what is your tongue?

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What is it? What is it worth? Do you need it?

I cannot fathom the restraint and heartbreak of those who live in totalitarian governments, or the men and women confined to strict social conventions about gender a generation before mine… or my mother.
I cannot fathom that strength because even in my heart of hearts, I know I am not that destitute. I will have no men with guns at my door if I speak freely about my religious beliefs. I will not be incarcerated and subject to a life without human rights when I openly discuss and critique my government. I will not be assaulted without penalty, because I can go to the authorities.

But I still feel like the majority of my life where I consciously speak has consisted of biting my tongue. I can still loose my job if I have an outburst, I can loose the respect and support of my peers should I be too audacious, and I can still loose the people who would listen if I speak too brazenly. If I speak freely, people cease to listen.

Very few believed me that my father had been seriously hurt in a car accident… or that it effected him both in body and mind. Even fewer believed that I felt the need to step up my contributions to the family… or that I had any reason to. It was as if people assumed these circumstances are too implausible or so unlikely; as if what I said were a lie. For all the majority knew, it was. I was a hypochondriac. I must have been. I wanted attention, that was it.

Well of course I wanted attention! I needed to know that my narrative was not an anomaly, not some weird occurrence meant for an alternative universe.

In some alternative universe, I’m actually very stupid. So stupid that I do not realize the causes of my own discomfort, nor would I hold my tongue despite consequences. If I were lacking in faculties, would I then be able to identify that my happiness is a choice? Likely not. But why is that that in this universe, however that I am conscious of this life, that I recognize the capability of my choice of happiness is hindered by knowing that it is a choice?

Or is it because I am aware that my personal life is not jeopardized like most others that I feel silly, worse guilty, that somehow the stress of not having the permission to articulate my own experiences and my own feelings affects me so. Most times I can leave my feelings aside while I dive into work. I can usually immerse myself in art or art-like functions, some form or creativity or technical and tactile skill, and subconsciously and without inner discord, find my solution. No. I am simply stuck wondering, and not able to make much action because I am wondering and getting no answers.

And asking my questions aloud means I must first be brazen, blunt and honest… but that drives away any listeners.

The solution then is to be “diplomatic”. Find a way to allude someone to your entire circumstance, however that is also so cryptic. I find that when you make your feelings or your ideas even your experiences cryptic, they loose their credibility. Being cryptic while not speaking the entire truth because that truth is too unprofessional at the time and place of its release is then a lie.

When I bite my tongue; I am lying. When I describe in poetry, it’s cryptic and I am still lying. But when I am truly honest…
… this is when I cannot find the words.

By the times I find that I can speak freely, I am exhausted. By then that articulation is lost.

Is this why they say god gave us one mouth and two ears for a reason?

Why is it those who have truly lost their ability to speak freely are the ones who have the most beautiful things to say? When was the last time I had something truly beautiful to say? Am I just talking but not saying anything?

I must be blabbering.

 

 

Your tongue.

It moves more than any other muscle.

Muscles of your heart, at separate times, are relaxed.

But even when you rest, your tongue does not.

So why is the most powerful and most used muscle in our bodies feel so hindered? Why does everyone’s tongue feel tied?

Forget about censoring for a moment. Forget about licenses and forget about the repercussions of your free speech, and think about how often you hold your tongue.

Are we happier for it? or is it to our detriment?

Is it better to have spoken freely and pay the consequence or is it better to make peace with everyone and be quiet?

At times, no one can be silent. When we see others tortured and maimed, when we see segregation, when we see that things can be better, we cannot be silent. Being silent means giving permission. But when someone doesn’t want to hear that you honestly disapprove of their actions though you love them, we must bite our tongues.

When is it important to speak and when is it important to keep quiet?

When does biting your tongue mean you have bitten off your tongue?

When have you made it impossible for yourself to speak anymore?

Is what has me flustered and what has affected absolutely every waking hour truly that important? Is what I want to say a necessity?

I know I am not hard-done by. I know that the stress of my parents divorcing is nothing to living in Syria in this moment. I am not truly bound by law, yet, to keep quiet because of my anatomy assignment. I don’t need to watch my tongue.

But why do I feel that I am constantly biting my tongue?

I cannot imagine the strength needed to live a life where you cannot speak freely because the hurt I feel from my own lack of utterance just now in the minutia of my stresses is overwhelming.

If we were meant to listen more than we were to speak, why is our feeling that we need to speak and speak often so predominant in our lives? It must be a choice like happiness; we must choose to listen more than speak.

If people listened, then cryptic descriptions would not be necessary. If we listened, maybe when one does speak, they are not at a loss to try and find again that singular moment of clarity and articulation. Maybe if we listened before we spoke, which is opposite of our actions currently, then maybe we would not all feel that our tongues are overvalued or undervalued. We wouldn’t have to lie to tell a truth. We would simply speak and be at peace if others could just listen.

Is what I wanted to say so important? What was it that I wanted to say? It was something about their divorce, my lack of art supplies to keep myself occupied, that the only art I can do without the intention of selling it is writing and even that has it’s very sparse time… is it that trying to get away has taken over even necessary functions like keeping composure and being professional? It was something to the effect that I am frustrated. I am deeply, immensely, overwhelmingly frustrated. And maybe a bit helpless. I’m waiting to hear back from someone to see if moving out is going to happen sooner or later… maybe my reasons for wanting to move out are silly. No. No they can’t be because I know that staying where I am now affects me. It affected me four years ago, it affects me now. I wanted to say something that would more or less come across like I was throwing my own family under the bus for my frustrations though it is more about my reactions than their decisions… or their reactions to decisions.

I’m angry, I’m frustrated, I’m exhausted, I’m almost melancholy, and trying so hard to count my blessings without loosing them to being affected. What is happening in the grand scheme of things is not that big, it is not life threatening, it is not going to end the world or leave me helpless… I do live in Canada and that’s a blessing on its own.

But it affects my health, my sleep, my breath, even the way I look into someone’s eyes.

But it’s really not that bad.

I don’t know if I made myself feel better than it’s not all that bad or if I made myself feel even more of a fool because I feel so hurt.

What is your tongue? We hardly know when to speak, or how to speak or care if it is important. How much is your tongue worth? I think at least in a few moments in life, we all have instances when we cannot speak freely and we feel such an agonizing debate in ourselves. Do you need your tongue? People have a voice without a tongue, and those people when given the moment to use their voice, use that temporary moment to say such permanent things.

I still don’t know if I feel silly and guilty, or if I feel enlightened.

I have to figure out what I have to do with my tongue.

hmm.

– I am Elizabeth Hoskin, and I am LovingBedlam

Feast or Famine

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I love how in life one minute you can be looking desperately for work, and the next is almost over whelming. One minute I wonder just how I am going to get to my goals and next I am making even bigger and more grand goals. One minute to the next, and you have to change your plans just that quickly.


So last I updated I had told you about my participation in Art Ce Soir as a Part of the City of Barrie’s Culture Days. And I am so thankful to my models who made this happen and thankful for the good reception. So I continued to nurture the idea of the garbage bag dresses and the theme “hear/speak/see no evil”, though as a pamphlet for the event came out, part of my own artist statement was written for me. The end of this game of cat and mouse to find a statement was that the garbage bag dresses were representations of the big box stores; their rehashing of old materials and shoddy workmanship produced en masse and the need for local businesses that are more conscious of materials used, using scraps if needed, and genuine fine work. Those garbage bag dresses were to become the new standard should the public not make a collective effort to buy local. The theme, though not at the forefront, still represented the ignorance regarding the economic choice.

Things that I’m glad I did and will repeat next year;

1 – had models armed with a script for when people asked, and cue cards to hand out!

2 – had the fittings just over a week before the event (significantly less stressful)

3 – had amazing models (thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!)

4- forget the makeup, have them do it. maybe another year but for the more random, the less makeup is better

5 – told my models they were free to go … right before the weather became horrendous. damn good timing.

 

Things that I will consider for next year;

1 – a proper time slot and runway show

2 – a better dressing/prepping station (Thank you Alana for letting me use the dressing room at your business, “Awkward Stage”)

3 – weather… in general..

 

Things that I will change for next year;

1 – Making thicker and better coats for models. The garbage bags were great insulators however the models still needed more to keep warm, especially after the rain started.

2 – A run through; it will also encourage the models to spread out and mingle. The models were a great way to set the atmosphere and I will make that an even bigger presence next year.

3 – Making myself an outfit to mingle with models. I had about a month to throw things together so for future reference, I will make one for me!

All in all I thought myself relatively prepared which was wonderful. I had about two months notice of my acceptance for this event and worse yet, I was constantly waiting for funds to come in. They never did… so I grab the cheapest materials I could – garbage bags and leftover thread! Tada! I won’t lie, I was bloody exhausted!

Art Ce Soir was successful! Please visit the Lakshore Mews website to see the listings, and of course the local businesses that make everything happen (right hand side of the page).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And just as fast as Art Ce Soir approached, as did my employment with Dotti Potts. Thanks to Megan at Le Petite Chapeau in the Lakeshore Mews, I heard that Sandra and Gavin could use a spare set of hands in their studio for the upcoming season. Tired of my survival job in the mall already, I quickly sent off an email with my resume and CV. Apparently I had perfect timing as they needed someone pronto and had me interviewed on the 19th. The interview went so well I’ve been offered a full time position, we even got a grant for my training there! I am still timid that I may not be a part of the cohesive unit; and I’m pretty sure it’s a silly fear but a real one none the less. Everyone has habits or ways of moving in a studio, like a dance. Everyone has dance steps and it’s important you can find people with similar dance moves so that you all work together. But so far, it has been amazing! Within one day of working there my mood lifted! Gavin was showing me how to mix one of their glazes as he poured some slip into molds and I suppose I already had a bounce in my step. I smiled ear to ear when he asked if I was happy to get back to being messy. Towards the end of the day it hit me, I raised my head and smiled again. “I’m am being paid, in a full time job, to do this!” I could have bounced to Toronto and back I was so happy. At 5, Sandra and I were trying to finish up with decals and loading the small kiln for firing said decals. My mother was curious where I was working so her and my father came to give me a ride home and saw Sandra and I in the studio muddling away. My mother said she could see me light up again – they both mentioned my mood. Though I was almost irritated on the ride home … I didn’t realize how hungry and tired I was until I was pulled out of the studio.

The second day was as packed as the first; Sandra and Gavin were packing for a show and that does take an entire day. It was probably a good thing much production wasn’t done… I was so tired and so hungry it was distracting. Luckily with this new income, I don’t think it will be an issue again in the future. I have a long weekend off… wait a minute… OH MY GOD! I’m free one a weekend!? When did this happen? I have a LIFE?! whoa…. I can have a life with this job… yay!

You either feast or famine and now that the famine is over, I have a bizarre coming up that i need to get ready for and now I can afford frames for prints! I also need to buy two large canvases so that I can donate them for a silent auction! I’m also thinking of more jewelry designs for Dotti Potts that I ought to get done now so we have time to put it together and have it ready for the catalogue in the new year, I have some ideas floating around for next year’s Art Ce Soir and it will be a year-long project…

 

I’m being paid for making art… yay!

Getting My Act Together

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Hey Guys, Hows it goin’?

So! I’m actually doing what I said I would do – I’m talking about my new series and plans for the event “Art Ce Soir II”!

So Art Ce Soir II is an annual event hosted by the Lakeshore Mews in association with the Local Businesses Association in Barrie. The event, on September 29th 2pm til 2am on September 30th, is a gathering of local art vendors, performances and art installations held on Fred Grant Square. The focuses are to celebrate local established and upcoming artists and highlighting local businesses that make the City of Barrie what it is.

My proposal, that I was flabbergasted to see accepted, was to have live models meandering and posing about the square. Nothing gets the creative juices flowing quite like stress and pressure to deliver – and so withing 24 hours I had figured the basics of my theme and costume designs and even had some models! Since I was unsure of the conservative or liberal standing of the event, I could not address things such as the ownership of women’s bodies, social conventions of beauty being broken by age and physical requirements nor religion’s baring on women in the western world, I thought of the book, “The Meaning of Flowers” or the idea of “Hear No Evil, See no Evil, Speak no Evil”. Though the idea is relatively conservative and vague, it could be extended to the hardships forced upon women (since I have all female models and basing their dresses off of previous designs in high fashion) or the lack of government responsibility or lack of public outcry for controlling our non-renewable resources (using garbage bags and plastic in these designs). In keeping my theme vague, I in fact found a way to broaden a discussion upon all the issues I feel need greater commentary or at least a larger movement to see resolutions within society. After all, I make art to promote conversations. (Ah! See! A golden thread! I have had the hardest time nailing down an artist’s statement and here I see the very basis! I do love blogging!)

Here are my designs thus far, awaiting approval from Lakeshore Mews – All work copyright Elizabeth Hoskin, 2012

Not the only Series I have been working on either! Out of absolute boredom and made with an a wrist aching to do more, I had begun an experiment that I am most pleased in, however, critique would be appreciated! My series, “Unnaturally Thrown” is an experiment to see if I could work with anatomy from memory whilst contorting the form. I have used watercolours and graphite on watercolour paper.

 

Art Ce Soir !

http://www.lakeshoremews.com/2012/08/art-ce-soir-ii-is-in-full-swing.html

 

Thank you all!

 

-I am Elizabeth Hoskin, and I am LovingBedlam

 

Just as one gets cozy, WHAM!

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Alright, New Content! and withing a week! What is going on!?

Well, I had the first day of my new job this week, which consisted of filling out the appropriate paperwork, learning basic functions and trying on the bathing suits so that I can assist customers better; I assumed life was going to be slow for the next bit. What wonders emails are nowadays; one of my proposals I sent to the Lakeshore Mews for their Art Ce Soir II event this September was accepted. But it was not the proposal to install my work in storefront windows, nor was it the proposal to busk; selling portraits on the spot. It was my proposal to have live models walking around in costumes I make… I will have to make… in roughly a month. CRAP! I am so thankful to be accepted but CRAP!

So I believe I have models in order! (memo to me: start message board so everyone is on the same page! emails!) And I just need to finalize my drawings! And need to set up a meeting with mews. I also need to set up my printer and scanner for you guys to see my business… so this is just turning into a to-do-list…

If that weren’t enough, I am still waiting to hear from the Maclaren Art Centre if I may have been accepted for any of their positions that I have applied for – I really really really really hope so! Even if all I get is a gallery attendant position, my life would be made! (please, please, please, please! I’m going to work at the art gallery! I’m going to work at the art gallery!).

At least I have a job. I have some funds to actually achieve this astronomical goal! Well, will have funds. This new job is alright, of course, I am prohibited from posting anything that may force a poor appearance upon the company and so I will refrain from mentioning who they are by name. However, I am now working at a swimsuit store owned by a french lingerie company within the mall and I will say, the team appears to be super sweet! And I’m eyeballin’ the cute baristo at starbucks. So life is good at the mall and I was saved from having to work as a waitress at the chinese buffet restaurant down the street. In fact, an hour after the first shift is when I received a phone call and job offer from the store! I was thrilled. I am thrilled. I don’t know who in the hell chooses unemployment because I’m already pulling my hair out from lack of finances and I was bored.
I was becoming very bored. And then I made goals like this blog, and another to have new content every week. And new content on my youtube channel every week to compliment my makeup blog! And do daily instagrams of my makeup and daily tips! So please, support me there to!
instagram;

elizabethhoskin

twitter;

ElizabethHoskin

lipstick and gin beauty blog;

http://lipstickandgin.wordpress.com/
youtube channel;

broadcastpirate

 

holy crap, let’s get this ball running!

After I started into my fit from the email and repeatedly saying “crap. crap crap CRAP! crap” to myself, my father reminded me … “you’re not in your element when you don’t have something big to accomplish”. He’s right. I can’t do with being bored. I’m not happy unless life is absolute bedlam. Alright, let’s see if I can get myself together for this! Wish me luck!

 

-I am Elizabeth Hoskin, and I am LovingBedlam

 

(crap, crap, crap, CRAP! crap!)

I’m Carmen SanDiego, Guess Where I am!

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So, what’s new?
Well… I moved to a new city, took me two weeks to find a job and that job is… disheartening considering my qualifications. Worse, I haven’t been writing a whole hell of a lot so this is going to be rusty, and squeaky and more like another stream-of-consciousness posts.

Two weeks, almost to the day, I moved back down to southern Ontario. Two weeks I was unemployed and that was the longest time I have ever been unemployed so I felt my brain rotting for a short time. How bad was that? I have gone into watching toddlers and tiaras thoroughly… dear god, someone save me. These symptoms coupled with an environment where shit has hit the fan (I won’t elaborate on it much more and please don’t ask. I’ll disclose what I want when it feel it’s pertinent [if you know, please respect this post and do not disclose for me. thank you]).
Since moving in a fortnight ago, I have gone through copious collected boxes that have collected copious amounts of dust. First thing was to unpack what I could and determine what had to be put into the storage unit downstairs (since I am in an apartment building now). Dishes, kitchen aids, extras have all been sent to their dark, cool and dry resting places until I am well ahead of being just self-sustaining. The reason for me moving back in with parental units is that I am being offered a year or so to work and be rent-free to build finances and a reputation within Barrie. I need this time to at least get a hold on paying back my student loans… though I need a deferral because the move has truly damaged my accounts. If my credit card and debit card were people, I would be pulling them back from ledges to prevent their suicides. If they die on me, I’m in more trouble that I can handle. Yay post-student hell!

The next step for me was job hunting. Within three days of my homecoming, I was wondering the mall aimlessly and endlessly. Thoroughly scouring for potential jobs and possibly catching a line that was not seen by the general public. In fact, I am still waiting for calls from them but I could not afford to be jobless for more than a month. I wondered, applied, and remembered some key things. I was talking to a friend who was wondering how I was fortunate enough to pick up jobs as quickly as I had in the past.
Here’s some tips that even work when trying to impress someone in the art world;

-have a 15 -30 second selling line – “HI! I’m Elizabeth Hoskin, I just graduated from Lakehead University in Thunder Bay. I just got in town last sunday and was wondering if you had a position open for me? I have had experience in [food/retail/commission] through [whatever place], as well as I have had some supervisor positions and been a key holder for others. I’m available any time.” i just nailed any preliminary questions as well as reminding them that I know my assets (key holder, supervisor/trusted position and experience in whatever).

-don’t be cocky, but walk in as if to say, “you want me to work for you” and be super friendly with it. Attitude and believing in yourself always get somewhere.

– best face, best hair, best clothes and best smile. Just put your best foot forward and be prepared. Make sure to pack a small brush, deodorant, dry shampoo/ baby powder, touch up makeup bag, minty fresh gum, bandages, and your datebook/phone with your resumes. I also would sneak a spray or two of perfumes from some stores. Look ready for anything, including booking an interview right then and there. Almost expect an interview on the spot – and use your 15-30 selling line.

– look appropriate… I don’t know why that one is so hard for other applicants. I had on, usually, a black, a-line or pencil skirt with a nice top. I know it’s hot out, but always have your bra-straps covered (I am the last person to care, first to notice as an interviewer). Keep your skirts around knee-length and shoes that are recognizable but comfy and avoid ones with bones, zombie, spikes or blood…that’s a hard rule for me to follow to. Also, and it saddens me to feel like having to remind other applicants that your belly showing at any time, or even your lower back is inappropriate. Think of when your school had a dress code. Follow that or even a bit more strict. There’s still ways to look fashion-forward, unique, vivacious and polished.

-think ahead or look around first; you’re likely to be asked why you considered that store or establishment. You can fib here if you’re good at it. “I’ve been a customer for so long, why not work at a place i love as a customer?” or “I’m always in, and I love [a certain product/line/goal of the company and tell them something that you know about the company].” A lot of the time, you’re not fibbing. You’ll likely first go to the stores you like the most, first. After a while I applied at a children’s clothing store. My only real experience with kids are recent and the only thing about clothing that I know, is that kids grow out of them too damn quick. When I was asked why I considered them, I knew to mention that it seemed like all my girlfriends are becoming or are already mums and, even though I hope to work there, I would be shopping for my surrogate nieces and nephews constantly. It seems to be an exciting and fun place to work. I had an interview just a few days after with them and they asked for me to elaborate why I wanted to work there. I reiterated that kids were coming into the picture more and more often and since I have retail experience, it was logical to find a place that catered to both aspects – I made connections for them such as I used to sell makeup, but I can translate to selling clothes. It was also weird since I didn’t have kids so my experience with kids was also questioned – I did tell a bit of a personal anecdote that one friend was a room-mate with me shortly after her first child. My friend knew I was new to babies and sometimes “threw” her daughter into my arms to force me to get comfortable. Very quickly did her daughter found a place in my heart and had inspired me to become mommy one day. We had stayed good friends and it has been an experience to relearn the world through her daughters and the kids world in general. I mentioned I didn’t really grow up around a ton of kids or babies so my experience was recent, but very self-reflecting. The most fun part of that interview was the next rule.

-be prepared to be put on the spot. There’s always the hard questions you don’t expect or don’t remember to prepare for – and I’m not talking about the “if you were a tree, which tree would you be?”. I mean the “I’m going to give you a scenario, and you’re going to tell me how to handle it”. I can’t tell you how to answer those; if you’re goof in customer service, then you’re good. If you are not, then S.O.L. The best was at the children’s clothing store, the woman gave me a few minutes to browse a section of the store, to learn the stock and then she walked in as a customer and I had to help her. I’d like to think I nailed it until she became specific, like a coloured, girly dress. But I knew to point out current promotions, new stock and when she made a selection, helped pair it with other items like shoes that matched. Funniest thing was, I wanted her to do that. Nailed it. Lastly…

– Always have a question prepared from them, and phrase it in a way that you expect to be hired or hearing back from them soon. My favourite is “Should I be hired [remember, don’t be cocky, just confident], what is the biggest expectation/what would you like to see most out of me?”. It’s vague enough that you will get an answer. But there are others, including “How did you becoming a team member of [store]?”.
In one day of hunting I had two interviews for the next day and several prospects. I’m still waiting for second calls and other hiring but I cannot wait forever… hence why I am, at this current moment, going to work at a Chinese buffet restaurant. I have an Honours Degree, and I will be a waitress. Whoop-dee-fucking-doo. My father happened to see a “Help Wanted” sign out in the front of the establishment down the street from us so I applied and was hired on the spot. Yay I will be earning some money, but I am waiting to hear back from something better. Even if it’s a lingerie store. I need a job that challenges me in another away besides solely testing my patience. At least, at the places I want the most, there is an element of personal assistance and confidence building. I will feel like I have a purpose even if the day is so busy I want to scream. I won’t feel brain-dead and watch much more of toddlers and tiaras or storage wars. Though I like storage wars – I like seeing what people keep away and forget they have. People are neat.

 

What else have I started since I got back down south? My goals?

I have a new android phone and so I have instagram! just look for elizabethhoskin and it’s linked to my twitter!

I do daily makeup looks and tips on instagram and I am looking to join gagillions of other people on youtube tutorials! Still need a better camera but I am likely to be doing it soon.

I have a reading list and goals – a book every two months. After new years, I hope to bump that to a book a month. I’m a slow reader but I love to dive into a good book. And it’s just better for mental health, imagination and for writing.

Art making! … has taken a hit. I had been without of materials and the other night, I had realized I was being so short and curt with people, that I started something completely new. When my scanner gets here I will post more! For now, browse my instagram! I will make more tonight!

I still want to post that critical response I had thought of in Thunder Bay. Will do soon and I hope to do that monthly with new articles and new artists.

 

I’m employed again, that’s what matters. In this economy I cannot wait and I seem to have beaten a number of people out of the water in getting a job within two weeks of landing. I can cast a net out for a better job after that. I applied at the MacLaren Art Centre and so I hope to hear back from them. I think I can survive working at the buffet if my life has purpose at an art gallery. Better things to come, just need to keep my chin up and keep making art.
Good to be back and more to come,

-I am Elizabeth Hoskin, and I am LovingBedlam

splitting myself in two at a crossroads

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I doubt this post will take long, in fact, I have a long day tomorrow so I need to sleep soon.

But you know when you were a child, and when you were asked “what do you want to be when you grow up?” and your response was long enough so whomever the caretaker was had enough time to do the dishes, flip the laundry or just keep the child occupied so you weren’t doing all the work? Yeah, the answers were often over-ambitious and in some sort of reality, impossible. “I want to be a fireperson, and a teacher, and a astronaut, and and a princess, and a mommy and, and a reeeeealllly big superd- supuhhero!” But it’s not actually impossible to be many things at once, we all have to wear several hats in a day. I’m an artist, cosmetician, skin care consultant, busker, artisan, writer (not that anything is published yet), a member of a community, a feminist, a role-model, a graduate and alumna, an illustrator, a sales-woman, an ear for the general public… and I’m not a mother yet, nor a partner, and I’m not a caretaker in general (which has 20 million hats to wear in each respective role).

Here’s where my conflict lies, do I pursue being a cosmetologist or aesthetician? Or do I follow to become a “studio artist”? Lastly, do I choose to be a curator?

I had a weird dream not too long ago that I am trying to analyze. My dreams, I find, are the best insight to what is going to happen or decisions I need to be aware of. And I am not sure how valid my dream was given “Colours of the Wind” was being sung in my dream. The dream itself is relatively foggy but I remember being given a blessing by an aboriginal elder. But the elder did not actually say anything, but I think I knew what was being “discussed”. Some new artwork ideas have come to me, and the art from around here, the woodland aboriginal arts and Group of 7 inspirations have had an effect on me.. but the images that are still prominent in my mind – mainly two paint brushes, two large filberts, were first wrapped in hide, then the brushes were wrapped in a plastic floral wrap with feathers as a part of it’s design. Feathers, brushes, wind and the “smoke” rising from the mountains…

Feathers are used often in blessings and smudgings in aboriginal tradition, and the brushes are a part of my trade… the wind seems mainly from the Disney contaminant, but also frequent in Thunder Bay. The smoke rising is from the roadtrips my mother and I have made from Thunder Bay to Barrie a few times now. Every time we pass Agawa, going towards Thunder Bay, it rains. The rain is so cool that the warm air from under the trees and on the mountains rises up and creates the most fascinating illusion.

They’re old photos from four years ago from a crappy camera… I need a good camera.

I think the dream was like a graduation ceremony from an elder but another discussion of where do I go from here? I suspect from the dream (and I am figuring this out as I type), that my path may be fine arts driven…

I have to work out the pros and cons, and I’m going to need feedback from those who read this and friends who know me, even the slightest…

If I were to be a studio artist, and by that I mean pursue a degree in the Fine Arts in Studio (painting, drawing…), roughly a similar song and dance to my undergrad (not quite  but hang on), I would be put through my measures creating art as intensly as I can for two years straight and never knowing my standing, and likely falling under the same curse as I always have of doing twice the amount of work for a good, but lesser mark than I deserve, based on the fact I do not brown-nose, bend to anyone’s will without reason and just because… I will likely graduate, with a job, a few publications and would be able to be shown in galleries more often and sooner in my life. I am becoming more and more opposed to the idea that a few people will determine my worth or capabilities vs. the general public who likes and sometimes purchases my art ( in all honesty, those purchases were commissions and those have been scarce). It will be a constant battle of will IF I am ever accepted… The bonus to being accepted is that it fast-tracks my ability to be accepted by professional galleries, can apply for more grants and higher selling prices to some of my artwork (because I have this thing in my head that I really should charge based on my cost of materials, labour and skill level I’m at, like paying students to paint your house rather than a professional individual – you’re going to get a different quality of work, not necessarily always for the worst). Still not thrilled over this option.

My other option is to pursue my cosmetics jobs. I have this weird thing, and a Shaman once told me it was something called “Weasel Magic” – and before you laugh, it sounds right. In myth, weasels were sent over to the opposing tribe’s camp to listen in on secret plans. Weasel magic means I have this thing where I hear a lot through the grapevine, have a tendency of being a double-agent, but also that I’m quick and clever, but most of all, people like to tell me things. I cannot tell you how many times people have given up their life stories to me within spending less than 24 hours with me (and someone, please testify!). A number of my customers feel comfortable discussing otherwise personal, embarrassing or frequently mistaken information about them. For example, one night I was cashing out one woman who was entertained by a stuffed monkey we had on for sale. Her voice was clearly horse from a cold, and that fact was confirmed by the large amount of medicine she bought. As I am cashing her out, she looks up and says… “Can I get your advice?”. I thought it was going to be about a product or lipstick shade… but no, she then says “I’m in an abusive relationship” and falls immediately into tears. Gobsmacked, I reach for a facial tissue and simply wait for her to elaborate. Without going into too many details, she was indeed in an emotionally abusive relationship and she was looking for a way out. The woman didn’t know that you can ask for a police escort if you need to leave a situation such as hers. I gave her information such as the woman’s shelter in town, a hotline she can call and just general advice I know (and just for you, dear reader, it would be helpful to know such things as shelters and a hotline or two in case you come across this, or someone you know).

People tell me things. I’m like the other woman to the hair-dresser who you complain to or ask advice from. And my job, being somewhat personal as it is and having one-on-one time with the people I help, is the same thing. And this is really quite a daunting gift at time. I don’t always know how to react when a customer has a flashback of a trauma incident (one customer I did have) or when I’m asked for help for a situation like abuse. I wait and listen, and often that is what is needed  (Lest not be judged, is also a good rule of thumb). I am genuinely helping people that I come into contact with – either boosting their confidence, honest advice on how to take care of ones-self or just being an ear. All the while having a blast. This job has opened doors into doing weddings or advertising… but then I worry there is a limit to what I can do. How many girls go into makeup and hair school? How many people are aspiring to be like Michelle Phan, and become a world-renown makeup artist just because she did youtube videos? How competative is that market and is this just a whim I am acting on? It would be cheap and only take a year to earn the proper certifications to be a makeup artist, and I have a plethora of knowledge (despite what people thought in highschool, I wasn’t allowed to wear a ton of makeup, but I certainly knew more about than those who just got whatever they wanted) and then some! This is something I stumbled upon… could this be a calling? My upset… I doubt I could be as challenged as I have been in other aspects of my life.

Or is my calling being a curator? When I did my internship with the Thunder Bay Art Gallery last summer, I was aglow with my tasks! Mainly – the cornucopia of research! The curator, Nadia Kurd, apologized at one time for the tediousness and lack of excitement in my tasks, and I assured her that learning about people and movements enthralled me. The only boring part to the job I had was some data input for a book donation the gallery chose to receive. I didn’t want that to end and I wished that my job at the time would allow me some room to work and volunteer at the art gallery more. I was like a 1000 watt bulb when I saw the write up by the curator with our research! “I helped with that! I noted that! Eeeeh look at some of my work!”. I had the same feeling that I stumbled upon a calling. Now education would be pricey, similar to the masters degree in studio art, I’m doing the same sort of education however my marks will be based in fact such as formatting, proving my points and just relevant research. I think I write about and research more art than I produce – which would be a lot. I would help other artists…and I could also help move art out of the galleries and into the public space so that it is not just those in the “Art World” who experience the purpose of art. I don’t know if I would reach and affect as many people as I would. However, the biggest bonus here; it would be challenging and I would constantly be learning.

Damn, I need to be in bed.

Okay, my life in the next bit will consist of serious application stuff – There is a work program through the Banff Center that would give me a brilliant opportunity to asses the possibility of pursuing curatorship.

It’s  would be similar to attending school for another year but actually doing work for the school… like a thesis or a trade. I’m new to the graduate thing, don’t make fun of me! I’m excited but I hope I can put together the application in time. IKES! Akimbo, you didn’t give me enough warning!

Here’s the interactive part – ya’ got any advice? Feedback would be awesome, and it would be AMAZING to hear back from my readers.

As far as I know – what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, when life gets messy- eat it over the sink, it’s never too early or too late, if it doesn’t scare you – your goals are not big enough.

It will be awesome to hear from you all!

-I’m Elizabeth Hoskin, and I am LovingBedlam

 

ps- i learned how to use hyperlinks! (yes, that was fun for me).

 

Graduation… yeah, it happened.

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Last Saturday, I graduated. I finally have the piece of paper that says I know what I am talking about. I think the greatest pleasure truly came from looking back on my four years at Lakehead University. In fact I had many mixed feelings when I finally got my parchment.

I graduated. I’m still in disbelief. Front second year onward, I have been ill and from a clerical error, made to pay $10,000 for my second semester and my father sold his truck so I could continue.  . My third year, I had a surgery and life changing diagnoses. My last year, certain relationships went sour but nothing stopped me. I have had a million and one reasons to stop schooling. I have had a million and one reasons, outside of school, to quit school.

And then I ask myself… “Is this it?”

I need to backtrack to help explain…

My mother came into town on Friday night, and we were up early Saturday morning. Dress to the nines, eyelashes and heels on we went to the community auditorium… really nothing special. We waited an hour and a half to go in (in that time the wind complete destroyed many a well coiffed hair including mine), then to march in, two by two, to the music and sit down. My biggest problems: fixing my hair in line just before walking into the view of cameras and hiding my purse several times. After the long march to the organ and trumpet prelude and our infinite procession, then was the invocation, followed by the chancellor declaring the convocation open. Here’s what I found fascinating, and please keep in mind I’m the first in the family to graduate university, the regalia. Colourful garbs and “beefeater” hats (of course I think of the gin at this time) proceeded on stage with the rest of us. I thought my gown was spiffy but then seeing different hoods, coloured bands and hats. And then, the unsaid protocol was also interesting. At least in the time that we were bored, we were given the programmes to read and the first page explained the traditions.

This was, paraphrased, in our programmes: “Convocation”, derives from a latin meaning of “calling together” and the costumes were based from 13th century universities and that was based upon ancient European Universities. The regalia was to distinguish doctors, masters, bachelors, licentiates and would have been worn daily in the middle ages. Hoods would used to cover the heads of medieval scholars. Neat! Our university fashioned their colours from the University of Oxford. Any student of a University in Medieval times could have worn a gown, however only those with degrees are only then allowed to wear hoods. Which would explain why all other convocation volunteers wore their gowns and respective hoods. Honorary degrees earned a member of the convocation ceremony a hood so those with outstanding knowledge and community special honour also attend in the academic affair. There were also those attending with dark blue gowns and white scarves or, something I learned after called, a epitoge. These individuals also contribute to the community by means of development, welfare and so forth. As for tradition, I had noticed that all speeches were opened with addressing the Chancellor and then lightly grasping the rim of their hats, and only when the chancellor returned the gesture did the speaker continue. It was phenomenal to see the tradition, furthermore, to be a part of it. My mother said after that it closely reminded her of when she was a part of the military, and the old ways being passed on in ceremony including the etiquette and regalia. It’s something that almost feels exclusive, and in reality, is. Only in North America does one have higher education as a norm.

The speeches were pretty standard from then on “We hope the discipline you learned here will carry you forth, we have high hopes and aspirations for you, yadda yadda yadda.” and then came Dr. Irmo Marini and then the ceremony was appropriate for me. Dr. Marini was injured during a hockey practice and it left him with the diagnoses paraplegia. His prognosis was grim as well. Having only been an athlete, Marini feared he may have a sad life ahead. He decided to change that just by reading as many psychology books as he could shortly after his accident. Marini earned his Bachelor of Arts in Psychology and Masters of Arts degree from Lakehead University by 1985. After being a student councilor  for a time, he attended Auburn University to earn his PhD in rehabilitation in 1992. He has published over 70 – peer reviewed papers and has single-handedly furthered the study in rehabilitation. Seriously, google this guy. But my appreciation was not for his achievements, but his speech which seemed so personal to me. It is one of those times I feel I cannot re-articulate his words of wisdom. It was something as simple as “when you have a goal, have a plan to get there. once you have made that goal, ante up to another one and don’t stop. And only in times of adversity, will one see this, and one needs to see this in themselves.” How appropriate for what happened to my family and how appropriate for my health challenges during my education. And then he spoke about happiness – and it made me so elated to know that I figured something as grand as happiness out because of the adversity in my life so young. Happiness is not the money you have or the ritual of the day being most culturally accepted, it is when you choose to “ante up” your goals already reached. Happiness is achieved when you choose to be happy and challenge yourself. He asked the students, at the beginning of his speech and again after, “What is your next goal?”. He said that he understands why some do not think this far, as our past four years have been focused on just getting through, but I felt proud to say to myself “I’ve got everywhere to go, and nothing can stop me”. But in the quaint honesty to myself, I thought – Where will I end up? I believe that’s a choice, isn’t it? I cannot be guaranteed a place in graduate studies and I don’t know whether to pursue working at art galleries and marketing actively and have my art at the other half of what I do – or do I carry on with this make-up artist thing? It wouldn’t take me long at all to earn an aesthetician’s diploma. But then why did I attend University? How many other girls go into make-up school? If I were to become a make-up artist, am I acting on a whim or have I honestly stumbled upon my calling? And really, the pros and cons and further thoughts on the matter are for another blog one of these days…

After the touching speeches and a few awards and some musical selection (I didn’t know that was tradition, and wasn’t expecting “Let it Be” to be played [that’s a break-up/funeral or tragedy song for me]). We finally begun the conferring of degrees and diplomas. Only handfuls of Master degrees were given, and a few social work, but then the 300 plus degrees for engineers was extensive. And that was about half the engineers that graduated. Technology, Forestry, social work, and then the six of us from Visual Arts, better than the three from music, followed by numerous vague Bachelor of Arts students and finally outdoor recreation degrees. A few last awards are given and then the national anthem. We then are proceeded out first before the general audience. But when My name was called, that was an important moment for me. I will have to get the video from my mother – because I couldn’t stop feeling like a 1000 watt light bulb. “I fucking did it.” I walked, believe it or not gracefully, across the stage, shaking the hand of the chancellor and thanking him, then to the vice-provost and our photo-op and then I was handed my degree (and a mug from the Alumni Association with “Class of 2012” on it [ i forgot to take a picture of it’s christening but i’m sure you’ll see it soon enough]). And after I sat back down with my fellow graduates, I looked at the parchment.

It had my name. “Elizabeth Gail Hoskin”, I quickly spun my head to look for something to count. You see, I am quick to cry, and when I do cry, I could drown a hippopotamus. And I had false eyelashes on, already loose from the wind. I counted heads, determined the angle of some noses, started to asses the value of light across the structure of faces due to the blaring countless lights. After collecting myself and preparing myself for the shock again, I look back at my degree. “Elizabeth Gail Hoskin …. I fucking did it”. I have had to grow as a person, had my father’s truck sold to keep me in school, I worked the entirety of my education, I have been thrown every financial obstacle and health hell, I have gotten myself through school. I did it. At the end of high school, I didn’t know where the money would ever come from to get to school. A few years ago, I didn’t think I could continue with being so sick. I thought I would have had to throw my year after my surgery. But I did it. But then it hit… “That’s all I have right now? JUST one piece of paper, no awards and only HBFA affixed to my name?” I am going for a masters program. I will earn a masters degree because I am worth more than this. I’m not sure what the MFA after my name will get me as opposed to what I have already gotten myself, but my god, an honours degree is just not enough. or is it? I may never get accepted. That is one slim reality but is it really that slim? I am not as disciplined as some would figure. Driven I am, disciplined, not so much. I don’t think I would be selling myself short if I do not attend school for a masters. What’s my calling from this point on? I will always be able to do art for the rest of my life now… but what will my 9-5 be? Marini had mentioned, something that mirrored what my parents have always said, if what you are doing is fun and you enjoy it, you will never work. But what will I do for a living? Will I curate? Will I advertise? Will I be a makeup artist? There are so many open doors, I’m sure I could not be wrong choosing either one,  but It’s still a big decision. My whole world changed with a piece of paper, a whole new set of responsibilities came with it, and I am relieved in knowing that this stage is over. I suspect it is too soon for me to relax. I have a lot to consider now. I always have, but the reality looms over me more. It is the difference between being able to see the rain cloud or even smelling the rain, or the cloud over your head and the thunder lightly rumbling. Sometime very soon, it will rain, and it is likely it will strike. It’s a welcomed storm, don’t misunderstand. After every storm, things grow rapidly. A storm is there to get you excited for what is going to happen after.

After the ceremony I text my mother to tell her where I am waiting. When she got into town and just before the ceremony my mother mentioned she didn’t have presents this time. I have not expected presents any time she has visited and the biggest present any time, has been to see my mother. My father could not attend, the trip is too much for his health. But just before we phoned him and after, during our dinner, we phoned him again. My mother comes to see me with a small bouquet of red carnations and one red rose. “From your Dad and I”. I grabbed the flowers and said thank you. But we held in the embrace a little longer. She had to fight crying during the ceremony to. We swayed a little (I’m a sap, okay?). I said to her “You know, a few years ago, I doubted this ever happening”. To which she replied, “You did it, kiddo”. Fighting back tears again, to avoid opening the floodgates and loudly bawling like I watched the end scene to “Moulin Rouge” again, we step apart, grab photos and return my robe. We went straight to dinner because, my god, it was a two-hour convocation. it was close to 5 and we were famished. I mean the cookie and juice trays were decimated instantly after the ceremony.

Mum and I went to Ruby moon to gush over what had happened the past four years in getting this degree. We call the family in southern Ontario and Florida to say I got my paper. I had a mimosa with double the champagne to celebrate and my friend who was a server there, gave us desert on the house. In all, it was uneventful, but it’s the small things in life that make it so enjoyable. A good drink with my mum during a swaggar dinner, knowing well that the university gave me my paper…. and they can’t take it back!

 

I fucking did it.

 

 

I am Elizabeth Hoskin HBFA, and I am LovingBedlam.

Drama, part 2

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Hello Again!

So I ended my last blog mentioning an “eviction”. This was a joy. Now keep in mind I am only able to speak from my perspective, and I doubt anyone reading this blog knows who these people are, those who do, know this story pretty well from my continuous rant – But I will not waste your time with it. In general, they assumed I was leaving for May, never messaged me to double check except to say that a new tenant would be moving in May 1st. It was not my landlord, but her mother who messaged me about said need to have me move out. In the same message, I was told the next tenant was going to pay $200 more and pay for their own internet. She (again, the mother who, in fact, bought the house for her daughter, the landlord), in formed me that she would clean the apartment. Well… that was nice to have never double checked. Too add to the stress, I found out two weeks prior that I may be needed here until July. Not that they knew, but in less than 24 hours I had found a place. Again, thank you to Jessica and Mike for being there for me. My response was quick and polite, but highlighting that they indeed put me in quite a predicament and in fact, I had always said my graduation in June and then I would leave. I also messaged the daughter, my landlord explaining the same thing. No one responded. About a month later after the daughter continued to push my buttons over a facebook fight, she wanted to “resolve” the issue face to face – and to start her talk with a condescending “I’m guessing you’ve had a stressful day…”. Now, I am not a push-over, there is a reason for why I keep my mouth shut; I’m not about to make my life more difficult while I still need to wait two months before I can actually do anything to relieve the situation. She did however mention that she wouldn’t want anything to go unsaid, and as I have an (un)fortunate gift of not leaving things unsaid, I brought up what was grinding my gears. It was the eviction. I ended with the same argument – ” Why didn’t you just send me a message to double check before an assumption, like, ‘hey, when did you need the place til, again?’. Because I am in a predicament and no one is going to rent to someone for two months. ” Her response was “Well you didn’t know.” “I’ve been saying June this whole time. ‘I cant wait to graduate til June’ or the ‘Just make it to June, Just make it to June, Just make it to June…’, I’ve been saying June since my parents visited last August”. She repeated that they were sure that I said April and that I didn’t even really no. There was no reply as to why it would have been tedious, back-breaking work to have asked. So when I left at the end of April, I did not leave the apartment pristine as I had hoped. Nothing was damaged, no large bags of garbage were left. There was a pile, about a garbage bag’s worth of donation stuff, mainly clothes, that I said were first for the landlord if she wanted anything and the rest could be done away with. Just before moving, as in days before, I am finishing and handing in papers, doing last minute errands between school, profs and graduation works, preparing for another exhibition and working more. I didn’t have time to do more. And, as I stated, the apartment was fine. Nothing more than the usual cleaning by the landlord was required (and is required by law). I handed my keys into the husband, he took a gander at the apartment, mentioned stickers I had to take off the window (that I forgot), and He said everything was good to go. Shook hands saying “Pleasure doing business” and Ella and I took off to finish our, what was it, 5th round of moving with her tiny sedan that only had the back seat available to help me. I was tired, I wanted to go to the new place, unpack, eat, sleep.

Here’s a few kickers, for you. First of all, I never actually signed a lease, and I am thankful I got away with that. Second of all, In the conversation with the landlord when I admitted what was grinding my gears, I had mentioned “Well at least I got 60 days notice” to which she replied, “actually the landlord and tenant act only says I needed to give you 30 days notice”. 1- No, the municipal code of this city still says 60 days notice for monthly and annual tenants; Only daily and weekly tenants are given 28 days. 2- I never signed a lease but those points are still not as pertinent as  3- She looked at her rights as a landlord before the confrontation with me because she knew that she was doing something wrong and that I was likely to refuse or fight; she wanted her legal stuff in order. That makes me wonder what kind of person she assumed I was and helps me know that even people who live with me can underestimate me.

This is where the majority of my friends, family and I begin to laugh. The day after I get a message from the mother of the landlord (remember,the one who bought the property for her daughter so that her daughter could rent it?), saying that she was unimpressed with the state of the apartment and began to mention petty things like car rides her daughter and son-in-law had done for me. Here’s how you know you didn’t do anything wrong – mention petty stuff and not anything actually wrong with the apartment (except the leftover food in the fridge, that was an honest mistake, like the stickers on the window). AND she makes an excuse for the husband letting me go – stating that he was frustrated and thought best not to say anything. Ooh boy, that’s shooting one’s self in the foot. She doesn’t just message me, but my mother too. Yes my mother is a large part of my life, one of my greatest supporters and possibly the only one who puts up with me when I’m “cranky”. And no seriously, I get half as mad as I do in those moods because I irritate myself because I have a poor attitude. But I have a question – WHAT DOES MY MOTHER HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH MY ADULT DECISIONS, PARTICULARLY AS ME BEING A “TENANT”? Why, on this earth, would you message my mother?

I tell my mother about the message I received, not knowing she has received almost the same letter to, and explain my thoughts. I did nothing wrong and quite frankly, if someone has to pick up another bag of garbage, I don’t feel bad as I was put out of a place without remorse or responsibility. The mother then ends the letter to me with stating everything was being taken care of. So what? This was a message to make me feel bad? I reiterate, I don’t feel bad if you have to clean your daughter’s property of an extra garbage bag when no one seems to even note that in how they kicked me out was entirely, and I would say, morally wrong. I wasn’t about to respond and get myself into trouble – as the mother had said, everything was taken care of. My mother replied (on BBM) that she also received a message. Originally, I did not read that she read a message to, but that answering the message may lead to more trouble, especially as my initial feelings to anything are pretty spastic (another reason I will not react in front of others too soon). I checked the message again an hour later, and thought something funny of it. Surely enough, after reading what she typed aloud, I pieced it together and said “wait, WHAT?! She messaged you to? What did she say? and no offense, what do you have to do ANYTHING with this situation?!” I sounded off and most people had a good laugh. The last joke of the day was how she ended the message to my mother. To effect of “You should tell your daughter that in the real world, and not on campus, [this] is how things are done” (slight paraphrasing but you get it).

Some fun facts: University Residences are actually ridiculously strict in how you leave. For example, If the drawer is not put back in the exact location as when you moved in, then you could be fined. And not a $20 or $50 fine either, should anything else be wrong, it’s upwards of $500. Should you not pay ANY TYPE OF FEE to the university, it’s residences or it’s programs, your marks are not released and therefore you cannot continue to attend school. This is in the lease the students sign. But hey, this isn’t my first time living off campus (I’m not dumb either, but hey), I have been under other leases. I wasn’t kicked out or wrongfully accused of anything, it was still a poor landlord, but I was never put in a predicament that left me couch surfing (actually the lease from the university did, I lived in a spare room with a friend’s family and they were very nice. The father grew a small garden and we shared toasted tomato sandwiches almost every lunch, anywho). Lastly, two parts about real life; My parents were the on-land superintendents and had to act in place of a landlord. You want to talk about how places are left after tenants? We had some scuzzies, let me tell you! My father has stories that will make you hurl last monday’s breakfast. Secondly, mothers don’t buy and take care of their daughter’s businesses, at least in the real world.

I was told by shamans in my life that I posses spider magic – Ironic that I have arachniphobia. But maybe it’s because I know spiders just that well. Where Louise Bourgois believed her mother and herself was a spider of sorts, I feel the same way. Spiders in Greek mythology were weavers, story tellers and artists. In aboriginal myth, spiders created language. Spiders are instinctive, creative and posses skills most are too impatient to learn, let alone use. Patience in setting and maintaining a web, patience in waiting for that payout, like food. Also, they are quick to act on opportunity, rarely missing a chance to get ahead. Spiders, when spooked, actually stay still until they know when to react. I think I am a spider – now if I could get over how I look *shudders* (and I mean that over both bodies).

I’d like to pride myself on a few things – I have always been hard working and I have not been without a job since my first one at 15. I have always pushed myself despite stress, illness and poor finances. I can say I put me through school, and despite a surgery and being diagnosed with digestive disorders that have changed my life, and despite going through my first love, being bullied (even in university) and every student loan clerical error that I have had to pay for, I have put myself through school. This isn’t to say I didn’t have help from friends and family and because of them, NOTHING has stopped me. Not even finding another place to living within 12 hours of an eviction notice. The last thing I pride myself on, and it’s something my ex said about me that he loved and I forgot I had – I am always so polite and at the right time. And I am always so impolite at the right times. My mother said “it takes more strength to be a doormat than most know”. Don’t mistake anyone for being a push-over when that person is picking and choosing their battles, their priorities and the finding right time to get what they need and want. I don’t need to be mean, about it either.

But to remind you about this blog being about art for a second – sometimes works are autobiographical. In the second year, I painted “CEDO NULI [I yeild to no one)”. My mother knew instantly what it was about and could psychoanalyze every piece. The trucks that were transferred on, was the model of the truck my father sold just a few months before so I could keep going to school and the woman was confident, even defiant but was still making decisions. Really, it was about struggle and not stopping (and I think that meaning came naturally, I just painted and it happened).

Copyright Elizabeth Hoskin, 2010

 

From this year and In fact is currently at the Definitely Superior Art Gallery until June 9th as a part of the Lakehead University Retrograduates Show, a sculpture piece by me. Entitled “The Reade”, it is ceramic slip casts of fabric, undefined voodoo dolls stuffed with filler, leaves and tea and mold stained. In high school I worked at a new-age shop for a short time, and I suppose I was eing “trained” as a sort of witch. In that time, I would learn the reades of the occults. For pegans and wiccans, the reade dictated that you were not to do spells on people without their expressed permission (special circumstances only), but more importantly, whatever you put out was to be returned tenfold (or threefold or however many depending). These dolls were wishes I had made that have come back to bite me or wishes I am glad I did not follow through on.

Copyright Elizabeth Hoskin, 2012

… I need a good camera and photoshop IMMEDIATELY, I know. I’m working on it.

Both are copyright, Elizabeth Hoskin, 2012

I have found in life, that the times you want to be mean, it is unnecessary, because something tenfold is waiting for others. You do not need to do anything wrong, and it will be enough to drive the other straight around the bend. The best revenge is living well.

Along with this drama, I also had been contacted by my ex. It didn’t end well for him. Long story short(er than my skinny on the eviction), One day in November, I was deleted from everything and I could not get in contact with him. At 11 o’clock that night, I had decided that he was no longer worth it. And then began to try to get over my first love. Yeah, that’s how he broke up with me. Just deleted me without warning. Better yet, I find out two weeks later that for four months prior to the “break-up” he had been telling our friends (and this town is so small that everyone was a mutual friend), that he was planning on breaking up with me. Even so much as some people defending him. See it was within that day I had found he was giving everyone a story, just alike enough it sounded like truth, just different enough to each person it took them a short while to realize I hadn’t lied. Once again I had to sit quietly to heal and to hope that things would mend between friends and the dust would settle to reveal his lies. I have my responsibilities to, and this was my first love so there was plenty of mistakes to learn from. Exactly 6 months later he tries to chat with me and managed a sub-par apology. I promised myself I would not speak to him until he apologized, so I did speak briefly to him on the phone, rather, I got my closure. We haven’t spoken since and when he visited town he was taking off much earlier than expected so we couldn’t meet for coffee like he wanted (before our phone call). Hasn’t spoken to me still – He remains too chickenshit.

Tomorrow, more about the exhibitions, including the current show at the Definitely Superior Art Gallery, and please read up on their recent and very exciting news including winning a town award for paintbombing, recent publications, and just amazing art!

 

http://my.tbaytel.net/defsup/exhibitions.html

 

Thank you for reading my novelas here,

Copyright, Ella Bell, 2012 – http://ellabellphoto.com/

– I am Elizabeth Hoskin, and I am LovingBedlam