Tag Archives: the power of stories
Glue Book Binge
It’s hot here in Kansas, really hot, so the garden’s on its own and I’ve been holed up in my lovely cool basement studio gluing away. Every few days I venture out to buy a fresh bottle of rubber cement. but other than going to my (night) Day Job as a emergency services crisis therapist, much of the rest of my waking life in is spent binge watching Burn Notice and NCIS Los Angeles episodes while I glue away.
I would SAY I am also mulling ideas for the art-based Compassion Fatigue workshop I am developing for the staff at my agency, but mostly I just like to glue.
There’s something very satisfying about digging through my stash of images, playing with color, layout and theme. The spreads always end up telling a story, even if I have no idea what that will be when I face a fresh page.
For this round I am working on two books simultaneously. One has lots of vibrant happy color, and the other is mostly white and tends toward simple and zen.
Glue Books 1-4 had a mixture of both types of page, and I decided to separate them out this time around. It makes for smoother transitions between pages. I page through the color book when I am needing a jolt of energy, and the other when I need to relax. As I work, I am playing with how I might teach this strategy for self care to my colleagues, because I know this immersion in imagery and narrative has been very healing for me.
Sometimes A Girl Just Has to Glue
When I was a kid, t
here was nothing more thrilling than getting new school supplies in the fall. On a recent glue-booking binge, I found a bright Target ad in my image stash that became the basis for this two page glue book spread. It came together quickly, and the whole time I was remembering that intoxicating smell of endless possibility that came with a new box of crayons…
What are the scents that evoke childhood for you?
Talk About the Power of Stories
While I’ve participated in my share of Write-Your-Own-Obituary exercises in the interest of becoming less phobic about death in my clinical work, Emily Phillips has got mi
ne beat by a mile. This lady knew how to tell her story, and how to be remembered now that she is gone. May we all have lives lived as richly as this.
Now you’ll have to forgive me the short post, but I’m off to ponder who might merit posthumous public apologies when it comes time write my own. You likely already know if you’re on my list.

