Networking: It's not an evil word.

Artist Colony in Jerusalem

Metal sculpture detail

When I was in Israel a couple years ago, my friend and I wandered through a sweet little artist colony tucked away in the old part of Jerusalem. We walked down a set of stairs and through an open gate of sorts onto a small, slanted street lined with shops and work-spaces for various types of craftspeople. The picture above hangs on my living room wall, and lately when I see it I wonder who the artists working there are (Are they Jewish? Muslim? Christian? Is it a place where religion doesn't matter?) and how they're faring with the recent violence. What was interesting about this place though was that it seemed very much like a community rather than a tourist area--like a place where artists had gathered to benefit from each other's creative energy. 

I've never made my living as an artist or lived in a particularly artsy community, but the happiest I've been in a work-like space in the ten years since I graduated from law school was when I worked in a letterpress shop in Louisiana with Kathryn Hunter of Blackbird Letterpress.

It was the oddest thing, getting to do that. I had just moved to Baton Rouge from Bozeman, Montana, and I'd decided I wanted to learn about letterpress printing (this from reading a piece in ReadyMade magazine about a letterpress shop called Yeehaw Industries in Knoxville, which sadly has since closed). So get this. I googled letterpress printing in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and up came the website of a girl who not only went to undergrad in Bozeman, but who also made art quilts. And I had just gotten into quilting. (The modern kind, like this.) Sometimes these coincidences astound me. So I emailed Kathryn, went to meet her, and we became fast friends. She taught me how to run her giant hand-fed printing press, and together we made invitations, cards, bird flags, and other things to sell at the Baton Rouge arts market, and we got her Etsy shop up and running. I learned so much and had such a great time. 

                            A letterpress card Kathryn and I designed together. Love this guy.

That didn't seem like networking to me. That was just pursuing something I found interesting. If you'd asked me several years ago what I thought about networking, I'd have thrown up a little in my mouth. That word had this slimy, schmoozing connotation for me. But lately I see it completely differently--it's about connecting with people you genuinely like, who are doing work that you find interesting and respect, and keeping in touch in some way. 

                                           red hand by Sarah Seldomridge

Even so,  when  my step-dad suggested I start using my network a few months ago, my first reaction was: I don't have a network. But slowly I started thinking about the people I know--even casually--who are doing things I think are really great. And since I started paying attention, I see that there are more of those than I thought. I really like the idea of consciously seeking out a network of inspirational people, and I think this can be useful in several different contexts. The most obvious is to use it to build connections to help you get a different job. But lately I've been working on building a creative network.

                                            hot foot by Sarah Seldomridge

My lovely friend Sarah Seldomridge, who has been drawing and painting for the past ten years in Boston, (and recently had a two lady show there at Voltage Coffee & Art with her friend Amanda Laurel Atkins) has been giving me feedback and encouragement on my work. We actually set up a phone date before her show to talk about hers. And we're finding that it really helps.

       still life with jif by Sarah Seldomridge

Another artist friend recently asked me if I could be her artsy accountability person, and we've been emailing each other once a week to say what we plan to work on for the week and report on how last week's things went. It's been so helpful!

So whether it's for work or for fun, let's start thinking about who our people are and try to connect with them. Who knows what might happen?

The Grit

With the recent gas boom and the corresponding decline in coal production in West Virginia, there's been a resurgence of talk about the effect extractive industries have had and continue to have on the State. About how companies that are based in other states come here to do business but then take their profits elsewhere. This trend is difficult for obvious reasons--people here benefit only so long as a particular company is willing to pay them to work, and the profits that the companies earn are largely not reinvested in the West Virginia economy (aside from the occasional goodwill grant to schools or support for local events).

Most disturbing to me though is the emotional toll this type of exchange takes on people. Some develop a seemingly unwarranted sense of loyalty to the companies--or at least the industry--they work for, despite what seems to be a clear preference for profit over people. Perhaps when you can't see any other options, you have to fight for what you know. But to my mind, this leaves the state in general in a sort of weak, underdog position, loyal to the hand that feeds it.

The Coalfield Development Corporation seems to be tackling this issue head on, and I'm hopeful that their approach will give some former coal workers their power back. They employ people living in southern West Virginia as construction workers for 33 hours a week, building local housing and disassembling existing structures to salvage materials and market them to high-end markets in cities around the U.S. Employees must attend 6 hours a week of local community college classes and participate in 3 hours of life skills training. This group is set to receive $600,000 from the U.S. EDA to support their work, and it's so encouraging to see that this type of effort not only exists, but is actually doing quite well.

Here in northern West Virginia there are far fewer coal mines, but the mark of industry is still pronounced. From my house in Morgantown I could see a large gas rig located across the river until recently (they must have completed the well), and surrounding that well are various other plants. While personally I wish this city could wrap its mind around and implement some zoning laws with actual teeth, there is something appealing to me about these industrial structures--old and new--the lights, the colors, and the sheer boldness. Apparently it's not just me: photographers Alexander Gronsky, Edward Burtynsky, and Eric Tomberlin have made strikingly beautiful work out of relatively mundane, common structures. 

Garden Diaries

first time growing dahlias!

final harvest

I had two main gardening goals this year: to put in a real veggie garden and to make good use of my herbs. I dug out a 4' x 8' plot of ground right in front of my driveway so there was absolutely no way I could forget about the plants once I put them in. (That visual did not prevent me from under-watering, however. Dammit.) I used the square-foot gardening method that allows you to pack a whole lot of plants into a small area, and I had some real success with tomatoes and green beans. Cilantro continues to be difficult and sickly, and my parsley seeds never even poked out of the ground. Is this me? The beets and carrots were great and tender, but I really should have staggered those in several plantings and done more. Next year I think I'll go a bit bigger and maybe come off the water now and then, but all in all, I'd say it was a success. Notwithstanding the saggy fence I constructed to keep the deer out--but hey, I built that thing all by myself!

end of season garden (slightly droopy fence removed)

As for herbs, I dried oregano, lavender, lemon balm, and mint and I used a whole lot more fresh herbs this year in cooking. And you know what has magical happy power? Zinnias. Those were by far the best thing that happened this season in the garden.

A little inspiration for creative block

I've been having some trouble creating lately. For months I've been going into my sewing room, pulling out my fabrics, and trying to think of what to make. And then I get up and walk out. Unless I have a specific goal (that new porch swing needs a cushion), what's the point?

I saw an interview with Elizabeth Gilbert (of Eat, Pray, Love fame) recently where she talks about why you should create. Not for money, not to "help" people, not to make it your career--because you love it. (She also mentions how you'll have to eat shit sandwiches no matter what--even if you're doing something you love. Also important to know.)

So the question is, how to get over that mental block? This summer I met a yoga teacher who's interested in yoga therapy for artists. Her advice? Just play with scraps. That was June and this is October, but this weekend, I finally did it. And I had so much fun! Such a rush from making these two little potholders out of scraps and old jeans! Who knew? The general message here for anyone who wants to start something--anything at all--is to start small.

I've been doing a lot of thinking about what kinds of things I really want to do, that will actually give me some genuine fulfillment. One thing I've realized is I need to start interjecting some fun into my life in small ways. Like listening to podcasts while I work. Or finding inspiration from other creative people. In addition to craft therapy, here are a few things that have been helping:

lifestyle/artsy inspiration:

Scott Dinsmore's TED talk on finding work you love: A short inspirational talk that focuses on the importance of surrounding yourself with people who are doing things that inspire you.

Design Sponge: I've been reading this blog since 2006, and it's still going strong. I love the house tours (who doesn't want to peek inside other people's homes, especially ones with really great style?), the before and afters (I'm a sucker for a good furniture makeover), and I'm also enjoying the cool new trends emerging, like a focus on fine artists and creative businesses.

Apartment Therapy: Another longtime favorite. This blog covers a lot of territory, from how to select the best modern couch to how to do a really thorough closet clean-out. And of course, they also do house tours, featuring a really wide variety of locations and styles.

My Name Is Yeh: Molly Yeh is a fun, quirky musician who lives on a farm in North Dakota and is making some really delicious-looking food that draws from her Chinese and Jewish heritage. And she's only 25! 

discussions of real questions/issues:

Inside Appalachia podcast: This is helping with my continual quest to understand why people want to stay close to home, but it's also really nice to hear about people who love this place and still return to it and make work about it while living elsewhere.

Dear Sugar podcast: A radio show hosted by Cheryl Strayed (author of Wild) and Steve Almond, where they read and analyze letters from listeners seeking advice, sometimes drawing on their own experience and sometimes calling another person to consult on the issue. Their perspectives are nuanced and understanding, and even if you don't have the problem they're discussing, just listening helps you understand humanity a little bit more.

Death, Sex & Money podcast: Created by native West Virginia Anna Sale, this show is about topics people tend not to discuss openly, including mental illness and the obvious issues listed in the podcast name. 

Ask Polly: A weekly advice column written by Heather Havrilesky for New York Magazine's The Cut. Heather is real, she's bold, and she swears like a sailor. I love her way of encouraging people to really get into life and be vulnerable and take risks and try to be authentic and true to themselves. This column comes out around 1 pm on Wednesdays. (Or you could be crazy and just subscribe to it.)

The good part about small towns

Cooke City, Montana

Confession: I’m in the midst of a Gilmore Girls obsession. I missed it the first time around, but I discovered Lauren Graham in Parenthood (fantastic show), and after a good friend said he liked the Gilmore Girls and thought I would too, I decided to check it out. And I basically haven’t watched anything else since. Of course there’s the obvious parallel with my life, seeing as how she’s a single mom and all, but that’s really where it stops. My fascination with it has to do with this small town thing they’ve got going.

I’ve wished many times in the past few years that I could move away, and Pittsburgh is the most realistic of the fantasy destinations. And while Pittsburgh is accessible and in no way huge, it's still a city, so I was quite surprised when I found myself fantasizing about moving to a small town while I was out west this summer. And the source of this fantasy was a really small town: Cooke City, Montana. It’s basically a stretch of buildings you drive through on the way to the Beartooth Highway as you’re leaving Yellowstone. I’m not sure why people would even drive through really, unless they lived in one of the tiny towns on the other side or just wanted to get a glimpse of that Pass (which is amazing and tundra-like and totally worth the trip if you’re ever in the area). The town has two bars and a convenience store, two small motels, and a couple restaurants. Some of the girls on the trip I was on had a bit of a toilet situation and couldn’t find a plunger, and when they went into the convenience store to ask if they could borrow one, the guy consulted a posted list of all the people in town and their phone numbers. Now that is small.

Anyway, what was the appeal of that town? What would I actually do there? I have no idea. It’s mostly about escaping with a truck and a dog and having only the strange people you meet to contend with. I conjured up scenes from Northern Exposure while I was there.

So to bring it back around, Gilmore Girls kind of plays into this small town fantasy. There are all these townspeople who know each other and love each other and annoy each other and are always doing something together or squabbling or gossiping—it just gives you the sense that they feel like they belong there and are a part of something. I’ve been wondering a lot lately why it is that some people stay or come back to where they grew up and feel content with that, while others have to get out and explore and find it trapping to stay in one place. I think being home gives some people the same sense of community and belonging that a religion can, or a tight ethnic community where everyone shares a common experience or sense of values.

All that to say, Morgantown is not so small that you know everyone’s business, Gilmore Girls-style, but it’s no city. And it does have quaint things that I enjoy, like downtown parades. Being able to walk to them and run through the cemetery (if you are 5) along the way is also a plus. Meeting up with a friend from kindergarten who you can grab candy with makes it even better. And I love that.

The eye shadow!

Why cacti and mountains?

I grew up in the Appalachian hills, in a “holler” really, though being the English major I am, I say hollow. Our house was surrounded by hills, with the hollow behind, and acres of woods to explore. They were old mountains, but oh so cozy. Out west, I traded cozy for imposing. In Montana, our town had the most spectacular 360 view of snow-covered mountains. The air was always crisp, and the scale of that sky and those large peaks made me feel small, but in a calming way. The kind of way that makes you realize the world is big and there’s more than you know. But even with all that beauty and possibility, it never felt like home. The vastness, the dryness, the lack of trees—I felt too exposed. I missed being surrounded by hills. Eventually I found my way home, back to the green hills that seem to hug you. But the sense of home that some people seem to have, that feeling of familiarity and solid ground and comfort, it eludes me here much of the time. I am from this place and a part of it but also apart, detached. It’s gritty; it’s run-down; it’s dirty and stuck in its ways. But then I go into the woods, and it’s grounding in a way that nothing else is.

A view of the Cheat River from Snake Hill.

This little peanut cactus came cross-country from Montana in 2007.

As for the cacti, I just love them. I love their shape and their color and their endearing trait of not requiring much attention. Maybe the cacti are a way to keep the allure of the west and its promise close? Maybe their ability to thrive here in a place where they wouldn’t naturally be is symbolic? I don’t know, but one thing is certain: they’re very hard to kill. And that provides a very practical advantage in my care.

Cacti felt friends. Because, why not?

I could not resist this turtle from my favorite junk shop. The hens and chicks like him too.

The biggest guy I have is now taller than me, thanks to six years with my mom and her heavy-handed use of miracle grow. We literally used a dolly to get it into the house. The small peanut cactus in the yellow pot came all the way from Bozeman, Montana in 2007. I think these cacti are just dying to be joined by a super soft brown leather chair, but they may have to wait a bit.

The big guy.