Feeling the need to brag a bit:
Just got asked to direct for the USC Master in Professional Writing Program, which I had done for two years about four years ago. It's a prestigious event and I was recommended by the previous producer to the new producer because of the success I had with the two I did previously (wow, really fractured that sentence). Here's the link for info on the program:
http://www.usc.edu/dept/LAS/mpw/students/index.php
Mine is a piece called Juche Rules and is a very powerful political piece about North Korea. And there's a $250 stipend, which is nothing to sneeze at. I would like three 0's at the end of it but I'll take it. Nice to recommended based on the strength of something I did so long ago. Oh, and it goes up April 8th and 9th, my birthday, at the East West Players Theater.
AND
We have been asked by a recent collaborator to work on a new show of his. Very excited. Still working out the details as he was considering another writer but loves the work we've done so far. Still, even if it doesn't go forward, it's nice to know that our work is appreciated and our talents are desired.
All in all, a very lovely day.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
Virtual Fridge update
Have lots to write about but no time to write, although today, I'm home sick and don't feel like writing anything.
So here are a couple of new oil paintings (tone oil using only raw umber and white):
This one was to learn how to paint metal. I am really proud of the way this came out. Took about 6 hours to paint. Had to scan this in as two parts, so please excuse the line in it.
The assignment with this one was to complete a simple tone oil painting in one single class - about 2-1/2 hours. Not bad but couldn't really do anything too challenging.
The next one I start this week will be what is called "The Rack" - take a linen napkin, starch it, drape it on a board so there are interesting folds and pleats and paint that. Can't wait! Might take up to four or five classes to do that one.
So here are a couple of new oil paintings (tone oil using only raw umber and white):
This one was to learn how to paint metal. I am really proud of the way this came out. Took about 6 hours to paint. Had to scan this in as two parts, so please excuse the line in it.
The assignment with this one was to complete a simple tone oil painting in one single class - about 2-1/2 hours. Not bad but couldn't really do anything too challenging.
The next one I start this week will be what is called "The Rack" - take a linen napkin, starch it, drape it on a board so there are interesting folds and pleats and paint that. Can't wait! Might take up to four or five classes to do that one.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Just for grins
This made me laugh very hard so I figured I needed to share it with y'all.
moar humorous pics
Consider it your silly moment for the day.
moar humorous pics
Consider it your silly moment for the day.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
What's the point?
I started this blog again recently so I could share wins and successes and try to write about recovering from the mid-life crisis and sharing what life is like now, 30 months after launching this new life. I thought I had many positive things to share and really wanted to focus this year on being more appreciative for the life I’ve created. However, when one struggles with depression, appreciation is hard to find. But sometimes, it sneaks up on you and bitch-slaps you in the face.
I was driving home the other night, knowing I was going to be writing with Madame H and Ranger Smith. I look forward to the nights we write because we enjoy each other immensely and we’re a great team. Then Madame H called to say she wouldn’t be able to make it. I almost called Ranger and cancelled because all I could think for the past few days was “what’s the point?” Why am I busting my ass to create these things – scripts, short films, Cinderella – what’s the point to all of it? I’m still in the same place, fighting the same demons, battling the same depression. How is this a win? How do I share this as a success when I feel like such a fraud, such a failure?
I park my car and Ranger gets out of his, grinning that crooked little grin of his and I can’t help but smile back at him. We have a not terribly successful night of staring at my laptop and writing about ½ page of a difficult script we’re starting. Then he said something I’m still not used to hearing from men. We were talking about a budget/script breakdown I’m going to do for him and his partner on a script of theirs. We were discussing what they needed and I told him I’d do it, etc. He then said something about taking me to dinner to partially pay me for my efforts and I said something snarky about “if only I could find a guy who would appreciate me.” And he was quiet for a moment then said, “I really appreciate you.” Seriously, sincerely, without agenda or demand. I get that from many women in my life and am slowly getting it from the men in my life but it always makes me stop when they actually offer it up without me prodding or begging for it. And I thought, that’s what makes this worth it. Those moments of true connection, true friendship, true appreciation for one another.
Then I go Friday morning for administrative training for the eventual Assistant Program Director job at my studio and I am thrilled to find out that they screwed up and aren’t ready for me yet so I get to go and paint instead! Yippee! I am still not terribly confident in what I’m doing as a painter. I am intimidated by some of the artists I train around and I am always kind of uncertain when I sit down to paint. But I love it almost as much as I love directing. So I sit down, I pull out my three silly props which I am painting – a metal coffee pot, a small gravy boat and a cup – set up my canvas and start. Immediately, I find myself in that rare zone of totally focused and confident. The paint brush is an extension of my hand, with a mind of its own, putting down brush strokes before I even see them. As I’m painting, my instructor walks by and stops. I hold my breath, waiting for the gentle critique that usually comes from that stop. She just says, “good” and moves on. Then one of the big mucky-mucks comes by and she stops and says, “wow, that’s really, really good” and moves on. And I start to think, this is why it’s worth it. Then this young woman who is so talented and who I admire so much peeks over at my canvas as she’s been sitting next to me most of the morning. Her eyes light up and she says quite earnestly, “wow, that’s so good. I was watching you paint and you really seem to be so much more confident today. And it really shows.” And I look at my half-done painting and realize that I am more confident and I am so enjoying learning this new skill and flexing m painterly muscles. And that’s what makes this all worth it.
Then I taught two challenging classes (our Friday classes try my last nerve sometimes) and I am exhausted but I drag my tired butt to my friend’s birthday dinner because it’s the first one of his I’ve been invited to in a while. I know my ex will be there and I am still not comfortable around him. I’m not ready to let him back into my life in any way whatsoever and that makes it difficult. I sometimes want him there, want to be able to show him my artwork and share my joys and my successes with him. But I’m afraid of his criticism and his harsh words and his ability to make me feel like what I do has no value. So I continue to be extremely guarded around him. But my car stereo decides to put things in perspective for me as I drive off, playing Keith Urban’s “Stupid Boy” as I pull away from the studio. “She laid her heart and soul right in her hands/but you stole her every dream and you crushed her plans/she never even knew she had a choice/and that’s what happens when the only voice she hears is telling her she can’t/stupid boy.”
At dinner, I get to share my paintings with my friends because they haven’t really seen any of them and their joy and celebration over my wins and successes make me feel warm and loved. And yet as I sit at the table with these people who used to be some of my dearest friends, I realize that I don’t belong with them anymore. I don’t know why or how I know that, I just don’t. I used to really miss them and wonder what I did to lose them in my life. I realize now that it’s just the way life is. We come together, we move apart sometimes. That doesn’t mean we’re bad people. We’re just people. And I listen to the snippets of conversation that my ex is having at his end of the table and, for a fleeting moment, I really, truly, terribly miss him and the life we had. But I realize one of the reasons we don’t have that life is that I grew into someone else and he stayed the same. He doesn’t seem to have changed one bit over the past 30 months but I feel like a completely new person. I realize that going to this party was worth it because it showed me the life I could still be living and it showed me that it is not the life that I want to live. My life is plenty wonderful, thank you very much, and it’s hard and it’s a struggle and it continues to baffle me even on the best of days.
But it is worth every single struggle, every single broken heart moment that sneaks up on me, it is worth every tear shed over lost and missed opportunities and it is worth every aching desire and want, whether it be for the OOMA or Cute Boy or any of the million things my life is lacking. It is worth it because it is my life. And I own it more and more every day. And that is what makes it all worth it.
As does my teddy bear (oil painting done in tones only):
I was driving home the other night, knowing I was going to be writing with Madame H and Ranger Smith. I look forward to the nights we write because we enjoy each other immensely and we’re a great team. Then Madame H called to say she wouldn’t be able to make it. I almost called Ranger and cancelled because all I could think for the past few days was “what’s the point?” Why am I busting my ass to create these things – scripts, short films, Cinderella – what’s the point to all of it? I’m still in the same place, fighting the same demons, battling the same depression. How is this a win? How do I share this as a success when I feel like such a fraud, such a failure?
I park my car and Ranger gets out of his, grinning that crooked little grin of his and I can’t help but smile back at him. We have a not terribly successful night of staring at my laptop and writing about ½ page of a difficult script we’re starting. Then he said something I’m still not used to hearing from men. We were talking about a budget/script breakdown I’m going to do for him and his partner on a script of theirs. We were discussing what they needed and I told him I’d do it, etc. He then said something about taking me to dinner to partially pay me for my efforts and I said something snarky about “if only I could find a guy who would appreciate me.” And he was quiet for a moment then said, “I really appreciate you.” Seriously, sincerely, without agenda or demand. I get that from many women in my life and am slowly getting it from the men in my life but it always makes me stop when they actually offer it up without me prodding or begging for it. And I thought, that’s what makes this worth it. Those moments of true connection, true friendship, true appreciation for one another.
Then I go Friday morning for administrative training for the eventual Assistant Program Director job at my studio and I am thrilled to find out that they screwed up and aren’t ready for me yet so I get to go and paint instead! Yippee! I am still not terribly confident in what I’m doing as a painter. I am intimidated by some of the artists I train around and I am always kind of uncertain when I sit down to paint. But I love it almost as much as I love directing. So I sit down, I pull out my three silly props which I am painting – a metal coffee pot, a small gravy boat and a cup – set up my canvas and start. Immediately, I find myself in that rare zone of totally focused and confident. The paint brush is an extension of my hand, with a mind of its own, putting down brush strokes before I even see them. As I’m painting, my instructor walks by and stops. I hold my breath, waiting for the gentle critique that usually comes from that stop. She just says, “good” and moves on. Then one of the big mucky-mucks comes by and she stops and says, “wow, that’s really, really good” and moves on. And I start to think, this is why it’s worth it. Then this young woman who is so talented and who I admire so much peeks over at my canvas as she’s been sitting next to me most of the morning. Her eyes light up and she says quite earnestly, “wow, that’s so good. I was watching you paint and you really seem to be so much more confident today. And it really shows.” And I look at my half-done painting and realize that I am more confident and I am so enjoying learning this new skill and flexing m painterly muscles. And that’s what makes this all worth it.
Then I taught two challenging classes (our Friday classes try my last nerve sometimes) and I am exhausted but I drag my tired butt to my friend’s birthday dinner because it’s the first one of his I’ve been invited to in a while. I know my ex will be there and I am still not comfortable around him. I’m not ready to let him back into my life in any way whatsoever and that makes it difficult. I sometimes want him there, want to be able to show him my artwork and share my joys and my successes with him. But I’m afraid of his criticism and his harsh words and his ability to make me feel like what I do has no value. So I continue to be extremely guarded around him. But my car stereo decides to put things in perspective for me as I drive off, playing Keith Urban’s “Stupid Boy” as I pull away from the studio. “She laid her heart and soul right in her hands/but you stole her every dream and you crushed her plans/she never even knew she had a choice/and that’s what happens when the only voice she hears is telling her she can’t/stupid boy.”
At dinner, I get to share my paintings with my friends because they haven’t really seen any of them and their joy and celebration over my wins and successes make me feel warm and loved. And yet as I sit at the table with these people who used to be some of my dearest friends, I realize that I don’t belong with them anymore. I don’t know why or how I know that, I just don’t. I used to really miss them and wonder what I did to lose them in my life. I realize now that it’s just the way life is. We come together, we move apart sometimes. That doesn’t mean we’re bad people. We’re just people. And I listen to the snippets of conversation that my ex is having at his end of the table and, for a fleeting moment, I really, truly, terribly miss him and the life we had. But I realize one of the reasons we don’t have that life is that I grew into someone else and he stayed the same. He doesn’t seem to have changed one bit over the past 30 months but I feel like a completely new person. I realize that going to this party was worth it because it showed me the life I could still be living and it showed me that it is not the life that I want to live. My life is plenty wonderful, thank you very much, and it’s hard and it’s a struggle and it continues to baffle me even on the best of days.
But it is worth every single struggle, every single broken heart moment that sneaks up on me, it is worth every tear shed over lost and missed opportunities and it is worth every aching desire and want, whether it be for the OOMA or Cute Boy or any of the million things my life is lacking. It is worth it because it is my life. And I own it more and more every day. And that is what makes it all worth it.
As does my teddy bear (oil painting done in tones only):
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