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My New Year

I’m not a New Year resolution kind of girl.  The whole new year to start over by making promises that I and the rest of the world won’t keep, just doesn’t work for me. I was never a person that went along with what everyone else was doing. Peer pressure? I don’t get it. Even as a teenager I got angry when someone else tried to tell me what to do. I have always liked being an individual. I decided today that I will make my new year from birthday to birthday. I feel like I’m well on my way to making change and progress in my life. I’m six months into my 365 project, and at over two hundred posts and art projects, I think I’m finally fulfilling a lifetime of empty promises. My resolutions for this next year? To see this project through. That’s an easy one. The other is to open our business. That is a huge project. We are under no delusions about the amount of work ahead of us, but we are both in the mind-set that we need to move ahead. Yesterday’s stolen iPhone was just the cherry on top of six plus months of not great luck. Dan and I are quite talented together and I think it’s time to begin making our own luck. That and there’s nothing I love more than a new space to decorate, I’m itching to get my hands on our shop. We have some small pieces ready to go, and some roughly halfway there. This is the first week of getting our act together. I’m excited about this next year, and hope to make this next twelve months the best of our lives.

Today I saw a photo in The New York Times that really appealed to me, but since I have vowed to only use my own photos for my work, I instead asked my always supportive husband to pose for me. The photo in the paper was a woman, I have instead painted a man. There was an anguish in the body language that spoke to me, as I said we haven’t had great luck lately. Maybe I should have painted a picture of me hunting down the thief that stole the phone, or of Dan and I sitting in our business. ( You know, for visualization purposes) Funny thing is I’m not even angry anymore, I’m ready to move past it. As I said yesterday I’m trying to let stuff go. There’s always something else to focus on, like being happy. And on that note, in my woe is me I had a crappy birthday post, I failed to mention that Dan cooked an incredible Greek dinner for me, and that he and the kids gave me lovely gifts, but what’s more important, they wrote very supportive words of love and encouragement for my art. There’s always a silver lining.10 27

 

Happy Birthday…To Me

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Another year passes by. Another year older, and hopefully wiser. I’d like to think that I’ve become a better person this year. I made the decision to not be angry, and for the most part I’ve remained pretty level-headed. I also, thanks to this project and blog have been trying to make myself a priority for the first time in my life. I’m still struggling with it a little, still putting too many obstacles in my own path, but they are getting fewer and fewer as time goes by. Here is my birthday wish, I want my children to be healthy and happy, and I would like to find myself a year from now buried in work with Dan at our business. Nothing spectacular, just simple wishes for health and happiness.

Today could have been a better day. Dan and the kids went above and beyond in making the day as special as they could for me. Unfortunately some other people in my life seemed to have forgotten that this should be a good day. There was also a very troubling incident in our life this morning. Dan took me for coffee, set his iPhone down and forgot it for a minute. Someone stole the phone. I have written before to remind people that you never know what is happening in the life of another person. To the person who stole Dan’s phone, I don’t understand taking something that doesn’t belong to you. Every action has a reaction. My husband has been out of work for six months. He was waiting on a call about a job, the call is supposed to come to that number. You didn’t just take our phone today, you took some hope along with it. You made what was starting out to be a nice day into a day to be upset. You had a hand in ruining my birthday. I hope it was worth it.

Every single day is a workday, today was no exception. A little drawing for myself, and to use in our business. Pen and ink.

10 26

One Foot After Another

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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

 

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

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.

image

 

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.

10 14

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

MISC (204)

Doodles

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As I face this empty page I once again find myself looking for excuses, but the truth is that I have a fairly busy life. Contrary to what so many misinformed people believe, women, and men for that matter, who stay home to tend to a house have full days. I have a few voluntary commitments aside from the day-to-day of my household. One of which I have regretfully not been very faithful to, but that is soon to change. I got a little lost in my own problems for a while. That commitment involves some motherless children. I lost my Mom when I was forty-six, these four children, two of whom were under six, the other two not much older, when they lost theirs. The inconsolable grief I felt when I lost my Mom is beyond description, but at least I did have her for all of those years. These kids won’t even begin to understand the realm of their loss until they are much older. Theresa brought them into my life, and it has been a gift. I decided last night that I would be there this morning to see the two younger ones off to school. I actually prayed last night to be awake in time to get there, and boy was God listening. I think I woke at least five times. When I finally dragged myself up it was 5:15. Not too bad, although it was tough to get out of that warm bed. Then I got to their house, I was greeted at the door by a little girl with a huge smile, and a little later upon waking her little brother another to match. We had breakfast and laughed and talked, it just felt great to see them so happy. A great way to start the day. Something I plan to do much more often. I did promise French Toast after all.

Then there is my Dad. He hasn’t quite recovered from the recent head injury. Still major confusion and forgetfulness. Shortly after my Mother died he confessed to me that he has trouble sleeping without talking to anyone. Thus began the now six-plus years of nightly phone calls, that’s right, every night. That is more than twenty-one hundred phone calls. I’ve missed a few here and there, mostly due to things like the jaw surgery I had two years ago, when I actually couldn’t speak, but I have been more than faithful to this commitment. Now that he is eighty-one, the calls have expanded to mornings and several throughout the day. I am his personal television schedule. Dan has the TV guide app on his i Pad. I look up movies, soccer games, or anything I think he might be interested in. Sometimes he just wants to talk. He can’t walk much anymore, and it gets lonely for him. Those calls have begun to eat into my day. I’m not complaining. I have repeated the same thing to everyone that comments, and that is that I would kill to talk to my Mother for a single moment, he is here. I won’t regret any of it.

My point, and there always is one, is that I am having trouble getting to my projects these days. It is true what I said the other night about putting myself last, I could reorganize my days to better suit what I need to do for myself, I just need to take the time to do it. Of course I also spent part of the day in a fruitless search for a sweater for the wedding we are attending on Saturday, you know something to deflect from the small planet-sized cold sores which have decided to make my lower lip their home. I told Dan to take a good look today, it’s what I might look like if I got collagen. For tonight I have doodles. You know the kind of stuff you scribble when on the phone? I started one earlier today and just continued it tonight while on the phone with my Dad. It is the only piece of art that I could fit into my day. Of course my doodles tend to be a little extreme…10 10