It is raining, yet again.

It is raining, yet again. Stuck inside with 15 bored and needy dogs is not my ideal way to spend an afternoon. Especially with all the sewing I really really need to get started on, what with at least 5 shows coming up in the next couple months. Its wonderful but a little overwhelming as I have so much to do to get ready, although my goal has always been to do shows full time. Selling online has its perks, but mostly I'm not the world's biggest fan of it. Probably has something to do with the 15 years of retail sales experience, but interacting with real, live customers is my favorite thing in the world (behind actually creating the stuff I'm selling), especially if I'm selling something that I really love and am excited about. Strangely, I never was that excited when I sold shoes for a living.

I joined Handmade Philly yesterday. They have forums and monthly meetups where I can meet other crafters and artists in the area, which is probably the most awesome thing about it. Sometimes it feels like I'm living in a little bubble (aside from the occasional show), so it will be nice to meet some people with common interests and experiences.

So here's kind of a depressing story. The other week I recalled that upon my graduation my beloved high school art teacher gifted me with a copy of Audrey Flack's Art & Soul : Notes on Creating. I knew the book was somewhere at my parent's house, so I drove right over and scoured my old room, then the basement for it and finally found it wedged between some Calvin & Hobbes collections. The reason I suddenly wanted it so badly was that I remember she had written an inspiring and encouraging inscription in it, and I was in dire need of some inspiration and encouragement. I grabbed the book and opened it and... no inscription anywhere. Did I totally make it up? Did she give me a different book? Did someone else give me this book? What the hell happened to my memory? After reading the book again, I find it resonates with me less than it once did since I've sort of moved on from fine art and could seriously give a shit about the "art world." But I am still very disappointed and confused with the memory of that inscription. My many art classes were the only bright spot in an otherwise miserable and painful high school experience. I can't help but feel that bright spot has been somewhat dimmed by this inscriptionless book. It doesn't quite make sense, but there it is.

Sigh. That was depressing.

Um... about a month until Harry Potter comes out. That's a cheerful thought.