A New Book Coming…and I’m Writing It! What It’s About and How to Pre-Order

So, I’m writing a book.  For over a year I have been shopping a proposal to publishers.  I knew that I could self publish at any point, but I have wanted to collaborate with a publisher for many reasons, not the least of which is to tap in to a professional editor’s expertise in helping to make the book  something that will best serve my audience and that will have a viable distribution channel.   One publisher told me that the proposed book was too broad for their niche.  Another publisher told me it was too niche for their broad audience.  Fortunately, like Goldilocks, I found a match that was just right in Down East Books, headquartered in Rockport, Maine (yes, I know the image says Camden, but trust me on this), which is an imprint of Rowman & Littlefield in Maryland.

This book is both in itself, and is about, the realization of dreams.  I learned to read when I was three.  My mother always said I was two but I’m adding a year to that to make up for a possible exaggeration on her part.  I mean, maybe?  But no matter.  I started writing stories at about age five, drawing pictures to go with them.  I remember one in particular was titled, “The Foggy Frog.”  I collected frogs, the toy and figurine type, although I played with real live toads on the regular outdoors on the edge of the southern NJ Pine Barrens where I grew up.  I remember the pictures I drew.  I could recreate them even today.  By the time I was twelve I knew I wanted to publish books of my own.  I was twelve over forty years ago.  In the intervening four decades I had stopped listening to the inner me who wanted to write, make art, play music, and have a creative career.  People who meet me today think I’ve been working in the creative economy my entire life, but it’s only been since 2014 that I’ve worked in fiber art full time.  By the time my new book is published it will be 2020.  I will turn fifty-five years old in 2020.  I want you to hear something loudly and clearly in this:  it is never too late to realize a dream.

The working title of this book is,  Seasons at the Parris House: Heritage Skills for a Contemporary Life.  I have no idea at this moment whether or not that will be the title on the front of my book when it is released in 2020 but it captures the essence of what it is about.  Let me take an excerpt from my proposal to explain the vantage point from which I approach this project:

“When I was thirty five, eighteen years ago, my husband and I moved ourselves and our four then-little sons from the urban/suburban Princeton, NJ area, a region in which we had spent our entire lives, to rural Western Maine.  We went from a 1950s mid century modern cape on a suburban lot to a two hundred year old Federal home and barn in a National Historic District. Our new neighbor across the street had a cow in the backyard, much to our young sons’ amusement.   I was a stay at home mother with a degree in Business Administration/Marketing from the University of Delaware. I had, prior to becoming an at-home mom, worked in market research and in procurement and project management for a large defense contracting company on busy Route 1 in NJ.  I didn’t garden, I didn’t hook rugs, I didn’t keep chickens or bees, I had no idea how to can food. Upon arriving to the Parris House, I noticed that our apple trees looked like they needed some attention, but I had no idea what to do. Sometimes I baked. But it seemed as though almost everyone around me in my new home was proficient in at least one heritage skill, whether they were my age or old timers, and I thought, “That’s amazing.  I need to learn these things too.” That was the beginning of my journey of bringing heritage skills into my own life, without a big farm, without a lot of formal training, but rather learning them the way the people around me had learned them: the passing on of knowledge, often inter-generationally, from one human being to another.”

That was my situation upon the realization of one of my most fervent dreams to that point, which had been to move to rural Maine and raise my sons here.  What I know now is that the desire to work with my hands, create something out of nothing, grow and preserve food, keep animals and insects, and “practice heritage skills,” was not unique to me.  In the nearly two decades I have lived here in Maine and collected a new skill set, the yearning for these skills among the general population has only increased, including among people living in urban areas and people with little to no land at all to work with.  I tell people all the time that none of this is rocket science, but they often seem skeptical.  They seem to believe that heritage skills are complicated, mysterious, or beyond their reach.  They are not, and this book is for anyone who wants to make a start toward learning them.

I have always enjoyed the juxtaposition in my own life of living in a two hundred year old home in a National Historic District while always embracing the newest technology I could afford.  At the Parris House we have smart phones, smart lights, and smart thermostats.  This laptop I’m writing on right now, not to mention the fact that I use it to run a business that’s about 90% online, is a technological godsend.  We also have centuries old windows with wavy glass and completely pesticide free growing practices.   I dye wool in pots on top of a vintage gas range…and then sell that wool to anyone literally in the world who wants it via the internet.  You don’t have to live like Laura Ingalls on the prairie to embrace heritage skills, and you don’t have to completely forsake the solid methods of our ancestors to live a contemporary life.  Mix it up.  Make some dreams come true with it all.

The book will take you through the four seasons at the Parris House.  It will take a look at the historical contexts of the place, people who went before us, and lifestyle behind what we do here today.  Each season will have fiber art projects, recipes, growing tips, fun things for you to try yourself.  You do not need a farm.  You do not even need a lawn for some of these projects.   They will require no super specialized equipment, impossible to source ingredients, or secret codes to unlock. They will be simple, but not insult your intelligence.  Each featured project or recipe will result in something valuable, beautiful, and/or delicious but without unnecessary complication.  Many will be starting points or stepping stones to get you on your way to a deeper study of whatever it is you find you are most interested in.

It will have beautiful pictures, because I’m a visual person and I’m going to be taking lots of beautiful pictures for this project.

It will be a working book.   While I hope to make it visually inviting, it is not meant to sit on the coffee table or the shelf.  It is meant to be out and open on your kitchen counter or table, in your craft area, or even outside with you, as a reference and companion for the projects it contains.  Get it dirty, dog ear the pages, use the hell out of it.

For me personally, this book will be a grateful acknowledgment of Maine, of Paris Hill, and of the Parris House.  Without this setting, I would be a different person living a very different life.  That aspect will be strongest to me alone, though, because this book is really written for and focused on you in your place and in your life, be it urban or rural, east coast or west or somewhere in between, in North America or well beyond.

By the time this book is published, we will be gearing up here to offer seasonal quarterly retreats at the Parris House which will provide hands on experiences in fiber art and heritage skills, which will provide more learning opportunities for those who want to expand their making and doing.

Sound interesting?  I was brand-new-author-thrilled when I saw that Rowman & Littlefield had already put up a pre-order page for the book.  You can click on that HERE.   Please remember that publication is not scheduled until 2020.  In the meantime, I’m working hard!

If you would like to keep up to date on everything that’s planned for the next chapter (pun intended), a sign up box for our newsletter is at the bottom of every page of the website.  You will never be spammed.  In fact, the newsletter needs to publish a bit more often (as time allows…or doesn’t…).

For a glimpse of the Parris House homestead, enjoy the pics in the slideshow below.

That’s the big news from here.  Thank you for reading.  – Beth

 

Hooking & Heritage Skills Lessons, On Your Terms

Want to learn to hook?  Already hook and want to learn more?  Or maybe you’d like to learn some other heritage skill?

I recently had a student call the studio and say, “I want to learn to hook, but I want to make my own pattern.  Can you teach me to do that all in one lesson?”  The answer was, “Of course!”  

We will be listing some new regularly scheduled courses for 2019, but maybe you’d like a custom experience too, scheduled at your convenience.  At the Parris House in the National Historic District of Paris Hill, Maine, we teach rug hooking (beginner and specialty topics), wool dyeing, needle felted sachet making, cold process soap making, beginner rug hooking design and pattern making, and more.  If there’s something you’d like to learn, get in touch with us and we’ll make it happen. 

Art, craft, and homesteading classes make great:

friends & family activities

holiday gifts

bridal party or groomsmen gathering activities

birthday celebrations

experiences for college and school students of all ages

special self care treats 

inter-generational learning opportunities

We can create a custom experience at the two century old historic Parris House just for you or your group where you can leave with a memento of the occasion, be it hand crafted soap, a beautiful sachet pillow, a hooked mug rug, plus a new shared pastime. 

To arrange a Parris House learning experience, contact us to get the process started.  We look forward to introducing you to something new!

 

Learning to Trust the Journey – Four Days on the Schooner J&E Riggin

The J&E Riggin in her home port at Rockland, Maine, shortly before we boarded.

As many of you know, I was aboard the Schooner J&E Riggin for four days last week as an organizer and facilitator of 207 Creative‘s Get Hooked at Sea event.  I am sure we’ll do a blog post for the 207 Creatives website or Facebook page on the trip as a hooking retreat and workshop, however, this post is about my personal experiences and insights.  This was my first time on a large sailing vessel, seeing my beloved Maine from an entirely different vantage point and I can honestly say I am changed.  This post is about that.

A bit about the J&E Riggin…

The J&E Riggin is a two masted schooner, 89 feet long (not including the bowsprit), over 20 feet wide, built in New Jersey in 1927 as an oyster harvesting boat on the Delaware Bay.  For its complete history you can go to the beautiful website its owners, husband and wife co-captains Jon Finger and Annie Mahle, have lovingly put together at www.mainewindjammer.com.  One of the most striking things about this schooner is how immaculately restored and maintained it is, in incredibly authentic condition.  It does not have onboard power save for the sails.  When becalmed or when in need of maneuvering in the harbors, it is propelled by a small yawl boat Captain Jon built by hand himself.   The yawl boat is a work of art in itself.  When it’s time for the anchor to be raised, no auxiliary power is employed.  It is raised by the muscle of around four crew and/or volunteers with a gear and lever apparatus.  I tried it.  It’s hard work.  At night, the boat is lit mostly by kerosene lantern.  All of Captain/Chef Annie’s world class meals are prepared in a tiny galley kitchen on a wood burning cook stove.  Annie is a Culinary Institute of America graduate, cook book author, and celebrity chef (she may demur at that last thing, but let’s face it – she is) who has let none of this affect her completely down to earth, generous, and kind demeanor.  The food is…incredible.  Captain Jon, aside from being the captain of our journey, is also an accomplished watercolor artist, musician, and more.  Jon and Annie are the devoted parents of two daughters who were raised, in part, on the Riggin.  Back at home, they keep bees and chickens, and they garden.  Quite a bit of the farm fresh ingredients that made their way in to our meals were from Jon and Annie’s homestead.

The J&E Riggin as she is today is the result of loving stewardship that respects her age, history, and heritage and my respect for Captains Jon and Annie and their equally wonderful crew of five is boundless.  These are hard working people who make their guests not only feel welcome, but feel as though they become a part of the J&E Riggin family in a few short days.

Chef Annie explaining the fine art of eating oysters to the uninitiated. These were, by the way, the very best, sweetest, freshest oysters I’ve ever eaten.

We see a lot of messages in our social media feeds that go something like this:  “Trust the journey.”  “It’s not the destination that matters, it’s the road there.”  “Live in the present, the future is not guaranteed.”  As a fiber art teacher I also often encourage my students to enjoy the process and remain open to the outcome that results, rather than holding an expectation concretely during the making.  At the Squam Art Workshops, where I taught for two years, “process over product” was a mantra.  Indeed, on our Get Hooked at Sea retreat aboard the Riggin, not a single one of us finished our lovely project guided by teacher Maggie Bonanomi, but we were fine with that.  It was about the process, the making, the camaraderie, and we will share our final products with one another over the coming months.  On the J&E Riggin, this concept becomes very literal.  One morning I asked Captain Jon where we were going that day.  He said, “I don’t know!”  And he meant it.

The J&E Riggin’s usual sailing territory for guests is in Maine’s Midcoast Penobscot Bay, approximately between Boothbay and the Acadia area.  Where she sails on any given day is determined by the wind and weather.  Every trip leaves from Rockland, which, as an aside, is my favorite town in Maine.   Rockland is central to those two approximate sailing boundaries and the weather will determine which way Captain Jon takes the Riggin.  It is a “sail to nowhere” and yet, it is very much a sail to somewhere.

For me, that somewhere was a place of revelation.  One comical revelation was that, in spite of not being able to ride in the back seat of a car without turning green, I can be a passenger on a schooner in open water and not feel a single twinge of seasickness.  My bag was packed with a tub of crystallized ginger and two boxes of Dramamine but neither proved necessary.

Other revelations were more serious.  One was how very badly I had needed a trip just like this one, a trip with no set destination and with very limited connection to the news, the internet, and the demands of my every day business life.  Another was my need to spend time with creative and energetic people.  This trip was shared with creative people all around: captains, crew, and guests, who were pursuing something meaningful to them upon which they each made their individual imprints.  The crew, four young men in their twenties and one woman around my age, I believe, were phenomenal examples of extremely gifted people sharing their gifts in ways most people only dream of.  Captains Annie and Jon were unwittingly providing to me an example of sincere and exemplary hospitality that I know I will use as a reference point when we open the Parris House to retreat and workshop guests in 2020.   They refer to their relationship with the J&E Riggin as one of stewardship, not ownership, which resonates with me as we have never claimed ownership of the 200 year old Parris House either.  You can only steward these great old entities while it is your time.  They predate and outlive us if all goes well.

Related was the revelation of just how much I require freedom and space over my life and over my time.  There is a tremendous feeling of freedom when you are a guest on a schooner in the big Penobscot Bay.  I can only speak as a guest because I was well aware of the constraints the captains and crew were under as they make sure every detail of the trip is attended to for us.  As a guest, however, I was able to make the mind blowing observations regarding the power of the wind, the vastness of the ocean (especially when it looks so big, yet we’d not even left the bay), and how small my favorite landmarks looked along the shore.  My perspective on everything was turned upside down/inside out when I was looking at places I’d only seen from land from out on the water.  I realized that there are so many things I’ve never seen before and will probably never see in this lifetime, and with that realization came the knowledge that I had better choose very carefully how I spend my remaining years.  I booked another trip on the Riggin for my husband and myself in 2019 halfway through our voyage.

Fog hanging over the harbor off Warren Island State Park

And then there is just the overall awareness that we do not have to, in fact usually we can not, know our destination for much of our journey in this life.  Our daily journeys, led by Captain Jon, always ended in some beautiful harbor, in fair weather or foul, expected or unexpected, with limited control over the destination because of zero control over the weather.  On the journey, the captain controls what he can in the context of what he can’t.  Sometimes the sailing is relatively blind.  On the first day under sail we were treated to a fog bank.  We could see it on the horizon when we set out and within about an hour we were engulfed in it.  Visibility was low.  The J&E Riggin’s fog signal rang out in to the bay.  Sometimes we could see other vessels just within our visible range, looking like ghost ships.  Other vessels a little further off would have been invisible.  The J&E Riggin is equipped with modern GPS, radar, and radio communication.  It is also equipped with an experienced captain.  Therefore, we were never in danger although we could not see.  It is often human nature to fear when sailing blind, when we don’t know what’s next, but it is actually the essential nature of our lives.  Uncertainty of outcome is a given as long as we can not bend time to see our futures.  What choice do we have when rising in the morning but to answer the question, “Where are we going today?” with “I don’t know!”

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m a list maker, a planner.  I chart out every day, every week, every to-do list.  I make plans and try to follow them.  I act with intention on what I can when I can if not doing so would lead to perceived disaster.  Examples are how I conduct my dearest relationships, my health, my business, my class preparations, my writing, my home.  But those four days as a guest aboard the J&E Riggin persuaded me to loosen the parameters on my life and make time and space for more experiences like that one.  The world will not stop turning if I can’t answer an email within fifteen minutes.   Spending half a day hiking my favorite mountains here in Western Maine might inspire more art pieces and workshop ideas than working away at my desk on something seemingly important but with, in the long run, a weaker return on time invested.  On the Riggin there is a truly beautiful efficiency to everything, and I do mean beautiful.  Nothing is out of place, everything is immaculate, all details and contingencies are planned for, and the result is pure elegance of experience, and yet…uncertainty in destination is not only acknowledged, it is celebrated.  What an example for living.

Here is a slideshow of our trip for your enjoyment.  If you would like to book the trip of a lifetime on the Schooner J&E Riggin go to the website at www.mainewindjammer.com.  Reservations for the 2019 season are being taken now.   For those wondering if we’re working on another Get Hooked at Sea trip, the answer is “Yes!  We are!”  So please watch for posts about that as we figure out the details and timing.

 

 

 

 

Blondie, MassMoCA, the Susan B. Anthony Birthplace, Shaker Museums, Dogs, and the Impossibility of Failure – Part 2

Detail from a hand quilted replica of a quilt made by Susan B. Anthony at the Susan B. Anthony Birthplace Musuem.

(If you have not read “Part 1,” and want to, please just scroll back to the post immediately prior to this one.)

We left off on the last post with my husband, Bill, and I out in Western Massachusetts having been to a Blondie concert, MassMoCA and the Museum of Dog.  I’ve saved the historical sites for this part of the story.

As many of you know, I have been involved at some level with the Sabbathday Lake Shaker community for quite a few years.  I have volunteered on work days, taught rug hooking, and demonstrated the craft for Open Farm Day and Harvest Festival there.  I have unabashedly fallen in love with the place, so aptly known as “Chosen Land” to the Shakers, and with the people there.  Along with a truly dedicated staff and team of volunteers, for whom the work is clearly deeply meaningful, there are the living Shakers themselves, Brother Arnold and Sister June.  For them, Sabbathday Lake is home, and because of them, it is a sacred place that can not be, and I do not believe will ever be, considered wholly a museum.

In spite of my involvement with Sabbathday Lake and my interest in Shaker history, I had never been to any of the Shaker museums that are just a day’s drive or less from home.  It was at the Susan B. Anthony Birthplace, in Adams, that the very kind and capable staff recommended a visit to the Hancock Shaker Village, only about thirty minutes from there.  But first, let’s talk about the Susan B. Anthony Birthplace Museum.

The Susan B. Anthony Birthplace Museum is extremely well done in every possible way.  I would highly recommend you click on the link and thoroughly explore their website and then make plans to visit.  Upon entering the gift shop, where you must purchase your tickets before going in to the homestead, you will be greeted by knowledgeable and friendly staff members who have a clear enthusiasm for the museum and its history.  You will have the choice of having a docent give you a guided tour, using an electronic audio/visual tour device, or simply going through the home in a self guided way, reading the plentiful and detailed exhibit descriptions in every room.  My husband chose the A/V tour and I chose to just walk through the museum on my own.

This museum is so professionally and engagingly arranged and annotated that I was taking mental notes on how this example might inform decisions for our own historical society back home.  Every aspect of Susan B. Anthony’s remarkable life is covered, from her family of origin, to her early life and career as a teacher, to her work in the temperance, abolitionist, and of course, women’s’ suffrage movement.  All of this history and context comes very much alive with the extraordinary collection of artifacts, documents, and ephemera belonging to her and/or her life story.  I think my favorite artifact in the museum (a photo is in the slide show below) is the plaster cast made of her clasping hands with Elizabeth Cady Stanton.  I felt goosebumps as I looked at this incredible object.  And, being a fiber/textile geek, I was also very interested in the completely hand-quilted replica of a quilt that Susan had made as a young person.  Additionally, there are antique woven coverlets, linens, dresses, and the tools of carding and spinning in the home.  It is beyond the scope of this post to tell the entire story, but again, the museum website is extremely thorough, much like the museum, so click on over to that for so much more information, including on the restoration of the home itself.

Susan B. Anthony died in 1906, fourteen years before women were finally given the vote in the United States.  It is unfortunate that she did not live to see the final fulfillment of that dream, but she left behind millions of grateful women, including those of us who were not yet born.  My grandmother was three years old in 1906 and seventeen years old before women had the vote.  I have thought about that often, that my own grandmother was born in a time when she might never have expected to vote.  It means that we have not had this privilege in America for very long.  Let us never fail to exercise it.

Susan B. Anthony may have been certain that eventually her work would win the day, even if she wouldn’t live to see it. She is quoted as saying, “Failure is impossible.”  The gift shop at her birthplace has silver toned bracelets with these words in them, and I couldn’t leave without one.

Here are the photos I took, with permission, which do not begin to do justice to the museum.

 

We took the staff at the Susan B. Anthony Birthplace Museum at their word and went, the next day, Sunday, to the Hancock Shaker Village in Pittsfield, Massachusetts.   Here are excerpts of the introduction on their website:

“Hancock Shaker Village began in the late 1780s, when nearly 100 Believers consolidated a community on land donated by local farmers who had converted to the Shaker movement. By the 1830s, with a great many more conversions and additional land acquisitions, the Shaker community peaked in population with more than 300 Believers and more than 3,000 acres……Eventually, forces outside the community, including the industrial revolution and the shifting of America from a rural to an urban society, worked against their continued growth and stability. By the early 1900s, with dwindling converts, the Shaker population at Hancock declined to about 50 Believers, most of them Sisters and orphan girls who had been adopted by the community, and only a few adult Brethren……Many outlying acres of land were sold off, and buildings were razed during the final decades of the Hancock community. In 1959, when the Shakers could no longer maintain their City of Peace, they sold the remaining property to a local group committed to preserving the Shaker heritage. The utopian village known as Hancock Shaker Village continues its life today as a history museum with 20 authentic buildings, a working farm and significant collections of Shaker furniture and artifacts.”

I have to objectively say that this is an absolutely lovely and beautifully curated museum village of over twenty historic buildings and thousands of Shaker artifacts, not to mention the extensive gardens, extremely knowledgeable and personable docents, and an onsite visitors’ and educational center.  It is also a breathtaking venue for weddings and events.  I say “objectively” because I have to remove the part of myself that compares it to Sabbathday Lake.  This is not a fair comparison and should not be made.  Sabbathday Lake is literally the only Shaker location on Earth that is an active Shaker community with a working farm, shops, gardens, and livestock that are not strictly for educational purposes, but are actually the continuing business in support of the living Shakers who have been conducting their spiritual and working lives there since 1783.   Sabbathday Lake is the only place on Earth where you can attend an actual Shaker worship service.  No Shaker museum in the country should be compared to this, because their missions are different.  The other museums are doing critically important work in preserving and honoring the memory of the Shakers who no longer inhabit those locations and educating the public about Shaker life.

Having said that (and then I’ll leave this point alone, I promise), that part-of-me-that-was-comparing-and-should-not-have-been felt a profound sadness at Hancock.  I left there, after having a truly wonderful visit, more committed than ever to my volunteer work at Sabbathday Lake with a renewed sense of just how precious that community is, how rare, how indescribably valuable, and how humbled I am by my luck to have it right here in my own backyard in Maine.

OK, onward.  Hancock Shaker Village is a must see on your trip through the Berkshires and Western Massachusetts.  It is possible to spend an entire day, maybe more, there going through each building, taking advantage of the tours and demonstrations that are offered, having a bite to eat in a remarkable fresh food cafe on site, and shopping the gift shop (where, incidentally, they sell products still made at Sabbathday Lake, as does the Mount Lebanon historic site which we will talk about in a bit).  It was so much fun to do the right kind of comparing when we saw the Hancock dwelling house, the laundry room, the dining area, the meeting house and seeing how they were similar and yet different to these same spaces at Sabbathday Lake.  Bill teaches soap making in the laundry room at Sabbathday Lake and was having a great time in its companion space at Hancock.

Across the street from the main village there is a path back to the reservoir and also leading to the Shaker cemetery, which characteristically has just a single stone representing all who are buried there.  The gate was open to the actual burying ground, but out of reverence we remained outside the gate.  It is a beautiful and peaceful place to visit and to remember the bustling Christian community that once existed there.

Here are a few pictures of Hancock Shaker Village, including pics of its iconic stone round barn.  As before, I took a lot of fiber/textile related photographs.  Notice also the beautiful lunch I had in the cafe there.

 

Finally, before heading for home, we went over the state line in to Mount Lebanon, New York to visit the Mount Lebanon Shaker Historic Site.   Unfortunately, I did not take many pictures there, and, in any case, I would encourage you to also explore their website.   Here is an excerpt from the history on the website:

“The Shakers at Mount Lebanon led the largest and most successful utopian communal society in America for 160 years, from 1787 to 1947.

From this central community developed the Shakers’ ideals of equality of labor, gender, and race, as well as communal property, freedom, and pacifism. From Mount Lebanon also grew the now famous Shaker aesthetic of simplicity, expressed in their objects, furniture, buildings, and village planning.

With over 6,000 acres and 100 buildings, Mount Lebanon Shaker Village was a driving force in the agricultural, industrial, commercial, and institutional activities of its day. The Village was divided into smaller “Family” groups (Church, Second, Center, North, East, South, and so on.), each with its own leadership, members, and commercial activities. As the Shaker community declined in population in the early 20th century, the site was gradually sold to various private owners, including the Darrow School, which still inhabits Mount Lebanon’s Church and Center Families, and the Abode of the Message which inhabits the South Family’s buildings.

Mount Lebanon was named a National Historic Landmark in 1965, and was recognized by the World Monuments Fund in both 2004 and 2006 as one of the 100 most significant endangered historic sites in the world.

The North Family today houses the museum and consists of 11 buildings on 91 acres. The iconic North Family Great Stone Barn – measuring 50’ wide, four stories high, and nearly 200’ long, was a testament to the ingenuity, faith, and perseverance of the Shakers. In September 1972 the barn was totally gutted by a catastrophic fire, leaving only its four massive masonry walls standing.”

I will say that those four masonry walls, still standing, are jaw dropping.  There is an effort underway to restore that structure.

We were met in the visitors’ building by a friendly docent who again had great depth of knowledge about the history there.  We did not have much time to explore the site because it was already mid afternoon and we had a five hour drive ahead of us to get home.  I would very much like to go back there to walk the grounds.  It’s important to note that much of what was the village is now occupied by a private school, so this site is not as intact as Hancock appears to be.  Nonetheless, this is a very worthwhile destination.  I was struck by this sign when you walk in to the visitors’ center/gift shop.

This sign affirms what many don’t realize, that the Shakers were not shut out from the world, but rather traveling widely to conduct their business.  Nor did they spurn technology.  In fact, the Shakers were extremely inventive and created new ways of making their work more efficient.  Hancock Shaker Village’s website addresses the truths and legends regarding Shaker inventiveness:

What did the Shakers invent?
The Shakers were inventive people, embracing and often improving upon technology. There are many myths about Shaker inventions. Some are exaggerated truths; others are fiction. Because the Shakers, as a show of humility, often did not patent their inventions and improvements, it is difficult to say how many things they invented.Current scholarship indicates that the Shakers most likely invented the flat broom. They were one of the first to put garden seeds in printed paper packets for sale. They may have invented an early (but perhaps not the first) version of a circular saw. Authentication of many other Shaker inventions or improvements on existing technologies and items is debated and discussed to this day.”

The most observant among you may be asking, “So what about the other bracelet from Part 1?  Where did that come from?”

On Sunday morning, before we left Adams, we went to a funky little cafe on its main street called the Coffee Liberation Front.   I had a delicious fresh quiche for breakfast with equally great coffee.  Bill had a rainbow striped “unicorn bagel.”

It turned out that one of the owners makes imaginative beaded jewelry, much of it with nods to different meanings and energies.  Whether you believe in New Age concepts or not, her work is lovely.  I chose a bracelet with “air” charms on it – a hummingbird, wings, feathers, a butterfly  -things related to flight.  I think I was drawn to it because, in both my life and my work, I am seeking as much freedom as I can create for myself.  It, along with the “Failure is impossible” bracelet from the Susan B. Anthony Birthplace Museum are happy reminders of both an enjoyable weekend away and my desired life direction.

I hope you have enjoyed these two posts highlighting our weekend away and hope even more you will visit some of the places I’ve described.  If you have traveled to any of these places as well, I’d love to hear your impressions about them in the comments.  If you have interest in Shaker life, I would very much encourage you to visit the Sabbathday Lake community in New Gloucester, Maine, just about half an hour south of the Parris House.   There is truly inspiration everywhere.

 

 

 

 

Blondie, MassMoCA, the Susan B. Anthony Birthplace, Shaker Museums, Dogs, and the Impossibility of Failure – Part 1

These get explained at the end of Part 2.

Last weekend my husband, Bill, and I took a mini vacation trip out to Western Massachusetts.  The primary reason was that we had tickets to see Blondie at the Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art (MassMoCA), but also, we just really needed to get away.  We secured a cute, super retro (authentically; this was not a hipster re-creation), goin’-to-grandma’s style apartment through Airbnb for the weekend, which turned out to be perfect.  It was in a working class neighborhood of Adams, within sight of the old textile mill where it is probable the building’s original residents, in the 19th century, worked.  There was a huge Catholic church, convent, and school next door, clearly built by Polish immigrants.  This in itself was a small scale immersion in the history of the place and I spent some time online researching the town, its industrial history, and even the streets and buildings that surrounded us.

This trip was a three day, non-stop inspiration fest.  Let’s start with Debbie Harry of Blondie. She is 73 years old.  Her voice is different now, but it is still strong, and her energy level onstage is astonishing.  I went to this concert in large part because I wanted to get away for a weekend and because my husband really loves Blondie and a whole selection of other 80s era music I thought I’d prefer never to hear again.  As it turns out, I truly loved this concert and discovered that Blondie is making new music that I like infinitely better than the old hits.  It didn’t hurt that Debbie Harry came on to the stage wearing a jacket with neon-reflective multicolored honeybees all over it and has recently released an album called “Pollinator.”  The back of the jacket was emblazoned with a…well…blunt message about keeping planet Earth life-sustaining, which I also appreciated.

Debbie Harry and Blondie performing at MassMoCA, August 3rd, 2018

Inspirational messages taken from this experience?

  • Age is a number.  Aside from things beyond your control (truly random illness, accident, and the usual raw deals some people are handed health-wise), decisions you make today may well determine whether you’re literally or metaphorically rocking on stage at 73 or rocking in a chair unable to do much else.
  • Keep working.  Change.  Grow.  “Pollinator” is a great new album that doesn’t sound like previous work.  Debbie Harry and the band are not motoring around a golf course in Florida nor are they only playing the same familiar songs many of their fans probably came to hear.  I hope the work I’m doing even two years from now looks very little like what I’ve been doing for the past five, let alone in twenty years’ time.
  • Wear bright colors at least some of the time, whether you’re 23 or 73.

The next day, we went to MassMoCA.  We had been there about a month before but had been pressed for time and unable to see a lot of the exhibits.  So we went back with a whole day to spend in the museum.  This really was an immersion in every possible sensory exposure to contemporary art.  To be completely honest, I have not always been a fan of contemporary art, but I am coming to realize that I was probably just never looking in the right places.  MassMoCA is a fully engaging  museum of sometimes immediately resonant, sometimes baffling, sometimes repulsive works.  Very little of it left me feeling nothing, although there was a bit of that too.  If anything, though, those pieces – the ones that left me with nothing – were a lesson in the variety of human nature.  To someone, somewhere, they spoke volumes.  One of the exhibits that particularly fascinated Bill fell in to the realm of performance art.  It’s called the Cold Hole.  When unoccupied, it is just a large viewing window looking in to a chamber filled with snow, ice, and a square cutout with a ladder in it leading to frigid cold water.  Anyone who’s done a polar dip for charity in New England knows what it would feel like to jump in to the Cold Hole.  On the day we were there we were lucky to see someone actually jump in.  This act can be done by a museum go-er through special arrangement or by a performance artist, I believe.  I am not 100% sure, but I think on this day we saw a performance artist.

I could write an entire post on what I felt watching this woman as she approached the hole (for which I have no pictures), as she stood over it for quite some time preparing herself for the shock of the water, in that brief moment of free fall in, and as she pulled herself out and walked toward the viewing window.  Always one to create life metaphors, I had many.  I will let you draw your own.  As it is, this post on the weekend overall is going to have to be split in to two for time and length considerations.

The word that kept coming to me as I viewed the art at MassMoCA was “brave.”  As I looked at some of the work, or in some cases, interacted with it, I realized that these artists are incredibly courageous.  Even the work I couldn’t connect with, or, I’m acutely embarrassed to admit struck me as “I could make that…”  (a thought and phrase I abhor, but there I was having it myself), was nonetheless bold.  How many of us would have the courage to make a career of creating objects, sounds, or experiences for others to view that were intensely personal, time consuming, financially risky, and open to amateurs like me gut reacting with, “I could make that…?”  The truth is, I could not “make that.”  I can make what I can make, but not that.  Only that piece’s creator has that ability and honor.  I reacted to most of the art with deep astonishment, appreciation, and some kind of connection, but it doesn’t matter how I – one person – reacted to any of it.  The incredible, head exploding thing to me was the brave vulnerability of the artists, of all kinds, in putting their work out in to the world, saying what they had to say, and accepting both praise and criticism as part of the deal.  The “Mass” in MassMoCA of course stands for “Massachusetts,” but I could not help thinking of it also in terms of the masses of people who visit every year.  It’s a lot of exposure.  These artists should be wearing capes and tights.

These next images are unedited, taken with my cell phone in the museum.  Unfortunately, I can not take the hours today to edit each one of them, but at some point may go back and improve this image set.

 

I would be remiss if I did not mention the coffee shop on the premises, Tunnel City Coffee.  Bill and I went off our diets a little bit, but the scale told me on Monday that no harm was done.  We did split the cookie and the biscotti in to two pieces and shared them.

Delicious pastries and cookies at Tunnel City Coffee, North Adams, MA on the campus of MassMoCA

Inspirational messages taken from this experience?

  • Good coffee is always worth the extra money.
  • Eat the pastry occasionally, preferably with someone dear to you.
  • When you create, do it for you.  Not for the critics.  Not for the fans.  Not for that person who thinks, “I could make that.” For you.
  • Making art is inherently scary sometimes.  Be brave.  You might just find your work in front of millions of people some day.
  • Those last two things may well feel like jumping in to a cold hole.
  • You may often want to give up.  Do not, because at some point someone is going to stand in front of your work with their minds and hearts on fire taking it all in.

So what do you do with a little time to kill in North Adams after you’ve spent the day at MassMoCA?  You go to the Museum of Dog.   This is a little museum that’s only been open for four months.  You can tell that they are still putting it all together, but if a museum has a Rough Collie display like this, I’m happy.  Our Collie, Wyeth, would have been so proud.  We’re definitely taking him back there some day.

Collie display at the Museum of Dog, North Adams, MA.

Inspirational message taken from this experience?

  • Have a dog.
  • Go to the Museum of Dog as they develop and grow.
  • If there’s something you really love, share it with the world.

So, that was Friday night and part of Saturday in Adams and North Adams, Massachusetts.  The next blog post will be about how we spent another part of Saturday and then Sunday at the Susan B. Anthony Birthplace, the Hancock Shaker Village and Museum, and the Mount Lebanon Shaker Historic Site.  Look for that one later this week or weekend.

In the meantime, be inspired, wherever you find yourself.

 

 

 

 

An Informal Video Tour of the Work Studio at the Parris House

Something a little different for this post…

I haven’t gotten a lot done this week because I’ve been recovering from a very nasty ankle injury, but I had a friend suggest that a video tour of the work studio might be interesting to some people, especially the makers out there. I shot this with my cell phone, so it looks like a FB live, not wide screen. This is not a magazine shoot ready working space. In fact, it’s extremely functional. We’re planning to paint it this summer when I’ll probably be doing some beautifying for it, but right now it gets the job done. I hope this is an encouragement to those out there working out of spaces that do not look like a magazine spread (although I plan to have one some day!), and for people building viable businesses where they are with what they have. Oh, and Wyeth’s in it and he’s pretty cute.

I am just getting my feet wet in making video and populating our YouTube channel, but if you’d like to never miss a video (some of them are how-tos and instructional) you can subscribe to the channel HERE.  

Happy watching and happy hooking.  – Beth

What Size is Your Flower Pot?

Our summer salads making their debut at the Parris House.

I’ve been thinking a lot about pots lately.  I recently started my seedlings for this summer’s garden (yes, I know it’s terribly late, even for zone 5 in Maine) and after just a couple of days, the mixed salad greens have sprouted.  I love this particular mix, by Pinetree Garden Seeds right here in Maine, for its variety of flavors and colors.  As I looked at the tiny seedlings this morning, some of which will have to be thinned out, I thought, “There are this summer’s bountiful fresh salads, right there in that tray.”  I was projecting them in to their future, though right now they are the tiniest of sprouts.

This weekend I’ll be working on the raised beds, getting them ready to accept the seedlings that are only now emerging in my trays and for the seeds that are sown directly in to the soil.  For us, in this climate, planting time happens in the very last days of May or the first days of June.  Our growing season – at least without the aid of greenhouses and other warming equipment – is short and we have to make the most of it.  By September, and certainly by October, we’re harvesting the last of things save for hardy kales and the like, and winter squashes and pumpkins.

People who know me well know that I can find life analogies in almost everything, so here we go…

Right now these little divided pots my seedlings are being born in to are fine for them.  In fact, I would go as far as to say they are right for them.  They are providing a small space where the plants are watched over, nurtured, and not overrun by nature in a larger environment.  Some seeds don’t require this small space at the outset and can be planted in the bigger expanse of the garden or raised bed right away.  Seeds are all different, but one thing is sure:  very few seeds are meant to grow in a confined space forever.  My little salad greens will never become robust, zesty, hardy, ready-to-bolt-if-not-picked-in-time food producers if left in those little pots.  And – you saw it coming – it’s the same for us, and I think we know it.  We know when we are becoming metaphorically pot bound, when we can’t expand, when we can’t grow.  We know when we can’t breathe, when we’re thirsty, when the nutrients are scarce, both literally and figuratively.  It’s the way we’re made.  What to do when our pots are too small?  The garden continues to provide guidance.

These little salad sprouts are going to need thinning.  Of all the gardening tasks there are, this is the most painful for me.  I just hate thinning plants.  Hate it.  I know it has to be done so that the remaining plants are hale and hearty, with plenty of space to grow, growth being the objective, after all, but I can not completely shake the guilt of killing off the sacrificial plants.   It can not be too long delayed, lest the roots be intertwined and you damage the primary plants when you pull the others.  It is always harder to thin later.  Best to do it as soon as it’s required.

As it turns out, I hate thinning my life too, or at least, I used to.  As with thinning my seedlings, I’m starting to take comfort in the wisdom of it and know that it’s the only path for growth.   What I say “no” to is becoming as important as what I say “yes” to these days.  Some thinning is quick and painless.  For example, this morning I uninstalled Twitter from my phone.  I still have my @ParrisHouseWool Twitter account, but I don’t have to have the app on my phone.  I can visit it intentionally and with a purpose when I want to share something (for example, this blog post) and eliminate it as a distraction on my phone.   In a similar way, I can set my phone aside or in another room when I want an undisturbed block of time to write or do making work.  I can tell people – again – that email is the very best, by a large margin, way to reach me and stick to that as my preferred mode of communication.  Other things are less easily plucked and have to instead be moved through and out of the time pipeline.  Commitments made in “yes” mode have to be honored, but not renewed if they are not consistent with your life’s primary goals.  Once out of your time pipeline they have to become “no”s.   When “yes” feels like an obligation or a “should” but is not coming from a deep place of purpose in your life, say “no” and do not second guess it.  Say “no” and move forward with your remaining “yes” activities.   If you have a task or obligation that for some reason you can not eliminate, find help with it, paid or unpaid as the case may be, but exhaust all other options to weed it out before you do.

Still feeling pot bound after a good round of saying “no” and thinning the field?  Maybe you need a bigger pot.  I’m not talking about buying a four thousand square foot house.  I’m talking about living your life in a way that expands it.  Do not be afraid to plant yourself in a bigger environment if the one you’re in feels restrictive or is not providing for your needs or dreams, and do not be afraid to be afraid.  I had to learn this the hard way and have still not completely mastered it.   Three examples from my own life come vividly to mind.  The first is when I decided to take my work in person to Josh and Brent of Beekman 1802 to ask if I might become part of their artisan collective.  The second was when I was invited to teach at the Squam Art Workshops among a field of teachers I regarded as having much stronger credentials than mine.  The third was just recently, when I went out to Down East Books to meet my editor for the book I am currently writing.   In all of these cases I saw opportunities to plant myself in a bigger pot, and in all cases I was so nervous I was physically ill:  heart palpitations, nausea, GI upset I’ll leave to your imagination, feeling faint, sleeplessness the night before, all of it.  Train wreck status, really.  I knew I was nervous and afraid, even if I couldn’t pinpoint why (well, probably lots of past conditioning, but this is not the space for psychoanalysis), but I was hell bent on doing these things anyway.  I have found that the level of reward of doing something is almost always proportional to the level of blowing through the self imposed limitations, in this case, fear, required to get it done.  Related to this is that you don’t have to know up front every detail of how you’ll get whatever it is done.  You just have to start, have a general plan, and then do the steps as they present themselves.   Get in to that bigger pot or garden bed so you can thrive, even though that move is going to be uncomfortable and even though you can not – will never be able to – completely predict the outcome.

Your flower pot can almost always be bigger.  I know very little about ceramics, but I can see by watching my husband make pottery that sometimes a pot comes out small even if there’s plenty of clay on the wheel to make it bigger.  Sometimes this is because the potter didn’t draw it up and thin it out to its optimal size, leaving it somewhat stunted and leaden in its finished form.  The clay was there; it just wasn’t optimized.   But this a post based on gardening analogies, not pottery making analogies, so we’ll leave that there.

Part of last year’s Parris House garden harvest.

In the time it’s taken me to write this post, the pickling cucumber plants in my trays have also emerged just a little more from beneath the potting soil.  Their insistent progress even in the span of an hour or so inspires me, and it will be with great expectation that I plant them in the bigger space that they both need and deserve in just a few week’s time.  Today’s brave emergence is tomorrow’s harvest, for plants and for us.

In both a literal and metaphorical sense, what are you growing this year, and how much space are you going to need?

Happy gardening and happy hooking.   – Beth

 

 

 

 

 

 

Join Us This Weekend, May 5th & 6th, for the Maine Pottery Tour!

Many of you know that my husband, William Miller, of Sunset Haven Pottery, enjoys making ceramics.  After several years of attending the Maine Pottery Tour, this year he decided to open his own pottery studio to the public and be on the tour instead.  There are at least forty studios on the tour statewide this year.  Make ours one of your stops!

We will be open both days, here at the Parris House, 546 Paris Hill Road, Paris, Maine, from 9 AM to 5 PM.  Here’s what we’ll be offering:

  • Lots of beautiful Sunset Haven Pottery pieces for sale, just in time for Mother’s Day
  • Pottery studio tours and demonstrations
  • A chance to try your hand at the pottery wheel if you’d like
  • Refreshments
  • A raffle to win a piece of Sunset Haven Pottery

So come on out and join us to see what happens at the Parris House that’s not fiber art, for a change!

Watch the slideshow below for a preview of what we’ll have available.

 

Confessions of a Recovering Workaholic, Part 1

Wyeth feels no guilt about relaxing at our lake cottage, Sunset Haven.

I have recently had to face the hard truth that I am a workaholic, and if you are too, you might want to read up here, because that life is not sustainable.  You might think it is, but it’s not.  Really.  It’s not.

As those who have been following my social media know, I have been reading and doing the exercises in the book The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron since the beginning of the year.  I just finished week ten, of twelve.   Week ten is really heavy on recognizing workaholism not only as an addiction or compulsion, but as a fear based way of living.  What makes us slide over the line in to workaholism?  Why do we think we have to be “on” 24/7/365 to succeed?

If you’re a small business owner I can already hear you, with some justification, saying, “Well, that’s just what it takes.”  To some extent, you’re right, especially if you are your small business, or at the very least, you are the one responsible for driving sales and growth.   It’s hard to ever totally shut off when there’s no guaranteed external paycheck, when you either make the sales, bring in the new students and customers, finish the custom orders, meet the shipping deadlines, pay attention to your social media and marketing, or else you don’t pay the bills.  If you have employees or contractors the pressure is even higher, because part of paying the bills is making payroll.  I get that and I know it can be overwhelming.  Kicking back for a day, or a week, or if you’re really burned out, a lot longer, can seem like professional suicide.  But, I have discovered something else that’s professional suicide:  overwork, overwhelm, and burnout.

So, I took the Chapter 10 workaholic quiz in The Artist’s Way and failed spectacularly, in that, I was guilty of every common marker for the problem.  No, I haven’t been taking at least one day a week off.  No, I don’t take vacations.  Yes, I do put off my family and friends because I “have to work” or I “have a deadline.”   Yes, I do cancel non-emergency preventative medical appointments because I’m “too busy.”   Yes, sometimes I realize I have not left my studio in three or four days because I’m trying to get it all done.  No, I don’t take myself on what the book calls “Artist’s Dates.”  Yes, I do blow off yoga and hiking and time in the woods and on the water because I “just can’t find the time.”  Yes, I “forget to eat.”  I could go on, but you get the idea, and some of you – I know that some of you – are living this way too.

Just stop.

Let’s go back to why we do this to ourselves.  We’ve already addressed that there is a baseline reality to some need for very hard work:  we are under tremendous pressure to pay our bills, make our deadlines, and pay the people who may be working for us or providing materials to us.  But do we really have to go this far down the workaholic rabbit hole to make that happen?  I’m taking the leap to find out, but more on that later.

The “why”s go beyond the very real financial and logistical pressures.  One “why” is overwhelmingly cultural.  Here in the United States we are raised (or were – I think it’s improving with subsequent generations) to believe that our value is not in who we are, but in what we can do, what we can produce.  We are an independent, bootstrapping, hyper productive, entrepreneurial culture of powerhouses….right?  Our heroes embody rags to riches stories.  We worship celebrities because of how they look and how large a venue they can fill, without ever knowing who they are.  We elect politicians not for the content of their character but for the alleged quantity in their bank accounts, because that’s how we define success.  Look, I have no objection to anyone becoming wealthy in America.  In fact, I applaud it if it is done in an ethical way that contributes to that person’s family and community, and I wouldn’t mind making it happen for me and my family.  What I object to is the metrics by which we value human beings in this culture and the way it drives us not only to work excessively and compulsively, but to work ineffectively and in ways untrue to who we are.

For some of us, another “why” is closer to our homes.  Perhaps we were raised by people who cared little about who we were as human beings and more about who they could mold us to become, either in their own image or according to some ideal in their minds.  (I regard that lack of acceptance and freedom as child abuse, but that’s a whole ‘nother blog post.)  These parents might appear well meaning, but the message they ultimately send is this:  you are not enough as you are, you can not be trusted to shape your own life and path, you are not what we expected and therefore are somehow disappointing.  It is no surprise that people raised in environments like this lack confidence, have trouble making decisions right for themselves, become people pleasers to their own detriment, and yes, try to compensate by working themselves too hard in order to prove their value.  It may not always be parents who cause this crisis of authentic identity and self worth.  It may be a highly critical teacher or role model.  It might be peers who are bullies.  It might be an abusive partner.  All of this is addressed magnificently in Elizabeth Gilbert’s book, Big Magic, and without practicing psychotherapy without a license, I try to touch on this a bit when I teach my design class, Yes, You Are & Yes, You Can.

I have been living the workaholic life for at least the past fifteen years, but probably longer.  I started my ten year career in real estate in 2003.  Every good real estate broker knows the drill, or at least, what the drill might be if you’re a workaholic and insecure about making and being “enough”:  take calls at all hours of the day and night, show property on weekends, nights, and holidays, travel to anywhere your client needs you to to execute documents (although this is better in the age of Docusign, unless your client isn’t computer literate),  climb in every nook and cranny of every house, barn, attic, basement you show,  stand over open septic tanks breathing it all in, walk land during hunting season hoping your blaze orange jacket is enough, on and on and on.  My clients loved me. I was very well regarded in the field.  And here’s the punch line in real estate brokerage.   You’re an independent contractor, you have no benefits, and you don’t get paid unless the sale closes.  Many of those failure-to-close factors you have zero – and I mean ZERO – control over.  It’s stressful, sometimes lucrative, sometimes very not lucrative, and many people burn out.  After ten years, I did.  Spectacularly.  So what did I do?

I started my own business and carried those same workaholic habits right in to it.  Duh.  And with those habits have come some serious mental and physical health issues I now have to attend to, the need to work on improving relationships and friendships I have neglected, and a real subversion of my own creativity, because no one can create when the proverbial well is dry.

I’m done.

No, I’m not done with Parris House Wool Works.  On the contrary, I have big plans for Parris House Wool Works and for myself in a variety of arts.  However, I am done working all the time.  I am done not having a life outside of my business, and I am done thinking that who I am is so inextricably tied to what I can produce.  What does this look like in practice?

Well, I’ve taken the past two weekends almost completely off.  This weekend my husband, Bill, taught our soap class (which was delightful, by the way; we get the best students) and then we came down to our lake cottage, Sunset Haven, which is where I am writing this from today.  (No, blogging is not work for me.)  Unlike many times we are at Sunset Haven, we are not cleaning it for the next Airbnb visitors.  There was a rare gap in the rental calendar and we can just spend time here for ourselves this weekend.   We went to a cafe this morning and had breakfast, and then we did something unheard of for us:  we mindlessly walked around the Maine Mall, got a lilac scented candle (our own lilacs won’t bloom until well in to May), got some coffee, and came back to the cottage.   My husband is catching up on our personal finances and I’m blogging, lakefront.  It’s a winter wonderland here, the lake is still mostly frozen, and in a little while I’m going to take Wyeth for a long walk on the camp roads.  That doesn’t exactly sound like a Hawaiian luxury vacation, I realize, but this is a major departure for us.   It’s a first step.

What will this look like going forward?  I don’t know.  That’s why this post is titled “Part 1,” because I plan to keep our readers informed on how this lifestyle change is going.  I’m doing the journaling of this for me, I admit, but I’m also doing it for those of you following along who are also burning yourselves out in your own businesses or careers, or who are in danger of doing so.

What are you doing to take care of yourself this weekend?  How will you give yourself the time and space to approach your work this coming week well rested and fresh?  If you have been to the land of burnout, how did you recover?  How are you doing now?  Feel free to comment below.

Have a wonderful Sunday.  – Beth

 

 

 

 

 

 

What’s In Your Blueprint?

This blog post has been taking shape in my mind for weeks.  There have been so many catalysts but I have not been able to quite put it all together until now.

As those who follow my social media may know, I’ve been working my way through the book, “The Artist’s Way” by Julia Cameron since the beginning of the year.  I still have three and a half weeks to go with it and I already know that I’ll need to repeat the material to get maximum and ongoing benefit.  There’s just so much to work with.  But, so far, it’s been an amazing and eye opening journey in identifying and working through creative blocks, and learning more about why we often stray from our heart’s direction.

I have also been working through a program with life and business coach Mike Iamele, who is right down in the Boston area but works with clients all over the world.  One of the many things Mike invites us to do is discover five or six words that really capture our essence, the who we are that we bring to every venture, every relationship, every part of our lives.

These two experiences so early in the year have helped me to take knowledge that seemed intuitive and break it down in to the “why” of my evolution and direction in my business and my life overall.

To put it concisely, we are all here to do our own thing, and if we try to do someone else’s thing, it’s not going to work out very well for us or for anyone else in our lives.  It’s as if we are all built from a completely unique blueprint, and if we stray too far from our inherent design, we fail.   Like a structure built by lazy or inept carpenters, we eventually break down if the blueprint isn’t carefully and respectfully followed.  Who the architect of our blueprints is is a question best left to philosophers, scientists, and theologians, but I no longer have any doubt that the blueprints exist.

No one can read your blueprint as well as you can.  In fact, it’s probable that no one can read your blueprint at all except you.  Others will say they can, and they will attempt to push you in a direction that follows their idea of what your blueprint is or should be.  Don’t let them.  They may be well meaning, or they may have an agenda to use your gifts for their own benefit more than yours.  Either way, just say “no.”

I have been dialoging recently with book publishers, who I have learned know a great deal about individual blueprints.   In one conversation with a publisher, we both sensed that his publishing house and my proposal were not a great fit for one another.  Why?  Because in order to make my book work for his press, I would have needed to strip away a good deal of its essence, a major aspect of it that made it what I call “heart work” for me, and even he did not recommend I do that.  In speaking with the publisher who is much more likely to work with this project, that aspect of the proposal is not only fine, it’s desired.  On a second project, one that came to me unexpectedly, the book editor said to me, in so many words, “Only you can write this book,” going on to explain that every author can only write the thing that’s in her heart to write, and if she tries to write something else, it never works.  It literally makes for an unsuccessful book.

The business model for Parris House Wool Works is not what may have been expected by anyone on the outside, even though had I been brave enough to truly follow my blueprint from day one, it might look even more unconventional.  In a conversation with a friend today, we spoke about the differences between my studio and another we are both familiar with.   These differences are not good or bad, they’re just differences.  We are working with different blueprints.  As a result, some people prefer this other studio to mine, and some people prefer mine to that one, and that is something I actually love to see play out.  It means that the people who come to my studio are the people who belong there.  One of the most frustrating things a business owner can do to herself is try to be right for everyone.  Not only is it impossible, it stunts growth because energy is wasted trying to please those for whom your offerings, those things driven by your particular blueprint, are just not a good fit.  Like the publisher who doesn’t fit with my book proposal and vice versa, not every customer, student, client, whatever the relationship is, is meant to be yours.

The very best opportunities I’ve had in this adventure have come from following my own blueprint: my affiliation with Beekman 1802, teaching at the Squam Art Workshops and other amazing venues in New England, working with Making Magazine, doing some major commissioned work, and more.  All of these things have felt absolutely right and in keeping with who I am and what I want to achieve as an artisan.

Whenever I align my life and work with my blueprint, things fall in to place; not without hard work and careful attention, but they do come together.  When I do something because someone else thinks it’s a good idea for me, because I feel obligated, because this is what’s expected, or because “this is how it’s always been done,” I am less successful.  Additionally, when I crowd my days with too many things, leaving little time to reflect on and sense my best direction, I do poorly.  The blueprint is clear and uncluttered.  It is in our best interest to read it.

What’s in your blueprint?  Feel free to share a time, experience, or opportunity that felt true to who you are and what is in your heart to do.