Trees & River at Sunset (France) 11"x14" oil on canvas, unframed, $395. © Sarah Marie Lacy 2012

“In life, as in baseball, getting on base can be just as important as hitting a home run.”

As my Sunday deadline looms closer & closer, my anxiety levels keep climbing.

I am still $3,650 short of my tuition payment on Sunday. Despite raising over $6,700 in 4 weeks, I’m still not quite there.

Hello, difficult feelings

For some reason, the only yardstick I ever measure myself by is how much money I’ve made.

I painted 17 paintings in 6 weeks, was accepted into an exclusive private studio program in France, had people invent scholarships for me, and because I’m $3,650 short of my $8,500 net profit goal, I feel like a failure.

I am deeply afraid of not making that $3,650.

I have back-up plans in place. I have people I can borrow that money from. I will still stay the full 6 months again this year.

But incurring more debt on top of last year’s debt feels like another failure. I paid for just over half of last year’s studies myself. I still owe my parents about $8,000.

I was so determined to pay for the next 2 years myself, to not burden my parents with more debt in my name. (It’s a private school, so I’m unable to get student loans or lines of credit.)

I can’t help but look back on last year and see only how much I failed, not how much I achieved.

That damn comparison game

There’s a part of my brain that tells me if I was a better person and more successful, I wouldn’t have to raise this extra money. I’d just be rich enough to have it.

If could just unravel my money issues faster, get over my post-abuse fears quicker and shine brighter, and just be a braver, more courageous person, then everything would be fine. I would be a success.

I look at other people, with larger audiences and fatter pocketbooks, and can only see how far away I am from that.

I feel not just broke but broken; less-than in comparison.

And while I’m aware that these thoughts aren’t truth, they still touch on such a raw & vulnerable place that it’s not easy to brush off.

Places that hurt

Since I began to rebuild my life 6 years ago, after 5 years of being incredibly ill, independence has always been something I’ve strived for.

Never again do I want to feel helpless. Never again do I want to feel totally dependent on others for every part of my life, unable to contribute anything useful or meaningful. I felt like a shadow of my true self.

I’m still trying to prove to some part of myself that I’m not there anymore. That I can take care of myself. That I can do it on my own. That I am strong and independent and brave.

Not weak, helpless and afraid, which is how I so often used to feel.

I lost sight of the true goal

The true goal is to study the poetry and craft of the work I want to make in the world. The true goal is to create beautiful, meaningful works of art to share. The true goal is to inspire people, to bring them hope and comfort and joy and compassion.

The true goal is to share my message with the world.

The true goal is not to make money. I just need money to get started.

The true goal isn’t even a goal anyway – it’s a journey. And it’s a journey with a nebulous destination. I will always be working to create art that is more beautiful, and more meaningful than what I’ve made before.

I will always be pouring more of my soul into the work I make.

Finding healing; finding peace

The only thing I can do is give myself love and compassion.

I can only remind myself that asking my parents for financial support to go to my-version-of-university is something thousands of other students have done and that there is nothing weak about it.

I can only keep sharing my dream and my message with the world.

I will keep making the art that lives in my soul.

I will try to remember how far I’ve come – from bedridden with illness to a private French art school on partial scholarship in 6 years.

And that my strength and success go miles deeper than money.

I turn it over to you – do you struggle with anything similar?

Do you easily forget your own achievements? Tell me in the comments about an achievement you just don’t give yourself enough credit for.

If you’d like to help me on my journey, click here to read all about it.

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.

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.

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.

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 ©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

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.

(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.

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!

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

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!

I wrote the other day about the fields across from Rhuddlan Castle but as it happens, that wasn’t the only painting from that shoot. I fell in love with those rich purple-greens and the soft grey light, so there’s actually five.

This is where they start out… (this is the one piece I haven’t had a chance to work on yet.) Burnt umber + ultramarine stained canvas, raw umber drawing.

Work in progress: Welsh Fields #5 10"x12" oil on canvas, $275. © Sarah Marie Lacy, 2012

And then they work up to this level:

Work in progress: Welsh Fields #2 8"x10" oil on canvas, $175. © Sarah Marie Lacy, 2012

Work in progress: Welsh Fields #3 11"x14" oil on canvas, $395. © Sarah Marie Lacy, 2012

Work in progress: Welsh Fields #4 11"x14" oil on canvas, $395. © Sarah Marie Lacy, 2012

And then eventually they get here….(almost finished)

Work in progress: Welsh Fields #1 11"x14" oil on canvas, $395. © Sarah Marie Lacy, 2012

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!

(This is a work in progress for my one-night show, Bon Voyage on April 14th, here in Charlottetown, PEI. To read more about it, click here.)

Work in progress: A Bridge for Faeries, 10"x12" oil on canvas, $275. © Sarah Marie Lacy, 2012

There’s something about this ancient bridge and soft lighting that captures my imagination. It’s charming, enchanting.

I used to love faeries as a child and collected the Flower Fairy books by Cecily Mary Barker. I think that’s one of the first places I fell in love with the art; I adored the beautiful, delicate illustrations.

This bridge reminds me of those books and those fairies for some reason that I can’t quite put my finger on. Maybe it’s the softness of the light, or the rich leafy greens. Maybe it’s the lily pads which I’ve always loved. Something about the magical atmosphere of this bridge makes me think fairies are hiding in the bushes and imps will play tricks on you if you aren’t on your guard.

It’s an old bridge, at least 16^th century. It’s the bridge that leads out of this small French town; once you cross it, you find yourself in fields of sunflowers within moments.

There’s something about bridges that signifies crossing over, crossing worlds, crossing from one plane to another.

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!