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.)