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sara.gant@onslow.k12.nc.us

Baring my soul

10/1/2018

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UMy friend Anna recently shared a post from Barley Wine Cafe, reminding people to visit and support a small local downtown business.  It was a timely reminder that in times like these, after the Hurricane Florence victims who have sustained major loss and damage, it is the small local businesses like us who will suffer the most, go out of business, or lose substantial income.  I fully realize that an art class is NOT high on people’s priorities right now.  There are more important things to think about- such as basic shelter and food needs.  However, Anna’s comment gave me cause to have a deep think about this little business of mine that will be celebrating a FIVE YEAR anniversary in January.

Opening a business- and trying to keep it open- has been among one of the hardest things I have ever done.  I have given birth to three children, been divorced with two young children living paycheck to paycheck, moved 4000 miles from home, lived away from my dear family for over 25 years, had 9 surgeries, lost a dear step-daughter and seven former students. Don’t get me wrong- I have led a perfectly charmed life.  I’m not trying to complain, by any means.  I just want to illustrate that (for ME) my difficulties in running a business is sort of- but not quite- up there with these life moments. It's HARD.

It is also one of the best things that has happened to me.  I have made friendships that I know without a doubt will last for a long time.  I have watched with delight as children beg their parents not to leave the studio; had people thank me for the great time they had at Artworks; or on a number of occasions, tell me what a ‘great energy’ the place has.   After a teaching career of 27 years, I still thrill at the magic of sharing the healing, restorative, joyful, life-affirming qualities of art with people.  These words give me a right-down-to my-tippy-toes kinds of thrills and universe affirming vibes!  I think it is what I have been put on earth to do.  I love coming up with ideas and feeling a tingle of excitement when people respond to them enthusiastically.  I love a shared feeling of community that I have found in this little building at the end of New Bridge Street.  My art tribe has a deep, life-affirming, passionate, REAL vibe!

Once we taught a visual journaling class that we offered to women at the Onslow Women’s Shelter.  Only one woman came, with her three children.  Kaylee worked with the children and I worked with a very broken woman.  I didn’t ask what her story was. I just wanted to share a few journaling tools that might help her in her healing journey.  As we worked with magazines, cutting up words and talking, she began to voluntarily share her story with me.  Her story of abuse was horrific- so bad that she had been moved to the shelter her from another state hundreds of miles away.  As we worked, she talked and one of her recurring themes was about finding the words she needed to be brave, move on, etc.  At the end of the afternoon we had one new art journal with a cover that said “MY VOICE.”  The other one proclaimed, in cut-out magazine letters “Only the brave RISE UP and experience new beginnings.”  Powerful, heart-rending, art healing.  So much so that I am three classes in to working towards a Registered Expressive Arts Therapist.  #GOALS

Another time, Jen and I were at the studio every Saturday one spring, and two marines stationed at Camp Johnson would come in for 5, 6 even seven or more hours at a time. Joe would get on the pottery wheel and his friend would sit and watch, or glaze Joe’s creations that had been fired, or listen to music and talk about his love for music.  They came in every week for about two months.  When they graduated, Joe’s friend left us a lovely note saying that we had been the best part of their week for months and thanked us.  Three months later, back home in Vegas, he committed suicide. We were heart-broken, but glad to have been a place of respite for a little while.

Those are just two of so many amazing, rich, soul-searing moments.  There have also been times when I have made ghastly mistakes.  Not on purpose, of course.  But terrible mistakes, nonetheless.   This past year has been particularly bad- dealing with the death of a loved one, depression rearing its ugly, ugly head, difficulty in dealing with anything that required a lot of concentration.  Working as a full time art teacher by day, soccer Mum and art studio owner by day started to take its toll.  Mistakes started piling up, as did angry customers.  Several scathing reviews left me in tears, frozen, unable to respond, when all I wanted to do was throw myself crying at someones feet and apologize profusely.  Or worse.  Some customers will be so forgiving, and understanding- when I have felt that I had no right to accept such grace.  I have beaten myself up more times than you can know.  It really hurts, knowing that you messed up and there is nothing you can do.  Although I have tried to make it right as best I can…. sometimes I just can’t.  There have been many tears.  I have been very close to just packing it all in and closing- many, many times!  I’m so, so, sorry if you are one of the people that I have disappointed.

Each time, when closing was on my mind,  the universe would delight in sending somebody to unwittingly say or do something that would cause me to hang on just that little bit more.  Kristi used to share the Facebook posts a lot- from halfway across the country, for her friends that still live here.  LS, the mother of a dear child with some very special needs who brought her other daughter for some much-needed art respite touched my heart with her gifts, encouragement and constant sharing of Facebook posts.  It was the person who stood in the studio and told me quite vehemently: “we NEED you here, this community needs this place…”  It was my dear friend Irene who I lived with in Paris years ago, who offered up such a great 1% more comment that has stuck with me.  Or dear sweet KP who moved to Virginia and has suffered so much recent loss and heartbreak of her own yet still continues to share posts and write such heart-warming reviews and encouragement.  (Great reviews are SOOOOOOO important to small businesses!  That 4.8  FB rating? I hate it. I want it to be a 5.)    Thank you to my husband and family who supports me and encourages me.   Thank you to the child who wrote me a poem, a picture, gave me a hug, to friends who offer encouragement and help, Mrs. JS for putting up with me, someone who who cared enough to help that they wrote a review on Facebook AND Google or just shared a post- I’m so, so, SO grateful to any and ALL of you who have given words of praise or encouragement.  You have no idea how much they are treasured, and how much I love and appreciate you.

***I appreciate and love Raquel and Kaylee TREMENDOUSLY.*** I love our little Artworks family!  I thank Wendy for all of her help,  and Cat for joining the fam again (yay!!) and Kathi, and Amanda, and Deena and all previous employees, teachers, volunteers as well as new instructors coming this fall. <3


When I retire from being a full-time high school art teacher in 3 years I have many more plans that I hope to bring to fruition since I will be at the studio full time.  Meanwhile, I am redoing some things this fall, building a great team to keep the mission alive, and vowing to keep on doing the best I can with the limited time and resources at my disposal.  I hope you will check out our classes,  “Like” us, “Follow” us, share the posts, comment, and keep the studio visible in our community.  Come by with your team for some team-building, or come by for some art-making, art trivia night, book-making, print-making, kids classes….. LET’S FILL THIS TOWN WITH ARTISTS!    I’m looking for teens from every high school to participate in a public downtown art project….   Artists to teach classes…… and most of all,  your patience with me as I continue to learn and figure this business thing out.  Love you all.

There are great things on the horizon, and you’re invited to share the Artworks #ArtTribeVibe!

Thanks for your support, and thanks for listening.  <3

.......AND I HOPE YOU COME TO OUR 5 YEAR ANNIVERSARY BASH!!



Sara
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​Life in the Made for Sara Docu-Drama Event

3/24/2017

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If I know anything about myself, it's that I have a very active imagination.  Most of the time this is a fantastic gift that I am hugely grateful for.  I have no problem thinking of things to create; I have infinite projects and possibilities constantly streaming through my head with my own personal, private, endless wifi connection.  Being bored is not in my vocabulary. 

(Parenthetical side note detour:  I have lots of enablers for this semi-blissful condition.  You know who you are: "Hey Sara, do you have any use for these?  I was gonna throw them out but thought you could do something with them!"  Or.... "I have five bags of purple wooden (insert-cool-item-here-thingys)..... I'm going to bring them in cos I know you and your kids could definitely use them!"  My brain: "Oooooh! We can do this, and this, and this..... oooh the possibilities!  I'll just put it over here. For now."  This.  Is.  How.  Hoarding.  Starts.) 

Anyway, I digress. You get my point, right?  Most of the time, I repeat, MOST of the time being imaginative can make for some pretty cool days. 

Sometimes, however, this imagination of mine takes me places unwillingly. That's right. I get kidnapped under my own cognizance.  This makes for some not very cool days. Or nights. Two events in particular stand out from my youth. 

The house that I grew up in in Belgium had stairs up to a bathroom on the right, and then you had to turn left to climb two more stairs. When I was old enough to be going to bed by myself I would walk up those stairs scared to death that someone was going to "get me,".  I was convinced that the bathroom to the right was harboring a maleficent, evil thing-person hiding in the dark shadows. It would jump on me the minute I turned my back on the bathroom door to turn left, I just knew it would. So I began carrying ammunition up the stairs with me.  I was ready.  The minute I sensed motion behind me I would launch that missile glass of water at the thing. Because it might just melt the thing, or the shock it would invoke might work long enough to give me time to run back downstairs to Mum and Dad and to safety!

I even remember the night I was walking up the stairs, big glass of water in my right hand, when it suddenly hit me that it wouldn't do me ANY good on the right side. No, I'd need to carry it in my left hand, because I would turn left then immediately spin around to that side and throw the water from the wrong angle....  I was SO thankful I figured that out before it was too late! Saved my life, it did, that little bit of clever thinking!

Fast forward about ten years. My friends and I took the train to Brussels to see "Friday the 13th."  Yes, that one- the original one.  I rode my bike to the train station in Waterloo. (I can't remember who I went with so if it was you please remind me!)

We saw the movie;  I was terrified; we took the train home.  Now I had to ride back through late-night Waterloo with images of crazy Jason with the hockey mask coming after me.  It had been the very first horror movie I'd ever seen and I vividly remember the white-knuckled ride home!  

It just got better and better, living inside my head.  Art in high school was my sanctuary. I went on amazing school trips to faraway lands that fueled the globe-trotting fire and the endless ruminations that typically placed me (and my imagination) in a front-row seat during important historical events.

Ok, I confess, I still do that actually. I'm going to Belize, and if I'm fortunate enough to visit the Mayan ruins again, I know I'll stand at the top of a temple if possible. I know I'll tune out all the other tourists and spend a few minutes streaming the "Live from the Mayan Sacrificial Games" on SaraFlix.  I'll look down at the rainforest canopy, wondering if that is the same stunning view that many victims saw for the last time before (willingly? not so much?) being gifted to the gods. What were they thinking? How did they get to the top? 

I love the endless ruminations, and I especially love archaeology, learning about and breathing in historical artifacts.  I even love my hoarder-enablers. Isn't imagination an incredible gift- MOST of the time?!   



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Akhenaten, Instagram,  AFGHANISTAN

1/15/2017

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Akhenaten (born Amenhotep) was an Egyptian Pharoah. He came along at a time when Egyptian iconography, all of the dozens of gods, and mythology were quite firmly established. He and his wife Nefertiti (they were King Tut's Mum and Dad)  and the rest of the nation were all getting along swimmingly well there along the banks of the Nile River about 3300 years ago. So along comes this young upstart Pharoah Akhenaten and really turns things upside down. "Right, you lot..." he may have said (or the Ancient Egyptian equivalent, of course. For some reason I'm hearing John Cleese narrate Akhenaten's part in this which is really a bit incongruous, but it works in my head. Get yer own voice if you don't like John.)  "We're getting rid of all these gods, except one. From now on, there will be only one god, right?  We'll call him the one god, Aten."   This period in art history is known as the Amarna period, after the capital city that he built and named.  He was a heretic and perhaps the first monotheistic ruler in history.  The manner in which Akhenaten was depicted has puzzled art historians for years- it was such a radical departure from the norm. For a long time it was thought that Akhenaten had what Abraham Lincoln suffered from, Marfan Syndrome.  The sculptures show him with long neck and fingers, effeminate hips, lips, an elongated skull and a bit of a belly.  Then it was thought that perhaps he had gynecomastia- a condition in which males have enlarged breasts.  Since the discovery of his body in 1907, archaeologists have been able to study his DNA and conclusively rule out Marfan syndrome and gynecomastia.  The current thinking?  Akhenaten himself wanted to be portrayed as divine, both female and male, in one body.  After his death many of the Amarna sculptures were destroyed, and the nation reverted to polytheism.

Fast forward a few thousand years.  I've become quite used to seeing Akhenaten's face, it is very distinctive in Egyptian art history.  One day, while looking at pictures on Instagram for an Advanced Art global art project, one face seemed to scream out at me, so much so that my jaw did the proverbial gob-smacked-hanging-open-thing. I saw a photo of a woman who could be Akhenaten's twin- or perhaps descendent.  The photo is by Rada Akbar, a brilliant photographer in Afghanistan.(Her website is http://www.radaphotography.com/.

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I was so intrigued by the likeness that I spent some time playing with the photo of the woman and a photo of a sculpture of Akhenaten. I cropped, and merged, and documented the merging and cropping.  The results are nothing short of stunning. This young woman in Afghanistan, photographed by Rada Akbar, could be the twin sister of Akhenaten!  The woman's name is Naghm.  She lives in a refugee camp in Kabul.  I desperately want to know her story.  ​

Coming up:  I am going to share this story with the photographer, Rada Akbar.  I'm very curious to know her reaction!

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    Sara M. Gant

    One of the things that art and history teach us is how to look critically at something and visually or conceptually dissect it, or compare it to something else, which in doing so necessitates a knowledge of odd pieces of information.
    I often have these thoughts; they are the flotsam of musings and ideas that swirl just past each other in my brain and sometimes cry out for attention.  I'd like to create
     a synthesis of these ideas; a symbiotic relationship of people, facts,  art, ideas, stories, creations. It may or may not make any sense to you, dear reader, but if you enjoy art, or history, I'd be happy if you enjoy or share in one iota of the delight that I get from this synchronicity!   Mmmmm, yummy words. Synthesis, symbiosis, synchronicity.              
    Connections.

    ​Peace.

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