- Published on
"Blooms" - mixed media on reclaimed wood,
FATHER: One day, lad, all this will be yours!
ERBERT: What, the curtains?
FATHER: No, not the curtains, lad. All that you can see! Stretched out over the hills and valleys of this land! This'll be your kingdom, lad!
HERBERT: But, Mother--
FATHER: Father, I'm Father.
HERBERT: But Father, I don't want any of that.
FATHER: Listen, lad. I've built this kingdom up from nothing. When I started here, all there was was swamp. All the kings said I was daft to build a castle in a swamp, but I built it all the same, just to show 'em. It sank into the swamp. So, I built a second one. That sank into the swamp. So I built a third one. That burned down, fell over, then sank into the swamp. But the fourth one stayed up. An' that's what your gonna get, lad -- the strongest castle in these islands.
- from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Scene 26
FATHER: One day, lad, all this will be yours!
ERBERT: What, the curtains?
FATHER: No, not the curtains, lad. All that you can see! Stretched out over the hills and valleys of this land! This'll be your kingdom, lad!
HERBERT: But, Mother--
FATHER: Father, I'm Father.
HERBERT: But Father, I don't want any of that.
FATHER: Listen, lad. I've built this kingdom up from nothing. When I started here, all there was was swamp. All the kings said I was daft to build a castle in a swamp, but I built it all the same, just to show 'em. It sank into the swamp. So, I built a second one. That sank into the swamp. So I built a third one. That burned down, fell over, then sank into the swamp. But the fourth one stayed up. An' that's what your gonna get, lad -- the strongest castle in these islands.
- from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Scene 26
Florida. Our castle built in the swamp. Much of this part of the state was reclaimed from the Everglades. Irma wants to return it to the gators and otters and mosquitos. And right this moment, I would gladly give it back to them in exchange for safe passage outa here.
What do you do to pass the time in hurricane limbo? Thanks to modern technology, we can prepare well in advance, then hunker down to wait. One of the games my husband and I are enjoying right now is called "Let's Move to Nebraska." In this game (which we entirely made up, just today) we plan what it would take to move us to higher lands where there is no risk of Irma or any other watery wench messing with our homestead. Every commentary on the conditions outside now ends in "but not in Nebraska!" which causes much laughter and stress reduction. What do you think? By the end of this hurricane I just might have planned our first trip scouting out potential towns.
In the meantime, let's make lemonade in a storm, shall we? This piece was inspired by the artist Staci Swider and her article in this month's Cloth Paper Scissors magazine, in which she describes how to use the dried up paint skins in your palette to make flowers. I use a full sized metal painter's tray for my palette (it hooks nicely onto my work table) and it had thick layers of paint dried in it. I scraped them up and used gel medium and a chopstick to skewer the pieces into flower petals. What fun! (In truth, I created this piece in advance of the storm, knowing my supplies would be safely tucked away.)
At this very moment, hurricane winds swirl around us, the lake water is rising and debris is flying. Tornado warning alerts are dinging on our phones, and we scurry in an out of our safe room between them. We still have power (for now), but the wild bronco ride has officially begun. Yeeehaaaaaw.
What do you do to pass the time in hurricane limbo? Thanks to modern technology, we can prepare well in advance, then hunker down to wait. One of the games my husband and I are enjoying right now is called "Let's Move to Nebraska." In this game (which we entirely made up, just today) we plan what it would take to move us to higher lands where there is no risk of Irma or any other watery wench messing with our homestead. Every commentary on the conditions outside now ends in "but not in Nebraska!" which causes much laughter and stress reduction. What do you think? By the end of this hurricane I just might have planned our first trip scouting out potential towns.
In the meantime, let's make lemonade in a storm, shall we? This piece was inspired by the artist Staci Swider and her article in this month's Cloth Paper Scissors magazine, in which she describes how to use the dried up paint skins in your palette to make flowers. I use a full sized metal painter's tray for my palette (it hooks nicely onto my work table) and it had thick layers of paint dried in it. I scraped them up and used gel medium and a chopstick to skewer the pieces into flower petals. What fun! (In truth, I created this piece in advance of the storm, knowing my supplies would be safely tucked away.)
At this very moment, hurricane winds swirl around us, the lake water is rising and debris is flying. Tornado warning alerts are dinging on our phones, and we scurry in an out of our safe room between them. We still have power (for now), but the wild bronco ride has officially begun. Yeeehaaaaaw.
- Published on
"The Wind's Wild Tune" (title courtesy of poet Mary W. Cox) - mixed media on canvas paper, 16" x 20". Inquiries.
MINSTREL (singing): Brave Sir Robin ran away
ROBIN: No!
MINSTREL (singing): Bravely ran away away
ROBIN: I didn't!
MINSTREL (singing): When danger reared its ugly head, He bravely turned his tail and fled
ROBIN: No!
MINSTREL (singing): Yes Brave Sir Robin turned about
ROBIN: I didn't!
MINSTREL (singing): And gallantly he chickened out Bravely taking to his feet
ROBIN: I never did!
MINSTREL (singing): He beat a very brave retreat
ROBIN: Oh, lie
MINSTREL (singing): Bravest of the brave Sir Robin
ROBIN: I never!
- from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Scene 10
Feeling quite cowardly today as Irma reaches out toward us. The winds are beginning to sing off key, the water on the lake is rolling and the skies are tempest-y. It seems 50% of our house is encased in plastic bags. Every towel is stuffed under doors and tabletops are covered with bags of things who have passed all sentimental and practical analysis and have the coveted spots away from any flooding. The appliances are stuffed with books and papers, and I am wishing there was room for two humans inside the dishwasher.
And yet....when we come out on the other side of this thing, I wonder what incredible transformations we may undergo? How can a human stand a test of bravery (or utter stupidity in this case, some might say) and not emerge somehow bigger, better and more bad-assy than ever before? I think of the hurricane in Houston, the fires raging across the Pacific Northwest, the earthquake in Mexico and wonder at the tenacity, perseverance and courage of the humans in each of these situations.
Like this little aboriginal character I painted today, I am as bundled up and covered in good mojo as a human can be. There are prayers, good wishes, thoughts and love streaming down to Florida and blanketing us in positivity and safety. And my incredible brave husband is here, unfazed by the beast, preparing like a boy scout. His philosophy begins with the thought that a blanket and a towel can solve anything. Perhaps we will build a blanket fort and wear towels like superhero capes.
Another quote from Mark Nepo jumped out at me this morning: "And regardless of our good fortune or trouble, we are always holding off the storm of the world to hear the music that runs through everything." Today, we will be listening to the wind's wild tune.
MINSTREL (singing): Brave Sir Robin ran away
ROBIN: No!
MINSTREL (singing): Bravely ran away away
ROBIN: I didn't!
MINSTREL (singing): When danger reared its ugly head, He bravely turned his tail and fled
ROBIN: No!
MINSTREL (singing): Yes Brave Sir Robin turned about
ROBIN: I didn't!
MINSTREL (singing): And gallantly he chickened out Bravely taking to his feet
ROBIN: I never did!
MINSTREL (singing): He beat a very brave retreat
ROBIN: Oh, lie
MINSTREL (singing): Bravest of the brave Sir Robin
ROBIN: I never!
- from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Scene 10
Feeling quite cowardly today as Irma reaches out toward us. The winds are beginning to sing off key, the water on the lake is rolling and the skies are tempest-y. It seems 50% of our house is encased in plastic bags. Every towel is stuffed under doors and tabletops are covered with bags of things who have passed all sentimental and practical analysis and have the coveted spots away from any flooding. The appliances are stuffed with books and papers, and I am wishing there was room for two humans inside the dishwasher.
And yet....when we come out on the other side of this thing, I wonder what incredible transformations we may undergo? How can a human stand a test of bravery (or utter stupidity in this case, some might say) and not emerge somehow bigger, better and more bad-assy than ever before? I think of the hurricane in Houston, the fires raging across the Pacific Northwest, the earthquake in Mexico and wonder at the tenacity, perseverance and courage of the humans in each of these situations.
Like this little aboriginal character I painted today, I am as bundled up and covered in good mojo as a human can be. There are prayers, good wishes, thoughts and love streaming down to Florida and blanketing us in positivity and safety. And my incredible brave husband is here, unfazed by the beast, preparing like a boy scout. His philosophy begins with the thought that a blanket and a towel can solve anything. Perhaps we will build a blanket fort and wear towels like superhero capes.
Another quote from Mark Nepo jumped out at me this morning: "And regardless of our good fortune or trouble, we are always holding off the storm of the world to hear the music that runs through everything." Today, we will be listening to the wind's wild tune.
- Published on
"Waiting for Irma" - mixed media on canvas paper, 16" x 20". Inquiries.
BEDEMIR: What also floats in water?
VILLAGER #1: Bread!
VILLAGER #2: Apples!
VILLAGER #3: Very small rocks!
VILLAGER #1: Cider!
VILLAGER #2: Great gravy!
VILLAGER #1: Cherries!
VILLAGER #2: Mud!
VILLAGER #3: Churches -- churches!
VILLAGER #2: Lead -- lead!
ARTHUR: A duck.
CROWD: Oooh.
- from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Scene 5
While Bedemir and Arthur are contemplating what floats in water (churches? gravy? very small rocks?), we are considering what flies through the air. Coconuts, for sure (oh my - the universe just conspired to truly link this script with my actual life experience, didn't it?) and our neighbor's trees are loaded with them. Potted plants? Statuary? Paving stones? Extra roof tiles? Hoses? Plants? Trees? It's hard to decide how much of the outside to bring inside in order to avoid it flying through your roof. And you can't throw things out at this point, because all trash service has been suspended. I am eyeing the kayak leaning on a house across the pond from us and wondering if it will fly through the air as smoothly as it glides across the water.
We aren't the only ones getting ready, of course. An evening walk through the neighborhood revealed house after house boarded and shuttered. People busy clearing out their garages to make room for cars and generators. Here in Florida, 90% of folks use their garage as junk storage, so their cars are generally outside. A big, fast purge is necessary now. Fortunately, our cars are always parked inside. :) Lines at the few gas stations with any fuel left are over two hours long, with police on hand to be sure no one takes more gas than they actually need. The grocery stores are closing this evening until further notice. The entirety of south Florida is shuttering and closing down.
Here in our house, we have hurricane-impact windows, doors and solar panels. That's the good news. The bad news is that, instead of feeling shut up inside a tin can like those with metal shutters or plywood, we can see everything as it happens. I'm not sure if I'll enjoy that. I imagine the scene from the Wizard of Oz where Dorothy sees cows flying by. We will be able to watch the water rising and the coconuts flying. Of course, we will be in a safe room for the rough parts, no windows to the world, bicycle helmets on our heads and cushions all around us. But for the rest of it, we will have our eyes on the world outside.
Meanwhile, in the studio, art continues to be made with the hope that it survives whatever is coming. This piece was inspired by aboriginal art with oddly-shaped figures and markings, a sort of talisman against the storm, a watcher and protector. I am pretty sure this canvas paper would float, which Arthur would approve of.
BEDEMIR: What also floats in water?
VILLAGER #1: Bread!
VILLAGER #2: Apples!
VILLAGER #3: Very small rocks!
VILLAGER #1: Cider!
VILLAGER #2: Great gravy!
VILLAGER #1: Cherries!
VILLAGER #2: Mud!
VILLAGER #3: Churches -- churches!
VILLAGER #2: Lead -- lead!
ARTHUR: A duck.
CROWD: Oooh.
- from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Scene 5
While Bedemir and Arthur are contemplating what floats in water (churches? gravy? very small rocks?), we are considering what flies through the air. Coconuts, for sure (oh my - the universe just conspired to truly link this script with my actual life experience, didn't it?) and our neighbor's trees are loaded with them. Potted plants? Statuary? Paving stones? Extra roof tiles? Hoses? Plants? Trees? It's hard to decide how much of the outside to bring inside in order to avoid it flying through your roof. And you can't throw things out at this point, because all trash service has been suspended. I am eyeing the kayak leaning on a house across the pond from us and wondering if it will fly through the air as smoothly as it glides across the water.
We aren't the only ones getting ready, of course. An evening walk through the neighborhood revealed house after house boarded and shuttered. People busy clearing out their garages to make room for cars and generators. Here in Florida, 90% of folks use their garage as junk storage, so their cars are generally outside. A big, fast purge is necessary now. Fortunately, our cars are always parked inside. :) Lines at the few gas stations with any fuel left are over two hours long, with police on hand to be sure no one takes more gas than they actually need. The grocery stores are closing this evening until further notice. The entirety of south Florida is shuttering and closing down.
Here in our house, we have hurricane-impact windows, doors and solar panels. That's the good news. The bad news is that, instead of feeling shut up inside a tin can like those with metal shutters or plywood, we can see everything as it happens. I'm not sure if I'll enjoy that. I imagine the scene from the Wizard of Oz where Dorothy sees cows flying by. We will be able to watch the water rising and the coconuts flying. Of course, we will be in a safe room for the rough parts, no windows to the world, bicycle helmets on our heads and cushions all around us. But for the rest of it, we will have our eyes on the world outside.
Meanwhile, in the studio, art continues to be made with the hope that it survives whatever is coming. This piece was inspired by aboriginal art with oddly-shaped figures and markings, a sort of talisman against the storm, a watcher and protector. I am pretty sure this canvas paper would float, which Arthur would approve of.
- Published on
"Dancing Petunia" - mixed media on aquabord, 11" x 14". Ready to frame. Available on Artfinder.
[singing]
We're knights of the round table
We dance when e'er we're able
We do routines and parlour scenes
With footwork impecc-Able.
We dine well here in Camelot
We eat ham and jam and spam a lot
- from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Scene 6
Oh goodness! So much running about and hauling this and bagging that and hammering loudly and standing in line and WELL! This must be hurricane preparation! It is a dance of sorts. All about impeccable timing and grace under pressure and knowing the steps because you've practiced them again and again. Unless it's your first time dancing these steps, in which case you simply follow along as best you can, apologizing profusely as you stumble and trip and step on people's toes.
You'd think we were preparing for a big blow out of a party....stocking food and drink to feed an army, hiding away the breakables and covering things in plastic, rolling up the good rugs and hiding them from party-goers. If Irma decides to make merry here, we will eat like royalty for a month. Well, if royalty likes peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and fig newtons dunked in beer, that is.
Along with all the frenzied activity, however, comes a whole new level of philosophical thinking and appreciation for every little thing in life. Yesterday I went through drawers of old family photos, packing them in plastic and tucking them back in like the babies who have now grown into our children. I stared at piles of books wondering which ones deserved the last few heavy duty ziplock bags (the store shelves are empty of these), cherishing the richness of the written word. Knickknacks were stuffed into closets and cupboards to prevent them from becoming projectiles in the event the roof blows off...maybe I don't need these anyway.
And it all filtered down into this one line from Mark Nepo's Seven Thousand Ways to Listen : the fragile, resilient miracle of life is unrepeatable. This week, I can feel this deep in my bones.
[singing]
We're knights of the round table
We dance when e'er we're able
We do routines and parlour scenes
With footwork impecc-Able.
We dine well here in Camelot
We eat ham and jam and spam a lot
- from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Scene 6
Oh goodness! So much running about and hauling this and bagging that and hammering loudly and standing in line and WELL! This must be hurricane preparation! It is a dance of sorts. All about impeccable timing and grace under pressure and knowing the steps because you've practiced them again and again. Unless it's your first time dancing these steps, in which case you simply follow along as best you can, apologizing profusely as you stumble and trip and step on people's toes.
You'd think we were preparing for a big blow out of a party....stocking food and drink to feed an army, hiding away the breakables and covering things in plastic, rolling up the good rugs and hiding them from party-goers. If Irma decides to make merry here, we will eat like royalty for a month. Well, if royalty likes peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and fig newtons dunked in beer, that is.
Along with all the frenzied activity, however, comes a whole new level of philosophical thinking and appreciation for every little thing in life. Yesterday I went through drawers of old family photos, packing them in plastic and tucking them back in like the babies who have now grown into our children. I stared at piles of books wondering which ones deserved the last few heavy duty ziplock bags (the store shelves are empty of these), cherishing the richness of the written word. Knickknacks were stuffed into closets and cupboards to prevent them from becoming projectiles in the event the roof blows off...maybe I don't need these anyway.
And it all filtered down into this one line from Mark Nepo's Seven Thousand Ways to Listen : the fragile, resilient miracle of life is unrepeatable. This week, I can feel this deep in my bones.
- Published on
"The Fortune Teller" - mixed media on reclaimed wood, 7" x 13", Ready to hang. Available on Artfinder.
ARTHUR: There it is! The Bridge of Death!
ROBIN: Oh, great.
KNIGHT: Look! ARTHUR: There's the old man from Scene 24!
BEDEMIR: What is he doing here?
ARTHUR: He is the keeper of the Bridge of Death. He asks each traveller five questions--
KNIGHT: Three questions.
ARTHUR: Three questions. He who answers the five questions--
KNIGHT: Three questions.
ARTHUR: Three questions may cross in safety.
ROBIN: What if you get a question wrong?
ARTHUR: Then you are cast into the Gorge of Eternal Peril.
- from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Scene 35
We are jumping ahead in the movie script today, to a scene totally appropriate for hurricane forecasting. Because what if the meteorologists and computer models answer the question "Where is Irma going?" incorrectly? We are all cast into the Gorge of Eternal Peril! There is nothing I can do besides preparing just in case. So why not paint a fortune teller? Maybe she can sort out the whims of Irma.
It is a bit surreal, truly. It seems we were just yesterday glued to the t.v. watching Harvey, sending good vibes to the folks in Texas and cheering for every rescue. And now...well we are trying to enjoy each day with a big ol' windy beast breathing down our necks. But there is a little silver lining to all this stockpiling and shoring up and standing in line....people are connecting. We are talking to one another, sharing advice and strategies, asking after each other's well-being and reaching out across the miles to discuss particulars. My kids each called me yesterday to express concern - and if you know young adults, they don't call often! It made me smile inside to know they are thinking about their parents and worried on our behalf. Our little ones are growing up.
All this preparation has made me examine my home for fortress qualities. We are fortunate to have many safeguards in place! But when you start planning for where to store your stuff in case the roof blows off or caves in, well, it makes you realize how much you take your roof for granted and how few truly secure places there are in a house. I should have bought stock in blue tarps and plastic bins.
I am not sure what this Fortune Teller sees in her gazing ball with respect to Hurricane Irma, but she did see a winner in yesterday's blog challenge, which asked readers to name something they thought people 100 years from now might make fun of about us. Congratulations to Carol, whose comment "Well, maybe they'll scratch their heads in perplexity over our fascination with the "Snack & Soda" aisle in the grocery store and the Kardashians" made me laugh out loud and provided a lovely respite in all this weather news. Your painting is on the way!
ARTHUR: There it is! The Bridge of Death!
ROBIN: Oh, great.
KNIGHT: Look! ARTHUR: There's the old man from Scene 24!
BEDEMIR: What is he doing here?
ARTHUR: He is the keeper of the Bridge of Death. He asks each traveller five questions--
KNIGHT: Three questions.
ARTHUR: Three questions. He who answers the five questions--
KNIGHT: Three questions.
ARTHUR: Three questions may cross in safety.
ROBIN: What if you get a question wrong?
ARTHUR: Then you are cast into the Gorge of Eternal Peril.
- from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Scene 35
We are jumping ahead in the movie script today, to a scene totally appropriate for hurricane forecasting. Because what if the meteorologists and computer models answer the question "Where is Irma going?" incorrectly? We are all cast into the Gorge of Eternal Peril! There is nothing I can do besides preparing just in case. So why not paint a fortune teller? Maybe she can sort out the whims of Irma.
It is a bit surreal, truly. It seems we were just yesterday glued to the t.v. watching Harvey, sending good vibes to the folks in Texas and cheering for every rescue. And now...well we are trying to enjoy each day with a big ol' windy beast breathing down our necks. But there is a little silver lining to all this stockpiling and shoring up and standing in line....people are connecting. We are talking to one another, sharing advice and strategies, asking after each other's well-being and reaching out across the miles to discuss particulars. My kids each called me yesterday to express concern - and if you know young adults, they don't call often! It made me smile inside to know they are thinking about their parents and worried on our behalf. Our little ones are growing up.
All this preparation has made me examine my home for fortress qualities. We are fortunate to have many safeguards in place! But when you start planning for where to store your stuff in case the roof blows off or caves in, well, it makes you realize how much you take your roof for granted and how few truly secure places there are in a house. I should have bought stock in blue tarps and plastic bins.
I am not sure what this Fortune Teller sees in her gazing ball with respect to Hurricane Irma, but she did see a winner in yesterday's blog challenge, which asked readers to name something they thought people 100 years from now might make fun of about us. Congratulations to Carol, whose comment "Well, maybe they'll scratch their heads in perplexity over our fascination with the "Snack & Soda" aisle in the grocery store and the Kardashians" made me laugh out loud and provided a lovely respite in all this weather news. Your painting is on the way!
- Published on
"Happy Trails" - mixed media on aquabord, 11" x 14". Ready to frame.
BEDEMIR: And that, my liege, is how we know the Earth to be banana-shaped.
ARTHUR: This new learning amazes me, Sir Bedemir. Explain again how sheeps' bladders may be employed to prevent earthquakes.
- from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Scene 6
I've never given much thought to snails. Love their shells, of course, but not a fan of the slime trails and their featureless faces. But art is all about challenging ourselves, right? So when I heard the prompt "paint something ugly" in an art group I belong to, I just had to give it a try. Observing snail trails on the driveway isn't my go-to way to invite the muse, but this challenge actually ended up being fun.
Like Arthur, I try to keep my mind open to "new learning", especially in art. Because everything we know now will be mocked by someone later on, when the world knows better and things are more advanced. And "paint something ugly" might be the next generation of highly revered art, filling museums and galleries when we are all gone to greener pastures. If there ARE museums and galleries then...we might have digital walls in our homes, changing themes to match our moods and furniture, streaming Monets and Van Goghs and...Walls? A girl has got to have a dream.
While we are on the subject of new things, let's try this: is this piece calling you? Well, it could be yours! Leave a comment with the thing you believe our generation will most likely be made fun of 100 years from now. Using a completely unscientific method, (i.e. - whichever comment is the most entertaining) I will choose one of those commenters as the winner of this piece.
Ready? Set? Brainstorm!
BEDEMIR: And that, my liege, is how we know the Earth to be banana-shaped.
ARTHUR: This new learning amazes me, Sir Bedemir. Explain again how sheeps' bladders may be employed to prevent earthquakes.
- from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Scene 6
I've never given much thought to snails. Love their shells, of course, but not a fan of the slime trails and their featureless faces. But art is all about challenging ourselves, right? So when I heard the prompt "paint something ugly" in an art group I belong to, I just had to give it a try. Observing snail trails on the driveway isn't my go-to way to invite the muse, but this challenge actually ended up being fun.
Like Arthur, I try to keep my mind open to "new learning", especially in art. Because everything we know now will be mocked by someone later on, when the world knows better and things are more advanced. And "paint something ugly" might be the next generation of highly revered art, filling museums and galleries when we are all gone to greener pastures. If there ARE museums and galleries then...we might have digital walls in our homes, changing themes to match our moods and furniture, streaming Monets and Van Goghs and...Walls? A girl has got to have a dream.
While we are on the subject of new things, let's try this: is this piece calling you? Well, it could be yours! Leave a comment with the thing you believe our generation will most likely be made fun of 100 years from now. Using a completely unscientific method, (i.e. - whichever comment is the most entertaining) I will choose one of those commenters as the winner of this piece.
Ready? Set? Brainstorm!
- Published on
"Mr. Chesterfield", mixed media on aquabord, 11" x 14". Ready to frame. Available on Artfinder.
BEDEMIR: How do you know she is a witch?
VILLAGER #2: She looks like one.
from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Scene 5
Hurricane Irma is boiling out in the Atlantic, swirling and twirling her way toward the continent. Is she a danger to Florida? Well, she LOOKS dangerous! How much of my need to stockpile water, pantry goods, cash and gas the car is due to the recent Harvey catastrophe? Is Irma a good witch, or a bad witch?
Looks can be deceiving. Take my bitchy resting face. It's just my FACE! I'm not really that annoyed with you. :) Inside, I am sunshine and cookies. Art can be deceiving, too. Sometimes I cannot truly appreciate a piece of art until I understand what's behind it, not just what it looks like on its surface. I happen to fall in love with artists' processes and/or personalities, and then I want to own their art because it then begins to resonate with me.
Take a recent piece I was fortunate enough to acquire from the artist Lillie Morris (check her out here). I met Lillie in Ireland eighteen months ago. She was leaving the Olive Stack Gallery residency just as I was arriving. But we had about 24 hours together before she left. And in that brief amount of time, I fell head over heels for her spritely charm, her fiddling (oh yes, she is also an accomplished musician, collaborating in Irish pubs with other instrumentalists) and her Irish dancing (yep, she does that, too). And she once sent me a photo of a donkey to paint, knowing how much I fell in love with another donkey in Ireland. Donkey photos are truly the way to my heart. I have literally not spent more then one day with this artist, but seeing her art, and how it fits in with her rich creative life (note her collage pieces and collage abstractions, fitting together perfectly like all the different pieces of who she is), I knew I wanted a piece of that lovely energy and enthusiasm hanging in my house.
Now Mr. Chesterfield, on the other hand, is quite a mystery. He is the only one in my studio who is the silent, brooding type. While all the other characters are jumping about, calling each other names and stealing my snacks, he sits quietly watching. I can't tell if he is pondering highfalutin theorems or plotting to eat the tweety birds.
BEDEMIR: How do you know she is a witch?
VILLAGER #2: She looks like one.
from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Scene 5
Hurricane Irma is boiling out in the Atlantic, swirling and twirling her way toward the continent. Is she a danger to Florida? Well, she LOOKS dangerous! How much of my need to stockpile water, pantry goods, cash and gas the car is due to the recent Harvey catastrophe? Is Irma a good witch, or a bad witch?
Looks can be deceiving. Take my bitchy resting face. It's just my FACE! I'm not really that annoyed with you. :) Inside, I am sunshine and cookies. Art can be deceiving, too. Sometimes I cannot truly appreciate a piece of art until I understand what's behind it, not just what it looks like on its surface. I happen to fall in love with artists' processes and/or personalities, and then I want to own their art because it then begins to resonate with me.
Take a recent piece I was fortunate enough to acquire from the artist Lillie Morris (check her out here). I met Lillie in Ireland eighteen months ago. She was leaving the Olive Stack Gallery residency just as I was arriving. But we had about 24 hours together before she left. And in that brief amount of time, I fell head over heels for her spritely charm, her fiddling (oh yes, she is also an accomplished musician, collaborating in Irish pubs with other instrumentalists) and her Irish dancing (yep, she does that, too). And she once sent me a photo of a donkey to paint, knowing how much I fell in love with another donkey in Ireland. Donkey photos are truly the way to my heart. I have literally not spent more then one day with this artist, but seeing her art, and how it fits in with her rich creative life (note her collage pieces and collage abstractions, fitting together perfectly like all the different pieces of who she is), I knew I wanted a piece of that lovely energy and enthusiasm hanging in my house.
Now Mr. Chesterfield, on the other hand, is quite a mystery. He is the only one in my studio who is the silent, brooding type. While all the other characters are jumping about, calling each other names and stealing my snacks, he sits quietly watching. I can't tell if he is pondering highfalutin theorems or plotting to eat the tweety birds.
- Published on
"We Float" - ink on aquabord, 6" x 6". Ready to frame. Available on Artfinder.
WOMAN: Well, 'ow did you become king then?
ARTHUR: The Lady of the Lake, [angels sing] her arm clad in the purest shimmering samite, held aloft Excalibur from the bosom of the water signifying by Divine Providence that I, Arthur, was to carry Excalibur. [singing stops] That is why I am your king!
DENNIS: Listen -- strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony
- from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail", Scene 3
Perspective. Quite different depending what side of it you're standing on. I happen to like the idea of "strange women lying in ponds" and their potential impact on governmental systems. But only the idea of it. The reality would be something else entirely, I imagine.
Art is about perspective. Not just the process of composing a painting and its viewpoint, but the perspective of the art viewer as well. I recently spoke to a group of college students in a gallery setting. It was fascinating to watch them watching the art, and to see which pieces spoke to them. As you might imagine, it was completely different for everyone. Even the gallery curator most appreciated a piece different from those that others liked. It was unpredictable and widely disparate.
I love this about art. When it comes to your perspective as a viewer, you can't get it wrong. It just matters what you like - what calls to you and what makes you want to look again. Even for me. I can view a hundred pieces of art and feel nothing for 99 of them. But there will be at least one that whispers to me and stays with me after I've walked away. Whether I like it because the Lady of the Lake told me to or because of the logical balance and composition of the piece doesn't matter. It just matters that I like it.
Recently I began building a small collection of pieces that make my heart sing. One here, one there, completely unrelated pieces from a variety of artists. I'm looking for the common thread running through them. I'll let you know when I find it. In the meantime, I'll just float along in the pond looking for swords.
WOMAN: Well, 'ow did you become king then?
ARTHUR: The Lady of the Lake, [angels sing] her arm clad in the purest shimmering samite, held aloft Excalibur from the bosom of the water signifying by Divine Providence that I, Arthur, was to carry Excalibur. [singing stops] That is why I am your king!
DENNIS: Listen -- strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony
- from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail", Scene 3
Perspective. Quite different depending what side of it you're standing on. I happen to like the idea of "strange women lying in ponds" and their potential impact on governmental systems. But only the idea of it. The reality would be something else entirely, I imagine.
Art is about perspective. Not just the process of composing a painting and its viewpoint, but the perspective of the art viewer as well. I recently spoke to a group of college students in a gallery setting. It was fascinating to watch them watching the art, and to see which pieces spoke to them. As you might imagine, it was completely different for everyone. Even the gallery curator most appreciated a piece different from those that others liked. It was unpredictable and widely disparate.
I love this about art. When it comes to your perspective as a viewer, you can't get it wrong. It just matters what you like - what calls to you and what makes you want to look again. Even for me. I can view a hundred pieces of art and feel nothing for 99 of them. But there will be at least one that whispers to me and stays with me after I've walked away. Whether I like it because the Lady of the Lake told me to or because of the logical balance and composition of the piece doesn't matter. It just matters that I like it.
Recently I began building a small collection of pieces that make my heart sing. One here, one there, completely unrelated pieces from a variety of artists. I'm looking for the common thread running through them. I'll let you know when I find it. In the meantime, I'll just float along in the pond looking for swords.
- Published on
"Tweetness" - mixed media on reclaimed wood, 7" x 17", ready to hang. Available on Artfinder.
GUARD #1: Where'd you get the coconuts?
ARTHUR: We found them.
GUARD #1: Found them? In Mercea? The coconut's tropical!
ARTHUR: What do you mean?
GUARD #1: Well, this is a temperate zone.
ARTHUR: The swallow may fly south with the sun or the house martin or the plumber may seek warmer climes in winter yet these are not strangers to our land.
GUARD #1: Are you suggesting coconuts migrate?
ARTHUR: Not at all, they could be carried.
GUARD #1: What -- a swallow carrying a coconut?
- from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Scene One
I'm still in the 30 in 30 bullpen, warming up my arm before I head out to the mound. Throwing coconuts, of course. This piece, "Tweetness" is the result of a full-on major malarkey episode and a brief desire to paint something folksy. Now that THAT'S out of my system, I can get back to serious business (maybe). There are no less than eleven supports in various stages of being painted on my studio floor. Everyone has to tip-toe to get through. Serves them right! They shouldn't be in here anyway.
Another scene (above) in which Arthur engages in a serious contemplation of what is obvious bull-hockey. And he even phrases his response in elegant prose. Which is what we have to do sometimes...take ourselves seriously, even if no one else does. In fact, especially when no one else does. Imagine if we dedicated ourselves with super seriousness to the thing we most wanted in the world (assuming of course, you know what that is). Anything could happen. Sometimes my husband asks me what I'm up to here - clacking away on my laptop with paint-smeared hands. "Expanding the vast realm of my art empire," I reply. "I am dreaming of world domination." He thinks I jest. I think not.
What is it you seek from your creative pursuits? What is it you want in your heart of hearts? What does your secret heart treasure? What if you could actually go get that? Let's form a tribe of people in pursuit of dreams. I'll provide the imaginary trusty steeds, you bring the snacks.
GUARD #1: Where'd you get the coconuts?
ARTHUR: We found them.
GUARD #1: Found them? In Mercea? The coconut's tropical!
ARTHUR: What do you mean?
GUARD #1: Well, this is a temperate zone.
ARTHUR: The swallow may fly south with the sun or the house martin or the plumber may seek warmer climes in winter yet these are not strangers to our land.
GUARD #1: Are you suggesting coconuts migrate?
ARTHUR: Not at all, they could be carried.
GUARD #1: What -- a swallow carrying a coconut?
- from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Scene One
I'm still in the 30 in 30 bullpen, warming up my arm before I head out to the mound. Throwing coconuts, of course. This piece, "Tweetness" is the result of a full-on major malarkey episode and a brief desire to paint something folksy. Now that THAT'S out of my system, I can get back to serious business (maybe). There are no less than eleven supports in various stages of being painted on my studio floor. Everyone has to tip-toe to get through. Serves them right! They shouldn't be in here anyway.
Another scene (above) in which Arthur engages in a serious contemplation of what is obvious bull-hockey. And he even phrases his response in elegant prose. Which is what we have to do sometimes...take ourselves seriously, even if no one else does. In fact, especially when no one else does. Imagine if we dedicated ourselves with super seriousness to the thing we most wanted in the world (assuming of course, you know what that is). Anything could happen. Sometimes my husband asks me what I'm up to here - clacking away on my laptop with paint-smeared hands. "Expanding the vast realm of my art empire," I reply. "I am dreaming of world domination." He thinks I jest. I think not.
What is it you seek from your creative pursuits? What is it you want in your heart of hearts? What does your secret heart treasure? What if you could actually go get that? Let's form a tribe of people in pursuit of dreams. I'll provide the imaginary trusty steeds, you bring the snacks.
- Published on
"Amabella" - mixed media on reclaimed wood, 6" x 18". Ready to hang. Available on Artfinder.
[wind] [clop clop] ARTHUR: Whoa there!
[clop clop] GUARD #1: Halt! Who goes there?
ARTHUR: It is I, Arthur, son of Uther Pendragon, from the castle of Camelot. King of the Britons, defeator of the Saxons, sovereign of all England!
GUARD #1: Pull the other one!
ARTHUR: I am. And this my trusty servant Patsy. We have ridden the length and breadth of the land in search of knights who will join me in my court of Camelot. I must speak with your lord and master.
GUARD #1: What, ridden on a horse?
ARTHUR: Yes!
GUARD #1: You're using coconuts!
ARTHUR: What?
GUARD #1: You've got two empty halves of coconut and you're bangin' 'em together.
- from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail", Scene 1
And so it begins. Day one, in the studio, essentially banging coconuts together and creating the illusion of something else going on. Like Arthur, I believe in what I'm doing, even if the guard sees through my props and playacting. This movie is one of my all time favorites. Yes, it's funny and off-color and British. And there are llamas in the opening credits, and then later animation and a sorcerer. But the thing that draws me in every time is Arthurs unwavering conviction...his tenacity, perseverance and belief in himself regardless of what is going on around him. He is on a mission, wearing blinders and plugging his ears, tuning out everything and everyone.
[wind] [clop clop] ARTHUR: Whoa there!
[clop clop] GUARD #1: Halt! Who goes there?
ARTHUR: It is I, Arthur, son of Uther Pendragon, from the castle of Camelot. King of the Britons, defeator of the Saxons, sovereign of all England!
GUARD #1: Pull the other one!
ARTHUR: I am. And this my trusty servant Patsy. We have ridden the length and breadth of the land in search of knights who will join me in my court of Camelot. I must speak with your lord and master.
GUARD #1: What, ridden on a horse?
ARTHUR: Yes!
GUARD #1: You're using coconuts!
ARTHUR: What?
GUARD #1: You've got two empty halves of coconut and you're bangin' 'em together.
- from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail", Scene 1
And so it begins. Day one, in the studio, essentially banging coconuts together and creating the illusion of something else going on. Like Arthur, I believe in what I'm doing, even if the guard sees through my props and playacting. This movie is one of my all time favorites. Yes, it's funny and off-color and British. And there are llamas in the opening credits, and then later animation and a sorcerer. But the thing that draws me in every time is Arthurs unwavering conviction...his tenacity, perseverance and belief in himself regardless of what is going on around him. He is on a mission, wearing blinders and plugging his ears, tuning out everything and everyone.
And isn't that just exactly what we need to do as humans? Believe in ourselves and the magic that can happen even if it is just coconuts banging together. Which means ignoring the people who say "you can't" and those who say "it will never happen" and pushing forward relentlessly toward your goal. It helps to have a trusty servant (and if his name is "Patsy", even better, right?) but a supportive friend or two will do.
This is my sixth 30 in 30 challenge. SIXTH! I feel like one of those crazy ironman marathoners who pits themselves against the elements over and over again, defying all odds (cue large wooden rabbit catapulting toward my studio) and who simply can't resist one more go at it. Thank you, dear reader, for coming along for the ride this month on our trusty imaginary steeds. I hope you'll find it both motivating and entertaining - and if not, blame the coconuts.
"Amabella" was inspired by a dear lady who is about to become an auntie. Her niece-to-be is going to have the most marvelous adventures and forever support no matter what quest she sets out on in her lifetime.
This is my sixth 30 in 30 challenge. SIXTH! I feel like one of those crazy ironman marathoners who pits themselves against the elements over and over again, defying all odds (cue large wooden rabbit catapulting toward my studio) and who simply can't resist one more go at it. Thank you, dear reader, for coming along for the ride this month on our trusty imaginary steeds. I hope you'll find it both motivating and entertaining - and if not, blame the coconuts.
"Amabella" was inspired by a dear lady who is about to become an auntie. Her niece-to-be is going to have the most marvelous adventures and forever support no matter what quest she sets out on in her lifetime.
