I listen to the "Learn to Paint" podcast and also receive the newsletter—I highly recommend both.

However, the other morning, I was reading the newsletter, and while it was about painting, it broke something deep inside of me—something ancient and untouched in my 49 years on this planet. 

And that something was my desire, nay, my need to follow the rules. 
To please.
To be “good”.

As an only child, I had no reason to act out to gain my parents' attention. I had all the attention I could ever desire, and breaking the rules had the possibility of bringing on the wrath of Mother Trucker.
While she's only 5 feet and 1/4 inches and weighs in at 92 lbs, soaking wet, making her mad was never in my best interest. 

So, what was it that broke me?
What could I have possibly learned about painting that could have caused such a substantial shift internally??!

I wanted to be a smart, cunning, lock picking, leather wearing, motorcycle riding, wise cracking (well, one part of this came true), mystery solving savant. 
I owe this desire to some early childhood influences.
My mom used to read me Nancy Drew Mystery books during summer breaks. I could have read the books myself, but it was our time together, when we would share the love of a mystery.
They were books she read as a teen and instilled a love of reading and mysteries in her. 
For me, these books, where Nancy and her friends George and Bess, and her devastatingly handsome boyfriend Ned would stalk through the night solving mysteries, were so exciting and so far removed from the life I lived.
My mom (Mother Trucker, if you will) was also great at pointing out where these 1950s books for young women were 100% full of shit, and making sure I didn’t compare my life to the over the top perfect life of Nancy Drew.
Thanks Mom!

First, let me assure you there is no gore in these drawings. In fact, there are very few of Roxy because I swear she knows when I'm attempting to draw her, and she always moves.

About three or four days into our kitchen camping adventure, I read a post on Substack by Amy Stewart, who presented the most lovely idea.

If you are an artist, plan to become one, or even own a pencil, I would encourage you to subscribe to her Substack or, at the very least, read the post linked below on creating one's own artist residency - after you finish The Nibbler, obviously.

Toxic Trait #1: I think things that shouldn't be funny but are, are most definitely even more comical.

For instance, a week or so ago, I was doing prep work for an art fair that was to take place the next day.
Art fair prep looks like I'm having romantic relations with my inkjet printer. I talk sweetly to it, I pay attention to it, I get irrationally angry at it, and I spend every waking second with it. We have long, meaningful, and meandering conversations.

It's a very selfish lover who takes and takes, and then it showers me with gifts—printed cards, art prints, gift tags, and bookmarks.

While having this affair with my inkjet printer, being a ball of stressed-out to-do list and pit stank, I declared that I was also going to make dinner.

We will win this battle through deliberate, blatant theft and a wild refusal to lay down and take the bare minimum.

I watched a short-form video a few weeks back (that’s code for TikTok, so you don’t have to admit to watching TikTok 42 hours a day like it’s your full-time job) in which a man (I don’t know which man, one with a microphone (I know that doesn’t narrow it down much)) made a valid point.
Right. Who knew?!
Anyway.

The point of the video was that because our measuring sticks for our goals and our achievements are ever-changing, waiting to get from point A all the way to point B to feel accomplished is missing the point—we MUST to learn to enjoy the journey.

We need to learn to look for, or better yet create something to enjoy each day on our way to achieving our goals, paying our bills, or even just keeping ourselves employed, fed, and washed.  

I've tried to play by the rules.

(Stop laughing, I have!)

I genuinely have tried, and I don't understand the point anymore. It's not worth the time or energy to keep banging my head against the wall and getting nowhere.

It is time to do "it" my way or, more accurately, time to do things in any way that is not what I've been doing. 

There are so many things I am unbelievably good at: 

• Being sarcastic.

• Doing silly dances

• Walking

• Swearing like I was born at a truck stop in the middle of a January snowstorm at 3am (I wasn't).

• Finding the best snacks.

• Planning epic grand road trips.

• Painting.

• Cartwheels. (Yes, I can still pull off a cartwheel; no, I won't show you).

But then there are things I can't fucking figure out. The number one gear grinder: I can't make the shop page on my website function how I want it to. 

An Ode to the Grocery Store .99 cent Spiral-bound Notebook

I have a shelf where I store my beautiful notebooks, dot grid journals, and sketchbooks.

They have a gorgeous, thick paper that will withstand paint pens, markers, and fountain pens dramatically spilling and sputtering with ink. These pages would even hold court with a dry-brush gouache.

These pages would rather die than let an ink bleed through.
They are bound in gorgeous linens and art -my art, even on a few.
Some have ribbons and elastic bands to keep them safe, tucked in a cozy.

One has robbins, an elastic band, AND a mother fucking charm!
(Good fucking golly gosh Gladys, get out the fine china the Queen is coming to town!)

In short, they are a stationary girlie's wet dream.

They were supposed to make me feel special.

There is a skin treatment called dermaplaning, in which a person, preferably one with skin, uses a specialized straight razor to exfoliate the skin and peach fuzz on their face.

This is an especially handy technique when a select few peach fuzzies decide to take a sabbatical, three inches due west from the surface of one’s face.

The dermaplaining can be done at home, but take care around your eyebrows!!

The technique is also used to shape said eyebrows, but like, don’t sneeze, and don’t look away for even the briefest moment.

Exhibit A shows what happens if you do.

When was the last time you sat alone for a solid two hours outside without any interruptions or interactions?

I had the opportunity to do just that last week.

I had attempted to rally some troops to go along with me, but the timing of the stars and the schedules wouldn’t mesh, so I took myself on a solo painting adventure.

IT WAS BLISS!

I've been thinking a lot about the cost of staying small compared to the cost of taking up space.

I started down this thought path with an idea: What if I want to keep every sketchbook and journal I've ever had? That would be a giant box of journals and sketchbooks.

It would be so good to be able to look at that old stuff because I could see how far I've grown as an artist and a person.

All the pain in those journals that isn't there anymore, or fuck my life, if it is still there.

But the giant tub or multiple tubs lurking in the corner, threatening to topple over—that's a problem.

And yes, I hear you. I could digitize it.

Going digital is a great solution, except now I must pay for storage.

I heard this quote the other day, and it sang to me!

“Life is better when you make space for what you love. This world can rob you of every ounce of happiness that you possess—if you let it.

Please, be intentional about giving yourself something to look forward to.

Please, remember to prioritize your joy. ”

— Michell C. Clark

It sang to me because I was like YES!!! I do this, I make space for what I love, I prioritize dog walks in the woods, painting in the garage, and spending time with the most lovely people on the planet.

I save for travel and tacos.

I eat cake on every occasion.

For our eighth anniversary, I asked my husband for snacks. I don't want jewelry, presents with bows, or fancy date nights.
I want munchable, crunchable snacks! 

The snack closet (pantry) is my safe space.
I love the variety of things people come up with to crunch on.

Who knew that a crunchy wasabi soybean would be so delicious?!

My obsession with snacks began when I discovered it was gluten that was making me oh so very sick.

I had to get creative when shopping since I could no longer go to the grocery store and grab any 'ol thing off the shelf.

Going into stores with GF sections became a pastime. I like sampling all the options available, finding that some snacks are actual sawdust and wood pulp while others are delectable…

You know you have found your people, your tribe, your wolf pack, the ones who see you and tap their foot to the song your soul sings in the smallest ways.

Simple hints that indicate a shared experience.

Easily missed if one isn’t paying attention.

When you are standing on the side of the road attempting to tie a bag of dog shit without getting any of it on your fingers while the dog is trying to chase a squirrel.

Some people will drive right on by without slowing down or giving you extra room.

Others will slow, give you a wide berth, and give you a slight nod—maybe even the two-finger dirt road wave—an acknowledgment of the procedure you are attempting.

Here is the problem with being an artist. 

So says I.(I’m so glad you asked)

Okay, okay, 

- Here is one of the problems with being an artist.

Other problems include:
Capitalism IS a GIANT flaming fickle bitch with a cherry on top.

I've been reading a book.

The book* itself doesn't matter, but one of the characters is a 1500-year-old vampire—give or take a few.

No, it's not Twilight, give me some credit.

And while I was supposed to be fantasizing about this vampire's vintage car with kid leather cream interior, chiseled chest, ripped abs, and cashmere* sweater collection, I found myself fantasizing about all that TIME.

Can you imagine dedicating 100 years to learning a subject, learning all the languages, or honing a skill set?

- A recap of my private workshop with master encaustic painter Emma Ashby.

In early March, I traveled to Portsmouth, NH, to take a private workshop from an encaustic painter I have long admired. 

And by long admired, I mean I have been to the bottom of her Instagram page. I have spent hours on her website looking at her paintings, attempted to recreate some of them as a master study exercise, and really done everything this side of out-and-out stalking. 

My drive to learn (ahem, stalk all of her socials) from her process was that she achieved a quality in her paintings that felt so far beyond my reach that even Frodo would not have been able to find it.

Something in the way she wields her paintbrushes gives her paintings a glowing urethral quality that I could not recreate or even get close to, no matter what I did.  

I had to know HOW??!!! 

A Plane, A Train, Two Rental Cars, A Lost Dog, an ER Visit or Two, A Delay, the Resurrection of a Scheme, An Airport, An Artist, and an Old Friend

To tell the full story of the last seven days would require a 700-page novel with small type and long chapters.

Since we don’t have that kind of time, I shall do my utmost to surmise how my most anticipated trip of the year was delayed in the most preposterous ways.

In the last few weeks and blog posts, I've been exploring how to bring joy back into my artistic practice after allowing the need to sell my art to kill my creative vibe.

I'm excited to declare from the top of a tall building, hands on hips, cape billowing out behind me - that I've found a path forward, AND my mother is horrified.

Two birds, one stone.

#winning

I know what you are thinking.

You are thinking, "Jill, we live in 'Merica.

Crippling health care costs and doing what we want is the most American thing ever," And you aren't wrong, but the thing is, I haven't been doing whatever I wanted.

(Yes, yes, I hear it) … In art.

I haven’t been doing whatever I wanted in art.

In other areas of life, haha yes, I do what I want.

Because I want to walk Roxy, read books, make art, and drink tea.

*I’m a simple lady.

Back to art - I've discovered I’ve been adhering to a random set of rules I apparently set out for myself that, best as I can tell, are not based on anything remotely having to do with reality.

Let's go back. I'll explain.

Doodeleedo

Doodeleedoo

In the last Nibbler banged out on a chilly, power-insecure evening, I mentioned two blog posts that had been simmering on the back burner of my brain, but they can be combined into one extra-long bloviated post. So. Buckle up. Here we go!

We will be here for a moment - yes, another cup of tea is in order.

I was asking myself, and as an extension (you), why my sales in the gallery had slumped, and then I was going to explain why I went out and got a job. But at the end of the day, the two are interwoven and interconnected.

Ever since I posed the questions to you, my Snacky, Nibbly readers, I’ve been rolling them around in my head because, as of two weeks ago, I didn’t know what had changed…