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Life Changes

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I started a project for tonight, a watercolor of the daughter of a friend, but didn’t manage to finish, and I’ll be saving it until tomorrow because its actually a surprise. I’m not sure if this particular person reads my blog, so I am hanging onto it until it is finished. In the meantime, my friend Emily is getting a new bedroom design, (she is four for those of you who might be unfamiliar. We recently played a fabulous game of Barbie’s.) Emily loves mermaids, and so I decided at the last-minute to do a little something for her. I have contributed a few things for her room, but her Mom is my friend Theresa, who is a very creative soul, and the room is adorable. I miss decorating my kids bedrooms, and so much more. My kids are much older, actually my youngest will be moving out soon. I guess I’ll soon be an “Empty Nester”. You hear these terms as you are aging and it seems so far away, like it’s for “old” people. I don’t feel old, and neither does Dan. It is strange to be at an age where much of the world begins to become dismissive of you. I saw a movie recently with Michelle Pfeiffer in it. She is a year older than me. I wasn’t crazy about the movie, but very pleased to see that she is aging like a normal human being. So many women on television and in the movies are looking scary plastic. I’d like to remain as human as possible. In so many ways because of this project in particular, I feel reborn. It truly is the first time in my life where I wasn’t so busy being daughter/sister/wife/mother, that I am just being myself. I of course still have children, still worry like a lunatic about them, and have my husband, and couldn’t love him more, but have come to understand that this is my time. Dan has been more than incredibly supportive of my artistic endeavors. There are days when I fall into the old ways and bury myself in the stuff of life, and it is he who is asking if I did my project yet. The days ahead seem a little strange. I’m so accustomed to Brian being around that I think I may be a little lost for a few weeks. I don’t worry too much about the growing older aspect of life, I’m just really grateful that I learned to love myself and to think about myself while I’m young enough to enjoy the time. And as I liked to remind my daughter Jessica when she was a kid, “Madonna is older than Mommy”. I’ll always have that.

 

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Sophie

No long rambling tonight. I think I did enough of that last night. I spent the day working on some furniture refinishing, and because of that, and not one, but two long walks today, I’m running late. Dan and I are going to a wedding in less than two weeks, so it’s crunch time. There are two dresses, the one I want to wear and the one that fits. I need an early Christmas miracle! We managed between the two walks to get in about an hour and twenty minutes of exercise, hopefully between that and a lot of prayer (and less cheese), I’ll get into what I want.

I was a little tired for art tonight, I did a lot of sanding by hand today and my hands were feeling it. One of our cats, Sophie, was kind enough to pose for a quick sketch. I was searching for a project and there she was. A little charcoal sketch, something I think I need to more of. 10 1

Do You Really “Like” Me?

My husband writes a blog, its nothing like mine, he wouldn’t consider himself an artist, but I think he is wonderfully creative in many ways. One of which is that he is a good writer. We had a conversation the other day about our respective blogs. I write every day, he writes when the mood strikes. We are both very curious about something. When we write about something serious, something that we feel is important in our little part of the world, we get maybe one, maybe two “likes”. When we write something that we feel isn’t up to par, our “likes” go through the roof. ??????  We are puzzled. If it happened to one of us then we might reason that what we feel is our better writing is crap, and in this apparently alternate universe we reside in, our not so good stuff is stellar. However, it is happening to both of us, and our blogs couldn’t be more different, in content, in writing style, and quite frankly, mine has more pretty pictures than his. (He occasionally posts a photo.) I wrote a post the other evening about hearing my couch call to me. It is one of the highest amount of “likes” I’ve received. I was a little delirious with pain at the time, and I think my writing reflected that. Now my brain hurts. Do I write better when in pain? Will you “like” me if I stub my toe before I blog?  I know it can’t have been the artwork from that night. It wasn’t my best, and actually since this started out as a blog about my art as well as my life, I’d be horrified if you thought that was my best. I believe that I have produced some really nice pieces in the last few months with not a lot of feedback. My son said something last week (in his superior “I’m younger and smarter than you” best), he said that he thinks people who write blogs are self-serving. (He has his moments as a compassionate and understanding human being, this was obviously not one of them.) I think he’s just pissed that I started one first. (Just like the tattoo story…another time.) I explained to him that I started this blog because of the 365 project. I was hoping it would change my life, and it has. I also knew that I never do anything for myself, and would continue to ignore myself, and to feed my “not good enough self” that lives in the recesses of my brain unless I made it impossible to quit. The blog was born. As I explained the other night, I’d feel too guilty if I didn’t follow through. (Thank you Sr. Rose Vincent, Sr. Therese Angela, Sr. Aloysius, and all the other nuns who participated in my “guilt” education, and of course an honorable mention to my parents.) I wasn’t looking for accolades when I started this, I was looking for pressure. I succeeded beyond my wildest imagination.  I feel like I’m back in high school and I want people to like me, gross. When I was in high school I never cared if anyone liked me. So I find myself at odds with myself. I have to admit it, I want you to like the art, it means a lot to me, and I hope you enjoy my ramblings, as for me personally….

For tonight another piece of pen and ink for my upcoming endeavor.

P.S. The couch says “Hello”.9 30

A Good Day

Not 100% today, but not nearly as bad as yesterday. I heard quiet whispering from the couch, but I had too much to do to answer the call. That and my inner Martha Stewart was talking over it. Every now and then I feel really inspired to cook. I have mentioned before that I love cooking, and that I’m quite good at it, but once in a while I have the urge to really create in the kitchen. Tonight I made Deviled Crab Cakes with a mango lime butter mayo, on freshly baked brioche, served with a small salad. For dessert Goat Cheese Cheesecakes with Rosemary, with a ginger snap crust, served with blackberry sauce and mango purée. I got the recipe for the cheesecake from a Food and Wine email, created by chef Sandi Reinlie. It is meant to be served with a lavender honey, but I make a terrific blackberry sauce that I thought would pair well with the cheesecake and I was right. Delicious. And since I was in such a culinary state of mind I chose an appropriate subject for tonight. I have a handful of photographs that I took at our local farmer’s market. I chose a photo of some beets, and painted them in watercolor. (I think I hear inner Martha telling me to alphabetize my spices, but I’ve decided to ignore her.) A day like today makes me feel terrific. I love feeling as though I’ve accomplished something. A very satisfying, creative day. IMG_1549

Deviled Crab Cake on BriocheIMG_1556

Goat Cheese cheesecake with Blackberry sauce and Mango puree IMG_1555Watercolor on paper

Answering The Call…Of My Couch

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I hate to admit it, but today is one of those days when any project is an issue. Not enough sleep, feeling a little under the weather, I just can’t seem to find any inspiration. I looked through some old photographs in my computer and actually picked a few, but the truth is I’m just not up to it tonight. I promised art every day for a year, and as I have said in the past, there are days I just didn’t count on. Today is definitely one of them. I pushed through it last night when I wasn’t feeling well, but tonight I think I’ll be raising the white flag. The only thing that I’m finding inspirational at the moment is putting my head down. However, I have been raised on the ultimate force of power in the universe, otherwise known as Catholic guilt. When I make a promise, I keep it. I realize that there is no WordPress hotline to the Vatican that might report my missed deadline, but due to masterful parental manipulation, guilt rules my life. I wouldn’t dream of not following through when I say I’ll do something. I really was going to try, but in the not so far distance I hear my couch calling my name. Of course all of the above being said, I can’t answer the call of the couch until I post something. A simple watercolor. I hope to be back in fighting form tomorrow.Image

Late Grade

Last night I gave myself an unofficial report card on my project so far. Guess what I forgot? Come on, we all know what it is…Perspective of course. Notice how I managed to forget that little issue? I think its post traumatic stress disorder caused by geometry. I was straightening out all the supplies that are laying about in my family room and found not one but two books on the subject. One was a book I own and have owned for years. The other was the library book I wrote about last week.  Have I read them thoroughly? No I haven’t. I did crack open the library book and make a few rough sketches that I had posted last week. I also wrote last week about my love of reading. So that might make one wonder why I haven’t read these books on perspective. I have had a lifelong issue with reading. Back in the third grade I was pulled from reading class by the nuns to help the first graders with reading. My reading skills were always above my grade. I can knock off a novel in an afternoon. However, if the reading material happens to be in the form of an instruction manual, or a text-book on a subject that I am not interested in, I can read a page again and again, and nothing, not a thing. No comprehension what so ever. I hate to admit this but I’m about as stubborn as they come. I mean no disrespect as I say this, but to quote my Dad, “That one could argue Jesus Christ off the cross”. If I don’t want to do something it just doesn’t happen. I really believe that if I’m not interested enough in the subject my brain closes its eyes and refuses to look. There can be no other explanation. So my grade on the offending perspective…C- I think that’s fair, I have seen some improvement, but obviously if I actually tried to work on it I could do better. I’d like to promise I’d do so, but I really, really hate how mathematical it is. Like everything else I do and have done with art, I will continue to work on it in my own way.

And in taking a step in the right direction, I started my project early today. I’m really happy with my finished piece. Sometimes the unexpected comes into your life, and sometimes it brings incredible people with it. Alexis, a beautiful young lady and the subject of my painting tonight. I’m not actually sure who took the photograph of her, I saw it on her Facebook page and thought she looked beautiful. I also loved the abstract way the light had blurred the line of her pants, and the unusual color it cast on both Lexy and her surroundings. I’d like to think I captured her essence and the reflected color. It is the most ambitious watercolor I have done to date.IMG_1482

The Written Word

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I have mentioned in the last several weeks that Dan and I are planning a business. The sales of books will be part of that business. We are both readers and book lovers, and we are proud to say our children are as well. In this day of electronics we still enjoy the feel of the book in our hand. I purchased an electronic reader for Dan a few years ago. He had insisted that he didn’t want one, but then on a business trip had found himself stranded at an airport that didn’t have a book store. He used the device quite a bit in traveling, and a little bit here at home, but eventually it gave way to the next device, on which he has very few if any books. I inherited the old one about two years ago, and as of yet have not put a book on it. I actually gave it to our son, and I believe it is somewhere in the pit of despair that he calls a bedroom. I have a favorite book, Jane Eyre. It was assigned to me by Sister Charlotte in my freshman year of high school, I dreaded reading it as I am not fond of the old English style of writing. Then I read the book, and read it again, and again. I believe I am somewhere past thirty times at this point. I even treated myself to a very early edition a few years back. Last year when the new Jane Eyre film came out I waited anxiously to see if for once someone would get it right. I’ve seen several versions and the casting has been way off. This was no exception, Mia Wasikowska was perfect as Jane, but Michael Fassbender is far too handsome for Mr. Rochester. I need to cast the next version, and by the way, I was the one screaming out in the middle of the movie, “That never happened!” Anyway….my point is that I love the written word, I love poetry and song lyrics, books of all kinds, and quotes, love, love quotes! Books were the escape for a lonely girl with no friends (I believe I’ve made reference to my dear Nancy Drew in the past), and the extraordinary Diary Of Anne Frank. I could go on and on, there are so many books that have meant so much to me, and given me great joy as well as great sadness. When I hear that a book has been banned I can only wonder what everyone is so afraid of. The written word is a gift, sharing a favorite book, or story connects us all. Our hope is to share our passion with others. I somehow can’t imagine that when I am blessed with a grandchild that I would want to give them an electronic device as a keepsake for their first birthday. The Velveteen Rabbit looks much better on paper. I didn’t have a lot of time for art today, something much more pressing took precedence (explanation below). I did exactly what I hoped to tonight, which was more pen and ink. Not as much as I wanted to do, but I believe something I will be using in my new endeavor, a book-plate. Pen and ink and colorized in Photoshop, with text added. Post of original sketch and finished book-plate.

As for what took precedence today? Twenty three years ago today I gave birth to a beautiful eight pound nine ounce boy, who has now grown into a wonderful young man. Happy Birthday Brian. Love you! (I know, its embarrassing, but that’s my job.)scan0001

The written word from me: Time knows no master, memory is our only ally, so make them good ones. You can quote me on that.015

Book Plate

 

Perspective Without Pain

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As always to give credit where credit is due, “Perspective Without Pain”, is not my title, but the title of a book that I took out of the library tonight. The author is Phil Metzger. I think we all know by now that my perspective leaves something to be desired. Do I already own books on perspective? Of course I do (and there is of course that perspective DVD I mentioned two weeks ago, you know the one I actually took the wrapper off of? We won’t discuss the fact that I haven’t watched it yet), but tonight while at the library looking at the art books this title caught my eye. Despite my collection of art books, including several on perspective, I found myself buying into the title. It called to me like a late night infomercial for weight loss. You know what I’m talking about, you can’t help yourself, some impossibly perfect human being comes on-screen looking fit and toned and promises with the help of some contraption left over from Cirque De Soleil try outs you can look the same. You know in your head it is nonsense, but in your heart you really, really wish it was true, and that easy. I checked the book out hoping to crack it open and find some ancient secret from the Old Masters and solve my life long problem. With bated breath I opened the book and…practice, that’s it, practice. The author gives some wonderful advice, I actually took some, but for the most part the books suggests working on perspective as much as possible. What? No Jack In The Bean Stalk magic beans inside? Practice?  Quite frankly, I don’t want to do that. I’m looking for the fairy dust that will suddenly give me the perfect angle. Unfortunately it means homework, yuk! And this after I spent the day gloating that I no longer have to do back to school nights. Have I mentioned that I dropped out of interior design school? Why? Perspective and geometry, the two great evils of the world hand in hand, working together in drafting class, it was more than I could take. So much creativity comes to me so easily that I am a little spoiled. For tonight I did homework, a little perspective work. Just a few small drawings. My laundry list of things I need to do in order to be the artist I want to be is getting longer, but I’m happy to at least be at a point in my life where I’m giving myself enough time to make a list, and then actually attempting to work on it. IMG_1434IMG_1437IMG_1436IMG_1435

A Little Rant

Still tired from our travels, I was shortsighted and scheduled a doctor’s appointment for 8 a.m. this morning. Even the nurse told me I was crazy. That led me to a sort of six degrees of separation topic for tonight. That would be all of the things that drive me crazy at the doctor’s office. Such as…

I was a new patient today, and being the regimented little soldier that I am I followed instructions. Be here at eight they said, so I was. Except that the reason to be there at eight was to fill out the new patient forms, the same forms they sent me in the mail a week and a half ago and told me to have filled out at my first appointment. Of course I had filled them out, they told me too, but then they also told me to be there at eight so that I could sit in their waiting room and waste a half hour of my life that I will never get back.

Can anyone tell me the reason that the new patient forms asked the date of my birth eleven times? It might be that with all the questions I had to answer I aged in the process. Or the need for my driver’s license number. Are they planning on writing me a ticket? They claim it is so that they know it is me. That’s right, I enjoy being poked and prodded so much that I assume the identity of other people so I can take their turn.

Is it me, or do the receptionists time it so that you don’t get taken back to start your exam until you get to the middle of the article in the year old magazine? That way you will never know what happened at the end of your story. One more unanswered question in your life.

Speaking of the moldy magazines. Today I was reading a magazine that is published locally, I found a piece on a new art exhibit opening. It was exactly the kind of thing I like to do. Too bad it was over more than a year ago, the magazine was the February 2012 issue.

Finally, I’m in the room. The doctor will be in “momentarily”. Dear doctor, you are very educated, much more so than me, but unless we went to really different grammar schools “moment” means, ” a very brief  period of time.” It does not mean that I sit in a freezing cold room missing a portion of my clothing, on the meat slab table for what seems like forever, because your day is running late. My day runs late sometimes, but if I show up late for my appointment you won’t see me. I think if your days starts to run late you should call me and ask me to come a little later.

As I sat there waiting today, very nervous because there was the possibility of some bad news, I thought to myself, “How do you draw fear?”  (See illustration below)Orange Dragonfly (7)

Now that I have had my rant, lets talk about the art. Lately I have found myself really interested in vintage book covers. There was a time before dust covers where the art on the cover of a book was incredibly beautiful. Inspired by that I began some pen and ink work tonight. I’m not sure where I’m going with it as of yet, just enjoying the process. Oh wait, maybe I could write a book on the difference in the time/space continuum that exists inside a doctor’s office.  photo-1

 

Mysterious Inspiration

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Sometimes as an artist, for inexplicable reasons I see something that appeals to me, a cloud (don’t worry, not that again), a landscape, a face, a scene, that calls to me. Something that leaves me with the overwhelming urge to paint. There are times when even I am puzzled at the what and whys of my choices. The painting I did today falls under the mysterious inspiration category. I wrote a couple of days ago about being back in Chicago, in the heart of the city. The diversity of the people and places. As we sat at a red light I glanced out the window and saw a man sitting waiting for the bus. It was one of those moments that I felt the urge to capture. Maybe it’s the body position, or the way the light and shadow bounce off the figure. Or it could just be human curiosity. I’ve mentioned in a previous blog my sister, Colleen. I’ve also written about how funny she is. My Mom never learned how to drive. As kids we walked, rode in cabs, or most of the time, we took the bus. As we would sit on the bus, Colleen would look around the bus and choose someone to talk about. She would say things like, “See that lady, she had a fight with her husband this morning, and now she has to take the bus.” Or it might be, “That guy doesn’t like his family, he moved out of their house.” Or possibly, “That lady dyes her hair.” My poor Mother would be diving on her to try to get her to stop talking, sometimes really loud. I think what it inspired in me was a curiosity about who those people really were, and where they were going. I love Hopper’s Nighthawks, and I think it inspires that curiosity as well. I look at that painting and wonder about the patrons of that diner, who they were, and why they seem so lonely. I’ve also mentioned that I am a solitary figure myself, and maybe that’s the draw. My subject was the man at the bus stop, sitting in the rain with an empty shopping cart. I wondered about who he is, and where he was going, and what would eventually be in that cart. And as always, when I see someone who is alone, I worry for them and hope that it is only a temporary state.

Watercolor of a solitary man.image