A Good Read

My copy of this book by Alyson B. Stanfield arrived in March; I read it and ordered more copies for friends. This book is the reason I seemed almost organized at my art exhibits--invitations were mailed on time; my short artist's statement and business cards were on hand; there was even a guest book for visitors; I spoke to groups. Names and addresses are now close to being in a folder which will one day become data in my computer, and thank-you notes were sent. Until I read the book, blogging was just an often-heard word. Now I blog--I follow other blogs (and not just art blogs). Following blogs and the stock market is almost a full-time job.

Thanks to one of the suggestions in "I'd rather be in the studio," I actually left the comfort of home and looked at art last week. The Parsons-Bruce Art Association sets up an annual art exhibit at The Prizery, an historic tobacco warehouse, in South Boston VA--two floors of beautiful work by many talented artists.

I am grateful that I found this book. I considered mentioning it in an earlier blog but I only recently learned how to highlight words and add links. Hooray for old dogs learning new tricks!

End of Summer

The blue-tailed lizards (skinks) are abundant in southern Virginia--they like living under my back deck. I miss them during the winter.

"All clear; I think I'll catch some rays."

"Mom?"

The saying is:
If you see lizards you don't have black snakes--and if you see black snakes you don't have moccasins.
I am happy when I see skinks!

Playing with Crayons (Oil Pastels)

The Seer, oil pastel, 18x12, came from many parts of my brain, piles of magazines, and a big box of oil pastels.

For several weeks I have been looking through ten years of Art in America, cutting out photographs of paintings I admire--my choice was cut them up or be buried under them. I came across an intriguing 1970 painting by Picasso, Buste, from his Mosqueteros (Musketeers) and thought of the fun he must have had while painting--this might be my favorite Picasso work. It reminded me that art does not always have to be a serious undertaking; playing is a good way to learn.

The Seer began with a Time photograph of a soldier peering into a huge night vision machine. My work looks nothing like the photograph; I spent about 20 minutes looking at it, then closed the magazine--I remembered the green at the edge of the face. My Seer looks a bit like the X Files actor, and he has the bulging forehead vein I saw on a doctor's temple last month. When the Aztec appeared on his back, the Seer's hairstyle was changed to match. Is he looking into the future? I have no idea--the painting needed a vertical and something red.

The Seer looks nothing like the psychic my friend and I visited once a year--Mr. Whiz of G Street in Washington, D.C. He never peered into anything, sparks never came from his chest, and his predictions never made much sense. We visited other psychics, laughed, and swore we'd never spend another dime on something so stupid--but we did. My friend now thinks she's a psychic and was offended when her local police department declined her help in a murder case. I enjoy my off-plumb friends; they make me feel at home.

All these thoughts surfaced as I played with my beautiful wood box of 120 crayons (Sennelier oil pastels). Next week I hope to be using a new camera, a Canon G11, and I'll post a better photo--the G2 has served me well.

Some Paintings Surprise Even Me

At shows, the most frequently asked question is "Where do you get these ideas?" For On Track, oil pastel, 18x24, there was no plan. When I was running late for my Art Group at the Y, I grabbed this rabbit from his perch--he'd been sitting on a backyard fence for nine years, watching the real bunnies who come out to play (usually on Friday evenings). I used a twig to remove the dirt dauber nest from his bottom, blew off the leaves, and put him in the car.

I set him up on my card table at the Y and liked the results. The tough part was deciding what to do with a rabbit on wheels. I considered a rabbit hole (see dark on right side). I propped the drawing against the bedroom wall for a week--looking at it at least ten times a day. (In my sculpting days pieces of stone or wood sometimes lay on the kitchen counter for weeks--waiting for the Aha! moment.)

The colors and lines came first; then the title; then the idea of racing or being pulled towards death--all those wheels at the bottom of the cliff. I don't think of the painting as dark, just a part of life. My mom (with that Southern humor) said, "People are dying today who've never died before." Who can argue with that?

I sometimes enjoy surprise endings.

Hobnobbing Off the Main Roads

Tonight there was a celebration of regional artists--an annual Community Memorial Healthcenter Hospice Event. Six artists were featured: Shelly Hudson-Baker, Trey Eppes, Karolyn Hawthorne, Wayne Herrman, Debbie Vaughan, and Pam Wilkinson. The event was hosted by the 450-acre Rosemont Vineyard & Winery in LaCrosse VA.

I was invited by Friend A who said, "We will all need Hospice one day." She's right.

Since the vineyard is off the main roads, I printed a Google map and was confident until Friend B stopped by--she lives near the vineyard. She said, "That's the long way--take Route l, then Red Lawn, then 903, etc." I printed another map (which included a crooked Nellie Jones Road). These are narrow roads with beautiful scenes of pines, rolls of hay and tobacco fields--sometimes deer. After several U-turns and much laughter we arrived at Rosemont (36 miles = 65 minutes). I took the above photo from the parking lot--then posterized it.

For the return trip I selected "Take me home" on the GPS--it was the long way but required only one U-turn. I visited the website when I returned and looked at Rosemont's directions--the correct route is very simple. My route was memorable.

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.