Jolie Guillebeau

Not only was I pretty comfortable in the dentist’s chair, as Imentioned yesterday, but I painted today’s painting from memory, too.

Because I spent so much time in the dentist’s chair, we tried to avoid any more accidents that could affect my teeth. So when I started Kindergarten and had to wear saddle shoes with my school uniform, my mom tried to teach me to tie my shoes in a desperate attempt to keep me from tripping over the laces.

It didn’t work.

My laces came untied no matter how tightly they were tied every morning. Eventually I tripped over them and had to be rushed back to that dentist’s chair, because I’d knocked out the dental work. After a couple of falls like that, desperation won out.

Thankfully, there was a miraculous new product that had just come out. Velcro. So my grandmother marched me to the nearest Stride-Rite shoe store and bought a pair of pink Velcro shoes.

I eventually graduated to purple shoes, but I stuck with (ha!) the Velcro until Stride-Rite stopped making my size. I was 12. Then I moved on to slip-on shoes and penny loafers.

I was 30 before I mastered shoelaces. Chris had kindly tied my shoes for me long after we were married. But eventually, I figured it out, and finally got rid of the Velcro shoes in my closet.

“Velcro” 6×8 Oil on Panel $140.

Continuing my story from Friday, you might guess that I became pretty comfortable in a dentist’s chair. And I suppose that’s true.

Dr. Hall was the dentist on call the day of my car accident. And I saw him at least once a month for the next sixteen years. There were dental surgeries, and nearly 6 years of braces, and then more surgeries.

Apparently, I didn’t appreciate his dental skills at first. Because even when I was seventeen, at every visit before he said “Open” he first made me promise not to bite him.

By that time, I’d spent hours in the same orange chair. And this was the wallpaper pattern on the wall in front of me.

And I knew (and strangely, still remember) that there were 216 orange dots on that wall.

On my last visit, just before I left for college, I walked in to a completely different room. The orange dots were gone, and dancing rhinoceroses had taken their place. I didn’t expect to be so disappointed, and I certainly didn’t think I would miss that orange wallpaper. But it was the end of an era.

“Wallpaper” 6×6 Oil on Panel $120. Sold.

This series of stories is my attempt to pull away a few layers between you and me. When we’re both on other sides of the computer screen, it’s easy to hide who we really are. And I don’t want to do that.

Telling the big stories is how we become who we’re meant to be. So I’m starting this series with a few big stories of my own. Including, as promised, the story of how I didn’t learn to tie my shoes until I was 30.

This first story is intense, but it’s a story that defines me, so I feel like it’s where I should start.

The slogan for Coca-Cola in 1979, was “Have a Coke and a Smile.” The irony of this is not lost on me.

The adventure begins in a blue Chevy van. I was drinking out of a old-fashioned Coke bottle just like this one, when a drunk driver hit our van head on.

The bottle hit my teeth and knocked them out, but apparently it also saved my life. Without it, the dashboard might’ve hit my head and caused much more serious injury.

Of course, having my teeth knocked out affected my smile for several years, but I’m guessing you’re wondering what this has to do with the ability to tie my shoes.

That part of the story will have to wait until next week.

And if you’re wondering, I don’t drink Coke much these days. But when I do, I use a straw.

“Share a Smile” 6×8 Oil on Panel $140.

P.S. We send the new book to the printer today. It’s really happening! I’m so excited! Did you get yours yet?

This is my biggest project yet, and I’m only making a limited quantity. Now’s your chance. Go check it out!

Since this series is still taking shape, I’m going back to my roots as an English teacher. All good stories start with a setting.

Three weeks ago tonight, I stood on this stage in front of 600 people and told a story about tying your shoes and how I don’t believe in talent.

At first I fumbled, but I gradually found my stride. And for a couple of minutes, it was really fun!

If you want to watch the whole thing, here’s your chance. Over the next few days, I’ll tell you why I didn’t learn to tie my shoes until I was 30.

And hopefully, I’ll find my stride with this series just like I did on stage.

“Setting the Stage” 6×6 Oil on Panel $130.

P.S. I was giddy and thrilled with all the orders for the new book yesterday. My readers are awesome! Did you get yours yet?

We’re going to press soon and I don’t want to miss you. Go check it out!

I realized something today. I have no more excuses.

I can paint anything.

Sure, there are some things that I like painting more than others, but two years ago this week, when I began painting everyday, there were lots of things that I said I couldn’t paint.

I said I was good at still life, but only if given a lot of time. So I set a timer and made myself complete a painting within an hour. Then I decided to get better at painting landscapes and dealing with the challenges of outdoor painting. But even then, I said I couldn’t paint people. So I decided to paint 100 of them. And then I found myself talking about the challenge of concepts and abstract work.

So here I am. This marks the end of 5 different series of daily paintings. That’s 500 individual paintings and 500 emails, and 500 stories here. It’s 500 steps towards becoming a better painter and a better writer. It’s 500 reasons that I can call myself a professional artist without hesitating.

I’m planning to paint at least 500 more of these (even though I don’t quite know what they’re going to be yet), but today I’m just going to enjoy the sense of accomplishment that comes with finishing.

And start thinking of a new excuse.

“Steps.” 12×18 Oil on Canvas. $500

Things these days are busy and hectic. I feel like I’m giving everything only partial attention. I’m rushing from one place to the other and missing the feeling of groundedness that I had back in the fall.

I’m looking forward to things settling down and feeling a little less shaky. Though I’m not sure when that’s going to happen. Meanwhile, I’ll keep walking through the uncertainty and hoping for sea legs soon.

Scene: A yarn shop in SE Portland. 8:47pm

Me: I have no idea what I’m going to paint for tomorrow’s painting.

My friend: Hmm, why don’t you paint this pile of felted bobbles?

Me: Hey, that might be fun!

My friend: Only joking, but hey, if it works.

This weekend, I kept adding more and more paint to this canvas, but I still wasn’t quite happy with it.

Then I decided to experiment. So I took out a palette knife and scratched. I’ve loved scratchboard for awhile, but I was surprised by how happy this painting made me, once I’d taken away a little bit of paint.

Just a reminder that more is not always the solution.

I do love knitting. But this week as I’ve camped out on the couch I found a new joy.

Embroidery. It’s kind of like painting but with stitches.
It has the same quiet rhythm of knitting, and it’s entirely for beauty alone. Knitting is functional, and I love making things that keep people warm, but embroidery exists only to add beauty.

And I can get behind that.

I have an incurable sweet tooth. Mostly because I don’t want to cure it.

Last week, after an adventure with IKEA furniture assembly, I stopped at Voodoo Donuts for a vegan cream filled donut. It was terrific. It was snowing and rainy today, but I was still tempted to go out for a pink box of donuts.