No artwork to attach as of yet for the day, but rather some early morning (at least here in California) food for thought. We watch CBS Sunday Morning every week. Today’s episode was about the future. Interesting stories about past World Fair exhibits, what was predicted and envisioned , and what actually came into being. Jules Verne and how he inspired scientists as children, an amazing story about 3-D printing, where not only are plastics formed to make objects, but human tissue recreation. What struck me the most however, and then led to an entirely 6 degrees of separation train of thought, was how we as humans and our DNA have evolved. In particular how technology and its evolution doesn’t require us to use our brains as much.  In a small way I see this in my own life. I know the phone number of each and every friend I have, as well as those of my family. The idea of that seems to be beyond the comprehension of my twenty-two year old son. (“Get to the point”, my inner “Don’t be the long-winded old lady type”, is screaming.)  So here it is…. As we get further and further into technology what do we lose? My son had barely, if any attention paid to penmanship in school. He has a horrible signature (sorry Brian), and rarely puts anything on paper. Notes are typed into his phone, I am sure the thought of writing a hand written letter would seem absurd to him, and many of his “friendships” are over a game console during an internet session of what ever the latest video craze is. Don’t get me wrong, I love the idea of connecting with people from around the world. That in part is why I started this blog, to put myself out there, but what I fear losing, or even worse, what this younger spoon-fed on the internet generation won’t even know to miss, is a little old-fashioned sentimental humanity. This blog is about my life and art. In my struggles top find my artistic identity, and to get past the a fore mentioned “not good enough” voice that resides in my head, I have used particular tools on the computer to help myself. I have taken photographs that I would like to paint and put a filter on them. Not to use for any other purpose than to blur the lines, to help me get over my artistic perfection chip, but often when I look at these printed copies I realize that with say a paint filter, how easy it is to manipulate something and call it art, virtually no skill required.

This is where my six degrees comes in. As I was cooking breakfast I looked at a block of wood that sits in my kitchen on top of the microwave. It is a scrap off a two x four piece of wood that has a nail driven through it, with the words “RAY FISH SKINNER” written on it. It was my mother’s. She made this odd tool after she severely cut her hand trying to make fish for my dad. I rarely make fish, and certainly don’t ever envision myself skinning a Ray or any other fish, but it’s the words written on it in my mother’s handwriting that make it so valuable to me. This is where I worry about the loss of human connection. I have hand written hundreds of notes and love letters to my husband in the last twenty-seven years. They are not typed, they are written in my hand writing, and I hope some day that will mean something to my children. As for art, I have seen countless books and photos of art, I have quite a collection of art books, and have always loved looking through them. Then I went to Paris, I went to the Louvre, I went to Musee d’Orsay, and visited both Versailles and Giverny. Here in the U.S., I have been to the Art Institute of Chicago, the Getty in L.A., the Museum of Art in Milwaukee, the list could go on and on. What struck me at all of them is that until you see the paintings of the waterlilies, and Van Gogh’s Iris, and the countless other spectacular works of art in person, until you see the brushstrokes and see the three-dimensional thickness of the paint, and the real life color, you haven’t really experienced the paintings. My children could have photos of my art, but when I am gone and they can touch my brush strokes and know that their mother created that piece of art with her hands it will hopefully bring some part of me back to them. There isn’t a computer screen that can replicate that. There is no technology that can replace my mother’s handwriting. The show visited the Library of Congress this morning, and the reporter held a book in her hands that belonged to Thomas Jefferson. Could she have read that book on her Kindle? Sure, but to hold in her hand something that had once been in the hands of Thomas Jefferson made all the difference. As all of us rely more and more on iphones, lap tops, ipads, lets not forget to leave behind a piece of ourselves. Something not contained in a screen, but something that can hold a value that can never have a price on it. Get your kids to go outside and actually interact within the community, unlike internet connections, human connection can’t afford to be lost.

I close this rambling with what someday might be called a piece of folk art, by a little known but much beloved artist named Mary Ann Power Archbold. She was my mother, and she left this world without ever realizing how much talent she had.

It does seem that I am getting to my writing later and later. This trying to put myself first stuff is difficult for me. This morning I was full of energy and full of ideas about what I wanted to accomplish today, but as always life got in the way. Actually I think I put it in the way. I am awfully good at avoiding my fears. This project is meant to help me overcome that, lets hope it works. So around an hour ago sitting in the garden with my husband, daughter, freshly minted son-in-law, and a small glass of wine I drew my wine glass, and then my hand.

I had plans to finish the altered art piece I started last night, but I quite frankly ran out of steam. I honestly felt the night before homework dread creeping in. So I guess you call these desperation drawings. I refuse to let myself down on this project, but it had been a long day that included a sore throat. And to be completely truthful I received  a new magazine in the mail with some terrific recipes, and cooking truly is another passion for me.

So the drawing of the wine glass…not perfect, but I think not bad. It was fairly dark outside and I chose not to add any additional light. I really do want to start to do more simple drawings. I need to hone those skills and there is no better way than to practice, practice, practice. I think the drawing of my hand came out quite nice. Yes, my fingers really are that crooked and have been since birth. Actually, our creepy babysitter (who was actually a very sweet woman who had unfortunately suffered the effects of polio as a child), (OK, I know that sounds awful, but when you are six and your babysitter drags her leg and tells Jack In The Beanstalk in the most horrifying fashion ever, its creepy. And, I had not yet learned empathy, So all of you judgmental types…relax.) Hazel, told me that I would have arthritis in my hands when I grew up. Who says that to a six-year-old? Creepy. (You wouldn’t want to see my right hand which is even more crooked thanks to a couple of broken fingers last year.) Anyway, drawing my hand is just another practice drill. Having never learned the fundamentals I am going to try to learn them now. I am going to attempt to teach myself since going to class is still not a comfortable thing for me.

I also wanted to address last night’s entry. I wrote that I am uptight. My husband told me this morning that he disagrees. He said that the only place that I am uptight is in my art. I though it was an interesting observation. I have mentioned that I started drawing as a child at a very early age. What I didn’t mention was that as a kid I would re-outline the pictures in my sister’s coloring books. Seriously, when they colored outside the lines I would take the black crayon and redo the lines of their pictures. I told Dan about it this morning and it has been on my mind ever since. I can’t figure out why even then I was so concerned with the perfection of art. It’s something I will be thinking about.

Finally this evening I am again going to include food photos. Why? Because for me the imagination, creativity and care that I give when I cook a meal is art. Plating is as important to me as how the food tastes.

In case you are wondering…peppers stuffed with goat cheese and chorizo, shrimp with re-fried black beans, guacamole and a chipolte mayo sauce, chicken and black bean tostada, and finally, smoky olive poppers. There were also going to be beef empanadas, and I did make them, but we were too stuffed to eat anymore!

So for tomorrow, I promise myself to cut loose and do something completely different, and this time actually do it!

I did a simple pencil drawing tonight. It addresses several issues that I need to work on, one of which is perspective. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve had bad eyesight forever, or my complete and total lack of any mathematical ability. I also need to work on the basics of drawing. But the real truth is that my project was at the bottom of my list of things to do today. I started my day helping to care for a couple of kids who unfortunately have lost their mother. At home we are still dealing with the effects of job issues for my husband. Then my inner Julia Child was feeling neglected so I had to make a focaccia bread pizza with potato, roasted garlic, fresh sage, truffle cheese and crispy pancetta for lunch.   Finally there was the play space for my very dear friend’s niece that still needed a little work. In the midst of all of that I had started a watercolor, but I really wasn’t into it.

I gave thought to not producing a work of “fine” art today, but then I realized that my finest work is exactly some of what I did today. I mentioned doing craft shows, I’ve done more than my share, but I don’t make crocheted covers for the extra roll of toilet paper, or planes out of old soda cans. A lot of what I do has to do with children. Painted boxes and stools, fairy ornaments and little signs. Everything I do, everything I make has my heart and soul in it.  I have been fortunate enough to have created items that will be keepsakes. I painted a toy box for a dying grandmother as a gift for her granddaughter’s first birthday. She didn’t live to see the second birthday, but when I painted the box I wrote a poem inside the lid and left a place for the grandmother’s signature. That little girl will never know her grandmother, but she will have that box. I signed it, but only my first name. I have made countless gifts for friends children, and sold more pieces than I can remember that were for a child I didn’t know, and the truth is most of them never met me, or were too young to remember me. I know, and that means more to me than anything. A few years ago a therapist spoke to me about getting published in an art magazine, but I think she realized after a few minutes that it didn’t matter to me, and it doesn’t. I have been known to say that someone else can have my fifteen minutes of fame, I don’t want it. Do I want to do what I consider museum quality art? Sure I do, but my finest art is and always will be the box that holds cherished memories for  little child who grew up.

So here a few of photos of my “work” for today. Hopefully I will have many more days when I can make a difference in the life of a child.