I just got back from a trip I took to Memphis with my mom.  She’s 81, banks on-line, spoils her grandchildren, and gets around quite well for someone with a knee replacement.  My mother carries traces of her English accent and colloquial mannerisms.  The English will sometimes add the pronoun “our” prior to the first name of a close family member or friend.  It’s endearing and identifying.  Such as “our Amy’ or “our Mike. ” Well anyway “our cousin Mike” passed in 2006 and we went to see his wife, “our Evelyn,” who retired and moved to Memphis Tennessee to be closer to her daughter. So my mother and I, after months of saying we would visit her, booked our calendars, pulled out the maps and set off. 

As driver, I initially felt dutiful.  I prepared myself for the potential irks which may occur between companions while traveling together in prolonged close confinement.  I maintained composure despite repeating everything twice to my mother who’s hard of hearing.  I vowed to leave work at work.  I resolved myself to remain socially open and flexible to any situations that may present themselves.  I left in a positive state and once the wheels got rolling a funny thing happened. I realized I was no longer a considerate visitor, I was on an adventure.  After all, I was going to Graceland.

By Victoria Schaefer

Merriam Webster defines art as the conscious use of skill and creative imagination especially in the production of aesthetic objects.  I tend to agree but drift beyond that to include all art forms as “Creative Self Expression”.  It doesn’t matter if you are playing a musical instrument, painting, writing a poem or doing what I do, grab a blow pipe and create a work of art from a molten blob of glass.  Whether it is fine art or an artsy craft, it is all about the creation and what resides within ones self.  Bravo to the teachers who recognize this and encourage others to explore their inner depths.  While we all have our own definition on a personal level we should look inside and see what abounds.  Right there, lurking at the edge of the inner soul is a creation striving for the light of day.  I say release it, set it free and see what comes of it. 

There are many genres when it comes to art, so many that it is hard to list them, much less be a fan of them all.  Think about all of the different types of music you have heard or books that you have read in your lifetime.  Can you say you have enjoyed every one of them?  Most people would have to say no to that question.  The same is true with visual arts.  While walking through the Milwaukee Art Museum my Godson said “What is that doing in here? That isn’t even real art”.  His appreciation toward this particular work of modern art is less than enthusiastic.  That doesn’t diminish the artwork or make it any less “real art” than the images that represented familiar items and fell within his comfort zone.  That is why it’s so important for each of us to reach inside and release your own creative self expression.  It may not be everyone’s cup of tea but that doesn’t make it any less valid.  You have an opportunity through your own creation exercise to open your own eyes or someone else’s.  You may just amaze yourself with what you come up with.

Letting your imagination go on a journey of creation begins with setting your soul free.  Start and don’t worry about where it takes you.  Go along for the ride and enjoy the view.  It is never too late to begin your journey of creative self expression.  Releasing that creativity is easy once you give yourself permission to explore that which has been hiding for so long. 

Michael RT Hirschmann

You probably have had this question asked of you:  “What is your favorite Christmas present ever?”  It’s usually at the beginning of a group session where the leaders want you to pour your heart out to a bunch of strangers.  I am not too keen on these sessions because I am a rather private person who doesn’t particularly like to open up, but on this one particular question, the answer is easy for me. 

One Christmas when I was 10 years old, I received a present that changed my life forever. And I mean FOREVER. Because of this gift, I am willing to get on my soap box and try and influence the readers of this column to think about what they can do for their child, their spouse or a friend. 

Why is this blog not neatly tucked into a December column about an artful holiday gift?  Because this gift did not begin and end in December. It started in January and has continued the 40+ years after and continues today.

Let me explain. My parents have artists in their families.  They grew up with creative people and paintings on the walls of their respective homes.  The creative influence in each of their families singularly did not touch either of them. Neither could draw nor wished to draw. Neither had much sense of style in decorating, clothes or taste. When I came along, one of my artist aunts said, “You know Sally has some artistic talent”.  They said, “Really, we didn’t notice.”

This story would end here except for the exceptional step my parents took. I really don’t know where it came from, but somewhere, somehow, they figured me out. In my 10^th year, they wrapped up a box of pastels and a pad of paper and gave them to me.  Of course I was interested, but the following words were which changed my life:   “We enrolled you in private art lessons.  You start next week. See how you like it.”

Get the scenario:  I’m a pudgy 10 year old in the 1960’s who is given a ticket to heaven.  I am totally scared out of my mind.  I want to take the lessons and have no idea what is going to happen to me or if I am any good at all.

A week later, true to form, my parents drop me off at a big old colonial house and I walk in the front door shaking. Inside is a cold large room with old linoleum tile, filled with easels and students. They all look at me appraisingly. I am sure I did not impress them.  The teacher is a 70ish skinny, New England woman who looks me up and down and tells me to sit down at an open chair and start drawing.  I sit down, numb with fright.  I get out my stuff and realize that there are 3 still lifes set up in the room at different places.  I start to draw rather badly.

Eight years later, I leave that house to go to college. I am now painting with oils, doing still lifes, landscapes and portraits.  I know that I will major in Art.  I go to college in the Midwest and never look back.  I didn’t learn half as much in college as I learned from Mrs. Matsubara. She taught me how to see and feel, even though she never revealed her own emotions to anyone.  By the time I left, she was well into her 80’s and had failing health. She died shortly after.  Nobody knew anything about her really, except for the few things we gleaned from her family.  She married a Japanese American shortly before WWII.  He was incarcerated in a POW camp in the U.S. and developed TB. He was an artist also, much better than her.  They had one child, a girl.  He died after the war and she had to make a living for herself and her family so she started giving art lessons. It took me 8 years to find out all that.

Her history may not matter to you but it matters to me. Suffice to say Mrs. Matsubara was my Christmas present that continued every Saturday morning for eight years. There is not a time that goes by that I don’t think of her when I pick up a pastel.   It doesn’t really matter how good I was or if I accomplished anything in art.  What it did do for me was to make me realize at a very young age, that I was worth something. Worth enough for my parents to invest in 8 years of art lessons for me, and not once question me about what I was doing or where I would go. 

Now, 40 years later, I am the “artist” of the family. My family has my paintings and other pieces of art. I continue to draw and paint and create things.  My own children do the same.

 I have a friend who has a 12 year-old boy.  He is a normal kid who would rather sit around the house, but in his adolescence is getting restless. She enrolled him in an art class every Saturday morning to keep him out of trouble.  I hope he knows what a priceless gift he has just been given.

If you have a child, think of the long road. Give them a different opportunity to find themselves. It may come in the form of dance lessons, skateboard lessons,  rap lessons, language lessons or karate lessons.  Quality parent time is not the issue.  Just give them something that does not allow them to sit by themselves and only think of heaven.  Heaven is real and it is now and it’s only an adventure away. 

By Sally Shearer

A few months ago, Peggy wrote about getting into the flow—that magical place where you are caught up in an endeavor so fully and creatively that time seems to disappear, and things just “flow”.

We all have those moments, whether we are elbow-deep baking cookies, building a bookshelf, or wrapped up in a great conversation.

But what about the “ebbs”? The times when nothing seems to be happening, or when you're stuck for a solution to a problem, or experiencing vague boredom after the holidays? What does that do to creativity?

I recommend accepting the winter lull and not stressing about it. Give your mind permission to rest. It's actually likely to be working in a subconscious way. Letting a worry or a project simmer on the back burner for a time may later result in a delicious stew.

You should, of course, add some seasonings now and then, and keep an eye on the pot. Pick up that book on your side table and let new images form in your mind. Browse through colorful seed catalogs as great fertilizer for your brain. Visualize that home project and prioritize tasks. Clean and organize a place to do your arts and crafts projects. Then give it a stir, put the lid on,  and let it rest.

Take a little time to enjoy winter hibernation of the spirit and body. It's a time for refueling, stoking up fires, maybe with something as simple as a cup of hot cocoa or a long night watching rental movies. Relax.

After a while, energy will bubble back up to the surface. You'll notice a little more daylight in the evenings. We humans are built to respond to the seasons, even when we build insulated walls to keep nature out. Then you can stir up that pot of ideas and get to work.

There clearly is a cycle to living, ups and downs, ebbs and flows. Ride out the low tides with the sure knowledge that soon you'll get back into the flow. Because you will. Plan on it.

~Linda Beckstrom

Every year at this time, it happens. With a short bankroll, this artist’s life feels too sparse. Being a lover of beautiful things, I always want to give exquisite, well-made stuff at this time of giving, but no… ho, ho, ho, I have the proverbial Dom Perignon taste and a Budweiser budget (and I don’t like beer!). It’s a juxtaposition that pulls me in many directions. My thoughts are of giving exquisite jewelry, or finely made boxes, beautifully crafted ceramics, fine oils, detailed fibers, gorgeously sewn quilts, all put together lovingly and with years of skill by those with clever creativity. My bankroll makes these dreams laughable. I don’t get it. Why did I choose a life of meager compensation (art therapy doesn’t pay much), instead of doctoring, lawyering, accounting, business, or so many other more lucrative options that I poo-poohed during my years of choice? Over and over again, I opted to do what I do no matter how little the wages…

Then I have to go back to my roots:

My first memories of “art” were very early, “real” school was not there yet. The peaceful times come to mind. 

My dad and I spent time at the kitchen table while I had my bedtime snack and my mother readied my little sister for bed.  I’d say, “draw me a picture” and he would take the back of an envelope or scrap paper and draw our dog or one of the flowers he always had on the table - freshly picked from his beautiful garden. Some Saturdays, he would take me on his calls and to keep me occupied, he would model a form with his plumber’s putty and give the wad to me, encouraging me to try my hand at it. 

My mother let me decorate the Christmas cookies with unpracticed and uncoordinated fingers, to turn her delicious nutmeg laced sugar cookies into somewhat messy, amateur works of art. Even the last year of my mother’s life she impressed upon me the necessity to finish off her prized Stollens with a poinsettia flourish (made from cut maraschino cherries) instead of just a sprinkling of nuts.

My Aunt Marge, too, painstakingly coached me through strands of colorful yarn until I could, at the age of seven or eight, crochet all by myself. I watched with great anticipation for the results of carefully placed petals which would in turn cover the “doll” cake she made for my sister and me, turning our birthdays into occasions fit for princesses.

My Uncle Felix would patiently help my dyslexic brother build from wood and would help him with his model cars—turning each one into a gleaming gem he could be proud of.

And I see my clients today…

Marge, age 92, who eagerly comes to my sessions with her best friend Gertrude, age 93, working diligently so she can go to California with gifts for her children because when she comes back she will decide when she will put an end to her painful dialysis sessions she dreads so much.

Moses, age 47, who paints, the only way he can, with his mouth, to relieve himself of the incredible boredom of a quadriplegic, with over 20 years of constantly waiting for others to do for him, he gets a chance to make choices and be the navigator.

Pam, age 52, who fights the ravages of her MS by keeping her fingers and arms strong and her brain healthy by making her exquisite gifts of handmade beads and jewelry.  Each one painstakingly created with patience and thoughtfulness, making changes in her old life as a nurse that she never wanted or expected to.

Rene, age 43, who had a severely disabling stroke at the age of 38, who struggles with developing her non-dominant side. She begs others to save their aluminum pop-tops, so she can cash them in to pay for ceramics materials, the only therapy she receives now that her benefits have run dry. In turn, she dutifully saves her yogurt containers for the art room as payback, and delivers them in a borrowed wheelchair, propelling herself with her “good foot”.

O yeah, now I get it. 

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and may God bless you with the “I get it” moments.

~ Alice Steuck Konkel

I have wondered that myself over and over again.  But I have been an artist all my life.  Ever since I can remember, I have been drawing mostly people.  It was my way to express myself and to escape.  I still have a lot of my favorite childhood drawings.  It started with Hello Kitty believe it or not.  I would make drawings of Hello Kitty playing with My Melody.  But my sketches were not usually happy ones.  I drew arguments (sometimes very violent scenes), crying, and apologies.  It reflected my life at that time.  At first, I always sketched people sideways (profiles).  It was easier that way.  Then it became ¾ profiles and then much later, I did people facing the observer 100%.  But I have to say that my favorite pose has always been the ¾ ones, especially the ones where the person in the drawing is looking straight at you.  That brings me to the eyes.  Gosh!  I have always loved drawing eyes.  It has always been the icing on the cake.  The eyes on my people have always been melancholic and very intense.  I love the saying “The eyes are the windows to the soul.”  I really believe that.  I bare my soul in my paintings.

I continued drawing and painting almost on a daily basis all the way to high school.  It became an addiction.  I couldn’t stop.  It felt so good to do art.  It took me to another world where pain, worries, and anger didn’t exist.  It was just me and my art.  But then college time came and my fantasy world went away.  Being a perfectionist and an obsessive compulsive person by nature, I threw myself into studying and getting the best darn grades that I ever could.  It was self destructive at times, but at least it somewhat numbed me to what was going on at home.  But I did have fun in college too, just not as much fun as my friends did.  Then after college, it was job time.  Again, I threw myself into my career and repeated the same pattern.  If someone back then would have told me that I would eventually become an artist by profession, I would have laughed out loud and said “Yeah, right”.  I refused to do any type of art during those times.  I was in complete denial.  I was into being the best darn programmer I could ever be and making as much money as I could.  I thought that my career and money were my salvation, not art.  That was my new therapy.  Well again, things had to come to an end and they did.  I had my daughter and decided it was best to leave my career behind (with much added pressure from my husband and parents).  That was probably one of the toughest things I had to do.  At that time, my career was my only security blanket and now I had nothing to cover myself with.  Being a mom turned out to the toughest job that I have ever done.  It wasn’t like studying in college or being a programmer where you can have control of the entire situation if you want it badly enough.  Being a mom is unpredictable and a “let’s wing it” type of thing.  That was so unlike me where everything was structured, prepared, organized, and the outcome was usually predictable.  Now, the world was upside down and something had to change.  That’s when my fantasy world came back.  Out of desperation for some type of escape, I took out my old sketchbook and decided to draw again.  I was so afraid that I had forgotten how to draw, but it all came back slowly.  Once again, it felt so good to do art.  I kept doing it and couldn’t stop and I still can’t.  I am an artist again even though I never really stopped being one.  I just chose to live in denial for 18 years.

It can be tough to be an artist.  Rejection and very little money don’t agree with me much.  But the sheer pleasure of creating art!  I can be whoever I want to be in my paintings.  I can go into that other world and feel peace.  As much as I complain at times about the downfall of being an artist and swear that I will stop being one, I cannot escape it.  I am an artist and I will always be one. 

~Lynet McDonald

The story is you can be good and not be famous, or you can be famous and not really be very good. Take an educated eye and decide for yourself. The rest doesn’t matter. You can find good art almost anywhere. And sometimes, if you are lucky and very diligent, you can find…or even make…great art.

~ Anita Burgermeister

Some experts advise we cope with this overwhelming input by practicing yoga or meditation, going on a spa retreat, or at least getting a massage once in a while. Some tell us to take a vacation and be sure to go “unplugged.” In a pinch and on a low budget, you can always stuff cotton balls in your ears, put blinders on and hum while you stare at a fish tank. I have a better solution. Make something beautiful from your soul.

Do you know “flow?”

Artists understand the concept of flow better than anybody. Except maybe monks. But I’m in the Bay View Arts Guild, not the Bay View Monks Guild, so I’ll give you my angle. Flow is when you get soooo deep into your art that you lose all sense of space and time and become completely and powerlessly absorbed in what you’re creating. It’s a sublime place you can get to, you don’t consciously know you’ve arrived when you’re there, and if it were possible, you’d never leave.

Did you ever get into a project right after supper, and after what you thought was an hour, look out the window and realize the sun is RISING? I’ve done it. I’ve also missed dental appointments and completely blown meetings because I’ve been so engrossed in my art that the concept of time has effectively evaporated. If you haven’t experienced flow, it’s hard to understand, but I recommend it.

Make something. If you ever wanted to try mosaics, do it. Like the smell of oil paint? Squeeze some out and push it around on a pristine white canvas. If you’re not so arty, make cookies. Plant a seed. Saw a board. Draw a map. Put stickers on a folder. Doodle on a scratchpad. Perfect your deviled egg recipe. Write a letter. Play the guitar. Blend your own coffee. Sew a sock monkey. Make something. Create something. Anything. Deliberately shut out all the voices that tell you that you can’t, or shouldn’t, or won’t be successful. The product is the process, not the outcome. That’s flow. Go with it.

~Peggy Brown

It’s difficult to think of something that makes almost everybody smile warmly. Puppies are cute, but not necessarily to cat people. Babies are delightful, but not to insomniacs. Football is fantastic, but it’s really not for everybody… even if Favre does come back.

Chocolate. That’s what I’m talkin’ about. Loved by billions. Adored by most. Worshipped by many. Chocolate is linked to happiness… as in a Tootsie Pop; well-being… as in a birthday cake; tradition… as in a chocolate Easter bunny; fun… as in a cup of steaming cocoa after a snowy Saturday of sledding, and most important of all… love… as truffles inside a heart-shaped Valentine box. Chocolate might not make the world go round, but it certainly gives it momentum.

There’s a new chocolate Mecca in our midst, and it would be remiss for any art appreciator such as myself to keep it a secret. Franklin’s Fine Chocolate is a new store at 2474 S. Kinnickinnic Avenue. Open the door and the sweet aroma sweeps you off your feet. Franklin and Sue Di Vilio are the proprietors and will delight in telling you chocolate stories as they lean on the original candy counters from Gimbels that they bought and carefully restored after the Milwaukee landmark closed years ago. And trust me when I tell you that their phone number, (414) SO YUMMY is no coincidence.

Trained by and related to the family of purveyors famous for their irresistible Mackinac Island Fudge, Franklin and Sue lovingly make chocolates by hand in their state-of-the-art kitchen on the premises. Caramels, butter creams, cherry cordials, and many more varieties are waiting for chocolate lovers to come and get them, not to mention the mint meltaways, soon to become famous themselves, known as The Franklin Mints.

Some artists work in clay and stone, or oils and acrylics. Franklin works in chocolate that’s creamy and ever so dreamy. Art is subjective, but there won’t be many who don’t find Franklin’s chocolates to be delectable masterpieces.

~Peggy Brown

DID YOU ENJOY THE SOUTH SHORE FROLICS FESTIVAL OF ARTS??

If yes, then don't miss the Milwaukee Artist's Marketplace at the Milwaukee Art Museum Saturday, July 26th.

The Bay View Arts Guild is proud to be invited once again, and will have 9 members displaying their fine artwork. For more information, visit: http://www.mam.org/calendar/events/index.php?com=detail&eID=263&year=2008&month=07

I know we Americans have grown accustomed to getting a big bang for our buck, but we need to stay conscious. Nowadays people are used to paying bupkus for chintzy mass-produced stuff, and when offered a one-of-a-kind original work of art, they’re evidently not willing to up the ante.

My mom hand makes beautifully designed purses with quality fabrics, carefully considered color combinations, exquisite attention to detail, and a prayer in every stitch. Of course, I’m partial to them, but they really are individual and quite unique works of art that have the added bonus of being functional. Recently an acquaintance complimented her on the homemade handbag she was carrying and asked her if she took commissions. “Sure,” she said. “What would you pay?” The reply came back, “Fifty dollars.”

I have to hand it to Mom – she didn’t give in – even for somebody she knew.

Fifty dollars. Fifty bucks buys a round of drinks for 3 couples while they wait for their fish fry. Fifty clams is a parking ticket. Fifty smackers is a tank of gas or a bag of groceries, but fifty dollars is NOT a beautifully designed handmade quality fabric purse with exquisite attention to detail. Even without a prayer in every stitch. Fifty bucks doesn't even cover the materials. The term, “Starving Artist” has become commonplace, trite even, but let’s examine it for a moment. At fifty dollars, even if she took the money, she’d starve.

We bellyache how the big-box stores have ravaged the retail landscape and damaged the economy. We whine about how cheaply-manufactured goods generally break by the time you bust through the package. We gripe about jobs being shipped overseas to millions of faceless people who churn out sub-standard products for pennies. And when faced with the opportunity to purchase a beautiful made-in-America, one of a kind, exquisitely detailed product, what do we do?

What would YOU do?

Well, the perfect opportunity to prove what you would do is on the horizon. On Sunday, July 13^th the Bay View Arts Guild is proud to bring you the South Shore Frolics Festival of Arts. There you will find over 70 artists, each with dozens of one-of-a-kind, made-in-America original artworks for you to purchase and enjoy. We trust you to do the right thing.

~Peggy Brown

It never ceases to amaze me what people will hang up in their houses. Take a walk some evening at dusk, just when the lights in the houses come on and before everybody shuts their drapes. What you see will be endlessly interesting. I like to think of myself as having good taste in art, I have a mix of objective and non-objective images, paintings, prints, photos, quilts… mostly made by people I know and admire. Okay, most of it I did myself, but that speaks to my control-freak nature. I digress.

The thing about art in people’s homes, is that it is one of the truest forms of “art.” People (generally speaking) will only hang up stuff that really turns their crank. They showcase the stuff they love. Meaningful stuff. Things that remind them of someone, or of a chapter in their lives. Things they find to be beautiful, or that stir their emotions.

I took a walk recently and peeked from the sidewalk into the nearby houses. I saw one house with all kinds of old-fashioned guns covering a whole wall. In another house I saw a giant velvet painting of the head of a Great Dane in a funky carved frame. In another I saw a teensy weensy picture of what I think was a seascape in the middle of a huge blank wall (without binoculars I couldn’t be sure, and that’s a line I’m not prepared to cross). I saw kid-made-art, of paper plates glued up with dry macaroni, and finger paintings.

In my estimation, and, mind you, I hold a fine arts degree, it’s as good a show as in any museum to get a glimpse of everyday people’s private art collections… and as long as what’s displayed as art stirs somebody’s soul, or looks beautiful to one pair of eyes, or means something to even one human being, to me, it’s as legit as a Picasso.

Gallery Night is Friday, April 18^th, and the Bay View Arts Guild is pleased to open its Artist’s Challenge Show. All are invited to the reception.

One photo taken along KK provides the inspiration for sixteen artists’ interpretations in paint, fabric, silver, paper mache, pencil, and other media. Meet the participating members of the Guild, enjoy an art-filled Friday evening, and simultaneously feed your soul.

Thanks go to Shelly LaLonde, owner of South Shore Gallery & Framing for hosting the show and supporting local artists. We hope to see you there!

South Shore Gallery & Framing, 2627 S. KK Ave., Friday April 18th, 2008, 4:30 to 10:00 pm. Exhibit runs through May 17.

Artist? Art enthusiast? Art appreciator? Art lover? Art Maker? Art aficionado? If you’re any of these, you belong in the BVAG, and we’d be happy to have you! Join us at our annual Spring Social and get to know us, and see if you just might enjoy taking part as we create, share, and support art in Milwaukee. Everybody’s welcome!

 

Good things have been happening lately in the BVAG… last week Mike Hirschmann, a talented glassblower, organized a field trip for members to spend an afternoon at the Hot Shop Glass Studio in Racine. We all got to watch and learn how to make paperweights and blown ornaments with molten glass, and after the demonstrations, we each got to try our hand at making something. Everybody who attended learned a lot, and left jazzed from the experience.

Coming up this summer we’ll be participating in the Milwaukee Artist’s Market at the Milwaukee Art Museum, and we’ll be hosting our annual South Shore Frolics Festival of Arts, so there’s great stuff on the BVAG horizon. The next thing on the event calendar is the social at LuLu’s, and promises a fun time for everybody. Please join us!

Everybody is an art enthusiast. Everybody. Each and every one of us. Whether you think of yourself as “into” art or not, start looking a little harder at what surrounds you. If it’s getting late in winter and you can’t still see much beauty in the designs Jack Frost keeps leaving on your windowpanes, look at your watch. Somebody made it, sketched its shape, sculpted its volume, designed its face, and created the sounds it makes. Somebody chose specific materials from which to build it, and fabricated the very first ones by hand before it was put into mass-production.

Look at your TV. You stare at it for hours, but this time, shut it off. Look at the way it was made, notice the subtle radius of the edges and the slick logo on the front. It’s art. Kinda cool, huh? Do you like the shape of the car you drive? How about those shoes you’re wearing? Did you ever consider that the buttons that keep your shirt closed were created by an artist? It’s true. They’re art.

It’s easy to see the same things every day and forget to really look at them, but if you tilt your head, close one eye and try to come at ordinary things from a different perspective, you’ll begin to appreciate them in a whole new way, and you’ll realize there’s as much art here in Bay View as there is in Paris or New York… all you need to do is look for it.

So as you stroll KK avenue with your head tilted and one eye shut, remember this: Every single thing that is not a part of nature has been touched by the hand of an artist. And try not to bump into lampposts.