Written by Sarah |  May 16, 2012

The vulnerability of your dreams

Welsh Fields III (Rhuddlan Castle) 11"x14" oil on canvas, unframed, $395. © Sarah Marie Lacy, 2012

Welsh Fields III (Rhuddlan Castle) 11"x14" oil on canvas, unframed, $395. © Sarah Marie Lacy, 2012

It can feel so vulnerable dreaming big.

To have a vision that feels so huge that some days it can make you feel tiny.

To fiercely believe in the purity, power and beauty of your dream and yet…

Yet to not be so attached to your dream that you shut yourself off from possibility or worse yet…

Let desperation fuel your actions.

To let yourself feel vulnerable, to let yourself radiate with confidence and without the contamination of needy fear.

To let yourself want, to desire and to reach for that desire without grasping and clinging.

To be fully you. To want what you want. Even when it feels crazy, too big, too daring.

This is the fine line you walk, with your heart bared to the world.

 

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Written by Sarah |  May 14, 2012

Brave Enough

Fields at Chateau Villandry, 10"x12" oil on canvas, unframed, $275. © Sarah Marie Lacy, 2012

Fields at Chateau Villandry, 10"x12" oil on canvas, unframed, $275. © Sarah Marie Lacy, 2012

I leave for France a week today. (WHEEEE!))

In 6 days, I have to pay my second tuition payment for the year.

The first program is almost paid for, but now I have to pay for the second program.

I need another $5,400, to cover tuition, rent & food for at least the first few weeks.

If I can’t raise that, I can just about make it to the first program, but I won’t get to go to the second one.

There’s a lot on the line. And I’m terrified.

The parts of me that want to stay small are panicking – they think I’ve bitten off more than I can chew, that I was stupid to book the extra painting trips when I can’t even pay for my tuition, that I’m a fool for trying to live my dream life.

That I’m an idiot for ever thinking I can do this. Y’know – believing that I can make a living as an artist and change even a tiny part of the world with my message.

My message of hope and dreams. The message that I believe in you, and I make art that is a symbol of that.

My message that it ain’t over till it’s over, and that you still get to live a glorious, fulfilled life, even if you get knocked down by the hard parts of life.

I believe in you, your dreams, your greatness. I know that you’re wonderful, that you can make a difference, that your soul is magnificent bed of flowers, blooming ever onward.

These things I know. These things I fiercely believe.

And I paint beautiful things for you because you deserve to be surrounded by objects that remind you of this. I paint your soul’s freedom.

I paint the places where your soul shines bright, unfettered by doubts and fears.

So this week, I am asking the powers that be for bravery.

I am asking that they grant me the strength to be the brave, confident, radiant woman I know that I am.

May they grant me the courage I need to shine my light and raise my hand and sell the art I need to sell to get to France.

May they grant me the grace and calm to act with dignity, not desperation; to act from love and not fear.

May they send me the support I need to become the woman I need to be.

Amen.

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Written by Sarah |  May 12, 2012

ME/CFS Awareness Day: 11 things of gratitude for 11 years of illness

Today is International ME/CFS Awareness Day.

I’ve written a lot about my experiences living with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Fibromyalgia. I was diagnosed at 12, and the first 5 years were the toughest of my life.

Back in 2010, I wrote another post for ME/CFS Awareness Day about how art helped me find purpose in my life and gave me a reason to live again.

In a way, my illness and my art are interdependent – without getting sick, I think it would have been a long road to my art. Without my art, I don’t know if I could have moved past being sick to building a better life.

I can’t say that I’m grateful for having a chronic illness – I can only say that without it, my life would have been very different and that I love the life I have right now.

But I like to think that I would have built a happy life, no matter the hand that was dealt me.

So today, instead of talking about how hard it’s been (and lord, some days it’s been hard), I want to celebrate the delights in my life. I want to talk about the good things that have happened the past 11 years.

I have spent time honouring the difficulties. Now I want to honour the achievements.  

11 wonderful things for 11 years of illness

1. Jesse.Jesse

If you know me, you know I’m not the kind of girl whose whole life revolves around her man. But my man is just so lovely, he has to go to the top of this list. For over 5 years, he’s been my best friend, my cheerleader, my shoulder to cry on, and the celebrator of my total dorkiness (since he’s a complete dork himself). We’ve been through a lot together, and come out stronger for it.

I’m grateful to us for us. We built this life together and it’s a pretty damned good one.

2. More amazing friends than I know what to do with.

You know who you are. I am so blessed to know so many delightful people who support me and love me.

3. My independence & freedom.

Six years ago, I didn’t believe that I could ever live on my own or support myself financially. Look at me now! I moved across the country & built a home for myself in a place where I knew no one.

4. Prince Edward Island.

Thank you for being my very first home. Thank you for welcoming me with open arms. Thank you for introducing me to some of the loveliest people I know.

5. My art.

Of course. The art that I make is one of the most positive forces in my life.

The River Cam I, 11"x14" oil on canvas, $395. ©Sarah Marie Lacy, 2012

The River Cam I, 11"x14" oil on canvas ©Sarah Marie Lacy, 2012 SOLD

6. Studio Escalier & France.

My experiences last year were transformational. I still can’t believe that it happened. I still can’t believe that I’m going back in 10 days. I am so grateful and so blessed that this opportunity came into my life.

7. My collectors & supporters (that’s you!).

You are the reason that I make art, that I write and the reason that I got to France. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all of the support that you’ve given me the past 4 years.

8. The little things.

Because even on days when I feel sick and small and scared, there are still steaming cups of tea, sunshine, cookies, laughter, books, raindrops and pets who will curl up under the blanket with you. I will never stop treasuring the small, sweet moments of life.

Study: Sugar Cookies, 5"x7" oil on canvas board. © Sarah Marie Lacy, 2012

Study: Sugar Cookies, 5"x7" oil on canvas board. © Sarah Marie Lacy, 2012

9. My family.

They’ve always been a huge source of support for me, even when I start doing things that I couldn’t possibly explain to them. They may not always understand why I do what I do, but they’re always there.

10. I am grateful to my body.

After 5 years of being very, very sick, I began to trust what it told me it needed and since then, we’ve been able to develop a rhythm that works for us and my body has healed itself of so much. I just need to trust it, and it will take care of itself.

11. That still, small voice inside.

I am grateful to myself for listening to that voice. I wouldn’t be where I am today without it. It has been my guiding light back home to myself and out into the world. I don’t know if it’s instinct, intuition, a wiser part of myself or some sort of external force. I just know that when I listen to it, good things happen.

I am still here and I am still dreaming.

I will keep dreaming. I will keep savouring the small things and painting work from my soul. I will go back to France and learn how to make the art that dances in my heart.

I will love and live and laugh, not in spite of being ill, but alongside it.

ME, CFS and Fibromyalgia are devastating illnesses, don’t get me wrong. There needs to be more awareness, more research, more forward movement.

But in the meantime, those of us who deal with this have to learn to live. And that’s what I want to celebrate today – life. The life that flows through us, even when our bodies don’t work as well as they used to.

If you’d like to find out more about ME, CFS & FMS, click here to go to the ME/FM Action Network website.

Posted in Art, Coping With Chronic Illness | Tagged , , , , , | Comments (0)
Written by Sarah |  May 11, 2012

An Artist’s Odyssey, explained with a series of pictures!

(Royalty-free music courtesy of Dan-o: http://www.danosongs.com/#music)

Yesterday, I was sitting in the doctor’s office waiting to get some test results (good news! all is well!) when I suddenly had an idea.

I knew I had to make this video, to explain in my own quirky way why going to France to study art is so important.

I’ve just spent the last 8 hours making this video and it’s finally done.

I hope you enjoy. :)

Posted in Art, Dreams | Comments (0)
Written by Sarah |  May 9, 2012

Remembering to dream

Welsh Fields I (Rhuddlan Castle), 11"x14" oil on canvas, unframed, $395. © Sarah Marie Lacy 2012

Welsh Fields I (Rhuddlan Castle), 11"x14" oil on canvas, unframed, $395. © Sarah Marie Lacy 2012

Three years ago, I moved out of my parents’ home and across the country. Last week, I came back home to stay for a bit before I go to France.

It’s been 2 years since I set foot in my old bedroom. As I lay in bed the first night, I was deeply struck by a realization.

Giving myself hope

Eight months after I got sick, I was home alone one day, too sick to go to school but feeling just awake enough that I was bored.

My parents had repainted my room the year before a deep, rich, royal purple. It was my favourite colour.

On a whim, I suddenly wanted to paint a word on my wall.

I grabbed my mother’s calligraphy books, made myself a stencil and then found some gold craft paint in the art closet.

When my parents came home, it was to discover a new addition to my room:

“DREAM”

I don’t know what wise voice inside had decided on that word, but I clung to it.

Every day I woke up to see this word, this reminder – dream. Dream and dream and dream.

And quietly, secretly, I did. Even as my world crumbled, I kept dreaming. And as I rebuilt, I began to dream little bit louder, a little more boldly.

Now, my dreams are coming true. On Sunday night, I was accepted into the Autumn program at Studio Escalier in France and my plans for 2012 are coming together.

I’ve come a long way

When I left home 3 years ago, it was right after 2 (what felt like) disastrous shows of my art. I’d done an art fair where I had a $500 loss. Eight weeks later, I had a huge nude painting show that I’d thrown myself into heart and soul and which had less-than-stellar attendance and not a single sale.

A week later, I moved to Prince Edward Island and was feeling deeply discouraged. I’d lost confidence in my work and confidence in my ability to make a career out of the work I believed in. I felt lost.

My home-coming this time couldn’t be more different. I’m riding high on the success of my one-night-only show where I sold 7 paintings in 2 hours and then 3 more within the next week. My art sales have steadily climbed in the past 2 years. I went to France to study art at an exclusive private studio for heaven’s sake.

And so, I’m continuing to dream

In 12 days, I have to pay my $3500 tuition + living expenses fee for the autumn program. I also have to purchase travel health insurance for my boyfriend and I, and set aside money for taxis and food. All told, I need $8,500.

So far, I’ve rustled up $2,600 and need just another $5,900 to make all of the payments necessary.

To read the whole story of my journey and join in, click the link below!

Read about my artistic odyssey & join in! :)

 

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Written by Sarah |  May 7, 2012

Between the strong and the small

The River Cam II, 10"x12" oil on canvas, unframed, $275. © Sarah Marie Lacy 2012

The River Cam II, 10"x12" oil on canvas, unframed, $275. © Sarah Marie Lacy 2012

I’ve spent most of this year flip-flopping between 2 states of mind.

In the first state of mind, I am strong, confident, powerful, and focused. Everything goes swimmingly. Jobs show up, paintings practically sell themselves, and my voice is clear and strong. The words that I want to share flow freely from my fingertips. I know that my actions have meaning and that I am creating the life I dream of.

Then there’s the second state of mind. Here, I get stuck. I feel helpless, convinced that everything I do is meaningless and that I have no control over my future, my success, my fate. Everything is in the hands of the Universe and the Universe is cold and unfriendly. It’s all just going to end in tears.

When I’m in this place, I stop writing because I think I have nothing “important” to say. Any kind of promotion or marketing is painful, like it’s being dragged from me physically, barbed wire across skin.

Everything stops. There is no flow. There is no satisfaction or joy.

These 2 states of mind act like a form of amnesia.

When I feel strong, I can’t remember what it’s like to feel small and helpless. I can’t even understand my own thinking and am puzzled that I could have felt that way.

When I feel powerless, I can’t remember how to get back to feeling strong. It feels so foreign, so far away. I know that I used to feel it, but I can’t remember why or what caused it. I just feel like everything I do is pointless.

The in-between of metamorphosis

I struggle between the two places as I work to transform my life. Going to France in 2 weeks isn’t just about eating croissants and drinking wine. It’s about starting a new kind of life, a new adventure. It’s about spreading my wings and teaching myself to fly, both creatively and personally. (Which, in my opinion, are practically the same thing.)

Being in my hometown again triggers my feelings of powerlessness. It’s not just that I’m around people who have never known the stronger & more confident me (and so it feels uncomfortably like introducing a new person you really want people to like, but you’re so invested in it that you’re constantly nervous.)

But it’s my physical environment as well. This is a city and a home where I spent 8 years feeling completely helpless. Weeks and months spent in bed, cut off from the life I’d expected to have.

I lay in bed and watched my world crumble around me and was powerless to do anything about it. I couldn’t stop it. I kept trying to glue the pieces back together, only to watch them fall apart again. Every step forward was accompanied by 5 steps back.

I clung to my old dreams, to my old expectations of myself and who could blame me? It was all I knew. I was a kid, thrown into an adult situation and I had none of the skills to cope.

I was intensely, painfully aware of my own helplessness.

And so it is a comfortable groove in my brain, a place that it is easy to slip into and difficult to get out of.

Bringing awareness to it

I always know when I’m in that place. It’s actually the most frustrating part – I am aware that I feel helpless & that it’s not true, but I feel too helpless to change it.

So what I try to do is give myself compassion and permission.

Compassion for myself, for the experiences that led to this rut in my brain. Permission to be here as long as I need to. Every time I’m in this place, it’s because there’s something else to heal, something else to learn. It’s not a reason to beat myself up for being a victim again.

Deep in my heart, in my truth, I don’t believe that I am a victim. Inside, I hold so many truths – about my power, about my ability to create the life that I want. That still small voice inside of me knows what’s what.

And yet the rut is still there. It’s still deep. Yet I’ve been creating new grooves in my head – grooves that flow, that remind me that I’m powerful and strong, that I can create whatever I want. That I’m not helpless against the tides of fate but that my life is in my hands, to do with as I will.

And so I flip flop between the two, learning to radiate and learning to heal the parts that want to hide, that feel small and weak.

I am teaching myself that life around you responds to you.

You can’t control it. Life is too powerful. You’re a part of it and yet it’s outside of you. You can’t predict it, but you can learn to work with it. You can learn to co-create alongside the world around you.

The small part of me wants to be safe, wants all of the answers and wants nothing to change.

The strong part of me is okay with only having partial answers and great mysteries. The strong part of me is willing to get up and dance alongside life, like the Matisse painting. You learn to dance with the mystery.

The Dance, Matisse

And part of the mystery is not always being as strong as we’d like to be. Sometimes, we are weak. Sometimes, we are helpless. It’s painful to sit with it. It’s painful to live it.

As humans, we are deeply vulnerable. We are so fragile. Our bodies are not invincible. We bleed, we break. Our hearts love the people who hurt us, even though we know we shouldn’t. Our friends get sick. We get sick. Then one day, we die.

And despite all of this, we carry on. Our lives change, shatter, and we rebuild. We create new dreams, new lives, new loves, new bodies.

The same way our bodies grow new skin when we’ve been cut, we grow when we’ve been hurt.

The human spirit is almost unfathomably durable. It can hurt so much that we want to die, and yet somehow you wake up the next day and you carry on. You’re still alive.

Life wants to be lived.  

Posted in Coping With Chronic Illness, Dreams | Comments (1)
Written by Sarah |  May 5, 2012

Living in limbo

A Streetlight in France, 10"x12" oil on canvas, unframed, $275. © Sarah Marie Lacy, 2012

A Streetlight in France, 10"x12" oil on canvas, unframed, $275. © Sarah Marie Lacy, 2012

In just over 2 weeks, I leave for France. Right now, I’m home with my family in Niagara, Ontario, spending time with them before I leave.

I’m a little bit shell-shocked. Adaptability is not something I’m especially good at (Change?! What?!) and I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that I no longer live in Charlottetown and am back in my hometown and temporarily living with my parents. And that I’m moving to…France. Again.

Somebody pinch me.

I’ve been wandering around in a daze for a week, trying to adapt to the slight-but-constant-chaos that is living at home with your family again. All of my routines are gone – my easel is packed away (I’m going into withdrawal), I don’t have my own workspace, and there’s very rarely just me, alone with my thoughts.

It’s harder than I’d expected it to be. And it’s not that I’m unhappy – I love my family, and seeing them again is wonderful – but there are unexpected challenges. Not to mention that it’s family, the people who simultaneously love you and trigger you the most.

I’ve suddenly come to understand the title of the comic strip, Family Circus.

And time keeps pushing forward and France looms closer and closer.

I keep thinking there’s quite a bit left to be done and yet there’s almost nothing at all. All of my art supplies are ready and waiting. I picked up a few final things yesterday. We won’t pack until a few days before, although we both have a pretty good idea of what we’ll be bringing.

We have to order some euros, and buy travel insurance. We both bought good walking shoes. There are more rounds of visits to make and farewells to say.

The only thing really left to do is to raise the final $6000 for tuition and living expenses. I find out in a week whether I was accepted into the 6 week autumn program and if I’ve received any scholarship money. The tuition is due the day before my flight on May 21.

I’m nervous, naturally. This will be the largest financial undertaking in the shortest amount of time so far.

But I am absolutely determined to make this work, no matter what. I’m just a normal gal, trying to make a rather extraordinary dream come true. I believe in the work that I want to make. I believe that it’s worth the effort, the dedication, and the cost. I believe that it’s worth investing in.

So I will continue to invest all of my time and all of my money into making the best work that I possibly can. It’s where I feel called. It’s where I can make a difference in the world.

And by putting one foot before the other, one step at a time, I will get there.

Posted in Dreams, Fear | Comments (0)
Written by Sarah |  April 26, 2012

Farewell, Prince Edward Island. It’s been an adventure.

Seascape: Blue & Gold, 16"x20" oil on canvas, framed, $700 © Sarah Marie Lacy 2012

Seascape: Blue & Gold, 16"x20" oil on canvas, framed, $700 © Sarah Marie Lacy 2012

Today is my last day living on Prince Edward Island.

Early tomorrow morning, I’ll get in my 14ft Uhaul cube van and together with my boyfriend and his dad, we’ll drive our stuff the 2000km back to Niagara, Ontario where we’re originally from to store what’s left of our belongings with our parents before heading off to France in May.

I’ve been here almost 3 years. This was my first home away from home, the place where I figured out how to create a life totally independent of my parents.

I didn’t know a soul here. I didn’t know the culture; I didn’t know anything. I didn’t even know if I’d make my rent that first month here.

Honestly, our decision to move here was a little bit whimsical. We just wanted to go somewhere new, to experience something totally different from what we knew. And of course, since most people wildly opposed the idea (I got into arguments with complete strangers for heaven’s sakes), we dug our heels in even deeper.

I’m glad we did.

It’s been fabulous.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, there have been hard times. There have been months where we’ve scrambled for rent and lived on mac n’ cheese. We moved again 6 months after we got here because our first place was extortion. I had an ulcer spontaneously implode and had internal bleeding. I was stressed. I was lonely. I was incredibly anxious.

It took me about 6 months to figure out how to just…be on my own. To be independent. To be an adult.

And then, slowly but surely, I started to figure out how to live life on my own terms.

I got out of the retail job that caused the ulcer. I advertised myself on my blog and got a new job 2 days later. I started freelancing, working with social media and web design. I figured out how to make money. I figured out how to create my own independence. We moved into the most gorgeous and affordable apartment.

But the most important thing that I’ve learned on PEI is how to build community. The community I have here is what I’m going to miss.

I learned how to make friends, how to find my Right People, how to create support systems for myself.

The best and worst thing about leaving PEI is how many friends I’m leaving behind.

But I get to take those skills with me, wherever I go. I know now that no matter where I end up in life, I can make new friends, build a new community and create a home for myself. That feels good.

So, dearest Prince Edward Island, I bid you a fond farewell. Never goodbye though – I’ll be back to visit you, and all of the people I love here. And their love will come with me wherever I go.

Au revoir!

(If you want to live vicariously through me and join me on this crazy adventure, you should sign up for Sketches from the Road! A weekly love letter + video + photos + stories from me wherever I am and all proceeds help me pay for my tuition! Click here to sign up!)

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Written by Sarah |  April 24, 2012

A sneak peek at Sketches from the Road 2012

Can you believe that this Friday morning is when my crazy French adventure begins? I’m a packing, cleaning, painting hurricane right now, so this is just a quick note!

To celebrate the beginning of the adventure, I wanted to share a taste of Sketches from the Road with you, by making a sort of “pilot” episode. That way, if it seems like this is your cup of tea, you can sign up!

You can check it out right here (and find out all the details of my upcoming adventure!):

For now, I must return to the mountain of laundry and packing awaiting me. Alas. And then in 3 days, my adventure begins!

If you’d like to join me and sign up for Sketches from the Road, donate right here ($20 suggested price, but whatever number floats your boat really):

Alternatively, buying a painting gets you a free subscription to SFTR 2012, and you can view the latest and greatest ones here:

 Gorgeous paintings of France & England

Posted in Art, Dreams | Comments (1)
Written by Sarah |  April 11, 2012

Art vs Craft: The role inspiration plays in my art

Detail from "Fields at Chateau Villandry" © Sarah Marie Lacy, 2012

Detail from "Fields at Chateau Villandry" © Sarah Marie Lacy, 2012

I bumped into a new collector at the grocery store yesterday morning, and after joking that she was shocked to see me not chained to the easel, she asked me a really great question.

She asked if, since I was painting so much and with such an imminent deadline, did the painting stop being a pleasure? Did it start to become work, something that I just had to get through? (I’m paraphrasing.)

I said that no, it didn’t, but I’ve been pondering the question ever since because what intrigues me is the why behind the no. And it’s a qualified “no” – for me, painting is always work, and always hard, and always challenging. But it’s because I take it so seriously, and because in my own sadistic way, the challenge is the fun.

There’s also something about the life of a painting that, for me, walks the fine line between art and craft.

I consider myself an artist, but also a craftsperson, in the very traditional sense of the word. I am passionate about the craft of my art, just as much as I am about the inspiration.

The inspiration comes sometimes as a flash, other times as a quiet knowing, and is absolutely vital to the creation of my art.

It also takes up about 1% of the creative process. The rest is up to craft.

It’s all well and good to have the idea, but the execution of that idea is just as important (to me). And that’s where so much of the juicy goodness resides; it’s where the challenge is.

I aim to create well-crafted art. When I make something, I am concerned about the inspiration, but I am also concerned about thoughtfully and intelligently creating a high-quality product.

No matter how fast I’m painting, or how many pieces I create in a day, nothing is ever “churned out.”

There is a production line, of sorts. Working in oils, I build each piece up in 2-3 layers, with each layer needing to be dry enough to be able to put the next layer on. I can start multiple pieces in a day, working out the composition and then an underpainting. But then I need to leave those pieces for 48 hours before I can put the next layers on. So the next day, I start a new batch of paintings.

The pieces rotate, allowing me to be constantly working on something new.

But I think about every brushstroke, every colour choice, every compositional decision. The same way a carpenter doesn’t just throw screws into a chair all willy nilly, I don’t throw paint on a canvas any which way.

Yet, like a carpenter placing the screws in the chair, it’s not inspiration or “Art” that leads them to make that choice. It’s thoughtful consideration, and craftsmanship that allows them to build a chair that doesn’t fall over.

My paintings are the same way. After the initial inspiration, I settle into the craftsmanship of my art, which often looks a lot like hard work.

But it is deeply satisfying, rich and challenging hard work. And even though I’m doing it 10-12 hours a day right now, it never becomes drudgery, which is what I think a lot of people associate “work” with and really what my collector was wondering:

Does it ever become drudgery?

No. Never.

 

Live on PEI?

Then come see these pieces and more in person on Saturday April 14th, from 7-10pm at the Queen Street Commons, 224 Queen Street in Charlottetown. There will be wine, French desserts and fabulous people.

Click here to find out more.

Don’t live nearby?

Join my newsletter to get invited to the online show and get a chance to purchase on these paintings (priced between $175 – $395) before anyone else gets to see them.

Click here to sign up!

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