the museum of self-importance

It is with great trepidation that I present (ta-DAH) my actual blog........! For some reason I've found it hard to believe anyone would find a website about ME worth spending regular time persuing. And even that statement seems egotistical (as humility often is). But I've secretly enjoyed so many of your postings, that I'm slowly being convinced maybe some of you might like mine. And for heaven's sake I've got to pry myself out of my hole and make contact with the rest of the world, or I'm going to curl up and be found behind the piano like a dried up little spider! I'll try not to bore anyone.

I've kept the name from my Etsy shop (instead of what I had long planned on, which is the title of this post, and which I will save for another blog of just my rantings), because although I plan on creating more of a journal than a showcase, I want to keep myself focused on what moves and inspires me, and on the elements from the world around me that become transformed alchemically into my environment and my art-work.

"Kika", by the way, was what my little brother called me when he was four and couldn't say "Erika", and was a nickname between me and my best friend Laurey (who was likewise caled "Lolay") in our youth. It didn't otherwise stick, which in retrospect is too bad! My dad laughed when he saw my Etsy site and told me this story: When I was born, he was a photographer on the Valley Times, and the society editor (who had a really great name herself, which I'll have to ask him about), said, "Oh, you'll have to call her Kika, she'll be so chic!" And my dad said, "Oh, no, we're just going to call her Erika!" Funny how fate works, isn't it?

So Kika is my alter ego: Erika wears the same damn three sundresses all summer; Kika has a different outfit everytime she leaves the house. Erika works as a scenic artist and dresses in Merrils, Carhardts and boys' Halloween t-shirts from Target (but you have to pay her dress like that!). Kika wears Anthropologie to work everyday, and never feels guilty having the service station check her oil and tire pressure for her (remember service stations?!). Erika is a recluse who almost never gets enough "alone-time" (well, she's also a mom, so that's a big issue, anyways); Kika keeps up with all her friends, and corresponds regularly with every artist, writer and otherwise interesting person she admires, or who take an interest in her. And Erika is opinionated, whereas Kika speaks her mind, but is always diplomatic........well, anyways, I try!

The word "Fancy" is one of my favourites. It seems the most common usage nowadays is slightly pejorative, like Mies van der Roh commenting on Louis Sullivan. Now I don't know if he ever did, but I'd be holding Mr Sullivan's coat. Even though I grew up in a Neutra (yes, I will occasionally name-drop). I like frou-frou and find the strictly utilitarian rather soul-less. Although I prefer Neutra to Frank Lloyd Wright, as far as liveability is concerned.......ok I'm falling astray here, and my argument is fraying. And this is going on too long.

I love frou-frou. Lipstick and earrings always improve my mood. I love Christmas deco (in season, people, in season!). I love the little strings of seed-balls the sycamores dangle all over themselves. I love pretty packaging. I love the Milky Way.

But I miss the usage of "fancy"s other meanings: to imagine ("She fancies she saw a ghost!!"), to want or desire ("I fancy a bacon-dog right now, and the guy I saw on his bike yesterday!"), or to be superior (fancy nuts!), or to have an interest or hobby (like my cousin the bird-fancier, as if birds needed to be any fancier........).

So, if you can string that altogether and fit it into one idea, that's how I named my shop.