When I was a kid, The Eleventh Hour was one of my favorite books. The illustrations stayed with me, even now as I page through the copy on my living room bookshelf. I remember The Twelve Dancing Princesses as well, a story whose mystery simultaneously entranced and scared me. I felt that same almost numinous sensation imagining how magical it would be to have an actual cat in our living room, walking alongside my feet. You know that look in a Pixar character's eyes when they widen in absolute awe? That feeling. Eventually, a tiny orange kitten named Mikie joined the family, and I was every bit as enchanted as I'd imagined.
The mystique remains accessible, even at 42. I opened my old pastel cases from high school recently and could've sworn I smelled that entire period of my life, still tucked away inside.
Funny how memories and phrases from kidhood and, well, anytime before now, keep finding their way into my day-to-day lately. Work hard, be nice was practically the Condit family slogan, echoed by my parents on the way to school every morning. And then, the other day, I met Harriet on my run, wearing those very words on her sweatshirt.
Full circle, without being a loop.
Over the last couple of months, I chose to invest in a few programs. One was an art business strategy platform that introduced me to a relatively new-ish trend: snail mail clubs. Actual, tangible, physical mail delivered via postw (gasp!). Another involved documentary filmmaking, and through communities on three different platforms, I've been discovering how taking small, focused steps each day can actually change the direction you're heading.
Patience and I have had a complicated relationship. But there's something to be said for letting things take the time they take. With the mail club, things started coming together almost as if the parts had already been made but just needed assembling. I'd never really understood or experienced how incrementalism can actually get you where you want to go faster until now.
Then again, it's a lot like motorcycling: slow is smooth, and smooth is fast.
Horace, the elephant in The Eleventh Hour, makes everyone wait until the last possible moment for his birthday feast. And here I am, all these years later, discovering that patience might actually be getting me somewhere. For once, things have come together without a last-minute scramble. A little bit, every day.
“In an age of speed, nothing could be more invigorating than going slow.” — Pico Iyer
Art makes me better. Helps me let go. The bear is what keeps me buoyant. The documentary work is why I have to.
Which brings me to Notes from the Great Bear, my new quarterly mail club. A watercolor bear bearing questionable wisdom, accompanied by a typewritten haiku, delivered to your actual mailbox. Something to keep, stick on your fridge, or pass along to someone who might need it. My goal? Bear mail, around the world. Bear mail, for everyone.
Thing is, I genuinely love painting these bears (and other characters). What started as an outlet became a kind of steadying practice, and now I've found another way to share them with all of you.
A refurbished typewriter also entered the picture, showing minor signs of a temperamental nature. So now I'm finally living my Moulin Rouge/Hemingway dream, along with watercolor bears and questionable witticisms.
Bear mail (what better thing to call it, amirite?) is another way to support my work as an artist while I continue developing two documentary films, each with its own learning curve and timeline. Whether you're here for the writing, the art, the documentaries, or some combination of the three, I'm glad you're along for the ride.
So, from your favorite one-woman show, thank you.
Hopping in the APS truck soon, so more from the field next post.
Want a little bear mail of your own or know someone who might?
Sign up here for the first mailing in December. 🐻💌
The bear awaits.
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