I Love Logan UT!

2022

The simple reason I'm writing today? It's 2/22/22. It's also Twosday. But aside from that fun fact, the number 22 is special to me because my mom was born on January 22. She was amazing at remembering everyone's birthday and making them feel special.

It has been so long since I've written on this blog that typing on this format feels both nostalgic and new at the same time. I am not here tonight to unload a ton of emotions about my book or especially about my mom. My grief has been private because that seems to be the most fitting for her. She was a modest person, someone who preferred to give others attention, and she was great at it. She made people feel special because she valued people's feelings.

I am just here to say that the number 22 is special, because it reminds me of her.

 

Why I Turned Down $200/hr

A little over two months ago, while I was teaching my art class, a private number called me. My phone was on silent, as it often is while I’m teaching, but the number called back an hour later.

The man had an incredibly nice voice, like someone who was a big fan of my art. He told me he got my number from a name I didn’t recognize, and he needed an art teacher for a group of one hundred people. Teaching one hundred students at a time didn’t seem too daunting, as I have taught some large groups and I like people. I got the feeling that this group may be full of adults who have never painted before, but that’s not a big deal either. He asked what kind of projects I could teach and sounded super enthusiastic the more I talked to him.

He asked me if I can teach people to paint caricatures (I gave him the word) of the person they sat next to. He then asked if I could paint a figure but abstract a face.

He asked how long that would take. For a sketch with an abstracted face, I said a half-hour, which is pushing it a bit, but I aim to please, often to a fault. He said he would make sure there were enough people signed up to make it worth the hour drive to Sugarhouse, UT, and that I could get $100 for each sketch. All of it would add up to $200/hr, which is definitely more than I’ve made before.

My first thought was of all the groceries I could buy. Since moving out of my parents' house almost eight years ago, I’ve never had quite enough income to feed myself as much as I would like, plus I was talking to him on the phone when I usually ate dinner. And although I have been living on my own for almost a decade, there have been times where I worried that I might have to move back in with my parents. With this much money coming in each weekend I wouldn’t have to worry about food or rent, and I could start saving money the way I did before I moved out.

Despite this momentary elation, there was some restraint in my voice. Instead of saying, “Yes, I’d love to do that,” I’d say, “I should be able to do that.”

It was about twenty minutes into the phone call that he asked me if I’d ever been to a swingers/couples group. At this point he had already established rapport with me and I didn’t want to come across as judgmental. I thought, well, I know that’s not for me but I can just teach the class and be on my way. Except for the paintings of course. He told me that a lot of husbands will give their wives a woman as a “present” and want to see photos of them together, but the rules forbid photographs. So an abstracted painting bypasses that. I have sketched nude figures before in art classes, and I tried to tell myself this could be an artistic challenge.

Then he started asking me if I had any interest in their group. He said, “You know you don’t have to do this for the job—but I can tell you'd really like it." I thought, “I don’t think I really would,” yet he kept repeating this over and over, saying how he “could tell” I was interested. He said he was going to send me photos of people and that I needed to send something back that was “at least” topless or their feelings would be hurt. I told him in that case, he better not send me anything, because I wasn’t going to send him anything back.

It didn’t stop him from insisting that he “could tell” I was so interested in this, but oh, no pressure, the job is yours regardless, but yes, I can tell you’re interested. One thing about Utah is people can use your religious past against you and insinuate that there's something wrong with you and you’re still being “controlled” by your religion if you aren’t sleeping with random people. At one point I started to feel really uneasy, and despite how much he claimed to know my feelings, he didn’t know I was starting cry as I sat on my couch. His tone had gone from “Wow, you amazing woman,” to “Child, you don’t know what you’re missing.”

When he first called, he told me that he couldn’t talk long because his phone was about to die, but I looked down at my phone and saw we’d been talking for over an hour. He asked me an incredibly personal question, and finally I politely but directly said, “I don’t really feel comfortable sharing that over the phone with someone I don’t know. You know?”

Once I said that, he wasn’t on the phone with me for much longer. He said he would email me details about the job and wished me a good night.

As soon as I got off the phone I knew I wasn’t going to do it. I don’t need the new experience; I have plenty under my belt. I don’t need the artistic challenge and I don’t need the company.

And no matter how much money I may have made, I can’t buy my values back. It is easy to say, “I’ll just work there 'til I make x amount of money,” but by then I would be used to the easy money, I would be desensitized to the group, and I would be comfortable with my nice groceries. Plus he was clearly trying to rope me in to that lifestyle, and even though I am not at all interested in any swinging outside of a playground, it’s easy to become influenced by people if you spend enough time around them, especially when those people are super friendly and super manipulative.

It took some courage to turn down $200/hr when I was still struggling. The interesting thing is later that same week, after I became inspired to create a portrait as a gift, I gained six portrait commissions. Not only that, but in the past two months, I’ve gained five new art students. A student’s sister started, a student’s friend started, and so on. I just had the latest request this afternoon.  I realized with my new students, I am no longer in the poverty demographic, something that has taken me a long time to overcome, but I have done it. Being able to live as an artist and art teacher without compromise is something I can truly take pride in.

Three Ways NOT to Deal with Pain

As I have struggled with depression in the past, I wanted to share ways that I thought were helping me feel better, but were actually making me feel worse.


Three ways I am pretending to deal with my emotions, when I am actually perpetuating them: 

1. Not Doing Anything to Help Myself

It is easy to feel like a victim. Yet every effort toward well-being counts. When I stop making effort, the cycle of helplessness becomes stronger. The less I make active decisions, the more powerless I feel.

The more I start to look at ways to better myself, the mere act of this awareness creates hope.



2. Avoiding Responsibilities

My problems can tempt me to feel exempt from life. Pain can become an excuse. Ironically, this can lead to an attachment to depression, anxiety, etc. as it can keep me in a comfort zone lacking accountability.

I always feel better when I take care of what I need to do. A feeling of competence has always helped me to feel like I matter.



3. Lying in Bed

No one can deny the need to rest. Other times, I use rest as avoidance. The difference lies in what my integrity tells me. True rest will leave me feeling restored. If time in bed leaves me with a sinking feeling, I know I'm not really happy with that decision, and that's certainly not a restorative state.

Energy builds energy. Action creates momentum.



I have struggled with all three points at certain times in my life. It helps me to review this now and again, so I maintain the self-awareness to correct these common pitfalls.

Why Most People are Not Doers

I had a friend send me an upset message today.

She had posted a photo on Facebook, and almost immediately, her professor from her grad school days tells her how much he disapproved.

I can understand both where my friend and her professor are coming from. What interested me most about the situation though is that despite the friction over the photo, ultimately, my friend created something. And despite the disapproval, she is still posting more photos.

She is still executing.

Some people are great doers; some are not. I have been on both sides of the spectrum. I've realized many times I fail to do what I want to do because I fear it won't be nearly as grand as it is in my mind. I'm pretty sure I'm not alone.

Another friend posted a message to herself on Facebook. It went something like, "Okay self, get it in gear. You have five days of free time to write your book. You know your story is going to be big--right up there with Lord of the Rings, so start writing it now."

I thought, "Wow, when did she get her exciting idea?" I figured it must be a new development in her life. I had the chance to ask her about it in person. She's had this same idea for over fifteen years and has yet to actually write about it.

Another person once talked about his book idea for a solid fifteen minutes, and after he was done talking, I still had no idea what his book was about.

A young woman once told me she was so excited to write her book. I asked her what it was about and she said, "I can't explain it, but it's going to be the next Harry Potter."

I love these people, but none of them are actually doing anything!

When I think about my friend who is putting herself out there and getting a little hurt, it makes me realize many of these other people are not getting down to the nitty gritty because some part of them fears failure. Especially because they've set their sights so high.

It can be pretty disappointing when you put yourself out there and you get a negative response. Or worse, no response. But the benefit my photographer friend has is she can learn from the experience, and learn to deal with risk. She is ahead, because having someone critique your work means work exists to be critiqued.

Bonneville

"I wanted to thank you for coming to Bonneville High School today. . . .

To be completely honest I almost cried when you started talking about that subject because I had felt the same way as some of the people you described and just hearing their stories helped me. . . ."

This is part of an email I just read.

I started the day at this high school by showing these students my early stamp portraits: John Lennon, Michael Jackson, and a self-portrait in butterflies. Then I show them the painting that changed the way I've interacted with people as an artist and a person: a painting of a young woman whose arms are covered in scars.

After sharing the story about this girl who commissioned me to paint her portrait so she could face her self-harm, I show them my BFA portraits: five faces of people who have overcome self-harm, created with a rubber stamp symbolizing their recovery. I show them my self-portrait, and tell them that for two years of my life, I cut myself. I had no role models for how I would get past my struggle. I didn't even have a word for what I was going through.

This is the main reason I feel I am in these high schools right now. If I can give these students hope that they can come out the other side, then I feel I am doing them a good service.

This is my third high school, and it always feels intimidating to walk into a place I've never been before with all these teenagers walking around. I see them laughing together as I balance my portraits between my arms. I get up in front of the class prepared to tell them the most personal details of my life even though we've never exchanged a single word until today.

Sometimes as I'm speaking, a voice sneaks into the spaces between my words. Will this mean anything? Will I go too far and offend the teacher? Do they think I'm crazy? I just make sure the voice doing the talking is louder than the voice in my head.

After first period, a girl told me that she had tried to commit suicide a year ago. She was in the back row, and I couldn't see the full emotion in her eyes until she talked to me afterwards.

There were two boys sitting on the front row. When I talked about my Expanded Self series and showed them the portrait of Richard, telling them that at one point he used to burn himself, I noticed one of the boys looked at the other one and pointed to himself. I don't know if this could have been directly related to what I was saying or possibly mean something else, but they weren't having any side conversation, so it's hard to believe it's anything but the obvious.

The teacher told me that a few years ago one of her students had committed suicide. He acted normally, even bubbly, that day at school. One of the saddest memories she had is that when she announced to the class the next day that this boy had died, only one person in the class knew who he was.

In last class of the day, the sister of this boy listened to my speech.

As I'm speaking, I don't know any of this about the kids. I still feel like I'm the only one who's ever gone through this and maybe this will seem a bit crazy to them. It shocks me to the point of awe to know how much pain these kids have experienced, but that at the same time we're connecting through our mutual effort to not give up.

When I decided I wanted to start speaking in high schools, I had no idea how I would do it. Each time is a little different and each time I figure out more that I can do. I don't know how this will continue to affect people or myself. This is the great unknown, but I wouldn't want to do anything else.

And I figured out my next step . . .

School's Out

Alice Cooper was right.

I stopped by WSU today, seeing a few friends. There was a time that I almost left Weber for another school and never wanted to come back. Now that I have my degree, I don't want to leave!

I admit I had wondered, "Hey, now that I'm graduated, can I use any more financial aid to at least go to swimming class?" Wishful thinking. Now that I have a bachelor's degree, I no longer qualify for pell grants.

School really is out forever.

With my BFA completed, being in college is like returning to high school post-graduation. You get the feeling "I'm not supposed to be here anymore . . ." All of this is good, because knowing myself, if I could take any more classes, I would. But it wouldn't be very meaningful as I already earned what I came for. And I pushed myself hard during Fall 2015 for a reason. And now that I've graduated, it's begun . . .

There is one thing standing between me and publishing my book: my platform. More people need to know about my message first. (Saying, "You could publish right now and see what happens," is like saying, "You could marry right now and see what happens. Sure the guy has no teeth, but let's wait and see what develops . . .")

So today I made a big leap forward. I spoke about my book and my relating artwork to a local high school. It was an alternative school, so many of the students are familiar with hardship. One boy even opened  up to me about his life. The experience was so fulfilling and exciting!

How ironic that now that school is out forever, I'm back in a classroom???

I am going to try doing this once a week to test what's working and what's not. Then I can either continue speaking or find another approach. I still have many things to do before the book gets into people's hands, but I can tell you, it's just a matter of time.