color me underwhelmed

When I started hearing buzz about Color Factory in SF earlier this summer, I wanted to hate it, this thing that suddenly everyone in the design and crafty corners of my online social circle were drooling over, this thing that they, and by extension, I didn't really know much about, this thing that I quickly learned would cost me $32 to experience. It's a typical marketing strategy lately: create hype before there's any there there. And even my millennial coworker at my last gig admits that her generation is kind of known for queuing up for something just because there's a long line (e.g. chicken sandwiches at Bakesale Betty, a store that has a sad little website, no signage, limited hours, chronically long lines, and ironing board for tables...what can I say I'm not a fan of fried chicken). And I can't say I'm a huge fan of party supplies, per se (the driving force behind Color Factory).

Black Lives Matter Cake, in honor of Trayvon Martin & the 5th anniversary of the Black Lives Matter movement. Vegan chocolate cake with coconut-chocolate ganache from Afro-Vegan by Bryant Terry, who does such amazing political work as chef-in-residence of MOAD. Leah Rosenberg & Tess Wilson, Protest Cakes

But then I heard Leah Rosenberg was providing creative direction. I admire her work as an artist who criss-crosses various media without apology, including cake. Yes, cake. Still, there was something about the project's insistence that it is not an art exhibit that turned me off (ironically, Color Factory is categorized as an "Art Museum" on Yelp). Even so, when September tickets opened up after August quickly sold out, I got lucky and nabbed a pair for this past Friday, my first day of temporary-unemployment-by-choice. I'd read Sarah Hotchkiss' (a CCA alum, like Rosenberg) review for KQED arts and I was, I'll admit, a hopeful convert.

I will eat just about anything with a fried egg on top of it.

In a nutshell, though, the burrito I had from Tacorea for lunch after was more magical than the roughly 40 minutes we spent at Color Factory (much less time than I anticipated spending there). Don't get me wrong, it's not a bad experience. It's possible that going in the second month, and being a bit skeptical to begin with, is like seeing Titanic a month after it opened. I'd read so many rave reviews and seen so many gorgeous Instagram photos that there wasn't much in the way of surprises. And the most enjoyable parts for me were pretty front-loaded, like the scratch 'n' sniff wall dots in the first rainbow-striped room.

Or sampling the sugary, pink marshmallows, followed by charcoal-infused lemonade.

"This is going to be a full-sensory experience!", I thought. But the richness of the Color Factory experience ended there for me. Sure, I felt a bit nostalgic in the orange room (cheez-its!).

And the disco ball room was cool, but the audio experience should've been such that people were dancing, not laying down on the floor in order to get the optimally Instagrammable angle.

And in the blue balloon room, one of a few equipped with a camera that takes and sends pictures to your email address, you're reminded of the project's insistence that it's not an art exhibit.

"In partnership with" Alaska Airlines and later, in the confetti room, "sponsored by" Method hand-soap - both tactics beg the question: why the steep ticket price if the experience isn't free of advertisements? If there's any kind of fourth wall in art-like experiences, these corporate elements definitely break that illusion, and not in a delightfully subversive way like when an actor speaks directly to the audience during a play. I'm simply reminded that I've been suckered into paying a lot of money for an experience not too far-fetched from something I might see someday soon in a particularly ambitious Target display.

Additionally, certain elements could have been pushed further, like the all-pink bathrooms. How about a nice, vintage pink toilet and some pink toilet paper? And the two bathrooms upstairs? Missed opportunities to do something different, in the style of SFMoMA (I know, I know, it's not an art exhibit, sheesh!). Finally, yellow was definitely not my color last Friday.

The ball pit ate my oft-complimented Old Navy sunglasses and the soft serve machine was busted. But I did stumble on a potential new response when people ask me what I do.

Ultimately, while I admit that of course I took a bunch of photos and shared them via social media, the experience, like so many other Instagram-friendly not-necessarily-art experiences increasingly, is ultimately a building full of one-liner rooms, seemingly immune to any culture of critique (if you want to know what the difference is between art and, well, stuff like this, you're getting warmer).

When I commented on Color Factory's post that $32 per person was bananas (bananas are yellow, get it?), somebody else responded, simply, "Then don't go?" Yes, I suppose I could have expressed my criticism around how this project frames itself and at what cost by simply not participating? That's how capitalism works, after all. You support stuff with your hard-earned dollars. Do I feel like I got my money's worth (see Color Factory's response)? Well, I'm glad the edible experiences were included. At least there's that. Too bad about that soft-serve machine, though. Might have to Yelp about that now, too.

Image courtesy colorfactory.co

In all seriousness, one of my favorite parts is the one we didn't have time for - the map! I'll do this sometime soon with one or both kids, for free (at least, I think the scavenger hunt is free...).


how to quit your job in one easy step

"I quit!" It's that easy. Okay, not really. But when I tell people, over the past 2+ months that I'm leaving my full-time job with no paid gig lined up after, it feels spontaneous and dramatic, a little foolish even. I tend to read people's reactions, perhaps incorrectly, and get increasingly self-deprecating about the whole thing ("I'm bankrupting my family, LOL!"). I should really give fewer f*cks, though, because the reality is this decision was about a year in the making. Actually, if I'm being honest, I started planning my exit strategy within the first six months on the job. I knew very early on that this position was not my dream job, if dream job is even a thing anymore. So you can imagine the effect Sarah Knight's Medium article 'I quit my job today (and so can you!)' had on me. And I quote:

"I didn’t have a solid argument. I wasn’t leaving for a better gig or more money. I wasn’t building a career in food service that necessitated a move up the ladder to Mike’s Clam Shack. I wasn’t moving to New Hampshire, nor had I been diagnosed with a severe shellfish allergy. I just wasn’t happy, and I didn’t want to show up. Another. Single. God. Damn. Day."
Even so, although I could have written those words myself (replace "food service" with "arts administration") I wrestled with the notion for another two years. I felt I needed to stick it out at least a year, and when I passed the one-year mark, I decided to stick it out until at least my two-year anniversary, when the money my employer matched in my retirement savings each month would be fully vested (see, I think about money and stuff). I filed that article under "quit your day job...eventually". But I kept coming back to it and now, two years later, what I'm saying, here, and to people who ask, is essentially this:
"Yes, I have some savings, and a husband who does well, and I have a plan for the next phase of my working life. I’m not trying to peddle the notion that everyone should walk out on his or her job without giving it careful consideration from many angles...I finally came to the realization that my happiness is contingent upon a number of things, including spending more time with my husband, avoiding a soul-crushing commute, not working traditional 9–5 hours, and being my own boss."
There are, of course, some extra factors for me around family and studio time, but this is it in a nutshell. Or a longish blog post, as the case may be.


why does she do it?

Following up on my previous post on the topic, I thought I might spend the summer leading up to my last day at my day job exploring in a little more detail why I included each of the articles in my "quit your job" bibliography. I thought surely I'd included Anne-Marie Slaughter's article 'Why Women Still Can't Have It All', which was published in The Atlantic in 2012, a couple of years before I went back to work full-time, almost a year even before my second kid was born (her book, on the other hand, came out a few months after I'd settled into my current gig). I've thought of that article often since January 2015, but I didn't include it in my bibliography because I didn't want it to be perceived as a sort of "women & work" reader. I don't believe the issues I'm been dealing with, supported by the articles that I've included, are necessarily unique to my being a woman or a working mother. I think they're equally, if not at times more tied to dissatisfaction with a daily routine over which I don't feel I have much creative control. And yet, as I settle into this odd liminal period, coming out, so to speak, to people every day that I'm leaving my position at the end of summer, I find myself returning to this tension between career and family that, whether I address it here or not, is undeniably at the core, alongside creative concerns, of why I'm quitting. In short, being a FTWM has been a bit of a drag.

My favorite kind of working mother stock photo! Except this is me and my daughter.
After I read the book 'I Don't Know How She Does It', my main question wasn't so much how she does it but why? Granted, I was self-employed with half the kids I have now, and I'm not exactly on par with what a hedge fund manager does (or makes) in my current gig, but at the time and even more so now, after 2 1/2 years of working full-time while juggling family needs alongside my desire/need for more time to be creative, I couldn't understand why she (spoiler alert!) was still at her job at the end of the book. Her daily routine sounded miserable and exhausting; in a word, unsustainable.

On the other end of the spectrum, my issue with books like Laura Vanderkam's 'I Know How She Does It: How Successful Women Make the Most of Their Time' is that the onus should not be solely on working mothers to figure out how to "have it all"; the problem is with the systems in place that make the necessary ingredients like decent pay, flexibility, and opportunities for growth and advancement so challenging in the first place (and don't even get me started on the fact that she only interviewed women who make six figure salaries, as if an arbitrary amount of money equals success).

Which is not to suggest I think mothers shouldn't work unless they're ready for a life of misery. Most of my mother friends do work and wouldn't have it any other way. They're equally overwhelmed at times, but for the most part they love what they do, they're wonderful parents, and they have items in that elusive third bucket as well, whether it be a creative hobby, exercise, a side gig, volunteering, the occasional date night, etc. But, just because other women do it well or, more importantly, because there are plenty of working mothers who don't have the choice to work less or stay home with their kids (I was raised by one), is no argument for martyring oneself. It's a little like telling your kids to finish their dinner because there are starving children in Africa (do parents still use that line?). American kids finishing their leftovers is hardly going to solve world hunger. Likewise, staying at a job that makes me unhappy won't ever solve the systemic issues that make this math equation virtually impossible to solve in the first place.

A couple of years ago, a study made the rounds that reassured working mothers that their kids were going to be just fine. My response to that article, not unlike my response to Allison Pearson's novel was, great, but how are the working moms doing? Ultimately, what I find refreshing in Slaughter's take on all this compared to someone like Vanderkam is that she focuses not on what working mothers are or aren't doing well, or enough of, or too little of, or by defining their success by how much money they make. Rather, she goes to the heart of the problem and addresses the issues that make the "feminist narrative" most easily accessible only to women who "are superhuman, rich, or self-employed." Ultimately, I find less useful the stories of working mothers who've found success in the existing system and a growing interest in changing the system itself to be more equitable and accessible for all women.

Finally, with respect to that "feminist narrative," feminism for me is all about choice. You can't tell me I can choose to be what I want, and then tell me my choice is wrong (nor would I do this to any other woman). It's the same defense I explore in my screenplay which is, in part, about the princess culture backlash backlash. But more about that in a later post. I need time, after all, to finish that screenplay, top on my to do list that begins on September 1st.


pay for it

Yeah, so, yesterday was a parenting milestone for me. And by milestone I mean, barring a diagnosis of cancer or death by freak accident, one of the worst days of my tenure so far as a parent. Not only did my newly minted nine year old have the virus his four year old sister had exactly one week before (nausea, fever, congestion, fatigue), on Wednesday evening, in response to furious scalp scratching, I checked and confirmed not one, but TWO cases of head lice. I removed several live bugs from each kid's head. Yuck.

We hadn't yet experienced this common nuisance. For something so common, the level of misery was surprising and is, to some extent, ongoing. Because it was my first time, both kids had it, and I was dealing with it solo, I decided to go to a nit removal salon. Doesn't that sound nice? A day at the spa, if you will. The four year old, with her long hair that takes five minutes to detangle at least once daily,  managed pretty well through what is apparently not a terribly pleasant experience. My son, on the other hand, who refuses to comb his shaggy hair, ever ("I like it messy!"), shut down after the professional nit picker (?) pulled a comb called "The Terminator" through his hair maybe three times. I seriously threatened to cancel his birthday party tomorrow if he didn't quickly learn how to deal with a little discomfort in this life.

Long story short, both kids were treated, the nine year old now sports a summer buzz cut, the house is ridiculously clean, and combing through everyone's hair with a $20 accessory* is now a critical component of our morning and evening routines. At least until we go back for a head-check early next week. I'm feeling pretty in touch with my primate roots, let me tell you.

*Do yourself a favor and order one of these from Amazon RIGHT NOW. If you're a parent, it's only a matter of time before this hell will visit your home. Be prepared and save yourself ten bucks. Then you can go to a real salon and treat yourself to whatever self-care you can purchase for ten bucks (upper lip wax, perhaps?).

Anyway, we were listening to Hamilton this morning, as one does while getting ready for the day, and when 'Wait For It' came on and it got to the part where Aaron Burr sings "Life doesn't discriminate..." I got an idea for a cathartic way to process the big emotions I've been experiencing over the past 48 hours. If you're a parent, a Hamilton fan, and you've experienced this common misery before, this is the anthem for you.

Edited on September 6, 2017 - tweaked some of the lyrics and added a verse to create a complete parody! Stay tuned for the video (no, really).

Pay For It
(set to the tune of Wait For It from the Original Broadway Cast of Hamilton soundtrack)

The kids come home from school at the end of the day.
I’m making dinner when I tell ‘em “put your toys and games away!”
The 4 year old complains her head is itchy,
near her ears and the nape of her neck.
That tickly sensation in the hair…
Infestation, oh heck!

Lice doesn't discriminate
Between the curly
and the straight
It lays all its eggs and it stays
And we keep picking anyway
We cringe and we cry
And we clean
And we wash all the sheets
And if there's a solution, ain’t gonna lie,
After all the other remedies I’ve tried
Then I'm willing to pay for it
I'm willing to pay for it

And now a call from the 9 year old’s 4th grade teacher,
It’s like a really bad horror movie double-feature.
So many different treatments,
But which ones are pesticide-free?
Vinegar and peppermint oil,
Guess it’s better than DDT.

Lice doesn't discriminate
Between the curly
and the straight
It lays all its eggs and it stays
And we keep picking anyway
We cringe and we cry
And we clean
And we wash all the sheets
And if there's a solution, ain’t gonna lie,
After all the other remedies I’ve tried
Then I'm willing to pay for it
I'm willing to pay for it

Pay for it!

This is just one of those things I cannot control!
We practice good hygiene,
Never had a problem before.
I checked their heads after the last outbreak,
The nits were too small to see,
They’ve been lying in wait!

Parenthood feels like an endless uphill climb
Found so many live lice
Put all the brushes on ice.
It could be worse,
but this comb-through’s taking all my time.

(What if I shave her head?)

Lice are human parasites,
You might sleep light
because they bite and they’re active at night.
Their nits warm while they incubate.
Lay eggs every day.
And they’ll mate, make no mistake!

So if there is a cure
That gets my lice-free kids back to school,
Then God dammit
I’m willing to pay for it,
I’m willing to pay for it!


peanut butter jelly time

I quit my job today. Well, officially, I gave notice last Friday, then I told my boss' boss today. But my last day is almost three months from now. You see, I can provide a generous notice because I don't have another job lined up (yet).

People have already inevitably begun to ask me what I plan to do. I anticipated this, so a few weeks ago I started a list of possible responses. Here they are, in no particular order:

  • I'm going to figure out how to make hand-stitched felt phone cases for Android, minus the carpal tunnel syndrome.
  • I’ll be making videos for my YouTube channel “dances with kids” of me, dancing with my kids.
  • I’m developing recipes for a cookbook called “Sweet on Oakland: Cookies Inspired by Oakland Neighborhoods".
  • I’m starting a food truck business that serves only peanut butter & jelly sandwiches. Each PB&J order comes with a free carton of milk!
  • I’ve signed a NDA and I can’t tell you where I'm going from here.
I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that not many of these responses will satisfy the question, "what are you going to do?" So, in other words, what people really want to know is, "how do you plan to make money?" Because, as you can see, I have no shortage of things to do to fill my time. And I do plan (hope) to monetize a few of them.

Before I get to the "quit your day job" bibliography promised above, here's a collection of thoughts I've already posted on this topic since my second kid came along over four years ago:
Additionally, here are some things other folks have written on the topic, suggested further reading (and a few things to listen to and watch) if you're looking for a "work less, make art" reader:
I think that's enough for now. A list of movies about characters who've quit their jobs or made some sort of big life change will likely follow. You can otherwise follow my journey right here. And here and here and here.


making memories

Confession: I actually pretty strongly dislike (yeah, okay, I hate) the expression "making memories." No offense if you're keen on it; I guess I would just argue that we don't really control which experiences are retained as memories as the expression seems to imply (the allure of control is so strong, after all, even when it comes to memory). Memories just get made and what gets retained over time is not necessarily always what we'd like to keep in our brains. And on the flip-side, sometimes our fondest memories are of fairly mundane experiences.

yarn + glue = magic!
Anywho...For the 100 Day Project, however, I'm using the expression more as a play on the idea of memories of making and how important the act of making stuff has been in my life since I was a wee lass. I recently traveled to Bend, Oregon, and retrieved a Mazda5 trunkful of childhood relics from my step-Dad's attic: boxes of art projects, letters, cards, photographs, quilts, and stuffed animals (a huge box of stuffed animals) that he's been storing for me since I moved from Bend to the Bay Area in 1997.

some things never change
Since that trip, which conveniently coincided with the start of the 100 Day Project on April 4th, I've posted an image every day (sometimes I'm a day or two behind) of something someone made for me or something that I made during childhood. Many of the items I made were completed right around the time my Mom died in 1988, or shortly thereafter in the first half of 1989, which was an unexpected discovery, especially given my memories of that time are incredibly hazy. It's interesting to think about these objects as memory triggers from a time I really don't remember all that well.

I invite you to follow along on Instagram, Twitter, or Facebook. We're less than 1/4 of the way through these 100 days so there's plenty of making memories/memories of making to enjoy.



Last summer, when the 8 year old came home with stories of playing Just Dance at Steve & Kate's, he and I joked, dance enthusiast that I am, that we should perform a duet together at this year's variety show at his school (at least one performance last year featured a mother-daughter duo). We promptly purchased the game and started playing, perfecting our moves and narrowing the field of potential routines. As the deadline to commit to try-outs loomed earlier this calendar year, despite some hesitation on my son's part, we decided to go for it, signing up to perform the first 90 seconds (routines had to be 2 minutes or less) of the Just Dance 2016 choreography to Animals by Martin Garrix.

The variety show was at the end of an extremely busy week at work and it's been a wacky couple of weeks since. I came down with a nasty cold that still lingers, both kids had a 24-hour stomach bug last week (on different days), and I got a bacterial infection under my fingernail. WTF. Art for a future has been on hiatus, indefinitely. I'm either legitimately crazy-busy, as they say, the ADD-tending brand of flakey, or a combination of the two that is lethal to one's art aspirations. In support of the "crazy-busy" theory, here's how a typical weekday goes: I wake up at 5:30 am to do a 20-30 minute workout in my living room. This is more about daily stress relief than it is about my physique or general health. Obviously. Around 6:15 I hop in the shower. I attempt to get myself as ready for the day as possible before the kids wake up, which is, on average, around 6:30 am. Neal, meanwhile, makes breakfast. Occasionally, but only on school days, we have to wake the 8 year old a little after 7 to allow enough time to get ready and out the door by 8. The 4 year old is usually the first to wake up but always the last to finish breakfast. She requires extensive prodding, occasional puppetry, and the promise of digital technology to get dressed, brush her teeth and hair, and put on her shoes. At the moment, Neal handles schlepping the kids to their two different schools while I head straight to work. So, yeah, I feel "crazy-busy" by 8 am every day even with a personal chef and morning chauffeur for my kids.

Work is incredibly busy lately. I realized recently that my "day job" has morphed into a career. How the hell did that happen? If I don't have an errand to run, which I often do, I try to take a 30-45 minute walk at lunch to counteract the extra pounds my body seems intent on storing in my backside and belly since taking on this mostly stationary gig a little over two years ago. On any days that don't involve afternoon meetings in San Francisco I'm pretty firm about leaving between 4:30 and 4:45. I pick up the kids and arrive home a little after 5. Neal cooks, I clean. By the time we do those two things, we have about 30 minutes, if we're lucky, before the most tedious, drawn-out bedtime routine in the history of humanity begins. The 4 year old's bedtime is technically 7:30, but I'm lucky if she's in bed by 8. It takes approximately 60-90 minutes to get her in the bath, out of the bath, teeth brushed, pajamas on, books read, encore presentations of various things like saying goodnight to other members of the family and going to the bathroom, and in bed for "snuggles and sleepy song". Reverse engineer from 7:30(ish) and there's your evening.

There is something about snuggling with her in her bed, in the dark, that zaps whatever little bit of energy I may have had left after a busy day of work. I literally feel like I could fall asleep every night around 8 pm. But I rally, throw in the laundry, fold the load from the last night, if it's not done already, and then make three lunches for the following day (one for myself plus one for each kid). Friday nights are my favorite not because anything exciting ever happens but because I don't have to make lunches. Woo!

In the meantime, Neal is getting the 8 year old ready for bed. We have had this same routine since kid #2 was a baby. On the one hand, they get some one-on-one time together and his bedtime is slightly later as a perk of being first-born. On the other hand, do you think it would be okay if I had the 8 year old put the 4 year old to bed while I enjoy a cocktail on the back patio??

Like the 4 year old, the 8 year old has a technical bedtime of 8 pm which translates to an actual bedtime of 8:15-8:30. By then, I've usually finished my evening "chores" referenced above but not always. I do enjoy getting 7 1/2 to 8 hours of sleep so ideally I'm headed to bed to read a little by about 9:30 pm. That leaves me an hour, max, between the time my work/family day is done and when I should really be getting to sleep. And keep in mind, I was kinda ready for sleep at 8. Those last 30-60 minutes of the day aren't exactly my brain's finest. And in that hour, I have an ongoing to do list that includes the following:
  • at last count 7 ongoing art projects/ideas
  • various website updates which are all a total time-suck
  • 6-7 grants, fellowships, and residencies to consider applying to
  • 3 design/Etsy-related ideas to execute
  • writing (I'm trying to write a screenplay - no, really - and I have 3 blogs to maintain)
  • 2-3 crafty projects (remember the tardigrades?!)
  • an endless list of projects around the house, not to mention weekly cleaning, and 3-4 DIY/spring cleaning projects
  • robust planning/to do lists for seasonal/holiday crap between October and April
  • kids' stuff including, but not limited to: birthdays, homework, longer-term projects, volunteering, behavioral goals, general shopping, etc.
  • other planning around extended family, travel, etc.
That's a lot to cram into an hour, at best, each day, right? If I had my druthers, I'd have all day to tackle those bullet points. But I don't. So, as counter as it is to how I like to work, creative generalist that I am, I should probably focus on just one extra thing that's not work or kids. I try instead to chip away a little at all categories over the course of the week and it's just a disaster. What I decide to focus on is still a little bit up in the air but the thing that motivates me most is the thing I'm least qualified to do: write a screenplay. Why a screenplay, you might ask? Well, I've been interested in narrative/storytelling for a long time, and I've found that that's a tall order for a painting, for example. I came up with a work-around that sounds a little something like this: "I'm interested in creating a setting for the possibility of narrative" which I think is what led me to interactive projects and social practice, the idea being the viewer/participant would provide much of that narrative aspect. And I'm still interested in doing that, but I also have a very specific story to tell. Like Moonlight, it will be "both sweeping and specific", I promise. And rather than write it out prose-like, I'm interested in telling this story primarily through images, visual person that I am. There's also something very appealing about the structure of a screenplay, providing the skeleton for a story without fully fleshing it out. As far as my inexperience goes, well, I've watched a shit-ton of movies. So there.