Nonsensical Doodling

I’m a smart woman, an obviously talented woman, there isn’t too much that I can’t figure out…well OK, perspective, dancing, reading instruction manuals, my singing voice (if you can call it that), and football. I can however still manage to draw, to follow Dan on the dance floor to a certain extent, granted I may bruise a few of his toes, read the instruction manual twenty times until it sinks in, manage to sing along to Carole King or Carly Simon when no one is listening, and identify knee injuries when football players get knocked down (six knee surgeries, what can I say, I know a torn ACL when I see it). There is one thing I just can’t get a handle on. I’m ashamed to say its fourth grade math. My friend Gabby is nine, she is a very smart little girl. This morning she was stumped on two problems from last night’s homework and asked for help. “Sure”, I said, confident that I could help. Then I looked at it. Oh no, fractions! I have helped Gabby with homework before, it is always math. It usually goes something like this.

Gabby:  “Jackie can you help me with these problems?”

Me: “Of course I can.” Then I look at the problems, tell Gabby how to do them, and then…

Gabby: “I don’t think that’s right. I think this is how you do it.”

Me: ” You know what? You’re right.”

I don’t even know why she’s asks me.

This morning was no different. I saw fractions, visions of Sister Aloysius popped in my head, and I panicked. I grabbed my phone and called in my mathematical “go to guy”, Dan. I explained my dilemma. After he finished laughing he told me how to do the math. It’s pathetic, and embarrassing when you are my age and can’t help a nine-year old with their homework. It makes no sense to me at all. I don’t understand how an intelligent adult can’t do fourth grade math. I am sure however that there are plenty of math geniuses out there who can only draw stick figures. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

I had a very busy day planning for business. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do tonight. I’m tired. My body is still protesting the falling back of the clock. It is actually refusing to listen to the clock. As a result I have been up before five every morning this week. I think my body clock and my brain need to have a conversation about how tired my eyes are. I also think that the fractions caused some temporary brain damage. I sat after dinner and played with my pens. A nonsensical doodle is the result. I started drawing with no idea of where I was going to end up. In the end I began to think that it looks a little like a Dr. Seuss. The drawing looks like it is running from the page. Maybe if the Cat In The Hat needed a book-plate…

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Not Music To My Ears

I’ve been known to air a pet peeve or two here on this blog. I do it for a number of reasons, the first of which is that I sometimes get tired of myself. I began the blog a little on the “woe is me” side of things. I realized that I could only continue to feel sorry for myself for so long. I was boring myself. I wanted to give the people who were kind enough to follow along something interesting to read, and finally because as I pointed out a long time ago, this is my blog I make the rules. This gives me the right to yell to the world about what in life I find annoying. As always I add a disclaimer. This is my opinion, and for me that makes it right. I firmly believe everyone deserves the right to feel what they feel, and I have the right to feel that they are wrong (just kidding…sort of). Today I think I may stand the chance of being agreed with by all. Why? Because today I am going to rant about music. I love music. Not all music. I really hated Country for a long time, but more and more cross over artists have swayed my opinion just a little. I still really dislike some of it, but the torch has been passed. Reggae now reigns supreme in my most hated music category. Can’t stand it, nails on a chalkboard for me. In general my biggest issues tend to be not with the music (except for Reggae, I hate everything about it), but rather the lyrics. I’m a word person. I really listen to the words. When my daughter was a teenager I lectured her severely on the purchase of an Eminem CD. I read the lyrics and was horrified. She received a long lecture on the history of the Women’s Movement, the sacrifices made, rights earned, and how she as a woman should be outraged. I’m sure in her mind she was rolling her eyes, but I felt that strongly about it. What started my little rant today was a phone call that Dan made. He called about an electronics product that we had repaired. The repair isn’t the issue, it was the horrible music he was forced to listen to as he waited. I’m not one that enjoys the loop of the “We will be right with you” robo voice, but I think I would have rather have listened to that. Several weeks ago I was in the Ladies Room of a national restaurant chain, forced to listen to the lyrics, “She got red so now I got the blues”. Kill me now. And in the bathroom no less, no escape. Earlier in the year I actually complained to a very high-end clothing store, again a national chain, because the lyrics I was forced to listen to while on hold were so offensive I wrote them down in order to repeat them to the operator. Does anyone listen to the tracks they are putting on these phones? I’m sure some people would assume I’m a cranky old lady, I’m not. I think I’m the only Lady Gaga fan in the house. It’s just that I want to choose what to listen to, not have it forced on me by some anonymous computer. I also again respect your right to listen to what you want while you drive, but could you turn it down at the stop light? Please? Aren’t those the songs that become the “ear-worms” that you can’t get out of your head? So now I have that rant off my mind, but there is still that song stuck in my head…She got red, so I got blue. Can you hear the sounds of me smacking the side of my head?

My pastels were still out on the table from last night, and I had some beautiful sunflowers from Emily, so Ta Da!  (or is it Ta Dah? who knows?) A project for tonight. A pastel and pencil sketch of my flowers. Perspective is questionable as always, but then it wouldn’t be mine if the perspective was perfect, would it?

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Falling Back

Why is it so easy to develop bad habits as opposed to good? What is it about us as humans that makes us do things that we are smart enough to know not to do? And when we do face reality and decide to change ourselves, why is it so difficult? I read somewhere that when someone exercises regularly for six weeks it becomes part of their life and they crave it. Do you want to know what I think? I think someone made that up. I exercise because I have to, I never do it because I want to. More than six months into this project and I’m still fighting my bad habits. I will admit there are nights when I just don’t want to do this. I move along great for a couple of days, feel like I’m really making progress and then like last night’s clock I’m falling back again. My dear friend Theresa is teaching little Emily that every day is a new day, a new chance to start fresh. Good advice, advice I should take and act on immediately, and because tomorrow is Monday, and you know the traditional, “I’ll start Monday” promise we have all made at least once in our lives. I think I need to write a schedule for myself, a schedule for art. Maybe if I actually officially make it part of my day things will fall into to place, if not there’s always next Monday.

I didn’t have a lot of time to work on an art project today. Jessica’s birthday is tomorrow and as is the tradition with birthdays around here, I made whatever she wanted to eat. Originally I suggested an Iron Chef kind of meal and she picked butternut squash, but I realized we wouldn’t have enough time to eat as many dishes as I came up with. I made butternut squash soup with curry, and a butternut squash lasagna, and a chicken dish. She had also requested a peanut butter pie. Overachiever that I am I thought the pie wasn’t “birthday” enough and baked a chocolate cake with peanut butter frosting. In the end, and after I woke from my food coma, I did a small watercolor for Jessica. Bleeding Hearts, her favorite flower. Tomorrow I will have to talk about the story of the soup. It’s entertaining, I promise.

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It’s Just Overkill

There’s a song by the Australian band Men At Work named “Overkill”. There is also a really terrific acoustic version by Colin Hays the lead singer who wrote the song. Dan says that the song reminds him of me, particularly this stanza:

Especially at night
I worry over situations
I know will be alright
Perhaps it’s just imagination

It is true that I worry entirely too much. I think some of it is motherhood, but most of it comes naturally to me. I remember laying in bed at night as a kid and fretting over the next day. I was so shy, and also a very easy target for some nasty kids, so school was something I dreaded. It’s funny how music entwines itself into your psyche. Sunday nights CBS aired Mission Impossible (the television show not the Tom Cruise stuff), I hate the theme music. It was the last thing I heard before going to sleep to start another school week. I’ve had trouble sleeping my entire life. I will often toss and turn trying to sleep but my brain just wont shut off, or I wake in the middle of the night worried over something I forgot to do.  For years I kept a pad of paper and pen next to the bed so that when I thought of something I needed to remember I could write it down. I couldn’t turn the light on because I shared a room with my sister, so of course I spent ten minutes the following morning trying to decipher what I wrote in the dark. The upside is that I have an amazing memory, the down side for my family is that I NEVER forget anything. I worry over the big things and the very little details. My daughter is newly married and very happy so I shouldn’t worry right? She works late, drives home alone, and walks to her apartment, all of which equals…you guessed it…worry! My son is twenty-three and still figuring out his way in the world…big worry. He is an extremely intelligent young man, funny, personable, and I don’t mind saying quite handsome, but still I worry. I want him to be happy. When you are a mom you want to do so much for your kids, happy is the one thing they really have to do for themselves. So could someone please tell me how to close off the maternal part of my brain? That’s not all, of course not. I worry about my husband, my dad, my sisters and their families, my friends, my cats, my, my, my, everything! For myself? That is an easy one. My art. I worry that I won’t get it right. That the damned perspective is off once again. That the painting looks flat. That the portrait doesn’t look like the subject. I could continue but I’m sure you get the idea. Tonight I was worried about my son. That affected my painting. I couldn’t concentrate. Now I’m worried about the painting, the perspective, that the rose doesn’t look enough like a rose…blah, blah, blah. I really wish I had a way to tell my brain that Brian will be fine, that the painting isn’t that bad, that tomorrow is another day, but I don’t. So tonight,

“I can’t get to sleep
I think about the implications
Of diving in too deep
And possibly the complications

Especially at night
I worry over situations
I know will be alright
Perhaps it’s just imagination

You can look up the rest, or download the single. It’s a really great song, and its way better than the theme to Mission Impossible.

Tonight a watercolor. My amazing husband bought me flowers when we were in Paris. I even managed to sneak a few dried petals back with me, and of course the bag.

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Mea Culpa

Two days of ranting about the collections of others, and…oops, I forgot the snowmen, my snowmen. To make matters worse, I have a Winnie the Pooh snowman, and a Mickey Mouse snowman, and Hallmark snowmen. In my defense the snowmen only make an appearance once a year for Christmas. I believe at this point there are more than one hundred of them. Here I can proclaim some innocence. I bought a few vintage snowmen probably twenty years ago. The next year I bought a few more, and then the next year, and so on, until I had a “collection”. Then, and I’m sure I’m not alone in this dilemma, other people got in on the act. I started receiving snowmen from everyone. Those closest to me understood that I love vintage things, and it received some beautiful old pieces, but there were others who assumed if it was a snowman I wanted it. I’m sure I’m not alone when I say that it is really awkward to receive a gift that someone is sure you will love and it’s just not your taste. When it’s an addition to a collection it’s even worse. You feel guilty if you don’t display it. Trust me I’m not an ingrate, I stress and feel guilty over the smallest things, and I appreciate the gift. The problem is that the collection has gotten out of control. I will admit that I enjoy taking them out every year and arranging them on my cabinet. So there it is, my Mea Culpa, my apologies to all the collectors that may have been offended by my rant.

My friend Karen posted a question to me last night. I mentioned that I might use my illustration of the hand-held mirror for the Ladies room for our business. Karen asked what I would do for the Men’s room sign. A project was born! A vintage shaving stand. I actually do own one, but to give credit where credit is due, I found a photo on Google images and sketched that. A pen and ink illustration. Thanks for the question Karen.10 30

One Of My Favorite Things

I apologize. For what you ask? For last night’s rant about the collections of mass-produced “stuff” that other people have in their homes. I was plagued with Catholic guilt for the better part of my day in the off-chance that I may have offended someone I like. Forgive me, in my defense I believe I was so traumatized by the death of Bambi’s mother that I have a phobia of Disney characters. There is also my deep-seated rage caused by the song “It’s A Small World.” I don’t know of a single person that can hear that song and not want to commit murderous destruction of a marionette. (Puppets also creep me out. Topic for a later post). An ear worm of the worst kind. I can almost visualize it, like the earwig in The Wrath Of Khan, (Star Trek movie). So forgive me, it must be obvious By now that I have issues.

Last night I also wrote about my own collections. I had intended to paint today, but other pressing pumpkin carving issues got in the way. I looked at a few of my collections, and trust me there are many, and finally settled on a hand-held mirror that I have owned for about twenty-five years. It was a gift from my mother in law upon my engagement to Dan. It is one of my absolute favorite things. One of the things I appreciate about vintage items is the workmanship. These days of mass production just don’t make items like this mirror anymore. I actually own four hand-held  mirrors, but again, this is my favorite. A pen and ink, along with some pencil shading. I am thinking it might be just the thing to put on the door of the Ladies Room at our new place.10 29

A Matter Of Taste

OK, so I once again made an empty promise to myself. I didn’t begin working on my project until after seven tonight. As always I had the best of intentions….no excuses, just didn’t get to it. I did however spend a great deal of time putting my work in my new presentation portfolio that I received as a birthday present (thank you Dan). My old portfolio is at least thirty years old, the plastic pages were cracked and the zipper quit years ago. Over the last few months I have accumulated quite a bit of work and it needed a home. I still need to get extra pages for the new one. I am proud to say it is full right now. For my project tonight I began another acrylic painting. I so loved the results of my vintage shoe form painting from the other night that I have decided to do a series of paintings based on some of the vintage collectables I have. Warning: If you collect anything thing that has the name Bradford Exchange, Village 56, Thomas Kinkade, etc., you might want to stop reading here……………….. Have they gone yet? I mean the Disney people, the Precious Moments people, the people who collect any of the previously mentioned highly collectible, mass produced…crap. Sorry, I just feel that way. I don’t want to acquire number 121 of 500 of this year’s Christmas Village. I would never deny anyone the right to their own taste, but I really just don’t get it. I have seen just about every Disney movie because I have children. I love the classics, I particularly like the Genie in Aladdin. Robin Williams was great. I love Beauty and The Beast, The Little Mermaid and Cinderella. The Seven Dwarfs creep me out, particularly Dopey, he reminds me of a friend of my Dad’s when we were growing up. (Let’s see if my sisters know who I’m referring to.) My favorite character has to be Winnie The Pooh. No reason, just look upon him fondly. He was our high school mascot (be nice, it was an all girl Catholic high school, Pooh was as manly as we could get) I like Piglet, Eeyore (who I believe may be part Irish. I believe this based on my previously mentioned theory of glass not half full, not half empty, shattered on the floor because I’m Irish), and love the rest of the crew of the Hundred Acre Woods too, but not enough to have them on my fireplace, or on my toaster, or my bath towels, or God forbid, my pajamas. I had a Pooh collection once, but I was seventeen not forty. Again, I will defend your right to personal taste, but Precious Moments, really? I’ve been in houses where it looks like the gift shop at Disney World. I’m sure that these same people would come in my house and look at my vintage wooden shoe forms, and my McCoy Pottery, and the rustic industrial stuff and think it is…crap. That’s OK. Actually my Dad said something years ago about my house. He said it was full of shite (Irish for, well I think you can figure it out) I heard this from one of my sisters. He found out that I heard it and called to apologize.  I was quick to agree with him. I said, “Yes Dad, I know, and it’s my shite and I like it.” I don’t think he knew what to do with that. I ‘m not offended if someone doesn’t look favorably on my taste, its mine, remember the “no peer pressure” I wrote about last night? I meant it. I like being different, I don’t want to have the same house with the same stuff as everyone else. I hope I haven’t truly offended anyone. (I feel Catholic guilt creeping into my brain as I write.)  Anyway…I have some very interesting, well-worn and well-loved pieces. I think they deserve to be preserved for all eternity, or at the very least until my grandchildren throw them away. I only managed to color block a canvas for the painting, nothing worth posting, so I decided to throw another old favorite piece of art on the blog. Many, many years ago I came across a photo of Donald Sutherland in a magazine, his face was emerging from the dark. I loved it. A pencil portrait.

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One Foot After Another

The title of my blog tonight is reflective of both how I have been approaching this project, and also happens to be the title of tonight’s piece of art. In terms of the blog it has to do with the many days and nights when something gets in my way. Whether it is housework, illness, holidays, family commitments, or just me getting in my own way, I just keep plodding through. On days when I feel defeated because my work isn’t coming out as I want it to, or days when I feel just a little lazy, I put one foot in front of the other and work through it.  I realize that there are nights when someone might look at my work and think “Really?’ I know its true because there are times when that person is me. I know when I’m not at my best, and I know when I am producing just to produce. I made a promise to myself today to start earlier in the day. I know I’ve touched on my procrastination in the past, but I woke this morning feeling very out of sorts and in need of getting my act together. I’m getting tired of myself. Lots of ideas, not as much action. I think we have fallen into a funk around here. Time to take charge.

Although there are times when last-minute homework comes out really well. I started the piece for tonight at about five this evening, I stopped to make and to eat dinner, I think sometimes I work well under pressure…

One Foot After Another. We have a collection of vintage shoemaker forms (I think I read The Elves And The Shoemaker too many times), and some really cool iron pieces that I assume were used to hammer on the soles of the shoes. It’s a collection we never set out to have. I found it piece by piece. My favorite is the small shoe form. I walked past them today, as I do every day, but today I felt inspired by them. I actually have been looking for a project to do on a long narrow canvas I have. It is 8 x 24. I love odd sizes of canvas, of course framing is an issue. Thank God my husband loves me so much. Dan is always the one who ends up doing the framing. He is lovely and patient just like Jessica. Acrylic on canvas.10 24

The Reality Of Making A Plan

A few definitions courtesy of Google.

Plan

1. A detailed proposal for doing or achieving something.

2. An intention or decision about what one is going to do.

Reality

The world or the state of things as they actually exist, as opposed to an idealistic or notional idea of them.

This is my life. There are plans, and then there is reality. Today is Wednesday. It is the day that I set as a deadline to work on my portrait of Jessica. It was a plan. The reality is that I have too many projects occurring at the same time. This does not matter to Jessica (the portrait, the real Jessica is lovely and patient), I feel the portrait of Jessica giving me the evil eye. I made a silent promise to it today that I will visit soon, and before Halloween when this whole thing would be just too creepy.

My Grandfather clock/bookcase. Another plan. The reality is that I need Dan to help me with it. Dan has hurt his back. (Just a little for those of you who care) The reality is that I should not be allowed anywhere near power tools that may remove appendages from my body. I actually like my fingers. I am a smart capable woman, I am also a complete klutz. Any project that requires a saw shall remain undone until my partner is feeling better.

Plan B

A watercolor of some Hollyhocks.

Reality

Boring. Been done, no need to repeat.

No plan. I begin to wander the house looking at the messy piles of art supplies that are now in every room. No plan. I make my way into the garden, sneaking by portrait of Jessica and hope she doesn’t see me. (I believe I’m developing a phobia) There are supplies in the garden too. They are neatly arranged, because Dan neatly arranges them. I see a piece of wood. It is a cast off. Too small for a shelf or much else. I have an idea, something that has been on my mind for several days. I think I know what I want to do, but then I begin to use watercolor on the wood. I wasn’t even sure it would work, but it does, beautifully. My intention was to paint the wood to look bruised, it doesn’t look bruised, it is soft, it flows gently into the grain. The wood has plans of its own. There is a knot in the wood. The plot thickens, my project changes. I have made it known that I am just a little intense about trash and recycling. It occurs to me as I watch this scrap of wood begin to change, that it might have ended up in our trash. It was too small for anything, well anything except art. I use a lot of paper. I recycle all of it. Would I throw away this much paper? No, that would be a crime in my house. The knot in the wood appears to me as an eye. A living thing. This piece of wood was a living thing. The evolution of a piece of art. No plan, just the reality of all that we, that I, waste. This simple piece of wood that began its life as part of a beautiful tree. Reborn. Making a statement. Sometimes I don’t have the words, and then I look to those who are wiser than I. Thank you Mahatma Gandhi.IMG_1848

 

Just Say “Hello”

I have decided that there are two kinds of people in the world. There are those that say hello, and those who put their heads down, or avert their eyes, all in an attempt to not acknowledge their fellow human beings. We live in Temecula, which essentially means we are living in a tourist destination. I don’t mean that in a bad way, there are some pretty beautiful places in the world that have been turned into living nightmares of junk and fast food, Temecula is not one of them. We have I believe over 60 vineyards here, and our Old Town, a place that still has wooden sidewalks and historical plaque on nearly every building. Beautiful weather nearly year round, and settled in between San Diego (less than sixty miles), and LA (roughly 85 miles), an hour from Disneyland, less than that to Legoland, and about thirty miles to the Pacific Ocean, although there is that pesky mountain range in the way. In other words, we have it really good here. We should all be walking around feeling pretty lucky. Now I realize that stuff happens, it is still happening in my own life, but basically we Temeculan’s (new word, just made it up, clever right?) are very fortunate people. Dan and I walk every morning. We walk through our subdivision and one across the street from us. We walk anywhere from thirty-five minutes to an hour. In the course of those walks we run into a handful of people. There are some people who greet us with a smile and say, “Good morning.” There are those that suddenly become very interested in their phone, their dog, a speck of dirt on the walkway…anything to avoid looking at us and having to say hello. It’s strange. We are not bad people, nor do we in any way resemble the extras on The Walking Dead, we are just regular humans. What really puzzles me are the ones that do say hello, but say it in the most begrudging fashion, as if we have forced them to do something against their will. We saw a woman this morning on our walk. She couldn’t really avoid us. She didn’t appear to have a phone handy, or a dog to use as an avoidance prop, she did have a few small children walking ahead of her, but too far ahead for her to use as a shield, so she had no choice but to say hello. The look on her face said it all. We bothered her. Somehow we offended her.  All we did was smile (the horror!), and say “Good morning.” I have no way of knowing what is happening in that woman’s life, but she was walking down the beautiful streets of Temecula with some pretty cute kids, on an absolutely gorgeous morning. Like I said, I think there are two kinds of people, the kind that ignore you and the kind that don’t, but if you can’t return a smile, I guess I’d rather you find a sudden interest in studying cement texture in the sidewalk than looking at me as if I have a problem. OK, now that I got that off my chest….art.

Two years ago for Christmas I received a beautiful little cabinet from Dan for Christmas. It was a great gift, it was the kind of gift where I saw it in a store and…bought it, called Dan, and  said, “You can give it to me for Christmas.” Like I said, it was a great gift. From the minute I saw this little cabinet I thought, “Grandfather Clock”. Now that we are embarking on our business I am taking all the ideas that have been laying in wait in the recesses of my brain and putting them into action. The crib/ bench was one of them. The next idea is my Grandfather clock/bookcase. The cabinet appears to have had glass in the door at some point in its life, but when I bought it the frame on the front was empty. My partner in life and in creativity, aka Dan, helps me bring my ideas to life. We went to the store and purchased wood to create a bookcase to put under the cabinet. Today we made that bookcase, and then laughed our behinds off. The bookcase is fine, but when you put the cabinet on top it becomes a clock for the Jolly Green Giant. It has to be eight feet tall. What can I say, sometimes I just don’t think. We need the bookcase, so it won’t go to waste. (Without the cabinet on top it is six feet tall.) Tomorrow we will be returning to the store to create the four-foot bookcase we need. Dan also cut a panel from MDF for the frame opening. It is my project for tonight. The clock face for my cabinet. I can’t wait to make the smaller bookcase in the morning and add it to my cabinet. I have some really great ideas to finish it off.10 22

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