Sometimes all you need to do is ask.
19 Mar 2012 4 Comments
in Thoughts Tags: asking, donation, membership, member, team, family, power in groups, SAMA, mosaic artists, mosaic art, mosaic group, artist group, art membership
Sometimes all you need to do is ask.
It’s a simple statement, but often very difficult to carry forward. I, like many others, find it tough to ask for help. It’s difficult to ask for friends or family members to step away from their own busy daily lives in order to help me in mine. In fact, one of the most difficult things to ask of someone is for financial help.
No, I don’t need any money. And, no, I’m not asking you for any financial help for myself.
Let me continue.
Recently I attended my yearly conference for mosaic artists around the world. Mine. Why do I refer to it as my own? Because, it is mine: I am a member of the institution, the non-profit membership, which re-ignites and sustains me and my mosaic passions. Thus, I believe, each of our members can lay claim that it is their own, our own, as a group and as individuals within a group.
A membership is a unique thing. It can imply ownership and involvement, when truly there is none expected or given. Or, more appropriately, it can be absolute in its aspirations to be member supported and operated. It can describe a group like my SAMA, the Society of American Mosaic Artists (an international group, despite the title) where there are supporters, affiliates, sponsors – those who identify with the group, assist in sustaining their objectives, and fiscally lend power to the group to support them. Then there are volunteers – and volunteers are always needed – members who donate their time and expertise in order to assist their association and their conference to not only survive, but to thrive.
At the conferences where I can attend, my creativity is fluid for many moons after saying my final farewell to fellow artists. Early in the group’s inception, American Mosaic Summit was chosen as the description for the annual conference. Summit seems inappropriate to me as it refers to something high, out of reach, elite; something that must be climbed, endured, defeated in order to claim your right at the top: The Summit.
Instead, I ever-so-predictably rebel against this notion and lean toward the idea of calling it simply a conference: A meeting of similar-minded humans directed toward goals within the same field of study, a forum for discussion, a seminar for learning from each other, and a family of friends and colleagues.
That cumulative equation of these elements is a beautiful and fragile thing: Which leads me back to my original statement about asking for something you need.
SAMA maintains one employee, the untiring Executive Director, Dawnmarie Zimmerman. And, there is one very part-time employee, the ever-so-patient Chris Forillo. That’s it. Everything else is accomplished by volunteers at all levels within the organization from the President of SAMA (currently Shug Jones) to the organizers of every part of the conference, creators and upkeep on the website, and writing, editing, and finding funding for the newsletters.
While attending the general meeting at this year’s conference, I realized SAMA continues to struggle to stay above water in finances while providing amazing resources and an annual conference that is a lifeline to creativity and rejuvenation each year for our members. I’ve been following the general meetings for many years and know that there have been setbacks (an unscrupulous gallery owner during one MAI – our big Mosaic Arts International juried show of artwork), as well as simply not garnering enough monetary donations and membership fees each year to cover everything involved in the annual operations of SAMA and our conferences.
I decided I might be able to do something to help our organization, even if it was something very small. I asked myself, who better to help our organization than our own members? I asked Dawnmarie if I could take a moment before a presentation that afternoon and address our attending members. She agreed.
My objective was to make a plea for a small donation from those who I was well aware had already paid membership fees and conference fees, and hotel costs, but who might be willing – like me – to support our organization by donating another $5 at that moment.
Five dollars.
My intention was to set a short term goal of raising a thousand dollars in just a few hours, which would hopefully spur members on to continue to donate $5 (or more) each month to our organization’s general fund. However, because we are a non-profit, SAMA has not been able to set up a program for automatic-continuous donations for those willing to do so. So, currently it’s up to individual members to go to the site each month, hit the “donate” button, and send $5 or more via the website.
Anyone who knows me is aware that I’m no wall flower. I don’t mind public speaking and certainly not in front of the members I affectionately refer to as my mosaic family. But, asking for money is a difficult endeavor regardless of who you are addressing. I honestly didn’t know what to expect when I made my plea for funds.
What I got was amazing! I felt pure elation that those who I respect, those who I call my mosaic family, those who have given so much already would step up and not only answer my call for a $5 bill from their wallets, but would do so in droves, with smiles on their faces, and many gave much more than the $5. I stood at the front of the room, with tears flowing down my face at these amazing people who didn’t hesitate to give more out of their pockets to support an organization to which we obviously all believe in. I stood before a group of perhaps 150 people and we – WE – garnered $650 for our general fund. Six hundred and fifty dollars my friends, my family, my fellow members! I’ve never been so proud to be a member of a group before.
Then, something remarkable happened. It didn’t stop there.
I had members who were not at the presentation who continued to approach me over the next few hours and express their desire to participate. Members who had heard what my request had been and who also wanted to give their own donation. I was asked to make another announcement, another plea, at the next presentation for those who may have missed the first one. Nervous, I agreed, but asked my friend Veronica to hold my hand while I stood in front once again. I knew from the first time I stood there that I was going to feel very emotional about what I was trying to accomplish. So, with Veronica’s hand aptly being crushed in mine, I stood up and I asked once again.
My members, my friends, my mosaic family stepped up once more and filled Veronica’s hand with a stack of money and checks – I don’t know about everyone else in the room – but I was simultaneously laughing and crying and celebrating the joy at being a part of this amazing group of artists.
At the end of the day, I had handed over to the Executive Director my goal: A thousand dollars. A thousand dollars!! She sat down with me, tears running down her cheeks as well, and said, “People are always saying all you need to do is ask, but…” She didn’t need to continue. I understood all too well.
It’s difficult to ask for what you need. Some of us have a harder time than others. But, in that last minute decision of mine to go ahead and “just ask” our members for even more support to help pull us out of the red and start a reserve for our organization’s general fund; I knew I had done the right thing for our membership, our general fund, and for allowing each and every member to see how powerful and amazing we all are when we stand together for a cause.
Thank you, my fellow members. I cannot thank you enough for your incredibly generous and loving display of support during the SAMA Lexington 2012 conference.
I want to leave each member, whether you attended SAMA 2012 this year or not, with this last request:
Give what you can and know that every single dollar goes toward sustaining an organization that exists solely for each and every member as individuals and as a united group of amazing artists.
With a smile and some seriously sincere gratitude,
Amber J. Pierce
FYI: It’s easy to give $5 or $500 dollars: Just hit the “Donate” button on the www.americanmosaics.org website.
Healing
12 Nov 2011 4 Comments
in Thoughts Tags: brave young men, brave young women, cancer, heal body, healing, heart cries, prothesis, wounded warriors
Healing is such a non-specific word that can encompass so many things. Are we talking skin damage like a bruised knuckle, a scraped knee, a limb that is lost? Or, emotional repair? Have you dealt with a sorrow, a pain, an indescribable yearning for something lost?
I go to the Naval Hospital for most of my medical care. While there I often sit in the large courtyard and watch the wounded warriors pass through. Shrapnel scarred faces, looking forward, focused on their path. Sometimes they wheel by, legs gone right up to their hips. Sometimes they travel past me, leg in some form of bandaged state, crutches being handled with thrusting briskness even if one of their arms happens to also be missing. Often they walk by, prothesis in place – a nike-covered false foot connected to a set of jointed, metal bars that attaches somewhere north of the thigh. All of them are here being treated for wounds, most from a war they are often too young to truly understand. My heart cries for each of them. Not for pity; but in sorrow, anger, grief for what each of them has lost before they had a chance to use and appreciate what they had. Each young face that passes, with pride, hope, and strength. They are not to be pitied. These are brave young men and women who volunteered to serve in the military, to go where they were told, to do what they were told, and to attempt to protect lives of those around them in a foreign country with whom they often could not even communicate with….
I sit in the courtyard waiting for an appointment to see my surgeon. She will go through the details of the procedures to cut out a section of my thigh and to cut into my groin and remove lymph nodes for biopsy purposes so that I understand every step. I understand.
She reviews the procedures I’ll need to follow for recovery. She says to me, no lifting, no walking (except short shuffles to and from the bathroom), no driving….blah blah blah for the first week and then basically I can do a bit more after 3 weeks. I laugh. She looks perplexed. I laugh more and say, “I have two small children. Trust me, I can’t be down that long. I’ll be up and going within the week.”
My surgeon smiles and nods. She already knows what I don’t — I’ll be down for at least a week, guaranteed.
Then, she turns and asks what type of pain medicine I’ve used before, my husband laughs and shakes his head, “she won’t use it, don’t bother”. He knows me too well. I have a hard time using pain meds ’cause I always feel so off-kilter, so not-normal, so comfortably numb…it’s quite disconcerting to me. Besides, I heal well.
I heal well. I know this because this isn’t my first rodeo.
I’ve had a double mastectomy, encapsulotomy, and reconstruction about 10 years ago. Whew! You should have seen those scars! Stiches everywhere on my chest — but, you can barely tell these days. I still have some residual numbness and bizarre phantom pains, but I hardly ever think about it. I am still me.
And let’s not forget two c-sections – two huge babies!! Scars are healed…still there, but gosh, it was worth it to cut me open in order to not break my children’s collar bones to get out of me naturally. I had so wanted to have them naturally, but sometimes nature has other plans. Gotta roll with the punches.
So, roll forward to today. My surgeries have been completed last week to remove the cancer from my thigh and to remove lymph nodes for biopsy. I came home with a large, 8-inch-stitched line right up the center of my thigh and a smaller 4 inch one along the fold of my leg/groin area. Not fun. In fact, for the first time, I stayed on those pain pills darn regularly. The best advice was to stay ahead of the pain and stay on schedule with the medicine. It was good advice indeed. Until today…I woke up invincible – well, so I thought.
Today I woke up and felt different. I can’t explain it more than saying I felt like I turned a corner in the pain & healing arena and I decided to try and make it through a day without it. I did really well and I’m happy to be moving forward in healing. However, broke down and took a pill tonight — whew! was my body pissed off that I thought I could rule the world today. :0)
“Not today”, it whispered to me, “but, tomorrow’s a new day and we can try again”. Okay, body. Keep on healing. I’ll just sit here and read for a while….
Contemplation
08 Oct 2011 2 Comments
in Thoughts
Sitting here last night, contemplating the artistry that the surgeon created with her ball point pen on my thigh showing the second area they will be removing, I thought: Gee, this is a cool design. I should make a mosaic of it. It’s the shape of an eye. The protector eye? The all-seeing eye? The ayes have it? Oh, wait, wrong “aye”.
Looking at it now, I am reminded of my friend Yvonne Yaar’s artwork of glass eyes….the protector kind that you see over doorways. Eventually, I probaby will create something in it’s form. It will be cathartic, just like writing is, for me. It’s a lot larger of an area than I expected stretching down the length of my thigh. (Yvonne’s artwork can be seen here: www.YvonneYaar.com)
Contemplation, that’s where I’m at now. Just thinking about it all, studying what is happening, meditating a bit more since my blood pressure (which is always quite low) was a bit high yesterday during the anxiety of it all.
Contemplating choices that no longer exist is a waste of time, decisions that have already been made are to be accepted, waiting is all that there is: Now we are just waiting. I think I’ll go create something with the kiddos, roll some clay out, and let them loose with it…it doesn’t get better than that, now does it?
con·tem·pla·tion (k
n
t
m-pl
shn)
form of devotion.
(google hit: The Free Dictionary)
What now?! Choices, please.
04 Oct 2011 4 Comments
in Impressions Tags: cancer, choices, diagnosis, happiness, hope, melanoma, move forward, one day at a time
I know there are times in the past when I have felt “geez, I can’t take anymore than this” when things were being thrown at me left and right….but, here’s the thing: I always made it through. We can always make it through. How? Just keep moving forward. People accuse me of having a terrible memory. But, it’s not that I have a terrible memory really, it’s that I choose not to dwell and I just move forward. I don’t leave any room in my head for much of that stuff I may have had to climb over to get through to the next day. People will tell you things all your life, it’s your choice to decide if you feel the same.
I swear I’m not trying to be trite. I really feel this. Each and every day is a new start, a new beginning, a brand-spankin’-new chance to make a choice in the right direction for your life. And, thus, I find myself back in the saddle lately. Trying to make good choices for leading me forward into the next day, week, month….lifetime.
Last week I was diagnosed with melanoma. Cancer. Yep. The Big C. No pink ribbons for me. I’m not a fan of pink anyway, so keep the ribbon, I’ll take choices. Okay, I say to the doctor calmly: “What are my choices?” This isn’t a time to be emotional or irrational. For me it’s time to put on my thinking cap and learn everything I may not already know about melanoma. What stage am I? What level within that stage? What are the options and which will I choose for my care?
I have Stage II melanoma. It’s what I like to call “caught earlyish”. Right there I have something to go forward with, something to base some knowledge upon. Surgery – Yes. Already had a nice hole put into my thigh the size of a quarter just to remove the original suspect area. Now, they will go in and remove a much larger area – gotta get to those icky cells outlying, creeping about, wanting to create mischief with my body, my good cells. Then there’s the depth-thing. It was deep enough to warrant a biopsy of the sentinal (the closest) lymph node grouping which will be (oh joy) in my groin. Ouch.
So, I head for another surgical consult later this week…they don’t want to wait more than a week. Okay. I like their style, my doctor-team. Don’t worry….I’ll be in touch. After all, I’ve got to make more choices tomorrow. Don’t we all?
Things in Threes
11 Sep 2011 3 Comments
in Impressions Tags: baby, birth, cycle, cycles, death, emotional exhaustion, joy, love, mother, sadness, tears, things in threes, three, uplifting
It’s funny, I come from a fairly superstitious family. That is to say, they are always doing these funny little traditions in reaction to a variety of things. One is knocking over the salt: One is required to toss a bit of it over your left shoulder if this happens. I don’t know why. It didn’t matter, I did it so my Grandmother wouldn’t get upset and worry that it hadn’t been done. Like completing some kind of ritual. Rituals….and beliefs…and superstitions are all so interesting. I am endlessly fascinated at how these have often been built around actual, verifiable occurances due to the flow of humanity and our predictable patterns. However, the superstitions can be woven around real scientifically based patterns and grow their own validity, their own following, their own solid and undenied superstitiously based rituals.
One saying my Grandmother always said was “things happen in threes”. I used to marvel at the fact that sure enough, they would happen in threes. Well, I’m sure if you look for enough things to fulfill that criteria: Anyone can make things happen in threes. But, this doesn’t validate the superstition. What it does is to validate our ability, as humans constantly seeking answers to the unknown, to create situations and outcomes that fit our needs, our beliefs, our “religions”.
And, so I come to the main reason I am writing today. I’ve had a tri-occurence that fit my Grandmother’s definition perfectly. She would say, “if they come in threes, often they balance each other out, not like some say – all bad things. No. They come in threes to balance your world, the world, perceptions and emotions.” I loved and respected my Grandmother very much. She was a wise woman who knew how to fit rituals into reality, scary or frightening things into perspective, and sadness into balance and make them all seem like that was just the way it should be and therefore easier to accept.
My best friend’s Mother died last night. He loved her so much it made his heart ache. She was a wonderful human with many, many tolerances for life having dealt with a tough husband who was gone much of the time working, many children, and a life to run without much time for herself. And, by the time she had some time for herself, her brain became ravaged by that evil monster that takes our thoughts and memories and destroys our ability to recognize those around us who we love. My friend cared for her every whim – and on the days she didn’t recognize him as her son, it didnt matter. He would smile and tease her and give her love and attention. He works a lot. Travels quite a bit for work. This is hard ’cause he took care of her and all her bills, etc. It pained him to see her suffer in any way, but she was strong, even without her memories she fought to keep living and smiling. She died last night. He was not home. He was traveling for work. Driving last night through the thunder and lightening to get back to her, the family, the business that inevitably lies before him I heard the pain and sadness in his voice when we spoke. My friend’s Mother died last night and I am deeply saddened.
Another friend called yesterday. Her best friend’s Mother had gone in for routine surgery and didnt wake up, was on life support, and they were waiting to unplug the machines. This woman practically raised my friend. She was her “other Mother”. As I talked with her she was gathering her children up into the car and heading over to Phoenix, a 6+ hours drive so that she could say goodbye before they shut off the machinery helping her breathe. I was in pain for her, knowing how much she cared for this woman and her daughter, her friend, they were family. She got there 1/2 hour before they unplugged the machines. She was able to say goodbye. For that, I’m very grateful.
Yesterday I received an envelope in the mail. I stared at the return address. Oh, how lovely! I thought, my former client/now friend must be having a birthday for her son perhaps. I casually put the card aside to go through the bills first. Got to get rid of all that before I can enjoy the good stuff. Too much had infiltrated my emotions that day already. I was exhausted with the sadness for my friends and their losses.
So, finally, as I made a cup of tea, I opened the envelope. This client had touched my heart at a time when I was enduring a lot of sadness and loss myself. She came to me with a request for a unique art commission. She had been pregnant after many years of trying and had miscarried at 20+ months a beautiful baby girl. Her sadness was palpable and it touched me deeply as my husband and I had been trying for many years to have a child of our own, unsuccessfully. I created a garden mosaic: A memorial with her beautiful handprints taken by the hospital and her name with flowers, bumble bees, lady bugs, and other garden goodies surrounding the name and handprints. It was an emotional piece and I finished it with a heavy heart and a bit more strength seeing how this lovely couple had gone through so much and stayed strong together. They were afraid to try again as she had suffered other miscarriages early on and it was such a painful proposition. However, I understood the drive to have that baby…I understood it far too well. We struggled for over 6 years before we were blessed beyond measure with our daughter. And, with much more hard work, 4 years later we had a beautiful son. Two children, two blessings.
I opened the envelope. There he was. A beautiful baby boy. Several photos of his soft and round cheeks, his soft body sleeping soundly and peacefully in his parent’s hands, and those feet! Baby feet are fascinating…so tiny, so perfect, all those little toes and soft inner soles yearning to be smooched. My client and her husband had a baby boy. A beautiful, baby boy. I was overjoyed. I was crying tears of joy, my body giving over to the emotional exhaustion of helplessly watching two friends suffer a horrible loss and suddenly having this most amazing, wonderous news to follow it up, to balance it out, to make the world keep spinning – these things yesterday came in three.
Wow….just what the world needs: Another Blog head like me.
16 Aug 2011 Leave a Comment
in Thoughts
A blog. Really? Yep. Okay, okay, I’ll do it. Just another step into the minefield of my mind and the way I think put out there for anyone to view, step on, argue with, learn from, and feel kinship through.
A BU-LAH-GUH…..hopefully not blah. :0)
