The other day I started singing the percolator tune from Maxwell House's old ads. Who knows why that little jingle popped into my head, but once it was there I felt compelled to find the commercial. When I start searching for something in particular on the internet, there is no telling what I will find along the way. I did eventually find the original commercial I was searching for, but I also found a couple of other gems.

Commercials used to just keep going and going.

I don't even know what to say, Paul, except, I'M THIRSTY! Give me some of that coffee! 'Cause you're hot!

Growing up on this kind of freako commercial helped make me who I am today.

So very sad.

A Spider, Poultry and a Lonely Dog

A few days ago I decided to work in the back yard and move around a couple of my rejected-for-regular-art-shows-but-kind-of-interesting-for-yard-art ceramic sculptures. I ended up dropping and breaking one, so I decided to continue breaking it into smaller pieces to dispose of it more easily. My sculptures are perfect places for small creatures to make homes, so I was keeping an eye out for spiders, etc. I found what I was looking for. A nice specimen of a Black Widow stumbled out of her now devastated home. She was stunned and confused, so I had time to run into the house and get a jar. I cajoled her into making her way into it, and she immediately started creating a web on two dead leaves that had somehow gotten in with her. I wanted to take her to a place far away from our house, but for a couple of days I kept forgetting to take her with me. So, she sat in her jar on our kitchen counter waiting patiently but futilely for food to happen by.

I ended up dropping her off in the country on my way to my Grandmother's house. I took the lid off the jar and nestled it down in some grass and leaves safely away from human habitation. I hope she's okay.

Back in Greenville, my husband and I took our dog, Manny, to the dog park for a little springtime socializing. He has only been to the park a few times ever, and we hadn't taken him since winter came around.

At the park I kept leading him across the play area trying to get him to socialize. He did pretty well for a little while, but all of the big dogs started making him nervous. So, after a few interactions and five nervous craps he showed undeniable signs of wanting to leave by just shutting down. He slept the whole way home. Maybe next time the whole experience won't be quite as much of a shock to the system.

I think this is the most intriguing and almost pretty photo of something dead that I've seen in a long time, and yet this little Cornish Game Hen also has a look of bloat and ooze. The colors, shiny platter and almost plastic looking glistening goo on this wee bird make the scene look like dinner in a doll house.

I have always wanted to be unique, and, at the same time, I just want to fit into the landscape - be anonymous - incognito. Since I was a kid people have said things like, "Maya, you're sooo weird!" Now that I am older, I tend to take that as a compliment. It is an indicator that maybe I am not just like the droning masses. With this title, however, comes a self-imposed responsibility to constantly push past boundaries that one's socialized brain presents. From this comes a fixation on finding an original thought, and this, in turn, is paralyzing.

In my art I am not satisfied to sample from nature or someone else's art. I am not satisfied to simply illustrate a basic idea or say that everything has already been done and so any attempt to make something new is futile. If this is so, I don't want to be part of perpetuating egotistical doldrums trying to pass as creativity - the racket. We like to think of ourselves as more important than we are, and we are happy to pat ourselves on the back for making something easy. We are animals. We don't like to be uncomfortable. We have emotional pain when we have to adjust to new situations and new ideas. We're not as amazing as we think we are. I may not ever succeed at making original art, but I know I will never be satisfied to simply produce safe work.

There aren't a lot of original minds in the art world, although it seems there would be. To be truly unique is to exist before one's time and be potentially misunderstood. So many artists seem to look to past artists for an indication of how to think and make. I understand the dangers of working in a vacuum, but I also feel there are dangers in too much artistic interaction. This is some deep soul shit, man, not some pedestrian venture. If we are to be real artists we have to go to the uncomfortable places where we, as animals, don't like to go. We need to go where no one else wants to go. We also have to feel safe to make mistakes, and think stupid ideas, and go through a process. We need to challenge ourselves and be challenged by others, but there are people you can trust with your soul and there are people you cannot.

I am not unique. I am just an animal with a big ego - just like everybody else. I may never be original, but I will not be complacent.

I thought that I was waking back up blog-wise, but I guess I was wrong. It was more like I had a little blurry half awake moment just before turning over to nuzzle my pillow, pull my comforter over my head and succumb to a cozy bed in winter.

I guess I fell victim to the pressure of the responsibility of trying to produce a worthwhile or at least not boring or repulsive blog. Despite the fact that I wanted to just poke my head into the stream of the internet for an odd but fun stress-free personal/public expression of my thoughts, I couldn't help but start to wonder who, if anyone was reading, what they were thinking and, if they were there, why they weren't compelled to comment like crazy about what a genius I am. I started to feel the need for validation - not a feeling I wanted to feel - and so I started to care too much and then lose interest in creating new posts.

I was just reading another blog called Confessions of a Blueberry Bandit at blueberrybandit.typepad.com/ and was reminded AGAIN that so much of my creativity is wrapped up in my physical well-being. Knowing how happy and creative I feel when I get to the gym regularly, why do I find every excuse not to go?

Ms. Blueberry's observations reminded me of the huge emotional payoff that comes from simple exercise. She made me remember that it is way better to feel good and productive and inspired than to not, and that just blobbing through life is really annoying and stupid. I have about 100 pounds to lose, but even more than that I want to focus on being healthy, feeling good and not eating stupid shit. At the same time that I never thought I would gain gobs of weight, I always thought I was overweight even when I weighed 120lbs. I now know, because I am living it, that weight issues are just like dealing with other addictions. It is an emotionally complicated journey that there should be rehab for. The whole "just don't eat as much and start to exercise" lecture that way too many people probably receive is similar to telling an anorexic to just eat more. You're fooling yourself if you think it's that easy.

I do know that once I start to exercise, it changes my chemistry. It makes me a more proactive person, and that in turn makes me make more healthy choices for myself. Also, if you are feeling like crap it doesn't hurt to get your thyroid levels checked. I feel way better now that I know that was part of my problem and have started taking thyroid replacement. And now that Ms. Blueberry has put the spark back under my fat ass, I am going to start going back to the gym so that I can, at some point, stop focusing on how crappy I feel and start actually doing cool things in the world.

So, even though I am still a bit of a groggy blogger, I plan to wake up and start doing shit and posting more and maybe being witty or maybe just not. But, if you are out there, would you sometimes post a comment to let me know you're there? No biggie, but occasionally I'm curious to know. Just don't say anything rude because that means you're a dork and you don't want to be a dork.