There are many, many things I love about this life. The smiles of people watching their children, the guiltless, guileless joy and enthusiasm of children at play, God�s green Earth, gardens, people�s smiles, seniors holding hands, movies, theatre, glass, people in love, just about all forms of the arts and myriad other pleasures. I am writing this as part of a promise made to my son. I seriously doubt if anyone ever even reads it. Still, I said I would go back to the world I came from, the world of computers, and step outside my studio long enough to touch other people in the world. It's not that I wouldn't want to come out of my glass studio -- I just haven't the foggiest idea who, if anyone, would be interested in reading this one-sided conversation.
If I had to come up with one word to describe me, I think it could all be wrapped up with, "eccentric." I "think" constantly, deeply -- I love puzzles, mysteries, creativity, and new ideas. Generally observant, it�s a very rare thing for a movie to keep me in the dark until the final twist. Frankly, I'm tired of being the mouse that beats the cat to the finish line. There are a couple of great director/writer teams out there today though, that manage to keep me on my toes. I love it!
I don�t really know how to describe myself other than to say, I love, I think, I am an artist, I feel, I bleed, I hug, I listen, I don�t shatter, but I can break, on occasion. Some of my friends in life have nicknamed me "Phoenix" because regardless of how hard I fall, I always rise from the ashes. Life hasn't been a "bowl of cherries," but I don't care -- what doesn't kill us makes us stronger or builds character, or something along those lines. By that criteria, I must really have great character. Still, I'm smiling -- I'm an optimist.
I believe that all of us have a place inside of us that feels "less than" the persons around us. Even so, I believe none of us is more or less than the other when it comes to real nuts and bolts. If I do something well that is more "popular" than what the person next to me does well -- it means nothing, really. A while back someone wrote a book entitled, "It Takes A Village to Raise A Child." I tend to theorize the picture is somewhat larger than that. I really believe it takes a world -- a universe -- to raise and sustain us all. While I know that any one of us could at a given point, retreat from the rest of the population and with some basic skills in survival -- get along just fine. However, studies show people are physically and mentally healthier when loved and touched regularly by others. Since I believe in a higher power -- I add the Universe to the theory. I've no bloody idea how I could have possibly survived without someone looking out for me from beyond our tangible world. I mean that literally -- death is something I've personally looked in the eye twice now over the past several years. (Each event totally unrelated to the other -- Just a couple of bizarre events. What's really nuts is that both occurred AFTER I'd given up being a "Daredevil." Go figure.) When confronted with such life adventure and the ensuing come-back fight, you really get a clear understanding of who you are and just exactly what you're made of.
I believe people have feelings and can be wounded, we should remember that when we cross their paths. I believe performing random acts of kindness is a good way to help one sleep at night, regardless of how badly we, or other people, are messing up the world. I believe children are our most valuable assets and by no means do they belong to us -- they truly are just on loan to us, gifted to us to care for and teach for a short time. I know for a fact there are more important things than neurotic housework -- such as our children -- our significant others -- art. However, I also believe it's important most places be clean for a healthy body and to know that somewhere there's a drawer that contains clean underwear, so to speak, for a healthy mind. Not that there's any requirement to wear them... I generally call 'em as I see 'em but don't make a habit of going around shouting it. We've become so vulnerable as individuals in societies demanding perfection that many people would almost rather walk in front of a bus than have someone take their arm and say, "Wait, bus coming," or point out there's something about to ruin their day that they didn't see themselves, no matter how politically correct it's mentioned. I don't understand this. The words, "I told you so," have no place in my vocabulary -- kindness and gentle understanding are better emotions to give to someone wounded. I believe a kiss can heal an awful lot of "boo boos" regardless of whether the injured person is one or one hundred. For the most part, though, I am, just me.
I wonder what has happened to the practice of couples being a team -- people who benefit the each other. What's happened to the practice of one spousal unit rubbing the hands, arms and shoulders of the other after a day spent banging about on things. When did schedule, routine and work take the place of rubbing the feet and ankles of a significant other who's just spent ten hours on their feet, or getting ice for bruises earned that day, or heat for sore muscles? I�ve included some short pieces I�ve written on some of my favorite or most important topics. The reading of these will do a better job of telling you who I am, what I do, and how I think, than I can in a paragraph where I feel I'm sitting in a fish bowl.
Care�s World -In Five Thousand Words or Less
(It�s not really THAT long -- There could be a spot of you in here, as well.) 8^}
Art By Any Other Name, Restores the Soul
Oscar Wilde said,"Man is least himself when he speaks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will show you the truth."
We all wear masks to navigate our daily lives. The place I find I'm most comfortable is in the arts. While I am an artist myself, I have favorite artists in each of the art forms I enjoy. I'll spare you such detail in this column but will create links on the other side of the page that shares their talents from what I've observed.
I am not able to recall where I heard a brief dissertation explaining why our heroes are so revered by the �everyday� masses. Essentially it spoke of us trudging through our lives each day, feeling no special character, bravery or significance. When an athlete makes an exceptional play or scores the winning touchdown, goal, basket, or run, they elevate us along with them; the common man is lifted to the level of Mt. Olympus, if only for a short while. Some of our heroes are artists like actors, singers, musicians, etc. We long to reach out to touch those who have touched us in this way, those who have elevated the rest of us for a moment or two and lifted us above our usual height to see greatness. Perhaps they�ve brought us out of our ordinary lives to a magical place or on an adventure for a short time. The tradition of the bard or story teller has a long, illustrious history in the course of human events. Our artists tell our stories and share our feelings. They allow us to feel for a short period of time that we�ve experienced an element of life we are otherwise incapable of or unwilling to undertake in our own lives. They allow us the privilege of experiencing a walk in the shoes of another. The exhilaration they gift to us can give us thought or laughter, and see us through another day. It�s no wonder we want to touch them back, to let them know they�ve made a difference in our lives. It�s as if part of us requires that we say, �Thank you, for those few brief moments, you made me special!� There are few intimate gifts one can receive that is as wonderful as being made to feel, �special.�
Their jobs are difficult, grueling in fact. We see the best of each performance, polished or practiced, clipped and color corrected. We don�t see the days spent freezing in a snowy river or roasting in a desert sun. The pinching, cutting pain of cinched harnesses dangle them from heights best left to birds. We most likely are still asleep when they report to �Makeup� to don the mask they�ll wear for today�s rendition of life. All of this physical torture doesn�t include the emotion and passion they must consume, experience and pour out, each day they go to work. Recall the last time you found yourself in a confrontation or heated argument, in the center of a tirade. The effects of the adrenaline streaming into your body lasted for sometime after the event subsided. Imagine purposely forcing your body through emotion after emotion, day after day. As far as the arts are concerned, I can think of no discipline harder, except for adding to all of this, having to sing or performing it live on a daily basis.
As for me, I sit at a flaming torch, while within a few feet at least one oven bakes, melting anything that rests against the outside walls too long. My silky soft skin feels broiled in the presence of thirteen hundred degree ovens. Clad in tawny leather bibby chaps and ski goggle sized Didydium glasses, I must cut quite the chic figure -- a cross between a welder and a mad scientist -- a comical figure at best. Ultimately, this ugly garb protects me from molten glass and scaring burns -- I dawn my garb and strike fire to my torch. Though my appearance transforms from one extreme to the other as I dawn my �mask� to perform my craft, the result is well worth the effort, sweat and discomfort. Other than my son -- my family, there are no Earthy pursuits that compare with the love I feel for my art form. While that torch burns, my hands and my will gently seduce the melting glass -- gently asking it to flow, to satisfy my desire. It�s color and sparkle, living light and liquid elegance is left where my creative passions have left their mark. My art form is very �free� when it comes to what piece of Heaven ultimately is formed from the flames of Hell. Yet, the control, release, variety, knowledge, discipline, years of training and practice, thought, creativity, desire, lust, and passion that are poured through those flames are quite similar to these same elements of any art form, from painting to theatre and film. I�ve been asked many times in my life, why artists �do it� why we create. I can only answer, �Because, we must.�
My ultimate goal is to regularly create miniature glass portraits. The pictures are painted three dimensionally, but not like a sculpture. The resulting cane of glass is heated to liquid form, and controlled so the image inside is preserved intact. As the glass begins to cool, it is pulled out reducing the circumference of the cane. The resulting cane is the size of the pad of your thumb or perhaps a penny, and quite often, it can be drawn even smaller. Slices can be taken from the cane. Each slice will bear a near-identical image and we refer to the slices as �gems.� People used to use them in goblets and jewelry for kings and emperors, tremendously successful generals and royal heirs. They are set into the jewelry pieces, and a �cheater� (**Read** someone who does lapidary work on stone -- a grinder, one who facets and polishes gemstones**) can grind and polish the tiny glass portrait just like any other gemstone slice.
This art form, of long canes of identical, miniature glass portraits, hasn�t been done quite well since a man named Giacomo Fancihini spent a good deal of his life developing murrini technique in the late 1800�s. His work was brilliant -- although it still resembled a somewhat more advanced version of "cartoon" artistry. (Oh Dear! That sounded dreadful.) I know some day that my work will at least rival, if not exceed his milestones. I will go to my grave working toward that goal if I am not able to achieve it earlier. I know that sounds dreadful. Sorry, but anything less, is not an option to me. I was fortunate to once actually find a couple of his pieces in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I knew the instant I saw them that they had been done by the Master.
It is not an option for me -- I will do this. I have the control, I have the eye, I have the skill -- there�s no reason I can�t perfect this and go out into the world and do these for people. Those who have seen this technique get very excited and want me to do a portrait for them. If they�re very, and I do mean VERY special to me, I will. Otherwise, my skills will have to be hired. The hours and hours and hours�. �.and hours and sweat that goes into one of these is massive. This is not like a small porcelain blank upon which a skilled painter may imbue a person�s image with brush and pigment. Each color progression must be hand mixed -- and the chemicals that create the color in glass often don�t like to cooperate. Red and blue may not give you any form of purple, you actually need some form of blue and a transparent lavendar - or pink with lavendar taupe and transparent rose. However, if you add just a bit of white to some mixed color, you could easily get something rather muddy looking. Add a touch of gold and even the lightest of colors could potentially turn dark, dark, dark brown, while periwinkle and gray might give you a lovely lavender. Hard to image that such a tiny, tiny thing consumes such huge resources in time and flame, heat and skill. I�d love to sculpt?/paint? hundreds of tiny faces in glass, before I�m through!!!
A dream is a wish your heart makes????
I count lucky anyone who travels and meets new people, sees places outside their own world, and experiences things the rest of us never do. Besides my family, I have two great Earthly passions: Glass and the theatrical arts - Film/Theatre. My dream has always been that when I retired I would travel all over the world, watching people make movies, going to theatre, meeting interesting people, having tea with others while sharing experiences of different adventures and plays. I desire conversations with those who understand my passion and understand who and of what I speak when I sing praises and appreciation for the brilliant performances by our beloved actors. Because my art form goes where I do, I also have a small hope of a dream that someday, I could go to Tuscany or Venice for a short while and study under the master glass crafters in the birthplace of art glass. Now that I am retired, I find myself with guarded locks that clench my heart, my breath, and even my voice, tightly when the sanctity of my solo flight is challenged. (Yes, I already know I�m incredibly young to be retired, everything�s paid for, and sometimes, life just works out that way.)
Let us not proclaim the sum of life�s worth by who loves us, but rather by who and what we Love.
Who and what we love is what takes us from mere survivors to connoisseurs of life. For all we do in our daily lives, we struggle to keep our children warm and fed and impart knowledge to them, as well. We pour our love upon them and guide them as they grow so they will have a decent chance of surviving well when the day comes for them to care for themselves. The greatest gift you can give your child is your respect. Our children are complete beings, in many ways, more complete than ourselves. They have not been torn and scarred, they love purely. Although they must be selfish in order to survive, what they give back to us far outweighs everything we have to give. When we respect our children as if they are another adult, we teach them to be respectful as well. More importantly, we treat them differently when we respect them. They are not sub-citizens or servants to serve our purpose. They are in fact people, with minds, souls, a heart. For those who have difficulty concurring with this concept, I only ask that you remember that a child may be small in stature today, but tomorrow they will not be small, they will not be innocent to everything in the world. The child in them may have gone, BUT -- their memory will NOT. A person can remember things from as early as two years old, or even younger. When they look you eye-to-eye do you want them to remember treatment as something less than a whole person?
We love our families, if we�re lucky. And if we are very fortunate, we have others we love, whom we call friends, lovers, Husband, Wife or significant other. These are the people with whom we share the special moments, joys, sorrows, discoveries and intimacies in our lives. We are all capable of feeling these emotions and passions without another to share it. I�ve found though, that one can only laugh by yourself for a short while before the family at the next table begins to eye you as if it�s time to ask the maitre �de to have them moved.
If you are one of the most fortunate of people, you have the love of family, a companion in some form, friends, comfortable accommodation and satisfying or exhilarating work. Having been a widow now for two years, I find myself quite often, absorbed within my art. The baggage I carry from a life thus lived is an influence on my social outreach. It�s not the weight as much as it is the lock on the flaps that keeps my inner light sheltered from the world. I�ve lived a life toe-to-toe with my fears -- conquering each as if it harbored malice toward my child. I have come to believe that although there are people out in the world with whom I would find the most special of friendships quite precious, an echo of fear from past pain and tortures intrudes upon my otherwise joyful moment and I tend to stay silent.
With a vision for my art, I sometimes fear a love would restrain me, forcing me to choose between my life�s passion and the one I love. One who truly loves us, asks us not to make such choices, but knows that love grows if each is free to pursue their passion. Love grows stronger still when people work to shove the barriers between them aside to narrow the time and distance that comes between them. Knowing we are loved deeply and are invited to equally love another in turn, is a tremendous privilege. It seems to be more rare these days and I can only guess that we remain aloof and alone because of the scars we all bear and the difficulty in actually getting to know another in today�s furiously paced life. When people remember that their lover�s happiness is at least equally important as their own, a special bond grows between them that will see them through the darkest of days, regardless of the world around them.
It�s so very easy to acknowledge this; it seems an obvious fact. It�s much harder in practice if people�s lives branch apart on a regular basis. How could we see to another�s happiness if we�re never able to let them see our face, or hear the comfort of our voice in their ear, or the warmth of our breath against their skin? How will they truly know our heart if they�re never to feel or hear our heartbeat? Still, people will soldier on for years knowing someday there will be an end to the distance. Those who never complete the journey, leave emptiness and heartbreak in place of that absent heartbeat. Still others weather out the ravages of time and distance only to come together in the end with someone they�ve never met. I used to be a romantic, reciting Romeo and Juliet in classrooms, believing love conquers all, regardless. Of course, I�m all grown-up now and I don�t believe in fairy tales. I understand that at least one person must have enough flexibility to close, or at least narrow, that distance between two people. While both people must work to shove those barriers aside in order to reap the rewards of such effort. Relationships, by their very nature, are impossible to experience on one�s own.
Friends are the flowers in the garden of my life.
Have you noticed that now and again we come across someone who is indeed �special� as they �feel good� for some reason. Now, if you will keep your mind off the hormonal side of things for this, please see that I�m not referring to sex appeal or outer beauty. It�s more like unspoken communication or inner beauty, perhaps a combination of both. These people can feel comfortable to us, just in presence or visage. Perhaps it�s because we can feel their emotions just by their presence and within a few moments, they seem to be close friends.
On occasion, I find myself still licking wounds that frankly -- need more than one life time to heal. Since it will take more than one lifetime though, I�ve decided to leave them behind and remind myself it�s a wonderful thing to touch the spirits of others. It does no good to allow old scars to obscure an otherwise gorgeous view of the world. The element that drives me forward is a greater fear of spending far too much of my life keeping the sweetest, most special parts of myself locked up to just myself. Harboring my thoughts and feelings so no on else would be able to know or touch, (**Read injure, tear apart, damage,**) the part of myself that allows me to remember who I am, is in contradiction to my true self. By nature, I am an extrovert who has been diligently trained to be an introvert. I've spent a couple of decades now, trying to find the balance between thinking that someone would like to listen to what I have to say -- and knowing when to stay withdrawn unto myself. Up until the last seven years or so, that last bit was a real tough thing for me! Now, it's the former that taxes me. I know that once I come back into the sunlight and risk sharing the most personal side of myself with someone else, my true self will re-emerge in the open, for others to see. (As opposed to just in my art and pages such as these.)
Having reached this far out of my self-absorbed comfort, (my self-inflicted exile,) I have come to acknowledge that someday, I just may find myself face-to-face with another who feels good to be near, who is my opposite in some areas and shares common interests or direction in others. I�m just not sure if I'll have the guts to fiercely engage my demons at the critical moment. If some greater power has dragged me by my nose to that place, I hope that either angels help me remember to breath, or that person will be able to bear with me while I remember that I do know how to speak.
My life has seen it all -- nearly. I wouldn�t relish filling in any blank spots, (with only a few, specific exceptions.) Yet, I�ve never met the �Love of My Life.� I thought I had but it seems it was merely omni-directional. I don�t think I consider this a tragedy because my art accepts my passion instead of a lover�s body and soul. Actually, putting it that way -- it does sound tragic, doesn�t it. Mores the pity . I have many talents and my friends and family tell me I�m young and beautiful, and life is full of possibilities. Obviously, they must not get to see me when I'm attired in my "Mad Scientist's" costume, elbow deep in glass splinters and sweat. 8^} Some speak as if I�m not a whole person without that other person in my life. There is no doubt whatsoever, that I�m all here -- a whole person. Well, I am an artist and by nature, eccentric... ...I believe that still qualifies as whole, doesn't it. While my appearance is young, and I possess a childlike longing and lust of life, my days are longer than my dreams. I have lived through things many people would find crushing, I am not perfect but always do my best. Nothing has ever kept me from fighting my way through, though. So, I've reinvented my idea of what life needs to look like and as a result find the world is still an oyster. I have reached a place in life where small lines are beginning to show where my smile creases my cheeks. Yet, I�m still carded now and again. Then, parts of me are much, much older -- marked by the experience and character that only surviving adversity and time can grant. To the joy of some and the dismay of others, I know that I�m no greater nor am I lesser than anyone out in that world.
The name I�m called is a derivative of my full name; I received it from the people I worked with, the same people I grew up with, (I began my career when I was just a baby -- younger than my son, now.) I did make them drop the "Bear" part of it as "Care Bear" just didn't sound profesionnal and I held a position where I had to act fiercely and inform very high level people they WOULD do what I told them. Uuggghhh... ...In the beginning, I didn't really know if I could do that work as that's extremely contrary to my nature. I wasn't really given a choice, I was managing this wonderful group when a new upper manager came in and said, "I need someone for this critical position -- they tell me you're the one for the job." (I never really figured out who, "they" were.) As it turns out, I recognized the fact that what I did was actually HELPING them. When I approached it from that angle -- it worked. Sorry, I digress. These lovely people gave me the name "Care." My actual name is "Carrie." People tend to speak to me as though I�m the one person who will listen to them and often, strangers just start talking to me in airports, ticket lines, and other places we find ourselves waiting for something. I�m not sure why I look like a friend in the making -- perhaps it�s my smile? Once a senior woman told me it was my smiling green eyes that said, �Hello.� I don�t know. Whether it�s the smile, my eyes or some other body language that speaks to people, they�re right, I�ll listen, I�ll care. I've been through so much in my life that when they're distraught or sad and ask in some manner that I "validate" their feelings, I generally have some experience to draw upon. We all need "validation" now and again regardless of the fact that if we "feel" it, it is valid. I enjoy listening to people, I feel I have a resonsibility to remind them that they are special. Besides, a smile or two costs me nothing to give away. So, I will listen, and I do care, and if we�re so inclined we might even have found a new friend or acquaintance in each other.
Sometimes, I admit, I know somewhere there is a special person, someone with whom, together, we�d be incredible lovers and companions. I acknowledge his existence, somewhere in the world. Begging your pardon though, it�s a big bloody world. Meanwhile, I�m doing fine here, pouring passion and soul into my art. Dreaming of the world and watching movies and going to theatre, creating glass, and loving life. The living of my love life will have to be reserved for my dreams, for now. Sometimes, though, I feel as if some greater force is dragging me, by my nose, toward somewhere that unbeknownst to me is within proximity of that person. At other times, I wonder if really, there is another out there who actually has the same eccentric needs and desires, who cherishes being loved, appreciates another�s touch, who has their own passion for their art, and speaks at least some of the same language, as I do. I�m sure there could be a different lifetime than the one I wake up to every morning, one of fulfilling wonder and ecstasy. But it is a Very Big Bloody World and I�m not out there looking for them. If we�re supposed to meet, ether God and His angels have some work to do or that special person will have to let me know he�s there.
Ta-Ta-For-Now
Unless you would like to engage in a conversation about one of the artists on my "best of" list, I can't think of much else to say just now. Feel free to email me if you've something to say or just to let me know you've stumbled upon this page. No matter WHO you are -- I'm certain I'd love to hear from you. If indeed hell HAS frozen over and you happen to be Michael Sheen, Loren Stump, Jimmy Kelly Jr., Patti Walton, Maynard, or Obcission -- all people who are the "best" of their art form ImHO, I'd REALLY love to hear from you. (I was fairly certain hell hadn't frozen over, yet.) Okay -- I'm just getting boring now. TTFN
Care
(List Under Construction)
Unbelievably Talented Thespian
Glass Artist and Teacher Extraordinare
Exciting Irish Band with hypnotic voice of Jimmy Kelly
Incredible Up and Coming Local Band - Enchanting voice, compositions & keyboards of DJ Biskwik
Captivating vocals for "A Perfect Circle," "Tool," and various other projects including the movie Underworld.