Not Quite a Series

A, conte on dictionary page, 9x14

Many artists work in series--a good thing. I attempted it once in 2006. I bought an old dictionary from the thrift shop. With conte pencils, I drew a woman on one of the pages--then I noticed the stitches and painstakingly dissembled the book. That's when the arm was added, then the crow. The hand is small (in palm reading, small hands mean big ideas). I sprayed the drawing with fixative; then attached it to a backing, had it matted and framed--and I bought additional mats for future drawings in the series.

In a box, there are ironed dictionary pages, waiting for four years now, to become "B."

I like the randomness of the illustrations on the page, and it's fun to read the meanings of the words and try to match them to my drawing. My neighbors and I actually noticed a resemblance to someone we know--scary.

No Time in the Workshop

SOVA Scream, digital photo

While photographing the snow earlier today, I noticed this ready-made--my hat atop a folding clothes rack. Photo OP! I removed the background and cloned the light bulb.

Looking at seven inches of snow from the upstairs' bathroom window, I realized the short walk to the workshop would require boots! (It's the second building on the left; the first is a small guest house.) Everything is white, including our red tin roof. The lake, though, is mud-colored.


Not a great week; my husband had back surgery on Monday--we left the house at 5:45 AM-- and he came home on Tuesday. I have not turned into Nurse Ratched yet; I prepared for this by ordering watercolor sticks and I've been playing in the house. I also experimented with walnut ink (matches my floor) and a walnut stick. What's the advantage of a walnut stick over a pick-up stick and a q tip?


Nice things happened, too. Our next-door neighbor brought chili, cornbread and cookies this morning and there was a sweet potato pie tied to my front door knob yesterday. Does Botero need an older zaftig model?

Disaster Coverage

Coverage, acrylic on linen, 24x18

The vast darkness in Haiti
and brightly-lit reporters
drawing pictures with their hands

The black tee-shirted reporter blended into the background of tall dark trees and sky; only his head, neck, and hands were visible. The movements were jerky--like an old-time movie. I couldn't stop watching.

This is not a portrait; it is, however, the image that stayed with me. The hands are mine--the crooked little finger was broken and pinned in 1964. Building art from parts.

This is hard to photograph; the only black in the actual painting is the tee shirt. The sky is dark blue; the trees raw umber with sap green. I should probably read the book that came with the camera.

This is Not Art

The Squirrel Jumped over the Moon

My dog Willie, a bichon, spent time alone in our fenced-in front yard yesterday. I was pleased because he won't stay out for long unless we accompany him--not fun in this unusually cold weather.

When I opened the door he came running in with what I thought was one of his toys--it wasn't. I told him to drop it--he did--on my living room floor--with a clumping sound. It was a frozen dead squirrel.

After locking Willie in the computer room, I jumped around (not high) saying "ew--ew--ew" and looked at the eyes--no blinking. The camera came out because my husband probably would not have believed it; after the photo shoot I picked the squirrel up by the tail and disposed of him.

His relatives have benefited from his demise; all my Christmas nuts have been thrown into the yard along with sunflower seeds, raisins, and pieces of apple. For a while I considered putting some old towels and socks outside to provide animal shelter--what would the neighbors think?

I had a pet squirrel named Whisko when I was young (and a pet calf named Pansy, and a bird, and a rabbit, and lots of cats & dogs). I believe all the animals (including snakes) are here for a purpose; they do much less harm than humans. Thankfully, the weather has warmed a bit.

After reading Kathy's blog "Is It Art?," this, I thought, was appropriate followup . (I suspect that inkblot is a drawing by Klimt--not a Rorschach test.)

The Poem, the Potato, Bronze Shoes, and Crocs

First, the poem--read in the eighties--it was on the upper right-hand page of a book or read in a dream (that happens). Googling the lines has not helped; hopefully someone else saw it:

Because my eyes were smiling, you didn't know I cried.
Because my feet were dancing, you didn't know I died.

So far there are two sketches; the first using a very loose armature of the rectangle; for the second I used Corel to draw the rectangle and printed it on regular copy paper (added a bit of water to the pencil--made it crinkly). I usually paint without a real plan so these may not resemble the finished painting-- if it becomes reality.

All the sweet potatoes at the grocery store have been studied, and the bronze shoes came from my plumber's yard sale seven years ago. I don't have a Saarinen side table, but I have one of his chairs.


It was almost part of a series--Me and My Chairs. Wearing just my uniform white socks and black Croc sandals, I'd hold my chairs upside-down--Saarinen, Eames, Wegner, the Siesta Chair and a Morris Chair (and borrow other moderns from my brother). Maybe one day.

Homage to Blog Friends

Abstract ponies and Cats who talk-
Fractured eggs and Patterns to walk-
Serene oval trees invite sitting under-

Expressive masks make you wonder.

These internet friends work in series style--something I've not tried; I learn from them. Thanks for the lessons!

(I missed one artist when I was on a roll--
a metalworker whose series has Stones with soul.)

The New Year and Old Habits

Which End Is Up? wood, 2005

For the past six months I have found and followed blogs of wonderful artists who are very organized--a real learning experience. During the past week most have posted their resolutions. After reading and thinking about so many great plans I have no idea which end is up.

As is my custom, I will prepare my Mark Bittman (the Minimalist) black-eyed pea and collard greens soup, eat it on New Year's Day, and hope for luck.

This torso was lying in the street five years ago. My friend Lamar helped me load it into my car; then we hid it behind my workshop. The fungi was beautiful; I made three trips up the ladder with the camera; then stitched the photos together. When she was wormy I walked her to the woods in back; she returned to the earth.

Christmas 2009

Peace, alkyd, 12x12

Two friends passed away during this Season--one was buried on the 16th and the other on Christmas Eve; I had known them since childhood.

Parties, decorations. and gifts are nice but friends, families, and memories keep you warm. I made it though my annual chaotic breakfast (egg-making is now assigned to a friend) and am looking forward to the new year.

This painting from 2008 is a scene from nearby Cedar Grove Plantation. My art group was impressed with the beautiful house; I've always loved being alone in the woods. The sun touched the handmade cross while I was standing near the cemetery. A friend, who's from this area, bought the painting and told me she treasures it--I am honored.

Happy Holidays

It's that time of year.

Here in SOVA, we were fortunate--only about 2 inches of snow. Today I hung my hubcap wreaths and found the extension cord for the bird bath heater. A sore throat and runny nose has put me further behind schedule than usual.

Being sick gave me an excuse to take it easy and read a book. I chose A FINE DISREGARD--WHAT MAKES MODERN ART MODERN by Kirk Varnedoe, who was at MOMA--it had been on the bookshelf for two years. I was surprised to learn that many of the artists I like are considered modern--I don't know movements and isms. There was mention of a small book entitled Flatland by A. Square, which intrigues me. I have no talent for teaching so the ideas just enter my head and rattle around. It is a great book and, like all books, leads to more questions.

I feel better; now I need to set up the guest house--my son will arrive Wednesday; clean and decorate the house (I am a minimalist); find and wrap the gifts I bought during the year; and prepare for the annual Christmas breakfast (my favorite was when I dropped the dozen uncooked scrambled eggs on the floor, the wall and on me).

January may be my favorite month.

Symbols

Now Is the Time, 2004, mixed media, 24x30

Studying hieroglyphs from the back of the dictionary when I was young or looking at cave drawings--I've always loved symbols. Learning shorthand was no different; I was fascinated and sometimes created my own. And I was fast--my teacher even suggested I write a textbook. This is shorthand for Now Is the Time (at least, it's my way of writing it). I always thought it was beautiful.

This wonderful brown linen mat with a white rectangle holding a Degas print was found at an auction for $8; the frame had obviously been removed. My plan was to take it apart and use it as a template. Instead, it became part of the art--I covered the print with modeling paste and gesso; then used acrylics and copper shavings for the painting.

Some have seen a rabbit, some have seen a puppy, another saw a bong! I see a symbol--shorthand is probably a lost art.

Now is the time for me to get moving for the Holidays. So far, I've done only one thing--ordered my fruitcake from the Monastery Bakery. Yes, fruitcake with lime jello is my favorite Christmas dessert!