Not my best day artistically. I think I’m still running on empty from our trip. I scraped the paint off of a canvas not once but twice today. Things were just not working for me. To be honest I gave a moments thought to taking my scraped off canvas and turning it into an abstract. Unfortunately and fortunately for me I just can’t be a sellout when it comes to my work. The one and only abstract piece I’ve posted with this blog was an inspired piece, actually the only abstract piece I’ve ever created. That one was inspired by a piece of burnt copper, no matter how long and hard I looked at that scraped canvas today it gave me nothing. I finally walked away from it. I looked through my studio and found one of my old orphaned paintings. It was flat and lifeless. I threw it on the easel and began to work with the paint muck I had created with my scrapings. It had turned a very strange sort of lavender. I just went with it, I didn’t want to waste the paint. As always I was much too impatient, the “muck” began to get muddier. I had to pull myself back, wipe off my brushes and begin again. I found what worked for me eventually was to go with a more impressionistic stroke, in the end I feel like the painting has too much paint, but on the positive side it isn’t flat! And I didn’t give up. I have to admit that today was the first time in a while that “I’m not good enough” snuck back into my brain. It all comes down to oils and my lack of patience. I keep making the same mistakes and expecting different results. I’m going to let the scraped canvas cure and attempt something with what remained on the canvas. I hope for better results the second time around.
I may have had a bad artistic mojo day, but I did empty the photos from my phone. In previous blogs I have mentioned both Prairie Crossings and McDonald Woods, both north of Chicago near my Dad’s house. We had the opportunity to grab a few early morning walks before my Dad was awake last week. The McDonald Wood photos are in Dan’s phone and I’ll have to grab them tomorrow, but for tonight a few from Prairie Crossing.
A little slice of heaven on the prairie.
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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)
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. 
Turbulent Times
Home at last. We flew out of Milwaukee this morning to Phoenix, and then on to San Diego. A very long week away. I love seeing my family , but I missed my life at home. I had grand plans to come home and work. I figured that since we got in at 12:20 I’d have all the time in the world to work this afternoon. We left rainy Milwaukee and ended up in beautiful, sunny San Diego. There was no other choice than to head out to one of the cafes in Little Italy, sit outside with our friend Lori, who had been kind enough to pick us up, and share a meal and a bottle of wine. We had a lovely time, talked to our waitress Tatiana, a charming girl from Italy, who happened to be working her last table before leaving for her vacation in Honduras. Between the Xanax for flying earlier in the day, and two glasses of wine, I was too tired to produce anything by the time I got home. Fortunately I had painted on the plane, unfortunately I was painting during turbulence. Watercolors and turbulence don’t always mix. Actually painting and flying don’t necessarily belong together. I used the cap off my water bottle for my water cup, and tried to balance it, my watercolors and paper all on that little tray, and then turbulence. Really? But I persevered and created a little piece that I’ll post tonight. I’m tired from my day of travel, and writing a very short blog tonight.
Sunflowers and lemons in watercolor.
One More For The Road
Headed home tomorrow and not a moment too soon. As I felt the tug of war in my heart this week between Chicago and Temecula, I was also feeling something else…unwell. I believe the scales are tipping in favor of Temecula, or Southern California in general. As much as I love Chicago, it doesn’t always love me. I had so many respiratory infections when I lived here that I could just call my doc, tell him it was that time of year again, and he would prescribe medicine via the phone. We arrived a week ago today, by Monday I wasn’t feeling great, by Thursday I thought I had dodged a bullet, but today I feel like I’m one day away from a respiratory infection once again. I actually left Chicago with Bronchitis, the first person I met when I moved to Temecula was my pharmacist, Darryl. We don’t see each other as often as we used to, and although he is a lovely person, I wouldn’t be upset if I didn’t have to see him for a while. So tonight I’ll be making it short.
While I was visiting my Dad I had the opportunity of going through old photo albums. I love old family photos. I’ve used some of them in art work, and I have a very special project in mind for my Dad using some photos I took this time. I’ve actually had a great deal of luck photographing the photos. I don’t need the originals. My phone takes great pics and I spent a day taking photos of some of the pictures I wanted. When I was thinking about what I might want to paint today, I glanced through all the photos on my phone for inspiration. I came across a photo of my cousin Gavin. It is a photo taken in Ireland, where he lives, and it is when he was a child. I loved the expression on his face in the picture. Watercolor once again.
Mysterious Inspiration
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.
Out Of My Element
Ten years ago I left Chicago for Temecula. For the first year all I did was piss and moan about how my life was horrible, Temecula was so boring, I even wrote a four page love letter to Chicago, waxing poetically about the wonder that she is. On occasion I took it out on my poor husband, blaming Dan for moving me away from the city I love so much. That was ten years ago. Don’t get me wrong, I still love Chicago. It is an amazing place, and if I had the kind of money that would afford me the life I dream of, there would be a downtown loft in my future. That being said, Temecula is my home now. Southern California is where my children are. It’s a beautiful area where I have a beautiful home. There are also all those wineries, the gorgeous weather (for the most part), and I have made some friends, the kind that you know will be your friends forever. Of course my family is still here, and I miss seeing them regularly, but I’ve made a life in California, and right now I’m missing home. I think some of that has to do with the fact that my son isn’t feeling well, my inner mother is really feeling guilty, I also think that whatever he has, I’m getting. I want to be in my own bed with the covers pulled over my head. I’m also a little discombobulated with my art. I never travel without supplies, and this trip is no different. I do have watercolors, markers and pens with me, but I think being away from home disagrees with me. I am definitely a homebody. I’ve told Dan on more than one occasion that I’d travel anywhere in the world as long as I can sleep in my own bed at night. We went for a walk in the incredibly beautiful McDonald Woods this morning, and normally I would feel inspired. Instead I am sitting here watching the clock, waiting anxiously to go to bed.
A while ago I mentioned that Dan and I have a little, actually not so little, project in the works. We are going into business together. We are beginning to put together the pieces. Tonight I was working on an idea for a sign that will be in our business. A little pen and ink on paper. I think I’m headed in the right direction, something that looks a little vintage…like me.
Turbulent Sketching
I’ve survived the flight! Actually two flights since we had an hour plus layover in Phoenix. I was up a half hour before the alarm this morning. I don’t believe it was preflight jitters, I’m one of those odd people who don’t need an alarm. If I know that I have to be up to go somewhere, I’m up with time to spare. The flights themselves were uneventful, although there was just a bit of turbulence. I took my xanax, grabbed a sketch pad and relaxed for the flights.The only real issue I came across was the inconsiderate behavior of one of my seat mates. I admit it, I freakishly like the middle seat on the plane. (I guess so that I’ll somehow be cushioned in the fall from the sky). Dan was on the aisle, and this very tiny woman came on board after us and took the window seat. Small woman, big space hog. For the next two and a half hours I was elbowed, hit in the back of the head, and had her stuff pushed on top of my feet. To make matters worse, when we exited the plane I went into the lady’s room, the tiny one came in right after me. As we waited for an open stall she gushed about what a gentleman my husband is because he helped her with her bags both getting on and off the plane, and then she cut in front of me in line. I was about to say something, but remembered my vow not to get mad, so I didn’t. Do I feel better for not saying anything? Not at the moment. But I’m sure I’ll move on….in about a year or until someone else aggravates me.
I had planned to do a watercolor on the plane, but I found myself instead drawing Maddie, she is a very dear girl, and getting prettier everyday. I’m not quite finished, I need to look closer at the photo in better light. That I will do tomorrow. But not bad on Xanax and turbulence.
Painting On The Fly
I’m getting on a plane in the morning, and anyone who knows me, knows that is an issue. I have major league claustrophobia. When we make plans that involve air travel I tend to worry weeks in advance. It’s all about control. Yes, I have control issues too. As I tell Dan, I would be fine with flying, as long as I am the one flying the plane. He always tells me that the rest of the passengers might not be thrilled, but I believe I’d do a fine job. I understand the science of flying, and I know all the stats about how safe it is, but let me remind you all once again, I’m Irish, glass isn’t half full, nor half empty, it is broken on the floor, except when I’m about to get on a plane, in that case a piece of the broken glass is lodged in my big toe. We had a friend who was an airline captain, nice guy, goofy guy, but when it came to his job, a very serious guy. Knowing him has helped a little. I also remind myself as I fly that the people who work on the plane probably fly a lot, and I assume they believe its safe or they would choose another occupation. The strange thing is that when I was a kid I wanted to be an airline stewardess. (I know, politically correctness calls for flight attendant). There was a girl who lived down the street from us that was a stewardess. Madeline, I still remember how she looked in her uniform. I wanted to grow up and be her. Then when I was thirteen we went to Ireland. It was my first plane trip. I loved it, in fact I loved it so much that I came back from that trip and investigated the Air Force. I was disappointed to find out at the time that they had no female pilots, but the Navy did. I actually entertained the idea of joining up, but then the reality of basic training came to mind. Have you seen An Officer And A Gentleman? There was one female candidate, Seeger, she barely made it through the obstacle course, well she would look like an Olympic champion next to me. I’ve since flown to Scotland, Ireland for a second time, and France. Of course I’ve flown several times here in the States as well. I’m not sure when the awful fear began, maybe when I realized I had more to live for. I guess it might come down to losing fate in humanity (deep right?) I have learned a little trick or two along the way.
1. Take Xanax , it’s amazing how a half of a Xanax works so well. It’s as though my brain is screaming, “We’re on a plane!”, but my body is saying, “Its cool, relax.”
2. Memorize a Novena. For those of you non-Catholics out there. It is a series of prayers. Extra special religious insurance. Repeated in a loop as the plane is taking off.
3. Break the fingers of your traveling companion by squeezing them as hard as you possibly can.
4. Close your eyes. Any four-year old can tell you that all the bad stuff isn’t there when you can’t see it.
5. Travel with watercolors. It always takes my mind off where I’m at when I’m involved in my art.
So that’s it. Countdown to takeoff has commenced. (It’s actually more than ten hours from now, but why waste perfectly good worrying? ) For tonight just a little watercolor and ink. Inspired by an old piece of stationary. Tomorrow night you will see just exactly what can be accomplished in the air.
A Never Ending Day
The piece of art I have to post tonight is drawn on the back of a list of patient rights from one of our local hospitals. We spent the day first at an urgent care facility, and then in a hospital emergency ward waiting room. Our son was complaining of a pain in his right side, amongst other complaints, so we immediately thought appendicitis. The people at urgent care agreed with us and sent us to the hospital. Seven hours later we are home with Brian, still having symptoms, no diagnosis other than they think there is nothing wrong with him. It was a frustrating day to say the least. When I questioned why he was still having pain if there is nothing wrong with my son, I was asked by a nurse if I wanted to read the CT Scan myself. I am more than a little worried that something may have been missed, and feeling as though Brian was treated as less than because he currently has no insurance. I am actually pretty angry at how we were treated today. If there was any possibility that my son had appendicitis, a seven hour wait is ridiculous. Now all I can do is pray that he feels better tomorrow and that no one made a mistake.
OK, breathe…didn’t I say last night that I didn’t want to be mad anymore? That was of course before someone didn’t do right by my kid. Nothing lights a fire in me more that. Second opinion, first thing tomorrow morning.
On a more pleasant note. A few years back when I was really struggling artistically, my wonderful husband who does not paint, sat and painted with me, we both painted the same flower. I’m posting mine. I love the painting, and what he did for me that day. Feeling better already.
The Core
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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