Bummer. This virus is not only isolating us from each other, it’s also disconnecting us with distance and while we are blocking germs, we are also blocking potential friendships.
On board, I watch the Linda Ronstadt documentary, then Like a Boss, and my new favorite - High Fidelity with Zoe Kravitz, so good! After the intensity of the past few months, all I want to do is to soak in some fun. Eight hours later - there’s normally the familiar “ding” after landing and then the instinctive jumping out of your seats to retrieve bags. But that doesn’t happen. We are reminded to stay put and a member of the CDC comes on board and tells us all to self isolate for 14 days. I got that memo several weeks ago, thank goodness. All set. Then we go through a screening area - more CDC people ... we hand them our paperwork. COVID exists here, too. Floor stickers with “Stay 6 feet apart,” plexi glass dividers, and hand sanitizer aplenty. We get to our hotel and relax. American TV, silly commercials, and the sense of being in a familiar setting all start to soak in.
The next day - a five hour drive to our quarantine cottage - yay for FM radio and hand painted fruit signs that indicate the roadside goodness, like these peaches.
That and drive through stops at Dunkin’ and Wendy’s - oh how I miss these yummy treats. Now at my parent’s getaway in North Carolina, Bonnie-Blue and I are self isolating for 14 days. I can take a deep breath. The idea of a deadly virus in my immediate vicinity doesn’t seem so intense. Things feel normal for a minute, I can finally breathe. There is fresh air and a sense of space, a vastness. On our morning walk, we run into this beauty - a Scarlett Tanager. The showy male didn’t move. I swear I thought it was a clip on fake bird attached to the tree. It remained still as we gave it lots of space, thanking it for its presence. And fair warning - I am becoming a birder. I can feel it.
My sense of wonder and curiosity takes over, thank goodness. It’s hard to be dialed into those things when constantly on guard. What will I do today? I’ll dig through some storage boxes, work on my art journal, watch the birds on the porch, take in a sunset and take a deep breath. Free for a moment. I’m soaking it all in. And if you’re interested in a getaway, my parents are now renting out the getaway - we call it “Blue Haven” in Green Mountain. Oh - and art is still shipping from London, I’ve got you covered! Happy summer! XO, M.E.
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Dave has to get something from the office, an essential piece of equipment to test some work on. It’s a couple of miles away and he has a suitcase on wheels filled with stuff, a mask and a bandana for his walk there. He makes a stop at the post office for me, then comes back hours later with a heavy duty dolly filled with work gear. Sweaty, exhausted. He is now 100% hunkered down.
In his absence, I rearrange all the crap below the sink. I’m not a neat freak, but too much clutter is stressing me out. And now we know exactly how many cleaning supplies we have.
Another morning episode of Muck N Brass on IGTV - this time she is putting gold gilding on boots. My hero. I get Bonnie-Blue out for our one walk /day and the river is at low tide. We go down for a bit to get the dog out. She runs in circles and is relishing in all of the at home attention. When we end this quarantine, she’s going to have some major separation anxiety.
I do a quick call with a friend who is self isolated, considering upcoming collaborations. There are a lot of moving parts to our lives, but I know that something good will come about. I remember with 9/11 that planes became weapons. I now feel like we in our own bodies are potential weapons to other people, unbeknownst to us. Yikes. This is super creepy.
A touch of home schooling - an article about rainbows in the windows of houses, then another cancelled virtual playdate. Another case of a mom feeling crappy. The virus is creeping in.
A bit more home schooling - We read two pages of Nancy Drew, then we’re done. It’s enough.
More work on the DIY chair project, a quick uncensored Coffee Talk Tuesday video for my social media channels, and setting up a ZOOM call so my daughter can attend her weekly Brownies meeting online. She laughs and giggles during the meeting. A small win for today.
My inbox is filled with so many messages. A good reminder about a virtual New Moon circle tonight with Emma Shoesmith, yay. I got a message though about a week ago where an artist was trying to sell a 7k GBP painting. Ummm no. Not the time. Shut that DOWN! I consider ways to start making a bit of cash. It’s a balancing act for sure.
I end the day with the ZOOM new moon circle call and sketch this out in my journal.
March 25 - Wednesday
I wake up around 3:30 and do what I’m not supposed to do - scroll through social media. Anthony Valadez is doing silly art on his tablet and another DJ from KCRW in LA joins him. They crack me up. The level of creativity poring out of people right now astounds me. It’s oozing out.
I plan on sleeping in, then quickly realize that Muck N Brass is doing her daily live DIY. I put my daughter in front of my phone to watch her now daily habit and press some juice.
There are tons of online resources for home schooling, so she works on her math and then learns about the Mars findings. Some good news on a little worksheet for my gal, thank goodness.
I have an anxiety attack, I’m not sure about what. Or should I say, what am I NOT freaking out about? One of my favorite yoga instructors, Yoga Ling pops up on my Facebook feed. She’s doing a live meditation. I hop in the hammock in the backyard and take 20 minutes for myself. A sense of calm floods over me.
Virtual coffee dates are the latest thing, and I do a video chat with an artist friend about where we are on our creative journeys. Lots of good ideas are exchanged and I feel like I’m sitting across from her at a coffee shop. I can get used to this.
I have several friends who have pivoted their businesses quickly with the pandemic and are making masks. So I watch a video tutorial and try one out for myself. My sewing skills are crappy, kindof ironic for a former fashion designer. It’s my first sample, I will do some more.
The day is done, we snuggle into bed and watch THE HEALING POWERS OF DUDE again and go to sleep.
Good night.
Thursday, March 26.
I wake up at 5:30 AM. I need to grab a few things from the grocery store, specifically fresh ginger. Ever since my LA days and being introduced to the concept of an intense ginger shot at Moon Juice down the street from my then boutique, I am convinced it helps me stay healthy. I press the snooze button but my husband complains. I hop out of bed and get onto my bike. There’s hardly any traffic and I see a lone jogger out.
I pull up to Tesco, our local grocery store and things are different. The entrance to the mall is just being used for them, the metal gate is down to block the rest of the mall. Barriers are out, tape is on the floor to mark where to stand, and it all seems under control. Yay. It takes me awhile to get my stuff (no ginger though!) and there’s a new way of checking out, allowing for social distancing but with the staff working hard to make sure that we are moving along safely. X marks the spot on the floor. I load up my bike and head home.
I get back home and start the day - another Muck N Brass DIY live and I give my gal a positive news story handout about a mouse. It leads to a freakout. She doesn't want to learn about mice and high altitudes and volcanoes. She’s over it all. We shift quickly. It’s time for a "Pantry Portrait” of our dog for the Quarantine Craft Club on Instagram. Crisis averted.
I am starting to feel like being at home so much is similar to my life as an artist and mom. It all feels fragmented. I keep thinking it will all feel easy, but it’s not. Dave is working and I’m trying to keep my gal happy. I take the pressure off. She goes to play Roblox with a friend online. I watch a cool DIY video from Jenny at the Print Club on a fresh screen printing technique. Oooooh, I like this!
I’m reenergised and make a stop motion video to promote my weekly ART JOURNAL CLUB. I need to get the word out about the time and date and supplies. Here’s the video...
It’s time for the 8 PM collective cheer for the NHS and we’re on it. We pull out a couple of kids musical instruments and hoot and holler at 8. It’s a nice way to end the day.
Night night.
Friday - March 27
My routine feels disrupted when Muck N Brass doesn't come on at 9 AM for her usually morning DIY show. She adjusted to doing some other classes for the next week . We purchased a couple of her digital downloads and will try some of her techniques in the next week. We do PE with Joe on YouTube instead. He’s easy on the eyes and I do the workout as best as I can. I miss my thrice weekly swim sessions, but I’m moving differently nowadays so that’s OK.
The morning takes awhile to get going. I FaceTime with a local friend that I haven’t seen in ages and check on some other older neighbors. I worry about them. They seem to be fine, thank goodness.
Then the tears start. I worry that I won’t see my parents again. I cry for people who will die who won’t get to hug their relatives goodbye. They are alone. It’s so awful. My mom calls and seems to be doing fine. She and my dad are active. How do I tell them to beware? My mom tells me that I need to wash my hair. She’s right. It’s been days, I’m a mess. I finally get out the door and do my walk with the dog to the local park. The two mallard ducks look healthy and so happy for me to drop birdseed in on them. Nature is coming back.
Back home, my attempt at home schooling is done. I can’t deal. I eat a bit, take a few notes for teaching the ART JOURNAL CLUB that night and sleep for a couple of hours. I take a hot bath and put on makeup. I need to be doing this daily. I put on my pretty kaftan that reminds me of tropical holidays and get ready for my live art lesson. 3 -2 -1, I’m live and up on the virtual airwaves. Bonnie-Blue is by my side. Life starts to feel better as soon as I talk. It’s the new highlight of my week.
Saturday, March 28.
I slowly gear up to get to Dalston in east London - I need to collect some things from the print studio since I won’t be going in for awhile. While I’m there, I need to find that fresh ginger that I’ve been looking for. Off I go. Wheeee! There are visibly less people out and about in public places. The hill near where the Mayflower set sail long ago no longer has people in clusters out for a picnic. They have gotten the memo from Boris Johnson. He also has the virus. This isn’t a holiday.
Lines out the door at the bigger grocery stores start to appear as I get closer to the Ridley Road market. I arrive at the open air market, most of the fruit vendors are gone. My favorite fruit guy is not there. I miss him already. It’s a good thing, though. There are way less people out this week and things feel less crazy.
I find the fresh ginger and stop at an Asian market to get some miso. You can no longer walk into the tiny store, they take your “orders” behind this shelving unit and you pay them. It’s the first place I’ve seen medical masks being sold. I’m sure it’s keeping them in business.
I gather some finished work at the studio and random misprints as well. A couple of screens and ink. I have enough art supplies at home to last awhile, but not my screen printing supplies. I need to order a squeegee. An Uber driver decked out in a mask and gloves comes to collect all of my goods and I send him off to deliver the groceries and art supplies back to the house. I’m sure he’s relieved that I don’t hop into the car. My husband will greet him on the other end.
I get a message that a self isolated older gentleman in my neighborhood needs some help. I had signed up with a local Facebook group and was wondering if I would be of use to them. I am happy to help and make a call to my new friend. We exchange pleasantries and I introduce myself. I like him already.
I dip into a couple of pharmacies, trying to locate some Paracetmol per his request. No luck. I end up riding across the Tower Bridge, the Disney-eque bridge that feels a bit menacing on this day. The sky is grey, and I look over to my left and see a guy in a gas mask and mustard colored trench coat walking across the bridge. He is cool. All dressed up for this pandemic, I can’t help but notice.
Another quick stop at the Co-Op, a mini store. I’m still looking for the Paracetemol. I finally find it and look down the aisle as I leave. Mr. Gasmask is in there. It takes me awhile to unlock my bike (two locks!) and he walks past me. “You go first, no you go.” We are observing social distancing. Me in my shield sunglasses, him in the gas mask. The new normal. It’s not the right time to ask for a photo, so try to imprint his image in my brain. I did this quick pencil and gouache sketch today.
I stop by to meet my new 83 year old friend who talks to me through the front door. Thank goodness it’s clear glass. I like this guy. He’s the same age as my dad and has a sweet personality. He’s thankful for the paracetamol and conversation.
Back home - I’m wiped out. It’s been almost a full week of this new normal. We decide on a family movie on Disney Plus. Dave and Bonnie-Blue and I snuggle into bed to watch. I fall asleep immediately.
XO, M.E.
]]>I woke up with that now familiar feeling - a sense of WTF, I’m not sure what is going on. Like the morning when you have broken up with the love of your life and have a massive hangover. That’s starting to subside a bit, but it’s still there.
I normally get over those kinds of things by putting more effort into my appearance and not eating. The appearance part isn’t working, but the not eating definitely is. I grab a pair of black hippy pants from my closet. The type that look right at home in LA, but the ones that in London just don’t quite fit in. I’m so happy. This is me. They inspire a Hammer-time dance.
I get a sweet homemade card from my daughter, then take my time getting out the door and venture out with the dog. She needs the fresh air and we are lucky to have a walking path outside of our door. I’m training her on social distance as we let people walk around us, us around them. Yielding when there are corners and potential what I call clusterfucks. Not to her, but in my mind. I actually like this part - people giving space. I can’t deal when I feel enclosed, when I feel like I’m being rushed along. The whole world is learning a new set of etiquette rules. #winning.
Breakfast is served - and I put on LIFE ON EARTH by Snow Patrol. It sounds appropriate right now. Dave made pancakes without eggs. We need to get some. Hopefully the city farm down the street will have some in stock soon. His friend texts to see if he has been outside already - go go go, I tell him. Get outside. It’s pretty out there.
When I went to the food store the other day, I went ahead and got some flowers for myself. I go out into the yard and cut up some rosemary to add to the arrangements. The rosemary is also being added to my water in the fridge. I don’t want to haul big bottles of Diet 7Up on my bike, my vice.
I clean up and then get inspired - a bit of cleaning everyday. I don’t love cleaning, but the windows need help and are easy to do. Sparkle & shine and Dave joins in.
I start to brainstorm on getting a set of vintage folding chairs recovered and dig up a bunch of old fabric from the garage - memories of my clothing line come back quickly. The indigo dyed cotton fabric I ultimately choose was used for these vintage inspired halter maxi dresses I did. Not the heaviest of fabrics, but it will do. While I’m down there, I dig up some cashmere sweater samples that I had made up. I’ve been saving them for when I do a cashmere line. That’s hasn’t happened and isn’t happening in awhile. Aaaah. New clothes. They even have the manufacturers label on them. Now I’m really looking like a California girl. It’s a wrap sweater and a big shawl. I give the shawl to Bonnie-Blue to wear. All I want right now are soft, comfortable things against my skin.
While I’m digging through my bins, I look for a reel of elastic that I have somewhere. I need some to do some mask samples that my friend has done a video on. It looks easy and I know I can do them. I look for awhile, no luck.
Bonnie-Blue is tucked away in the hammock outside, I’m insisting on sunlight for her. Later in the day, I will take my turn. This hammock is going to help me stay centered.
Another video consult with Angela. She was also a fashion designer and knows the technical side of things way better than me. She tells me how to get the chairs covered up and how to strengthen the indigo fabric.
Bonnie-Blue is excited to do something besides play Roblox, her new favorite video game. She gets to go through all of the fabric and decide about how she wants to patch up the chairs. Her first big design project. I’m just the seamstress. I’ll do what I did with her Brownie vest when I sewed on the patches - zig zag the stitching and make it look a bit raw. Perfection isn’t my thing and I’m not putting any pressure on myself right now. She’s all for it. We cut off the pockets of old jeans and create star and heart patches from fabric. She decides on where the pockets will go.
I bounce between social media channels and music and halfway viewed political updates and a church service. Nothing seems to get finished. It’s like a slow/fast drip of info. A yoga instructor that I likes pops onto a live meditation. I will listen to it in the morning.
More sewing and making plans for Monday to get outside to see a friend. It’s all about navigating social distance and maintaining the closeness of a best friend. I fear that my daughter’s friendships will peel away, but realize this won’t happen. There is something planned out, always something to look forward to. She’s even saying to me “When this whole thing is over,” a hint that she knows it isn’t just for a week. I feel like she’s teaching me things. We are learning together, me trying to be the fearless mom, but telling her that I’m figuring all of this out too. I’ve never been a science nerd, I was lucky to get a C in Chemistry in high school. But I have never been so aware of a scientific issue in my life. I feel like the kids of the world will have a PHD in this stuff after it’s all done.
I am exhausted. I need to order my HRT patches before they run out. Nobody will want to be around me if they do. I feel guilty sending an email to the NHS as their phone app is acting buggy. Dave sits down and helps me do it. My brain can’t deal with details a lot of the time, especially now.
Another episode of the HEALING POWERS OF DUDE and Bonnie-Blue has a hard time sleeping, so she’s at the base of our bed. Layla joins us. We do an order of supplies - glue sticks, stretch elastic, fabric snippers, heavy fabric fusing. More DIY and mask making to come.
Night night.
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Monday, March 23
I get up before the rest of the family and roll out the yoga mat downstairs. All set for a bit of me time. I don’t get very far.
Smiley faced strawberry rice crisps for my daughter. I fight with the pressed juicer for a bit and finally get it going. A bit of this and that. Yummy! I’m trying to keep my spirits up and fresh produce is going to help.
I make a new checklist for Bonnie-Blue for her day. Between the school website and links that they provide, I think we are covered with education. She does a feel good exercise on the improving population of the Black Rhino and then gets engrossed in a science show on BBC for kids. Thank goodness. Then an online DIY class pops at 9 AM on my IG Live from Muck and Brass. She’s teaching kids how to hot glue old plastic toys into a sculpture, rocking a gold lame top and rockstar hair. My new hero.
The rallying that I am seeing of small business people is amazing. I have an LA friend who is pivoting quickly from making handbags to much needed masks for healthcare workers as well as everyday people. And another also in LA, a home goods designer who is quickly shifting even though our worlds have collectively been pulled out from under us. A stylist friend in Atlanta is also working on projects with her fabric line. We are all shifting. Bravo.
Another set of tears from Bonnie-Blue as she hears news of a cancelled social distance playdate, now moving to FaceTime. The new norm is to stay away and it’s not personal. Try explaining that to an 8 year old. She’s still crying and the dog needs a walk. Where has this morning gone? Dave takes over so that I can run out and get some stuff for a self isolating family. Simple enough, I hop on my bike and get going. Once I get to the store, it’s not as crazy as I thought - but still lots of empty pockets of stuff - no toilet paper and where is the fresh ginger?
I practice social distancing but then do what I normally do when I check out at the grocery store. I start to walk up to the cashier, but she’s still finishing up with the other customer. Oops. I get politely scolded by an employee at Tesco and am thankful. She shows me the line to stand behind. Then at the register to the left, somebody does exactly what I had done but she isn’t around to let him know. We are all still learning this stuff.
I drop off the goods to my neighbors and head home. Wiped out. Home schooling for the day is out the window and I need to eat. I FaceTime with my sister and then hear a song echoing on the river outside. “Always look on the bright side of life” by Monty Python echoes from a tug boat. A bright spot, so sweet.
A long 3 hour nap, then plans for my gal for tomorrow. We will make the checklist again, let’s see how far we get.
I didn’t work on the chair covers today, except for a few meditative hand stitches. I’ll do more tomorrow.
Boris announces that more measures are now in place - no more than 2 people together at a time, only essential movement. There have been way too many people gathering. I have a small work of art to send off. A neighbor tells me that she has postage. I’ll ride over then when they open in the morning.
Day by day. Another episode of NO GOOD NICK and THE HEALING POWERS OF DUDE. Good night.
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Morning was time on my phone, messaging my friend in LA and a phone call with my BFF here. Ideas brewing, support, reaching out.
Another round of tears from my daughter, but we brainstormed on ways to have socially distant interactions with local friends - an outdoor movie projector against our tiny garage door with chairs apart from each other. Scooter rides at a distance in the park, I will give extra hugs to make up for what she is missing. I need to make new canvas covers for the chairs from some fabric that has been sitting around for years. I can honestly say it will get done.
I’ve barely been eating, but am thankful for the big container of grits that a friend brought over from the states before the madness ensued.
I get Bonnie-Blue organized with a virtual play date with her friend and take my time getting out the door. The dog needs a walk and the river path out the front door has plenty of people who need fresh air. I’ve never seen so many people jogging. Pretty soon I’m going to start giving air high fives to this crew. But that’s another project.
And then I see this duck. A symbol of strength and Mother Nature and life. I send a copy to my mom who I know will paint it beautifully.
I set up the hammock in the backyard to get her fresh air. Screen time restrictions are out the window right now.
My bike is my new friend and I get organized to go over to Dalston to the produce market. The guy at my favorite stall now calls me hon. Since there were only apples at the CO-OP yesterday, I need to stock up. I’ve been juicing regularly and go through the produce quickly. So I get going.
I’m still new to the biking on the streets and wear my crazy bright vest. Ideas of doing a fringed fluorescent vest for music festivals used to seem like a good idea. Now I want to create a neon something something for biking on the the streets of London.
I roll out of the house and past the Mayflower Pub, where the ship set sail. Flowers outside, I think it will endure the restaurant closure order that hit yesterday. People at the park on the hill. Some in clusters, some socially distant. Then I start to navigate the busier roads. To stay to the right of a bus when it stops? Is it OK to go in the wrong direction on a one way street? #askingforafriend.
I just follow the cool bikers who seem to know what’s going on. The people on the rented Santander bikes seem more like they’re out for a stroll. I’m looking for pro tips instead, I stick with the people who look like they’ve been doing this bike routine for awhile. I call it “Follow the Leader.”
I head over to London Bridge and muse about making this bike ride thing a regular part of my commute to Dalston. It will be for now. When things return to a semblance of normalcy, who knows. Hmmmm. Past the Shard, over London Bridge, thankful for my obnoxious vest that screams out - middle aged mom on a bike. Beware.
Past the empty Dicken’s-esque cobblestone streets of the City of London, consulting my Citymapper App along the way. Socially distant is working just fine now. I start to see the hipsters in Shoreditch who are embracing face masks just fine. Past Great Art, my favorite art supply shop. Still open? I love them, but I have a year’s worth of art supplies and I want them all to go home. Still going, and noticing the homeless who seem more visible now. They seem more desperate. Who is taking care of them? Time for a bit of cash - I sanitize my hands after I touch the machine. I feel like the whole world has cooties. I’ve never been this person. The only time I was like this was when my daughter got pink eye. Then I got it.
To the market. Social distance isn’t even considered. I move quickly, make space as I can and make a note that next time I’m wearing my NO SNOGGING face mask and gloves. I will arrive right when it opens. Where are the protocols to keep the crowds from getting too close? Apples, oranges, strawberries, avocados, pears and limes. Some fresh herbs. I hand my fruit guy a card with my phone number on it and tell him that I biked all the way to see him from across town. Please call me if you close down, I will take deliveries. Or I’ll bike over and do a box of a pickup.
Back on the bike with a heavy load. I have replaced my big noise canceling headphones with smaller earbuds that still allow for the sound of traffic, the soundtrack to provide a sense of normalcy to what’s going on. A note at the Vietnamese restaurant in Hoxton brings me back to reality - takeout only.
And then the song “This is the Day” by The The comes up on my playlist. An understatement.
I‘m almost home and run into another mom, a friend from school. We have a socially distant chat and finally get home. Dave washes all of the produce and I take a shower. I’m now considering where / how to put my coat and outerwear when I get home. I have the time to set this all up now. As the world pivots, my mindset shifts. One part of my mind feels in the here and now, another feeling in a different dimension.
A two hour nap to recover from all of this and my daughter needs some quality time. I catch a glimpse of her dancing with Dave through the open door. He’s playing “Colours” by Beck and playing along on the piano.
I read her a few pages of a Francesca Lia Block short story that brings me back to LA and the 80’s, I love it. We watch “NO GOOD NICK,” just the two of us. Dave joins us for our new favorite, “THE HEALING POWERS OF DUDE.” We pause the show when I hear the name of my friend Rachel Weisberg being referred to as a girl’s favorite designer. The show is over and the credits roll. My mind starts to do the math - this is the show that Rachel’s brother and wife wrote. This is the show where she went to Vancouver to help them out while filming. This is the show that is making my little family all laugh and snuggle. Life works in magical ways for sure, delivering a gift of laughter mysteriously but in a familiar way, though a friend. Then I hear the line - “SANITY IS PLANETARY.” Way before this crisis, but oh so appropriate.
Bonnie-Blue goes to sleep, Dave as well. I head downstairs to write this and take a break to chat with my friend Angela.
Two weeks ago we were shopping at Liberty’s and strolling leisurely in Shoreditch. 14 days later it’s a whole different world. It’s time to publish this and rest. Mother’s Day is tomorrow. Maybe Dave will make me pancakes and fresh juice and I will get breakfast in bed.
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Everyday I wake up and feel like I’m living in a science fiction film. It feels a bit like a breakup. Maybe it’s a breakup with my old existence. I will never be the same.
Yesterday’s accomplishment was sewing a portion of a pillow that I got in Morocco 5 years ago. I have more to do. And then we watched “The Healing Powers of Dude” on Netflix. Highly recommend if you like talking dogs and funny tv shows about middle school.
My eye hasn’t been twitching for several months, but my right hand has a weird twitch now. Why does the body do that? I try to meditate daily and call in light into my body. Today I tried but the light feels dark. Maybe I’ll try using my fake sun lamp. The days are overcast and grey still, it’s not helping.
This morning my daughter started crying that she wanted a friend to come over. The reality of social distancing and us all holing up in our house is become evident. It’s hard to tell a social 8 year old girl that she can’t see her friends. Thank goodness for FaceTime.
And our dog seems happy, though. She is with us 24/7. I wonder if she needs her Layla time, I don’t think so.
This morning after my daughter was so upset, I threw in the towel with the learning checklist. It was too much. She just needed to relax and snuggle into the day. We took a walk to the park and foraged for plants and flowers. Artist Faith Evans-Sills had posted something about it on her Instagram page and I was like - ooooh, I need to try that. It felt like Mother Nature was trying to show us her beauty. I looked closely at the shapes of the leaves and the colors as I planned out my mandala. Then I did a drawing / gouache sketch of them. I will add to it again. I keep thinking that I need to work on a large canvas, but it just feels way too much for me right now. Baby steps.
I keep thinking that feels vaguely like when a hurricane was pummelling towards Florida when I was a kid, or when I holed up at home in Okinawa when Typhoons were predicted. But this is different.
I nap and try to stave off a wave of anxiety. I do my meditation before I went in for my last art journal club after school club for awhile. I rode my bike, hoping the wind and imminent London rain would be fine. I swear its the highlight of my week. These kids that just love to sit around and pour their hearts out into this blank book. I normally have a big lesson plan and show them some cool technique. It’s intense and sometimes exhausting. This week it was a fraction of the kids and we sat around and I let them do whatever they wanted. We listened to “I’m a Banana” by Incision and The Weeknd and Billie Eilish. It was calm and felt like a knitting circle. Except I was talking to 9 and 10 year olds. It was magical. They stamped and painted the covers of their books and just played. They took them home and I encouraged them to work in them while school is out. Perfection.
I walk to the Chemist. Social distancing is hard in a small space and the guys are working hard, I can tell. There’s no privacy, so I ask them in front of the audience of customers if they’re ever going to get the HRT patches that I need in.
Our local CO-OP food store was bare. I got some smoked salmon for my husband. There were four packs. 3 for 10 GBP. I took two. I kept thinking of the workers risking their lives to help people and they can’t get food. UK Mother’s Day is on Sunday, but the flowers were stocked. I took the budget flowers. A month ago I was in NYC and feeling a bit flush. Not how. It’s budget time. But back to the flowers, maybe I’ll embellish them with the wild rosemary growing in the backyard.
I wave to the bus driver from my bike, there are few people on it. I look like a crazy construction worker with my high visibility neon vest. I don’t care. I’ll start looking for something cooler to wear soon. Definitely not a priority.
Before all of this started, I was feeling like a hamster on a wheel. After living in London for over 3 years, I definitely have my groove. But it’s been hard. I am still very much of an emerging artist and how to make a living with it has weighed heavy on my mind. Call this the Capricorn in me. Life has felt very fragmented as a mom and then launching a business. A boulder up a hill. Dave was starting to help more with school runs to free me up. This will be interesting when it’s over. When will it be over? I’m trying to go with the flow. The river is outside of our door, rising and falling daily. A reminder that our power is in the hands of Mother Nature. What does she have in store for us? I need to allow it all to happen.
My art journal club starts in an hour. Time to shower and look presentable. I want to spread joy and light. Please spirit be with me.
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Art journal livestream is over. Wow, I loved that. Dave helped me monitor questions and people from Japan to LA joined in. I felt calm and happy when doing it. Not one ounce of anxiety. I felt like a proud momma when some of my virtual students showed off their work. I’ll do it again next week. The online ART JOURNAL CLUB.
Another episode of the Healing Powers of Dude. I laugh before I go to sleep.
M.E.
a note - this is free flow writing. Raw and not edited so much. Same for most of the photos. I kindof like it, when did everything have to be so slick and perfect?
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And don’t forget that I’m hosting a free, online live art journal class on Friday, March 20 at 8 PM London time, 4 PM east coast, 1 PM west coast. You can tune in on Instagram or Facebook at MEandBlue. And if you’re a personal friend of mine, it will be streaming as well from my M.E. Ster-Molnar feed.
Here goes my rambling....
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March 18th, 2020.
I kept hearing about the CORONA VIRUS and thought that it was something that I wouldn’t have to deal with. I have a couple of art journal friends who live in China and I heard about it. And years ago, my sister worked on the Diamond Princess cruise ship that was affected last month. Close to home in a way, but it seemed unfathomable. I’m a glass half full kind of a gal. So cliche, I know. I was on the other side of the world and I had heard of things like this before - Swine Flu, SARS, MERZ. But here’s the thing. I come from the generation when bad things like this don’t happen. I don’t know. Maybe it’s growing up relatively sheltered. My first real wake up call was like many others that I know - September 11th, 2001. Up until then, nothing touched my world. But now there is a lot more to deal with. And THIS. THIS!
All of the sudden, things are creeping in. I can’t kiss my friend on the cheek. One of my best friends lives 6 miles away, but it could be months before I see her. The government says no gatherings of more than 10 people, yet my daughter is supposed to go to school. Not today. I have been waking up in a panic. So I talked to my husband, Dave and was like - nope, she’s not going in. I am off of public transit - my bike is my new best friend.
Yesterday was St. Patrick’s Day and the first day that I decided that I was no longer taking public transport. I put air in the tires of my bike and set off to mail off a piece of artwork that had sold at the post office. I stood inbetween two 70-something women who had better attitudes than all of us. Yay. I’ve been meditating lately and trying to reach out to people more and more on the streets with a smile or a conversation. Now there’s the social distance thing - smile, but don’t get too close. It’s so weird. But necessary.
Back to St. Patrick’s Day - I made green milk for my daughter’s snack - insisting on Rice Crispies so that she could see the Shamrock shake-esque mint green that I chatted to the leprechauns about. A touch of green dye in the toilet water was another small act of fun I attempted, she goes along with it. I want her to keep believing. Friends in LA were showing images of a rainbow on social media, and I let her know that the leprechauns that visited at night and dropped green glitter had catapulted from the rainbows. I want to believe, too.
We had a virtual playdate with a friend from LA, something I think I will do many more of. My gal is social like me, we like to chat.
Then today I made a face mask using an old skirt and maxi pads for my daughter. She refused to go outside without one. She’s rockin’ the ninja look. But we don’t have the proper filters that were recommended, I’m thinking it’s more of a fashion statement, but not the best protection. I never imagined a world where I would be wearing a mask. Wooooah. And I want to make more.
So who knows how long this will go on for. I have a lot of things to do in the house. Conquer the laundry mountain, go through bins of paperwork, link my Shopify website to Mailchimp and have a cool pop up email sign up. Meditate daily, arm weights since my pool will close soon, I’m sure. Paint my daughter’s room. Be a best friend to an 8 year old, home school her, keep her spirits up, and do the same for me. Pray that I can see my parents soon. Remind myself that our investments will come back. Get the infection, don’t get the infection. I don’t know.
I feel like I’m living in a science fiction film. Dave, my husband showed me a trailer for the movie “Contagion” with Gwyneth Paltrow and Matt Damon. I would have watched it when it came out in 2011. Now I can’t. It will freak me out too much. Jessica Yellin is my go-to reporter on Instagram, but even she is stressing me out with the statistics.
March 19, 2020.
There was a free live dance party with Debbie Allen on Instagram yesterday. I did it. I haven’t done aerobics since the 80’s and it was fun. Dave and Bonnie-Blue even joined in.
So I wake up today, March 19, 2020. I created another daily checklist for my daughter who asked if she would be going back to school this week. I feel like I need to string her along for awhile so she doesn’t get freaked out. I just don’t know.
I look at the river and my gym is right across it, still open. Sanitizing like crazy. I would have to ride my bike to get there, good exercise. But even the thought of tapping my card onto a card reader gives me anxiety. There is not enough hand sanitizer to clear my monkey mind*. The river ferry still goes, but it’s way empty. And the police boat is out there, making me feel safe. I wonder if they will give me a free pass when I wake up one day and swim across the river at low tide. My mom wants to make sure it will be safe. It will keep me sane.
I’m off to walk the dog.
And I saw this. A reminder that Mother Nature’s beauty is still here. She is watching over our shoulder.
*Monkey mind courtesy of my dear friend Denise Baron, I love that term. Better to meditate than to feed the monkey mind.
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A real life sage burning to kick off my social media cleanse...
I use social media to stay connected with my family and friends back in the states, my friends here in London as well as all over the world. I’ve been able to locate long lost friends, and have made new ones through it. I find it to be a great tool. I have a best friend in Japan, another friend who was working in Vietnam, and a couple of art friends in China. I easily keep up with them online. But when is it all too much? I find myself habitually scrolling on the phone in the morning , during the day, and often right before I go to sleep. As an artist, I love the visual appeal of it all. But what about the inspiration that’s inside of me, still wanting to emerge? Is that being stifled by all of this? And what about the people around me? How am I relating to them from behind a phone? And what about all of this multi tasking? I think my brain is on perpetual overload. Nine years ago, I stopped drinking when I found out that I was pregnant. I loved my daily glasses of wine. Now I wanted to be present for my husband and daughter, it wasn’t fair if alcohol was blurring our connection. But is social media addictive, too?
The first day or so of my cleanse felt weird. I automatically logged onto Instagram and Facebook a couple of times and a wave of guilt and horror washed over me. What? I didn’t even realize that I did it and quickly shut it down. It had become what I expected – a habit that I didn’t realize that I was doing. And at what expense?
On my birthday, I got lots of loving messages from friends and family from all over. It was awesome. But I wanted to step away from the social media screen for a bit. Around that time, I received an email from a yoga teacher that I admire, a new mom, a business owner, a busy woman. She had just unplugged for awhile. I was inspired to do the same.
I joined Instagram in 2012 when our daughter was young and remember one of my first posts – I was at the airport in LA with my husband. I had no idea what to upload or how to use the strange photo filters. It was a new platform, but it seemed cool, a new frontier. So I did a selfie of the two of us. He was perplexed. Another early post was of the steering wheel of my trusty Toyota. Totally an LA moment as the car is of equal importance as a phone in staying connected amongst the sunshine and sprawl. Since then, I have posted over 5000 images – from my daughter, my husband, dog, random bits, my clothing line and boutique, and most recently my art endeavors. It has been my visual diary, a valuable one at that.
Now it was time for a long overdue detox. The first day – January 1, 2020 - of my social media cleanse, it felt weird. I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. But it was the school holiday and we had a super mellow time off. I got notice that the book “Then It Fell Apart” by Moby had arrived at the local library and picked it up a couple of days earlier. Wheeee! My new year’s resolution for 2019 was to read a book a month. I failed big time. Not a single book. Just lots of online news articles. Now was the time, so I dove in.
If you know me, you probably know of my love for electronic music and I have always had a strong adoration for Moby. I normally wear beat up (and well loved) noise cancelling headphones when I’m running around London. Music keeps me moving and grounded. I feel like I’m floating, escaping from the buzz of the crowds on the tube and busy sidewalks when I listen to music. It’s my protection. And electronic music - I love it. I had wanted to read this book for awhile and was disappointed when he cancelled his book tour last spring. I was bummed out. This would have been my chance to meet Moby in person. No such luck.
So I plunked down on the couch and got to reading. I love a good memoir, my favourite genre. I’m a couple of years younger than Moby, but could relate most to that early 80’s time of growing up – ackward and not quite sure where my space was in the world. He was a poor kid with a hippy mom in preppy Connecticut, trying to fit in amongst peer pressure and developing his own voice. I had a similar experience but in Jacksonville, Florida. It brought me back to the early 1980’s, the era of the The Official Preppy Handbook, New Wave music, and figuring out my personal style.
I had moved from Okinawa, Japan and was back on American soil - north Florida. We weren’t poor hippies, but arriving in a new city was tough. I went to public school in the beaches area of Jacksonville, Florida and it was a shitshow. Three different schools in 3 years – elementary school where I was terrorized by a girl gang, an ineffective Sixth grade center where we all got bused in, then Junior High. The worst. Picture every single cliché of a bad school experience as a 13 year old, and there you go. Square Pegs-esque nonsense. I would cry to my mom when I came home after being bullied by a handful of students in my French class. The teacher with her southern meets fake French accent that would simply smile as I was being harassed. It was awful. So my mom pulled me out. I felt even more lost.
All of the sudden, I was going to a rich kid’s school on a military brat budget. My grandmother was footing the bill and I am still grateful for the gesture. At the time, though, I had no idea what was going on. At least at the shitty public schools, I had a semblance of my own style. But now I was in a different part of town where I didn’t understand the fashion code. Most of the kids there had known each other for years as they had grown up in the rich area of town. Thank goodness though that the academics there were awesome. Challenging. Yay. And the art program was the best, even better. But back to style - the whole preppy, New England inspired look was the uniform on campus - adopted and worn by many of the students. It fit in perfectly with the dress code.
And so I did my homework, - I bought the The Official Preppy Handbook by Lisa Birnbach. And I took it seriously. Very, very seriously. Much like Moby, I was acutely aware of my peers and wanted to slide right in. I substituted JC Penney penny loafers for more expensive Bass Weejuns and affordable knock off poly blend oxford button down shirts for the real 100% cotton ones. I was resourceful and I did my best. When I read about how Moby scored a polo shirt at the local thrift store to try to fit in with his peers, I could relate. I tried and tried to be a cool, effortlessly disheveled preppy girl, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t me. I laughed when I read about similar experiences in Moby’s memoir. It wasn’t him, either. I was a New Wave girl. I loved The Human League and Missing Persons and looked up to the cool older classman at school who would wear a telephone cord as a tie in the hallway. He ended up being the uber cool fashion photographer Todd Eberle. I can still picture him and his sidekick friend who would walk by. She had cool style, too. They had no idea that I existed, but it didn’t matter. Just seeing them both was a breath of fresh air, coloring outside of the lines of the dress code and I liked it.
That’s me - back left, circa 1983
I continued the preppy charade for a bit, but it really didn’t stick. I just couldn’t. Thank goodness for MTV and minimum wage jobs. I started making my own money and worked on developing my own style, inspired by the likes of Belinda Carlisle of the Go Go’s and the cool mannequins on display at the mall. But I’m forever thankful for my foray into trying on a new look, a new style, even though it wasn’t me. As for Lisa Birnbach, I wish I had saved that book. It’s worth more now than when I bought it. And I would love to just thumb through the pages to reminisce. Maybe “The Official Preppy Handbook” will be next on my reading list. I love how much more time I have from being offline.
1984, in the height of my New Wave love...
Now that I’m back on social media, I have vowed to keep my screen time way down and I’m making room for lots more reading, writing, and daydreaming on top of my art. Inspiration comes from all over. I hope that more will come from beyond the overly styled, scrolled through images on social media. Nowadays, I’m looking more for the nudging of a long lost memory that surfaces from a good book, usually a memoir. Any recommendations?
]]>This past weekend at an art show in south London.
What’s with us not wanting to say our age? I notice this especially at my age, but it’s been going on with a lot of us for quite some time now. And usually with women. Friends on facebook have birthdays, but their age isn’t there. It’s hidden. Come on, really? You’re not fooling anyone. Just making it MORE obvious that this societal shaming of anyone of a certain age is on your mind. Are we afraid of the repercussions of announcing our age? What repercussions you ask? Ooooh, - Plenty. Not getting hired, being seen as irrelevant, not on trend, too expensive, too slow, too much. I worked in fashion for years. I remember moving to Los Angeles in my late 30’s. Getting certain jobs was way out of the question – I was no longer up for consideration by many companies. But I was really good. I had been working in fashion and sales since high school. It didn’t matter.
So ---- what would happen if we all started to change the idea of these numbers, our age – that is part of our essence, our being? Think how powerful it would be. If we all do a bit to let our ages be known, to be proud of them. My grandfather lived to be 100. I have many many more years to go. And I sure as hell am not going to sit around and wait for the world to go by. I have a second career that has felt like a bit of a boulder to push up a hill, but I’m not stopping. No fucking way.
As I scroll through my LinkedIn profile, I sometimes wonder if I should list when I graduated from college (1989) or just leave it out altogether. Like I need to be ashamed of it. But I’m not. I came of age in the 80’s and it was an awesome time. I’m proud to have lived and danced and dressed in the 80’s. Anybody else? And I often wish I was old enough to celebrate the Summer of Love and the original Woodstock. I mean, those stories have to be pretty awesome, huh?
I’m not saying we need to let ourselves go. I feel my best when I dye my hair and put on makeup and wear my favorite skinny jeans. I even had a tweak or two before I turned 50 (hello chin lift and boob reduction). Not that it was necessary, but I needed it to feel better. I had just closed the first chapter of my career and life and it was time to move to the next one. I try to swim a few times a week and can proudly report that I am usually one of the fastest people in the pool at my gym. I do my flip turns with pride and like to surprise people when I hop in the fast lane.
Me in the mid 70’s when I swam competitively.
What I’m saying is this: That no matter what – WE ARE RELEVANT. Collectively we have life experience and have seen the world through some major transitions. And I believe in keeping up with the cool kids, or at least being aware of what’s going on. But I’m old enough to know that if it’s time to take a break, I will. And then I’m back with fresh ideas, ready to keep moving and creating. I don’t need to be told to hustle (in fact, I remember when the song came out, it was the disco era!) I’m a beginner again with a robust resume. It can be weird.
Like many of my peers, I was here before the hashtags. But I’m also keeping up with the cool kids and creating my own thing along the way. I love being a part of a group screen print studio where I learn from the younger and older artists alike. I especially love the millennials who are making things happen. I didn’t have that sort of support when I started my first business, ME & Blue (a clothing boutique in Philadelphia) in 2000 and later in 2009 in Venice, CA. Now I’m lucky to have a bunch of go getters as my peers.
I turn 52 on December 30, 2019. Who wants to celebrate with me?
XO, M.E.
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I create this mix on Spotify and you can listen entirely with your own account. Not sponsored, I am just a big fan.
]]>My monthly mix tape, featuring an eclectic mix of some of my favorite tunes this month by: Otha, All Saints, Bent, Pional, Christine and the Queens, Beck, Robyn, The Lonely Island, Prince, Joe Bataan, M/A/R/R/S, Snoop Dogg, Gwen Stefani, Antonio Wiliams, Kerry McCoy, The Polyphonic Spree, Golden Vessel, OKBADLANDS, MGMT, and Matthew Dear. Enjoy!
https://open.spotify.com/user/meandblue/playlist/7z29B2tyd7oiGeNfuOwuTq?si=2SmyWLPWSq6afQe-fsESdw
I create this mix on Spotify and you can listen entirely with your own account. Not sponsored, I am just a big fan.
XO, M.E.
]]>Late last month I did my first live painting competition. This photo of me about sums it all up. When people would ask me years ago “What’s Next?” - I had no idea that this would be my life.
Whew! That was a whirlwind of cool music, awesome live models, and working super spontaneously. I first heard about Kiss My Art last year when my friend Natalie Webb mentioned it to me. She was going to compete and urged me to do it, too. Me? Figure drawing, a live audience, and competition? Um, no way. I paint flowers and sunshine, not people. I’m ok with an audience. But competition? Hmmmm. I was the kid on the swim team who would rather swim by herself than with other people. I would say to myself during a race, “I really don’t know why I’m here, I don’t care if I win.” Yes, really.
Anyway, I went along and watched her compete a few months ago. A DJ played, models came out in over-the-top costumes. Artists had their own easels and brushes and painted on the canvases provided. The audience circled around and checked out the paintings. This was wacky, but cool. And then... she won, woah, so cool!
But I still wasn’t convinced. It would mean that I had to risk painting figures in front of people. Yikes. Not my strongest skill. But hey... no risk, no reward, huh? So I signed up at the last minute, got accepted and got going on my training schedule. Training schedule? Yes, picture those montage scenes in the movies. Late nights in the studio with magazine images pasted to a large canvas that doubled as my easel.
I watched the Alexander McQueen movie and did screenshots of his crazy outfits so that I could recreate them. I tore out pages from magazines and did 30 minute timed sessions at home. I posted them on my Instagram feed and got positive response. OK, I can do this, I can do this... I would tell myself.
Anything I could use for practice - sneaking a sketch of someone at the coffee shop, my daughter hanging out at home, fabulous fashion spreads, game on! I put loud music on my Spotify list to remind me of the vibe of the club and pressed play. Practice, practice, practice.
The night before I competed, I did one more practice. This time, my daughter joined in. She just danced and swayed to the music and had fun as she painted on a large canvas in my home studio. That was the point, right?
(another fuzzy pic, sorry!)
So... big day. I get my materials together. I also was showing one of my Super Bloom pieces in a show on the same night with the ArtHouse Project and had to deliver it across town to Dalston. All of the sudden my husband had to go to Urgent Care (the ER is what we say in the US). Oh no. It was scary, he was having vision problems and it wasn’t worth waiting to see if it cleared up. All of the sudden, my anxiety level started to rise. I did a run back and forth to Dalston with my daughter in tow to deliver my piece, came back home & dropped her off for a sleepover, fed the animals, walked the dog, and caught an Uber to the Kiss My Art event.
Mind you, I don’t talk too much about my anxiety, but I was feeling it big time. Thank goodness for meditation music and my noise canceling headphones. I worked on getting calmed down before I got to the show. In the meantime, I was still waiting to hear from my husband and feeling guilty that I wasn’t by his side at the hospital.
At the venue, I had a chance to settle in and get into the feel for the place. A cool DJ was on the decks and I loved this new setting that felt a bit more spacious than the last venue where Kiss My Art was. My hubby messaged me and said he was OK. Crises averted, he was on his way. A few friends showed up to say hello which also helped ease my nerves.
I wasn’t nervous, more curious how I would do. Since I wasn’t sure what the models would be wearing or what I would be painting exactly, I had to just relax into the evening. First round - some serious talent. Break time! I got set up with my stash of materials - acrylic paint, a range of brushes, glass palette, and searched for my artist apron - not there. I made do with my paper towels and baby wipes as I tend to be a bit messy when I paint.
Then the models came out. Yellow soft helmets, red fishnets, and big blow up bananas. Oh Fuck. I don’t use yellow and red together. As my mom says, it’s like scrambled eggs and ketchup.
But I did it. I painted, created a composition, and had to move quickly. The models were awesome and held their poses for 30 minutes, woo! Time was ticking away and the audience was circling around all of us, checking us out as we went.
I couldn’t get both models on my canvas. I painted one model then did the second model sideways.
Halfway through, I changed my mind and covered that part over. I added color to the background, created a little dialogue between the two, and called it finished just as the clock was winding down.
After our round of painting, the audience voted on its favorite. I didn’t proceed to the next round, but wasn’t surprised. There was some serious talent there. The competition really helped me grow - I want to do more figurative work in the future and there’s so much to learn.
This photo about sums up the evening (and my life lately) - me trying new things, forging ahead into the unknown and him calmly documenting me.
After the show, my hubby and I packed it all up and head over to Dalston in east London. Rock star seating on the top of the double decker bus, baby! I call this a party bus.
After we hopped off the bus, we popped into the Art House Project London event at Viva Dalston which was still going strong. I picked up my pieces that hadn’t sold and said hello to some of my friends. Then we headed to the Turkish diner across the street, open until 5 AM. I felt like I was twenty something again. Except I’m not.
My hubby was so happy, I was too. We opted for an Uber home and crawled into bed around 2 AM. I haven’t been out that late for a long time, it was so much fun.
As for the denim apron, it was outside of our house when we got home. In my rush to leave the house, it had fallen out of my Ikea bag of art supplies. It must have had a run in with a vehicle or a London fox wanted a snack. There was chunk taken away on the bottom and the string was ripped off of one side. It has since been repaired, but still has memories of that wild evening that will remind me to forge ahead into the unknown with my art.
Anyway, I have other fun events planned soon. Things that involve meeting collectors in person, and probably not any blow up bananas. But that would be OK, too - right?!
XO,
M.E.
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Since then, I have been a bit more intentional when it comes to my travel journal. It’s no longer an afterthought, but something that I anticipate along the way. It’s a traveling art project, capturing the essence of the place and time and feelings that I experience along the way.
Often I start writing in my journal before the trip... a packing list, the flight itinerary, places to visit that friends have suggested. I keep it super simple because I know that the trip itself is going to provide plenty of tidbits to pick up. I always believe that art should be fun and not a burden. Supplies should be kept to a minimum.
Here’s what I typically pack:
- A5 size (5.8” x 8.3”) spiral journal on mixed media paper.
- Glue stick
- Scissors (cheap kids ones with rounded edges). Cross your fingers, sometimes TFL is kind and let’s you keep them. Otherwise, so long scissors.
- Water soluble colored pencils or crayons... I love Faber Castell and Caran D’Ache.
- Pencil sharpener
- Water pen
- Washi tape
- Posca* 8mm thick marker in black (good for backgrounds)
- Gellyroll pens by Sakura
- Micron pen in black (the ink doesn’t bleed)
- White pen by Signa
- Baby wipes (easy cleanup, and blends colors nicely, too!)
- Couple of pieces of wax paper
- Zip pouch to keep it all organized (and to collect ephemera along the way)
Optional: small Posca pens (better to use not in flight as they tend to leak), stamp & small ink pad, small tube of acylic paint, sandpaper...
The bits of paper and ephemera tend to present themselves along the way. A travel map, business cards, in flight magazines, flight tickets, and on and on. Believe me - there is plenty of stuff to put in the journal.
As I travel, I tend to collage and glue down bits of paper as I go. I recently flew EasyJet and the tray table was super small. With minimal supplies, I was able to do a quick collage and play with some of my supplies.
From there, I add washi tape and written musings inspired by my day. I often embellish and doodle on top of the pages and stop when I’m ready to move on. I don’t make my pages too precious. It’s about capturing the moment and my mood vs. creating a masterpiece. Sometimes I do a quick sketch of a time or space, sometimes I simply do a whole page representative of the colors of the place I’m visiting.
If I’m lucky enough to create in flight, the hours tend to slip away. I also make time in the morning, in the evening, and at an afternoon cafe. Because the supplies are self contained (yay for a zip pouch!), it’s easy to travel with little mess and to focus on what’s around you.
Usually the ephemera that I gather inspires the artwork, but sometimes it’s images and the sights around me. In Morocco, a walk around the souks sparks doodles of color and texture.
I also love how this technique works for me, but I spend quality time with my daughter (and pack a separate kit for her as well).
If you’re still not sure where to start, you can also use a prompt technique to get a page started. Here are some questions to ask yourself: “Today I felt...” “On this day, I felt”...”Something new that I saw/heard/discussed/tasted today” ... “Today I will”...
I taught a class recently at Great Art in London and loved it. This is my second time teaching art journaling there and I love the community and sense of play that comes together with this type of art. From a four year old to retirees and everyone inbetween, we spent time creating our our travel journals. I like to stress that the “travel” part can be a journey... one that you have taken, one that you are going to take, and that it can be an inward journey as well.
Have you ever kept a travel journal? Tell me, tell me! And yes...ask me all of the questions. I love to help
*My experience with the smaller Posca pens is that they can leak/pool colors in flight. Best to do this before you go or when you’re on the ground.
XO, M.E.
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Art is what got me through this uncomfortable time. As I have done more of it, I have gotten better at it and more confident. Truth be told, though, I’ve felt extremely bashful about showing my art work, especially to those who have known me as a fashion designer and boutique owner. Here I am in a new role and I’m freaking out. Is my art good enough, will people like it, and why am I not sticking with a career and job that has worked for me in the past? I have a mailing list of customers who have supported and loved my fashion work. Most of them live in L.A. and I live in London. Will they like what I do now? Do they care? Will they make fun of me? And yes, all of these insecurities have come up. To make matters worse, they usually come up as I am preparing for a show, ruminating over the inward journey and the difficulties that I have encountered as I have made my way in the past few years.
Here I am, putting fashion on the back burner. For 30+ years, I worked in the fashion and retail industry. And dare I say - I was very good at it. I didn’t have a global empire, but I created a community of women who loved my clothing line and friendly boutique...and that made me really, really happy. Don’t get me wrong - I often miss my clothing line, but usually when it’s time for me to refresh my own wardrobe and I’m confronted with the options that are either too trendy or don’t work for my body type. Here I am, now, though, calling myself an “artist.” It all feels strange and new, but all good at the same time. I’ve always felt that it was far scarier to stick with the tried and true and the worn down path than to venture into the unknown. Whenever I think about doing a full on collection of clothing, my heart seizes up and I can feel my eyes about to twitch. It’s like my love affair has ended and I keep thinking that the flame will be reignited. So far - no luck. I’m moving on.
Recently in London, I showed at my first art fair and it was a lesson in so many things - how to market, wall curation and display, publicity and prep beforehand, and so much more. Meeting other artists in all stages of their career was hands down one of my favorite things ... there were so many styles and mediums used. Most artists were from the U.K., but some travelled from Munich and Scotland and Ibiza. Wow. And so many of them weren’t spring chickens, just starting out. They had full fledged careers and amazing talents before that they were willing to put those behind them to move on into the ether of the art world. The one thing they all had in common was that they felt the need to keep making art.
As I find my way in this new world, I’ve been lucky to meet so many people along the way to cheer me on and become new friends in this new city. The cool mom with her fashion background, making her way into a writing career mid life. The guy I met while checking out an art studio who came to see my work at my first art fair preview night and bought (thank you!) My new artist friend who cracks me up and tells me her methods to approaching galleries alongside snippets of her former fashion career. In addition, I have friends I’ve known for years who are cheering me and collecting my work. From my “SPREAD a little SUNSHINE” poster to original paintings, to my first zine.
Trying to explain my art and what I do to people (and to myself, even) has felt daunting. Years ago, I taught at the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising in Los Angeles. I specifically remember the class where I taught the art of the elevator pitch. Nowadays, we are all trying to brand ourselves and make a clear statement. I don’t think any of us are a pure brand, nor should we be. The act of creating a simple statement can at least help people to understand where we come from. I used my first “zine” to tackle this concept. Working nonstop up until the show, I printed up a mini book from a hand created 28 page art journal that includes things that inspire me. During the art fair, collectors would browse through the zine to get a better understanding of me and my work. Yay. The back of it sums it up:
“I am a London based artist creating mixed media work infused with sunshine.”
I keep an inspiration wall at home that is mostly populated with trinkets from my daughter. But lately, I’ve been adding more things that feel authentic to me - my artist statement, a list of priorities, a lanier of my first art show, the sweet home that I purchased almost 20 years ago. I’ll be adding the zine to the wall as well. And maybe, just maybe, sketches for some new clothing designs.
Tell me, tell me. Have you switched careers big time? Fill me in and let me know how it went and how it’s going.
XO, M.E.
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I’ve drastically changed things in my life usually by default or by being fed up, or by some outside circumstance that nudged me along. I stopped drinking when I found out I was pregnant, moved from Philadelphia to L.A. after one too many years of feeling like it was Groundhog Day, and left Los Angeles after being nudged out of my retail space and feeling uninspired to carry on in the same way. I didn’t have the answers when the changes happened, but they just felt right. And one more thing...NONE of these things happened on January 1st. Aaaaaah. So really? How do we make these sudden shifts in our lives? By a bold resolution list? I don’t think so. But what I do believe is that we can visualize where we want our lives to go. In my most unsure and low moments, I somehow knew that there was a new way of living that I had envisioned for myself. I took back my power ... I knew how I wanted my life to look, and the images of it it usually started in an art journal. What an “aha” moment when my little sister, Blue gave me a basic black cover sketchbook years ago. I now had a single place to start putting all of my visions and thoughts into ... this became my first art journal. By working in the sketchbook as I had time, these shifts began to happen and I started steering my life in a new direction. The art journal is the beginning that leads to the work that leads to the change.
I’ve evolved and made many art journals over the years, but the “Intention Journal” that I just made (and am still working on) has become a new favorite. Goals and visions of my life are created as I put down images that appeal to me. As I work on the page and embellish them through doodling, or collage, or adding details, words and ideas tend to emerge. Sometimes slowly, sometimes quite quickly. And then a pattern emerges. And sometimes a single bold world to proclaim to the world. In my case, it’s two: Reach / Relax.
For my “Intention Journal” class, I created the curriculum as I did the art journal work myself and then was even more excited to share the vision with my students. It starts with a sketchbook. Then paint and pens plus tape & bits of paper. Throw in a sticker or two, create your own transparent image if you wish to add another layer on top. Then add some more. Or stop. It doesn’t matter. What matters is the experience and the fun and connection you felt with yourself while doing it. Some pages are complete right away. Others take time. You add to it. Then take a break, add to another page. Then come back to it. Embellish, remove and assess.
It was a ton of fun to teach the “Intention Art Journal” class at Great Art in London recently and I’m hoping to announce new classes and workshops in the near future.
XO, M.E.
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Recently I went through six weeks of WTF - Why have I had a period for 6 weeks? Why is my stomach bloating like crazy? Why am I having joint pain in my right hand? And why the hell hasn’t anybody warned me about the shitshow that is about to go down with this stuff? I’ve heard about hot flashes and have accommodated women who needed a window open or a breath of fresh air in the past. That seemed doable. But mood changes, several visits to the local clinic, feeling like I’m under a dark cloud, and a dose of hormones followed by sleepless nights weren’t doing it for me. It feels a lot better now as I have taken up mile long swims on a regular basis, vitamin supplements, and committing to walking around 15 miles a week. Yay for not having a car and a mile long walking commute to and from my daughter’s school.
Remember how Judy Bloom made it cool to go through puberty and helped make the process of becoming a woman relatable? Where’s that mentor now for mid life? Somebody please tell me, I’m all ears. And a sappy brochure from my doctor or a cheezy pharmaceutical commercial isn’t going to cut it.
I’ve been thinking of doing a podcast for quite a while that talks about being between things in life. If you’ve followed my journey for the past couple of years, it’s been a series of changes and discoveries. But now the podcast is starting to feel like it will soon become a reality. I love the energy and chutzpah of most millenials and what they have to say, but most don’t hold the level of life experience that I want to hear and talk about. I’m Generation X and proud of it. So please, please, please. Help me out. If you have any comments, ideas, or topics that you would like me to discuss in this murky mid life, hit me up. I’m so surprised at the lack of open conversations that talk about realizing dreams and then moving on to the next ones with grace. I’m beginning to wonder if women just hide under a rock at this point in their lives? Hell no. I’m going to make it fun. Come along, I’m going to need the company.
XO,
M.E.
]]>I knew it was time to start thinking about putting my fashion design career on hiatus when I felt a pit in my stomach every time I went fabric shopping for my collections. The joy was slowly being sucked away from my former passion and I knew that it was only a matter or time before I would lose all interest in it. Other factors came into play as I closed my boutique, but having a break to reevaluate my life and career was a top priority. I took a last few gasps after I closed my boutique - but nothing felt quite right. And then I started to question myself. If I’m not a fashion designer and a boutique owner, then what am I?
Since then, I’ve been craving that same excitement that I used to have for ME & Blue, my fashion business for years. Where did it go? And will I ever find it again? These questions have taken me back to my core and helped me to start a soul searching journey. I’m lucky to have the luxury of time to think about these things. I seek out activities, people, and places that ignite my soul and bring me joy. For years I could barely hear myself think as I was a hamster on a wheel, constantly churning out new designs, selling them, and starting the cycle again. Now if I get a warm fuzzy feeling when I engage in something, I keep at it. If I don’t, then it goes by the wayside. It’s all a bit of trial and error. Surface pattern designer? I’m still debating. Fashion stylist? Not for me. Voiceover artist? Hell no. Vintage dealer? Been there, done that. Artist? It’s definitely calling to me right now. Writer? Maybe. Blogger? Hell yeah. I could go on and on, but you get what I mean. If I feel good in my own skin when I’m doing it, then that seems to work.
But back to black mascara. For a brief moment, I started to think that being a beauty blogger would be a fun thing to do. I went online and started researching ways to become an “Influencer” and signed up on the “Influenster” site with an account. And then I forgot about it.
In the meantime, I’ve been needing a new tube of mascara for like ever. It just hasn’t been a priority. Shopping doesn’t bring me much joy nowadays and the minimalist in me hates to overindulge. And then I got a surprise package from “Influentser.” I had totally forgotten that I signed up ... I mean, I’m pushing 50 and most of these beauty bloggers are less than half my age. And then the happiest of things happens - I open it up. The swankiest tube of mascara from Marc Jacobs was inside. Luscious, thick and making my long-ish lashes stretch to eternity. All of which brings me back to what brings me joy - feeling good in my own skin. And somehow this little black tube did it for me. Just a flick on my lashes and I threw on a simple black beret. I feel glam and empowered as I write this blog post. Time to get back to the studio and create more art.
p.s. - so this isn’t really an “Ad”, but is part of the fun that I have with Influenster.com. I debated on how to write it, and only will endorse things that I truly love. This is one of them.
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The collage cover that I designed is inspired by my recent visit to the Basquiat exhibition in London at the Barbican Centre. It’s a tribute to Jean Michel and his friend, Jennifer Volhostein who would create postcards using collage bits and Photo Booth photos and sell them on the streets for $1. If you know anything about me, it’s that I absolutely love collage and art journaling, too. There are so many possibilities and it’s just a ton of fun. XO, M.E.
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I used to love you. Adore you. But no more.
You made a comment a couple of days ago that really made my head spin. I get it ... your dear friend, Harvey Weinstein had just been officially outed for being a sexual predator. Maybe it’s the first you’ve heard of it, maybe you were in denial when asked about it. Or maybe you’ve had a great PR team for years that has made sure that you didn’t put your foot in your mouth like you did. Actually, NO. I don’t get it.
When asked by a reporter on the red carpet at the 4th Annual CineFashion Film Awards, you kept rambling about the situation … “I also think how do we display ourselves? How do we present ourselves as women? What are we asking? Are we asking for it by presenting all the sensuality and all the sexuality?” Woah. “You look at everything all over the world today and how women are dressing and what they are asking by just presenting themselves the way they do. What are they asking for? Trouble," she said. Jaw drop.
Hmmmmm. So I started thinking of all of the “Trouble” I had received over the years as a result of how I dressed, how I had presented myself... questioning myself and thinking about all of the times that I have received unwanted, inappropriate sexually charged advances. Was it my fault? I seriously wondered about this as I made this list. Was I dressed too sexually when any of these things happened? Was I “asking for it,” unconsciously willing for these things going to happen?
NO.
The French college professor who thought it was a good idea to put his hand on my knee during a closed door office session to help me get a gig in Paris.
NO.
In Paris, the guy who I thought was my friend who decided to make a suggestive lunge for me on a bench near the Eiffel Tower.
NOPE, I wasn’t asking for it then, either.
And then yet another guy in Paris that my naïve self didn’t know how to fend off. He insisted on sticking his tongue down my throat on our first and only date in broad daylight, even though I kept pushing him away. Ewwwwww.
NO.
Hmmmm. But what about the time that this same guy showed up at my French language school and was looking for me? I hid from Mr. Stalker and specifically remember my bad, cheap haircut and acid washed overalls that were my uniform at the time.
NO, not that time either.
What about the guy who decided to flash me on the riverbank of the Seine?
Definitely not asking for it.
And that early morning when I was jogging around Florence, Italy and was grabbed from behind by the Italian who thought it was cute to do such a thing?
Not so much.
And then that time in New York City. That hot sweltering day when I had shorts on? Was that my fault? I was sitting on the subway as a tall, muscular man standing across from me decided to rub his crotch as he stared me down. It was a short ride, but I was frozen. Stunned. I didn’t know what to do. But when he started following me after I got off the train, I yelled and screamed for him to get away. The crowd of people looked at me as I yelled like I was the crazy one, not knowing what had just transpired. Was that my fault?
Hell NO.
And that visit to the male doctor when I was trying to figure out how to manage my birth control pills? He was more interested in hearing about my love life than helping me.
NO.
And that beautiful fall day when I went rollerblading with a friend in Philadelphia to the tune of another full frontal spread eagle crotch display. Yuck.
NOPE. Not my fault. And not the fault of my friend, either.
What about the foreign businessman who would come into town and I was elected to be the in house sales rep? I was eager to do a good job, but I drew the line when he would suggest that I come back to his hotel room at the end of the day. I remember telling my boss, but she didn’t care. I had to keep working with him, I didn’t have a choice.
NO fucking way.
And what about my former power hungry boss who took me out to dinner right after I had been fired by his company and then went on to open up my own clothing boutique? He bragged about how he could contribute financially to my new venture while telling me that he and his wife took separate vacations. Luckily he didn’t try to touch me. I felt sick to my stomach just from the conversation and sexual innuendos.
No, no, NO. And I definitely didn’t want his money, either.
And the time that I was helping a friend out at a suburban house party where she was selling some of her designer wares. The husband of the host decided to take a nice squeeze of my rear end as we were entering the house.
NOPE. Not asking for it.
Recently I sat on the upper deck of a bus in London on my way to a morning interview. This time, mid life, a mom, looking to explore a new creative endeavor. I wore a skirt with rubber boots and a large parka. And just to my left, giving me the side eye was a younger man repetitively stroking his crotch. Years later, I knew what to do. I moved downstairs and got out of the way. But I went home later that day I asked my husband, “Was it because I was wearing a skirt? But I had on a huge parka and rain boots on, too.” I can’t believe that I would even ask that question, but I felt violated. And then I questioned myself. AGAIN.
NO, NOT MY FAULT.
I am one of the lucky ones, really. These are mostly minor scrapes with sexually aggressive behavior, but ones that easily come to the surface of my memories. Many of these things I barely discussed with friends and family when they happened. Were they really harassment? I wasn’t sure, so I didn’t speak up. It was like this hidden secret that these men were trying to keep with me. A power play. And mostly what I felt was ashamed. And I rarely thought that any of this was up for discussion. I just had to swallow it. I was excited for the future, young and ready to take on the world. But NO, this is not OK. It never has been. And to think that I was “asking” for these situations is beyond comprehension.
By the way, Ms. Karan - that autobiography of yours, I still haven’t finished it. But I’m giving myself a free pass and getting rid of the book. I feel a sense of disappointment that somebody I looked up to for years will no longer be a source of inspiration. I’ll be fine, though. What’s really sad, though are all of the women that you didn’t stand up for regarding sexual assault with your flippant remarks. I know, I know you have apologized. But those words weren’t taken out of context. You were defending somebody who has done some seriously bad stuff. I just don’t get it. Your clothes have celebrated beauty in all forms. Women wearing any derivation of them shouldn’t be shamed by you.
I hope that the women that were involved in “trouble” with your dear friend now find inner peace. It certainly won’t be through your faux Urban Zen façade. That door is closed. Women are raising their hands, linking their stories together, taking back their power and collectively saying NO to shame and silence.
Silent no more, I’ve already started talking to my six year old daughter about her own mighty might power. She’s getting an early lesson in her own inner strength and how to handle these situations in life. She won’t be asking for “trouble,” she’ll be kicking it to the curb.
In one of my designs from 2012, very Donna Karan with draping, solid black, and creating a sense of confidence.
It’s 2011 and I’m super proud and feeling powerful selling my collection to the world at the Pool Tradeshow in Las Vegas. Donna Karan influenced my love of sexy drapy, body conscious clothing that made me feel comfortable in my own skin.
A rare quiet moment in my own boutique in 2010, feeling empowered.
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... after spending the summer back in the U.S. with family and friends, I’m back in the studio, and back to working on my creative writing, too. Here’s a bit of work that I did the other day and the thoughts running through my head as I began a new art series.
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Sunny paintings bedazzle the space. My studio.
Layers of pattern and print, like street art ephemera that peels away.
Zigzag marks and meandering imperfections. Yes. No. Maybe?
Where did my decisiveness go?
Layers of pattern and print, like street art ephemera that peels away.
Spiraling thoughts twirl in my head.
Where did my decisiveness go?
Scattered musings of what’s next and what’s come before.
Spiraling thoughts twirl in my head.
Zigzag marks and meandering imperfections. Yes. No. Maybe?
Scattered musings of what’s next and what’s come before.
Sunny paintings dazzle the space. My studio.
... shown - works in progress in my London, U.K. studio space.
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XO, M.E.
p.s. This isn’t sponsored, fyi. I love Spotify and if you love music like me and don’t have the app on your phone or on your computer, you may want to indulge so that you can listen to all of the tunes in this mix in their entirety.
]]>These are the things that dreams are made of. Aqua blue waters, a spa day with fun friends, and hanging out all day in a bathing suit and bathrobe. Not only had we spend the last 3 days together in Iceland, we had many adventures in London. We were making the most of our last full day together. Myself, Robin, and her daughter, Elizabeth.
About a 45 minute bus ride outside of Reykjavik, the Blue Lagoon is the legendary outdoor hot tub, heated by the geothermal energy of a local plant, situated just behind it.
First stop after getting in the water? Mud masks! The water and masks do wonders for the skin.
Just wade on over to the beauty station and slather it on. It’s a white, fine mask that feels a bit like goo.
Like so much of Iceland during prime tourist season, it was busy. We felt the tourist squeeze the most when we arrived, and in the locker rooms. There is expansion in the works and if you look closely at some of my photos, you’ll see cranes in the background. What’s the most popular bird in Iceland besides the Puffin? The Crane. Ha Ha! It’s happening in London, too. But I digress...
Like anything wildly popular, I like to get away from the crowds... we quickly navigated to a quieter section of the lagoon, towards the back.
The lounge area overlooks the lagoon and we were able to grab a few chairs together and take a rest.
I lived in Los Angeles for many years and often felt old there. I don’t feel that way in London, and I certainly didn’t feel that way in Iceland. The beauty of Iceland is that it welcomes young and old. Kids below 8 were wearing water wings, and elderly people were soaking in the healing waters. The rest of the country was equally as welcoming.
While the silica mud mask and the waters did wonders for my skin and psyche, my hair didn’t do so well. Even though I followed the recommendation to put conditioner in my hair prior to entering, my hair was a hot mess afterwards. A hot dry mess. Nothing that some coconut oil couldn’t fix, though.
It was the perfect end to a magical time with one of my best friends. Iceland is at the top of its game. Ulla Johnson photographed her beautiful fall 2017 fashion campaign there, and I just received an email from my favorite cozy sweat line, Aviator Nation about an Icelandic trip giveaway. And the mother of all inspirational lifestyles, Gwyneth Paltrow featured Iceland recently on Goop. Iceland is all the rage. The new Costa Rica, the new Bali, the new Morocco. It’s happening. It’s Instagram friendly, for sure. Just point and shoot and shoot a bit higher to crop out that throng of tourists at the waterfall of your dreams.
Seriously, though. I’m so happy that I made it. I laughed and took notes and got inspired with fresh color palettes and other worldly terrain. Like this watercolor sketch that I did on the plane ride home in my art journal.
What struck me about Iceland was the pure resourcefulness and can do attitude of the society. The capital city, Rekjavik is essentially most of this island country. The infusion of style, technology, and nature all together in this small town is impressive. Next trip, we’re heading outside of the congested tourist area to check out the Northern Lights. Stay tuned!
Thanks again to my friend, Robin Holloway for providing so many photos for this and the other posts from the Iceland blog series. It was fun to pool our images together!
XO, M.E.
]]>Then life happened. My own boutique that I needed to keep a close watch on. And more life. I don’t know why, but I never got there. Until this summer. When one of my best friends was looking for a visit, I suggested that we spend some time there. She was all in. And so off we went. We had spent some time together in London, and met back up again in Iceland. Myself, Robin, and her daughter Elizabeth.
All of the sudden. Whoosh. The airport terminal felt crowded as I arrived in Keflavik , outside of Reykjavik. Whaaaaaaaaat? The country feels like it’s bursting at the seams. When we arrived at the BSI bus terminal (the main terminal in Iceland), and at the major tourist attractions, it felt like the country was having a hard time keeping up with the influx of visitors. In Reykjavik, what I thought would be a town filled with locals, the streets were instead filled with others like us. I was hearing more American accents than I ever do in London. Oops. Have could this have happened? According to one of our tour guides, Iceland was really put on the map after that crazy 2010 volcanic eruption of Eyjafjallajökull ... all of the sudden, people were like... “Where is this Iceland? It sounds cool.” According to this article, Tourism went from 464.000 tourists / year in 2009 to the present time of around 2.4 million. Iceland is now asking visitors to respect the country and to take this Icelandic Pledge.
On our second day of traveling outside of Reykjavik, we asked our local guide, Einar to do an ammended version of the popular Golden Circle tour. He was totally game and gave us a few alternative ideas. Since we had already seen a geyser the day before, we opted to change up our route.
We stopped at the tectonic plates at the stunning Thingvellir National Park. As we approached the scenic lake nearby, it felt like the skies were parting and we were coming upon a land far, far away.
Then we saw the parking lot. Filled. It was absolutely gorgeous, but far from the road less travelled. You can see why Game of Thrones used it as a backdrop, but I don’t watch the show and was feeling a bit claustrophobic. Luckily, I’m pretty good at cropping people out of my photos. Almost too good.
See what I mean?
As we got back into the car, Robin turned to us and said... “This isn’t my thing.” I love her. She read my mind, so we worked with Einar and he got us on the road less travelled. “I’ll take you to the glacier!” He said. Hell yeah. Let’s go. Luckily we were in a vehicle that worked off road, and off we went. I knew it was a good thing when he stopped to look at a map. We were definitely on the road less travelled.
The terrain visibly shifted as we travelled on the back roads. Clouds descended onto the volcanic peaks and the green moss started to fade away.
As we approached the glacier, the contrast between stark lava, the white glacier, and a peek of blue sky was breathtaking.
From there, we headed to Surtshellir to see the intense lava caves. Many people hike inside of them, but we weren’t prepared with helmets and proper equipment, so we observed from above.
I’m always a few steps behind, taking photos and soaking in the details ... These beautiful alpine flowers are solid proof that beauty prevails in the harshest of conditions, don’t you think?
As we headed back, we had the option to see the Gullfoss waterfall as part of the Golden Circle tour. Instead, we opted for a lone riverbank, just down from the madness. I’m sure it was gorgeous, but this was just as pretty. And I got a shot of the pretty purple lupine flowers that I had been so fascinated with.
More on my Iceland adventures are here and here. And the 4th and final segment of the series is coming up.
Thanks again to my friend, Robin Holloway for many of these fantastic photos. I’m loving the GoPro, for sure!
XO, M.E.
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After we spent our first night in Reykjavik, we met our guide, Lisa and asked her to change up our tour a bit. Our original plan was to tour the city, but we had other ideas. Reykjavik is a cool town, but between all of us, cities and tourist shops had been on overload. So we ventured to the nearby Reykjanes Peninsula.
The roads weren’t designed for big tour buses, so we were in luck. We oohed and aaahed at the volcanic rock formations, took a quick rest on ancient moss, and played paparazzi with the local sheep. Icelandic fables talk of elves and fairies living inside of these magical lava formations, we wanted to find them for ourselves.
The moss is super soft, but delicate. We treaded carefully as is takes a couple hundred years to grow on top of sharp volcanic rock. Seriously, better than any memory foam mattress I’ve rested my body on. It’s like nothing that I’ve ever experienced before.
The sheep were so polite and came right up to our car as we played paparazzi. Then they moved along ... and so did we.
We made our way to the local Gunnuhver geyser. There were a few other tourists, but luckily no big tour buses were there, so we felt like we had the place (almost) to ourselves.
There were signs everywhere, warning you of the hot lava rock beneath our feet. We heard a couple of Icelandic tales about tourists who didn’t heed the warnings. We weren’t going to be one of them. These fables get told for centuries!
I was fascinated by the yellow deposits on the rock, signs of sulfur. And it smelled like it too, but in a natural, clean air kind of a way.
Our personal tour continued to the nearby coast. More lovely vistas and avoiding the crowds.
As we were walking back from our scenic ocean vista, we noticed a big tour bus pulling into the parking lot. Quick! Run! Seriously, though... most of our day felt magical and otherworldly. But Iceland is off the charts booming with tourists. I’ll talk about it a bit more in my other posts, but let this article sink in...
After a long day of exploring, it was back to rest. Thank goodness for black out shades. This was as dark as it got... just like the dimmer switches had been dialed back a bit. It never really got dark. I captured this shot at 2 AM from the Foss hotel.
You can read more about my Icelandic adventure here...
And special thanks to my friend, Robin Holloway for providing some of the photos. Thanks so much, Robin! It’s always fun to share photos when traveling.
XO, M.E.
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With just 48 hours in Iceland, I went with my friend, Robin and her daughter, Elizabeth. We wanted to dip our toes into the culture and get an overview of what all the fuss is about. When our tour guide told us about easy boat excursions that you could take from the harbor of Reykjavik to see some magical puffin birds, I was all in. So excited. Giddy, actually.
Back to the boat tour. Quick and easy, we saw a sign for the “Happy Tours” and waited for the boat to depart. Family owned, the son sold us tickets and was also the tour guide. His dad, the captain. I love supporting local businesses and this felt good.
While we waited, I pulled out my art journal and did a quick watercolor sketch. I find that having a compact selection of supplies on hand and being prepared is the best way to visually express the atmosphere of the day. I was so giddy with anticipation of the impending cruise and equally as excited for a few minutes to translate my experience onto paper. Keeping a creative art and travel journal is quite addictive and fun...
We boarded the “Saga”, a small boat, and around a dozen of us departed to a small island in the harbor that had flocks of the puffin birds.
Lately I’ve become a bit of a bird watcher ... feeding the ducks and moorhens at our local park in London, and eagerly watching the tiny birds feast on the setup I just put up in the backyard. Save for the pesky pigeons that keep finding their way to our backyard, I’m a little obsessed. Needless to say, I was super excited to see these cool puffins. There they were! Some were floating, some were on the shore, and all were on the lookout for yummy treats in the harbor. Fish!
Luckily, binoculars were provided since we got as close as possible, but needed a bit of a boost to see the details of the cute birds. I don’t own a super fancy camera, so it was hard to take up close images.
An hour later, we were back on shore and laughing about our fun and quick puffin tour. Ready for another adventure, we hopped on the “Wow” airlines city rental bikes nearby and cruised into town, gathering up more memories and laughs.
We stopped frequently to take photos of local street art, the iconic Hallgrimskirkja church and dodged plenty of locals and tourists along the way. I loved the Old Harbor area of Reykjavik and this iconic theater turned film studio, painted by Australian artist Guido van Helton.
And how about this magical unicorn in downtown Rekjavik by Lora Zombie...
And works by Deih can be found all over Rekjavik. Very steampunk in a colorful way...
The visual strength of this piece took me over and I could feel its presence as we were riding our bikes up a hill... I had to stop and take a quick snap. The mural feels super powerful and ominous all at the same time and fits right in with the otherworldly landscapes surrounding the capital city. Photorealism at its best by Swiss artist Wes21 Onur.
My love of puffins didn’t begin with this tour. It actually started last year when I did a month of painting birds for my daily art habit, #artjournaldjujour. I fell in love with the puffin when I painted it, who knew! And of course, I did the super touristy thing and bought a fun little stuffed puffin trinket for my daughter’s school bag. She loves it, and so do I.
More updates from my Iceland adventure to come.
Special thanks to my fabulous friend, Robin Holloway for providing many of the photos for this blog. I love you and adore you and can we do this again next year?
XO, M.E.
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I’m on a mix tape bender. Delivered monthly to you via this blog and Spotify. This month is inspired by long summer days, fun with best friends and family, and checking out new lands with an open mind. This is the soundtrack to my summer. Enjoy. XO, M.E.
p.s. This isn’t sponsored, fyi. I love Spotify and if you love music like me and don’t have the app on your phone or on your computer, you may want to indulge so that you can listen to all of the tunes in this mix in their entirety.
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