Broken Buckets

In nursery school, I learned a funny song about a man (Henry) who tells his wife (? implied by "dear Liza" and their mundane banter) that there's a hole in his bucket, then she admonishes him "so fix/mend it", therefore "with what?" As it goes back and forth repetitively, she advises him to plug the hole with straw. Well, the straw needs to be cut, the knife needs to be sharpened, the stone needs to be wet, and of course he should fetch water - with a bucket!

Easy to giggle at when you're little, but too many dilemmas in my adulthood, and the conversations I must have around them, seem to follow this pattern. Sure, it's possible to identify the problem, even the solution, and find a temporary backup or clever workaround when the most obvious answer isn't so readily available. But there comes a point, when one flawed thing is meant to fix another, then several steps more, or an issue could be almost irrelevant except for all the compounding factors that came before, where I've finally realized it's broken on a deeper level, seemingly beyond my ability to fix. However, trying to express this frustration to anyone else, openly asking for advice or help, puts me through the same tedious "song".

Most recently, this happened with the heating issues in my apartment during dead of winter. My bedroom got NO heat in a week of dangerously cold temperatures. The contradictory (yet most urgent!) needs were to coordinate staying elsewhere (with family or friends) for basic safety, while returning to completely reorganize my cramped room (in the cold) so they can test the oddly-placed pipes... and still get myself to work each morning. I learned to predict people's responses, tried cutting to the chase, but invariably got put through the cycle over and over. Yes it really IS that bad. I've worded it lightly, but I need shelter. Yes landlords must legally provide heat. Yes they ignored us too long. No I can't report them, since they finally tried to fix it, yet neglecting to coordinate properly and forgetting what an undertaking it would be. Complaining won't help or change the next steps. Yes, I have considered moving eventually, and it's complicated, but No that is not relevant to me staying warm tonight, so not the priority. Etc, etc, etc. I started to draft a cheat sheet, write an essay, or build a flow chart, itching for something I could just hand to anyone who asked further questions if they actually wanted to engage on the topic. Here, please read this first.

One of the toughest examples was when I worked at a not-fancy private school, first year as a full-time teacher. They meant well, were quite under-resourced, and I anticipated a rocky start, with enthusiasm to overcome... but ultimately had to acknowledge that it wasn't just one or two things to account for. Everything was adding up to an untenable situation. I'd been inadvertently set up for failure instead of success, was solving for scenarios every which way I could, kept rolling with the punches, as it continued snowballing into a pending disaster. Overloaded schedule, no replies to my emails requesting discussion, and offices closed before my classroom did. My only hope was the 15-min/wk meetings with a vice-principal, whom I thought to consult about the "broken bucket" conundrum. Perhaps she could provide a different perspective, at least become aware, and advocate for my more unusual ideas that would require administrative approval. Understandably, she started by suggesting the same first 4 "buckets" that I'd begun with... and scrapped months ago. Metaphorically, let's say I was on my 24th bucket, and had learned to quality-check before running back and forth with yet another, only to find it unusable. Where I desperately sought to engage more deeply, she got offended that I seemed ungrateful for her input, and squandered our remaining time telling me off instead of troubleshooting as a team. What I dreamed of was strategic transformation within or even a smooth transition out of the role, beneficial to all involved, and easily communicated to the hundreds of children we guided. Instead, once the glue dried on the students' last project, administration abruptly terminated my position with no plan whatsoever for Monday morning.

The heartbreaking part is that I can root out the issues, identify areas of brokenness or potential growth, take action personally or ask for support... and still watch something beautiful utterly crumble between my fingers, wither where it could have readily thrived, or exist only as a sliver of itself, and I'll spend years patiently waiting or perpetually wrestling, always left wondering what will become fully realized someday (hopefully for better, not a sub-par recreation).... or must be neglected and gradually fade away.

Most often, tragically and victoriously and inevitably, this cycle continues among my creative endeavors. You would think that fully independent projects would be solidly within my control, but there are numerous factors that have constrained them. Sometimes in ways that produced surprising and amazing innovation, others that continue to devastate and disappoint. Because I see now how easily they could be fixed, how close they are to fruition, that several systematic changes would pave a clear path forward... and yet another year goes by in uncertain limbo. Because I fight every day for an inch of progress, but there ARE real limits to what I can do alone.

I could pull numerous examples of "case studies" from years of being an independent/ freelance artist juggling multiple jobs and creative projects. Perhaps a good place to start, and show the inter-connectedness of it all, would be with my "noveling endeavors". From a young age, I loved to read and daydream a plethora of fantastical stories, eventually shaping them into characters & concepts for my own books. While sometimes writing down scenes and scraps of dialogue in notebooks, most of the development happened in my head, and I could describe it all verbally. At some point I started trying to type them out, so they would tangibly exist for myself and others to engage with, and ultimately aspired to publish... but got stuck on the expectation that my document should be just like the books I read, every word carefully curated. After an hour, I'd be lucky to have a (severely over-edited) paragraph, and still didn't feel it was doing my story justice. Well I started keeping them as docs on the computer, until one particularly began to solidify, and formed a trick to get past creative block... instead of telling myself I had to write a lot, I'd just push past the next page break. Since the page was already in progress from before, that might only be a couple paragraphs away, and voila -- a small victory! Once I got started though, it usually didn't stop there. I'd been pulled into the action, and wanted to see it through, so soon there was another page or two!

When I heard about National Novel Writing Month, where writers will challenge themselves to complete an entire (draft of a) book in November, this sounded both thrilling and intimidating. Before committing, I tried out the idea. Not with the full 50,000-word challenge, but making sure to sit down with that existing doc to write something every day for a month. Pleased with the results, I committed to doing it "officially" the next year. While finding a way past the roadblocks in my creative process, I was addressing the professional obstacles too. I had been researching the pitch process, and though it starts with a query letter and first chapter, realized fictional books needed to be finished before a major publisher would take interest, and mine perpetually were not. Instead, I began seeking and submitting excerpts of that story to work-in-progress grants, with the hopes of earning the financial backing to complete it/them. Because over time, the systematic problems were shifting. As my writing improved and creative skills were honed, resources of time and sustainability depleted. No longer a student supported by family, trying to make it as a freelance artist with various jobs & responsibilities, I struggled to secure a consistent enough work flow to make ends meet in a practical way. Just to survive, and somehow keep my spirit alive. That first November of officially doing NaNoWriMo, I was under-employed enough to channel much of my energy artistically, and pulled off a fantastic hybrid project. Writing month had coincided with a comics-themed group gallery show, so I chose an active story idea that was "supposed to" be drawn in panels and wrote it as prose, "adapting my non-existent comic into a non-existent novel" while simultaneously turning the concept into an interactive installation/live experience. So many shortcuts that became part of the fun (an empty coat hanger labeled "Invisibility Cloak", a plastic tray was "Out of Order: Teleportation Circle" and unique finesses -- like drawing gallery visitors as Honored Heroes and Wanted Villains, that all came together wonderfully.

Like my writing practice, having become fully entrenched in its worldview, I was on a roll now! Ready to polish parts of the display that felt uneven, to follow up swiftly with another much-needed month of book edits. If this had happened, I'm convinced it might have finally been ready to pitch in a bigger way... or at least I'd have carried it several steps further in revisions. However, having already far surpassed my limits on making unfunded art while unsupported and lacking any safety net, my focus had to shift back to job searching in a major way, and sadly the project fell dormant again. Well, not entirely...

Even that round had been a revival of the concept. There are numerous threads of its evolution I keep pulling on - and from - ever since. It started me on this commitment to an annual goal, then adding other challenges, or revisiting them in fresh ways. So many connect-the-dots to good things, and art that stays active today. But over and over, so much loss, fruitfulness dying on the vine, becoming backlogged and joining the rest of these ambitious endeavors that I was eager to enact, and had to sorrowfully stamp out. Pieces of an incomplete puzzle, that I keep being told to simply throw away, as if that'll make me any happier. A pile of broken buckets that I'm ready to repair, if only someone would take a daringly unconventional - but often ridiculously easy - chance on helping me get there.

Because that's what I'm left with. Doing my best, but always one step away. For all the "foolishness" of my noveling without a proper support structure while tangibly struggling, it taught me too well how to take advantage of the small moments. My 4-min bathroom break in which I could write a scrap of dialogue got repurposed to bookmark a few more job listings. Subway rides without internet reception were the perfect opportunities for novel scenes and notes, but are just as easily used for drafting cover letters and dynamic to-do lists. I still sneak in moments sketching and storytelling in between, except relegated to smaller and smaller spaces.

Earlier this year, I was working at a thrift store, that only paid me 3/4 of what I needed per day. So the remaining time was sadly spent looking for work to supplement or replace it. Even though I enjoyed how friendly everyone was, how inspiring to be around all the unique clothes & objects, wished to lean into that for a season... it took awhile to even fulfill my small goal of carrying a slim sketchbook in my purse to unwind on the ride home. However, if someone had handed me $40 extra for every day worked there, I'd spend evenings making fashion designs into a portfolio of illustrations, upcycling broken jewelry & damaged dresses, try turning that sketchbook into a webcomic, offering the store free art services as I practice signage, stylish decals or interior design (dressing rooms could use a spruce-up), and so much more. Most of that HAD to stay in my head, while I stressed about affording $11-$30 shoes that looked presentable for next interviews. I'm still holding a small bag of discarded scarves hoping to be accessorized, predicting it will be months before I can reasonably prioritize, if ever at all. When people wonder why I keep "so much stuff" around, usually these are the remnants of my dreams. Ones that were possible yet sorely impossible in their time, could be rekindled under the right circumstances, from an ember of hope in my heart that I can't quite crush. With what shall I fix it?

If that one garnered your sympathy, if you feel moved to step up and help activate the arts today, keep in mind - that's actually the least important of my projects. Pitiable because being "only for fun" means it's unlikely to actually come true. Others are just as personal & creatively desirable, while more urgent & strategic as well. Even tonight, I prepare for tomorrow's comic con in a cafe, where I'll be doing a zine workshop, and find myself still making or remaking the tools I "should" have on hand already. Despite the shortage of time, and overabundance of opportunities for one one more last dealbreaker of an art piece or template page or promotion or initiative, I can't give up the chance for this challenge either. Not after drafting it during the in-betweens and blizzards all week. And as I re-read this essay, it seems there are areas that should be cut or clarified, bits of the story that could be told more boldly, would convince you of my plight, inspire cheers for small victories, and highlight the many hopes that hang on by a thread. But like all the other broken buckets, don't have time for perfecting it either. Running again, trying again, letting it flow imperfectly together.