This video features the program I’m going into this fall, and something one of the illustrators said resonates with me every time I watch it: 

“Illustration, for me, was a way out of the mundane. I saw illustration as… a way for me to be me at all times.”

This is how I feel about writing. (And drawing, and also reading.) Art has this sacred, untouchable quality at its core. It does battle with the status quo on a daily basis and doesn’t allow itself to be tarnished by realism. It flips the bird (sometimes gracefully, sometimes not) to those who command it to “be realistic”.

Art is a way out of the mundane.

a dare

Five years ago, I wrote a children's story about a little girl who finally learns to say no to things that are preventing her from being the best version of herself. Despite the fact that it was terribly written, that story changed the trajectory of my life and since then I’ve been undergoing a process of saying no to things I hadn't realized I said yes to and reclaiming the things that were once most important to me.

Last fall, as part of this process, I dared myself to do something I was too afraid to do ten years ago. I dared myself to apply to art school. Not just any art school, though. I only wanted to go to one school, for one particular program: Sheridan's BAA in Illustration.

And I got in.

Which is baffling. So baffling, that I've been carrying around my portfolio score sheet for the past week and not telling anyone, just in case there's some kind of mistake and I get a call saying, We’re so sorry but actually you’re no good at all and there’s no way we’re letting you into our program, so can you please un-accept our offer?

But that didn’t happen. And now the secret is out: I'm going to art school.

I'm posting a few of my portfolio pieces below. The rest are on my tumblr, split into three sections:
sketchbook pieces, personal pieces, and the drawing test. Feel free to check them out.

Sketchbook: Hairstyles

Life Drawing

Hands

Bottles and Jars and Things

Feet

hiding

I have been hiding from my writing for a while now.

Why? Well, writing is a weird thing. Writing novels, I mean, since they are the things I tend to write. Even after you've written one (or two, or more...) you still come back to the blank page asking yourself, "Can I even do this?" You just did! Don't you remember? But the thing is, you don't. It's so strange. There's all this self doubt, and fear of failure, and flailing around even though you know that the only true failure is a failure to get words down. It's a failure to do the work. The truth is, you can make all the mistakes in the world because so long as you have words written, those words are fixable. In fact, you need to make mistakes. You need to go down wrong paths. Because it's on those wrong paths that you tend to find the right ones.  

Somewhere deep inside, I know this. And yet I'm still afraid of the blank page, of that blinking curser or the moment my pen stalls. I'm afraid of the unwritten words. And while it's okay to be afraid (sometimes), it's not okay to let fear keep you from doing what you need to do.

I was hiding from my writing this morning when I read this:

Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative and creation, there is one elementary truth that ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would have come his way. Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now. - Johann von Goethe

I don't want to hide anymore.

the magnificence that is Photo Booth

I recently stumbled across this tumblr of illustrators using themselves for reference via Photo Booth. (My favourite is Tiffany Turrill being a bull.) It's kind of amazing. I'd never thought of using myself for reference, and it has solved a TON of frustrations. For example, this morning I was trying to draw a girl clutching a book to her chest and could not for the life of me figure out how her arms should cross. So I took this picture:

Just ignore that look on my face.

Which allowed me to finish this:

A quasi self-portrait.

Photo Booth. You are my new BFF.

“When I grow up, I'd like to be dangerous.”

Me too, Kiki, me too.

Holy moly, I like this book. Mostly because of passages like this:

"I've always found that one of the biggest benefits of being a girl is that most people refuse to take you seriously. While boys must be constantly monitored and are always the first suspects when anything goes wrong, everyone expects girls to do what they're told. It may seem a little insulting at first, but low expectations can be a blessing in disguise. If you're smart, you can use people's foolishness to your own advantage. It's amazing what you can get away with when no one bothers watching."

Straight up in your face YES.

"and if you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones...

...cuz most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs."

There are no words to describe all the feelings I have for this song.

on art

But really there is no choice. Nobody chooses. The only thing left for a creative artist to do is to do his chosen work in spite of everything and regardless of anything because when living draws to its end there are no excuses he can make to himself or to anyone else for not having done it. Either he did do it or he did not do it and very often he did not. Alas very often he did not.

-Gertrude Stein on art, from here

wandering, pondering, Yonder(ing)

Stand still. The forest knows

where you are. You must let it find you.

-David Wagoner, from his poem Lost

Yonder and I hopped into the car this morning and drove to my most favourite place: the farm where I grew up. I needed to walk, to think, to pause. The past five months have had some good, lovely, beautiful parts, but for the most part, they've been really hard. Not hard in the "learn from it and it will make you stronger" sense. Hard in the "I can't help feeling like I'm wasting time" sense. And for me, that is one of the scariest things: wasted time.

This month has been the hardest of all. Recently some things happened that made me stop and wonder about decisions I've made or am still making. I've realized that the things I want most, the deep desires of my heart, I'm not making room for. I've let so many other things get in the way. I rarely have the time or (worse) the energy to do the things I want to be doing. And I just know that the me of two years ago would look at the me of now and think, "Have you learned nothing? Have I taught you nothing?" and that is worrisome.

So I came to the woods. Together, my four legged companion and I roamed through the trees and followed the creek and were quiet. The woods have this way of settling you. Of reminding you to pause, to stop for a moment and really think. Where am I? Where am I going?

I found that the answer is this: I am precariously close to being lost. Somehow, in the past half year, my priorities have gotten mixed up. I've listened to the wrong advice and I've let what other people think get in the way of what I know I need. A part of me wonders just how many times I need to learn this lesson, and another part of me wonders if I'll never stop learning it, and a third part of me thinks that I need to start paying attention to the warning signs. The "you are lost, turn back now" signs.

So I'm making a map for getting un-lost. Really, it's a list. Actually, it's two lists. One is titled, "Signs that Kristen is Lost" and the other is titled, "Signs that Kristen is No Longer Lost." Very simple, really. The point will be to check off all the items on the second list and none on the first.

I'm pretty sure I can do it.

Revisions

So, yesterday was an OMG I LOVE THIS kind of day. Today is a JUST GIVE UP AND EAT CHOCOLATE kind of day. I’ve been waffling back and forth for weeks now between these too extremes. The problem is the latter (obviously) because it’s one thing to be high on love for your novel and burning through revisions, and it’s entirely another to feel like you want to gouge your eyes out if you have to read one more word, or bang your head against the wall until things become clear again, or just click the delete button and make all 93,000 words disappear so you can start the whole thing over, this time without so many broken pieces. Ugh. So. Much. Drama. And yet, I’m not sure I would love it the same way if it was devoid of the waffling extreme-ness, because that would just make it… ordinary. So back I go. It is the homestretch, after all. I can almost feel the heat of freshly printed pages as I hand them to Joe to read over…

See you on the other side.

(Hopefully.)

his name is Yonder

I brought this guy home with me last week. I like him a lot.