Showing posts from May, 2022

Emotions Overflow

A storm brews,  dark,  a whirlwind... the back of my mind. It eats at my soul, until its inevitable release of scary, loud words... ...that spill with instant guilt. Why can't I contain the storm inside me?   It's weeks on weeks,  of holding in the impatience, the frustration, the depression... but release often leaves others confused, concerned, so I keep my feelings, like secrets, hidden within me. 

It's In the Night That I Feel Most Creative

I don't know what it is about the early AM hours, but my creativity always blooms amongst the darkness and quiet they bring. Despite the sirens in my body telling me to rest, (as hectic the days I have are, why wouldn't they be screaming?) my brain refuses to let me sleep, and consequently, I trudge on: painting, writing -whatever my soul desires- and my limbs work freely, wholly, bringing about a sort of peace within me that I can't justly explain.  I find that in those dim hours, I am me and no one else: I am not mom, I am not wife, I am not daughter, sister, I simply am , and I feel like that's a very special undertaking, however fleeting.  I'm not intentionally a night owl, in fact, growing up I used to be quite the opposite. In elementary, I'd be in bed by 7 pm and up bright and early the next morning at 6, even during summer vacation. It wasn't until high school that the title, "night-owl" found its home within me.  It began when procrastina

Where Feet Meet Ground...

Prompt 5 of our Piccadilly "Write the Poem" Challenge: A Tree My legs, my roots,  where feet meet ground. Toes wiggle in tall grass, soft, sweet and all around.  I breathe in the air, fresh and serene, and my hair shakes gently like leaves in the wind,  as I too am greeted by soft wisps of nature's sweet flare.  Dandelion seeds dance around me,  wishes I often make, but in the shade of the tree beside me, I long for nothing and simply exist, rooted in the moment,  in bliss. 

Art on The Alley

It finally happened... As many of you know, New Philadelphia Ohio's Art on The Alley vendor event was something I've been looking forward to and preparing for since the beginning of the 2022 New Year.  I participated in early October of 2021 and learned so much from the experience that I was ready for the next: heart blazing, motivation obtained, and inspiration aflame, and have already invested tons of time and money in making sure I have everything I require for May's event: from large items like a tent and gridwall panel towers to smaller items like prints, varied originals, business cards, display cases-- anything I felt would aid in my success.  When the day came, I was more than ready. It happened this past Sunday...  Here's what I have to say about the experience: It was HOT, but there was a huge turnout.  I went early morning to set up my area (a cute little spot in a parking lot beside this cupcake shop) and getting everything together took some time but I had

The Clouds Color Themselves Pastel...

Prompt 4 of our Piccadilly "Write the Poem" challenge: Spring At winter's end I find myself anticipating the season of new growth, where flowers bloom, and bees abuzz in the gentle warmth of blessed sunshine: Spring. In the early mornings, where the sun barely stretches above the horizon, and the clouds color themselves pastel, the sound of morning doves can be heard vocalizing their sing-song coos. The sound eases my heart, and instills a sense of peace within me. Day's like those remind me of my childhood. Where I used to live, in the quiet of the suburban; the place where my mother, siblings, and I lived; where my mother's grandfather and grandmother, lived before her. Memories she recalled of her time there, became memories I keep with me, as they tell a bit of the tale that was and is her existence. My mother often brings me clarity in times when I am most confused. My thoughts, like a dead winter, where her words thaw me like Spring. Perhaps that is why I h

If You Don’t Have Everything, You’ve Fucked Up…

"If you don't have everything, you've fucked up..." That’s what I told myself when it came to this list: It’s literally there, under motivation .  And my notes?  That’s right, I’m a bad bitch.  Nothing like a cup of aggressive positivity to keep me on track. Reminder: New Philadelphia’s Art On The Alley event is this Sunday, May 15. I'm always good at forgetting things, especially on the days when what I need  is super important, and this event is SUPER IMPORTANT-- for me as a person, and for my artwork .  There's only room for improvement, and I'm eager to see what I learn from this event and the people that attend.  Lists are the best way to make sure I have everything I need, to ensure my utmost success. I made it here: 

Unrequited Love Hurts Like Hell

Prompt 3 of our Piccadilly "Write the Poem" challenge: First Love My first love was an unrequited one.  It's those kinds of loves that hurt the most.  Watching from afar, I admired you from a distance,  although I was presented with many chances to get to know you; gifts I took advantage of, ever so shyly. You were a star to me; out of reach.  My heart melted at the sound of your laugh, and pained for the beauty of your heart that was so often overlooked because of who your father was.  We were good friends, you and I, and I wish nothing else but for your happiness.  You deserve nothing less, with a soul as good as yours.  My first love,  the fact that we would never be  used to pain my existence, but if your happiness lies in the hands of another, as mine now regards, than I wish you the opportunity, and safety of that love, as I have been blessed.  My first love,  there will always remain admiration for you in my heart.  Know that,  if you feel loveless,  there will alw

I'm A Bucket of Eccentricity...

Did you know that 93% of homes have a junk drawer? I too am part of this statistic, but rather than a drawer, I put my junk in buckets.  Why a bucket?  Really, the better, often overused question is, why not ?  They're readily available (after finishing off the kids' cheese puffs), closeable, and can be packed away out of site under my kitchen cabinets. I mention this because... I want you to think of this site as a junk bucket. It's more or less filled with belongings of similar uses, but don't be surprised if there's something completely off-the-wall unrelated. A sort of ensuing chaos, but not the bad kind. The kind that keeps you entertained, thoughtful, aware... Words to provide direction, words to provide insight, consciousness, thoughtfulness, empathy, sincerity... Words to remind us of our human capabilities, ingenuities, and perspectives. At The Bucket Digest...   we speak of art and writing, our lives, and the lives of others in the hopes of creating a cl

What it Means to Be an Artist

There is a heavy debate among people of the creative as to what classifies someone as an "artist."  Amongst the banter, familiar opinions surmise, wherein many believe that in order to be an artist you must have great skills, or more importantly, make a living from your artwork.  I don't believe as they do.  Since I was but the tender age of 9, I knew I was an artist. It sounds presumptuous perhaps in the eyes of those that harbor the above opinions, but I think being an artist is so much more than the skills you have and their monetary value.  Although perhaps it is the dream of many artists to make a living from their artwork, it is not what drives them. It is their passion. A singer is a singer because she sings. Is she good? She doesn't have to be.  A painter is a painter because he paints. Does it have to look like a photograph? Does it have to be "good"? No, he simply must paint.  Now, there are some limitations to this ideology. When it comes to techn

Clouds and Fluff

Prompt 2 of our Piccadilly "Write the Poem" challenge: Clouds There's something ethereal about clouds. White fluff  that circles the sky. It's mood changes so quickly sometimes. Yet,  whether it be a time of madness,  or calm,  clouds are beautiful either way.  As a child, I always wanted to feel a cloud.  I imagined floating with them, and peering at the tiny world below.  When I learned what fog was  -sunken clouds drifting upon earth- I think a sadness struck; as, like me,  there are days where my feet can barely lift up off the ground.  It's dew was like a sadness; melancholic,  unenergetic.  But,  with a new day  it rose again as a cloud, and so too, must I rise. I reach to be a cloud. 

Allow Yourself to Be Vulnerable..


3 Easy Craft Ideas to Make for Mom this Mother's Day

1. Framed Scrapbook Page Whether you're Mom looking for Grandma, Husband looking for Wife, or Kids looking for Mom, any of these craft ideas would make the perfect gift for that special mother in your life.  This first craft is an idea that came to me after I was gifted by my brother a special collage. This collage consisted of the articles our grandfather had written for the magazines he was a regular author for (a memorial-like gift as he's recently passed) in which he cut out the articles, placed them inside a frame, decorated around them, and at finish, sealed the piece behind the glass of the frame before bringing it over to my house one Tuesday evening at our monthly game night, bestowing it upon me with a hinge of sadness- that which I felt with him.  It's a piece that's now hanging in my office as a reminder of the man my grandfather was: resilient, kind, and funny, and serves to inspire me to continue my writing pursuits. I hope to one day be as successful as h

Join Our Newsletter!


Email *

Message *