Be Inspired

BY CHRISTIN DAUBERT

HAS INEVITABLY HIT A BREAKING POINT. In those moments of hair-pulling frustration, where the hundredth time is a failure but the hundred and first time could be glorious success, the creative person has asked, “Why do I do this?”

The answers, of course, are vastly different for each person. I can tell you that when I’m struck with an idea—be it color inspiration for a piece of art, a new way to use existing art, a business idea or event—my whole body tingles and breath fills every cell inside me. I momentarily feel that wash of success and brilliance and it’s those nanoseconds that carry me through the sludgy days of normalcy.

I know, I’ve made the creative process sound so appealing, haven’t I? Honestly though, that allencompassing moment of joy I get from using my creative brain is how I know I’m on the right path with an idea. When I share the product of an idea and it is met by others with praise or “I want to buy this,” I think, double score! I love that feeling. I’m sure most people do.

And it’s got me thinking about those artists, creatives, crafters, and makers who have felt the tug of commercializing their creations. It can be a rather weary road to travel. Charging for your services and

goods—a price that will never reflect the time you spent learning to do what you do, let alone the time it takes to actually create—can be a slippery slope. We start creating because it feels good in our souls; when it starts to involve money, does that change?

Speaking candidly, I know what the dilemma is for me: I love to create, and I struggle to ask for a significant amount of money for something that I truly enjoy doing. I often wonder how many other creatives feel the same way. Do we all feel so grateful that someone sees what we see in our craft and is willing to barely cover the cost of our materials? Or do I just need to unpack all of this in therapy? Perhaps it’s different for those who aren’t “self-taught.” I know that I feel there is an illegitimacy to my art because I didn’t learn from a professional. Instead, I played around, listened to my gut and was simply curious about what could happen if I tried.

The other side of that existential coin is the knowing that we creatives are deeply talented. Along my journey as an artist, I have deeply impressed myself and I’m confident that is why so many of us continue—we chase the joy and tingles I described above. But moving toward the pressure to monetize every scrap of creativity, I’m genuinely scared that the font of inspiration will dry up and the goal will be to produce what sells, leading us away from playing in our craft and instead choosing the road of mass reproduction.

I will say that I have seen a shift in pricing that reflects the whole creative experience, with more consumers realizing the process it takes to master a craft. I recently read an Instagram post of an artist who spent paragraphs justifying raising the price of her art. I was inspired by the act and saddened by the need for justification. I then immediately ordered a piece at her new price because I recognize how difficult that decision can be.

The cost of creativity involves more than a monetary decision. I love the drive to create, which connects me to the deepest parts of myself. I am learning to lean into creating to simply create, which currently means embroidering silly cat and plant scenes, none of which I will ever attempt to sell. There is a sacredness in our creativity that I believe we all need to hold on to, that art is for art’s sake; it has a value all its own. I hope that as we let our creative sides run wild, we can balance what we sell and what we hold just for ourselves—free to fail, play, and (re)discover those tingles. SP

Share your creativity on Instagram: Hashtag #SandandPineMag. Also, go to @consciouslychristin to check out Christin's work.

BY AMANDA ODEN

AFTER LOBBYING HARD FOR TWO YEARS, my 5-year-old daughter Bowie finally started dance classes this fall. Because I wasn’t sure what style of dance she would prefer, we enrolled her in a combo class of tap and ballet to cover our bases. It’s so much fun to wait in the lobby with my younger sons during her dance class every week! Both my boys get a kick out of watching their Sissy and the other kindergarteners shimmy and sashay as they learn the choreography for their upcoming spring dance recital. My new favorite thing is buying her sweet little leotards with matching leg warmers. And do not even get me started on the tutus—oh how I adore the tutus!

The only downside, so far, to having put her in this combo class is that every two months, when her feet shoot up yet another shoe size, we have to buy a new pair of tap shoes and ballet slippers. Dance, as it turns out, is not an inexpensive hobby.

The other day, I had all three of my kids piled into the shopping cart for our weekly Target run when Bowie reminded me that her tap shoes were “a little pinchy last week” and that we needed to get her a larger size. While she was deciding between the merits of pink versus black ballet

slippers, my 3-year-old son Arlo (who has not shown much interest in dance other than shaking his booty to Blippi songs every now and then) became enamored with a shiny black patent leather Mary-Jane style tap shoe with a satin bow. He asked if he could touch them and when I handed him the shoes, he grinned a big grin and exclaimed, “I want a pair of ‘clap shoes’ just like Bowie has!”

My first instinct was to say no. Not because they were what most people would think of as a girl’s shoe. I really don’t care about that, and I typically let the kids choose their own outfits and accessories (as long as they are weather appropriate). The reason I almost

That next morning, as I was getting everyone dressed to head to the gym, Arlo insisted on wearing his new tap shoes. I tried to talk him out of it because they didn’t seem super comfortable for extended wear and, also, they were pretty loud and I thought the constant ‘click clack’ might get on his teacher’s nerves. That’s what I told him, anyway. But the truth is, I was worried that other kids might make fun of the little boy in jeans, a Mickey Mouse sweatshirt and patent leather Mary-Janes with a bow at the ankle. I had a bit of an internal parenting struggle between personally not caring what people think of Arlo as long as he’s happy, while also wanting to keep something he truly wanted, all in the name of “fitting in.” I resolved that I would not let that happen again.

After my workout I went to pick up the kids. Everyone was tired and ready for lunch and (here’s hoping) a nap. As we were heading out, Arlo’s teacher pulled me aside and said, “If you don’t mind, could you please put Arlo in regular shoes tomorrow? All….”

I was immediately livid! If his tap shoes make him happy, then tap shoes he will wear! It is 2022 and everyone is free to be whomever they choose to be thank you very much! Thankfully, I let her finish before I started in on an indignant mama bear tirade and clapped back, so to speak.

said no was because Arlo wasn’t really interested in dance and it seemed like a waste of money. But he was adamant and stated that “Bowie gets new Clap shoes every time we go to Target and I gets nothing!” Probably we should start saving for law school, because his impassioned closing argument worked on me and I bought him the shoes (which will forever be called ‘Clap shoes’ in our household).

That night we all laughed as Arlo tap danced up and down the tiled hallway with a Matchbox car in each hand, like a tiny spastic Fred Astaire.

I recently joined a gym, partly to fit back into my pre-pandemic jeans but mostly because they provide a really nice daycare while you work out. My kids call it “gym-school” and for two hours a day I get to exercise and shower in peace, while they play video games or watch movies. There’s even a bounce house and little basketball court. They love going, which motivates me to work out—a win for everyone! him safe from kids (or even adults) who might ridicule him for his unorthodox footwear selection.

Ultimately, I decided to let him wear his new tap shoes, but gently reminded him that his sneakers were in his backpack just in case he changed his mind.

At drop off the very first thing his teacher asked was “Is Arlo wearing tap shoes?” I quickly explained the situation, kissed the kids goodbye and tried to mentally prepare myself for the hour of cardio I was about to endure. But I hung back for a minute, wanting to make sure Arlo was OK before I left. I watched him ‘click clack’ to the toy area and high-five a friend, then run towards the basketball court to shoot free-throws at the toddler sized basketball hoop. Not a care in the world!

While I was on the elliptical machine, I berated myself for having been worried and felt bad for trying to discourage Arlo from wearing

I’m not sure how we would afford new tap shoes for our brood AND all 30 or so classmates, so our “clap shoes” have been relegated to the tiled kitchen and hallway for now!