The Best and the Worst

I'm not sure when it was that I was freed from corporate America, but as somepoint, it happened.

I'll just come out and say it: US Airways is the worst employer I have ever had. They are a horrible company with horrible service and even worse employee relations.

I won't continue with that particular tirade; this is about my departure from the rat race, not about the unethical existence of a corporation.

The thing is, most of my coworkers (and a large percent of patrons flying US Airways, I'm sure) agree with me, but their need for the cheapest flight or $13.75 an hour, or both, outweigh their unhappiness. I served in the union the way I did because no matter how much I did need that paycheck or the free flight, that need never seemed to justify the sinkhole despair of dealing with that company.

Maybe that was the moment. Or maybe it was when I realized I would face unhappiness every day of my life if it meant I could paint. Or maybe it was when I realized I couldn't paint if I was unhappy. No matter how often I escaped, no matter with whom, those glimpses of freedom just couldn't make up for the dread of having to give my precious time to something so undeserving. And since when was unhappiness worth anything?? Men are that they might have joy, after all.

I made a choice. It wasn't a money driven choice, neither anger. Not logic-driven either to be truthful. I just chose to be happy. And in that choice came my freedom.

An answer to a question

A friend of mine, who has a tendency to be controversial, invited a conversation about a blog he stumbled across written by a member of the LDS faith who has very serious concerns about the practice, policies, and basic doctrines of the Church.  This friend invites many of these conversations, and every issue is a bit different. However, I have found my reaction to all of them is very much the same.

My heart aches for their anger, pain and frustration.

I can't say I have all the answers. In fact, the culture of my chosen faith leaves me struggling--particularly within my chosen fields of study. The humanities in general are not necessarily spiritual, but they are instinctually human, prone to every good characteristic as much as the bad. And with the increasing ability to share everything with everyone, what is best and needful and of utmost delicate nature is not as promoted as something that would sell well. But what I can say is I see your troubled heart and I raise you a testimony.

At the end of the day, your relationship with God is your relationship with God. He is your Father, who knows you. No matter what your family, neighbors, bishop or prophet say or think, no one will know that relationship better than you. God knows when you disagree with a message at General Conference, just as much as He knows your favorite food. And since that is the case, if said "you" has a problem with the way women are treated by the administration of the LDS faith, it is logical to say He knows that as well. And He still loves you.

I'm all for questions, and I'm all for answers...and while I'm not all for blind faith, I do recognize the merit in basic testimonies offered as a place-filler until something more substantial appears.

Once upon a time I did have doubts. I was angry about the culture of my faith. But eventually, I just got tired of it. Not only that, but I found it was easier to enjoy and appreciate smaller things which did not offend me than to wage war on...well, a blanket everything. I'm not 100% solid on everything, like polygamy or church involvement in politics, and I don't have a desire to be. But at this current time, those things are not impeding the decisions I make everyday to maintain peace, balance and order within my spiritual (and thereby everything else included) life. I suppose when they do, I may pick a side and begin to wage war, or I may not. I currently feel that my war-mongering days are behind me. But Mormon felt that way too and it didn't last for him either.

To any of my non-Mormon readers, I appologize if you found this post rather exclusive. While the original discussion is directed to those within the faith, it certainly can be applied to anyone.

To close, a Bloch for good measure.

The first day of my new life

There was a time when I never had any time for anything. Or maybe it's better to say I never had time for everything. I was always running from class to class, zipping through books, putting words on papers, taking them off, putting them back on, clocking in, clocking out, "did you want fries with that?" Pay this bill. There's a meeting at 8:30--the grocery store closes when?? How about next Thursday?

Breathe.

Don't get me wrong. I'm a city girl who loves city life. I like being busy. But I like being busy on my own terms.

There are 24 hours in a day. And somewhere I realized that everyone had the same 24 hours. So when I quit US Airways, I made a promise to myself: this is my time.

I'm not stupid, though I have been accused of being something crazy. Let's be honest for a moment. I did give up the easiest job in the world with the best benefits to come live in the middle-of-nowhere and work at a Cracker Barrel in a town called Springville and paint with a guy who is poorer and crazier than I am.

But as long as we're being honest I may as well add that while I miss my sisters and brother and best friend, and I miss fast trains and crowded sidewalks and gourmet food, doing without them for a year or so will never be something I regret doing. There's no where i'd rather be than right here, right now, living my life, doing the things I want to be doing.

How can I regret choosing to be free?

It began with a question...

As I begin yet another move, I find myself pondering about how this all came about.

Many have heard me speak about the incredibly strange artist named Wulf Barsch and his bizarre teaching methods. It is a moment I have referenced many times. He is a great believer in the Aristocratic method of teaching and begins every class with "so, do we have any questions?"

Obviously there are many questions asked in those dimly lit classrooms, but the one that stands out came as an answer to a question I have since forgotten to a student whose name and face I simply can't recall. The question was: do you think God does things arbitrarily?

It's a simple answer, because it's a simple question, but because of the resounding truthfulness of that answer, I can't ever leave that moment behind.

No. I don't believe God does anything arbitrarily. (This is also the moment I stopped believing in coincidences.) Because of that, EVERYTHING has meaning. Every word, every line, every space, every pause, every tear. Nothing is overlooked or forgotten or even considered insignificant.  It is simply the nature of God.

I'm going to Utah on Wednesday to learn to be a master painter because I learned the answer to that question. And for the record, I don't particularly classify myself as a religious artist, even though I am an artist who is heavily influenced by religion. My subject and center of discussion is humanity. I paint life, past and present.

A painting by Wulf Barsch, I believe titled Pliedes. Nibley wrote in his Temple and Cosmos: Was there ever an artist less inclined to show off than Wulf Barsch? He does not hesitate to try again and again to get through to us, not seeking novelty, but fighting for expression and perfectly willing to stay with a problem. It is that, I suppose, that gives his work the sense of deep sincerity that demands to be taken seriously. (552)

Open For Business

I was not wanting to set up the shop until I had more to sell...but the overwhelming response to my soonish upcoming move has made me reconsider.

Truth is, life in itself has become a business, and with the appearance of social networking *ahem, Facebook* making a name has become that much easier. Or harder, since there is suddenly so much more competition.

My studio mates are purists. They are part of a movement to bring academic realism back into the mainstream...and I'm with them to a point. I won't lie: there IS structure to art. But there is also evolution of business, culture, technology, and most importantly, audience to consider. Currently Etsy.com is my happy medium--an attempt to begin what will become my "name" while giving me enough time and space to develop that into what I really intend it to be.

If anyone wants to see the small shop (with it's one item), you can find it at: emmablanco.etsy.com...

Similar upcoming goals to watch for: added sections to the etsy shop (and items of course!); foundations for Tracks, a comic book following an Elder Bleu--probably using Kickstarter.

Picture in a Jigsaw

I've always liked jigsaw puzzles, for the challenge. 1000 pieces! Bring it on! The picture on the box is worth those hours, right?

Because even when you know what it's going to look like, the process of getting there makes it that much more appealing, even with the impatience and frustration.

I decided I wanted to paint. Becoming a painter is my picture on the box, and a year ago I dumped the pieces out and spread them across the world.

I started with the edges, scoping out the parameters of my task. Easier to find and build from than, say, a mass of various color that is supposed to be rippling water.

But now that that is done, where should I go next? The farmhouse on the left? The river across the bottom? The mountain on the right?

Oh! Decisions, decisions!

The line of a lifetime, or 4 hours

As some of you know, I auditioned for NBC's The Voice Season 3 yesterday. It was pretty much like any other tv singing competition--long lines of crazy people. I'd never considered myself crazy before that point.

I guess that brings me to why I was there in the first place. I spend my time (about 80% I'd say) doing things that teach me more about myself. Who I am, what I can do, where my heart is...and I suppose you can say this was one of those things.

Don't get me wrong, I love to sing. But it's not a passion of pursuit. A girl I met in the audition line was recounting her similar experiences for American Idol and The X Factor. There were young hopefuls by the handfuls, and not-so-young hopefuls by the dozen. And they all wanted to be there. Every single one of them. If I hadn't flown to L.A. for it, I would have just gone shopping and forgot the whole thing. 4 hours in a line? Please.

What I found more interesting were the people in my group of 10 in the same 15-minute audition session with me. The weakest one there really wasn't bad at all. He just would have done better choosing a song in his range and wasn't so nervous. But they all had the ability to sing, and the desire to be there.

The one girl who was asked to sing again was 17, and she was good. I don't know if I would call her ability great, but she was solid with a distinctive quality to her performance, and it is a tv show. And what she gave said, clearly, that she deserved a spot on the show.

It was rewarded by a spot on a maybe-call-back list.

There were 2 other things that stood out in that 4 hour experience.

One was the words of the production judge. "You were all good, but the rest of you just aren't in the 1% the show is looking for. This is an extremely competitive show. But thanks for coming in!"

It's not the feedback that struck me, it's the competition part. But that's a long thought that deserves a different post.

The other was the walk out of the room, when the two girls who spent their line-time prepping for a rejection they were 98% sure was coming were shocked that I was just as silent after the room as I was before it. I guess they thought my silence was nerves. That I was quiet except to warm-up because I was too scared to talk and be warm and friendly.

I did smile and answer their questions, and listen to their fears and jokes and where they were from. I wasn't unfriendly.

In fact, I'm not sure what they expected. Crying? Relief? Resentment? Bitterness?

"Nothing?? You're so quiet!" Said one girl with a white sweater and very red lipstick. That one is very, very infatuated with her boyfriend. I think he is new, because she talks about him with everyone, every chance she gets. He is her life, as many new boyfriends are in the first few months.  Perhaps she was waiting for my own boyfriend story. Or maybe for me to take my phone out of my bag and call someone.

There's always next year, they said before I disappeared out the door. For them, yes, I suppose there is. But I learned long ago that if I wanted something, I have to work for it. Dropping in and hoping isn't enough. For some, in a short distance, it is. But I'm not in it for the short distance, not anymore. I'm in it for eternity.

I think that is worth saying.