" A day in the life...."

knary said:

How did the store come to be? That's not the business of choice of anyone other than someone passionate about music and musical instruments.

p.s. My wife is a violinist and orchestra teacher.

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I had worked in retail for 20 some odd years, selling Japanese motorcycles. In the late 90's I managed to get picked up as the bass plater and songwriter for a Modern Country band named Wildcard that was put together by an independant label. The band broke up after recording 1 record. So I went back to selling motorcycles and songwriting on the side.

I had always wanted my own business and I had casually mentioned to the previous owner of this store that if they ever sold, to let me know. The joke is that I told my wife I was going to buy another guitar and she said "for crying out loud, why don't you just buy the whole store? Hmmmmm I thought". Anyway, turns out the old owner was ready to retire and the rest, as they say is history.

It's good honest work and so far (loud knocking on wood heard), we are staying ahead of the economy. I still play out at the occaisional Open Mic or song writers pull, but otherwise my peforming days are done. Still have the old recording contract in my desk and keep thinking I should line the litter box with it .

What about you Scott? I know you're an artist and have seen some of your stuff on this site. How did that all come about?

Let's see if I can top the list of most boring.

5:59, my Palm goes off as an alarm. Five minutes later, it rings again and I probably get up - or wait another five. I go to the next bedroom and wake my 11-y-o daughter.

Fix some instant Folgers for the caffeine and turn on HLN and The Weather Channel to see who's died overnight and who's about to.

Around 6:30, shave, hit the shower and get dressed, aiming at leaving the house around 7:20.

Unplug the block heater and fire up the almost-warm Jeep for the trip to school, arriving around 7:40, then over to my office.

Unlock the front door, switch on hall light, lunchroom light, drip coffee & tea power strip, another hall light, unlock office door, switch on yet another light and fire up the desktop.

Chow down with cold cereal or instant oatmeal. More coffee.

Dick around until noon putting out brush fires in my clients' lives. Eat ramen and/or some other marginally healthy but cheap lunch.

After lunch, dick around some more pretending to be a bankruptcy lawyer* until 5:00 or whatever earlier time I have to pick up my kid and drive her somewhere (violin, harp, or piano lesson, 4-H meeting, tap or ballet dance lessons, cheerleading, or multiple combinations of the above every evening).

Get home, have dinner, and deal with homework and pets for a couple hours until crashing out around 9:00-9:30.

* Formal appearances one Thursday afternoon/month, one or two Fridays/month and whenever the judge beckons.

These days, It works out about like this:

Alarm goes off I think around 0730...hit the 'on' button so the radio stays on. Drift in and out of sleep to the sweet strains of Morning Edition until 0900 or so, then shut it off and get up when the classical music comes on.

Fire up the computer. Read emails, the day's installment of Sluggy Freelance, and the Boxerworks forum.

After that, any of the following could happen at any time during the day:

Bathe
Eat
Get Dressed
Read this forum
Go for a walk/jog
Run errands
Do house repairs or clean
Apply for jobs
Repeatedly check emails and Boxerworks
Spend too much time in front of computer

Generally I watch the evening news, then spend the evening spending more way too much time in front of the computer while paying half-attention to the tube (usually either PBS or Discovery). Sometimes I'll go with Dad to see the symphony, or to a weekly trivia-contest with friends. Maybe if the weather is nice I'll go to a nearby bike-night. In any case, I'm usually in bed around 11.30 and I then read a book until I fall asleep and drop the book. Toss-n-turn a few times during the night, then get up and do it all again...

Clock radio set to NPR goes off at 5:15. Lay in bed waking up, listening to the same depressing news. Stretch the legs. Up to feed the annoying, meowing cat. Make the coffee. In the shower, out, dress, get the paper, eat some breakfast. Feed the dog. Into the Civic for the 50 minute commute to the office.

Start up the computer, check Google news, start reading the emails, looking over what I left on my desk to complete, or try. Read, read and more reading. Words are my life.

Start getting phone calls from client agency, the DOT, and putting out "brush fires" or prepping for a hearing. Review bills during legislative session. Draft lots of legal docs, more phone calls, more brush fires, more emails. Admin hearings, fighting with opposing counsel. Lunch in 30 minutes or less, generally ('cept Tuesdays... Mexican food day with my office buds). Lunch with NPR, Talk of the Nation. Hi Neil.

Meetings, contract reviews, strategy suggestions for staff, more phone calls, reading briefs, memoranda, slip opinions, mentoring the young 'uns. Trials and hearings occasionally, for stuff that just won't settle. More drafting, signing, filing, prepping for trials, hearings, arguments. Lots of advising over phone and email.

Sneak in a few looks at the moto forums, photography forums, check home emails.

Another 50 minute commute home. Walk the dog, check the mail, logon and check emails, forums, more Google news. Work in the "digital darkroom" on the photos or go to yoga with my daughters or out with them for a bite to eat. Or cook. Some TV if anything good is on, usually not, so I surf the web, looking for motorcycle stuff, daydreaming about trips to take (Alps, Usuhaia, Iceland, Baja... the usual).

Read a bit before bed, and lights out by 10.

Exciting, eh?

Day in the life

Erin is out the door by sometime after 7 am. If things have gone well, I'm rolling over to listen to NPR for at least a half hour if not longer. If things haven't, I've been up since 3 am. I probably woke thinking about a problem in a painting or problem in a website. Lately, I'm very happy to say, the former has been the norm.

A cup of tea and the morning e-mail. Maybe some bacon and eggs or maybe some cereal. Somewhere in there I need more. Fat is the fuel of a good day.

The morning is my down time or my closest to it. I never intend it to be. Every night I go to sleep thinking, "Tomorrow I start fast!" It only happens if a deadline gives me a choice and even then, I usually fritter a chunk of the morning away with necessary but low brain stuff. Order some supplies, go through correspondence, do a little web work for the few clients I'm still helping, fix a bug on the 'MOA site, and so on. That correspondence, the networking, is easy to ignore but very necessary. Lately it's been peppered with patrons asking to wait a little longer for a painting - money is tight.

By late morning I'm on my way to the studio. I scrape the palette clean, admonish myself for never cleaning brushes, move solvent around from jar to jar (removing the sediment), and wonder who convinced me that I had any talent or skill or whatever. Someone with talent wouldn't be scared of a little painting.

I nervously plot my first work of the day like a guerilla army planning a raid. With a little effort and strategery, I'll be painting before I or the paintings realize it. If I'm smart, I'll start with something small and inconsequential or something so early in its gestation that some awkwardness won't matter. These good intentions often go ignored. That big painting that I've been working on is still on the easel. I go to take it down but before I realize it, I'm painting. Fool, you're still clumsy, you need to warm up. Too late, I have no choice but to keep working as I've just ruined it.

An hour or three ticks by. Now I've really ruined it. I step back time and time again, sometimes looking in a mirror for a fresh perspective. I suck. Who do you think you are? You're an imposter. You might have made a good painting or two, but it was luck, nothing more. Give up.

I wander out to the garden. The buds are pushing forth. I clip a branch or two. Maybe move a plant. Drink a cup of tea while sitting on the stone wall thinking about nothing. Find some lunch.

Back in the studio. I see the problem. I forgot the idea. It doesn't have to be a big idea. I'm not talking about the meaning of life or even the cure rates for different concrete recipes. I'm talking about the way orange and gray vibrate, how the light simmers on the side of a building, or how red is flesh is red. The brushes are moving fast. Something good is happening. Or not. It doesn't matter. Something good will happen.

Erin's home. Erin sticks her head in the studio, tells me to ventilate the space and gives her approval of my efforts. If she has a rehearsal (she's a violinist), we'll toss back any old food. If not, we'll cook or disappear to one of the restaurants in walking distance. Portland is a foodie town.

I head back to the studio. I was wrong. I do suck. That painting is horrible. I know it. You know it. How the hell am I going to have work ready for the show in a week? I scrape it down a bit and grab bigger brushes. Godzilla in a tutu pirouetting through Tokyo, I lay waste to the old painting. And something good does indeed happen. I am a painting gOD. Bow before me. Tremble for I am mighty.

It's 10 and Erin's heading to bed. I keep working. The hours tick by. I look up, it's past midnight, maybe past two. I may have worked on anywhere from one to five or six paintings over the day. Some happen in an hour, some take working and reworking over months.

Sleep beckons. It's been a good day. I feel both fortunate that I live this blessed life and that I couldn't live any other life. I've built web-sites, lately more and more part time, for over a decade but painting is what I am. I'm close to retiring from web work. Every day feels like christmas.

I slip into my side of the bed and read, usually non-fiction, until sleep takes me.

Scott. FWIW, I envy the look of that "desk." As an erstwhile wanna be painter who truly sucks, and no longer holds any pretension of spending a life breathing linseed oil, that is a cool lookin' palette. And I love the way orange and gray vibrate. I know what that means. Color me green.

Scott,

I'm not qualified to say whether you suck or not. But is sure is fun listening to you tell it!!!

hlothery said:

Scott,

I'm not qualified to say whether you suck or not. But is sure is fun listening to you tell it!!!

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Yeah baby

Creation is creation. Songwriting is similiar. There are songs that write themselves in 20 minutes and songs you try to write for years. And the emotional swing that is part of the process is exhausting and electrifying and the same time. No wonder so many of the great creative artists have been Bi-polar, it is that emotional swing that leads to creation.

Thanks for putting the creative process into words Scott.

I have admired the finished product (be it art, music, or theater) for many years with nary (pun intended) a thought to the anguish which went into the creation. I played in the marching band in High School, so I know about practice, but not creation. Thanks for the broadened perspective.