Tag Archives: creativity

Don’t Ask Questions

One thing about growing up with secrecy, silence, and paranoia in an authoritarian family is that it gets really hard to untangle the effects of emotional abuse from one’s actual personality.

Until recently, for example, I rarely asked questions. Part of that is because because so many of my childhood and adolescent questions were answered with :

  • contempt: “You stupid kid”
  • ridicule: “I can’t believe you don’t know that”
  • silent treatment: absolute silence as if I had not spoken
  • dismissal: “You don’t need to know that”
  • anger: “Don’t ask things like that!”
  • annoyance “Don’t bother me with that”
  • mockery: “Why do you care about that?”
  • impatience: “I don’t have time for this.”

I learned that questions are irritating, intrusive, inappropriate, and unwelcome. I learned that I would be mocked, ridiculed, and subject to anger or silent treatments if I asked questions or showed curiosity. Continue reading

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Stuff I Did in March, Part One: Back to the Loom

After a long break due to a rear-ender and the February Blues, I finally got back to the loom near the end of March. This is a loom I got with the warp already on, and I’ve been doing a series of wall hangings on it. I finished off the one I’d abandoned in January: Continue reading

Only One Bandaid! (or, Learning to Make Stained Glass Mosaics)

This past Saturday, my friend R invited me out to her place to make stained glass mosaics. It’s something I’ve always wanted to try, and R’s work is beautiful, so I was very excited to have a chance to learn from her.

A few days beforehand, she called me with instructions about what kind of glass to get and where. So on Thursday, I headed down to European Art Glass across from the Tim Horton’s at Archibald and Marion to look at glass. There were so many beautiful pieces in there! Continue reading

My Very First Art Lesson (in which I learned I’m no good)

When I was six, I learned that I would never be an artist.

Like any other kid, I loved to draw and fingerpaint and glue stuff onto other stuff, especially if beads or glitter were involved. In the homes of my grandparents, my father, and my aunt, I was surrounded by evidence of art and artists: my great-grandfather was a master painter back in the Old Country (Denmark), and my grandfather had been apprenticed to him. My grandparents met when my grandmother took a class with the master painter, and my grandfather would offer to walk her home and carry her painting gear. The walls of my grandparents’ home were filled with paintings and drawings and woven tapestries and other work by my grandfather, grandmother, great-grandfather, aunt, and other artists. Every bit of wall space was filled. Continue reading