Affirmate This!

Multi Me
© Melissa Gaggiano

I am a doodler. I have side projects that I move between – 

... like a chef stirring multiple pots in the kitchen.

 ... like a bee gently hovering from flower to flower. 

... like Frogger leaping franticly from log to log to the other side of the screen.

Which ever analogy I choose, it doesn't really matter, because they're all me on different days.

I am a multi passionate artist – be it writing stories, writing imaginary book titles, drawing, painting, digital art, photography, paper crafts, design, doll making.  If you know me, then this a 'well duh' statement. But the thing is, for years I tied myself up in knots because I was fed this notion that I must choose just one thing and totally focus on that. 

That advice is great for people who are completely absorbed in one thing alone. But I'm not made of singular stuff. Anytime I tried this, whatever I was cutting out from my life left me feeling lost and empty. All the ways in which I invest my creative energy are as much a part of my programming as my DNA. So the only thing for it is to keep doing everything and not worry what the critics say about being a master of one thing, or whatever.

{gratuitous author's book link}

A friend put me onto a mind altering book [no drugs were involved] titled Steal Like An Artist created by Austin Kleon. Doesn't that name just roll? Well anyway... this book affirmates everything I do. The one difference is that post reading Steal Like An Artist I now feel more confident about how I've been using my time, with a couple of minor tweaks. As diverse as my interests are they lend and feed into each other.

Thank you Austin! For writing a book that I have always wanted to read, even before I knew it existed, and even before you knew it was meant to exist. If I was Marty McFly this would be one book that I would take back into the past.

The Moments Between

© Melissa Gaggiano

It's good to be busy. Not crazy, stupid, oh my god, my screws are coming loose as steam escapes my head, busy. But 'bee' busy - gently flying from one flower to another. For me that means having a weekly list of goals, which I like to write on a Sunday. My list is small if the tasks are large. My list is big if there are lots of short jobs. It's about realistic management, isn't it?

The body can tire if we move from job to job with no breather between. I discovered this only too recently. One job wasn't balanced and my health was compromised. Mistakes were made, but on the plus side the experience made me see what my vulnerabilities are. As my body slowly reboots I now balance the work I do with other activities that involve eating, and exercising my neck muscles (it's all about mobility and strength baby).

The other thing about working is that the mind needs periods of rest. So when the tasks are ticked I have a go at letting my brain have down time. No easy thing! My body is happy to sit, but my brain is almost always storming and itching for me to do things. Can you picture a stove with multiple pots bubbling away together? That's what it is like inside my head.

The kids had a couple of days off from school and this presented me with an opportunity to let my brain off the hook. When constantly thinking about next week, next month, next year, being present can take some getting used to. But if you can switch off and focus on what is before you, be it a garden or a child, then it is time well spent.

© Melissa Gaggiano

SHARE

SHARE if your kids/husband/sister/mum/dad/brother/sister/half-sister/cousin-twice-removed/facial-mole-once-removed/surfboard/boss/the-TV-show-Friends/smartphone are the best thing to ever happen to you.

No! I take that back. Don’t share! For the sake of everyone’s mental health, please just do not share. It drives me bananas each and every time I see a message pop up on social media inviting me to share said message if I love the people in my life. SHARE if I think child abuse is evil. SHARE if I think animal abuse is evil. SHARE if my sister is my best friend. SHARE if my partner is my soul mate. SHARE to end war. SHARE. SHARE. SHARE! Arrrrrrrrrgh!

On a weekly basis messages such as this pass from my computer screen and enter my brain like a guilt guided missile. Because I know that if I don’t share that message that means I am one selfish ass. And when the people in my social network see that I haven’t shared when they so obviously have, they too will also know that I am a truly crummy person, thus placing them on a high pedestal in life. Show offs!

Okay, that last bit is probably wildly inaccurate and a tad bit over the top. I’m sure that my friends and acquaintances, really don’t have the time to check if I have shared the message, so are not really spending their day judging me for such things, but sweet Jesus, it doesn’t change the fact that this share phenomena is causing me all kinds of inner turmoil. If I don’t share then I’m implying I don’t care about people, animals and world peace, which is so not the case. I want nothing but the best for the planet and everyone living on it.

On the flipside if I share one of those messages it’s got to be because I want to share and not because I’ve been bullied into sharing. Essentially if I press share then I will have done it, not because those things are true, but because I have to prove that I too am a good person. Share. Click. See everyone, I’m one of the good, and you can’t say I’m not because I shared this message. So can you see how a simple message of love and supposed empathy can be turned into a message of self-doubt and nagging guilt?

So the next time you receive one of those share messages, before you hit share, ask yourself am I doing this because I want to, or because I have something to prove. And if you are sharing that message, think about all those people who are going to receive that message and are going to wonder what you’re trying to prove.

Rant over. Ooh, look at that. I got another share. What will I do?

Who Remembers Supergirl?

[The one about a controversial hoodie]

Helen Slater as Supergirl [1984]

Today I am wearing my super hero hoodie. I love it. It provides both physical warmth and inner strength with its iconic bright blue, yellow and red colours. When I wear my hoodie I am empowered. I walk down the street and women quietly smile at me. Girls stare in awe. On the flipside of things little boys and grown men stop me in the street and say things like “Hey! You’re a girl. Why are you wearing a Superman jumper?” “Shouldn’t you be wearing a Wonder Woman top?” “Hey, it’s Superman!” comments such as this make me feel like I’ve accidentally wandered into the men’s toilet [and believe me I know, as in a desperate moment I have actually done that]. It’s as though by wearing this one garment I’m defying the imaginary laws of gender.

Now don’t get me wrong. I love Superman. One of many highlights of my 80s childhood was watching Christopher Reeves play Superman, opposite Margot Kidder on the silver screen. Another important highlight was seeing Supergirl come to life in the form of Helen Slater. The much slated [Yeah, yeah! I’m a terrible one for puns] Supergirl film moved me because there was an example of a girl-woman taking control of her life and becoming a peaceful and powerful person. Plus she could fly and wear a cape, how cool was that!

Supergirl shouldered responsibility and saved the world without the interference/help [depending on how you want to look at it] of a man. Not even her cousin, Superman was around to patronise her. And even though, along the way, there were men treating Supergirl as a sexual plaything, she stood her ground and pushed back.

But that was then [1984] and this is now [2014] and okay, so maybe not everyone is going to remember Helen Slater’s Supergirl. Surely though with Supergirl appearing in other more recent television programs, she would not have fallen completely into a pop cultural black hole. Or did she?

At the end of it all a thought will continue to badger this girl-woman. Why after all this time will some guys feel the need to question my right to wear a symbol of power and strength? Let’s face it, that’s at the core of this hoodie pickle. I feel like they’re telling me that the super symbol does not belong on a female.

I may never understand the psychology behind this gender stuff. But no matter how many times I am stopped in the street by the opposite sex I will continue to wear my super hoodie till there’s nothing left of it. If nothing else I want my daughters to believe that Supergirl exists and that she belongs in that hoodie.

What

Melissa Gaggiano

Clooney

- Melissa Gaggiano

Creative Unfocus

Melissa Gaggiano Photography

Do you have any idea? Even the tiniest speck of a notion of what it feels to be so incapable of starting something and just sticking to it without immediately moving on to the next amazing, brilliant thing? I have inside my massively over driven, high octane, restless brain a billion and one thoughts and ideas screaming and chanting at me every day, every hour [and most especially at 3 o’clock in the morning] all striving for my attention. With each brain fart becoming louder than the next.

Okay, so? You’re creative.

Yes, I am creative. A creative mess, that is! So help me goddess, I am absolutely hopeless with sticking to just That One Thing and becoming sublimely fabulous with that outlet, whether it be drawing, painting, photography, writing, violin, making dolls, knitting, DIY learning French for Dummies. And so I travel from one creative village to another hoping to find a place to call home. And there are times when I think I have found it, but the next day a new wind blows and beckons me on to the next project. I feel like I am living the story of Chocolat.

Just accept that you haven’t found your thing.

Don’t say that. That’s not helping. Don’t you understand the dome of paralysis I am living under? My frenetic journey, as I dash from one activity to another, is enough to drive anyone crazy, even you, you annoyingly calm, reasonable person. Some days I am so driven to distraction that my mind completely seizes up and I am incapable of making a single decision. On days like that I wind up staring at my navel completely paralysed by the choices before me. I am just so scared of making the wrong decision. I am even more terrified of making the right decision, if you can even fathom that paradox.

What do you want to do about this?

You can help me make a decision. What do you think I excel at?

I don’t know. Maybe you can focus on the drawing.

Are you crazy? But what about the writing? Or the photography? I might be missing my true calling if I don’t do those things. And then… and then…

And then what?

I have to lie down. I think my brain just fell out the back of my head.

The Doorway

    This morning I picked out an old science fiction novel, Contact by Carl Sagan, off the book shelf. I wanted to show my husband and have a laugh, because that was one of the pseudonyms used in the Back to the Future computer game. When I flipped open the front cover I noticed an ink stamp reminding me of where I bought the book.
    When I was in my mid teens my Dad discovered a nondescript doorway at the back of a laundromat, which was run by a Chinese couple [I think]. There nothing special about this doorway, but it was a portal to a special place. It was a book exchange for second hand books.
    When Dad took me to this hidden shop I was over the moon to discover all these science fiction on sale for as little as two dollars. It was the perfect place, as I had already exhausted my school library Star Trek collection.
    I bought The Last Starfighter because I watched the film like a million times when I was a kid. I also bought Carl Sagan's Contact since I had enjoyed the Jodie Foster film adaptation so much. I know I bought a Next Generation novel but it was tragically ruined in a storage mishap several years ago.



It's Not Easy

Illustration by Melissa Gaggiano

    It's not easy. Trying to write something good.
    When I read other people's books, I wish to myself, that maybe I could write something like that. It would be nice to express myself - to be clear and concise, to be heard and understood. To share something wonderful and be remembered for that.
    I am re-reading The Carrie Diaries. I like this version of Carrie Bradshaw and Candace Bushnell is one of my new favourite authors.
    The way Carrie was written, she is someone I can understand. I feel like I know her well. Like she could have been me, if I was a different person. An ambiguous statement - yes! But it is logical to me.
    Carrie listens to the people around her, she explores the city and lives life up. She may not like all that she sees. Yet the obstacles in her life help define her writing. I think Candace is telling up a lot about herself through Carrie.
    One of Carrie's struggles is getting started with writing her ideas. This frustrates her because she thinks she has to work a whole lot harder to be a spectacular writer. Initial laziness appears to be her hallmark, but once she knows what she wants there is no stopping Carrie.
    On another slightly similar subject - reading [as it is just the flipside to writing]! I am doing a lot of reading at the moment. In fact I have four different books that I am currently in the middle of. I enjoy re-reading my old books but my mind needs new fuel. I want to read Ernest Hemmingway. And there was another one. What was it? Virginia Woolf. And Tender is the Night by Fitzgerald.

Epic Love Vs Rebound Boy

Illustration by Melissa Gaggiano

Have you ever watched the awesome, but short lived television series Veronica Mars? If you have then you will know what I am rambling on about in this essay. If not, then you will be entirely lost, and will want to watch the series to work out what I am going on about.

During season three of Veronica Mars, quite a few people were relieved to see Veronica Mars dating a good boy like Stosh ‘Piz’ Piznarski. Particularly after the many heart aches caused by on again, off again boyfriend, Logan Echolls. Others, like me, feel that when it comes to Logan it’s a case of better the devil you know.

If I ever wanted confirmation that Piz was all wrong for Veronica, then I would look no further than his reaction to the unauthorised sex tape of Veronica and him. Or I should say his non-reaction. Upon learning that someone had infiltrated his dorm room with spy equipment, and thereby recording an intimate moment between Piz and Veronica, he is surprisingly calm about the situation. He doesn’t appear embarrassed, nor is he angry. I cannot help but feel, even if he’s not concerned about his own personal exposure, he should at least feel so for the sake of his girlfriend, who was ultimately the target of this attack.

Veronica’s Dad, Keith, was never entirely comfortable with Veronica dating Logan. And when she began dating Piz, Keith happily gave his thumbs-up to this set up. As far as he was concerned Logan had no future and Piz and in computer game terms he was the new and improved beta.  Translation Piz is not a trouble maker. But here is the funny thing. Keith thinks very little of Logan yet they are mirror images of each other.  Certainly he doesn’t have Logan’s anger management issues. However when it comes to the safety of people he cares about, he has taken the law into his own hands.

In the other established caveman definition of a beta, Piz is most definitely that. Put these two up against each other in a fight and Logan would come out on top. The first episode we meet Piz he conveys to Veronica that he is a “lover, not a fighter”, in what is an attempt to prove to her that he more evolved than his fellow gender. Little does he know about our sweet Veronica is that she has walked darker roads in the past few years.  And while she doesn’t approve violence per se, she has been desensitised to it. She is no wall flower and subconsciously appreciates a bit of retribution in the form of fisticuffs. Veronica is not perfect, but so she is a product of the Neptune environment, where corruption reigns supreme. In her world the law is backward and insecure, so for order to be maintained some degree of vigilantism is a necessary evil.

Is Logan wrong for Veronica? Of course he is, but he is ‘oh so wrong’ in the way that it is ‘oh so right’. What I am trying to say is that Logan is not a perfect person. His imperfections are visible like ripples on the water. He has done some pretty stupid things, and has some habits Veronica would prefer to discourage, but everything you need to know about Logan is laid out on the surface if you are prepared to take a look. The good thing about Logan is that he is passionate about the people he cares for. In point, even when he and Veronica have broken up [which has happened quite a few times] he has repeatedly defended her. And as much as Veronica likes to point out his faults, Logan knows her well enough to turn the table and is able to bring her down to earth when she is too high handed.  Basically Logan and Veronica ground each other.

Whereas Piz… Well what can be said about Piz? He is loveable, has a sense of humour, easy going and for the most part does appear dependable. You would not find Piz heading off for a wild night of debauchery in Tijuana, but neither will you find him having the gumption  to defend his girlfriend’s honour. Piz is a nice boy, but he hasn’t got what it takes to be Veronica’s equal, which is what Logan is.

Read the Hand

I would never ask you to talk to the hand. But if you want, you can read the hand.

Image by Melissa Gaggiano

Image by Melissa Gaggiano

Image by Melissa Gaggiano

Image by Melissa Gaggiano

Outlets

Image by Melissa Gaggiano

    Artistic people have more than one outlet for their creativity. I for one dabble with writing and drawing as a means to develop my ideas. Or a combination of the above. I keep a variety of journals at any one time. I have an art journal and two different writing journals. I keep a digital journal. And when the words don't come to me I apply myself to a hand written journal.
    I wonder why my thoughts come out so differently when I write and type.

Illustration by Melissa Gaggiano

Illustration by Melissa Gaggiano

Creative Pathways

    I am feeling inspired. New ideas are swirling through my mind. I like being in this head space. I can see paths of potential  being drawn up before me.

Image by Melissa Gaggiano

Night Light



It is so light and bright, in the evening sky.

The summer moon shines, sharing with us,

The secrets of the sun.



Happy Trails and Pizza Tonight

Yesterday my familywent for an excursion in the car. We drove to the other side of the city, all the way to Clifton Hill to buy a trailer to attach to the bicycle. Now that we have gotten rid of The Suzi, me and the girls will need an alternative mode of transportation.

The bike shop was an impressive set up. With long, long rows of bikes lining up, leaning, and dangling, plus an incomprehensible selection of accessories, as well as a repairs department all the way down the back. Customers flowed in and out of the shop every five minutes, often with a bike. The front entrance to the shop included a small wood staircase. A thin wood ramp had been built into the side of the stairs making it easier for people to enter and leave with a bicycle in tow. I could tell some of the people had ridden their bicycles to the shop. Though when we arrived, a customer towered over a sales person who was knelt and making adjustments to a bicycle, and he was dressed in a tailored corporate suit – I guess work doesn’t stop for people like that. Not even for a Saturday. An indie radio station played throughout the shop. I didn’t recognise it, but it was easy listening. Was I hearing the sound of jazz? I think the shop had once been a factory. It was made of brick and I could sense the ghosts of an old industrial age.

The trailer was packed into the car and being that it was way past noon we circled about looking for an eatery. We found a fancy café called Degani Café Bakery. Michael and I each ate the Degani beef burger – grilled, not fried. I ordered for Gwen fish ‘n’ chips and a chocolate milk shake. They gave her chicken nuggets, chips and a chocolate milkshake in a tall sundae glass. Gwen couldn’t finish her milkshake so I made sure to help her. Her drink was so tall Gwen had to kneel on her chair to reach the straw.

After everyone had something eat and drink [even Keira had her formula bottle] we drove onward and away from the city. It was time to meet some old friends, whom we had not seen in three years. Gwen loved playing at Rosemary and Walter’s home. Especially in the wilderness that is their yard. What with all the rains we have been having since the end of the drought the yard is thick with plants, grass and trees. The flora is an overflowing waterfall of green. It was fantastic. Gwen calls it a jungle where cheeky monkeys live. I call it a secret garden.

I am sitting outside again. It is late afternoon. It is summer and yet I am comfortable. There is a breeze and just a little sun filters through the massive tree that grows on the property next door. Michael is indoors with Gwen. And Keira is napping. My baby strawberry plants are growing okayish. I can see them from here. I am thinking of making cuttings from the gardenia so I can plant more throughout the yard. My underarms are itching. I have a rash from picking the weeds out of the front garden. At moments like this I feel like I could write into infinity. We are having pizza for dinner tonight. That’ll make everyone happy.

I have discovered that, like a monkey, Gwen can climb up her bunk all the way to the very top. Once I caught her, sitting and playing on the top, I brought her down. I then asked her to show Michael and I how she did it, so that we could know what Gwen is capable of. Sure enough she was using the safety bars to step and pull herself up. I was surprised by the strength in her limbs and just how quickly she could scale the bunk. Michael has suggested we remove the safety barriers so that she cannot use them to climb.

The Font That Loved Me

    I have discovered a font that has made me rather happy. It is called Fang Song. How it got this name I cannot fathom. Mind you I often question how many fonts got their titles, such as Wingdings or even Narkisim.
    Recently I decided to make a change to Georgia. I liked how it sounded, rolling around in my head. I liked how it looked, spilling across the page. But now that I have noticed Fang Song I could be typing to a different tune. Other fonts that make me very happy include Caslon Antique and American Typewriter. And it is a bother to me that I do not have these fonts in my laptop. I'll have to do something about that.



A font to love.




And another.

     You know what I would just love to do? To create a font based on my own handwriting. Perhaps it is something to look into. I can add it to my list of 'must dos' for 2012.
..................................
    Aaaaaagh!....... [speechless]............. [back soon].........
    ...It is lovely sitting outside in a beach chair with a breeze sweeping through the trees above and a little summer light pushing through the gaps. You are comfortable. It is quiet. You are typing and the words are flowing... Then some bastard bird craps on you and the laptop. That's just really lovely.
   

Friday Reflection

    The weekend is almost upon us and I am taking the time to reflect on where I am at. It has been a busy week. Nothing new there.
    I have done some cleaning up and then made new messes. I have dabbled in photography and my writing. I picked up and began reading a really old book - Sugar and Spice and[written by Mary Wright].
    I thought about the future a little but tried to focus on the here and now.
    I tended to my garden - trying to grow strawberries, herbs and lots of lovely flowering plants. I have thinking of planting lots more gardenias. Considering ways of attracting more local birds to the yard. Maybe I could hang an outdoor painting.
    In between all of that I have done the mum thing to two beautiful girls - feeding, cleaning, playing, painting, reading, dancing, talking and singing.
    And dreaming of the snow and trees in Canada.
    It has been a good week. Yes it has.

Canada is Looking Pretty Good...

... right about now.

 

As I sit on the floor, hair tied up off my neck and practically down to my underwear, on what is a considerably warm day, I start to wonder about living in cooler places than Australia.

When I was kid I lived in a few hot and humid conditions. So you'd think that I'd be used to it. Ah, but you see, for my formative hormonally charged years I moved to a cold region of Australia. Goodbye stubbies and sandals. Hello chilblains and influenza. I moved to Victoria during summer and yet it felt cold enough to be wearing a beloved grotty cardigan.

See the thing is, where ever we choose tolive we climatise. So after living in Victoria for a good two decades I eventually got comfortable with the cold, and learnt to actually wear some clothes.

So the question stands, if I climatised to Victorian winters, then how come I didn't climatise to the summers? How did a child of the near tropics and deserts come to abhor heat? It's a good question, of which I have no answer for in brain addling heat.

At times like this I seriously consider moving to places like Oregon, or Canada. Even Antartica is looking pretty good.

Oh! Do you feel that? It’s the cool change that I have been waiting for. I welcome the evening thunder storm with mucho gusto.

The Invisible Band Member

Many odd years ago My Man was in a rock band. He played the bass and I was The Band’s loyal whatever. You name it I was their audience, photographer, graphic designer, biographer, and all round moral support. For those familiar with Scott Pilgrim you can easily imagine that I was a cross between Ramona Flowers and Knives Chau, minus all the ninja fighting and general awesomeness. Mind you, there were moments when a bit of ninja action might have been called for.

I watched The Band’s development. I was aware of their aspirations and goals. I knew their songs like the back of my hand. I brainstormed with them marketing ideas. I made their flyers and album covers and even developed their first website.

I witnessed The Band consume so many drummers. One of them disappeared to Queensland [with the police hot on the trail]. Another simply didn’t turn up at the gig. Another left a long winded letter about how he couldn’t be a drummer for The Band, which actually read more like a f##k you letter. With the number of drummers The Band went through it ensured an uncanny parallel to fictional band Spinal Tap. I would be no more surprised if one of the drummers had actually spontaneously combusted on stage.

Having such close proximity to this band meant sharing in their joy when they were allowed to perform at the Espy, which for an emerging band was like entering Shangri-la. I knew of their disappointment when sound engineers turned out to be deaf hacks. Publicans who cried poor, trying to get out of paying The Band its pocket money [free beer anybody?].

Despite the smoke haze and the late nights, following and preceding a work day, I got a buzz out of being on this journey with The Band. There were plenty of other musicians to meet with and there was always potential for networking with other likeminded bands. And besides, let’s face it. It was an opportunity to get out of the house.

I remember the first performance with a group of other bands. It was something of a tri-force. The venue hoped that by having three bands that would increase drinking numbers. Of course these were somewhat unknown bands, which meant only their truly loyal friends with no place better to be turned up. What was not funny that night was my splitting migraine. What was sort of funny was the drummer not turning up. What was really hilarious, was seeing a guitarist from one of the other bands using a soldering iron on his homemade stomp box.

Fast forward a year or so and The Band were invited to perform two songs live at Triple R FM… at midnight. After the first song, The Band was told they would have to wait another two hours before playing the next song. So there we were, The Band and me, wait in a decrepit building, at an ungodly hour, exhausted, bored, and our tummies began rumbling. So we jumped into a car and searched for a 24 hour eatery. I will forever be grateful to McDonalds for being open so late. Goddess bless the Big Mac meal at 1:30 in the morning.

Another time I remember between sets trying to explain to one of the singers that his words couldn’t be heard because his nose was pressed against the microphone. He didn’t believe it, until the sound engineer came along with the same advice. I didn’t know whether to laugh it off or go all Knives Chau on the singer.

As the saying goes, all good things must come to an end, and in my case after a few years of following The Band this became very clear to me. A lot of my time and energy was invested in this one band and it was time that I move on to other projects that were more ‘me’ orientated.

I spent so much time working with and supporting The Band. So much so, that the last drummer called me Yoko. But My Man doesn’t agree. He describes me as the invisible band member.

Those Shoes

Have you ever felt such a crazy mad desire for a pair of shoes? So much so, that a voice inside your head screams out “I must have those shoes. My very existence depends on those shoes.” In fact the very idea of not having those shoes cripples your brain and paralyses your heart. Well, it happened to me.

It was a tragic day at the bargain shoe shop at Westfield when my feet met their inamorata. It was a pair of dangerously high, uncomfortable, exquisitely beautiful gold glitter shoes. The little girl within me, the part of myself that never really grew up squealed with delight at the sight of those shoes. And every week since that fateful day in the store I have yearned for those shoes.

I try telling myself not to think about those biped glittering balls of light. There is no point in buying those shoes. Where am I going to where them? I’m not exactly party central and I do not foresee any future events that would require getting sprained ankles from dancing to the Jackson 5. But still there it is, in the back of my mind. I want those shoes. I am crazy about those shoes. What can I say, they are just so pretty.

Well, a girl can dream.