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?
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Disaster Coverage
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6GYi1eqw5_dwNfQPrxTRqPERPTAeHrAVYoQUaQPbAuPhiGaHGZovask8Uv0xoQuYFhOTbsXUsT_z0wksF1u5mU_9UmxyIzKuBpftyE0Wr-MwRvfnxH5CtXQFZnzlgtPde8AJ0Xh52-fM/s400/haiti.jpg)
The vast darkness in Haiti
and brightly-lit reporters
drawing pictures with their hands
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 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.
Monday, January 11, 2010
This is Not Art
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikEcQFRh9uQSKKm-bhLqO-lTJ5SBpg2bsJgNZqncQCo309XnpH8rcsP5gICk5CpYOc8kdJyPMPaIoIkAaoTMchB3R0GCUFHRuRSP9DsRm-i26Xzwkze960Nfbt6ymGIvukQhDhn0ZbBr0/s400/scannedsquirrel.jpg)
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.)
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.)
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
The Poem, the Potato, Bronze Shoes, and Crocs
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu2yxp8NZa_iol700Diay-rHtbEzfKQB-sjKDrkWgDQhpnoRqjZmcmnWh0eu85ZU3xXoAwiURS-HHAetzW4MFLPMmhsePbWgu7oWkBQ8X1osW923ewbsZWDOzZraa3sQcsWCc_vFlbKVg/s400/potato1.jpg)
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdbZsv_ZIoQh5VJJsCIWQ8Sn2PJlvIwAjLBONTo1qe9CHN0_RjzoN7RyPfny7rz84XPzqllpDFm9vfAYxbqUiAPV1UIbDfGWqNnBgK6h4Mi1ktpDdozR_hZc5LGLOjBuxnIdZ7o7wR2Jk/s400/potato2.jpg)
Because my eyes were smiling, you didn't know I cried.
Because my feet were dancing, you didn't know I died.
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.![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWrxR7-Pmq5TptgwBBr5q-V8yhp_aguZnodp7MWkxhKo2ieWw5FHHAVJ9kyulMQzuaOFmgQVZ6KaGs0ll-TZueN4g_P-9kB122vx-HtNj7myjLc_ZvsDfTV5JbZMva-_vAtpk2W17i4Fs/s200/potato3.jpg)
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.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWrxR7-Pmq5TptgwBBr5q-V8yhp_aguZnodp7MWkxhKo2ieWw5FHHAVJ9kyulMQzuaOFmgQVZ6KaGs0ll-TZueN4g_P-9kB122vx-HtNj7myjLc_ZvsDfTV5JbZMva-_vAtpk2W17i4Fs/s200/potato3.jpg)
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.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7BCu1HQCC_NX1PjD67EiGE12UyAFsM0ocyUgfGDa210OIdPp8cKhZY21ukVJ2Wp5e2_B2Ja3z6bRu4jyVJ-Ma3_iX1yKpd3hp4EJZrrlz3i7674gxALVcWQnsqAAUgqQGkl-xybd_oZo/s200/potato4.jpg)
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Homage to Blog Friends
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSHd7-WOsge0UaNqPKmTrIErH0crhtlQdDpCVi4RNzerLWpRDhvC9bBod_tuXXE0Vq-d8qfQlwXP5g0eB063JpDkS5zS9CnWEBcDhANuOgsxwkVAU5epPS0sIKrXsJFFs7za64iFXJtYs/s400/homage.jpg)
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.)
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.)
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