why the heck I'm commiting to this crazy passion!

A workshop participant approached me recently during a lull in teaching and wax splashing. She calmly sidled up next to me, spoke gently and, darn it, with a bit of reverence-blow me down! I can't restate exactly what she said because I quite simply can't remember the exact verbage. This is not due to the time elapsed since then but because it took me by such surprise-her words left me standing with mouth agape and stunned in silence-the context of it flew through me and on out the door because of my inability to accept what she was saying as applying to me. Little 'ol me!!!!

Her exclaimation went something like this: 'Trish, I have to tell you how amazing it is to be here in this workshop with the person whom I've been learning from through your book, for the past six months.'

I felt the goosebumps she was expressing and started to wear them myself:) What a joy. What an amazing thing to be able to do for someone else. Wow. I can't wait to get at passing on my 'stuff ' more and more and more! And, getting better at doing it every time~

in love. trish

wagner encaustic

I was given the opportunity to test out some luscious encaustic colors this past month!

What fun I've been having with Wagner Encaustics http://wagnerencaustics.com/~

I delved into the rich colors ready to not like them; ready to reject them as second best to R&F Paints (www.rfpaints.com) and Encausticos (www.fineartstore.com) scrumptiously pigmented colors and blends. Surprise! Elise Wagner, the force behind Wagner Encaustics, has created a superior product. It's consistency, deep pigmentation and diverse color selection rival those of the big guys and stand to hold a firm ground in the rapidly growing market of encaustic products and producers. I know I for one will place it on my favorites line up when introducing new practitioners to the beauty of encaustic~in love. trish.

forging a career

My mom is living a second momhood! A few weeks ago I introduced you to my dad: His generosity, his influence, his love. My mom was absent from that diatribe for two reasons: They function very differently in my life, and she doesn't do household repairs :)

My mom has been my replacement on the homefront as I move to make traveling and teaching my career. It couldn't be done without her. When, last spring I jumped full force into the pursuit of teaching and speaking as my fulltime career path, I did it somewhat blind. I had no idea if the demand for my skills was out there in the art world. I had no idea if my book would create enough stir to put me on venues' radar to speak for their groups. I hadn't a clue if I could pull off flying and shipping all the supplies I provide for encaustic workshops. I had no incling as to how I would care for Patrick in my absence. Jumping full force pays off when it is true to ones' passion:)

In just five quick months I have seven workshops scheduled throughout the US. One speaking engagement, a pack-and-fly workshop successfully under my belt, endorsment and support from art product suppliers, a way to pack and teach that allows me minimal shipping charges and TA-DA! care for Patrick!

My mom stepped up big time to offer her momness in my absence. A role I am quite sure she didn't ascribe to when planning her retirement days! Twice now she has packed herself up-breakfast supplies and all-moved into my bedroom-extra layers for my cold house-and settled herself into the care of Patrick. He eats better when she's here. Or at least, he eats more variety! :)

I can make it through an entire workshop without worrying over his well being; a feat not met in days past! I trust that my mom is keeping herself busy and finding some sort of entertainment from the assortment of differentness at my house~she has been a Godsend. Again, a wonderful blessing unrecognized when they chose to move here from California a year ago! God works in mysterious ways....and it all works out~

She has said she has fun. That she is here for me when I again need it. That I can count on this reliable and safe care for Patick as I continue on my journey into this life. I am blessed. And, mom? January 26-February 4 :) in love. trish.

colorado~!

What a fantastic experience! It never ceases to amaze me how much I get out of giving. I know this is not a new concept. I know each of you reading this identify with what I am saying or you probably wouldn't be here reading me in the first place! :)

But just the same, I have to go off on how amazing of a weekend I had in Colorado at ArtistsNook http://www.theartistsnook.net/. It would've been enough just to connect with the venue host; it would've been enough to simply identify with one workshop participant; it would've been enough to have everything flow remarkably well this first time in shipping supplies and materials. But guess what?! All these things occurred this past weekend and more~

I am gifted by my passion to teach and share. I am regifted in the bounce-back joy this brings and the learning I run into from each workshop I conduct. It is a huge thing to affirm life lived through a passionate path :)

Colorado was beautiful-hitting a gorgeous 75 plus degrees over the time I was there. Christine Webb is a generous and caring host who went above and beyond to make this time exceptional. The participants came from far and wide to not only indulge in encaustic, but to unwittingly give me the wherewith all to forge ahead in my determination to make a career of teaching, sharing, and experimenting in all things encaustic. Kudos to the glorious Colorado front range and double kudos to the 14 people joined with me in a weekend of wax~ in love. trish.

workshops on the home turf!

Coming in less than three weeks! Four individual workshops to choose from~ pick them all or pick just one~come have fun in wax!!!!

http://www.artattheranch.com/1556.html

i remember

diving from the closet onto the twin green checked beds
I remember
the final climbing across the sill to sit upon the roof and wait for the alarm to cease
I remember
choosing a bright bold yellow paint-knowing that it wasn't prescribed
I remember
swallowing hard and watching the order for wallpaper go onto the invoice form
I remember
turning sideways in my bed-letting my eyes cross to blur the never ending repetition
I remember
the stiff square shape of constructed bedspread
I remember
my children cuddling under their 20 years loosened spread form
I remember
holding the grey drenched windowsill as my mom slipped new tights up my weak legs
I remember
staring out moisture drenched plastic through sweat-sticky locks of blond at passing white capped pity smiles
I remember
peasant bread rolls and cubes of swiss cheese
I remember
cookies lined in sentry to be sold one by one
I remember
mexican music floating form the open door. rack-lined lobby. my children pumping rolls into bags. arguing over who could move most quickly
I remember
finding my best friend in the bleachers
I remember
john casting. walking as his pipe hung from his lips. stopping at the end of the driveway to say a daily hello
I remember
lying on the plastic fold out couch as my son reacted to pain in his dreamful sleep
I remember
iris. jolting a daily walk past the front yard.
I remember
french
I remember
illegal immigrants
I remember
white suits, loud shouts, club bonding
I remember
virginia
I remember
palmiers
I remember
rejection
I remember
feeling it was all about me
I remember
espresso bitter on my tongue
I remember
standing in the stadium with teenage obstruction
I remember
embarrassed retreat as over emphasized disdain was expressed
I remember
mute confused silence in my head
I remember
red curse filled arrows hitting filling in the hollow
I remember
purple circles ascribed as not so bad
I remember
employees turned away in ashamed pity-filled busyness
I remember
feeling an attractive energy that had never existed before
I remember
exploring my desires and desirability
I remember
signing the papers all by myself
I remember
opening boxes all alone
I remember
putting things just where I wanted to find them
I remember
painting fuchsia passionately
I remember
being pressed against hallway wall
I remember
the cheap red skirted tables
I remember
my hair frizzing to misty february air
I remember
smelt catching pier dwellers
I remember
the second walk
I remember
anger emanating as he spoke at the bar
I remember
my interest in who he could be outweighing my intuition of who he was
I remember
my disgust
I remember
his lack of growth acceptance
I remember
the pain of lost hope
I remember
amazement in unceasing discovery
I remember
fulfilled gifting
I remember
disappeared loneliness
I remember
trust faith belief joy

in love. trish.

author unknown

To let go doesn't mean to stop caring,
it means I can't do it for someone else.
To let go is not to cut myself off,
it's the realization that I can't control another.
To let go is not to enable,
but to allow learning from natural consequences.
To let go is to admit powerlessness,
which means the outcome is not in my hands.
To let go is not to try to change or blame another,
I can only change myself.
To let go is not to care for, but to care about.
To let go in not to fix,
but to be supportive.
To let go is not to judge,
but to allow another to be a human being.
To let go is not to be in the middle arranging all the outcomes,
but to allow others to effect their own outcomes.
To let go in not to be protective,
it is to permit another to face reality.
To let go is not to deny,
but to accept.
To let go is not to nag, scold or argue,
but to search out my own shortcomings and to correct them.
To let go is not to adjust everything to my desires,
but to take each day as it comes.
To let go is not to criticize and regulate anyone,
but to try to become what dream I can be.
To let go is not to regret the past,
but to grow and live for the future.
To let go is to fear less and love more~
in love. trish.

Daniel Smith demo fun!!!!!

I had some fun at Seattle Daniel Smith this Sunday! (http://danielsmithblog.com/2009/10/13/patricia-baldwin-seggebruchs-encaustic-shellac-flambe-demo-at-seattle-daniel-smith-an-illuminating-demo/)It was time to show off the techniques from my DVD release. Burning shellac (without setting off the sprinklers!) was happening! Another is coming up in Portland at ArtMedia November 14th from 2-4 in case anyone is in the area wand wants to join in the fun~
in love. trish.

so wishes keep coming true

Ouch. Some wishes manifest can look more like nightmares come true.
I had two major, overriding wishes when moving into the beast that became my divorce: One was to stop the run away locomotive that was driven by inflicting pain, confusion and manipulation so that joy could find a way into each of our lives once again. The second; to release and enable the power to be better parents and caregivers to our children-each of us in our own right-without the impeding criticism of the other. And, if this could not happen, for my boys to see the man their father was and is, and the mom I am, without me sending up flairs of exposure.
I envisioned for their father an enlightening growth and tenderhearted discovery of parental love growing from the new soil of turned commitments. Whew-hope springs eternal. Accused of being a dreamer in the past, I fervently fought against it as the cynical dig in which it was delivered; and now I hold fast to it as the only way to live. But in this instance I can honestly say I wish I'd packed away this dreaming with the china pattern and photo album.
I must accredit the breadwinner role fulfilled: A gold medal is awarded in this arena. The boys have been given more in the way of wants than I would ever ascribe to. For this I am certain they are grateful in their teenage needs.
Yet, unfortunately, the paternal role has not been scooped up and rebuilt on this new foundation. What I'd hoped would be an opportunity to grow has not been realized. The things that put the locomotive in overdrive are flying wild once again.
What does this mean for the boys I've allowed release from my primary care? What does this mean in their relation with this paternal being and the potential for growth into a healthy and rewarding relationship with their primary male role model?
I have spent two anxious nights mulling this conundrum. I have logged onto southwest.com three times-logging on, logging off, logging on....wavering in my anxiety to see the reality of what I am hearing for myself. I have sent multiple text messages, logged maximum minutes on the phone lines and composed emails in concerned hope that all was just a ruse. The wish for my boys and their father has disintigrated amidst my misplaced dreaming. Alas, I see that part of my 'hope for' in the divorce is being realized. The boys are bearing witness to the man who is their father firsthand. The flairs are exploding brightly over Okemos, Michigan and the three oldest redheads are at ground zero.
It is taking all of my strength and new found wisdom to not run in and rescue them. To not book the flight, charge the front line and save the youthful bodies from the impending doom. But I stop myself. With maternal instincts screaming, I stop myself. With the gift of gentle words from a friend in response to my frantic call for guidance-'Trish, remember what you wished for from the start?' I settle down and see what they are faced with-
-The reality of the man who is their father. The honesty of why their 'parents' dissolved into 'mom' and 'dad' before their young eyes. The father he really is-
I can not save them from this. I want to. The big part of who I am needs to. But this would just return me, as well, to the place I was as a parent in the past-a protector-a shielder-and in the end, an enabler. I can not go back. I must sit gently, pray fervently, trust explicitly and listen when they call. There is a greater force guiding their lives and in this I trust they will come out stronger, better, more whole men on the other side of learning. I can not shield them from what is there. I can only pray they are safe, strong and that this experience carries them to a better place overall.
And for me? It can not be denied that I began with guilt-for having allowed them to walk into this relationship knowing full well what could lay under the topsoil. But I know I have to move past that. I have to see this for what it is-their learning about their father and as a result-I dream another dream-becoming better human beings. My wish coming true. Ouch. in love. trish.

i don't know what to say

At first I was going to fill this space with an extended diatribe about how I just couldn't find anything to write about-making it seem that there is nothing in my days-there is no fun or simple happening-to report. Then I sat and thought for a moment-realizing this just isn't right. Yet, my pen has been silent; unable to scribe any logical musing for many days.

This is not to say there is a lack of happenings-in actuality, it is the opposite. Quite simply, the musings lack an outlet through which to flow because the reverie of things happening around me has taken over. Big things, grand things, expanding things dominate my days. So big are these happenings that it is all I can do to pause and realize what is sparkling and flaming around me.

I don't wear rose colored glasses: I still see the not so easy happenings there in my moments. But I am learning to accept that the not so fun things have to happen in this place of my days as well. They help to highlight the oh-so-wonderful happenings that often follow on the heels of this hard growth and change. So it must be duly noted that much of these big things, are good-oh so lusciously-yummy good! I think I must even go so far as to peg them awesome-in the truest definition of the word.

While these grand happenings can not find expression on the page right now, they will come to reside in this space soon. In the interim, they must roll around, feel the warmth of the sun and the softness of the space and simply enjoy the sense of being, before they say hello to the world at large.

So there it is-to all of you who have followed along in my pain, angst and deep ache of change, growth and new living this summer, the flip side exists. I knew it was there. I held onto faith that there existed a silver lining in the ALL of this summer. Turning to heaven in thanksgiving for the grace bestowed hardly seems enough. I'll simply roll around in it a bit more, be ready to make the right moves when the inevitable change and potential angst rears its head once again, and pray that this form of thanksgiving is enough. Wow what a life.

In hopes that everyone recognizes their own grace filled days as I have-in love. trish.

Today I felt the pain again. I struggle with it because I fear it means I am weak. I fear it means I am becoming less myself and sucumming to the ways of fear that tied me in the past. I know better!-yet, it is still there. I struggle to understand this infliction of pain on my new sense of self. I realize that progress and growth come in fits and starts sometimes. One has to pull back to self and look at what's worked and how to move again.
So, I let myself move slowly. I put aside expectation of what I think I should be doing and feeling and being. I step with surety and gauge my movements before leaping. I still leap mind you, but with this growth and new sense of self comes the ability to listen and see the sense in each leaping before I begin the run for the ledge! And I get there more swiftly. I get there with more strength. I get there through shrinking external struggle. I recognize that the struggle that may be there is entirely self imposed. That my fear rests purely in lack of trust in myself and my path.
In this recognition I begin to shrug off the bits of fear still lingering on my wings. I loosen the grip of the last vestiges of angst and test my wing span for flight. I ignore the potential for picking up new fears in flight and let the wind catch me. Leaping in confidence born of release and faith. Faith, hope and a handful of grace. Sometimes it's all I've got. And all I need. 200 feet and one day at a time. in love. trish.

fall

Fall begins this way for me-ever since attending flag football practices and games-cheering on pint size padded and protected practitioners of the true American sport.

The warmth of summer still hangs in the air. My mind starts to twist around the idea of jackets, hot chocolate in thermoses, heaters cranked up in warming vehicles. Sprinting through darkening, chilled days to begin a warm meal for the coming players. Smiling sideline attendees reveling in our child's latest tackle, gain of yardage or perfect pass.

This year is different. No padded practitioners present here this year. No grass stained knees to scrub or sweaty shirts to help peel from clammy skin. I'm coming to terms with the change in seasons. I listen to the junior league teams warming up on the campus field below my neighborhood and can smile in remembrance. Life gives us what we need when we need it. Fall is welcome with open arms. in love. trish.