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Velocity

Where is my finished project from last night you ask?  If you read last night’s post you know that I was to marry together a few old pieces of wood into something amazing. I had promised the photos for tonight. If you must know, the groom got cold feet. That old crib headboard was a tough nut to crack. I stripped and stripped last night, and then today I sanded, and sanded, and sanded, and… it’s not finished yet. That charming little headboard hung on to its vintage paint for dear life, and with all the curves and nooks and crannies, it was quite frankly a pain in my… you know where. I was finally finished sanding to satisfaction when the sun went down. My fingers are worn out. We have a couple of small sanders, and I have a detail sander, but again, those vintage spindle legs don’t allow for such modern conveniences. I am happy to say that it is ready for paint, and to be joined in matrimony to its partner, but the event has been moved to tomorrow. The are also two additions. (Before the wedding! Scandalous!) The piece has a back, and a seat, but had no legs in the front. (You will understand the entire project when it makes its appearance tomorrow.) What to do…of course, the pack rat archives. In the recesses of the garage are the bits and pieces of my life, a.k.a. “I’ll do something with those some day”. I was quite proud to tell Dan that I was using two of the legs from an end table that we threw out about fifteen years ago. I loved the legs on the table and couldn’t bear to part with them, and now they have a new home. It just proves my point. There’s always a reason I save things. It may take a while, but I’ll use it. All that work on the crib left me no time to finish the other project I started last night. It requires a little daylight to finish, so that too will have to wait until tomorrow.

For tonight I decided to push myself a little. I am still struggling with a bad case of the “its supposed to look like” blues. I have done only one abstract since starting the project and decided it was time for another. For years I didn’t “get” abstract art. I would look at it and honestly think, “What the hell?” I am learning that it means to go beyond the obvious. To put emotion and thought on canvas. Both are abstract concepts when you think about it. I piled colors that I love in thick layers of acrylic paint randomly placed on a canvas, and then I grabbed the palette knife and scraped it off. In the remnants I found inspiration. I saw movement. I grabbed the palette knife and dipped into the paint that I had scraped off and swiftly spread it across the canvas. I thought to myself, “How would I illustrate movement?” I grabbed more color and then some metallic gold. I began to enjoy the process and forget about any rules, Movement is abstract. I pushed the paint across the canvas away from me, I felt like the paint was gaining speed, expressing energy. In the end, Velocity.10 20

 

Ghosts Of Projects Past

I had another one if those inexplicable moments of inspiration today. My mother in law gave my husband copies of some old family photos, one of which was her mother as a child. I love it. Alice, an adorable little girl in a Victorian era dress, but for me it was the her expression in the photo. There is a petulance and stubbornness in her face that I love. I haven’t quite captured it yet, the photo is a copy, and isn’t as clear as I’d like. I more than likely won’t get back to it tomorrow because we will be traveling home, but Alice deserves to be finished.

No sooner did I type that Alice deserved to be finished, I heard the essence of the portrait of Jessica calling from my dining room back home. I started Jessica’s portrait in May? I think? I think I started it in a moment of bravado. Feeling empowered by how well things were moving along with this blog I started that portrait, and in my defense returned to it once, but we all know what is going on here. That portrait is my Christmas Carol. It screams of my “not good enough” past. I have been doing so well in my “present”, working daily on my art, feeling confident, and hopeful. There is also a “future” in the works. I am currently planning to attempt my first show. No ghosts in those closets, but as for that portrait I’m feeling those old ghosts. I feel uncertain in my approach, it is after all my first attempt at a full portrait. There is the…dare I say it?….possibility of failure. But what is failure in art? Perhaps my imperfect perspective? When you think about it I guess the only failure in a portrait might be that the subject looks nothing like the finished work, but I will say that so far it does look like Jessica, so what is my problem? Me as always. This new-found artistic confidence is still on somewhat uncertain ground. There are still far too many issues I skirt around. So here is where I once again make the “I have to do this because I said I would because I’m Catholic and I’ll suffer eternal damnation, and endless guilt if I don’t do what I said I would do” promise. Got that? A vow here and now to revisit Jessica by Wednesday of next week. Did you notice I gave myself some time to play with?  So Wednesday it is, at least as a deadline. I think I can hear Jessica say she would like to appear much sooner that that.image

Art On The Road

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Not a lot of time for art today. Driving to see family through the desert, and then dinner out. We did stop along the way for a break and lunch at a rest stop. I was enthralled by one particular tree. My favorite color is green. The Palo Verde is a beautiful monochromatic green, standing out amongst the pale hues of the desert. I made a quick pencil sketch, and tonight a small watercolor from my sketch. Don’t ask me why I didn’t take a moment to photograph the tree, but I intend to on our return trip. I’d love to do an oil painting of it. Early in this blog I had complained about the desert, later retracting my complaints because of some incredible photos I took. I really took the time today to study the colors and textures as we drove. Of course when you are driving by at eighty miles an hour things tend to blur, but when you really take the time to look the desert is rich in color. Like a perfect dance of soft hues blending one into the next. As the sun moves across the sky the mountains change from subtle color to rich brilliance, absolutely stunning.

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)

Finished Work

Can anyone tell me why when I have an event coming up where I want to look my best, a cold sore of epic proportions appears? This thing is so big that it could be an extra in the movie Gravity. (Which we saw today, most excellent.) It could seriously have its own solar system. I started with the cold sore medicine this morning, but I swear it made it bigger, and I believe it is developing a Siamese twin. Can’t wait to see how it looks in the morning. More than likely caused by self-induced stress caused by my life and the thought of squeezing my hips into a dress on Saturday. I may just have to say an extra prayer tonight. Is there a patron saint of dermatology? Oh well…on to the important matters at hand.

No big changes after last nights little rant. I still put way too many things in the way again today. I guess the realization is one thing, actually acting on it is something entirely different. On a positive note I did finish the book-plate that I began last night. It may not seem like much, but filling in all the negative space in that border took quite some time. I also enjoyed myself this evening designing a quirky little bookmark, which I might add I also finished. The paper Jessica gave me last night is gray. I really like the way that the pen and ink works with it. Both pieces bring to mind the work of both Aubrey Beardsley and Edward Gorey. Along with Maxfield Parrish, I would consider them my favorite illustrators. Beardsley and Gorey’s work was primarily in pen and ink, (as you know my new favorite) and I can’t even begin to say how much I love Maxfield Parrish. His incredible use of color, just amazing. We saw an exhibit several years ago and were blown away. There are nights when the sun has just set and there is just a hint of a bright blue, similar to the color Parrish achieved by glazing with layers of varnish in between, Dan and I call it a “Parrish” sky. I just had a spark of inspiration, and that’s always a good thing. I may just have to begin to try that technique tomorrow.Book plate final

bee mark

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

Blending Flavors

I failed to get back to my watercolor portrait today, but not without very good cause. I was very busy pursuing my other great passion, cooking. As an artist I enjoy using all kinds of medium, and for me cooking is another medium. Ingredients are like paint, blending together to create a work of art on a plate. I created a new recipe today. We were watching an episode of Anthony Bourdain in Spain the other night, and by the time it was over I was in a Spanish frame of mind. I love tapas, and unfortunately for us our favorite tapas restaurant in San Diego closed down. We loved going down to the Gaslamp Quarter and sitting at a sidewalk cafe, enjoying some small plates and a pitcher of Sangria while watching the world go by. Of course as most couples do, we would comment on the people walking past. (All in good fun, because we of course are perfect….back to the food…) I created a shrimp dish with Mexican chorizo for lunch. A lovely, rich, smokey sauce, and succulent shrimp dusted in smoked paprika, topped with a little fresh guacamole and chipotle mayo.  Dan gave me a lovely compliment, he said, ” When we watch Anthony Bourdain’s show and watch him eat in these great little restaurants, I always think, “I wish I could eat there.”, and today I did.” Brian loved the base of the dish, but isn’t terribly fond of shrimp. He suggested that he might like chicken instead. So off to the store with my friend Theresa, for a very fun afternoon of ingredient shopping. By four fifteen I was back at the stove and created a different version of the same recipe for dinner. This time a gumbo of sorts with chicken, Mexican chorizo and Spanish chorizo, with some chopped cilantro and green onion. My guys loved it, cleaned their plates and went back for seconds, actually Brian cleaned the pan as well. Now I just have to remember everything I put in there. I’ve made some great dinners over the years, telling my family to enjoy because they will never have it again. Some of the meals in this house are made from what’s in the fridge and a little kitchen wizardry. I get a great deal of personal satisfaction from painting, but cooking for the people I care about is good for the soul. There are honestly days when I think if I could go back in time and choose a career path to follow, I’m not sure if it would be cooking or art. I guess I’ll just have to continue doing both.

Lunch….

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Dinner….IMG_1582

Not the portrait for tonight, but a watercolor. Just something pretty to look at.

Art…

 

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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