Art not happening? Dig deeper

I was making headway on four big collages, but my production has stalled out. It makes me feel a little stabby.

I sealed the rust onto these old railroad spikes, while it was still dry and sunny outside.

I got the aged maps attached to the boards, even got holes drilled at angle (which is hard!) in the smaller panels. But I'm having trouble on the mom front: TwoBoo's on a waitlist for after-school day care at his new school, among other issues. Very little studio time. I've been anxious and frustrated most of the week.

But I had a fantastic time observing an actual archaeological dig last month!

Students from Evergreen State College, led by Dr. Ulrike Krotscheck, have discovered thousands of artifacts from the Bush Prairie Farm.

The most exciting thing to me: the original homesteaders in 1845, George and Isabella Bush, were an African American/Irish man and his white wife. But people of African descent weren't allowed to own property then: remember, this was before the American Civil War. It took their white friends in the territorial legislature and a literal act of Congress to grant the Bushes their own property title.

I was going to finish the big collage panels, and then make smaller collages using the archaeology photos. But it might be better to switch up those plans. Huh. Funny: I'd be using a literal dig to help me dig deeper into my art practice.

Survivor: Back-to-school edition

You'd think after seven back-to-school seasons that I'd have the kids and myself ready to go. 

You would be wrong. On the upside, most everyone else at TwoBoo's school was still figuring things out too. The place is so new they literally haven't removed the painter's tape yet.

No surprise the back-to-school chaos was like twice as intense. 

Fortunately, the madness provided great cover for our disorganization at home. For example, I bought TwoBoo's school supplies well in advance, but forgot to put them into his backpack and so left them at home. I blame TwoBoo: at bedtime before the first day of school, he launched a two-hour, post-shower tantrum. So next morning, we were all exhausted.

Not even flash photography woke up TwoBoo that morning. ©Lisa Myers Bulmash

Thank goodness TwoBoo's teacher was on it. She even had apples waiting for each kid at their respective desks.

The only one (sort of) not affected was The Boy. Everyone else was losing their heads, but he was so together he actually had time for pleasure reading before catching the bus.

Someday I will be ready for the start of the school. Probably when the playground grass sprouts, in the spring.

New art: "Was It Something I Said?"

Hey, I'm back! And I brought some new artwork with me.

This collage put me through the emotional wringer, even though the concept came fairly quickly. Remember the inspiration for this collage? 

Looking at this picture is like trying to watch three TV screens at once. Remembering that moment, I'm pretty sure my mom was just chilly and impatient to get back into the warm car. But now I also see uncertainty in her face.

She grew up surrounded by other African Americans in the (segregated) South. You could tell because when she said the letter R, it had two syllables.

I grew up in a southern California neighborhood that had only three other black families. All of them lived on the other side of the street -- the side without a view of the city. (I later learned this was a discriminatory realtor trick my mom recognized, and she insisted on the view.)

When I moved to Seattle, my accent didn't set me apart, but I did feel an isolation similar to hers. It's called "the Seattle Freeze," and I couldn't find a way into a social circle until another California transplant made it her mission to bring me in from the cold.

My friend reassured me I wasn't coming on too strong when trying to meet new people. It was just... Seattle.  That's why I titled this piece "Was It Something I Said?"

This collage is for those who've faced a frosty group and struggled to find a place for themselves.