Art or Hobby?

“Do you think we need hobbies?” I casually asked Vaimo as we sat on the couch that used to sit in my parents living room. “Speak for yourself” she replied, causing me to laugh. “It wasn’t a criticism!” I plea. I go on, “The internet suggests we should have a hobby that we don’t monetize for self-care." Back and forth we go on a Sunday where she’s setting a timer to try to write sections of a grant she’s got due soon and I’ve happened to catch her on a break. I had just pulled myself out of an Internet wormhole. Looking at record players in suitcases and convincing myself I needed one for my studio. This after giving up my search for another bluetooth speaker. Is this my hobby? Buying things I don’t need? No, no, that’s just American.

Interestingly enough I have a record player in the house. Vaimo and I picked it up off the side of the road during clean up week back when we lived in Moorhead. In between trucks rolling by with trailers, I had parallel parked our Ford 500 next to a junk pile and was wading through it when I came upon it, a mid-century Sears stereo cabinet. The top was water damaged but after convincing Vaimo (with no real evidence to back it up) I could rescue it she helped me load it into Gramps. And off we went. I messaged my Dad about ideas for how to restore the top and the sides and I purchased a handheld power sander and my first ever N95 mask to prevent dust inhalation. I found a stain to match and repaired the top of the cabinet after plugging it in and learning the radio still worked and the turntable rotated. Though, the record player was missing a needle. Easy enough I thought, I’ll fix it up. I have a strange level of confidence for a lot of things that I probably shouldn’t. I could chalk it up to being an elder millennial. Coming of age in the era of “you can do anything” messages…I took them to heart. But, this is also the mark of an artist. Known problem solvers, the kind of folk that find pleasure in challenges of our own making.

That cabinet renovation was in 2014 probably? Not sure it matters, because it still doesn't fully work. What I do know, is that we use the radio every once in a while. Mostly in winter sipping warm drinks and listening to Classical MPR. A friend even gave me a record to play once I replaced the needle. It took me a while to figure out how to get a new needle for this aging machine. There’s not exactly an audiophile brick-and-mortar to consult. So I took to the internet and found an online repair parts store. And it seemed easy enough, I could place an order based on the model number of my stereo cabinet and then once the needle arrived I’d watch a YouTube video on how to replace it. Finally, I would be able to listen to records and have the nightcap ritual of my dreams. I placed the order at an early phase of the pandemic. Probably my first mistake. But, how was I to know? I had found myself with some extra time at home and thought it might be romantic to play records with Vaimo during stay at home orders. I was very impressed with myself. “I ordered the replacement needle” I told her. But then, the record parts replacer cancelled my order and refunded my purchase. After emailing the merchant inquiring why, I was met with radio silence. I was devastated, and quickly catastrophizing. Why is life so hard? Why would someone put this stereo outside in the first place to get damaged? Why after all this work and carting it to our rural home does it still only somewhat work? Why is everything so difficult? Years into this project, having no way to know if I can ever play a record on it, my faith had been shaken.

In middle school, I would check out a record player from my private school library. In 1994, the record player for check out lived in a brown case with a handle (for easy transport!) And a hinge that popped open the case. At that time, I would also (please hold onto your hat because major nerd alert heading your way) check out a whale sounds record to play on my borrowed turntable. I would play that record over and over from the comfort of my own home. Even as my parents had their own record player probably - I think - if my memory serves me in a tall case connected to some pretty serious speakers. But I would be listening to the calls of humpback whales in my room with the door closed, for fun. I wish I could go back and hang out with that kid. That weirdo who checked out the record player for fun. Who probably never guessed that service would possibly go away. Have you ever heard whales speak to each other underwater? It’s kind of a moaning sound. Magical, otherworldly. Queer. I wonder if my Mama sighed every time she saw me on the curb with the record player. Like, not again. I don’t remember checking out any other records to play. All I know, is that I was obsessed with those whale sounds. And there was something about it spinning on the turntable that made it feel that much closer. Like the audio traveling through the vibration of the vinyl somehow was closer to the sensation of being underwater. Of being with the whales.

Life, of course, was difficult in its own way when I was in seventh grade. But unlike now, then I had access to a record player, a turntable with a needle that worked. A reliable machine that spun my vinyl whale sounds around and around and made sounds come out of the built-in speakers. I had forgotten about that whale record until I found that stereo cabinet and opened the top in wonder as it was surrounded by other discarded home goods. I time traveled right back to the awe I felt at thirteen opening the top of that hinged case with the turntable inside. I long to hear the touchdown of the needle on the vinyl, the fuzz until it grabs onto a line and begins to play the first song. And I’m kind of committed to the idea of that happening with my vintage stereo, but I’m also open to the idea that maybe I just need a modern record player in the meantime and I could set up a cute little listening corner in my studio. Maybe, just maybe, if I had the record player I could find my way back to painting in my studio. Maybe once I fulfill this obsession having gnawed away at me for years, I might finally be able to move on to the next one.

I have this habit of finding things on the side of the road and taking them home to “fix.” Recently, that would be a Montgomery Ward sewing table someone had put at the end of their dirt road, with my favorite sign on it: “FREE.” The top is kind of separating, but it’s totally functional. The only thing missing is the vintage sewing machine to hook into the pins and sit inside the cabinet. I spent most of my Monday dusting and washing it up to see if I could somehow set my modern sewing machine inside. It might be easier to find a Singer to set up in the cabinet than to rig it to accommodate my Janome which would require sawing a larger opening and installing a shelf inside to rest the machine on. Either way, I’ve hit another snag on what I assumed was going to be a quick and easy project. I guess what all this really means is that I’ll be hand stitching these multimedia pieces I’m working with instead of using my sewing table. And hey, maybe I don’t need a hobby after all. It seems like rescuing free furniture that needs to be fixed and then allowing them to collect dust for years as they provide a partial service is my idea of a good time. 

What I’m Reading

Make Your Art No Matter What: Moving Beyond Creative Hurdles, by Beth Pickens

If you are an artist and you are looking for a mentor in the form of an arts coach with training in psychology this book is for you. Pickens uses her experience as an artist coach to frame important and engaging chapters organized by main themes like markets, time, or community. Given she has an entire chapter on death, it is safe to say this artist self-help book is not your usual run-of-the-mill set of entrepreneurial advice. That she incorporates feminist and queer perspectives throughout is a welcome addition. Complete with journaling questions and homework, Pickens’ main theory is that artists need to make their work and she is here to help with the ways that we might get estranged from our purpose.

Artist Offerings

• A friend sent me this amazing article about LJ Roberts’ hand-sewn portrait work SWOON
• ​I had the opportunity to be in the same (zoom) room as Cecilia Cornejo Sotelo and learning about her project The Wandering House has brought me lots of joy
• On the theme of femininity and domesticity, this piece by Anne Helen Peterson on mother/daughter dress matching is good past is present food for thought.

Creative Ritual

I exhibited four paintings in Kansas for my residency show and had an amazing experience getting to know the other artists who all share a love of prairie ecosystems. After that whirlwind trip I have to admit I have been laying low. Lots of studio clean up time and in-between tidying I’ve found myself finding joy with thread. I completed embroidering lettering for a painting I finished as a gift for my Tía that may or may not become the beginning of a series I’m interested in exploring further. I have been focusing on home projects and rest during this autumn shedding of leaves season. I’m currently readying myself for a two week writing retreat, heading back to Kansas where I will do some deep revisions on a languishing manuscript about Kansas to be handed off to my editor by the end of this calendar year.

Questions to Ponder

What is your relationship between hobby and art?
Do you need a hobby?
What is the role of the hobby in the 21st century?
Whose hobbies count?

Thanks for journeying with me. I hope, as always, that you take what you need and leave the rest for someone else, or for another time. 

-KCF
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