Jan Avellana | Art + Words

Seasons

It's been a hard two years full of choices made, roads taken—some out of necessity, and some of life just happens and I've done my best to weather it. Dad has been gone almost a year and a half now, Mom has made a full recovery and we are so blessed to have this bonus round with her.

Being back in the classroom teaching full-time this year, my first in nearly 11 years, has been oh-so-heartbreakingly-difficult. I've made it here, through the 3rd quarter (GO ME!) and I am welcoming this break to rest and take some time to breathe and plan my next steps.

I've made intentional choices this year regarding my return to the the classroom. For so many reasons, it has been the hard, right choice for my family and myself, but this choice has not been without personal sacrifice and consequence. When I start to doubt myself, I look to my children. My oldest son turns 12 this year, my youngest 10. In just 6 years my oldest will be ready for college and God-willing, will go out into the world on his own. In 8, we’ll send our youngest one off too. These precious years are going by so very quickly (too quickly) and I want to be present for my children in the best ways possible and able to help bring financial stability for our family as much as I am able to do. Instead of an hour in the studio, I choose to spend that hour snuggled next to Seth watching a favorite movie, while he'll still let me hold his hand and play with his hair. Instead of holing up and creating art while Steve takes the boys out all day (as was usual during the breaks) I choose to spend the afternoon watching my boys play in the ocean, bring present for them, being mom. I choose to sleep an hour early so that I can go to work the next day and not drag.

So for now, the art gets created and the writing gets written in the in between spaces of my life, and to be honest there isn’t much left of me at the end of the work and mama-ing day. I mourn this creative loss daily, while at the same time savoring the blessings that a steady full-time paycheck makes possible. Like Spring’s fickle weather, I’ve swung back and forth between extremes trying to find the right balance for myself and I sometimes wonder if I’m sabotaging my artistic progress by pulling back after having made such great strides. I wish I didn't have to choose. I wish there was enough time and energy and enough of me to give myself wholly to it all—work, family, art and everything else—but there isn’t. Managing the anxiety and depression I suffer from, while working and mothering full-time has been tricky at best. And so I have to choose, and at the end of the day, I look to my children and through that lens I am trying to live as whole and as happy and as healthy as I can possibly live. I am doing my best to make choices that honor my family as well as myself and I’m grateful that I get to make these choices—I’m fully aware that not everyone gets to.

Artwise, I ache sometimes. I’ve surrendered this love, this need to create to God—it’s painful to open up my heart wide, to sit in my once-studio only to have to close it all up again in a minute, or five minutes or an hour. I can't bear to just 'visit' the worlds that open up to me, the dreams I can taste, the glow of beauty I see in the artwork that comes to me...I don't know how to live like that, on and off, off and on, squeezing it into the nooks and crannies of my life. By the time I feel warmed up, time's over already--come and eat dinner, mom I need help with my homework, time-for-bed-early meeting-tomorrow…so to stem the ache, I just don't anymore, or not much.

But I can't live like this either. I’m beseeching God for a third way.

Are these the best, right choices? Is there a way to have both…how? Is there a less painful life? What role does art and writing have to play in my life and what does being an artist and a writer look like for me in this season?

taking a (big) step back.

with the full-time day job i took up in july, i knew in my bones that the long days would take away from time spent artmaking. i knew it, and i readied myself for it (the best anyone can when they anticipate a big transition) and still, i have gotten the wind knocked out of me, good and hard.

oh, i had all of the talks, all of the philosophical wonderings, said all of my prayers and done up all of the lists of pros and cons and at the end of the day, i knew this to be the right next step for me and my family. but i'd be lying if i said this choice to go back to full-time work wasn't the hardest thing i've ever had to do. 

so was making the choice recently, not to go to surtex this year to exhibit, though it has long been my dream. my children are little you see, and after weighing everything and then adding in the hours i also spend working full-time, my heart sank to the bottom of the salty sea when i realized i just couldn't do it. would it sound melodramatic if i told you that it broke my heart, making this choice? it did. in two, at least. and yet, it was the best choice--my children have one mama, one childhood for me and their daddy to fill up with sweet memories--and committing to surtex would gobble up my already meager family time and other resources. 

the truth is i am struggling to find a way to do it all--work the day job, be a mama, wife, friend, sister, daughter...and artist. and most of the time these days, i just can't do it all. and it makes me sad. and i am regrouping and pondering the role artmaking has to play in my life in order for me to feel fulfilled and happy. i'm asking myself how to honor the artist that i am and figuring out ways to make myself and my artmaking a priority. i am asking myself if there is anything i can do differently in my everyday life to make more space for the artmaking and writing that are such needed elements in my own well being and joyfulness.

i still have more questions than answers. i still throw myself pity parties. i am still struggling. every. single. day. and i know the answers will come and i am waiting as actively as i can in the midst of the lostness and not knowing what comes next.

And So I Show Up.

{ New art! © janavellana, 2015, done in honour of Mary Blair }

I haven’t blogged in forever. The longer I stay away, the harder it is to come back. You know how it is. It feels like too little, too late. But the truth is, it’s never too little, and as long as we are still alive, it’s never too late either. I had almost forgotten this truth…

Eyeball deep in the elementary school classroom again, the conversation I've been having with myself lately is, "How much do you want this?" And by this I mean, this art life. And the answer I keep coming to is that there is no wanting or not wanting. I simply am. An artist, a creative, a mess maker.

And while the all consuming day job is testing my mettle, the bigger test comes during those quiet moments, when I can either choose to press through Resistance (Steven Pressfield), or simply give up the making for another hour which slides into a day or two, which easily becomes weeks and a then a life.

{ New art! © janavellana, 2015, done in honour of Mary Blair }

Where does one measly sketch in the middle of the day really get me? Sometimes it just gets me discouraged. But more often, it gets me one sketch closer to the day that I make art everyday for my living. One at a time. I may not be the best artist I can be yet, nor the most prolific or business savvy.

But I can choose to be tenacious. And so I show up. One sketch, one painting, one illustration at a time.

Ready or Not, Here I Come!

Tomorrow, I'll step foot back into the classroom full-time...something I haven't done in 11 years and something I swore I'd never do again. It's a temporary position in the elementary classroom servicing special needs children. My next step will be to re-enter the regular education classroom starting this Fall.

The truth is, I'm at a crossroads in my life. There are so many things my heart desires--a full-time art life, an agent, more licensing opportunities--and at the same time, financial stability, a house to raise my family in, travel while my children are still little. And because I know that my art career takes time to build, and that little boys don't stay little forever, I've decided the kindest thing to do for myself, my family and my art is to go back full-time to give all the things I love time to grow.

I have fear inside..."What if I'm as miserable as I was when I left this profession a decade ago?" "Will I still be able to make lots of art?" But I also have hope..."I'm such a different person I was 11 years ago--I'm excited to see how far I can go with my students!" "I'll be able to travel with my children and make memories with family near and far!" I worry that I won't have what it takes to be both a full-time teacher and an emerging artist, yet I'm excited at the possibilities this income will provide for me art-wise. It's such a give and take, things I will surely gain, sacrifices I know I have to make either way. This is not a move I've entered into lightly.

I hope to keep within me this quiet confidence I have fostered, that my art and the income it produces will continue to develop and grow, that I won't lose it along the way. I hope. I hope I won't stop being an artist. And I hope I can give my heart to my students in ways I wasn't able to my first time around? I hope I can fill their little souls with goodness and pour my love and light into them each and everyday. I hope my classroom will be a place of joy and safety for them and for me.

Please pray if you do, and wish me well on this next leg of my journey. Ready or not, here I come!

Tomorrow, I'll step foot back into the classroom full-time...something I haven't done in 11 years and something I swore I'd never do again. It's a temporary position in the elementary classroom servicing special needs children. My next step will be to re-enter the regular education classroom starting this Fall.

The truth is, I'm at a crossroads in my life. There are so many things my heart desires--a full-time art life, an agent, more licensing opportunities--and at the same time, financial stability, a house to raise my family in, travel while my children are still little. And because I know that my art career takes time to build, and that little boys don't stay little forever, I've decided the kindest thing to do for myself, my family and my art is to go back full-time to give all the things I love time to grow.

I have fear inside..."What if I'm as miserable as I was when I left this profession a decade ago?" "Will I still be able to make lots of art?" But I also have hope..."I'm such a different person I was 11 years ago--I'm excited to see how far I can go with my students!" "I'll be able to travel with my children and make memories with family near and far!" I worry that I won't have what it takes to be both a full-time teacher and an emerging artist, yet I'm excited at the possibilities this income will provide for me art-wise. It's such a give and take, things I will surely gain, sacrifices I know I have to make either way. This is not a move I've entered into lightly.

I hope to keep within me this quiet confidence I have fostered, that my art and the income it produces will continue to develop and grow, that I won't lose it along the way. I hope. I hope I won't stop being an artist. And I hope I can give my heart to my students in ways I wasn't able to my first time around? I hope I can fill their little souls with goodness and pour my love and light into them each and everyday. I hope my classroom will be a place of joy and safety for them and for me.

Please pray if you do, and wish me well on this next leg of my journey. Ready or not, here I come!

Changes.

{ Patching the drywall }

Change is ushering itself in the front door this year. Some of it I feel so ripe for, while for other changes I don’t think I’ll ever be ready. It’s coming anyway. What does Hagrid say?

“What's comin' will come, and we'll meet it when it does.”

I’m trying to be brave and focus on the good—oh, there is so much good in there—and trying not to freak myself out with the fears of what ifs and remember whens. I want to savor my life and all that is in it, and I want to stand with courage against the things that terrify me. I want to challenge my fears and say, “You are useful sometimes, but not this time” and I want to say a holy yes to my life and to Jesus when He leads me.

My Word for the Year | Freedom

Freedom to answer God's call on my life.

Freedom to risk, to try, to hope and wish and dream.

Freedom to embrace who God made me to be.

Freedom to feel petrified and cowardly, and the freedom to do it anyway.

Freedom to be who I am—all of me—the strong, awesome parts and the messy, still becoming parts.

Freedom to fail.

Freedom to fly.

This is my word for the year.

Good-bye 2014 (You Were a Doozy).

{ Cover pitch for my very first fabric collection with Windham Fabrics, January 2015 }

“And now we welcome the new year, full of things that have never been” ~Rainer Maria Rilke

2014, you were a doozy. You were the year that undid me and I’m still not put back together yet. 2014, you were a half-year—with both mom and dad in hospice for most of the latter half of the year, and dad passing away in October, I can only really recall up to May...the rest of the year was a blur of loss and sorrow.

I am grateful for many people, for love, for family and friends, for hard learned lessons and for pruning. I am grateful, but tender and raw and missing so many things about my old life and mom (who is transistioning to living in a nursing home) and missing dad's presence.

I am looking forward to you 2015. May you be a whole lot better than 2014 was, and kinder too.

Shine Bright | A Journey of Grace (My Kickstarter Project)

As part of my Kickstarter Project, funded back in April 2014, I’ve set up a blog where I’ve consolidated all of my writing in one place. I hope to add images to these writings as time permits, but for now, these essays ARE the new body of work I was hoping to create when I set out to do this project...it simply took a form I had not intended at the time. They will be featured in a solo show in 2015 (details to follow).

You see, a month after funding Shine Bright, both Mom and Dad became very ill. Over the next 6 months leading up til today, we ended up watching Dad pass away in October. Mom is still on her own hospice journey, but she is gaining strength each day. The fruit of this season are these writings, which I offer to you as a body of work that has truly come through me, heart and soul.

We Said Good-bye to Dad.

Good-bye Dad…

Dad passed away on Tuesday afternoon, surrounded by love. We showered him with rose petals and kisses and tears. For his homecoming, he wore his favorite navy blue 442nd Regimental Combat Team blazer. I can only imagine the festivities going on in Heaven, and how wonderful it must feel for Dad to be forever rid of fear and pain and loneliness. With a breaking heart, even in this, I know God is near, and Dad is still my dad.

For years, he drank like the soldier he was, smoked packs and packs and ate atrociously. He loved corned beef straight out of the can, smeared on white bread slathered with butter, he slurped up the little cube of fat in lau lau and put salt on his shoyu rice. He was diagnosed late in life with bipolar disorder, which explains years of self-medicating (use your imagination liberally).

At 19, in the army, his buddies called him "Chow Hound" because this petite man could put away groceries like the bag boys at Costco. He was the bazooka man in Company C of the 442nd Regimental Combat Infantry, and my littlest son's hero.

He sang with a baritone voice, wrote with a beautiful, scrolly cursive hand, and could ballroom dance.

He snored so loudly we could hear him clearly in every room in the house.

One Christmas, he got me an aluminum tree and I cried my eyeballs out, so he walked to the store and dragged a fresh one back home for me. He mixed my ice cream sandwiches to make them into a cookies and cream soft serve, before there was ever such a thing.

He loved people--oh, how he loved people. He could--and would--talk to anyone. He bought homeless men dinner. He loved to play poker and taught us kids to play paiute and hanafuda when we were young--we'd empty our piggy banks and gamble.

He drove a tour bus and taxi cab and survived a mugging that left him for dead. He forgave those idiots (my word, not his), with tears in his eyes. He was forever haunted by that horrible beating. He had 9 lives, plus more. He had Alzheimer's and didn't always remember me, but he could recall his childhood and army days clearly.

Sometimes we fought hard. Always, we loved.

This is my dad and I miss him so.

Kickstarter Project Update: Shine Bright

With Dad now gone, and Mom still declining in hospice care, I appreciate your patience and understanding of my timetable delays more than ever. Please know, your support and contributions are always on mind and I hold my responsibility to fulfilling all of my promises and rewards with great sacredness.

Always in the back of my mind, I think about my Kickstarter project, and how so many of you, my tribe, supported me in my efforts to build a body of work (thank you). I've been feeling overwhelmed and wracked with guilt that I can't seem to draw a thing these days, and you have all been so kind to wait patiently while I focus on my family during this time of sorrow.

Recently, I had an AHA moment. I'm realizing this--that my writings here about grief and Mom and Dad's journey with hospice and dying ARE the creations that are coming out of this season. It's not the work I intended to give birth to, and I'm still needing and wanting to get the promised rewards mailed out as soon as things settle--but it is the best of me that I have to offer you right now.

In the meantime—Kickstarter supporters—I am fulfilling the “new work” part of my project with words in lieu of images (for now). The 52 pieces of art I envisioned—the weekly pieces of art I intended to create—are taking the form of writing. I'll start numbering them and posting these essays for you to read very soon. I'm hopeful that there will be art and illustrations born out of this season too.

This thought frees me to write without holding anything back, and to share with you my heart on a more frequent basis.

Thank you in advance for your love and understanding.