Taking a leap into the artistic unknown

I've decided I want a career as an artist more than I am afraid of the risks that life entails.

So on June 16th, I step into a new job: full-time artist. hyperventilating with excitement With studio space and everything! Look look LOOOOOK!

I'm giving up my space at the edge of the kitchen (well, most of it. I'm rather territorial) for a place with fewer distractions and more support.

I kickstart this new life at the EDGE Professional Development Program for Visual Artists. For six weeks, I'll learn things like:

• what a professional portfolio should look like
• how to approach galleries that might be interested in my work
• business concerns for artists
• funding, exhibition and other opportunities
• marketing/communications, including social media stuff

I'll go to class on Saturdays, then do my homework during the week. I've been out of school long enough to actually welcome the idea of homework and structure, so you know it's been a LOOOONG time. And yes, I will be prepping for a few shows and exhibiting my work at the same time. Plus, there's new work to photograph properly, in the shared photo space.

Hoo boy. I'm thinking I need one of those wall-sized calendars to map out my new life!

Work-in-progress: the other side of the story

Thank you for hanging in there until I could come back to update you on my collages. Things have settled down for the moment with my family; hoping things improve quickly there.

Back to the far past, and my great-grandfather Taylor. You remember he fought on the Union side in Kentucky after either being freed, or escaping slavery. (I chose to paint over this image, since I have no actual photo of him).

After the war, Taylor worked as a farmer and hired hand. I imagine he really needed the work: he and his first wife had three children. Then with his second wife (my great-grandmother), Taylor had eight more kids.

So when a farmer refused to pay Taylor for his work, Taylor must've been thinking he couldn't go home empty-handed.

Instead, Taylor went home with three bullet wounds: on his neck, shoulder, and hip/groin. So the farmer who shot at him was telling Taylor -- who was probably "worth" between $800 and $1500 when he was considered property -- that his labor was of no value.

What a horrifying -- and horrifyingly common -- irony. And yet Taylor hung on, working around the bullet still left inside him, working around chronic pain his doctors recorded in his veteran's treatment record.

Courage was once honored with a crown of laurels. But since he lived and died in tobacco country, I've given my great-grandfather a crown of tobacco leaves. I've also ordered him a medal or two. Once I've added the finishing touches, you're invited to the medal ceremony.

Back in a bit

Sorry, but things are a little up in the air due to a family situation. I will be back tomorrow.