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​​We Can Dance
acrylic on wood panel
20 x 16 x .25 inches
This item is unframed 
(click on the image to purchase)

I say, we can dance, we can dance
Everything is out of control
We can dance, we can dance
We're doing it from pole to pole - MEN WITHOUT HATS

Everything is out of control...

Feels that way lately, doesn't it?

Avoiding the news makes me anxious.  Paying too much attention to it makes me sad.  Frustration emerges in my inability to have any great impact on any of it, though I continues to make efforts where I can.

But I will be doubly-dipped if I am going to let all that rob me of what joy each day can bring!  No, no, NO! 

We can dance - even if we aren't great dancers.  Even if it is out of character.   Maybe not as well as this Santa, who really has some moves!

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Strange Canyon Road
oil on canvas
12 x 24 inches.  
This item is unframed.  (click on the image to purchase)

The sun goes down, another dreamless night
You're right by my side
You wake me up, you say it's time to ride
In the dead of night
Strange canyon road, strange look in 
your eyes
You shut them as we fly, as we fly - Orville Peck

 Marigold and Marvin were often seen wandering down the strange canyon road in the dark - always searching, hunting, sometimes racing, flying - and sometimes very, very still.

Those times, the times the two were still, were unsettling. Two sets of intense eyes in the dark. Breathing synchronized. Two beings perfectly still, as if they were one.

Many tales are told of Marigold and Marvin, but this one I can say is surely true. I came upon them on that strange canyon road during one of the still times. They saw me, I saw them. But I wasn’t who or what they hunted that dark night, and so I walked on. I still get the chills thinking about it.  And I no longer walk that road at night.

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"The Highwayman" - oil on cradled wood panel, 18 x 24 x 1.5 inches.  This item is unframed but ready to hang (click on the image to purchase)

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.   
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.   
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,   
And the highwayman came riding--
         Riding—riding--
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
- ALFRED NOYES

Sometimes when the world is turbulent, poetry, prose, music and art is a lovely refuge.  A place to rest and rejuvenate.  And sometimes a place to find inspiration for creation.

Only this one happened backwards.  

This foxy dude has been subjected to layers and layers, all to let the artist play with drawing back into the wet paint with a rubber wedge, forming texture upon texture.  He has looked at me quizzically, wondering when on earth I would finally walk away and say ENOUGH ALREADY!  But it wasn't until being reminded of this poem that this fox could be called finished.  

I like to imagine another realm where foxes wear dashing clothing and traverse the highway on horseback, becoming fodder for legends of daring and perhaps mischievous acts.  Where they unexpectedly fall in love along the way under a ghostly galleon​ moon and we cheer them on, even though they might be ne'er-do-wells and rascals. 

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"Rabbit, Vexed" - oil on yupo, 12 x 18.5 inches.   This item is unmounted and  unframed (click on the image to purchase)

​People look at me like I'm a little strange, when I go around talking to squirrels and rabbits and stuff. That's ok. That's just ok. - BOB ROSS

Hello, shiny new year.

Let's begin with rabbit, rabbit, rabbit.   Rabbits in all their fur-clad peculiarity.

I think everyone knows about this superstition to begin each month, but in case you don't, here's the scoop: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rabbit_rabbit_rabbit

Here at Malarkey Central, we have a rabbit ritual of our own: mainly, when overwhelmed by the world, use the AI bot to create images of GIANT ANGRY RABBITS and watch the worries float away.  It is quite cathartic and also results in a big folder of art inspiration images.

When your studio wall is filled with wet paintings of ballgown bots and angry rabbits, it is pretty hard to be sad.  It's the oddest party of all, and I highly recommend it.

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"Crow Conspiracy" - oil on cradled wood panel, 16 x 20 x 2 inches.  This is unframed but ready to hang.  Click on the image to purchase.
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"The crow cawed again overhead, and a strong sea wind came in and burst through the trees, making the green pine needles shake themselves all over the place. That sound always gave me goose bumps, the good kind. It was the sound an orphan governess hears in a book, before a mad woman sets the bed curtains on fire."
- April Genevieve Tucholke

Our little crow family is becoming feral again - less friendly, more raucous, ready to rumble in the big flocks.  They conspire, caw, whisper and chortle.

The seasonal gathering of crows (a murder) is sometimes considered a symbol of death, but I prefer the alternate theme: change, or the death of something to make way for something new.

And those of you who know me know that murder season in the studio means buckets of gesso or oil paint and the destruction of my own creations.  To make way for the new.
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​Normally I wait until January to begin murdering canvases.  This year, the upheaval in the larger world spilled over into the studio and one artist with murderous intent is already on the loose.  We're all mad here at malarkey central.  Muwahaha.

And so the annual event in my shop begins today.  Grab them while you can! I am channeling Brian Rutenberg big time - "A brush is not a sacred implement that makes precious marks, it is an extension of my fist. Anything precious is self-conscious, and that kills creativity. "   Creativity will not be killed here.  But preciousness?  It's history.

Here we are at the end of the world, with a giant, angry rabbit and cotton candy skies.

Which might be what happens when you read Adrian Tchaikovsky's One Day All This Will Be Yours.​  Sometimes it's good to make fun of everything that makes you angry and disappointed, as Tchaikovsky's unnamed protagonist does in this splendid novella.

But this blog isn't about book reviews or literary critiques.  It is, however, about the things that reach down into our depths and poke us until we pay attention (or bat them away, depending on your methods).  I didn't know how very much I needed a dose of full snark until Malcolm and I began reading this book.  Whoa whoa whoa.  My entire insides said YES, PLEASE and MAY I HAVE ANOTHER?  It is a little respite from the state of the world and the endless news cycle.

Oh oh OH and here we GO! 

Another piece inspired by a friend.  This one a result of a conversation about narcissists and flying monkeys.  I simply could not get the winged minions out of my head, and so they appeared in the paint.  In this case, the airborne companions became comforters instead of manipulative messengers.   Protectors instead of attackers.  A way of extending energy outward and upward.

That's one of the things about art, I suppose.  It allows us to transform one idea into another.  Because there are no limits other than our own imaginations. xo

Um, so here's the thing about living in a two-artist household: we cannot help but influence (challenge, critique) each other.  Malcolm encourages me to push boundaries; to move waaaaaay outside the box.  

And he's not the only one.  

Once upon a time, more than a handful of years ago in a stellar on-going art class in south Florida, the instructor told me to "embrace the peculiar" - she saw that direction in my art way back then, and she gave me the courage to keep going when the inner censor/critic said "whoa, Nellie!"

And then there are those of you, dear readers, who are also drawn to the peculiar side of things and grab these pieces for your own.  Thank you - you make me feel downright brazen.

This piece was inspired by a friend and Facebook follower, who posted the quote and also threw down the challenge gauntlet when I oooooh'd and aaaaaahhhhh'd over the words she shared (thank you, Erica!)

It's been a post-it note on my wall for more than a month  - HAVE COFFEE WITH YOUR DEMONS.  Oh oh OH!  I have so many (so so so many) ideas and inspiration images around this concept.  

"What keeps you here?" I ask the demon.  Slowly, relentlessly, I am closing those open doors.

The July Reader Giveaway continues!  Leave a comment (or several) this month - each comment counts as an entry!  On July 29th, one (or more) lucky readers will be selected at random by my trusty studio hound to win a piece of original art absolutely free.  Thanks so much for participating - your comments, feedback and energy make this little creative space extra special! xo

And here's a little something that just sets my creative sparkle on fire - I need a warehouse studio!

At some point along the journey in this life, I decided life is a musical.

Everywhere there is a soundtrack, a little skip or dance, dramatic arm gestures and unexpected butterflies and moonbeams and thunderclaps, sorrowful ballads and curtains opened and closed.  Ben Caplan's song feels like the gritty musical theme to a wild rumpus in the studio.

This piece, a paint-over of another large character piece, captures a theme that has also persisted through much of my art life - moons and balloons.  Mystery and whimsy.  Who is this suited stranger?