Tag: life

Adios, Atelier

The view from a studio through an open door and onto a street. Visible are the large windows around the door, a bike, part of a car, trees, a building, and a German street sign.
An empty shelf with "Ingrid" handwritten on a piece of masking tape.

Last month, I gave notice at the community studio I’ve been part of for the better part of a year.

There are a couple of reasons: I’ve moved into a larger apartment with more room to create; I’ve primarily been making art at home anyway; and I’d rather save the money for other things.

Regardless, it’s been strange to give up something I thought I wanted — even though I’ve changed my mind, and now this is what I want.

Trying new things and big dreams, and realizing when those things are no longer right, takes courage.

On to the next chapter.

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Living, Intentionally

White blossoms on a branch in sunlight, backlit by a blue sky.

Today I turn another year older (and hopefully, another year wiser). I’m grateful I’ve given myself every chance to keep going, and am celebrating my softness, my childlike delight in the small things, my kindness, my creativity, my sense of humor.

A few lessons learned in my time on earth thus far:

  • All we are ever granted is the present moment. Make time for the good things, the off-screen things, the people and hobbies and activities that make our days meaningful. How we spend our days is how we spend our lives.
  • You are important. You are worthy of love and gentleness and peace and safety. Never, ever abandon yourself. Seek out the tools you need to trust yourself more, support yourself more, and be your happiest and healthiest.
  • The little things are, in fact, everything. Don’t wait for those rare moments of perfect euphoria; find joy in the everyday.
  • Art-making is a spiritual practice. Keep creating.

(There’s so much more goodness to come.)

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Atelier No. 5

A wooden table with a beginnings of a handmade book and bookbinding supplies.

I am exceedingly excited to share that I joined a shared studio space at Atelier No. 5 in the south of Köln. This opportunity allows me to connect with the artist community, build new relationships, and spread out and get messy (without the threat of curious cats).

Other artists currently at the space include:

Daniela Buchal
Bernadette Cornelius
Caro Döring
Martha Frances Ebken
Manu Beermann
Anja Meyer
Anke Ricklefs
Tanja Schmiechen
Claudia Tober
Juliane Trautmann

So much more to come.

Interior view of a light-filled artist studio.
Chalkboard list of artists at Atelier No. 5 in Cologne, Germany.
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Butterfly Words

A close-up of orange-yellow berries and leaves against a concrete backdrop.
Orange-yellow berries and green leaves against a concrete wall.

Words swirl around my head constantly. I rarely extract them, afraid of the uncertain consequences of others knowing what I really feel. The danger of expressing myself, of it being the wrong thing said the wrong way.

I have a deep fear of being misunderstood. Of being punished, cruelly, immediately, publicly, for my own imperfection in expression, for letting myself tumble over my own lips and into others’ ears, eyes, and brain.

So I keep them, these thoughts, worries, and wonderings. I keep them tucked in my head and heart, where they beat against my skull and ribcage like butterflies desperate for the sun, for pollen, for the wind.

For their own good, I think. To keep them safe.

Recently, though, I have felt a nudge to open that cage, to let the viscera of my inner world spill out into the real world. My gatekeeper is exhausted, and I can’t help but think fuck it. Let it be what it is.

(I’m reminded of Anais Nin’s apt if oft-quoted line: “And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”)

The imperfection and mess I find so easily in my art journal, I want to decode all that and say what I mean, mean what I say, to shed the cloak of politeness and dive into raw, real authenticity. For too long I’ve squeezed myself — my brain, my lungs, my body, my being — into the tiny (but ever-changing) box of What Is Acceptable, and I’m tired and sore and cramped in weird places.

Freedom ↔ safety.
Scrubbed raw ↔ a veneer.
Butterflies.

Fuck it.

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Pinch Me

A fluffy gray and white cat sleeps upside down in a sunny windowsill.
A view looking up into just-leafing trees in early spring.
The top of a pink house, with one window, against a bright blue sky.
A view of the train station at Stansted airport.
A view of Stansted airport from the sky.
A black and white photo of the edge of a wall. Scrabble tiles spelling SIE have two black lines pasted above and one line pasted below.
The corner of an open mixed media art journal. The page includes bright pink paint and elements of white, blue, and lime green.
A view of central Cologne. Several people walk in a busy street.

This morning, six weeks after moving to Germany — and after years of wanting this to be my reality — I marveled that I’m here. This happened.

My husband and I came back a few days ago from a trip to see his family in Tunisia; though we saw ancient ruins and the ocean and had a wonderful visit, the most magical part was coming home. We live together. This is our everyday life.

It still feels like vacation.

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