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The Perks of Being an Artist

Tag Archives: bourbon

I’m Still Here, Sort Of

11 Monday Sep 2017

Posted by emilypageart in death, dementia, mental health, sip and paint studio, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

bourbon, dementia, depression, evil landlord, Fractured Memories, grief, making up words, mental health, moving, moving on, sip and paint studio

It’s been a long time since I last posted. This is partly due to laziness, partly due to being totally overwhelmed by life, partly because it’s the time of year when my depression usually kicks things up a notch, and partly due to the hurricane coverage that has sucked me in. A LOT has happened over the last almost-month that I’ve been an absentee blogger. And as I got farther and farther behind on posting, the harder it’s been to make myself sit down and actually write. So, because I’m out of practice, this post may be total shit. Apologies in advance for shitblogging.

As you may or may not recall, our landlord for our sip and paint studio decided to be a total douchefuck and double our rent. If you missed that post, go back and read it to catch up before you come back and finish this post. I’ll wait (I won’t really wait. I’m not typing this live, as you read it. I shouldn’t have to explain this to you people.).

So, now that you’re caught up, you’ve probably figured out that we did, in fact, close the brick and mortar location. I taught my last in-studio class on the 19th, and then we had 2 weeks to clean the space out, during which I also had to travel to Colorado to train artists for a new sip and paint studio for which we were doing some consulting. ‘Cause there was so much time for THAT. Aaaaaaaagggghhhh! Cleaning the studio out to close down the business completely wouldn’t have been that big a deal, because we could toss, donate, or sell most of the stuff filling the 1400 square foot space. But because we’re still doing mobile events and offering consulting services, we had to keep a lot of it, which means that we had to find storage for it all. Double-aaaaaaaaaaaggggghhhh!

We had to go from this (which doesn’t even show the back rooms which were also choking on art supplies):

full AA class

To this:

empty AA studio.JPG

The room where-art-goes-to-die was already packed to the gills, and we need the space we have in the buildings at the haunt to make more fun things like the creepy trees. So we had to spend a few days emptying everything out of the already packed spaces so that we could put shelving from the studio into them and re-pack them even more. I had to throw out some old art, which isn’t a happy thing to do, but, realizing that they hadn’t sold since college and aren’t really representative of the work I now do, I said “fuck it” and tossed the paintings out. I also renamed the room from “the room where-art-goes-to-die” to “clusterfucklandia.” (I think maybe I’m German or Dutch. I keep combining words to make a newer, longer words. I must have germandutchitis.) A local friend also generously allowed us to store a solid crapton of stuff in the space above his garage, which saved us a whole heap o’ trouble. So we worked it out.

the room where art goes to die

Except for the desk. My dad’s desk. We’d brought it down to serve as our check-in desk at the studio after we put my dad into the dementia care facility. Try as we might, we couldn’t figure out a place to keep it now that the studio is closing, and it was insanely heavy and damn near impossible to get into the back of the pick-up truck for easy moving. It shouldn’t have been a big deal, but for some reason, I got really, really sad at the thought of giving it up. I’m not entirely sure why, but I think that maybe, on a subconscious level, it was a way of having my dad still be a part of a chapter of my life that he’d never see in person. He was contributing to the studio, in a way. And now here I am closing that chapter, and it feels weird that there’s an entire chunk of my life that he never knew, and as I move forward into the next chapter, I won’t even have his desk along for the ride to make him a part of it. It’s silly. I know. It’s just a desk, not my dad. But I just can’t help feeling really sad that I had to let it go.

And then, suddenly, everything was sold or donated or in storage, and I had nothing to do. Except think about that damn desk. And my dad. And now I’m grieving hard again. And, of course, things keep popping up to ensure that I continue to think about it: References on TV; lucky pennies; someone he knew, while growing up, contacting me out of the blue because they read my book; going to a friend’s wedding at which her father said to me, “You know, your dad’s band was supposed to be playing for this,” and at which she and her father danced the father-daughter dance to “What a Wonderful World,” which is what my dad and I danced to at my wedding; cleaning out old emails and discovering a bunch from my dad from his early days with dementia; and on and on. You get the idea. And now I’m reeling a bit and have kind of shut down and hidden from the world for the last little while.

But, as we all know and sometimes like to pretend we don’t, life goes on. And we have plans. All the plans. The best plans. But those plans are for another post. For now, we have bourbon. All the bourbon. The best bourbon. And right about now I’d really like to get all the drunk. But I won’t. I need to save some of the drunk for you, dear reader, because I’m generous like that.

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Angel’s Envy

01 Tuesday Aug 2017

Posted by emilypageart in art, painting, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

angel's envy, bourbon, bourbon bottle, Emily Page, Emily Page Art, Emily Page artist, paint, painter, painting, painting of bourbon, Raleigh artist

If you’ve been reading my blog for more than a minute, you know that I like bourbon. A lot. Bourbon is awesome.  It is the wind beneath my wings. Which is why I decided to do a second bourbon painting (you can find the first one here), this time of Angel’s Envy bourbon. Because wings. It’s like Red Bull, but for badasses. Granted, I’ve never actually tasted it, but that bottle… I was at a friend’s house, and was taking pics of her various bourbon bottles (as one does) and just loved this one. Hopefully, I can sample it in the near future. So here’s my second bourbon painting:

Angels Envy_compressed

Angel’s Envy 5″ x 7″ oil on board $125

Original available here. Prints and such available here.

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Why Did I Ever Become An Artist?!

03 Wednesday May 2017

Posted by emilypageart in art, culture, humor, mental health, painting, singing, sip and paint studio, Uncategorized, writing

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

art, boredom, bourbon, Emily Page Art, existential crisis, life of an artist, midlife crisis, painting, Raleigh artist, starving artist, whisky

Uuuuuuuggggghhhhhh. Why did I become an artist? Why can’t I be good at coding, or rocket science, or accounting, or marrying rich men? Why do I have to be good at something that is so damn hard to make a living doing? I need to rearrange the room-where-art-goes-to-die so that I can bury more art in it. I’m out of art storage space. I mean, really, that room is so embarrassing I’m not even going to share a picture with you.

But Emily, you say, you do make a living as an artist. Don’t you own a paint and sip studio? Yes, yes I do. Which means what I’m really making a living at is teaching. Yes, I’m teaching people to play with paint, but that’s not the same things as being an artist.

What they don’t tell you in art school is that you’ll need to spend more time marketing your art than creating it. This holds true for other kinds of art, too: acting, singing, writing…pretty much everything for which I have any vague talent. Hell, I wrote a damn book full of pictures and words and chortles and sniffles and now am overwhelmed trying to just sell one book every couple weeks. I am not a marketer. I hate sales. Schmoozing is my worst nightmare. And when you’re selling your art, you’re selling yourself as much as the painting or manuscript or recording. Selling should really just be called begging. I often say that I’m not a writer despite this blog and my book, and I think one of the reasons for that is that I’m hesitant to own yet one more thing I’ll never make a living doing.

Lately, I’ve been feeling like I’m really-uber-super-extra spinning my wheels. I’ve tried so many things to get my work out there, and none have panned out. I’m tired of feeling like a failure. It’s not that I doubt the quality of my work, it’s that I doubt my ability to get it seen by the people most likely to buy it (whoever the hell those people are). I get shut down so easily by rejection, so it’s really hard for me to keep pushing and rolling with them as they come. I am, admittedly, too sensitive. I hate that about myself, and I’m trying to toughen up, but so far, I’m still all soft and squishy.

And so, as happens every couple years, I find myself in an existential crisis: how do I justify spending so much time, money, and effort making art that’s just going to sit in our third bedroom collecting dust? Do I really need to paint? Could I just…stop? What would that be like? Do I do it because it’s a habit or because it’s what I’m passionate about? I don’t read art magazines or follow the latest art trends. I studied art history in college, but I’m still woefully ignorant and disinclined to correct said ignorance. So if art isn’t in my blood per se, then why the hell do I keep doing it? Boredom? Maybe I just need another hobby. Maybe I should take up wingsuit flying, or collecting swords, or falconry. I swear, half the time painting’s not even fun. There’s always a step or two you have to get through to get to the good stuff. But then, I guess, half the time it is fun, and maybe that’s why I keep going? Though the let down when I add a new painting to the piles of other art that haven’t found a forever home (or maybe they have, and it’s in storage, which is even sadder) kinda negates the fun of making it.

I’m leaving in a couple days for a trip down the Seine with my mom. I’ll be gone for about 2 weeks. I’ll be bringing my watercolors, but maybe I’ll experiment with not painting for awhile and see how that feels. Maybe I’ll see so much great art on the trip that I won’t feel like I need to make more. Maybe there’s already enough. Or maybe I’ll be totally inspired and feel like I absolutely have to waste more time and energy. We’ll see.

Anyway, I’ve lined up a couple guest blogs and will post some old paintings and such while I’m gone so you don’t end up totally bereft without me. Drink some French wine in my honor until I return! Or better yet, drink some bourbon.

old tub

This bottle has my name all over it. This is what happens when you talk about bourbon all the time: your friends bring you awesome gifts like this!

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Bourbon? Water? Who Knows?

28 Friday Apr 2017

Posted by emilypageart in art, humor, painting, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

art merchandise, bourbon, bourbon merchandise, Emily Page Art, mugs, Raleigh artist, water bottle, Woodford Reserve

Am I the only one who wants to put my bourbon painting all over water bottles? I mean, sure, it looks great on something like a flask or a shot glass.

bourbon water 7
bourbon water 8

But for some reason, I really want to go do something athletic so that I can drink out of a water bottle that has a painting of bourbon on it. This is really the only reason I would ever want to do anything athletic. I also like it on a travel mug. I kind of want to get pulled over by a cop and take a nice big drink out of a travel mug with a picture of bourbon on it just to mess with him. (This may not be the best idea I ever had.)

bourbon water 2
bourbon water 3
bourbon water 4
bourbon water 5
bourbon water 6

My absolute favorite, though, is the kids sippy cup. Reason #43534 that I probably shouldn’t have children.

bourbon water

 

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Anyone Thirsty?

12 Wednesday Apr 2017

Posted by emilypageart in art, painting, Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

art, artist, booze, bourbon, Emily Page artist, painting of bourbon, painting of glass, painting of liquor, whiskey, whiskey painting, Woodford Reserve

Finished up my painting of bourbon. Combining my love of paint with my love of bourbon? Um, yes, please. Not that I’m drinking the paint. It’s not all that tasty, and is also lethal. I’m also not painting with the bourbon. It’s only one color and not all that permanent. Aren’t you glad I clarified that for you? Wouldn’t want any confusion. For my first bourbon (oh yes, there will be more), I went for a Woodford Reserve:

Woodford Reserve_compressed

Woodford Reserve 14″ x 11″ oil on board $325

Original available here. Prints and other swag available here.

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I Have a Face For Radio, So Tune In!

06 Thursday Apr 2017

Posted by emilypageart in book, dementia, Fractured Memories, humor, interview, kindness, Uncategorized

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Tags

Alzheimer's, art about dementia, book about dementia, bourbon, bourbon martini, caregiver, caregiver radio show, choice radio network, dad, dementia, frontotemporal dementia, Linda Burhans, radio, radio show about dementia

Hey there, shiny, happy people! On Saturday (4/8/17) at noon (EST), I’m going to be on Choice Radio Network being interviewed by Linda Burhans of Linda’s Caregiver Connections. You can read about her show here and listen live here. I believe you can listen to archived shows on her site (http://www.connectingcaregiversradio.com/), so if you’re not able to listen live, hopefully you can listen later.

As you listen, imagine me prettier and thinner than I am in real life. And imagine that I smell like I took a shower sometime in the last week.  God, I love radio. And imagine me sipping a bourbon martini glamorously while we chat. Okay, maybe a bourbon martini wasn’t a thing until now, but I trust you kickass people to make it happen.

I used to host a radio show in Virginia with my dad, and generally, this is what happened each show:

me and dad dancing at WTJU

And this is without bourbon martinis…

So expect good things. Hope you can tune in!

**********************************************************************************

Thanks so much for reading my ridiculous thoughts! If you’d like to see my ridiculous thoughts translated into art, visit my website, or follow me on Facebook and Twitter. 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).

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We’re Doomed

31 Saturday Dec 2016

Posted by emilypageart in blog, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

booze in the mail, bourbon, eating 12 grapes at midnight, FEW bourbon, grapes, New Years eve, new years eve traditions

I’ve doomed us all. And I’m sorry, people, really I am. I realized that last year, for the first time in many, many years, I did not eat 12 grapes at midnight. And 2016 was, let’s be honest, a shit show. My bad. The last time I lost this many people in one year was my sophmore year in college, and by the end of that streak, I was singing “Another One Bites The Dust” each time someone new died.

Tonight, because I caught the plague, I forgot to pick up grapes. And let’s face it, I’m way to lazy to go get some now. So, again, I’ve doomed us all. My apologies in advance if 2017 sucks. Totally my fault. Next year, I’ll try not to let everyone down.

In the mean time, let me recommend Few bourbon to get you through the coming crisis. The bourbon fairy delivered it by mail yesterday. I’m not even kidding. I’ve never had to present ID proving I was at least 21 to accept a package from FedEx before and I was giddy with excitement. I got bourbon IN THE MAIL. And no, no one is paying me for this (although if any bourbon makers out there want to send me free booze to review, I’m totally in). Sadly, FEW doesn’t know I exist. A friend sent it to me for Christmas and it’s just reallllllllly good. Smooth and tasty and perfect with just ice and a splash of water (if you’re like me and not hard core enough to drink it neat). So if 2017 sucks as bad as I’m afraid it will due to my lack of grape eating, pick up a case of this tasty bourbon and forget your troubles.

few-bourbon

Okay, that’s it. Happy New Year, everyone. And again, my apologies if 2017 is craptastic. Maybe send me some grapes next year so I don’t fail you again.

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All The Muches

21 Wednesday Sep 2016

Posted by emilypageart in family, gratitude, humor, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

birthday, birthday cake, bourbon, death, dementia, gratitude, loss

As you may have guessed from yesterday’s post, it was my birthday, or, as I like to call it, my bourbon day. Normally, I’m am ALL about birthdays. Love them. Mine or yours, doesn’t matter because CAKE. But this was the first one without my dad. Not that he was exactly “present” for the last few, but this year I couldn’t even get the bittersweet call from my mom with him sitting next to her and her prompting him into the happy birthday song. I felt his absence so completely. I spent most of the night before and most of the day of bawling my eyes out and pulling cat hairs off of my face because I kept burrowing into my cats for comfort with a wet face. Smart. But last night, I put on my big girl pants and went to dinner with friends. I love my tribe, y’all, even more than I love my bourbon. And it’s growing, which makes me happy. I like accumulating people to love even more than accumulating cat hair on every piece of clothing I own. And say what you will about social media, you have to admit that it’s fun getting all those birthday wishes and love from friends near and far.

So to everyone who helped keep me afloat when I just wanted to sink in the swamp of sadness, thank you. I love you so much. In fact, I love you all the muches. You can even have some of my cake if you want…and, I suppose, some of my bourbon.

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We Three Things

20 Tuesday Sep 2016

Posted by emilypageart in humor, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

birthday, birthday cake, bourbon

Three things:

  1. Birthday cake for breakfast? Yes, that totally happened today.
  2. Birthday cake for lunch? Yep.
  3. Birthday cake for dinner? Yes, if someone will please hurry up and invent bourbon ice cream cake.
  4. There isn’t a fourth thing because, as stated in the first line of this post, there are only three things.

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A Poem on a Sunday

28 Sunday Aug 2016

Posted by emilypageart in culture, humor, Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

bourbon, poem, poetry

I wrote you a poem:

 

Hey diddle diddle.

Bring me some bourbon.

 

You’re welcome.

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