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~ Because demented people need love, too.

The Perks of Being an Artist

Category Archives: gratitude

Awesomenesses

05 Tuesday Jun 2018

Posted by emilypageart in art, family, gratitude, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Audrey Priel, family photo shoot, mother daughter, mother daughter photos, Mother's Day, mother's day present, photography, Rose Trail Images

Damn, y’all, it’s been a hot minute since I last posted. Sorry ’bout that. I missed TWO weekly tattoo wrap-ups, and I promise to do that soon, but first I realized that I never posted the article about me that was in the Raleigh News & Observer. I’m famous…on page C4 in the Arts section, which everyone totally reads:

The Article About My Awesomeness

In other news, for Mother’s Day, I surprised my mom with a photo shoot with my friend Audrey Priel from Rose Trail Images. My instructions to Audrey: capture my mom’s awesomeness. My mom has amazing eyes and a really lovely smile and is just all-around-too-stinkin’-cute-for-words, and the photos of her that I have from the last few years have failed to capture that. Enter, Audrey. Audrey, who you may remember from posts past, just oozes fabulosity and sillinesses and I just heart her so much. It is impossible not to fall in love with her, because when she’s with you, she’s busy falling in love with you. And damn her, she won’t just make you laugh during a photo shoot, she will make you cry, and you will come out of the experience closer than ever to whomever you’re doing the shoot with. While there are eleventy million and a half shots that I’m head over heels for, I’ve narrowed it down to just a few to share with you in slideshow:

 

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

I realized that it’s rare that I see adult mother/daughter photo shoots. It’s always younger families. But these photos are awesome. Have I mentioned awesomeness in this post yet? Because if not, let me say it again: all the awesomenesses are contained in this day and the photos that captured it. I wish I had known Audrey before my dad got dementia, because I would have loved to do this with him, too. But this is one regret that I won’t have. Mom, I love you all the oodles.

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In Defense of Facebook

18 Wednesday Apr 2018

Posted by emilypageart in culture, gratitude, Uncategorized

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

defending Facebook, Facebook, Facebook is awesome, Facebook sucks, I like Facebook, in defense of Facebook, social media

Okay, hold your fire. I just wanted to put in a good word for Facebook for a second. You’re free to go on hating it, but listen for just a second. I love Facebook, and here’s why:

First, I would never have gotten through everything I went through with my dad were it not for Facebook. I got SO damn much support on there from people who would never have known what I was going through because they live far away and I hate talking on the phone to anyone other than my mom. I’m honest about what I’m going through (within reason…I don’t, like, post about every fight I have with my husband or coworkers, etc) in my life, and people respond. They give me words of encouragement, or they say, “Yes, I’m going through the same thing. Thank you for saying what I’m thinking.” And my community is so much larger because of Facebook. My parents’ friends could stay up to date on what was happening with my dad by just watching MY page for updates. And while some people just lurk and “like” posts, other people comment with kindness and love. When he died, I didn’t have to email or call everyone who needed to know, because they saw it on Facebook and responded. That took a big burden off of our shoulders.

When I’m depressed, Facebook becomes a lifeline to the outside world that I’m physically avoiding. People I was never close to have become dear friends thanks to private messaging on Facebook. Some people are better at being honest and open in writing than in person. Sometimes I’m one of those people, so I get it. Facebook helped us find each other, identify a kindred spirit, and open up privately.

I’m in a couple of support groups for chronic illness, and I never would have found these women without Facebook. I have a worldwide community because of social media. Ditto for blogging groups, and art groups, and various other interests. They’ve helped me grow as an artist, a blogger, and a person.

Are there negative people on there? Of course. It’s the internet. Shitheads love being shitheads wherever they can. But I’ve only had to unfriend one person ever, and it was for way more than just what was going on on Facebook. I’ve read blogs saying that Facebook makes people feel bad when they see other people posting about what fabulous lives they have. My friends don’t do that. I mean, they do post when exciting things happen, but they also post when tragedy strikes, or when they have a huge pimple, or when they’re bored or hungry or experiencing any of the wide array of emotions and experiences a human can go through. So I do, too, and then we can all rejoice with each other and take care of each other when needed.

I have friends with a variety of political and religious leanings. It’s good for me to see their posts and have to examine my own beliefs. It’s good for me to be reminded that there are people that I love because they are good, smart people, who believe some stuff that I don’t necessarily agree with. Not everyone who has a different political affiliation is a bad person, and my friends are proof. We come from different places and life stories and cultures, and Facebook reminds me that a) they are different from me and b) they are like me.

As an artist and a small business owner, Facebook has been an unbelievable asset. Unlike taking out an ad in the paper or on TV, which will cost thousands of dollars and rarely get actually viewed and even more rarely viewed by the specific people who would be interested in what I’m offering, with Facebook, I can target exactly who I want to reach and it costs a fraction of what I’d pay for print, TV, or radio advertising. Since I’m a VERY small business owner, I don’t have a big advertising budget, and I’d be screwed if I didn’t have this resource. And being able to post my art somewhere a bunch of my friends congregate has resulted in several sales without me having to do any paid advertising at all. I can avoid groveling to art galleries and watching them take half of the sale price and essentially negate any profit for me.

As a consumer, I like that Facebook isn’t showing me ads for a bunch of shit that I have zero interest in. Why would I want to see ads for guns and toupees when I’m not interested in either? How do they know what ads to show me? Duh, they keep tabs on what I post and react to. This does not surprise or offend me.

Does it suck that the Facebook platform has been used for underhanded political purposes? Fuck, yes. Do I 100% blame Facebook? No. Yes, they do have some culpability, but I don’t blame them for trying to figure out who we are so that companies can market more effectively to us. Hell, it’s a free service for us, so if I have to see a few ads for things I might like, I’m cool with that. And I take responsibility for double checking the factuality of stuff I see posted by my friends. If someone posts that 99.3% of Americans like bologna, I’ll fact check it before reposting it. That’s my responsibility, not Facebook’s.

So, you can delete your account if you’re mad at Facebook. That’s cool. If you’re concerned about your privacy, alright. I don’t judge you for that. But I’ll miss you, because realistically, I’m not likely to call.

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so many kinds of yes

11 Wednesday Apr 2018

Posted by emilypageart in culture, gratitude, health, kindness, mental health, tattooing, Uncategorized, writing

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

coping with depression, depression, ee cummings, ee cummings tattoo, poetry, reminder of the good in life, so many kinds of yes, stanza, sweet spring, tattoo, tattooing

I have a rule for myself: if I get an idea for a tattoo I want, I have to wait a year before I can get it. If I still want it a year later, then it’s not likely that I’ll regret the tattoo later in life. Well, it’s been more than a year since I got the idea for this tattoo, and 6 years since my last tattoo, so I decided it was time. Plus, I’ve never been tattooed by my tattoo mentor Julio, and I own a freakin’ tattoo shop. Julio had a little free time today, so I chained him to his tattoo chair and put him to work, even though today is his birthday (everyone say “Happy Birthday, Julio!!!!”).

My dad kept a magazine picture, of a little girl from a third world country carrying a jug of water on her head, in his music room to remind him that it could always be worse and that he really had it very good. It was one of the ways he dealt with his own depression. It helped him keep his life in perspective. To me, the picture just depressed me more, because not only did her situation not actually make my brain any more functional, but it frustrated me both that the world would allow her to have to live like that and that I couldn’t do anything about it. Reminding myself that I have an easy life just made me angrier that I still wasn’t able to be happy.

So instead, I’m choosing to just keep reminding myself to look for the good that’s all around me. Thank you Mr. Rogers. I have a stanza from an ee cummings poem printed out and taped onto the lightswitch in my art studio so that I see it coming and going. It’s a reminder that spring is always present in a million little ways if I just look hard enough. The color is there. The poem is called Sweet Spring, and the stanza I keep up is

(such a sky and such a sun

i never knew and neither did you

and everybody never breathed

quite so many kinds of yes)

I’m not spending much time in the art studio these days, because I’m busy learning a new way to make a living as an artist and spending all my time at the tattoo studio. I’m working to shape my life into what I want it to be and grabbing every opportunity that comes my way. I’m making all that color mine. When I can. And when I can’t, maybe my tattoo will remind me that there are just

so many kinds of yes.jpg

 

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Our Weird

08 Thursday Mar 2018

Posted by emilypageart in art, gratitude, humor, karma, kindness, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Emily Page Art, Emily Page artist, friendship, fun gifts for him, gifts, greeting cards, quirky gifts for her, thank you gift, weird, your weird matches my weird

The last few months have been crazy, and inspiring, and terrifying, and complicated, and hard, and wonderful as I transition from one business to another. And along the way, my friends (I count you among my friends, dear reader) have put up with my bitching, cheered me on, consoled me, and rejoiced with me. And you’ve embraced my weird and brought your own to meet it and it’s so comforting to have people whose weirds match my weird. It’s what has gotten me through such a time of turmoil.

In your honor, I’ve made a couple sketches and put them on some shirts and mugs and cards and other stuff. If you want to thank someone (spouse, friend, child, barista, whatever) for their quirk, these might be a good way to do it.

EPSON MFP image

weird men's shirt

T-shirts like the one above, and prints and tote bags and just about anything else can be found here and here.

EPSON MFP image

weird greeting card

Greeting cards like the one above, along with clothes, and bags, and mugs and stuff of this drawing available here and here.

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A Train For Dad

05 Monday Feb 2018

Posted by emilypageart in art, death, dementia, family, gratitude, mental health, painting, sip and paint studio, tattooing, Uncategorized

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

anniversary of death, art, Emily Page Art, Emily Page artist, faith, grief, loss, oil painting, painting, painting of train, tattoo, train painting, trains

Today is the 2nd anniversary of my dad’s death. I still think about him every day. I still go through bouts of serious grief. I still picture those final, horrible, painful days with him as we sat by his bedside and watched him die. I still have nightmares. But, very slowly, I’m also starting to remember some small things from before his dementia, or at least in the very early phases of it. They’re not huge things, and there aren’t as many of those memories as I’d like compared to memories post-diagnosis. But they’re there.

I’m not going to lie and say that time has made this all easier to bear. It hasn’t. Life without my dad in it is lonelier. It’s a little less colorful. I feel less confident without him there to cheer me on. And I go through periods where the world seems bound and determined to remind me of him and make me cry. I want him back. Now. I want him to stop by and check on me, though I don’t even know if that’s possible. It’s hard not being a person of faith. Sometimes I think that his soul might be floating around out there, still tethered to mine somehow, like some big, transparent, elephant-shaped balloon. Other times that seems ridiculous. It feels like I’m looking for signs that aren’t really there. Or maybe they are.

In this time of transition in my life, I need him more desperately than ever to help confirm that I’m on the right path. Closing the paint and sip studio was hard, because it was a huge chapter of my life that he never got to see. And closing it reminds me of how many more chapters I’ll begin and end that he won’t be here to witness. But even if those chapters can’t be ours, they’ll still happen.

As we gear up to open the tattoo studio, I’m so sad that he’s not here to hug me and tell me how proud he is of me. I still need that paternal affirmation. So, I find myself doing little things to make him a part of things there. And that’s where this painting comes in. Long time readers know my dad was a huge train buff, so I created this painting for the tattoo studio lobby in hopes that I’ll feel like he’s taking part in this next phase of my life.

Steam Engine Wheels.JPG

Steam Engine Wheels 36″ x 46″ oil on canvas

Prints and other merchandise available here and here.

And in case you don’t already know: Know a caregiver, or someone with dementia, or someone who knows someone with dementia, or someone who knows someone who knows someone else who’s a caregiver? Or heck, do you know a person? Well, you should tell them about my book, Fractured Memories: Because Demented People Need Love, Too. Part memoir and part coffee table art book, I recount my family’s heartbreaking and hilarious journey through my father’s dementia. Available to purchase here (this is my favorite way if you live in the U.S.), here or here if you’d rather get the eBook than a print copy, and here (especially if you want a hard cover copy).

Book cover 1

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Beauty That Moves

31 Wednesday Jan 2018

Posted by emilypageart in art, culture, gratitude, kindness, painting, Uncategorized

≈ 13 Comments

Tags

ani difranco, art, artist, beauty that moves, Emily Page, Emily Page artist, evolve, true definition of beauty, watercolor painting

I have a friend who said to me recently that she’s never felt beautiful. Actually, I’ve had a couple of friends who have said that, and it makes me so incredibly sad. These women are, objectively, lovely. I’m an artist, so I get to pretend to be an expert on these things. And when you get the chance to know the women who have told me this, they become even more beautiful. It’s unbelievable that no one has told them just how lovely they are in a way that convinces them. We all have our doubts about our own beauty. The media preys on that insecurity, and even the most gorgeous among us will obsess over her “flaws.” It claims to know the true definition of beauty and insists that we agree, even if we don’t fit into the current beauty fads.

But even with that knowledge, it’s been seriously bothering me that my one friend, in particular, doesn’t know what a beauty she is. There’s a line in an Ani Difranco song, Evolve, that says,

“it took me too long to realize

that i don’t take good pictures

cuz i have the kind of beauty

that moves”

I think that’s true for so many of us. Ours is a beauty that moves. It is in our laugh, or in our look of love. It’s in the kindness and joy and sadness and vulnerability that shine from our eyes. This beauty is not static, or easy to catch and capture. It flies, it runs, it does somersaults. Our beauty does not sit and wait for a photographer to tell us how to pose.

My friend is actually a photographer herself. It’s her job to make other people see their inherent beauty. She brings out the best in her subjects. And it’s high time someone did that for her. So I took a photo from her Facebook page and created a painting of her as I see her. It’s still not as beautiful as she is, but I feel it captures at least a hint of this beauty of hers that refuses to sit still.

Audrey

“Beauty That Moves” 11″ x 14″ watercolor on paper

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Please Don’t Be The Reason a Unicorn Dies

08 Friday Dec 2017

Posted by emilypageart in art, book, dementia, Fractured Memories, gratitude, humor, karma, kindness, Uncategorized

≈ 22 Comments

Tags

book about caregiving, book awards, books about dementia, Emily Page, Emily Page artist, Emily Page author, Fractured Memories, how unicorns die, rosie's book review

Hey, you! Guess what? My book was nominated for an award! Guess what else? In order to win the award, people have to vote for me. Of course. Sigh. So, here’s where I ask you to do me a solid (I’m Gen X, forgive me for that little turn of phrase) and go vote at Rosie’s Book Review, and then ask all your friends on social media to do that same, because if you don’t, somewhere a unicorn will get an intestinal parasite and rainbow-poop itself to death.

Book cover 1

Have someone you need to get a holiday gift for? Check out a summary and buy a print copy here. Or read reviews and buy an eBook here (you can also buy a print copy here, but I make virtually nothing on sales on Amazon, so it’d be great – and cheaper for you – to buy them copies through my website).

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Happy Birthday, Dad

30 Monday Oct 2017

Posted by emilypageart in family, gratitude, reincarnation, Uncategorized

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

coincidences, father, nicholas page, reincarnation, strange things, weird things

Today would have been my dad’s 75th birthday. In honor of the day, I thought I’d share a fun little gift from the universe. In 1810, a man named Nicholas Murrell Page was born in Nelson County Virginia. My grandparents didn’t know that dude existed. In 1942, my dad was born and christened Nicholas Allen Page. As an adult, he moved to Nelson County, not knowing about this distant relative of his. When we did find out about him, we found a picture and were holyshitted. “Holyshitted” is when you’re shocked to find something out. I’m sure it’s a real word. But maybe don’t look it up. Anyway, check out the pictures below and you’ll see why.

Nicholas Page

The pics on the left were of my dad in his dirty, dirty hippy days when he had a similar haircut. The pic on the right is Nicholas Murrell Page.

Holyshit, right?! My mom and I were talking about how strange it is that we never dressed Dad up and made him pose next to Nicholas M. Page’s portrait that hung in our living room. It just seems like something we would do. Ah well, lost opportunities.

Anyway, this doesn’t really have anything to do with his birthday, but it’s one of those crazy things that the world sometimes throws your way to delight and astound you, so I thought I’d share it.

Happy birthday, Dad. Miss you. Hope you’re out there somewhere being delighted and astounded by all sorts of other things that I can’t even imagine.

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Me, Too

17 Tuesday Oct 2017

Posted by emilypageart in culture, gratitude, kindness, Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

#metoo, me too, rape, rape culture, rape survivors, sexual assault, sexual assault survivor, sexual harrassment, silent victims, survivor, women

Watching the #MeToo thread on Facebook and Twitter the last couple days has been heartbreaking. The details of my own sexual harassment and assault aren’t really important. They’re very much like what so many other women and girls have experienced on a regular basis. My own experiences could have been so much worse, and they aren’t what’s heartbreaking here.

What I find really heartbreaking is how many women I know who’ve been assaulted and, many years later, are still too scared or ashamed to simply post two little words, “Me, too.” As bad as the massive trending thread looked, it’s actually worse. And even in the midst of the bravery of so many women standing up and demanding to be counted, our society still hasn’t given all of us enough of a feeling of safety for everyone to do so. It’s not a failing of the women for not feeling safe enough to post the truth, but of the rest of us who haven’t provided that safe place –  a place like, oh, you know, the world.

For all of those women and girls who are grieving silently, I want you to know that you are, in fact, heard. If you never feel okay telling anyone, that’s alright. But I hope you eventually find someone who you can trust to believe you, embrace you, and help you understand that you don’t need to be ashamed and you are not at fault – someone who will help you forgive yourself even though you are not the one who needs forgiveness. I hope you rise, my dear.

Me, too

Prints and other merchandise with this painting on it can be found here and here.

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It’s a Christmas Miracle

12 Thursday Oct 2017

Posted by emilypageart in art, culture, gratitude, karma, mental health, tattooing, Uncategorized

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

areola tattoo, commercial real estate, hazards of being a business owner, high end tattoo, para-medical tattoo, paramedical tattoo, permanent make-up, tattoo, tattoo studio, tattooing

It’s a Christmas miracle! It’s Christmas now, right? Or a Halloween miracle? I’m not really sure. I’m unemployed, so I’ve lost all sense of time. After several months of trying to find a space to open a high-end tattoo studio, we are officially under contract!!!!! It’s been a long, strange trip, and it’s not over yet, but we’re farther along than we’ve been thus far. Let me back up a bit and explain.

We’re opening a tattoo studio. But maybe you figured that out from the first paragraph? I’ll be training to do permanent make-up, scar camouflage, and other para-medical tattooing (like giving women areolae following reconstructive surgery post-mastectomy, and giving people eyebrows after they lose them to chemo), as well as traditional tattooing. While I’ll be doing pretty much any kind of tattoo people ask for, my goal is to focus on transformational tattooing, helping people document life transitions. I’m super excited, because it means learning a new medium, and it’ll hopefully mean that I’ll be doing something meaningful for my customers. We’ll have a couple other artists there, too, that I’ll be learning under, and between all of us, we should be able to handle just about any style requested.

But first, we had to find a space. If you’ll recall, we had to close our paint and sip studio because our new landlord decided to double our rent when we tried to renew our lease. We really didn’t want to go through that again, and we’d already run into an issue with trying to lease a space for the tattoo studio and getting rejected because tattoo studios, are apparently, portals to hell. So we decided to buy a space.

We fell in love with one in Cary, NC, and put in an offer. The seller agreed to the terms, then emailed that he was un-agreeing. Apparently that’s a thing? So that fell through. We licked our wounds and resumed the hunt. We found two spaces in a plaza in Wake Forest, NC, one of which was going to auction. So we decided to bid on that space but given the issues we’d run into regarding plaza’s not wanting a tattoo studio, we sent out a letter explaining our vision so that the other owners would know we weren’t opening something seedy. But the other business owners really didn’t want us in there. Not only are tattoo studios portals to hell, but our clients are actual minions of the devil. Here’s a quote from one of the nastygrams we received:

“As property owners and fellow professionals, we have all worked to maintain the professional atmosphere of our buildings. In our opinion, the placement of a tattoo parlor at this location is wholly inappropriate and will diminish the reputation and image which we have sought to cultivate. In addition, it will bring a clientele into the area that will not enhance our reputation, and in our opinion, damage our  financial investment.

The commingling of the typical tattoo parlor clientele with business professionals, patients of medical providers, individuals and families seeking counseling services, and many others does not create a welcoming or professional atmosphere.
This situation certainly will not attract desirable owners or tenants in the future.
The letter sent by Attorney Herman is manipulative and disingenuous in that it commands those who object to remain silent and only those in agreement with their plan to speak up.

In addition, the letter from you, the proposed owners of the tattoo parlor, seeks to mislead and whitewash the true nature of this type of business. Despite the carefully chosen wording, this is not an upscale spa regardless of the reasoning behind the tattooing.”

oh no they didn't.jpg

I was sorely tempted, after that one, to send a newsletter out to my 10,000 person email list letting them know that, if they have tattoos, their money isn’t wanted by any of the medical providers, counselors, or other businesses in that plaza. But no, I’m taking the higher ground.

While, legally, they couldn’t stop us from moving in, but we decided not to bid because we didn’t want to walk into so much negativity. The same day we made that decision, the owner of the original space we’d wanted in Cary reached out to our real estate agent and said he’d resolved the things he’d gotten stuck on before, and would like to revisit our offer. So we sent over another offer (that’d he’d agreed to on the phone and via email), which he promptly refused to sign again. So we modified and tried again. And again, he turned it down. The whole thing was getting kind of ridiculous, and everyone was getting pretty pissy with each other, but S and I sat down and talked it out and we decided to compromise one last time. And, wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, the seller finally signed. So now we have to go through inspections and the other due diligence stuff.

Jeez, I feel like such a grownup. Cross your fingers and elbows and toes and knees and eyes that the rest goes smoothly and I can stop feeling like I could vomit any second and maybe not actually become the alcoholic this whole thing has tempted me to be. Thank goodness I had the cats to snuggle away the stress.

 

draped keely
yin yang cats

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Emily Page

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