​Every adventure needs to budget for “The Idiot Tax™”. The Idiot Tax™ is incurred through ignorance and/or inattention to detail, and it is the cost of Wisdom™. Forms of payment accepted by The Idiot Tax™ are time, money, embarrassment, and nearly always anxiety and frustration. 

Four days into this trip, and The Idiot Tax™ has already been paid several times:

1. Two extra hours spent driving on I-95 on the first Saturday of Spring Break for New York and New Jersey.
2. Turning the wrong way down a one way street in a new city and getting honked at. Having out-of-state plates mollifies this slightly as it is an obvious sign of ignorance.
3. Leaving the mixed media sketchbook in the car and having to paint on the thin, curling pages of the travel journal.
4. Blisters earned from walking 8 miles in new Chacos.
5. Paying for parking twice. I went to the wrong parking garage, paid the lost ticket price when my ticket wasn’t recognized by the kiosk, and rather than checking I was in the right place, I searched for my car on every floor before realizing my mistake. I didn’t think to look at my original ticket for the address to the correct garage, so I wandered around in the heat for an extra hour, and when I finally found the right place, I had to pay the extended stay price.

The Idiot Tax™ is most likely to be compounded towards the end of the day, but the seeds are sown much earlier.

The Idiot Tax™ is different from dumbassery and instant karma because those are a result of doing something stupid when you know better. Speeding tickets are included in this category. So are bug bites when you know the midges come out at sunset and don’t bother to put on bug spray. The Idiot Tax™, however, cannot be avoided. Because of this, I have learned that the imposition of The Idiot Tax™ must not be allowed to spoil the entire experience. It is better to pay the price to learn the lesson and focus on what was good about the day.

Fifteen years ago, I was in Czechia with my sister. We took the train from Prague to Kutna Hora to see the Bone Church, a chapel that was completely decorated by a blind monk using the bones of plague victims. It was the first time we left the major cities, and also pre-smart phones, so when we lost our return train ticket, and got dumped on by a surprise rain storm, Emma lost her mind. That day, the price of The Idiot Tax™ was damp clothes, my sister’s rage (eventually mitigated by a sandwich), and a bus ticket back to Prague. While we waited for the bus by a grocery store at the edge of town, my sister stood at the opposite side of the stop and fumed, I stood shivering in the rain and marveled at seeing her throw a tantrum for the first time in 20 years. A Czech woman came to stand next to me and she quietly held her umbrella over me while we watched Emma eventually calm down. The bus ride took an extra two hours but showed us more of the countryside as the sun broke through the clouds and illuminated the lush green fields.

If you are lucky, The Idiot Tax™ gives you a great story to tell, but usually it is so mundane that no one really cares to hear about it except for the ones who love you most and who listen to your woes with half an ear when you call home. One can hope to pass on the wisdom gained through paying The Idiot Tax™, but most people need to pay their own Idiot Tax in order to get the full benefits. In my #WanderingAddison spreadsheet of income, expenses, and day-to-day logistics, I have a line item for The Idiot Tax™. As of this post, it’s up to $28. Seeing it makes me chuckle through the tears.
​

The story I like to tell is that a week after I graduated college, I came back to Fountain Valley School for Reunion Weekend, and they gave me a job. 

It was the middle of a recession and it seemed like a no-brainer to come back to my school for a year to work in the admission office while I started paying off student debt and I figured out how I was going use my Environmental Science and Creative Writing degrees. And, Admissions was the perfect first job. I got to travel, learn, coach, plan events, and award scholarships. Meanwhile, I made art. Art had always been a background character in my narrative and I would challenge myself to do 30-day drawing projects and The Brooklyn Art Library's traveling Sketchbook Project. I began to make intricate collages and delicate ceramic fish. I would do this for a few years while I figured out the next steps.

But this place has a way of getting it's hooks in me, and when the Studio Art position opened up for the first time in 30 years, I was ready for a new challenge. Those first teaching years, I was more student than teacher, so I had to hustle to reverse engineer an art degree, and I learned new techniques alongside my students. My skills grew, and I found myself doing my best imitation of my mentors. Over the past 9 years, this school has sent me to Iceland and Italy, I've instructed artists at the foot of Mt. Princeton, and swam Alcatraz three times. Additionally, Fountain Valley supported me in pursuing mentorships with professional illustrators and I started to find my voice. I never stopped being a student, even after more than a decade on payroll.

So it was bittersweet when I finally made the decision to resign from the Dream Job and search for the next classroom. 12 years of incredible growth and challenge have left me in need of a reset, and I don't know what is next. Maybe more of the same, maybe something totally different... but I'll wander for a year, and maybe I will find out.

If you are reading this, you are likely part of the group of family and friends upon whose hospitality I am likely to trespass. In advance, I love you all, and thank you! 

Back in October, I began the #socceringreenland challenge where I would do a painting a day until I reached 100. I gave myself the challenge because I wanted to see if I could fund a trip to Greenland by creating art that was based on my love of travel. The response has been encouraging and lovely, and I've been thrilled to be able to send so many pieces out to art lovers around the country.

But the true nature of the challenge has been a catharsis. The accountability to myself and this selfish pursuit has been like climbing a mountain. Each day I paint, I square up to my easel and place oil on canvas, every brush stroke like a step taken on a rocky path up a steep slope. No one told me to climb. Only my pride draws me towards the summit. 

As I write this, I've completed 86 paintings, and I'm struck by what a privilege it has been to be able to collect and record all of these moments, but also panicked by how many I have neglected to finish. I'm overwhelmed. When I hike, I am not good at pausing for longer than it takes to snap a photo. I'm so focused on the destination, and not tripping, that I miss out on being present. Completing these paintings is like reconnecting with a life I've forgotten I lived.

So, on February 28th, at 6 PM in the Bedford Gallery of the Art Barn at Fountain Valley School*, I'm giving myself permission to be finished. I invite you all to come and experience images from the past decade with me.

Hope to see you there!

-A

*The Opening will go from 6-8 pm on Friday, February 28th, and the show can be viewed in the Bedford Gallery through March.


​

Last September, I read an article about the national soccer tournament in Greenland which takes place over 6 days and is considered one of the most grueling tournaments in the world. The teams that qualify come from tiny towns scattered around the edges of the country, many of which cannot be accessed by roads, so a large fishing vessel will go from port to port, collecting the teams that qualify and bringing them to Sisimiut, where the tournament is held. The journey on the boat takes longer than the tournament itself. While Sisimiut boasts a turf field, there are no stands, so spectators sit along the edge of a tall cliff. Reading that article made it clear to me that I need to find a way to get to Greenland. I want to watch soccer from the side of a cliff!

My work has always heavily drawn from travel and the nature moments I get to experience almost daily as a teacher at Fountain Valley School. I have been fortunate that I have had the time and the means over the past 10 years to see some extraordinary vistas, both in the US and abroad. I'm eager to add a Greenlandic soccer game to my collection.

So, at the end of #Inktober, I decided to carry that momentum into a 100 day painting challenge. Every day, I would find at least an hour to complete a piece that showed something I've seen since I graduated from Washington University in St. Louis in May 2010. Commissioned work would not count towards my total. Armed with a stack of discarded canvases from my students, and the easel my grandmother gave me for my 11th birthday, I've diligently finished a piece every day since October 26th.

As of this post I've completed 32 paintings and will continue to post work and update this site once a week. If I stay on schedule, I should be finished with my challenge by the beginning of February, 2020. Let me know if you are inspired by my challenge to purchase a piece. Painting by painting, perhaps I'll be able to achieve my silly goal (no pun intended).

All poses were 20 minutes or fewer and done with nupastel.

I read a book in one sitting, today. 7 hours and 361 pages later, I had seen a story through climax and conclusion.  This used to be common for me and I'd burn through 30-50 novels a year. Now I'm pleased with myself if I get through 5. I don't think I read less... I just read shorter things: articles, recaps, editorials, etc.. There is also a lot more media vying for my attention. I subscribe to more than 70 YouTube channels and listen to 10 different weekly podcasts on topics ranging from science to dystopian noir. I like to think I'm reasonably cultured and I consume media that makes me an interesting person to talk to.

The thing is that I tend to do two or more of those things at once. I read blog posts while I watch Netflix. I listen to podcasts while I load the dishwasher, and I play web videos while I fall asleep.

But reading a novel requires more of me and my attention span has disintegrated. Sometimes, I hope that simply turning off my computer or leaving my phone in the other room will be enough to allow me to find the rhythm of reading, but my will is weak. The buzz of a new email or text too easily pulls me out of my fictional universe and the pages become cumbersome words rather than vivid scenes with complex characters.

Today, on a rare, rainy day in Colorado, I reunited with the narrative and felt my heart beat race and my muscles tense as I followed my protagonist through peril after peril. I feel a sense of accomplishment, but also fear because the book I finished was the second in a trilogy. I have the next one ready to go, but I worry that lightning can't strike twice, and that I've used my focus and willpower for the next few months. I also recognize that 8 hours of binge-reading is 8 hours that I'm not walking my dog, learning a new skill, exercising, folding laundry, catching up with friends...

When I envisioned my life as an adult, I never expected that I would feel anxiety or regret about a day of reading. Add this to the list of reasons why growing up is stupid.