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Monthly Archives: October 2013

Distressed

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I’m not really distressed, but my project will be by tomorrow night. The marriage of my two pieces finally took place today, but we aren’t quite at the honeymoon stage yet. The crib panel is too large in proportion to the height if the seat. I have a number of solutions in mind, one of which I may attempt tomorrow. For now the piece is painted, but even that isn’t where it will end up. You may have noticed in the before photo that the color is similar to the color I started with, that is purely coincidental. I am trying to work with what I have on hand. That color was in the garage. The finish will look different tomorrow when I have my way with it. I don’t like new and shiny, never have. I love vintage and time-worn. There is very little in my house that is new, most of what I own is vintage. In my armchair psychologist best I believe it has to do with my longing for family connection. Growing up many of the kids I knew had grandparents, I didn’t. My grandfathers had both passed away when I was very young, and both were living in Ireland, as were my grandmothers. I met my Mother’s mom several times, and we stayed at her house in Ireland for a few weeks when I was thirteen, but we were never with her enough to really get to know her. I knew my other grandmother slightly better. She had tried to live here in the States but only lasted a few months. I was only five or so at the time, the thing I remember most was that she sat in my rocking chair all the time and I wasn’t happy about that. When I grew older I wrote to her, and on my last visit to Ireland in 1983, I spent some time with her at the home she was living at. She died a year later. I think I’ve spent my life searching for that connection to the past. I know there are people who hate antiques. For me I appreciate that the piece has a history, a story, that it was loved enough by someone to still be around. When I finished painting my bench it just looked too new. So, after all my hard work of stripping and sanding, and adding a fresh coat of paint, I grabbed the sandpaper once again and went to work distressing. Tomorrow I will be taking it a step further by adding an antiquing glaze. I love that aged distressed look, kind of like me.10 19

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A little extra project tonight. I was having fun doodling with my fine line markers. Tomorrow another marriage of sorts.10 21

Velocity

Where is my finished project from last night you ask?  If you read last night’s post you know that I was to marry together a few old pieces of wood into something amazing. I had promised the photos for tonight. If you must know, the groom got cold feet. That old crib headboard was a tough nut to crack. I stripped and stripped last night, and then today I sanded, and sanded, and sanded, and… it’s not finished yet. That charming little headboard hung on to its vintage paint for dear life, and with all the curves and nooks and crannies, it was quite frankly a pain in my… you know where. I was finally finished sanding to satisfaction when the sun went down. My fingers are worn out. We have a couple of small sanders, and I have a detail sander, but again, those vintage spindle legs don’t allow for such modern conveniences. I am happy to say that it is ready for paint, and to be joined in matrimony to its partner, but the event has been moved to tomorrow. The are also two additions. (Before the wedding! Scandalous!) The piece has a back, and a seat, but had no legs in the front. (You will understand the entire project when it makes its appearance tomorrow.) What to do…of course, the pack rat archives. In the recesses of the garage are the bits and pieces of my life, a.k.a. “I’ll do something with those some day”. I was quite proud to tell Dan that I was using two of the legs from an end table that we threw out about fifteen years ago. I loved the legs on the table and couldn’t bear to part with them, and now they have a new home. It just proves my point. There’s always a reason I save things. It may take a while, but I’ll use it. All that work on the crib left me no time to finish the other project I started last night. It requires a little daylight to finish, so that too will have to wait until tomorrow.

For tonight I decided to push myself a little. I am still struggling with a bad case of the “its supposed to look like” blues. I have done only one abstract since starting the project and decided it was time for another. For years I didn’t “get” abstract art. I would look at it and honestly think, “What the hell?” I am learning that it means to go beyond the obvious. To put emotion and thought on canvas. Both are abstract concepts when you think about it. I piled colors that I love in thick layers of acrylic paint randomly placed on a canvas, and then I grabbed the palette knife and scraped it off. In the remnants I found inspiration. I saw movement. I grabbed the palette knife and dipped into the paint that I had scraped off and swiftly spread it across the canvas. I thought to myself, “How would I illustrate movement?” I grabbed more color and then some metallic gold. I began to enjoy the process and forget about any rules, Movement is abstract. I pushed the paint across the canvas away from me, I felt like the paint was gaining speed, expressing energy. In the end, Velocity.10 20

 

I’ve Got No Time For This

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I’m one of those people who almost always follows the rules. I often joke that I was born responsible. Throughout my life I have always tried to do things the right way. It doesn’t mean that I haven’t had some major league failures, but I try hard, always give my best effort, and crucify myself with guilt if I fail. (Catholic, remember) I never had a teenage rebellion, always did what my Mother asked, at the moment she asked, and could probably be labeled a “goody two shoes”. (An odd expression, who comes up with this stuff?) I think my only rebellious streak applies to the a fore mentioned failure to read the rules.  I’m a very smart woman, really smart, apparently so smart that I think I can do everything without reading the instructions. I mean, who are “they” to tell me how to do something? I bring the “not following the rules” issue up because I had a moment today when I thought about my biggest faults as an artist.

1. Failure to read instructions, or to take classes. In my defense, I have been doing things my own way for so long that quite frankly other people annoy me when they tell me what or how I should do something.

2. That dirty word, Perspective. Hate it, wish I didn’t have to care about it, and generally it gives me nightmares. It is equal to the horror that is geometry.

3. Impatience. I’ve touched a little on this in the past in regards to oil painting, but it really applies today. As I write this I am waiting for paint stripper to take effect. Herein lies the problem. I don’t want to wait. I want the paint to fall off right now. I’ve mentioned before that I have artistic vision. In particular when it comes to painting, recycling, upcycling, reupholstering, and re-imagining furniture pieces. In my head the piece is done. It is painted, stained, distressed….and so on, in my head. Therefore I want it done now. Not in thirty minutes, or even fifteen. I want what is in my head standing in front of me.

4.  Procrastination. Once again, putting myself and this daily project on the back burner. Poor Dan has spent more than one night falling asleep on the couch waiting for me as I type my blog late at night. Starting paintings after dinner is not the way to go, it’s just that I am ingrained with the notion that everyone else comes first. It’s only four in the afternoon here in Temecula, a fact I proudly brought to Dan’s attention. The truth is I’m only writing because I have to wait for more stripper to work! Sixteen more minutes until I can scrape again, its killing me. Maybe I need to work on consecutive projects, that way I’ll fill every minute.

Much, much later…

I took my own advice, and thrilled that I did. Stripping my wood piece is taking much longer than I planned for. As I was looking for pieces to add to my project I came across a small piece of vintage decorative wood I bought years ago. I have been meaning to do something with this piece for the longest time. From the moment I saw this piece of wood it reminded me of church windows. I have several gravestone photos from Richmond, Virginia, one of which I used in a previous altered art project. I changed all the photos to black and white,  then I cropped and printed my photos on vellum. Attached inside the frame and lit from behind using battery operated candles, it’s beautiful! I have some finishes to add in the morning, as well as continuing with my furniture piece. It is now ten at night. I know, I started this blog hours ago, but in the interim I had a very romantic evening with Dan in the garden. First a wonderful dinner, and then a movie. A few years back we built our own outdoor screen. Tonight we watched Midnight In Paris under a full moon. Sometimes the blog can wait.

Photos of the beginnings of a project. Roughly fifteen years ago I purchased an antique headboard from a crib with the intention of doing something fabulous. It never happened. It was the height of my ignoring myself. Today I decided to do something with it. The second piece happens to be the top off of a small dresser from my Mom. The dresser fell apart, but since my Mother gave it to me I needed to keep some part of it, and it happens to be a perfectly good piece of wood. The two shall marry tomorrow, all are invited to the reception. The crib still needs a little work. (So I guess that makes it the groom…just kidding) Also the photo from the second project from today. My candle lit gravestone piece. Much to do tomorrow….stay tuned.10 19

Before stripping10 19 1Dresser top

10 19 2The almost fully stripped piece

IMG_1812Gravestone piece in progress, back-lit with candles.

 

Driving Towards The Future

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There’s a lot to be said for two people who can spend ten hours enclosed in a metal tube alone together and still be speaking. I’m kidding of course, but five hours on Tuesday, and five hours today is a lot of driving. Fortunately after more than twenty-seven years together there is no one that I’d rather be with than Dan, and I am assured he feels the same. We take turns listening to his and hers in the music department, do crosswords or trivia questions, and generally feel the same sort of road rage for inconsiderate drivers, although I am much more vocal than he. ( Don’t worry, its all talk and only to each other.)  We laugh and talk and plan for the future, and sometimes relive the past. It can actually be a very intimate time when two people who are so connected, and really know one another, take the time to just enjoy each others company.

Back in our own little corner of the world, we love to be home. Dan loves going to new places and seeing new things. I do as well, but I’m a little less enthusiastic. I believe I have mentioned that the only safe plane would be the one that I would be flying personally. Of course I would need a pilot’s license for that. Boats? Not so much. There is a ferry that crosses Lake Michigan, it travels across from Wisconsin to Michigan and back. We took that ferry once, I was fine when the sun was still out and I could see land, but as the ship moved farther and farther away from the shore and the sun dipped below the horizon, basket-case, that’s all I can say. Claustrophobia at it’s finest. Thank God for my loving husband. If only Captain Kirk could beam me into my own bed at night. If that were possible I’d travel the world. No matter how beautiful the place, or how wonderful the people, nothing beats putting your head down on your own pillow. There is some sort of comfort that comes from being surrounded by your own things. Basically as people we are all the same. We all have our funny little quirks, and our own way of doing things. Our homes are our sanctuary where we can be at ease with ourselves. I also miss my cats and my kids. (I realize I put the cats first, the cats miss me too, as for the kids???)

Today on our drive we talked about what we still need to get organized for our upcoming business. I can’t wait. I believe in us and what we can accomplish. I think my Dad put it best. He said, “I’ve seen what you two can do together.”  He couldn’t be more right, together we are invincible.

For tonight something for the business. A pen and ink for our children’s menu.IMG_1799

Ghosts Of Projects Past

I had another one if those inexplicable moments of inspiration today. My mother in law gave my husband copies of some old family photos, one of which was her mother as a child. I love it. Alice, an adorable little girl in a Victorian era dress, but for me it was the her expression in the photo. There is a petulance and stubbornness in her face that I love. I haven’t quite captured it yet, the photo is a copy, and isn’t as clear as I’d like. I more than likely won’t get back to it tomorrow because we will be traveling home, but Alice deserves to be finished.

No sooner did I type that Alice deserved to be finished, I heard the essence of the portrait of Jessica calling from my dining room back home. I started Jessica’s portrait in May? I think? I think I started it in a moment of bravado. Feeling empowered by how well things were moving along with this blog I started that portrait, and in my defense returned to it once, but we all know what is going on here. That portrait is my Christmas Carol. It screams of my “not good enough” past. I have been doing so well in my “present”, working daily on my art, feeling confident, and hopeful. There is also a “future” in the works. I am currently planning to attempt my first show. No ghosts in those closets, but as for that portrait I’m feeling those old ghosts. I feel uncertain in my approach, it is after all my first attempt at a full portrait. There is the…dare I say it?….possibility of failure. But what is failure in art? Perhaps my imperfect perspective? When you think about it I guess the only failure in a portrait might be that the subject looks nothing like the finished work, but I will say that so far it does look like Jessica, so what is my problem? Me as always. This new-found artistic confidence is still on somewhat uncertain ground. There are still far too many issues I skirt around. So here is where I once again make the “I have to do this because I said I would because I’m Catholic and I’ll suffer eternal damnation, and endless guilt if I don’t do what I said I would do” promise. Got that? A vow here and now to revisit Jessica by Wednesday of next week. Did you notice I gave myself some time to play with?  So Wednesday it is, at least as a deadline. I think I can hear Jessica say she would like to appear much sooner that that.image

One Last Move

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A small watercolor tonight of the “auld sod”, otherwise known as Ireland. My Dad left Ireland in July of 1956, my Mother followed that October, after accepting my Dad’s invitation to move to Canada and marry him. Fifty seven years later Mom is gone, and my Dad is ready to move from the home they had together. It was a difficult decision for him, leaving the last place that he lived with her, but it is time for him to move somewhere more manageable. Fifty seven years later my Dad still sounds like he just arrived from Dublin last week. We grew up in Chicago, but I often joke that we might as well have grown up in Ireland, all of our parents friends were from there, any events we attended were with Irish people, music in our home was Irish…you get the idea. Dad has found a place to move to, there is a large Irish contingent living in this particular retirement home. He seems happy which is what is important, but he said something to me a few months ago that really stuck with me. He said that when he moved out his house he would be leaving his last home. The finality of that statement made me sad. I thought about what it must feel like to choose the last place you will live. In his heart he never left Ireland, and I am sure that there is a part of him that would love to move back there now, but the bigger part of his heart belongs to my Mom, and her grave is near his new place. He is certain about this move except for leaving her house, and in some way leaving her behind. We are all doing our part to reassure him that he is making the right decision. My contribution to that will be a painting for his new apartment. The painting tonight is the beautiful Irish coast, I will give him this one, but once I am back at home it will have to be an oil of Dublin. It will be hard on all of us to sell their home. Just as I am on this journey of discovery for myself, Dad will be starting the last leg of his own journey, and I want him to be happy.

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Art On The Road

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Not a lot of time for art today. Driving to see family through the desert, and then dinner out. We did stop along the way for a break and lunch at a rest stop. I was enthralled by one particular tree. My favorite color is green. The Palo Verde is a beautiful monochromatic green, standing out amongst the pale hues of the desert. I made a quick pencil sketch, and tonight a small watercolor from my sketch. Don’t ask me why I didn’t take a moment to photograph the tree, but I intend to on our return trip. I’d love to do an oil painting of it. Early in this blog I had complained about the desert, later retracting my complaints because of some incredible photos I took. I really took the time today to study the colors and textures as we drove. Of course when you are driving by at eighty miles an hour things tend to blur, but when you really take the time to look the desert is rich in color. Like a perfect dance of soft hues blending one into the next. As the sun moves across the sky the mountains change from subtle color to rich brilliance, absolutely stunning.

Detailed Appreciation

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Before I begin to talk about tonight’s artwork and it’s inspiration, I need to say a very public “Thank You”, to a new member of my family. I sent a text, I am mailing a card in the morning, (sorry it’s slightly late), but I felt the need to say this so she knows just how much her gift meant to me. Jill, my new son in law’s sister, and in my world that means he is my son, and she in a way an extended daughter. That may call for a short explanation. I am divorced. My ex and his wife are my very dear friends. Their two daughters are like my own. My daughter is from that marriage, she has two dads, and two moms. My husband has a daughter. We together have a son. We don’t believe in going halfway in anything we do in our lives. There are no step children, no half brothers and sisters. They are all of our children. When John married Jessica he became one more kid for us, (Yes John, I realize how old you are, but it’s too late now, you married her, now you’re ours!) John has two sisters with husbands and children, and a grandmother. Yep, ours. Now after that long not sure you needed to know explanation…

I did portraits of Jill’s girls. It was a pleasure, they are beautiful. I expected no thanks, and what I got in return meant the world to me. When I started this blog I spoke about not having the family support growing up to help me grow artistically. My parents just didn’t understand. I have also frequently mentioned my love of cooking. I came home one day to find a box waiting for me. Inside were some really cool kitchen gadgets, which if you could see my kitchen, you would understand how hard it is to find something that I don’t already possess. She managed to pull off a miracle. I love the kitchen stuff! Also inside the box was one of the most thoughtful gifts I have ever received, an antique metal child’s palette and an old box of charcoal, and a beautiful note. When I saw the palette it brought me to tears. It represented the kind of gift that a little girl who dreamed of painting would want to own. I was that little girl. As if that thoughtfulness wasn’t enough, there was also the card. The words of support for me and this project were  extraordinary, and yes I did cry. Thanks Jill for understanding who I am and what means something to me. And now I’m crying again…I know, I can’t help it.

For tonight another pen and ink. I’m a detail girl. I love old things, old architecture, corbels, sconces….etc. I love the care and craftsmanship that was the norm of another era. I am lucky enough that my pack-rat partner, otherwise known as my Dad, gave me some old pieces I love. Stuff other people would throw away. A door plate. Yes, a simple door plate, with beautiful detail. It in my eyes is a piece of art. As always perspective began to get the best of me…such is life.

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The Second Half

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I announced the halfway point in my blog on Friday, had the wedding yesterday, so today is the official start of the second half of my year of dealing with my artistic procrastination. I went out today and purchased a few things to enhance my oil painting. (I know, the idea is to use up the supplies, not buy more), but I’ve decided that for this second half of this journey maybe its time to actually try reading and studying about the art I want to create. Flying by the seat of my pants has done pretty well by me thus far, but all those experts can’t be wrong. Its time to wave the flag of the surrender of my stubbornness. (A note to those close to me, the surrender applies to artistic endeavors only, sorry to burst your bubble.) I took the time this weekend to print out wallet sizes of most of the art I have produced in the last six months. The only comparison I can make is maternal. I obviously remember the birth of my children, I also remember much of their lives, but sometimes it seems as though I just turned my head for a second and they were grown. It’s similar to what I felt when I held those photos in my hand. It feels as though I just started this project. When I held that stack of photos in my hands I was surprised at the amount and scope of work I have produced, and dare I say it? I’m proud of myself for sticking with it, and pretty impressed with some of my work.  I do have to admit that I wish there were more of the pieces that I really love, but maybe as I glance through those photos of the finished work I’ll inspire myself to do more. It might seem strange that I printed them all out when I have almost all of the originals here, but to print them all out in the same manageable size makes it easier for me to see what I have done so far. There is so much I didn’t think about or plan for as I headed into this, there have been some really frustrating days when it seemed as though nothing would work, but I’m feeling really good about this.

For tonight I finished the sketch for watercolor that I started last night. It is inspired by a photograph I took in Giverny. As I looked at the piece it a little like a children’s book illustration. I decided to go with that, and let the work lead me where it wanted. In the end I also added some fine line pen. I may just have to write a little story to go with it.10 13

 

Turning The Old Into New

So often we hear comedians joking about how we turn into our parents. In my case I think I’ve reversed the process. When our son Brian was a little boy, he would often be someplace else in his head, fingers flickering, a look of concentration on his face, his mind obviously out in the universe somewhere. His first grade teacher commented on it once. She said she would see that far away look on his face and call out, “Earth to Brian.” Dan coached him for a season or two in soccer, and he would often see Brian standing in the middle of the field tapping his foot, and tapping his wrist, much like his favorite character, Sonic the Hedgehog. This while his and the other team played around him. We were out shopping with him, maybe around the age of three or four, and as always he was somewhere else. We watched in amusement as he began following another man, although it wasn’t the man he was following, it was the man’s jeans. Brian had barely picked his head up, only long enough to see jeans and began to follow, because Dan was wearing jeans. I’m reminded of the incident because lately Dan and I have begun to walk every day. We began with a usual walk through the paths of our subdivision, but after a week or so decided to add a little mileage to our trek. We chose a subdivision across the street, the path is longer, and actually quite a bit nicer. We’ve been walking this path for about a week. I have mentioned before that as talented as I am with my hands, I am sorely lacking in other areas, one of which is that I have no internal G.P.S., not one ounce of a sense of direction resides in my brain. (It’s the monkeys that live in there. I know it is.) Every morning as we walk the same path I find myself unable to remember where to turn next. The sun is still strong here in Southern California, so most of the time despite a hat and sunglasses, my head is down. So what do I do? I follow Dan’s pants. Like my son, my brain is always somewhere else, and usually not on what direction I’m traveling. That makes me have to ask, do I get it from Brian? Or does he get it from me?

We had a wedding to attend today, and as well-intentioned as I am, I just didn’t have the time to finish a project. I did begin a sketch for a watercolor, but it isn’t far enough along to use. I decided to post a few photos of some furniture projects. An old jewelry chest repainted for a teenager, and a chair that I decided to reupholster for my own bedroom. I’ve never upholstered before, but like so many things I do, it was one more by the seat of my pants. I simply looked at the chair and figured it out. I find it funny that as I said above, I really truly have no internal map, I have a designated parking space at the mall and grocery store because of the amount of times I lose my car. I can get lost in my own neighborhood, and math? Forget it. I can however, look at a chair, take it apart and redo it. It’s a strange, strange brain that I own.bergere chair 002Before

bedroom chair (1)

After

MISC (59)Before

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