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So what is a home?

So what is a home?

That word – home – seems to be very important to me. The significance is just out of sight. In the corner of my mind. If I turn to look at it, it moves further away, evading me. I feel like if I can catch it and hold it in front of me to study, like a beautiful stone, secret compartments will open up. Puzzles will unfold. Mysteries will be solved.

I have been searching for a sense of home my entire life. When I was a little girl I loved to play in the piles of leaves that my dad so carefully raked up. I discovered that I could pick up a handful and walk along and drop them as I went, making lines on the ground. Leaf lines. I drew 2-dimensional houses. Walls. Beds. I would lay on the flat leaf beds and imagine I was in my own house. In my mind it was a house that was comfortable and safe and a place where good memories were made by loving family members.

My first house design

Eventually Dad had to burn all the leaves…after raking them all up again. A thought occurred to me. I could draw houses on the sidewalk. There was a great big square of concrete in the corner of our yard. I think it covered something related to water or sewer. I never saw the slab slid aside, so I don’t know. It was the only piece of concrete that was not all broken up. It was begging to be drawn on…so big and smooth. I found out I could draw with pieces of stone…limestone.

I played with these houses like they were doll houses. I used small stones as family members. When it got too cold outside and snow covered the square of concrete, I had to stop drawing on it.

I don’t know where I got it or why I had it, but I had a sketch pad and some colored pencils. Maybe I asked for them at that time. I had never, as far as I can recall, drawn anything in a sketch pad before. I don’t remember ever getting it as a gift. It came into my possession though and I began drawing houses like there was no tomorrow. I got lost in my drawings. If I wanted a house to have stone floors, I drew every single stone. I drew bricks. Wood floors. I drew blankets on the beds, clothes in the closets. I drew canisters in the kitchen and soap dishes in the bathrooms. I drew throw blankets and pillows. Textures and prints on furniture. In essence, while I created my houses, I lived in them. Whatever one I was working on at the time was my favorite one. I would lay it by the bed and look at it in the moonlight. I imagined living in it, walking around, eating at the table, laying on the bed. I began to write stories about the houses and the lives lived within them.

When I had used the whole sketch book up my mom burned all my drawings. I don’t know why. She wouldn’t say. I stopped drawing them. Once I was grown up and on my own, I drew a few more. I still needed that sense of home I’d been searching for.

When I was maybe twelve or thirteen, my dad bought a used truck and it came with a homemade camper on it. It was made of plywood that was painted a dark green, almost black. The roof was canvas on top of thin plywood. The interior had a little dinette table similar to the one in my Winnebago. There was a bed over the cab area. My family used the truck and camper to go camping a few times. By choice, I slept outside in a lawn chair. My parents slept inside. I didn’t like the crowded feeling of such a small space with other people. I have great memories of those trips though. My favorite part was the fact that my parents let me go into the camper when it was off the truck, sitting on its stilts, in the side yard. I didn’t play in the camper. It was too dark to really do much in there. But it was a space I could be in and be by myself. It felt safe and quiet and my thoughts were ripe and flowing in that small space. I was content to just sit there and think. Daydream. It smelled musty, but I didn’t care. Here is a crude little drawing of how I remember it.

That same time in my life, there was a Christmas party for kids at my dad’s work. They had it every year. They always showed a movie up on a screen. Then Santa would come and give everyone candy canes. There were piles of wrapped presents on the stage. They were in piles according to age. I was thirteen, but the gift I got was a small doll called Betty. It was the year I had realized I was no longer a child who played with dolls. I was kind of disappointed to receive a doll. My sister (my parents had adopted a little girl) received a house. It came in a box and was the most unusual house I’d ever seen. It had a big board, like a board game surface, but on it were drawn carpeted rooms. There were small holes along the edges of the rooms. It came with a plastic bag filled with wall sections. Each wall was maybe three inches high and was just a wall. There were cutout windows. On the inside of each wall were printed-on curtains, paintings, wall paper. On the outside were printed-on bricks, siding, shutters. It came with furniture and little plastic people. The people had magnets on the bottom. You inserted the walls into the holes and you had a house. Three inches high. No roof. There was a wand with a magnet on the end and you could slide it around under the board and the people would move.

I was so in love with that house. Why hadn’t it been my gift? I was quietly, secretly, profoundly sad. My sister tossed the whole thing aside. What in the world would she want with such a gift. But she wouldn’t trade. So, secretly I kind of played with that house. I not only built the walls as they were supposed to be, but I put them together to make up rooms of my own design. I put the house on the side shelf of the desk next to my bed. When the moon was full, I’d lay in bed at night and look at the house; look through its windows to see the interior where wonderful things might happen and dreams came true. It felt so real to me that I could almost imagine myself inside there. I will never ever forget that house. And the longing I felt for my own space.

I’m sorry I don’t have lots more pictures to illustrate this post . I went onto the internet and tried to find pictures of 2-dimensional leaf houses. None (note: I finally just drew my own leaf house plan and placed it up in the section up above) .

I don’t even know what to search for to find the little magnetic house I just mentioned, but below is a black and white sketch of what I’m talking about. I’ve also spent a little time coloring it a bit. Its very crude and maybe one day I’ll make a much nicer version, but I don’t really know what it should look like. This is just a modified, small version of what I remember. It was very cozy and comfortable looking. I loved everything about it. If I looked at it, down at the window level, with my bedroom window on the other side, the moonlight would pour into the little house and I could see shadows and moonlight within it. I loved that. Its nothing like the real thing was. I wouldn’t mind, one day, making one out of wood. I’d love to have one.

Black and White Draft of the Magnetic House
Color Draft of the Magnetic House
Art Journal Entry for October 17th, 2019, Art Journaling for Beginners

I am an artist through and through. As I move about on the earth, my eyes and my very soul drink in all I see. Textures, colors, shapes, movement of leaves in the breeze. It goes straight to my heart and is tucked away there for when I get back to my home, wherever that may be, so I can render it and have it for all time. I’m also fond of painting people. Drawing people. Capturing who they are and what they love to do. It is not an easy thing to do, but I am compelled to do it.

I’m unable to turn off this “drinking in” of everything around me. It is delicious and exhausting at the same time. Eventually I have to return to my home and rest. I write about what I’ve seen. I draw it. I want to memorize it. If, one day, I can no longer draw or get out and experience life, I want to be able to look at my drawings and read my journals so I can bring it back to life and experience it all over again. I do it for me, but if there is anyone out there in the world who sees something that touches them from what I’ve drawn or written, then that is an amazing thing.

The Gift (watercolor)
A Good Read (oil)

Now I’m grown and still searching for home. I thought it was a place that I had to design…the perfect home. I got to do that. I got to live in it. Many good memories were made there. It is not home afterall. It is a building. It contained an over abundance of things and of responsibilities to care for those things. I longed for home still however. I went on a three month journey in a small travel trailer. It was the best three months I’d ever experienced. Partly because it was small and simple. Partly because it took me to places I’d never been. I had to overcome, figure out, learn how to do things and how to make my own decisions. I had to solve problems that seemed huge. The satisfaction I got from all of that has begun to create me. Time alone has been good for me.

It turns out that home isn’t a place I get to design and live in. It isn’t the perfect dwelling. Its me. I am my home.

Me
How do I spend my time?

How do I spend my time?

I admit that I can have whole days where I don’t have any chores to do. However, living in a small space loses its appeal when it becomes cluttered up. I try not to buy things, but sometimes I do find things I can’t live without. When I see things I want, I have to ask myself if there’s anything in the RV I can live without so that I can replace it with this new thing. The answer is usually yes. The stuff I thought I couldn’t live without when I first started this have not all turned out to be a good fit for this life. This month is one of those times when I go through my stuff and see what can be given away or donated. There are things that I have bought and indeed used, but the need for it has passed.

My RV isn’t brimming over with stuff. I just don’t want to get carried away with buying things. I like it simple.

Because I have a dog and that dog likes routine, there is a bit of routine in my life. Einstein does let me sleep in. He tries whining a bit when he thinks I should get up, but I’m a pretty sound sleeper, so it doesn’t always work. He isn’t whimpering because he wants out desperately. He just wants me to get up. So. Eventually I acknowledge his request and we have a bonding time. He wiggles and wags and I pet and talk to him in my happiest voice. Mostly. I get dressed and he always has to come over and sniff what I pick out to wear, as if he needs to give it his approval.

I make my bed. I have to do this because the extra pillows (I need them for nap time!) are laying on the seat at the table. Once the bed is made, I put a mug full of water into my little Keurig machine and press the button so it makes a cup of coffee for me. Next I give Einstein his thyroid medicine and get out his leash for a walk. He loves this part.

Glen Ayr Resort and Campground, Washington

After a nice walk, its back inside. Einstein knows our RV and no matter where we are, when we get close to it, he goes right to the door and puts his front paws up on the bottom step. When I open the door, he has to duck his head. Every time. Back inside, he gets a drink. So I have to make sure I put fresh water in his bowl, because I KNOW he’s going to get a drink after his walk. Predictable!!!

The RV now smells like freshly brewed coffee…I love THAT part. My cup of coffee is ready for consumption. I make sure the table is cleaned up a bit. It may have the laptop on it or some art supplies. I put a scoop of food into Einstein’s dish and then I eat. He seems to be happiest if we eat at the same time. I don’t always accommodate his preferences, but life together is a give and take, right?

Since the table is also my art studio, just sitting there to eat a bowl of cereal gets my creative juices going and pretty soon I’m munching and sketching. I check my phone, because during the night I sometimes (often) wake up with ideas for drawings. I put them into the NOTES app on my phone. The drawing of the RV pulling the printer behind it was a wake-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night idea. However, the dog on top of the printer…that was actually a daytime idea.

I don’t do dishes after every meal. Sometimes I could. Sometimes I can’t. So I usually just go somewhere in the middle and just do them when the left side sink is full. If I’m dry-camping (no hookups, so no water, electric, or septic) I try not to make many dirty dishes. If I do have hookups and its an travel day, I wash things right away, because I leave after breakfast. If I am staying somewhere for a while, I let it go until the little basin is full.

Wow! I just noticed most of my washed dishes are COFFEE MUGS!

If I have any chores, it works best if I do them in the morning (or whenever I get up). I might have to sweep the floor. If I didn’t have Einstein, I probably would rarely have to sweep. He sheds year round. Once every other week, when I’m stationary somewhere, I have to empty my grey tank (water from the dishwater/shower/washing machine) and black tank (you know…the toilet! Yikes!). Right now I’m in Robert’s driveway and he has 50 amp electric, water, and septic for me. Its wonderful. I let my tanks get to 2/3 full and then empty them both. I empty the black tank first and then the grey. The water from the grey tank flows up into the black water tank and helps wash it out. Then I close them both up again.

From time to time I have to sharpen pencils. I use a lot of watercolor pencils, oil based colored pencils, and wax based colored pencils. I like them to be very sharp, so the point gets down into the pores of the paper. So I use my Homepod, telling it “Hey, Siri, play some pop music” so I can sharpen pencils to music. And sometimes I just like to dance around the RV. If I’m a little down, it lifts me up. If I’m happy, it makes me happier and I burn some calories.

Every once in a while I look through my belongings to see if I can give anything away or donate it. If I haven’t used something ever or in a long time…it goes to a new home somewhere.

I have no yard work. I keep my bathrooms clean and tidy, but that doesn’t take much time at all. I love to tuck little pieces of art, postcards, artistic business cards, or photos into the edges of my mirror. Surprisingly, they stay put when I’m bumping along on the highway.

I’d say that I spend most of my time doing what I want. I take naps, bake something, cook meals, go for walks, take Einstein to a dog park, go to a store where I can buy art supplies, and I spend a LOT of time doing art. I like to draw things on paper and then take them into my iPad and do more art with them in the Procreate app, using my Apple Pencil. I’ve written about that in an earlier post.

To earn money, I draw things and sell them. In the past, I owned a film company and made documentaries, commercials and videos for corporations. I also filmed and edited a plethora of weddings. I have been an artist for most of my life. Doing the film work seemed to be a great way to combine all the other types of creative things I enjoy doing. I call myself a Digital Nomad now. I do whatever I can do from this little table in my RV.

I have never ever been so happy and so productive. I have learned, at last to live in the moment.

Art Journaling

Art Journaling

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A few days ago I joined a Facebook group called Art Journaling for Beginners. I’ve been keeping a journal since I was ten and I’ve even added a few little sketches to them from time to time, but I wouldn’t call them “art journals”. The idea intrigued me though and I’ve decided to give it a try. I posted a little bit about where to begin and several people commented with ideas and tips. That was pretty cool.

Image may contain: drink

A couple days ago I posted in the group about how my art studio used to be a large, well-equipped studio back East, but now its this little table in my RV where I’m sitting as I write this. I drew a sketch in my little art journal. It was kind of (well, it was REALLY) rough, but it was so much fun. I added that to the post. Oh my goodness! The last time I looked 235 other art journaling people had “reacted” to my post and 46 have responded with comments. I have been so touched by this. I read every single comment and responded back, because their encouragement and kindness is amazing and makes me feel like I’m part of something. Wow! While I read the comments, it felt like every one of those people were right here with me in my RV. A clap on the back. Kindness. Support. Sharing of their own stories. It was like each person stopped by for a cup of tea or coffee and we were having a real live visit. I’ve had this travel blog for a couple of years now and there are eight people following it (THANK YOU so much, you eight!!!). So to get hundreds of “likes” and so many great comments has left me stuttering and stammering for words.

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I see the importance of reaching out to members of the group and encouraging them. It really means a lot to get that affirmation and to feel like what you’re doing matters and is actually SEEN by someone else. Maybe the right words would be that YOU are SEEN. Its so easy to feel invisible in all the busyness of life. When someone gets you…sees you…that is a moment to remember.

Keep on keeping on, fellow art journalers!