Public Domain and finding a life on Etsy

I want to live off of my work on Etsy.

I'm going to get a degree in graphic design starting this summer (excited!) and I asked a friend who's known for her intuitiveness what I should do for a career, and she said "follow the energy." That's where I get the energy and it's consistent. I made a very successful (with family and friends) calendar out of bird collages, which I then turned into an art show, and though that was three years ago, I'm still asked about it and asked for a new one. Well, I've finally found that beauty and excitement again with digital collage.

And I see people being really successful at it on Etsy. Check out Piddix on Quit Your Day Job-- erm, I can do that. And I'm going to, starting today. STARTING TODAY. I can't believe I didn't discover this before-- I'm so gung ho, too. This is it. YAY. Especially as one of my best friends deals in antique books and ephemera!!!! And I have a good camera and the ability to check out and scan items. Wow. Can't believe I didn't know about this until now. But I guess everything happens for a reason.

Have you ever had that aha moment yourself?

Postcard from August

Created for Michelle in an effort to convince her to walk the Wildwood Trail in August instead of July.

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OK, I have checked my calendar, ma cherie.

My friend Erica is getting married on the 16th, so I definitely can't do it that day.

BUT, oh August, lovely, lovely August. Let me tell you about August:

August is beautiful that time of year.

The trees are out, it's not too hot because we're in the woods, which are always slightly cooler. Everyone's happy and relaxed because it's lovely that time of year. The color palette for August is a deep saffron umber with distinct shades of lily green and egg shell white.

Early August hints with bits of 31st of July, which works well for me-- that transcendence-maya-phase, from one month to the next, both there, both not completely real-- yes, that day works well. The August days of 14, 20, 21 are all splendid, splendid, splendid affairs, offered from the Gods of August to our hiking shoes and feet.

I have a friend who named her son August.

August 15th is the celebration of the last two weeks of summer, the middle of vacation month in the Mediterranean, and it's when all of the soft-serve, homemade ice-cream and hamburger joints have their little windows open at the side of the restaurant, and you can walk up and order a towering vanilla ice-cream and a drink, and sit in the sun and listen to the cicadas. August, oh sweet, sweet August.

I brought you this postcard from August.

It has my vote. I'll always vote for August. And I'll second its running mate, Mrs. July 31st.

Hello Frenchy

Hello Happiness!

Oh, I'm designing up a storm over here at Cake Nana Land. I've finally realized that I can make Etsy bannars and sell them-- because I love to make collage and have always done it well. It's one of those things that I can depend on myself for doing.

Another thing that I would like to do is to get my domain for this blog onto this blog itself. Let this blog wear its proper domain like a fine mink, or silk.

Oh, btw, this is my new cat, Frenchy:




She just came over the day before yesterday and started eating my spaghetti. And it was love at first pasta dish. Of course that meant she was meant to be with me.

- P

Easter Baskets

This year, a few lovely lady friends and I created an Easter Basket Exchange, where the ladies sent me their addresses and I coordinated basket exchanges, via mail, for all of us. I believe that all of the lovely ladies who responded to my invite with a resounding YES! wanted to re-create that joy in their lives that Easter brings. Correction: that the Easter Basket brings.

My favorite Easter Basket memory is from when I was around five years old. In fact, it's a memory that comes out of a white haze-- just a few seconds of film, really, before returning to the haze that's erased most of my childhood impressions. My mom used to hide our baskets, and we'd have to walk around the house as she shouted, "hot!" or "cold!" depending on how close we were. She'd hide them in closets, under the kitchen sink, and then there was this favorite memory:

I was standing by the glass doors of our living room and looking out into the sweeping backyard to see all of our Easter baskets hanging from the branches of our ancient and gnarly plum tree. It was like a magical dream come true. An old and decrepit tree that sprouted colorful Easter baskets overnight. That memory, that vision, will always be with me.

And so I have tried to recreate it with my friends. Not that I expect anything hanging from a tree, but because I love the Easter magic of it all. Thanks, Mom.

* photo by Jens Meyer