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Finding Meaning In The Words Of Others

I started a new piece of upcycling the cabinet doors tonight. I decided to turn one into a table. There are recessed panels in the doors, which call to be filled. So far there has been the child’s chalkboard, the cheese tray, the menu board, and the piece of art I made for Dan with the business card from our anniversary dinner in Paris. It occurred to me today as I looked at one that the surface could easily be used as a table if I cut a piece of glass to set into the recess. I began to tinker with the idea of creating a piece of art to put under the glass and turned to my new-found love of pen and ink. I decided to draw an open book, but then decided the book needed to be written in. I have mentioned my love of quotes. I went in search of one pertaining to books and found this one by Cicero, “If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need.” I feel that way. I consider myself very lucky to have what I have in my life. Things are not perfect, Dan is still looking for a job, my Dad is getting older, and more frail, my knees like to remind me daily that they are not happy, but I am.  We are readers, we love books, there are people who think we own too many books, though I strongly disagree, one can never have too many books. From our living room/library windows there is a view of our beautiful garden. One of the pleasures of Southern California is that there is always something in bloom. I can sit in that room with the person I love, surrounded by the books I love, and gaze out at the beauty in the garden, my own little heaven on earth.

In my search for a quote I also came across another that really spoke to me:

“Writing, to me, is simply thinking through my fingers.” Issac Asimov

I mentioned my knees, I have often said that I will take all the pain that my knees have to offer, but I can never lose my hands. Mr. Asimov’s quote is the perfect explanation of my blog, and a perfect explanation of my creativity. I spoke last night of the disconnect between what is in my head and what I hope to put on canvas. I may not get exactly what I want, but all that I am comes through these hands.  I struggle daily to think of what it is I want to do artistically, but every night I sit here in front of this computer and think, and then I type. I never plan on what to write, I simply sit here and it flows out of me. I have always loved to write. I have many short stories in notebooks, and pages of poetry. I don’t share most of it with anyone. Dan of course has been the recipient of more than a few poems. Now I’m wondering if its time for those other pieces to see the light of day as well. Something to think about.

More work to be done on this piece. A last-minute addition of a trompe l’oeil pencil. I also think the addition of some color around the edges is called for, but that will have to wait until morning.10 6

A Startling Awakening

Dear Wrong Number, I myself have made calls to the incorrect number, but I usually don’t make them at 4:30 in the morning. I also, once realizing my mistake, will stay on the line long enough to say, “I’m sorry.” It’s the only polite thing to do….especially at 4:30 in the morning. The thing is Wrong Number, I happen to be one of those unfortunate people who don’t sleep well, and once jarred from a sound sleep by the shrill ring of the phone, I am unable to return to sleep. There is also the minor stress on my heart thanks to you scaring me awake, and thinking that it might be about my elderly father. You have no idea what effect your little error has had on my life. To begin with I spend my day looking like an extra from The Walking Dead. My face has this incredible ability to absorb makeup when I’m tired, as though I am SpongeBob’s mother, it’s really quite amazing. Then there is the voice in my head that tells me, “Hey, it’s OK, eat whatever you want, you’re tired.”  Managing to break through the Great Wall of Dieting that took years to construct. And finally Wrong Number, I pride myself on being a productive person. The only productivity that goes on when I’m this tired is the relationship between me and my refrigerator. I realize that you know none of this when you call…at 4:30 in the morning, but I thought maybe since you have had such an intimate relationship with my day, and if that perhaps my number is close to the one you meant to call, and by chance it happens again, you might wait and say, “I’m sorry”, or “hello”, before you bang the phone down on my ear. I hope you had a nice day.

On to more pleasant subjects, like art, recycling, and my little friend Emily.  Years ago the manger for our very old Nativity set began to fall apart. My Dad decided to build a new one, which was fine had Mary and Joseph booked a room at a Swiss chalet. The frame of the old one was still usable, so I, being the artist in the family, was given the job of recreating new sides and a back for it. I did a fine job, and it’s still around these many years later. As for the Bethlehem Swiss Inn? We turned it into a doll house for my daughter. Now it will become a doll house for Emily. It needs a little work, which I am thrilled to do. As anyone who reads my blog knows by now, I am just a little crazy when it comes to recycling. Two years ago I began my own private mission to prove how much paper was thrown away at my local Starbucks in the form of coffee sleeves. I decided that I would save our sleeves for a year and shame them into recycling. We are avid coffee drinkers, but not in my wildest imagination did I think I’d end up with the amount of sleeves that I collected. My plan was to collect them , make something artistic out of them, and then write Starbucks corporate office with my complaint and fabulous art project. By the time my year was up, I heard rumors of recycling bins being placed in the stores, and that has since happened. Meanwhile, I have more than one hundred sleeves. Not one to waste the paper, I held on to it, knowing a project would present itself. Last week I went looking for doll house roof tiles for Emily’s house. They were way too expensive, and then…a brainstorm! Corrugated cardboard roof tiles courtesy of Starbucks. I started tonight by deciding on a size, and proceeded to begin the painstaking effort of cutting out these tiles. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the process. When I was a little girl my Mother once said there was something wrong with me because I was always cutting paper. I think I was just connecting with an inner Martha before there was Martha. When I had cut a few out I decided to go a step further and use the technique I wrote about last week. I applied glue to a few and burnt them over a candle. I love them! Much sturdier than plain cardboard, and I believe much more paint-able, however having only finished thirty tiles I decided that I was insane. I am obviously still under the spell of Wrong Number. Emily would be attending college by the time I finished. I decided instead to try painting them with a coat of Modge Podge to seal them instead. Much easier. I am also painting the roof in the same color as the dresser that it will sit upon. You can thank “Wrong Number” because I’ve barely started and need to quit, but this is going to be really special when it’s finished. I can’t wait to finish the doll house, and to get some sleep, and I’m turning the phone off.IMG_1624  IMG_1626  IMG_1627IMG_1628  IMG_1631

Illuminated Inspiration

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I was looking on Pinterest last night and came across a photo of a lamp that I really loved. Like so many things I see that I love I decided to make it. I’ve actually been playing around with stripped down lamp shade frames for about a year. Again in my efforts to recycle I try to make new things out of old things. I like to take something ordinary and turn it into something interesting. The lamp I saw was made from a stripped down frame and some vintage tin alphabet stencils. My first thought was to go to etsy and purchase some vintage metal stencils to use to create my own version of the lamp. I quickly realized that it would cost me more than I wanted to spend if I purchased as many stencils as I would need. Years ago I was watching a television show about craft projects that showed a technique involving glue and brown paper. The glue was painted on a brown paper bag that was then held over a candle flame. The glue begins to blacken and bubble, and when the blackened portion is wiped off the paper looks like metal. I remember when I first attempted the technique, I was amazed at the results. I went on to improve on the technique, and actually made a frame for a mirror using it, and then went on to sell it at a show. I haven’t used the technique for years until today. I also save all of cardboard backing from my pads of drawing paper, and any larger pieces of cardboard that are inside packages. The burning glue technique works really well on cardboard. I created my own version of the stencils out of cardboard and used the technique on them. Free “metal” stencils from recycled cardboard. I didn’t get enough of them done to finish my lamp today. I did take before and after photos of the cardboard to post for tonight. I can’t wait to finish the lamp, and will definitely post the finished project tomorrow .IMG_1485IMG_1488

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

 

Newfound Passion

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As I travel through this artistic journey I have learned a great deal about myself. I’ve changed in ways I hadn’t imagined. As I’ve mentioned before my artistic confidence is growing. My aggravation with perspective is growing. My impatience isn’t waning. My time management is improving slightly. One thing I hadn’t expected to find is a love for a form of art that I hadn’t set out to explore. For me it has always been about oil painting. I’m not quite sure why, and I may have even mentioned it before, but it is the medium I’ve always wanted to be skilled at. I still love painting, still love oils, the fluidity, the way they blend on a canvas, but I am beginning to feel differently about my focus on them. I’ve done a lot of watercolor since I began this project. It started out as a convenience more than anything. I’ve always liked doing watercolors, but hadn’t really tried anything too complicated with them. Sometimes its just easier to pull them out along side a cup of water, cleanup is definitely less trouble, especially the brushes. Now I find that I’m really beginning to enjoy the work, but the art form that is calling to me more often these days is pen and ink. I actually think it’s a little odd, mostly because it seems awfully mathematical to me, and the devil on my shoulder…perspective…can also be an issue (as always). I spent a couple of hours working on the piece for tonight and enjoyed every minute of it, so much so that I can’t wait to do another tomorrow. We had purchased an antique frame in Chicago, from the moment I saw it I wanted it for our upcoming business. I wasn’t sure exactly where we were going to use it, but it is such a beautiful piece I knew we had to have it. The paper in one of my sketch pads is the perfect size for the frame opening, so I decided to create a pen and ink drawing that we could copy and change as needed. I’m thrilled with the results. I’m posting a photo of the original in the antique frame, and a second that I scanned and tinted the edges of. I’ve owned these pens for years and until I started this project I hadn’t paid much attention to them. Just one more reason to be grateful for starting this year-long project that I know in my heart is only the beginning.paperIMG_1444

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

 

The Core

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Several months ago I had made the decision to not be mad any more. As simple as that. Life is too short, and far too often we allow ourselves to be upset about things that just don’t matter. I for one could care less about the condition of my toothpaste tube, I also don’t care which way the toilet paper hangs (as long as it’s there), and I don’t keep score on who does what around the house. I am choosing to focus on being happy, making sure the people I love know that I love them, and feeling like I make a difference in the world. There is of course my relentless recycling, but beyond that in little ways, with individual people, particularly children, I want to feel like something I did touched their life. Much like my Myra and Emma story, I’d like to be the “lady” that a child remembers from their childhood, I don’t even care if they recall my name. These days however I am trying to be to be the rock for a number of people in my life. It is definitely easier with some than with others. Stress, tension, worry, and exhaustion can cause people to lose sight of what is important, they speak without thinking, fly off the handle at nothing, and what ends up happening is the fracture of otherwise loving relationships. I’ve mentioned that Dan is out of work. I can honestly say that these past few months have only proven how much we care for each other. Some weeks are like a see saw, he’s up, I’m down, and vice versa, we support each other through the bad days, and are currently planning for a future business together. During our troubled times I have also been trying to be as much help as possible to two friends who find themselves in very different, but also very difficult situations. Then there is my family, my Dad was injured and then had a bad reaction to some medication. My sisters are worn thin, and again I am trying to be as much help as possible from thousands of miles away. Tonight when I tried to work I found myself unable to concentrate on anything. I started and stopped several pieces. I thought I had given up. I sat at the table and worked with my watercolors, swirling paint on the paper thinking that I was just playing with color. Something began to happen, my swirls of paint began to speak to me. I began to add intended shapes to the page, and in the midst of all of the chaos a solid core. It’s what I feel like these days. I am trying to be what the people in my life need, someone that they can count on in the middle of all of their problems that they know will listen, offer advice, or just offer some support and understanding. Through it all I am trying to maintain my new philosophy of living happier. Sometimes it’s difficult, but what always makes it easier is having Dan by my side.

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Flipping The Switch

Today while sorting through the reams of paper clippings I have, I came across quite a few clippings of words and phrases. I love words, and particularly quotes. I cut them out to use with some collage pieces I had planned on doing. Those collages were part of a past project, one I began years ago, one of many half-hearted attempts at trying to figure myself out, both artistically and in my entire life. Like those “I’ll start Monday morning” diets I keep referring to, these collages were meant to jump-start self discovery because I felt so lost. I have a box of words, hundreds of them, I probably made four collages. I kept finding words that I thought would reflect my new outlook, or that would inspire my art. Like so many other projects the collage project was over before it started. Life is funny. I spent years trying to lose weight, twenty years of on and off dieting, and then one day I did it. I lost quite a bit of weight and although I’ve gained and lost a few pounds, I have for the most part kept my weight down for eight years. I don’t exactly know what flipped the switch, what got me to the place where I cared enough about myself to lose the weight. I find myself bewildered once again. I’ve been trying to discover who I am as an artist for most of my life, and I have the books and supplies to prove it. I may have mentioned that the book that started this blog happened to be one I already owned when I purchased a second copy. I didn’t buy a second one on purpose, it’s just that I have so much stuff I don’t know what I have. The difference is that this time I actually opened the book and read it. What got me here I don’t think I’ll ever be able to pin point exactly, but I’m grateful for whatever it is. I wish I had figured “it” out, whatever “it” is years ago. I can’t go back, I can only move forward. I’m liking so much of what I’m producing these days. That being said, I’m running on empty, not enough sleep, worried about my Dad and my sisters, and of course our situation here at home, so for this evening I did a little watercolor of some beautiful wildflowers that I photographed in San Diego when we went hiking. A tiny project from a very tired woman,8 19

 

Speaking Through Art

Do you ever have one of those days where you are so over tired that you accomplish nothing? I had a day like that today. We’ve stayed up far too late the last few nights and are both exhausted. I ended up working on a lot and nothing at the same time. I grabbed an orphaned painting from my studio intent on finishing it today, but changed my mind about finishing the painting. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the idea of it, trouble is it wasn’t my original idea. The painting was based on a photograph from a magazine ad. I loved the pose of the woman and the style of the photo. It was one of the many paintings that I started and stopped due to my fear of judgement upon completion. That was then. I am finishing my work these days. Not all and I need to remedy that. I have roughly four half done oil paintings sitting in my dining room right now. This one I had intended to finish, but as I have also mentioned before, I no longer want to base my work on anything other than photos I take or what comes out of my head. Everyone who has seen what I had completed on this particular piece has said they love it, but I just can’t do it anymore. I want ownership of what I do. I studied the photo today to figure out exactly what appealed to me about it. I realized that it was the way the woman was almost holding herself. I don’t even remember what the ad is about, but the photo evokes a feeling of grieving in me. The posture of the model and how she seems to be holding herself reminds me of when my Mother passed away. There is a loneliness in the loss of someone you love so much. You often hear people say that we all die alone. I think we grieve alone too. Dan was as always compassionate, loving and sensitive. He held me countless times as I sobbed, and continues to be there when I have a momentary sense of loss. The truth is though, that no one can feel my pain and my loss. Even my sisters, because we all had our own relationship with her, and with my Dad I couldn’t relate at all. I said as much to him, that he knew what it was like to lose a parent, I had no idea what it meant to lose someone you have been with for more than fifty years. This photo inspired all of that in me, and as I said, I don’t remember the ad, but I know it wasn’t for something sad. All of this caused me to rethink what I wanted to do. I decided to finish the painting, at least the essence of it. The woman was in bathing attire, I am changing that, her hair, her face, only the position of her body will remain. It is in the position of her body that speaks to me, as if she is comforting and holding herself. I’ve had those moments, I’m sure we all have, moments where you feel so very alone, and in that moment you hold yourself. I want to create my own work that speaks, I want someone to see something I’ve painted and feel. It’s that simple, happy, sad, nostalgic, whatever, I just want to speak through the work.There isn’t much to see as of yet. I began to mess about with the painting before I really knew what I wanted to do. Small preview tonight, and since it is sort of on topic, an artist card I made a few years back that I put a poster edge filter on.artist card, broken heart.jpgposter edge

 

 

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Don’t Drink And Draw

My wonderful husband was reading last night’s blog this morning and sneaking glances at me. Why? Because last night’s self-portrait was way off the mark. I am hereby instituting new self-imposed rules for my project.

1. When there is so little light that you can barely see you might want to reconsider drawing.

2. Don’t draw and try to watch one of your favorite television shows at the same time. (I couldn’t help myself, the Newsroom is so good)

3. Two glasses of wine and self-portrait drawing don’t mix. I admit it, I’m a total lightweight.

4. Mixing all of the above activities might cause you to look at your work from the night before and say, “WHAT?”

My first attempt at drawing me. I never liked the idea of the self-portrait, I really think it has to do with the teeth issue, but I went for it. I guess I figured any self-respecting artist does it sooner or later. Dan said all he could do while looking at it was look at me. He wasn’t getting it, and justifiably so. I set about correcting the drawing and quite frankly, it was one of the hardest drawings I’ve done. I couldn’t get my own nose right, much less the fractured tooth. It took me hours, meanwhile subjecting Dan to countless critiques. “Is it right yet?”, “How about now?”, “Is this it?”, you get the idea. I think maybe there is a reason I always see portraits of artists looking in mirrors to draw themselves. You see yourself differently in a mirror than you do in a photograph. It was torture. I’m done, I’m really glad I’m done, and we won’t be seeing another for any time in the near future.

Aside from hating my face for most of the day, I actually did finish one project that was long overdue, made another invite for my special four-year old friend, Emily, and started another painting. Amazing! For tonight the real me (I think, and if you know me and see a problem with the sketch, please don’t tell me for at least a week), Emily’s invite, the beginnings of a painting of an Angel’s Trumpet, and Theresa’s (she of the pear fame) finished gift.8 128 12 18 12 2IMG_0681