Stuck.

I’m not sure when, or how, or even why – but a little while ago my body just stopped making art.

I stopped painting, writing and blogging; meanwhile I continued to think about painting, writing and blogging. I just couldn’t make anything happen.

I couldn’t start anything. I couldn’t finish anything I’d started. I started to feel guilty about all the not starting and not finishing, which led to more not starting and not finishing.
I just didn’t have it in me.
Or rather, I had art in me that didn’t want to be made yet.
After a long while of guilty feelings and worrying about letting clients down I decided maybe I just needed to give myself a break. For once.
So I didn’t worry about turning the lights on in the studio every day hoping I’d find myself at my desk later on. I let my filing go un-filed. I let my cat sleep on the scanner undisturbed. I stopped listening to music.
And then, as suddenly as it had gone away, the art came back. I’m glad it did.

Rachael Rossman

 

69/400


Rachael Rossman

 

68/400


Rachael Rossman

 

67/400


Rachael Rossman

 

That One Time I Met Neil Gaiman

It was June 29, in the sweltering Portland heat…wait, that can’t be right.

But it was. It was like 90 degrees  the day I met Neil Gaiman. There were 900 people packed into the Crystal Ballroom, a beautiful, non-air conditioned venue downtown.

By virtue of our early arrival, my friend and I were seated in the second row. Not all authors have an opening act, but Jason Webley opened with his hat-wearing-accordion-playing awesomeness. Neil did a reading (Chapter 3) from The Ocean at the End of the Lane, which I had purposely not read yet so I could read the signed copy.

After the reading, my friend and I debated about sticking around in the sweltering heat to get our books signed. The 900 bodies in the Ballroom, combined with the unexpected sunlight, were cooking up a decidedly sweaty funk.

Naturally, I complained to Twitter.

 And from backstage came this reply:

So, of course I did.

And also, because the friend I was with happened to be pregnant, we were whisked to the front of the line.

So, after painting he and his wife with skull faces; and both of his dogs, with regular faces; I finally met Neil Gaiman in real life.

 

The end.


Rachael Rossman