• About

The Perks of Being an Artist

~ Because demented people need love, too.

The Perks of Being an Artist

Tag Archives: friendship

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.

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Pinterest
  • StumbleUpon
  • Reddit
  • Tumblr

Like this:

Like Loading...

In Praise of People Who Stay

15 Tuesday Dec 2015

Posted by emilypageart in culture, dementia, gratitude, Uncategorized

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

dad, dementia, father, FLD, friendship, frontal lobe dementia, frontotemporal dementia, FTD

One of the hardest things about my dad getting dementia has been witnessing the effect on my mom’s social life. There are people who have disappeared from my parents’ lives following his diagnosis. I’m not sure if it’s the fact that he was so young and it made them face their own mortality earlier than they’d planned, or their fear of his sometimes strange behavior in the early phases. Maybe it’s that they don’t know how to “help” so they hide, not realizing that the best way to help is just to continue to offer friendship to my mom. The number of years over which this has stretched also kind of stretches people’s patience and generosity, I think. I recognize that, especially now, it’s hard to know how to support my mom when she’s a widow who is not yet widowed. But the people who have pulled back have no idea that what they’re doing is making things even harder on my mom. Their fear hurts her, because it makes her feel like she’s losing her friends, her support network. It makes her feel like they don’t really value her friendship. If someone had let her down before, who would she have talked to seeking solace? My dad. That’s no longer and option, and I’m doing my best to take his place, but I don’t live there, so she can’t come home at the end of a hard day and cry in my arms. She’s already losing her best friend to dementia, so to not have other friends step up makes her feel alone, abandoned. Even now, when he’s been enrolled with hospice – a time I would have thought would have had people coming out of the woodwork to offer words of comfort – friends continue to desert.

My dad was always the social organizer, the life of the party. I worried that my mom would become a hermit of sorts, but she’s made an effort to reach out and has crafted her own social life. The reason she’s been able to do this is because of the people who have stayed. Those people – the ones who have not shied away from the ugliness of the disease or the awkwardness of interacting with my dad – those are the people who made her life bearable in the earlier phases. Those are the people who hold her up when it gets really hard. They’re the people who don’t wait for her to ask if they want to do something, but instead invite her over for dinner or out to a play, who don’t treat her like a pariah who might give them dementia, those are the ones I respect. That takes courage. And loyalty. And compassion. A lot of her friends are at retirement age, so are traveling and aren’t available. It’s not their fault, but it’s bad timing for her. So the ones that make an effort to see her when they are in town, even if only briefly, help substitute some of the love she’s lost. The neighbors who have stepped in and welcomed her into their families are wonderful. The friends that organized trips to Europe together get gold stars. The ones that make plans and stick to them – understanding how awful it makes her feel when her plans get cancelled and she doesn’t have a husband to go home and snuggle with – are bright shining rays of love.

It’s a sad fact that misfortune shows you who your real friends are. And some people will totally disappoint you. But there are also people who step up and surprise you. People you didn’t even know cared. They extend the invitations, offer the hugs, and just let you know they’re here if you need them. They know they can’t fix it or make the loneliness go away, but they keep sticking around, and jumping up and down and waving periodically to help you find your way back to them, and saying, “We’re here when you want us to be here.”

To the ones who stay, thank you. If you’re recognizing that you’re one of the ones who haven’t, it’s not too late. If you feel guilty that you let my dad down, make up for it by lifting my mom up.

If you don’t know us and this doesn’t pertain to you, stop and think about other situations in your life when you’ve chosen to face discomfort or fear to remain a good friend, or maybe the times you fell a little short. Please don’t let shame about falling short stop you from starting again and making up for it. In the end, you’ll be a lot happier avoiding the guilt you’ll feel when someone dies and you know you let them down in some way. I’ve learned that the hard way. Send a card. Make a call. Meet for coffee. Invite someone over for dinner. Drop cookies off at the house for no real reason.  Rise. Stay. Be there. It’s worth it and lifts someone when you have no idea how down they really are because they’re busy putting on a brave face. Stay. Be there. Stay.

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Pinterest
  • StumbleUpon
  • Reddit
  • Tumblr

Like this:

Like Loading...

A Grain of Sand

24 Thursday Sep 2015

Posted by emilypageart in art, culture, mental health

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

cultivating a social life, finding a balance, friendship, grain of sand, I'm tired of my job, I'm too porous, Melville

Inexorable Self

Lately, my job has become somewhat burdensome. Teaching the same paintings, over and over, catering to the often unreasonable demands of entitled customers and getting yelled at when I don’t attain some impossible level of perfection – it all takes its toll. It’s true, there are elements of the job that I really love. I have some really fantastic customers who I actually look forward to seeing. I get to play with paint for a living and help people tap into a part of themselves they often neglect. And I do consulting to help other people open sip and paint studios so that they don’t have to pay ridiculous fees to a franchise. But there are times when the demands of running a small business and essentially being in customer service becomes tiresome. I’m tired of working hospitality hours that don’t allow me to cultivate friendships or have much of a social life. My life lacks balance.

Sometimes I feel like a grain of sand in an hour glass, shuffling back and forth, back and forth, marking the passage of time. Or worse, a grain of sand at the shore constantly buffeted about by a force more powerful than myself. How then, can I reclaim some measure of stature and autonomy? To neither live a life of monotony nor be subject to the ebb and flow of forces beyond my control? I find myself feeling like I’m lost in a Melville novel, attempting to hold on while the world spins madly around me but simultaneously lost in the monotony of each day. To quote said esteemed author, “Life holds thee; not thou it.” And again, “Do though, too, live in this world without being of it…retain, O man! in all seasons a temperature of thine own.” I feel, at times, like I’ve lost my way in how I’ve chosen to spend my days. Singing last weekend reminded me of how much more there is out there that I could be doing, and I feel like I’m just missing it. I miss connecting with people I love. I miss making art for art’s sake. I miss, thanks to my body’s and my brain’s often cantankerous moods, feeling like I have the freedom to do and be what I choose. So many years of chronic fatigue and physical pain, and now, with my dad, so many years of feeling like I’m losing pieces of myself as I lose pieces of him, leave me exhausted and without the reserve necessary to fight my way into a different position. I’ve become too porous and at the mercy of other people’s pain. “Delight is to him – a far, far upward, and inward delight – who against the proud gods and commodores of this earth, ever stands forth his own inexorable self.”

I need to figure out a way, particularly at this time of year, which is when I tend to fall into a depression, to steel myself against the pain other people take out on me. And more importantly, I need to steel myself against the pain my brain inflicts on itself. When a customer is mean, I have to remember that it’s not my fault. When I don’t do something as well as I’d like to do it, it doesn’t mean that I’m a failure. And while snuggling with the cats and watching a movie is necessary sometimes, so is kicking myself in the ass to go paint something I want to paint, not just need to paint. Equally necessary is cultivating some kind of social life. I’m bad at reaching out to friends to try to do stuff because my schedule is so difficult to work around. So I’m officially asking everyone to reach out to me if you live anywhere near me. Drag me out of the doldrums by dragging me out of the house, even if I’m kicking and screaming. Help me reestablish some balance. Please and thank you.

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Pinterest
  • StumbleUpon
  • Reddit
  • Tumblr

Like this:

Like Loading...

And Now I’m Hungry

04 Saturday Apr 2015

Posted by emilypageart in gratitude, humor

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

friendship, nothing better than

This is clearly one of those there’s-nothing-better-than kind of days. For example, there’s nothing better than going to lunch with friends and talking so long that you’re hungry for your next meal by the time you finally leave.

Oh, and bourbon. Of course, there’s nothing better than bourbon. We should have had bourbon for with lunch!!

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Pinterest
  • StumbleUpon
  • Reddit
  • Tumblr

Like this:

Like Loading...
Follow The Perks of Being an Artist on WordPress.com

Emily Page

Emily Page

Check Out the Art

You can view my artwork on Facebook or on my website at http://www.emilypageart.com

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Archives

Buy Fractured Memories!

Buy the book!

Goodreads – Fractured Memories

Follow The Perks of Being an Artist on WordPress.com

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 2,251 other subscribers

Buy Fractured Memories!

Buy Fractured Memories!

Blog at WordPress.com.

  • Follow Following
    • The Perks of Being an Artist
    • Join 501 other followers
    • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
    • The Perks of Being an Artist
    • Customize
    • Follow Following
    • Sign up
    • Log in
    • Report this content
    • View site in Reader
    • Manage subscriptions
    • Collapse this bar
 

Loading Comments...
 

    %d bloggers like this: