A Walk on the Arty Side of Town

During walks on my side of town, Willie waters all the mailbox posts and I check out the neighborhood--there are space-ship shaped mushrooms, an occasional snake, and weird-looking bugs. I have watched a neighbor's weed grow all summer--it's off the front porch and has reached roof height. One tall, arty-looking weed in a beautiful yard--it must be a statement. Maybe it says "I almost conform." From the street, the weed is beautifully framed by a hanging pine bough--today I used my camera.

I don't know the name of the weed--the bottom leaves are at least 12 inches wide and they have great veins. Several years ago I used some leaves to print onto watercolor paper; then I painted with acrylics. I named it Turmoil, 28x20.

It's nice living on the arty side--neighbors liked my red-ribboned hubcaps posing as Christmas wreaths, and no one has mentioned our missing shutter (it's behind the holly bushes, and those things attack).

Fun with Self Portraits

A very early sketch from my sculpting days--the 70's suburban mother-wife-Fed employee-sculptor with the station wagon.

Looking in the mirror, ca 2001.

Put your chin right there (after an ophthalmologist appointment) 2002.

Pineal Pansies, Bane of Astro-travel, (from a Polaroid shot up my nose) 2003.

Rage--I'm hanging myself but holding a barbed-wire whip, 2004.

Faux Orchid--I sat in front of a mirror for hours (living in an apartment while our house was being renovated--nine months with no digital camera available) 2005.

Eye on the table--a manipulated digital photo with my new toy (a magnifier used to enlarge early TV screens) 2007.

Ideating (a "yield" or "slow" sign appeared on my cheek; I left it) photo from 2007, painted in 2009.

In person I appear normal in my well-worn, paint-spattered denim shirts--boring! The next self portrait? I think I'll be looking at a map of heaven and hell--contemplating future travel. I hope to finish the painting before I make the trip (sometimes it's years between planning a painting and actuallly getting it done).

Drawing and Discovering

The Holly Springs art exhibit was taken down on Monday and I returned my favorite drawing to its owner--a neighbor who has bought three of my works. Nose to the Lens, white conte on black paper, is sort of a self-portrait; I would not do this to anyone else. I set the camera on the kitchen windowsill, leaned on the counter (my favorite bird-watching stance) and put my nose to the lens--in the sunlight! Every wrinkle is high-lighted and I added some for good measure; the eyes are not quite aligned as they watch, the nose bulbous, the eyebrows extra-long, the hair fly-away. I took many liberties and totally enjoyed doing this.

I also made a discovery. As I looked over my glasses at one of the stray strands of my colorless hair (used to be a redhead) I realized that, in sunlight, each strand contains the whole spectrum. The colors run across the hair--not up and down the strand! Amazing! Why didn't I know that? What happens to all the things I've learned when I die? Is there a giant data base someplace? What other amazing things are right under our noses--if we just take the time to look?

(Why has no one commissioned me to do their portrait?)

Elvis P Hound

Hunting is popular here in southern Virginia and many hunters take great care of their dogs. Some, however, leave their dogs behind when the season is over; some dogs who don't perform well or are injured are simply abandoned. That's how I found Elvis--or Elvis found me. In 1999 there was no local SPCA and no leash law when I saw Elvis limping down our main street. When he showed up on my side of town, I offered a piece of chicken and a front porch glider with a blanket--he shyly accepted. When my neighbor (who has since moved) said she was calling the dog catcher, I adopted him, sent out announcements, took him to the vet for shots (the limp was due to a broken leg that had not been set), bought a collar and tags, and had him neutered. Our bichon, Daisy, reluctantly accepted him.

Elvis provided us with great stories. During the following year or so, he sang at the back door for his food, learned to retrieve a ball (not run from it), unlearned some of his survival skills, slept next to the bed (he had a terrible gas problem), claimed the Morris chair, rolled in fish guts, enjoyed rides in my old Cherokee so much he wanted to ride in everyone's car or get aboard their boat. When the neighbor who threatened to call the dog catcher opened the door to her new Mercedes to show off the interior, Elvis checked it out. He had ear infections, came home with the skin scraped from the pads of his feet, stole Halloween decorations, de-tasseled my husband's loafers, jumped into open car windows to nap on back seats, and had a positive reading on his heartworm test. (A definitive test was negative.) The alpha dogs bullied him, the neighbor's cats made him scream with terror, and he needed space to run--when he ran, he was beautiful; when he walked, he was stiff-legged and very slow.

Kind-hearted neighbors who had recently moved to the country adopted him; Elvis rode in my '87 Cherokee to his new home in an adjoining county (a sad trip for me). For seven years he and his buddy, Corky (a beagle with a bad leg), enjoyed an idyllic life on about forty acres. I got reports on his well-being and visited several times. On Saturday Elvis did not come home. On Sunday his family found him under the back deck; they saw a wound on his right hind leg and thought it was a snake bite. The vet said it was a .22; someone shot Elvis and the bullet shattered the bone. He is on antibiotics. If he makes it, his running days are over--he is probably close to ten years old.

I don't believe we'll ever know why he was shot or by whom. I do believe that, if God does not forget one of his sparrows, He surely knows what happens to His hounds.

We now have an SPCA; Elvis was my model for the Christmas cards above (2002 & 2003). I drew them, printed them, and sold them--all money went to the SPCA; I put him on their first T shirt design and he's still on their letterhead. The Lake Country SPCA has dedicated volunteers and little money; many dogs (not all are hunting dogs) and cats are waiting for adoption.

Anyplace is Studio Space

I borrowed this painting, Jabor's Tomatoes, acrylic 11x14, from the owners; it's hanging at the Holly Springs NC Cultural Center exhibit. The Art After Dark reception is Friday 6 to 8 p.m.; the exhibit will hang until the end of August.

In 2004/2005 our house was gutted and remodeled--from the dirt to the rafters. My husband stayed in our tiny guest house; I rented an apartment up the street and furnished it sparsely--two Morris chairs in the living room held my files; and, in the kitchen, I had a desk, one folding outdoor teak chair, a daylight lamp and a used three-foot tall step ladder (for changing bulbs). There was no TV and the cell phone was used infrequently--calls were too expensive at the time.

I placed three tomatoes (from a friend's garden) in a 75-cent leather-handled wooden bowl, set it on the chair, set up the lighting, put my palette on the desk and I sat atop the ladder--all night! I painted from 10 p.m. to 8 a.m., took a nap, and resumed painting. I completed it in about 24 hours; I relish the memory.

The bowl went with the painting (I insisted); when I saw it last it was filled with clementines--what a nice painting that would make.

End of a Dream

For years I had a recurring dream of climbing and climbing; access to the next level was always blocked--by a locked gate or a door.

This depicts one of those dreams--I am here.....often, oil pastel, 18x12. In this dream, upon reaching the landing, there is no way to open the door without knocking myself off. The "you-are-here" red dot on the stairs represents me. From there the perspective is of looking up at the roof--or looking down at the flowerpots; reaching for the knob left handprints on the door.

I have not had the dream since I finished the painting. I don't think the painting was the cure; I believe that by ignoring non-essentials--everyday housework, gardening (weeds are okay), etc.--art became a priority in my life and doors opened. It took many years to make this choice; now I claim my art time each day. Occasionally, the house gets cleaned and weeds get pulled.

This painting is part of my exhibit at the Holly Springs NC Cultural Center August 3 to 31.

Something's in Retrograde

Today our Congressman, Democrat Tom Perriello, visited MacCallum More Museum and Gardens in Chase City VA. I showed up at 2:30 and learned that the Congressman had arrived early and had already toured the museum and my art exhibit--he actually signed the guest book. I had met him when he was campaigning but did not see him today. I talked with some interesting people walking through the exhibit--tomorrow it will come down.

Perhaps one of my planets is in retrograde because I did not see my favorite friend at the Gardens today, either. I have checked on this little guy for two months--he's not blind, he's changing colors. Last week, most of the green had disappeared. I heard him today but there was no photo op--maybe he's not a Democrat.

I'm not sitting under the apple tree

Several years ago I planned to sit under the apple tree and paint a branch laden with fruit--I changed my mind when I actually walked under the tree. I had seen squirrels scurrying up trees with apples and birds pecking at them on the ground; I had forgotten about insects. My en plein aire painting became an en-workshop broken branch painting--Apples on a Dropcloth, acrylic on linen/duck/canvas, 24x30--a neighbor bought it.

Always wait for these apples to turn red before eating (I learned through experience).

New Painting (maybe)

This is a drawing from February 2004, and I don't need to check my journal to know that it was made during a particularly trying time. The drawing has been hanging on a clipboard for five years; now it is the basis for a painting. I always feel that the intensity gets lost the second time around. Perhaps it's the right brain/left brain thing--one feels, the other copies--so the painting is quite different (and it might get trashed). No title yet but I'm thinking "the sapper," lurid colors, and lots of paint; I've worked on it for several days.

The drawing was inspired by an iron "jack" I bought at auction for $4 (I've been told it's a tank baffle, so my street will be safe when the tanks roll in). It sat in my MD yard for several years until I realized it was a perfect bird bath base! My neighbors then approved and wanted one just like it. I moved it here to VA, painted it red to match my tin roof, and it sits outside the kitchen window--I enjoy watching the birds bathe--brown thrashers, robins, cardinals, chickadees, juncos, mockingbirds; occassionally, bluebirds.

In my workshop are three nests which fell from the maple trees--I can't seem to part with them--filled them with egg-shaped stones once and used them as a centerpiece. Nature amazes and provides.

The red stop sign in the drawing? I dropped my marker and needed to cover the spot. There are no accidents.

Nine-foot Snake!

Living near the lake, seeing snakes is not unusual. This sighting is: A nine-foot astrological diamond-back copperhead cottonmouth with golden fangs. The snake is on my back porch.

As I returned from my arrowhead search along the shore he said: "Why are you bringing that stick home?"

I said: "It's not a stick--it's a snake."

He said: "Well, put it away."

That's how things end up in my workshop--the snake has been in the corner for five years.

The golden fangs? I finally found a use for my old gold crowns-- ca. 1970. Copper shavings from my staircase railing (2005) cover his head.