Excited to announce several new calligraphy workshops. Email me at hellosuzylee@gmail.com or go to the Contact page more information or to register!
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Excited to announce several new calligraphy workshops. Email me at hellosuzylee@gmail.com or go to the Contact page more information or to register!
Excited to announce my first ever San Diego calligraphy workshops. January 13th & 16th in our North Park, Aloha Beach Club studio. Space is extremely limited as there will only be five spaces reserved for each workshop to offer more individual attention/instruction. Registration available in the online shop.
Includes:
2.5 hours of instruction, 1 nib holder, 2 nibs, 2 small ink pots, 1 felt tip marker, 3 alphabet guide sheets, 1 keepsake Dear Darling Calligraphy & Co. tote
$175 registration fee. Fee is non-refundable, so please double check your availability.
Lately, in the thick of coinciding and back to back deadlines, and trying to pull off bigger and bigger projects, I've been hearing Dory from Finding Nemo, in my head, singing, "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming." It's been a funny and silly little thing that's gotten me through the longest of nights, and most chaotic of days. But a few days ago, I stopped and took a few moments to be still, and when I was, I remembered this prayer that my mom would pray over me before bed as a little girl. I would close my eyes to go to sleep, and she would begin to pray for a little minnow that was trying to swim upstream against a strong current of schools and schools of other fishies, who were all going the other way. She would pray, asking God to make that tiny little minnow strong in heart and mind, to remember why it was going it's own way, to help it never tire of going what would sometimes feel like a lonely way. It's so humbling to realize that those earnest prayers made a way for my dreams, fuels my all nighters, and gives me boldness to keep going. Do what you love. And go your own way.
Video all thanks to the very talented, Evan Schell.
Sometimes it takes a collection of moments that span years of your life before that real subtle realization that they were connected all along..that life is not a random explosion of events that define you, but that there is something far bigger than you that threads them all together, working to teach you something, inspiring you to make the choices that will make you who you become. I made a friend several years ago who was from a rainy place. Something about this friend was so obviously different. They had a familiarity and affinity for sorrowful things unlike anyone I'd ever known. They saw this beauty in the rain, in the minor chords, and in the way that pain shows us we're still alive. I was fascinated by the way they saw things so different from me, a girl who'd been raised on the desert sun. Soon after that, I went to Scotland for a year, and it was there that I learned about the beauty in the sorrowful rain, the lyrics that can only be set to minor chords, and about just how painful it can be to miss your people, and even experiencing new depths of physical pain. I learned those things everyday for a year, and when I left, I was a different person. Fast forward 6 years later, I woke up this past Saturday with one of the worst fevers I've ever had. My entire body, even my fingertips ached, and the pain was all to real. After spending the whole day in silence in bed, around dusk, as the rain started to pour in Southern California, I reached over for an old familiar friend, music. And all over again I remembered how even in sickness, the loneliest of places, rain and music could be confided in, with old secrets shared. All day Sunday, in and out of sleep, I'd hear an old refrain, a familiar bridge, a perfect chorus, and the rush of rain, reminding me I've been there before, and how last time i was there, it taught me a new depth about being alive. And today, as I'm coming back to, and with the haziness subsiding, all I can think about is how good it feels to be reminded once again, that I'm alive...that pain is sometimes our greatest reminder of that...and that even in sorrow, there is great company. Pain does this thing, where it makes you stop obsessing over the next moment or moments past, and it makes you feel RIGHT NOW, in all too real of a way. Sometimes it's okay to feel all the things, and when you find the pain subsiding, when you find yourself landing back on earth, right back where you belong, push at least a little harder to make something of your one and only precious life.
Here's an angsty little playlist that might make you feel at least some of the things on this rainy day. (Sorry, speaking to Southern California here...but if you're anywhere else in the Northern Hemisphere, I think your weather's even worse, so you've certainly earned it too.)
Lately I've been spending a lot of my thought time on the never-ending fascination with the people around me. It's obvious that I don't deserve my friends. They are creatives, humanitarians, business wizards, teachers, designers, community builders, artists, and most importantly, fascinating and brilliant humans who are passionate, full of depth, and tremendous goodness.
A lot of my work is an attempt to create messages that inspire and bring clarity to people. Without a doubt, much of that comes from the gems that I see around me, some on a mission to find and stop the bad guys, some focused on making love's message louder than any message of hate, some nurturing tiny human beings that will one day be a radical future, some building empires that empower others, some crafting things that make the world brighter, and others who spread goodness in all kinds of simple daily interactions with strangers who are often changed from those moments of magic.
This weekend some of us took a break from our work and all met in our most favorite playground-Baja, Mexico. As we sat staring at waves, side by side, I kept thinking about how the people around me are changing the world, mostly by encouraging each other, and then going out into the world to play their part, knowing the special beauty in how it will have to take all of us. Entering this holiday season, my heart is more than full, thankful for the rare and radical hearts that are relentless in their quest to fight for goodness in the world. Here are some photos of the gang's recent magic moments, late nights and early mornings, and also peeks into the work they've inspired. Best of all, below are links to some of their work, all of which I promise will inspire you in one way or another and point you toward more good things. There are so many more which I will have to include in a future post of this nature, but here's a starting place...
When I finally wrapped things up with my position at my last company at the end of August, I left for a three week journey in search of fresh perspective. I started with a week in Brooklyn visiting pals from college, sweet old friends from Scotland, and making new friends with strangers in coffee shops and book stores. Brooklyn was beautiful but hard. It was the first time in a long time that I wasn't going 100 mph, and was forced to slow down and be with my own thoughts for a prolonged time. I'd spend all day walking around by myself in the infamously thick, warm heat of summertime New York, wandering from coffee shops to parks, to book stores, and galleries. In the evening, I'd meet up with my darling friends for dinner and we'd laugh about all the inside jokes from seasons past that new friends can't understand, and finally caught up on what we struggle with and what we love about our current days. Remembering the old things, drawing pictures of the new things.
After a week of the sticky heat of Brooklyn, I flew off to Paris and joined up with 5 of my close friends to begin two weeks of shenanigans between Paris, San Sebastian, Versailles, Biarritz, and Barcelona. The best part was that we were together. The next best part was that we were there. We wandered, we marveled, we swam, we learned, we hooped, we hollered, we ate gelato, we read, we sang, we danced, we drank, we discovered, and we dreamt. But mostly we laughed. We laughed and laughed and laughed.
I've been back for almost two weeks now, and I'm already nostalgic about it all. But that's the thing, you leave these places but you never leave behind the things you see, the things you smell and feel, what it all sounds like, and how it changes you. All of those things become you in some way, and you become them.
I'm writing this now, from back home, sitting on the street in this dear neighborhood, North Park. A car passed by three minutes ago, with the goofiest puppy hanging it's head out the window. It smiled at me with its tongue hanging out, blissful as could be. Every ten minutes, the tree across the street is shedding its leaves. The bus is about to drive by and my ears are bracing themselves for the rambunctious chaos that'll bring. It's not Gaudi, and it's not Le Sacre Couer, but it's home, and it's better now, with all those things humming inside of me.
Most of all, I've been refreshed on how to be an explorer of the world; to look at it with hungry eyes, curious and unknowing. Being in new places, seeing different things, becomings friends with strangers, learning a different language and respecting a new culture, those things fill my being with wonder for the puppy, the tree, and the city bus in this current scene. Enchanted seeking even amidst home's familiarity.
Here are some of the things that moved me, the people that I'll share these memories with forever, and the places that now live inside of me...
Images from myself, Brittany Buchanan, Deborah Eriksson Perrin, Adam Finck & Dan Jones.
I realized that I spent a lot of time alone in July. Much of it was spent in the back of Aloha Sunday, in our collaborative workspace we've come to call Studio Tropicál. It's where I paint and ponder and write and write. It's made me think a lot about how the creating process can be lonely. I think we've established a pretty strong creative community around these parts, but inevitably when it boils down to it, art has the ability to isolate me from all the things I identify myself with...to make me stand alone in the middle of the room and state who I am and what I believe in enough to put out into the world. In a recent conversation with my friend Charlie, I started to think about whether creation was a lonely process for the original Creator. I don't have the answer, but the thought of what the Creator :: f e e l s :: does make my heart skip some beats. So as July and loads of dreamy shenanigans wrap up, that's what I leave you with...."We are the poems. Play to the end." The phrase "nous sommes les poemes" in French, means-we are the poems. "Al Fine," the focal point of this piece, is a musical term that I remember being yelled out by my piano teacher during lessons when I was a young girl. I'd be playing and all my attention would be focused on getting through a particularly grinding part of the composition...my entire body would lean in and my eyes were a few inches from the page. She would pull back my body and yell, "al fine!" which meant that I needed to start from the beginning of that section and play it again to the end. Lately it's reminding me that the lonely parts of creating will never go away...we'll have to play through them again, but to be true to yourself (sometimes the loneliest of things) is poetry, and we are to play to the end.
Last week was an enchanting blur of paint and magic. It involved Alt-J and Wild Belle on heavy rotation and some treasured company that got me through the later hours. Here's the soundtrack and some of those original pieces, most of which are still available for purchase. Email me at hellosuzylee@gmail.com if you'd like to inquire.
If I'm not posting on the blog very much, it's because a. I am spending all my time living my life, leaving little time for writing about it, but it will surely be followed by a writing season. It always is. And b. because of PROJECTS ON TOP OF PROJECTS ON TOP OF PROJECTS. I am overwhelmingly grateful for both of those things. Thank you a gajillion times over, to each of you who have commissioned me for custom pieces, invited me into your art shows, booked me for future projects, and let me essentially, draw on your walls. Life is full. This is some of what that has looked like...equal parts messy and magic. Come hang out this weekend on Friday's art show, or on Saturday night in North Park at Aloha Sunday, home of Studio Tropicál! Some of these new works will be on display.
Living in San Diego, we get summer a bit early here and let me tell you...it still couldn't come sooner. I adore this city and its sweet, perfect warmth. It's intoxicating and all I want to do is sit outside with a shaved ice and big sunnies, dreaming of tropical adventures...better yet...I want tropical adventures.
Recently, I've had the pleasure of working with lovely Emily from Ever After Press. Emily was actually one of the dreamy brides I got to work with when I lived in Scotland. Looking forward to many more projects with this brilliant girl. If you're a bride in England (or France!), take a gander at her work!
When I think of friends that make your heart swell, these two are very high on that list. THIS VIDEO SEALS THE DEAL.
The summertime heat has this intoxicating effect on me...half of the time the warmth makes me so sleepy that I'm kind of in this dreamy state, and the other half of the time the warmth tickles my back, and ignites adventure's fire inside of me, where all I want to do is put on torn up jean shorts and a baggy t-shirt and go exploring all day, and sleep under the stars at night.
I stood before You, aching to behold all of You...knowing that my humanity limited me...that the massive glory I beheld carried but only a small glimpse of You.