Take it From Me

It's a hard thing to admit to myself. That the word "underemployed" has always fit. When I started out in my "grown up" career, I'd never heard the word. But it's true -- for my entire working life, save a couple of brief stints as a full-time newspaper employee (you know, another healthy industry), I've been UNDEREMPLOYED.

I have been teaching or teaching part-time -- full-time hours with adjunct benefits, or writing, or thinking about writing, or supposed to be writing but really mostly not writing, to writing again, then really writing. whew.

What do you do if you're me and underemployed? Well, you get more underemployed by working. Through the years,  I've fallen back on a "steady" source of supplemental income: food service. I've waited tables, bartended, been bar manager, server trainer, and menu educator.

I've seen a person who almost severed his thumb not go to the hospital because he was undocumented. I've seen servers with fevers so high that they were almost delusional try to serve courses. I've been passed over on promotions because I did not party with the management, partying that included drugs. I've seen racism and sexism, and double standards, and I've done the math too, working out that that lunch shift where I made $17 in tips actually put me in the hole.

In each restaurant, I've found kind people, hard workers, and a caring manager or two. I worked in the mid-ranks of this high turnover industry, because I needed a place that was OK with my first schedule -- writing. I wasn't in it for a career, and it treated me like I treated it -- a numbers game, a slot to be filled.

That personal era has passed, but if you've haven't worked in the industry, chances are you are oblivious to the nature of it, that on a good day (or in a good place) it can feel like family, but for many of us hidden in the ranks, it feels more often like the place of the lowest common denominator.

I'm not here protesting or bringing signs or trying to whistle blow. I'm voting with my wallet, making my choices matter. Read the ROC National Diners' Guide, and make your own choices, at least when it comes to a chain restaurant. How do your favorites rank?

A MAD opportunity

I was much more into The Little Princess than MAD Magazine when I was little, but I understand what a creative effect it's had on American culture for 50 years.

So, when I received a phone call from former editor Nick Meglin last week, I jumped at the chance to speak with him, despite the fact that he repeatedly asked for the last 4 digits of my social security number in order to verify my freelance writer status.

He's relocated to North Carolina, found great satisfaction in creating musical theater, and thinks that the Open Space Cafe Theatre in Greensboro is doing great things. He wanted to talk about it all, and I wanted to listen, and he taught me more about the nature of musical theater in our one conversation than all you that have tried to convince me how awesome Rent and Mama Mia! are over the years. Not that I don't love you for trying ... I just didn't get it til now.

His musical, "Tim and Scrooge," opens tonight in Greensboro. As of the moment, tickets are still available. And you don't have to provide your social security number, no matter what anybody says.

My Daily Gift

Nature doesn't ask anything. When I go, it is there. When I stay, it is there. The mist at the bottom of Rainbow Falls in Gorges State Park or the scent of the mock orange blossoms in my neighbor's yard is equal pleasure.

I drive past the tall, toast-colored grasses of the marsh on my way to the grocery store, and I remember the feeling of the volcanic rock path on Mount Fuji. To me, they are the same gift.

July light on the shallows of Lake Michigan

Macintosh Monday dinner

Tomorrow morning there is going to be a lot of writing, or at least, the thoughts of a lot of writing, about The Macintosh, a new restaurant by The Indigo Group down on Upper King Street, Charleston. There was a lot of media types eating and enjoying tonight, and you know how media (esp. in Charleston) like to talk about what they're eating ...

First, I should say, Jeff Allen of The City Paper wrote a perfect piece about the place and its amazing chef -- and he wrote that more than a month ago.

However, this restaurant is the "feel like it's been there forever" type of place that still has you excited about the food (despite the fact it smells like new wood). Namely, the appetizer of rabbit, unctuous and beautiful and punctuated by little cherry tomatoes that burst in your mouth. Now if the thought of rabbit wrinkles your nose in the way that people wrinkle their noses when they are scared of food, then, well, The Macintosh is not for you.

But The Macintosh is for me. Yeah, it sounds pretentious, and you're right, I am when it comes to having an open palate. But visit O-Ku or The Cocktail Club or The Macintosh and find yourself there. I do, and it is the best version of myself. Not the "hey, I just ate a funnel cake" self but the self that cares about the balance of flavors in the midst of a balanced decor.

I would've taken a picture, but I was enjoying myself too much ... go and see and enjoy too.

Post-Halloween ghosts

Yes, Halloween is the coming out party for many a ghost story, but the people who like to research ghost stories like to do so all year. Like, for instance, Michael Renegar and Amy Spease, authors of Ghost Stories of the Triad.

It might be a sunny Saturday, their only day off, but they're tucked up in a dusty corner of a library floor, researching the death toll of a long-forgotten structure fire. Or it might be a cool evening, better suited to homemade chili and a Monday night football game on TV, and instead, they're beaming flashlights onto uneven graveyard turf.

So just because Halloween is past, don't forget the hardworking ghost hunters who work all year to make your Halloween extra special ... and bring you special ghost stories about places you know, stories that are special any time of year.

Tart-tober

The last month, I have been in tart heaven. Talking about tarts, reading about tarts, writing about tarts and even sampling a few tarts.

This tart-topia actually started a few months ago, when author Holly Herrick asked The Beehive to help promote her new book, Tart Love: Sassy, Savory and Sweet.

As a well-established author with two books and countless articles and reviews under her belt, I was honored.

Since then, we've had a bubbles n' biscuits book release party (I love alliteration!), heard every joke about "tarts," been on the "Tart Train" to Charlotte to promote the book, crowned Holly the "Queen of Tarts" for Charleston Magazine, and this morning, enjoyed a tart discussion on the front of the Food Section of The Post and Courier.

Photo by Grace Beahm/ The Post and Courier

It's been tart-terrific, and I've had the wonderful opportunity to spend work time reading and drooling over food, including from blogs such as Pioneer Woman and (for my vote) the best one of them all, Helene Dujardin's Tartelette. And I've had the chance to get to know Holly, who is not only a professional, but a friend.

My time in the kitchen has become more joyous, and I'm cooking more, from my first attempt at chicken and wild rice soup (made with my homemade stock from a bird I roasted) to a well-worn bean salad recipe interpreted in a new way with edamame and pork belly. It sounds fancy, but it's not -- it's just using good food, which is one of the lessons Holly has taught me.

The Tart Train rolls on to NYC in December, and then the events start afresh for Holly's next book,  Food Lovers Guide to Charleston and Savannah.

Speaking of which, I better go lace my running shoes. Looks like I'm going to need them.

Freaky doll follow-up

After my post "Lifelike" about my aversion to dolls, it seems they've wandered out of the back closets and attics to come and find me. I have received multiple streams of correspondence about them, from a text about Grampals to a tweet reminding me of the spider doll in Toy Story, so I decided to take it further.

With help from Holly Thorpe, we have created a Creepy Dolls Halloween tribute board on Pinterest. Since I am posting this early in the morning, I don't think you will lose your lunch if you stop on by and read the thoughts of the dolls included on the board:

http://pinterest.com/beehivesteph/creepy-dolls-a-halloween-tribute/

We'll be waiting ... ... ... 

A perfect Steve Jobs quote, found on Leaning Towards Love. Deserves reposting, rereading and realizing!

"Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary."

Steve Jobs, 1955-2011

A New Meaning for Eye Candy

At Lambert Gray Gallery's Grand Opening this past Friday, Holly Herrick signed her new cookbook, we poured lots of wine, ate leaf-shaped sugar cookies and coveted some amazing art. The place was packed most of the evening, Kristen of Blue Bicycle Books was selling books, and "sold" red dots were popping up everywhere.

Co-owners and artists Hilarie Lambert and Michael Gray curated an amazing food-themed show, and Lambert got into the spirit herself with great kitchen scenes inspired by her time in France.

When the Dishes Are Done, Hilarie Lambert. SOLD

What was so fun about this show is how the artists brought their own sensibilities and ideas to the table. Lambert's only parameter was "food-related," and here are some great examples of what the artists delivered:

Watermelon. Mark Horton

Chips & Beer Dear. Sheryl Stalnaker

Catch of the Day. Elizabeth Middour

Recipe for Disaster. Shannon Runquist

There's more art just waiting to be "sampled," such as Tate Nation's special take on take-out and Robert Lange's "Banana Seat", and now that the excitement of Artwalk is past us, the gallery is quietly filled with light in its second story Broad Street locale. It's the perfect time for an appetizer of art, so stop in sometime soon before that downtown lunch and get inspired by the plate.

Lifelike

Sometimes things are just creepy. Like dusk in an old barn. Or blurry pictures of a dead relative.

Since it's October and I'm the author of two books of ghost stories (they are listed on the column to the right), I thought I'd jump on that bandwagon a bit and share some things that make my spine tingle a bit. Here is the first: lifelike dolls.

Exhibit A

Exhibit A is a perfect example, complete with those special effect "go to black" eyes in this photo. I took this photo at 11 p.m. at night in Hot Springs, Ark. Little Western Farmer was all lit up in his store window, shining like a creepy beacon on the dark, deserted street back to my hotel. His little feet dangle, his haircut is Damien in its perfection, and his little mouth is open in glee, revealing the hint of milk teeth.

I didn't get to sleep quickly that night, but that wouldn't have been the first time dolls haunted me. Dolls have been featured in many of my b&b rooms, so much so that during one visit to Newton, N.C., I had to sit them all outside my door, hoping I could wake up and return them to their set ups on the fireplace mantel before the owner awoke.

Antique dolls, with their too-heavy China heads attached to soft bodies in christening dresses have leaned brokenly against many a night stand, and even the Sunday advertising inserts often feature weird renditions of little girls that look ready for their closeup on Toddlers & Tiaras.

So watch out for dolls this Halloween season, especially if their eyes seem to follow you about a room ... and if they're riding tractors in Arkansas, it's a no brainer -- stay away from them!

What does meditation look like?

Be honest. When you saw the title of this blog, a vision popped into your head. Something probably like this:

But I've been thinking: If meditation is for ME, to help ME, does it have to look like this in my world? I've sat like this in yoga class before, enjoyed it in yoga class before, but honestly, I don't sit like this outside the classroom. I think I am going to do it, but then I never do, for various reasons ranging from not enough floor room to my feet falling asleep. Does that mean I am never going to meditate?

The short answer -- no. I've noticed that naturally I fall into more of a contemplative state when I moving in a way that I don't have to think about. And I have to be outside. Like swinging on a porch swing, or jogging down the street. My mind is just enough occupied with the movement that it pauses the racing thoughts and I can just be. Not necessarily empty of thoughts but letting thoughts pass and being in the present. 

Meet my newest meditation tool, Bessie the Beach Cruiser. I designed her myself at Affordabike, and she is a pure vision of turquoise and white meditation with a smile. 

So don't be stuck in how you think you should do something or what that something looks like. Just think about what feels right to you. And find a space where you can just be, whereever and whatever that looks like.

What if the mountains aren't there?

We had the first cool days in Charleston this past weekend. It was ahead of schedule, but it got many people thinking about knee-length boots, football, and large bowls of spicy chili.

For me, I started thinking about leaves changing in the mountains, how that must be already happening, and how many people make their annual pilgrimages to high elevations too ooh and ahh. But what if the mountains were not there? I don't mean paved over by outlet malls; I mean not there.

For many in some of the deepest hollers and hideaways in the Appalachian mountains, this is a reality, and it's called mountaintop removal. It is a modern technique for mining coal, and the coal companies in places such as West Virginia say it's safer and good for the economy.

For those of us, and that's most of us, that don't live in that world, it is a controversy that too many of us find too painful or too complicated, so we turn away. Carl Galie is asking us -- through his art -- to turn back, to look again.

I had the chance to talk with him about his commitment to wild places and rural communities, and about his approach to photography. See some of his photos of coal country's vanishing places here and read about what sets apart his calls for change.

Love letter to art

Good art makes me giddy. I can't really say when I first started loving "art" -- maybe it was during those heady undergraduate days when NODA in Charlotte was still called North Davidson, and I would gallery crawl into a heady mix of art, architecture, and spontaneous drum circles. I was really into the drum circle a lot more back then, I guess, although I do remember a little of the art.

If I had to pin a moment, an actual moment, that art mattered -- to me -- it would have to be weekday in Winter oh, now close to a decade ago. I was sad the way people get sad. You know, people who have decided at some point that what they were doing was wrong, that they have to jump ship and start over. Start again. Regret. That kind of sad.

I found myself again in that section of Charlotte, bright winter sun glinting against the sidewalk and no drum circles or live bands or promise of being hip. The street outside the gallery was quiet with occasional traffic, and undeniably deserted yet cheery.

I popped into a well-known gallery, wandered to the middle, and stood. There it was. A huge painting, probably 36x40 of a Carolina field, after dusk, the grass glowing fireflies. I should be a better student and tell you who painted it, but I can't remember, although later I went back and asked, looked it up, and still can't remember.

That painting seemed to be about everything that was pure, was good and simple, and there I was, wanting it so bad I ached. I didn't have a table in my apartment, but I wanted that painting that was way out of my price range, that was everywhere I wanted to be, everything I wanted to feel about the world and couldn't.

I liked art cerebral-ly before that; I have loved it ever since, and next Thurs., Sept. 22, I will write an event love letter to it. The Beehive presents Buzzworthy, a one-night gallery event for young collectors, fills the lobby of The Terrace Theater on James Island, and all the artists and their artwork will be there because of that one winter day, when I fell in love with art.

The zen of okra

The smell of frying okra makes me think of my grandmother so much, it takes my breath away. I remember her okra, her perfectly coated pieces that were not charred, not raw, but somehow the most divine the next day when they were room temperature.

It's probably my last okra of the season, and I really haven't had enough. I didn't pickle them, didn't put them in the "big plans" jambalaya I had ideas for at the beginning of the summer. No, every time I got the pods, I cut them in rounds, I fried them up, just for myself, coating them lightly in Martha White cornmeal mix, and then I ate my fill. I ate them with sandwiches, leftover pork chops, and just two days ago, hummus and carrots. I don't care; to me, it doesn't have to "go" with anything -- everything has to go with it.

I remember my Granny's Formica countertops, and how the electric skillet would sit to one side, filled with okra already fried, just sitting there with the heat off. I miss her, the way her hand would wipe the crumbs off the counter beside that electric skillet. But I am happy, because I always have the smell of okra. And I always have the memory of her.

Bitters Enthusiasm

I often see that in many aspects of life, being "smart" or being "discerning" means being "critical" to a lot of people. How many workplaces have you been in where the main bonding activity is complaining about the job?

I love people who sincerely love their job -- often their enthusiasm is infectious, and I respect that they embrace the work. Especially when the results, are the elevation of spirits into an art form. Yes.

This past weekend, I took a class at The Cocktail Club on Bitters 101 the old fashioned additive to Old Fashioneds that I didn't know was so in fashion right now. Jasmine Beck and Jon Calo had all kinds of info., and Jon's knowledge of bitters, how it is made, its long history, and the heretofore-personally undiscovered knowledge of the various brands (what, more than just that dusty one in the back of the bar with the yellow top?!) appealed to my inner home chemist.

Jon Calo in his natural environment, in a perfectly stocked and gleaming bar

A good teacher makes a student feel that they can accomplish, and Jon and Jasmine broke down their alchemy in cooking terms. I love to play mad scientist in my kitchen, whipping up jellies, some pickles, and even on one occasion, dandelion wine, so I'm excited to come up with my own bitters, Steph's Special Blend. I mean, there are celery bitters and plum bitters, so why not a concoction with my favorite aromatics, including cardamom, basil, lavender and perhaps some rosemary?

What do you mean?

Communication. Lately, I have been focusing a lot on my often ineffective communication. Yep. Me. Writer, publicist, and super-talker. We can be saying so much and actually be saying nothing that we want to say, intend to say!

This has come to light recently in many aspects of my life, but one especially poignant one. I am teaching a beginning quilting class through The Beehive to a group of three ladies who have never spent much time in front of a sewing machine. I have quilted for 10 years and have teaching experience as a former college instructor, so I felt pretty comfortable starting the class. Hint: beware of being too comfortable.

Some of my quilts at a show in 2010

After just completing the second session last evening, I realized, I am having a lot of trouble communicating. It's not that they are not "getting" it (they are doing beautiful work!). They want to communicate, to feel my intent to share, to pass along my love for this thing that I have done for so long that I don't even notice what I am doing.

It's not that I'm using so much quilting jargon (such as "y-seam" or "dog-ears") that I am speaking another language.

It's that I can't find the word at all.

For me, quilting has been something ultra-personal, my own thing. I learned a little from people, a lot from books, but mainly it's been me in a room by myself for the last 10 years developing my own technique. Now I am opening that world up and trying to teach my approach to others.

I am happy to be open. I am happy to be vulnerable. I am happy to have the wonderful, open, patient ladies in the class. And I am happy to be learning right along with them. They are wonderful companions for the journey.

The rare follow-up article

It's really nice when someone feels that they have talent and I feel they have talent, and then I see them getting accolades for being talented. It kind of makes me feel, although I have done nothing, that I have camaraderie with them, or a small connection. It's that feeling of validation.

Often, when I see people doing creative things that I think are worth telling people about, I pitch a story to an editor about that person. Such was the case for Stephanie Teague, when I read an etsy profile interview with her and realized she was from Greensboro.

So I was off and running -- I have a writing outlet in Greensboro, and I pitched the story to the editor, she fired back questions, and in March of last year, my first article about Stephanie was published in Go Triad. 

For 99 out of 100 profiles, that's the end of the story. But not for this one. The editor (Carla, great personality, sense of humor, and an editor who makes me a better writer --the best kind) called me again recently when a press release about Stephanie crossed her desk. The designer had won a national award, and it was time for a follow up.

So I got to chat with her again, this time about winning the Fffashion Competition, a fur-free fashion design competition promoting the ethical and environmental benefits of foregoing fur fashions. For a profile writer, this is a sweet gig. You've done the research, so you have the background, it's a quick interview, and if you are fortunate and liked the interview the first time, you have the rare opportunity to have a reason to call again. 

Stephanie's winning design

Congrats, Steph! This coming month, look for her at Charlotte Fashion Week and opening up a downtown Greensboro studio ... and as for me, I'll be here at this little desk. Smiling.

Marsh Musings

There's a little saying here in the Charleston art community that we have no shortage of marsh paintings. That's not to cut down the people who paint, photograph, or otherwise interpret the marsh, because it is the perfect natural subject -- changing, moving, catching the light, yet somehow separate of time.

And there's no doubt there's a market for "marsh paintings" here, just like there's a market for fall tree paintings in Highlands, N.C. or desert paintings in New Mexico. And they are as varied as the marsh itself and the artists who create them. Take for example this painting by Lese Corrigan:

Lese Corrigan "Mid -- River II: Stono River I (Main Road) NW"
oil on canvas 35" x 70" 

Or this one by Jan Sasser:

Spring Morning on the Marsh
Oil on Canvas, Marsh entering John's Island near Charleston
14"H x 18"W

Both of these are beautiful depictions of the marsh (or in Corrigan's case, the river first and the marsh beyond), but they provide what most marsh depictions have in common -- a slightly elevated view of the landscape. You must have this in order to paint the main feature, which is the winding water.

The land is exceptionally flat.

Artistically interpreting the marsh is very different from experiencing the marsh, which my sister and I did this weekend, from one of my favorite Lowcountry perches: a swing at James Island County Park. A late morning breeze was kicking up, and as we sat on the edge of the grass, we could see nothing but grass between us and the shore beyond. Birds swooped on the breeze, and the sound was quiet (except for us slapping at mosquitoes and calling down my dogs who would not sit still).

The only indication of where the water was was a sailboat mast passing by. We couldn't see the boat or hear the boat, just witness a phantom mast passing between lanes of late summer grass, grown tall with rain, the tide and humidity.

An eater's diary

I eat lunch out in Charleston a lot. I mean, a lot. Well, not everyday or anything, but a lot for someone who works within walking distance of her own well-stocked fridge. Of course, eating lunch is a great place for the business meeting, and I have my favorite spots about town.

So my recent article for Charleston Scene on the rise of "fast and fresh" food  was not only of interest to me as a writer, but as an eater as well. I'm pretty blatant about my dislike for national-chain restaurants (Waffle House, you make the cut, but for different reasons than the food), and so Charleston's thriving restaurant scene is a perfect down-filled nest for this little chicky. And its great food isn't just at the high end (congrats Husk!) but on the everyday plate as well.

The wraps at Black Bean Company filled with tofu, a treat even for a non-vegetarian. Just the smell and the smiles when you walk into The Pink Pig. The nachos at Zia Taqueria, and the Palapa Mas ... oh the Palapa Mas. And then there are the food trucks. Here is an ode to one tasty truck, by artist Leslie McKellar. My sentiments, exactly, on discovering that good food and good ingredients are at every price point in Charleston food.

A place for Modern Design?

Don't think you have to have a modern home to enjoy modern art.

Stacy Huggins of Charleston Art Mag recently sent me a fascinating blog post featuring The Beehive in the Garden. It highlights a wonderful modern art sculpture inspired by the interaction of man and bees, and it's set in a formal garden of a Parisian mansion originally built in the 1620s.

Dance of Bees, or "La Danse des Abeilles" by French designers Vaulot & Dyèvre 

I love the color and the old-fashioned idea of a beehive re-presented as this blue cage-like sculpture. To me, it is inviting, saying that the garden is part of the present, not just revered because of its role in the past, but very much today. The past is preserved, yes, but at once you think about the people who chose this sculpture, who live here now. And that's a beautiful thing.

Pertinent discussion, perhaps, for Charleston, don't you think? In fact, such a debate is in progress, and I for one, agree with Robert Behre, who says, "reusing buildings gently --without tarting them up so their original incarnation is completely obscured." Here in Charleston, it's a balance between respecting the old while living in the present. Just like The Beehive in the Garden.

Low Tide on Folly Beach

Today, when I think about what is inspiring, I think about yesterday. Folly Beach was at low tide, the flat waves twinkling in the morning sun and the wide beach just waking up to families setting up tents for the day.

I go to the family side, not the surfing side, and there was plenty of sand stretching between us and the waves, patterns of shells strewn on the sand like brushstrokes. I lazily walked along the water line for a stretch, looking but not finding shark's teeth to give to my nephew. Instead, I found the sound of the shells being moved against each other by the waves, found the foamy edge of the wave lapping about my very-slightly tanned ankles, and watched as sea kayakers embarked on a morning journey, all from one push of a paddle against sand.

There was a misty, humid haze looking toward Kiawah, and on the other side, the pier, with its sounds of fishermen and the gift shop distant. We were in a changing playground, a shrinking and expanding one, full of sand and sea from the bottom to the very top of our thoughts so we could think of nothing else ...

The Taste of Green

I like unusual flavors. Meaning, when other kids were into the Sour Patch Kids, I discovered violet pastilles on my first trip to a gourmet food store (of course, yes, I was Miss Popular!).

Nowadays, I'm the one who orders soup at a Mexican restaurant, goes for the rose pops at the ultra-hip Las Paletas in Nashville, likes the taste of bitters in a drink and is obsessed with herbs. Lavender honey. Clove chewing gum. And mint gelato.


Luckily, I have a constant source for that last one. Chef John Ondo of Lana daily creates fresh gelato, and I am fortunate enough to represent them through The Beehive. When I found out last week (while putting together the restaurant bi-weekly newsletter) that he had revamped the dessert menu, I started to palpitate ... had he removed my beloved mint gelato? (no) if so, am I nice enough that I can make a special request? (no) if not, can I make this myself? (no)

A quick phone call eased my nerves, and the mint gelato and I will be together again. Why is it so good? Because it tastes of minty green, not minty gum flavor. Because it's perfectly balanced, perfectly creamy, and perfectly portioned. And because it tastes of summer, of the bounty that is mint when it's growing unfettered, and it makes me smile with palate joy. Try it -- it might make you smile too.

Notes in a Darkened Theater

One of my small joys is being in a space before something big is about happen. In a restaurant as servers polish glasses before the evening shift. The press room before the press conference, when people are just finding their seats. A church before a wedding. And the theater before the play.

Paul Tazewell makes his living in that last space, sitting alone in a dark theater, sometimes with a few people around him, taking notes on seemingly random afternoons as he sees his costume creations come to life on the stage. The actors, start, stop, the lights are being calibrated, and he watches how his contribution begins to create a life on stage.

He makes notes about a hat that really doesn't work, the fact that a dresser wrapped a cummerbund wrong, or a hem that drags the floor. It's the end of the process for him, a process that started in his imagination, then was communicated through art. But his process ends even the instant before the curtain rises on opening night.

He's one of the best large-scale costume designers in the business, and an exhibit of his sketches and costumes just closed in Randolph County, N.C. You can read about his process and the exhibit in this recent article in Go Triad. 

Tazwell designs from an Opera Omaha production

Eye Candy

You don't have to sew to love fabric. Texture, color and pattern is always a feast for the eyes, and fabric has that in spades. I remember sitting in my granny's sewing room many a time, cross-legged on the floor in front of her fabric cabinet. I would pull pieces out and smooth them against my knee. I had no project in mind -- I was simply feasting my eyes.

My sister and I still do that today. We had a "wild" Saturday night this past weekend in her sewing room, matching fabric, with our wine glasses sitting on the ironing board. She has a home decor company, Floradora, and so there's always fabrics coming in and coming out.

A selection of her eco-living for everyday napkins

In fact, I'm meeting a friend for lunch today and she's bringing me fabric, and a friend called from Florida yesterday and said a box of texture, color and pattern inspiration is on the way to my doorstep. Now you might not be as obsessive as me in this particular category, but then again, you might like a little beautiful place to rest your eyes today. If so, check out the shop section of Spoonflower and feast your eyes on custom-designed fabrics. And for you designers, imagine creating some of those jewels yourself.

Digital Introduction

In this digital age, people talk a lot about losing connections. I hear that, but in reality, that hasn't been my personal experience in the digital world. I have editors who I've never met in person but know. We've corresponded more than pen pals in grade school, commiserated over hard-to-reach people or high res images that are obviously not high res. 

But the Internet has also introduced me to creative people that I would have never heard of otherwise (and I promise not in a stalker-ish way). Haven't you come across someone who quirks seem fun, who likes the things you like, or writes about/sings about/creates art about the things that interest you?

Meet Emily Wallace. Food writer. Folklore collector. Pimento cheese obsessive. And the winner of the best resume I have seen in a long time. It's not just that it's clever; the main goal of a resume format is to get you to read it. And I did, following the whole path. 

Required reading added to the list

There is a good chance that you have not seen Charleston Art Magazine. It's petite with a petite distribution, but this quarterly, and the ladies who put it together, know what's going on. And I mean, know. Go to any hip event, and there's a good chance that Stacy or Olivia will be there. And will know much more about it than you (well, maybe not you, but me).

Still, they are not just about the events. They recently started a blog for the magazine, and it's filled with good info., calls for artists and a really great resource list of "artsy" things to get you plugged in fast. I'm honored that "From My Little Desk" is part of their blog roll too!

Add it to your blog reading list, all you art fans out there -- it's a great resource for the region.

Time is Of the Essence

Ok. I am obsessed with time as a concept, a "reality" and a fleeting thing. Yep. I've always been one to feel like I am running out. Want to get inside my head a little (you asked, right)? Here are some common time-related thoughts:

1. Fitzgerald had his first novel published at 25 and was a sensation, so I am really behind.
2. On the other hand, William Carlos Williams didn't start his poetry career until he retired, but let's be honest, it wasn't like he was slacking. He was a doctor.
3. While I'm drying my hair upside down for volume, I can catch up on my reading (been doing this since high school).
4. One day ...

But despite sounding like a bit of a jumpy jackrabbit, I've always had a particular view of time. I view the calendar as a track oval, not as a timeline, and when I visualize the calendar year, it's in 3D in this formation. I haven't come to construct this "calendar track" in my mind -- it's simply always been there.

While in graduate school, I wrote a big paper on time in the works of Faulkner and Toni Morrison and asserted that the past, present and future exist simultaneously both in their fiction, and in the world. And although I love my track idea, I envision the yearly track as part of a larger uneven spiral where occasionally the rings come very close together.

similar to how I envision

As an author who has written numerous accounts of ghostly encounters, it makes sense to me that in those close spaces of the spiral are when the dimensions are more detectable.

I know it's Friday, but are you with me???

So, you can only imagine that the amazing television series, Through the Wormhole, is rocking my world. The DVR is set, and this week I watched the episode on Does Time Really Exist?, and it discussed simultaneous time states theory. Perhaps cheering in my living room in response was a major nerd-alert moment, but I am pretty much way past that point now anyway. Watch this show, then ask yourself, what is the "essence of time"?

Speak Up!

When I was an undergrad English major, I was introduced to spoken word art -- poetry "slams" and such, where we sat around and drank coffee and I discovered the clove cigarette. If only I'd had a black beret ...

However, two distinct open mike experiences come to mind when I think about spoken word from my past, and neither one are really positive. The first was freshman year, where some angry person stood in the corner of a crowded room, faced away from the crowd and preceeded to curse God at the top of his lungs. My virgin ears bled ...

The second, years later, when I was writing poetry and performing it occasionally myself -- a female poet came to the mike after me and said, "Leave your confessions to God." And so ended my performance career.

But despite the religious references of my past, I've come to a new understanding about this art form. It's doesn't have to be painful.

My great friend Marcus Amaker is a spoken-word poet, and his rhythyms match perfectly with a base line from Kevin Hamilton. He speaks about love and lust and the spaces between those two ...



Another recent discovery, Shanthony Exum, adds a pop-colored vibe and hip lyrics to the genre, and she references her hips and pop culture much more than any (if at all) railing against the spiritual. On top of that, her visual art is the pop-culture reference laden style I always gravitate towards, and a full-time job as an art director seems to keep her work fresh. She has a new show I covered recently for Go Triad, and in speaking with her, I loved her intelligence, confidence, and especially her sense of humor.

So give spoken word another chance like I did (of course minus the clove cigarettes).

Happy Meal | Charleston Magazine

Happy Meal | Charleston Magazine

Some food inspiration for families from a mom who cooks ... it's the opposite of chicken fingers -- whole fish! Carrie Morey is a great cook and great at getting her girls in the kitchen ... 

Galleries getting it right

There is a vibrant art scene here in Charleston, and every first Friday evening there is an Art Walk, where Broad Street galleries keep their doors open and we can all wander in. It was a hot July evening with pop up showers on the horizon, but I had art on the brain.

I have enjoyed these through the years, but sometimes, the vibe and the art at many galleries remains the same -- stagnant. Still, if I'm down on an Art Walk night, weaving my way around the palmettos on Broad, it's not an Art Walk for me until I visit Scoop Studios. They always get it right.

And what is "it"? The fact that art is supposed to be living, changing and exciting. There's always a fun signature cocktail, lots of people in the petite space, and *gasp* a new show! They stay true to their contemporary aethestic and bring us artists that are unique to the street. (A projected sock monkey on the opposite building a few months ago won my heart forever.)

Sock Monkey, 33"x32", Acrylic on Board, Bill Mead

Last night was another engaging show, this one a solo John Stango. B. and I discussed the fun juxtaposition of icons, images and memory, and although we weren't fans of the mickey mouse subject matter,

Mickey Mouse Flag, 22 x 33, acrylic on Canvas

we both agreed that "Bullitproof" kept our interest. It was intensely layered and spoke loud and clear.

Bullittproof, 79" x 57.5", acrylic on canvas

Scoop has a wide range of artists, price points and mediums, and since they change shows pretty frequently, have a great website that can show you what you missed. And hey, you never know -- you just might not be able to live without the Monopoly board artwork of your dreams ...

Monopoly, 18"x24", Digital Graphics on Paper, Austin Schulz

Doing it just for fun

Sometimes, we get too wrapped up in the reasons behind "doing things": everything from who you connect with, what you do with your time, and even what you eat. Ever hear any of the following in your head?

"It's good business sense."

"This is what I should be doing."

"I've been taught this way."

"I've been doing this [profession, relationship, recipe for chicken] so long, I don't know what else to do!"

Well, today I remind you of a reason, another reason to do something. You used to use this reasoning a lot, when you played. I'M DOING THIS BECAUSE IT'S FUN!

Find something today to do just for fun. Here's mine. I'm putting up this video just for fun. It makes me laugh. I love parodies, football, and Peyton.

Getting rid of the dead-ends

A few weeks ago, I got to chat with Jody Cedzidlo of Flytrap Studios, an apparel design studio in North Carolina. We had a really good talk, especially about supposed dead-end jobs that are actually amazing tools and not "dead-end" at all.

Most of the creative people I know, and I'd lump myself in this category as well, have had what we thought as "dead-end" jobs. But Jody doesn't really call them that, she calls them cul-de-sacs. Perfect! That means you don't have to start over, turn around and trace the same path you just came to get to this big stop. No, it just means that you need to explore the curve then gently redirect on down the street.

Usually when you're in one of these jobs, you have a gut reaction at some point that just says "no." Then the fight or flight mechanism kicks in.

Fight: "This is not what I was trained for."
Flight: "I don't want to be here."
Fight: *Maybe non-verbally* "All you people here need to see that I am better than this job."
Flight: "What's the point -- I can just blend in."
Fight: "Ok -- I learned x lesson or y lesson, universe, so I deserve to be released from this dead-end cage!"

These reactions hit close to home for me, and spiritually, emotionally and mentally, I've been there. But think about the image comparison of a cul-de-sac vs. a dead end. It's really open versus closed, and I don't know about you, but I've been in many neighborhood where I accidentally turned down a street that ended up being a cul-de-sac (open). However, there are usually warning signs for a dead end street (closed) and sometimes I even have to put the car in reverse to get out of there!

Thanks Jody, for this imagery, and oh yeah, for the great clothing designs!

How she maneuvered out of her cul-de-sac is in the article I wrote for Go Triad, so read for inspiration and ask yourself, what is my cul-de-sac?