I am pleased to announce a new show for Lume di Luna Designs! Starting next month, every 2nd Sunday we can be found at the Leucadia Farmer's and Artisan's Market, at Paul Ecke Elementary School, from 10am until 2pm. This is a wonderful venue! We are surrounded by talented artisans, fresh organic produce and yummy international foods. Mark your calendars!
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
When we are at the age when it is time to chose our career paths, the advice is always the same: Do something that you love.
Such a no-brainer, isn't it?
But some things in life are never that simple. I was raised in an environment where work automatically meant some kind of sacrifice. To be truly employed, you must have an undercurrent of dislike and toil. To paraphrase my hubby's beloved Pink Floyd... "You can't have any pudding until you eat your meat."
To me; art has always been dessert of the best kind. Something decadent, sweet and sticky. But all good girls know that you must eat those yucky green veggies before you get your dessert.
So, for years, art was the last thing on my extensive "to do" list. Dishes must be washed, floors swept, family obligations met... to clean my plate as it were... so I could get to that dessert of creativity. And as any mom of 3 boys will tell you, a mom's plate is never clean.
But slowly, I started sneaking in small tastes. How could something so wonderful as artistic expression be wrong? With my husband's encouragment I began to branch out. The seeds took root and began to grow. Before I knew it, my art was not a forbidden treat. Instead, it became water to my spirit. Something that if I denied it to my parched soul, I would wither.
Now, in the 44th year of my life, I understand! If we make that choice to follow our hearts instead of our sacrifices, we will grow. I never imagined the feeling of deep satisfaction as my humble sculptures become treasured possessions, or my delight when someone tells me of the compliments they get when wearing my pendants.
Life is short. Eat dessert first.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Here, Tina cradles my Marilyn Manson doll
I have to confess, I was stunned speechless (a rare thing for me) when I spoke to my longtime acquaintance. "Why would you want to talk to Goths?" she asked me. "All that black! We are a visual society and they should know how evil they look!" Another person chimed in "You know, they all worship the devil!"
I was bitterly disappointed in them. They were buying into a terrible stereotype and an ignorant one at that. You see, they didn't know about one of San Diego's most powerful and positive forces: The Gothic Volunteer Alliance. Fortunately I do.
I saw my first Goth when I moved to San Diego nearly 17 years ago. My husband pointed out a couple of black clad girls and commented that he didn't know it was Halloween yet. But I was entranced. For one: it looked like fun. I loved their expressive dresses! A part of me felt wistful. How I wished to be 17 again, dressed in their black Victorian lace.
As I have matured and found my artistic muse, I discovered that had I been born in another time, and raised in a more tolerant community, I would have been Goth. So much of my work hearkens to my dark humor. I have been known to spend hours in old cemeteries, straightening flowers and touching the stones. My music of choice ( HIM, AFI, Marilyn Manson) doesn't sit well with most of my contemporaries, who brand it evil. So, I have cloaked my Gothic soul and share it with few.
A couple of years ago, I was cruising the Internet and came across the most incredible group called the Gothic Volunteer Alliance. Troubled by recent violence, both locally and abroad, they had banded together to raise awareness and tolerance. The held fundraisers for charity. They cleaned local beaches. They were amazingly civic-minded and were determined to raise a positive profile to the community.
Yeah.... right. Evil devil-worshippers indeed. Somehow the words of the 2 well-dressed society ladies seemed far more poisonous to me. In a world where we deem everyone of equal worth, why does our choice of something as trivial as dress or music seem to threaten some people?
Sometimes, the good guys wear black.