h'art works

forward momentum

2010-05-19T01:22:00.000-05:00

Small, achingly bittersweet and delicious moments of supreme clarity give me pause as a smile brushes my lips in hopeful laughter of what may come next.

A freeing feeling, it is, to let my soul believe, just for a moment or two longer, that there really is something powerful and awesome about life. That there really is something magnificent about just breathing in and out.

Oh, so much did I ache for this recent opportunity, and it was beautiful and fulfilling and awesome just to visit and be in their creative space for awhile. I learned from just that afternoon that anything truly is possible, there are no rules, no matter who tells you so.

And so, a breaking rules I will go. I will continue to create art that makes people smile while giving others pause. I will design my world of wood and canvas and nature and make it my home. I will pour out the words that affect my sense of balance until everything fits just right again. I will leap into the air and take flight as my dreams will let me.

It's these still, small, delightful moments that let me believe I can do anything. Let me believe.

Spring Travel

2010-02-26T03:41:00.000-06:00

Tomorrow I will be on the road again. Being on the road I don't mind so much, the stuff I'm having a hard time with does not involve the landscapes I'll see and the miles I'll drive.

What I'm torn over is: the daffodils are blooming. They're these tiny, miniature daffodils I planted in the the yard a few years ago. We always had these big blooming yellow bursts at our old house, and I wanted some here, and all I could find was a little desk plant size that I transplanted to the yard. And they pop their tiny, delicate yellow blooming heads up each year now.

This is only a base feeling for the deeper butterflies. Sure, March in West Texas is brutally windy and it is thoroughly unpleasant to go outside and eat dirt in the air. So escaping that is a plus.

But being away long enough for the weeds to take over the yard irks me. Being so far away from my tools and supplies has me crawling with hives. Packing enough clothes, let alone shoes for several weeks just has me in a tither.

I'm so torn up, I haven't eaten right in days. All my brushes and tools and choices are set up and laid out so that when inspiration strikes, I just grab and get to work. The weather is finally starting to get nice, nice enough that I don't want to stay buried under five blankets for warmth all day. Nice enough that I want to spend my afternoon outside, writing or gardening or watching the birds flit about.

This is so very weird for me. I love to travel, especially in the Spring. For years I felt that I needed to be in San Antonio in the Springtime, watching the preparations for Fiesta, absorbing all the colors and excitement. Wandering the Hill Country to see all the miles of reds, blues, yellows - wildflowers and bluebonnets in bloom.

That's home to me. That's what I crave and enjoy.

Please, oh, please, let me find some creative joy out of this excursion.

Art should be messy

2010-02-13T20:55:00.000-06:00

Creation should come from destruction, from randomness, from the unknown.

So many rules to follow in daily life lead to frustration and depression. Stay inside the lines. Stop at the stop signs. Don’t hit others. Keep your room clean. Don’t play with your food.

One of the best possible memories of creating, of art in my early years, comes from being completely and unabashedly messy. It is still enough of an impression upon my subconscious that I’m a messy and disorganized adult now.

Having an ‘art shirt’. The old, over-sized button down shirt of some adult in my life that was used as an art smock, so as not to get my other clothes dirty or stained. Over time this smock shirt would end up with stains and smears, splatters and streaks in all colors of the rainbow.

My grandfather passed away nearly a decade ago now, and I adopted several of his work shirts when my grandmother was cleaning out his closet. Sturdy cloth, strong stitching, meant to handle grease or dirt and still be fine. They have his name stitched above the pocket and a hole in the pocket flap for a pen to reside. They’re slightly baggy on me, which is fine for layering over tank tops or sweaters. But these are my art smocks now. The familiar pride in wearing his shirt feels comforting. The random streaks of paint across the front and arms from where I routinely wipe paintbrushes makes it mine.

If you’re sitting down to paint with your kids, know that they’re going to be kids. They’re going to be messy and draw outside the lines and mix colors just because they can. Let them enjoy that freedom of creating art in their own way. Pull out an old button down shirt that they can use as their own art smock, something that they can get messy in and not worry about the consequences. Get one for yourself. See how good it feels to ignore just a few rules sometimes.

Into the New

2010-01-01T02:17:00.000-06:00

Celebrations 'round the world for the end of a year/decade thus welcoming the new, the unknown, the upcoming.

I want to go further in the art than I have done before. Having my first show under my belt has helped give me a few more ideas to work on, things to expand on and things that I can continue to work on for myself.

The zombie sheep caught people off guard, made them pause, made them laugh, and gave me a whole new perspective on these little baaa-uugggers.

My drip/splatter paintings were received in a different way. Several people stopped to comment on them, to admire and question and encourage me to do this or that with them. I am calm and at peace with these. If they sell or if they show, I don't care. I create them because it's what I feel when I'm creating. These paintings are what comes from my visions and ideas. These paintings tell their own stories and invite you to touch them to feel each line as it was laid down across the canvas. These paintings are my art.

May the new experiences in the coming year give me better understanding of the business side of making art work for me, give me more opportunities to create them and promote them, and find the audience they are fit to receive.

As for the zombie sheep, well, they'll be branching out on their own soon enough, given their own space to roam with a website and probably t-shirts.

Writing will keep me busy as I work for one company and develop my fiction writing skills in another. Words will continue to flow, gracefully or not, but they will pour forth and return to me as complete structured sentences. And, you know, better paychecks. Hopefully with a novel under my own moniker...

Here's to the new, here's to the unknown, here's to the possibilities. Let's celebrate and create about it.

Would YOU wear a shirt with this on it?

2009-11-18T13:43:00.000-06:00

This is one version of the sneaky Zombie Sheep. They will eat you and convert you to their nefarious Zombie Sheep ways. Suddenly you will find yourself looking over your shoulder and laughing at sheep in a whole new way.

So to further promote awareness - we'd like to share the warning of "Don't Blink!" with as many people as possible. Would YOU wear a shirt with this on it?

First Art Show : List of Things To Do

2009-11-09T01:50:00.000-06:00

It seems I've got several million things on my mind regarding the upcoming show and various other projects. It seems that way.

When I actually jot them down, the list fits on a post-it note... if I write really small.

There is a fascinating calm to this stress.

I have no idea how to do several things, and am trying to figure them out in plenty of time. Credit cards? Yeah. I'm spoiled by paypal. Setting up the actual booth? You mean I need a plan other than to pull it out of the box and hang a few things up? Lights? Arrangement? A table, maybe? A place to put the credit card machine? Wow...

Paintings. Carvings. I don't have as many carvings done as I'd like to have. The smaller paintings need more work. I need to get the prints narrowed down from the 76 images I have to choose from and get them printed. I need to order the sleeves for them, and for the note cards. I need to work on the note cards!

I need to send out the postcards as soon as they're ready - tell everyone about the show and offer a discount to those who are interested. I need to update the gallery on heatherartworks.com and I'd like to launch a mailing list, but that may have to wait till December. I have to make a decision on the Spring shows - which one I want to aim for - how many pieces I can accomplish before then, cost, can I really do this?, etc...

It's a very, very different stress than what I was going through over a month ago. (Let's just say: I don't take orders. At all. And I'm going back to being a volunteer so I can say "No" to the ridiculous.)

This is a stress I can deal with, because it allows me to find creative solutions and rearrange how I approach things. (I'm not crying every night, so that alone is 100 times better!) This is my plan, my creativity given free reign, the way it should be.

Paintings will be finished. Carvings will get stained. Prints will be sleeved. Note cards will be bundled.

Speaking of which - the note cards are a limited edition item... come to think of it, so's everything else! When they're gone, they're gone! So... if any of the pieces strike your fancy, snap 'em up!

Now back to sorting out the list of things to do and find a place to start. A paintbrush seems a good a place as any...

tactile

2009-11-02T06:32:00.005-06:00

Well, I've managed to go and scare myself, noting that it's three and a half weeks till the Thanksgiving Invitational Art Show thing in Fredericksburg on the two days after Thanksgiving. I need to get things printed, I need to get things painted, I need to get things carved... I need to figure out business things for the course of the two days... Plus I still need to pay the bills and clean and do laundry and do research and job hunt...

Eck. Enough about that for now. I'll post a photo or two of what I've been working on lately:

I call this series "Fall Colors, 2009". Yes, they're light purple and blues. Just the colors that came to mind when I sketched this one out. They're still not finished - more to go. They're 18 inches across and about 4 feet tall. There are four panels, each with the 'squares' in different locations. I've made a smaller one, too. If this series gets accepted for a show in a gallery, the small one, about 8 inches by 20 inches, will be touchable.

Tactile. I enjoy the texture of these pieces, and while I really don't want everybody lovin' on the big panels or paintings, the smaller one will be there just for that. To touch. To feel what the canvas materiel feels like. To feel what the layers of paints feel like. To run your fingers along the lines and depths and across the now-dry drips. This is what art is to me. To be able to touch it and experience it for myself. To share that with everybody else.

Anyway, I'll post more soon on the show at Thanksgiving - hopefully I'll have the postcard invites ready by the end of this week, get those up here. Generate some interest in coming out to see what I've got up as well as what other artist's are displaying for show and sell.

grin

2009-09-13T00:56:00.004-05:00

You know what makes me happy?
Power tools.
You know what makes me even happier?
Using them!

It's a fascinating blend of destruction and creation when I heft that saw or drill and make the wood change shapes. The sawdust flies, chips popping me in the arm, the high buzz resonating through my body as I lean into give some balance.

Wood has a distinct scent, wet and dry, and all the variations of trees they come from. The grains shift under my fingertips, the hard and soft levels playing fast and loose with the blades as I go across. It's a beautiful and appealing feel, drawing me in and asking for more.

painting zen - 1, 2, 3 - black, orange, pink

2009-06-22T22:54:00.000-05:00

We'll see if the viddler video upload works, because youtube tells me I can't upload a video over 10 minutes, which I think is bollocks. Whatever.

I'll do actual explaining about the pieces when the paint is dry & I've released the tape and gotten them ready for hanging.

It's two pieces - with 1 layer of black, 2 layers of oranges, and 3 layers of pinks on top.

"Where Are You Going"

2009-04-28T23:10:00.001-05:00

I'm trying my damnedest to stay upbeat because everyone else is telling me what a beautiful place I'm in. If you saw the mouse, or mice, scurrying around the floor like I am right now, you might see things a bit differently and lay off the "It's paradise! Enjoy it!" sentiments.

The timing has been difficult at best. With the stress of last week and everything. With trying to figure out the time zone differences so I'm not waking someone up when I call. With trying to make my commitments to my contracts for conference calls and proposals and writing guidelines and updates in between school and dentist and other kid related things.

For all those who thought I was just joking when I said I don't want kids... well, this trip is just confirmation of those thoughts for me.

Maybe I really am this selfish. Maybe I really do enjoy the peace and the traveling and spending time with my partner, even if right now it's just phone conversations. Maybe I really do want to fly down the highway on a motorcycle. Maybe I do want to make an entire meal out of brie and tilapia and wine. Maybe I want to stay in bed all day savoring my partner's body or a really good book. Maybe I want to travel where the wind blows and see what happens as opposed to having a schedule.

I'm supposedly on vacation. I'm not real sure according to who. I still have things to get done everyday and jobs to apply for in between being a nanny of sorts.

When I travel I like to roam. To wander. To disappear on my own. I really enjoy this. I have for years. To meander through a new town or small antique store or funky boutique. To sit and enjoy a really good meal with wine in some small local cafe or to listen to a local band jam in some little bar. To sit on a park bench and people watch or read or write.

So far... um, nope.

I hope that I really can explore a bit soon. I hope to take advantage of the time I'm here to go see things I've always wanted to see - like Pearl Harbor. I'm sure the Polynesian Center is awesome, but the cost far outweighs my interest at this time. I'll add it to the 'someday, when I can come back with someone I want to spend travel time with, or when I don't have to worry about money anymore' file.

I have taken several pictures of the clouds over the mountains and the flowers, though. I've gotten to swim in the Pacific now (not in a relaxing sunbathing kind of swim, this was a 'keep the girls from drowning each other' exhausting couple of hours), to check that off the list.

I'm trying to find time to just read, but it's hard because I tend to start crying when I find that few minutes and realize the situation I'm in and who I'm missing.

Yes, it's far from ideal right now. Yes, I'm attempting to try. I have moments where it's really nice, but the reality is a far harsher fall.

When I can finally take the time to draw or do something remotely resembling art again, I will. Unfortunately, even with the bit of soul searching I'm trying to do right now, it's going to take me awhile to get my head screwed back on straight. I'm in emotional and mental upheaval and I have to keep it all inside for now.

This is why I write, this is why I blog, this is who I am

2009-04-19T12:57:00.000-05:00

Because not everyone hears every story. Because not everyone cares about the stories we do tell. Because sometimes we need to be heard in the void. Because everyone remembers something different.

I remember my grandfather as a hard man. I don't know enough about his life before I can remember being young, because he never talked about it. He didn't share his own stories, even the hard ones.

All we knew was we had to be quiet. We couldn't play "Hungry-Hungry-Hippos" because it was too much noise. I'm pretty sure his main reason for building us a playset in the backyard was so that we could make noise - outside. The reason I remember being told was because he practically grew up an only child, he was used to quiet.

That excuse makes no sense to me now. I don't suppose it did then either.

My grandmother thrived, and still does to a point, on commotion & chaos. Having half a dozen kids sleeping over, playing dress up, making plays, playing games and generally squirreling underfoot was her element. For her, coordinating and planning and talking to lots of people is a great day. She seems to bloom like her roses that hold steadfast in hard caliche and whipping wind only to glow strong and fresh in the many vases placed everywhere you turn.

My grandfather though, could get lost for hours in books. I know he did all these pretty great things like starting swim teams when my dad & uncles were boys. I know he ran a respected business, helped develop this city in many ways, worked on so many projects. I know he helped make laws and brought computers to their business and helped build Prairie Pete Park when it had cool things to climb on. I know he was in the Army Air Corp and ended up at Midland Army Air Field. I know he was raised in Chicago. I know he made a good Colonel in the CAF because he's just ornery enough to fit the criteria.

But I mostly remember him always having a book. Sitting in his chair reading, barking at us to quit tearing through the house. Sitting, quietly, trying to stay lost in his world.

There are things I learned about him eventually. Bits of snippets of his memories as a kid or family growing up or what else he'd done. Either I got old enough to finally hear them or he finally decided to tell them.

He was a hard man. But he got things done. More than one person referred to him as an ogre, whether the referral was affectionate or not depended on who you talked to. He somehow made things happen, and I imagine he growled quite a lot at quite a number of people to make these things happen.

My grandparents were married 65 years. As much as we could see them push each others buttons, he loved my grandmother. It was rare, but to catch him looking at her with affection when he thought no one was watching, that is when he bloomed like his rose bushes. He was all thorns and thick rough stalks and dry edged leaves to suddenly surprise you with a soft pink rosebud hidden and blooming.

I don't know how they met. I don't know if he went to school for a degree. I don't know if he had dreams he wanted to pursue.

I do know he read. A lot. I know he was an alcoholic. I know he liked growing the roses and tomatoes in the garden. I know he did things his way. I know he liked his choices in music.

I know I'm a lot like him in some ways, traits passed on that make each of us who we are.

I know I have stories that people will never hear. I know I have stories of things in my life that may never get passed along. Partly because I prefer to look forward and learn what I can from the past, but keep going.

But I write them. I write some for myself, tucked into long and rambling notebooks now covered in dust on the shelf. I write to be read, posting into the internet things that happen as a way of remembering and sharing, sometimes to be commented on by strangers or fiends. I write down my memories of my stories, so that someday later when I flip back through them I can remember what that scent was or where that storm was or who I was with when that happened.

We share these bits of our lives in a public space. We make the effort to put ourselves out there, to share what we see happening with the world.

Because I want these stories of mine to be known, even if the only people who read it are friends I haven't met yet. So that somewhere out here in this world is my version of what I did and saw. So that someday when people wonder about the eccentric woman who paints and gets lost in her own world, they'll know there's more to me than just that. I have more stories than just what I've done.

Doin' it my way

2009-04-10T03:58:00.007-05:00

This piece is one of two, because it was supposed to be one of four, but two of them were sent to the 'scrap it' pile.

This piece was submitted to the local art association for the juried show. It was 'not accepted'. My guess is because it's not a landscape or still life. (No, I'm not bitter... oh, well, maybe a little bit...)

This piece is called "Wishes Do...", because I thought it was cute and fun. And because it's only two feet long and the letters are like three inches each and they take up a lot of space, so word choices were limited. Logic. Of some sort. And because I wanted to have a happy little painting with a bit of meaning.

Actually, this is coming off as a bit jaded, and while I am about some things, I love the way these two came out.
They're cute, in a sassy kind of way. They're simple, and yet so many layers went into it, and I just want to run my fingers over the lines and layers... It's so tactile, the way I like my art. (<--- click on the photo for an extreme close up that makes you want to pet your computer screen.)

~~~~~~~~~

Now, this is a picture of one of the two that are being repurposed. Gag. (In my opinion.)

Oh, I should wait for you to scroll back to the top to see if you can compare and see the differences...

There - did you see it?

You can see the words in the first one. In the second one, well, you can't. The paint bled under the tape lines on the second set.

What the difference is: The base.

The two that came out awesome, or at least the way I wanted them to, are the two I built and stretched myself. I use muslin because it's thinner than regular canvas is which offers the opportunity to see through it. This is a feature I really like. The bonus part of this is the way paint adheres to the thinly woven fabric, thus making it easier for shape shadows that are set with tape, and making the paint stay thick so it stands out, not bleeds down.

The two that bled? Were done on the store bought gesso'd canvases. The gesso makes the canvas smoother, yes, and for some paintings makes a pretty decent base. But when I lay tape down and drizzle layers of paint over it and peel the tape up, it should be bare under the tape, right? For some reason, the gesso base lets the paint bleed under the tape. Yuck.

Peeling the tape off the bare fabric of the muslin canvases leaves a fairly clean line 99.3% of the time. This is more to my liking.

It was a learning experience. The two for scrap will be unstapled and the paint covered canvas will be cut up for... strips on something else, for cut outs to glue to cards for sale or gifts, for tying together to make funky necklaces, for spelling out naughty words on the front lawn, whatever... the frames will be used to stretch and staple fresh, bare muslin on and go about the process again with new pieces.

The two "Wishes Do..." pieces measure 12 inches by 24 inches, have a plain white cloth backing so the staples won't scratch your wall, are wrapped on the edges by navy blue ribbon which also serves as the hanging anchor. The colors on the canvas are grey, light blue, light pink, dark blue, and a rust red. Each is signed on the back and will be custom wrapped for shipping.

$120 if ~~you'd like one to pet, stroke, rub,~~ you're interested:

Binary Rain

2009-04-02T00:28:00.001-05:00

I have this fascination with painting designs in a mosaic or tiled sort of pattern... This piece is one of them.

Let me insert here that I have post it notes everywhere with half sketched ideas, usually no more than a couple of cross hatched lines and the names of colors quickly chicken-scratched down. I then find them the next morning scattered across the bed or floor with notes like "thre angle lines sherbet blue" or "7 rows 3rd shape black yellow", and they kinda make sense to the artist part of my brain.

This particular painting started out as one of those small crumpled squares. I'm proud to say it came out like I'd imagined it.

Here's a close up:

I like it when pieces come together like this. I like it when I just sit down and start painting something and then it looks how I wanted it to. I'm still figuring out how to make this particular style work on a few other things, but I really enjoy it.

I've realized I need to just paint, to stop worrying about making these perfect little paintings, to just make a mess, make it happen and see what comes of it. It will better my technique, it will help me be less afraid of screwing up, it will be a better chance to see what I need to work on instead of sitting here not doing anything because I'm too worried I can do it at all.

One step at a time, Heather. Enjoy this painting because it did work out.

Hanged Man Tells the Tale

2009-03-12T03:54:00.000-05:00

The Hanged Man. The 2D drawing with orange lines along the sides of the tarot card offers little in the way of a threat. It's just a card.

Isn't it?

It's a just a card. How terrifying it feels to see this card placed in front of me once again.

Not like I know what it means any more than before.

Delusions of death and destruction made me choke on my chewing gum. With coughing and sputtering interrupting the reading in progress, I heard nothing past her whispery voice saying "The Hanged Man". She continued on, pointing out the cups and numbers of coins and facing up or down. Facing up or down to her or to me, though, I cannot remember.

The Hanged Man. He caught my eye.

I stood up from her folding chair and ducked out of the tent into the bright sunshine and noise of the county fair all around me. An empty cotton candy cone rolled past my feet, dancing in the afternoon breeze as screams of laughter echoed off the makeshift walls of dart throwing booths and kissing booths and jewelery stands and homemade jam stands.

Suddenly, I needed quiet. Someplace quiet, please. I walked past the last stand, a guy selling his hand made rocking chairs, beautifully polished and carved works of art and relaxation, rocking in the breeze, begging to be sat upon and enjoyed. I moved past him and his rocking chairs, past the edge of the clearing to a small stand of trees, just on the edge of the field, offering a bit of solitude and shade on a day like this.

This is where I chose to sit and contemplate. What did it mean, this Hanged Man? This man hanging by one foot from the branch of a tree? I look up above me and ponder this thought.

One moment in suspension... and clarity of a different view comes into focus.

These thoughts are too much to bear now, I'm afraid of digging too deep and finding out what I should not know or what I should already know but am choosing to ignore anyway.

He hangs. He views his world upside down for a mere whimsy of a thought, just long enough to let the loose change fall from his pocket to the ground, just long enough to let the blood rush to his head, I'm sure. Then again, the last time I hung upside down was probably the jungle gym on the playground when I was small, before they were deemed as "unsafe structures for children to climb on". There were whole adventures up there, and part of the thrill was the scare that yes, you could fall and hurt yourself, so you had to make sure your grip was strong and sure, make sure you had your hand on the next bar or your foot upon one to lift you up. The ground loomed below, daunting and inviting. Ready to catch you if you fell, ready to catch you if you jumped. If you jumped off, you were in far more control than falling, thus jumping was deemed far superior than the painful lump of falling.

Perhaps this is what the fabled hanging man saw. A world from a different view than this flat world upon which we stand. Everything was upside down. On purpose. He did not do it to fall, he was not placed there for his death, it was just to seek a sight he could not see on his own two feet upon the ground. This time the ground was above him, catching his falling change, offering to catch him if he fell. This time the tree branches held him firm, as he exercised his right to a different view of his world.

We view him as the odd man, upside down, suspended in time and place. A tarot card telling me to look at things with a different perspective, perhaps upside down to see what stuff falls away, to pause long enough and realize this whole wide world I take for granted is just there to catch me if I were to jump the same as if I were to fall.

The breeze knocks a leaf off the branch above me, it floats down to the ground in front of me, suggesting all along this may very well be true. Just because I'm right side up or upside down, doesn't mean everyone see the same thing.

Someone is throwing darts at a blue balloon in effort to win his girl the stuffed teddy bear. A child is screaming at the top of his lungs because the clown frightened him and he dropped his ice cream - but if he screams from fear of the clown or agony over the ice cream, it's tough to tell. A girl is sitting in the metal folding chair to have her fortune told, hoping the boy she likes is the one for her and hoping this lady with the whispery voice and the well-read cards will tell her this is so. A woman stands on her tip-toes to place another necklace on the jewelry booth wall hook, grabbing her back as she twists in a way that is painful and curses that this is the life she chose so many years ago but is now so entrenched she doesn't know that she, too can change her view or change her world.

I take a moment longer, to look up once again at the branches above me. I know better, this spindly tree would not hold me if I tried to climb it, so I pat the bark and sigh. Maybe having the ground catch you doesn't just have to happen if you fall or jump. Maybe having the ground catch you happens with every step you take. So I stand up and take one.

And promptly fall as I trip over a rock.

Yes, the ground caught me. It was there all along. I lay there for a moment stunned, glancing around to hope against hope no one saw my lack of grace, feeling my hands for the raw scratched and dirt on my palms. I'm ok. No one seems to have seen. I push myself back up and laugh, shaking at the adrenaline rush from the trip. Yep, seems that I changed my perspective after all, if only for a few minutes.
~

two steps forward, one step back

2009-03-02T20:36:00.003-06:00

Website:

I finally get a few things to line up, fall into place, look decent - and I finally get the ftp to play nice while I upload said pages to publish, and then the newest haywire is that I have three different sites with the same directory path. Sigh.

This (I'm tired & my fingers aren't playing nice, I just wrote 'Shit' instead of 'This'. Maybe a Freudian slip...) (and now I lost my train of thought...)

Oh.

This means that every time I adjust one page, that's what shows up on all three sites. I'm kinda growly about this. (and I keep misspelling words, which means my fingers are tired of the keyboard for now.

Paintings:

I've been playing with scrapbook glues, with masking tape, with contact paper, with all sorts of things that I need to temporarily stick to the canvas without staining, so I can lay down some stencil cut outs.

Yeah, tonight I found out that my latest endeavor, the contact paper, is reversed from what I thought it was. So my letters are backwards. (sticking my tongue out) Blarg. Also, it doesn't stick as well as I'd hoped.

There is a need here. I need something that will work. But I'm not gonna pay 40 bucks for office supply label paper to try cutting out. I need in the 'less than 5 bucks' range. So far the scrapbooking glues are permanent on the canvas, so that's a no. Masking tape does not sit still long enough to have stencils cut out of it.

I'm searching for... a good sticky substance, that does not stain, that releases, that I can use with a stencil to either cut out and apply or to squeeze into the stencil lines to apply. Any suggestions?

Other than that, a few things are working out quite well and hopefully I'll have steady income again soon from the writing and copywriting and content management stuff. Also - a trip to Hawaii to hang out with cousins while my aunt & uncle take a trip! I'm so looking forward to seeing Pearl Harbor and experiencing Hawaii beaches!

Till next time - whereby I hope to have found something sticky...

ArtFire!

2009-02-23T21:46:00.001-06:00

Visit heatherartworks's ArtFire Shop

If Only Everything Were This Easy

2009-02-19T01:27:00.001-06:00

Ha.

Ok. So I put way more thought and effort into something I thought would be easy. It's taken me over a week to just get the photos done and downloaded, but when I stretched the fabric to begin with I had other ideas in mind which only after I was done painting did I realize I should have done it differently.

Happens a lot around here. Eh, I learn as I go. Thus I'm better prepared for next time 'round.

This was a small series of 7 canvases, paint on both sides. One layer is the blue and grey, a second layer on one side only is the red seen above.

I have sent two of these paintings off into the world to live with shiny, happy people whom I admire greatly. They know who they are because they got the packages earlier this week. This leaves me five more to find homes for.

So if you've got a small empty space on your wall and you've been saying to yourself "Self, I think we really need a small painting that has the colors red, blue and grey in it, wrapped in a cream ribbon for hanging. I wonder where I can find one of those." then look no further - I've got them here!

Actually, I'll have a couple of options. I've got a Zibbet and an Artfire account that I'll be posting one or two things on, and will happily deal one-on-one with anyone who asks.

This leads me to go ahead and explain I've been working on the website for heatherartworks.com and rideandrub.com in efforts to make them prettier to look at. h'art works will become a gallery, my freelance writing contract site, and the blog, so contacting me for all my talents will hopefully be easier. (Like it's oh so hard to find me now...) and Ride & Rub will be a sales point when we get our product in.

More. Soon. I'm working on it. I swear! (Everyday.)

~

Oxes? Oxen?

2009-01-26T00:00:00.000-06:00

Happy New Year!

Ok, Happy Chinese New Year! There, is that better?

A Video! (I will stop with the exclamation points now.)

More paint flinging - a red layer. I will eventually figure out how to add music or edit these things, I hope. I want to, it's just like trying to convert the picture in my head to a painting or convert code into a proper website - I don't have a fucking clue so I push buttons till my computer growls at me or I have to call Lawrence to fix something.

No singing this time. You have been spared. Partly because I can barely breathe & partly because I've got a sore throat, and both of those combined are thanks to the lovely dry winds of West Texas. Doing this and building the 1x2 frames Saturday night was the most effort I put into anything all weekend.

Ok, I'll quit yammering now and let you watch. Have fun. I'll be traveling this coming weekend & then sending my computer to Apple so they can fix her, so it'll be a bit before I'm back.

~

flinging a little paint

2009-01-17T21:24:00.003-06:00

Since I've been putting forth efforts elsewhere - sorting writing and DBA stuff out and figuring out the minutia of a web design, a logo design, and a few other random things - it's been a full few weeks already.

It's not scintillating, it's almost boring because it's nine minutes of me half singing along with my ipod (and my singing voice is better reserved for the car) and yammering on about painting. Or flinging paint. With a straw.

The ones you make yourself hold the most meaning

2008-12-23T23:20:00.001-06:00

I gave my paint tool box away.

It was one of those plastic tool boxes for about five bucks that I'd modified for carrying paints and paintbrushes. I didn't have a permanent shelf or place to store my stuff at the time. It had enough room for several brushes and most of the colors I used, and the tray carried extra carving blades, small wood pieces, random beads, and electrical tape because I learned the blades were sharp before I invested in gloves and used the electrical tape to wrap around my fingers and thumb to protect them at the time.

The tool box had been gathering dust for awhile now. I still used it on occasion for travel or working in another location and it made a decent foot stool a lot of the time. My brushes are scattered everywhere, the paints are mostly corralled in a drawer unit, and I still have random pieces of wood here and there.

Well on Friday night I kept an eye on my cousins while my aunt & uncle had an evening to themselves for dinner & shopping. I won't call it babysitting because they're old enough to take care of themselves, really. I just hung out to make sure the boys didn't set the house on fire or throw cupcakes at the dogs.

One of the boys is kinda quiet compared to the other two, and really good at the science fair stuff and has an interest in painting. They're all three sharp, just different interests. Anyway, he was showing me stuff he'd been working on but had run out of green paint.

So I cleaned off my tool box, tossed a couple of newer brushes in there and picked up some new paints for him, just basic colors to get him going. When I felt better on Sunday I took it over, telling him it wasn't a Christmas present, it was a gift from one artist to another. I told him what I'd done to modify it years ago & showed him the brushes and paints and a few board canvases if he wanted to paint pictures for someone else for Christmas, he could.

It was a little hard. To let go. Of something I didn't use anymore, I know. But when I was in kind of a turmoil-y place once, and I used art as a stability, and I picked up wood carving and took to it nearly every night, well, it was a grounding thing. Carry tools, foot stool, sitting stool, drying dock, everything.

But I know it's gone to a good home now. Pass along something that he can use to make his own art with. And that makes me proud.

The photos are some of the wood pieces.

Tonight I picked up my detail brush and started working on them again. I haven't touched them in over a year and a half, since before eye surgery the summer before last. Because before that all I could see was up close. Details and tiny cuts were so easy. I've partly been afraid to try since, and have kept myself busy with other things. The lines are not the same. The details are not the same. But it felt so damn good to pick up something that I remember and have a groove with.

I apologize for the craptastic clarity, or lack thereof, of the pics. I used the phone camera because I could send them straight to the computer without having to dig out wires and download my camera. I'm lazy like that. And was busy being productive anyway.

17th of December, Part 4

2008-12-19T00:00:00.001-06:00

...Part 1, Part 2, Part 3...

This series has been harder than I thought.

The writing has been therapeutic, yes. It's only further proof that some things never completely heal, and some things will continue to surface long after their time has past.

This night was a turning point for me and I'm reminded of it every time I look in the mirror. The difference now is that while these physical scars have healed, there are days when I wonder about the person I've become since then.

I changed how I travel. I still prefer to drive and I love to travel, but now I give myself plenty of time to get anywhere and stop for naps if I feel I need it. I got my motorcycle license last year and love riding. There is a freedom and balance to being on a bike that feels like flying.

I quit wearing a watch. Time didn't matter. Time doesn't matter.* Yes, I have a lead foot and like speed, but I don't care if I get anywhere on time. I'll get there when I get there.

Family matters. A lot. My cousin was killed instantly in a car wreck just a few years before. This scared my family, dealing this and me. It scared me, the thought of losing all this support and love.

I survived something I shouldn't have. Those pictures my parents took of the truck? I saw one, once. I've never seen them again. That one photo showed a small green pickup truck that looked like it had been picked up and twisted in different directions by the Jolly Green Giant. It's hard to explain other than I saw that photo and cried. How in the world did I survive that? I don't know.

But it let me know I'm still here on this earth for some reason. And I've spent the last eleven years trying to find my way on my path.

Just over a year later I moved to San Antonio. I had a wonderful experience with theatre there and formed a long lasting relationship. I traveled all over the state for auditions and commercial things. I later moved to Ft. Davis and met my best friend.

Then came Massage Therapy classes where I learned so much and loved it all. Yes, the human body is freaking amazing and yet so very fragile.

And I've dabbled in everything that catches my interest since then. Why not? Life is short enough, right? So I might as well try things out and see if I like them. I like to think I've continued to jump in there to take those chances, but sometimes I know I haven't.

Fear will stop things before they have a chance to begin. If the worst that could happen is something I've lived through, then I tell myself to go try it out.

I meet fascinating people and have great conversations this way. I once asked a parking lot painter if I could paint a stripe but he said he'd rather not see me mess up my skirt as we were on our way to the bar. Seriously. Ask Amber.

I took the leap for nude modeling and loved it. I leaned in to kiss a guy during a cold audition and landed the role. I flew out to Charleston to meet someone I'd only talked to for six weeks and that turned into a relationship. I submitted my writing for several projects and landed a few of them, some of which continue now as I develop more skills. I took the motorcycle classes because I really, really, really wanted to learn to ride and wasn't dating anyone with a bike anymore. I took a chance on a personal ad, drove to El Paso a week later to meet the man I will eventually marry.

I've played it safe plenty of times, too. Having a steady paycheck is nice, it's the draw of a desk job.

But the part of me that knows something is off, knows. And I've taken a few steps toward the next leg of this path I'm on, figuring out what still fits and what doesn't.

All in all, I'm an artist. I love creating. I love whimsy. I love helping make people feel better whether by massage or by finding answers. I love the human art form and expression. And I love passion.

The scars are still here. Reminders of what happened. Reminders of where I've been. It's always moving forward from some point. It's a long, winding path with many detours. My life is a journey. When I pay attention and see the signs, I stay on the road, when I don't, things get all topsy-turvy.

Thank you for letting me express a bit of myself here. I hope you come back on occasion to see where I'm at next.

*"Only life matters." - Guess what movie that's from?

17th of December, Part 3

2008-12-18T00:00:00.003-06:00

...Part 1, Part 2...

The Hospital

Backboards suck. I was coherent, in pain, scared, could barely see, cold, strapped down, and nobody had called my parents yet. So I was also pissed.

When I'm in pain my very obnoxious, very dark, very annoying, and very twisted sense of humor shines through. This is true when I stub my toe as much as when I hit my funny bone. So multiply all the tense whiplashed muscles, lots of blood, and pieces of my body that were not in their rightful place, and I was quite venomous with the bad jokes.

I wanted off that backboard. I knew my back was fine. I could sense it in my body. When I tried to tell the poor nurses or doctors who were working on or around me, they did. not. get. it. "My back hurts, please let me off here!" "If your back hurts, it may be broken, please lie still." "NO! It hurts because I'm strapped to this godforsaken FLAT piece of wood and my spine is not FLAT! It curves! How do you not know this? Didn't you take anatomy?"

See? I was annoying. Even better:

"Hello? I'm cold. Please, a blanket or something?" "Here, here's a warm towel, is that better?" Well, it was ok, for a few minutes until the warmth was gone and it was a cold towel barely covering my knees. "Hey, I'm cold again." "Here, here's another warm towel. Is this better?" "No. I tell you what, you take those towels out of that warmer and just put me in there, ok?"

No one laughed but me. I tell you, I have a warped sense of humor.

The rest I remember parts of. Fuzzy parts here and there. I know they took X-rays sometime. I know my parents were finally called, somewhere around midnight or one am. My parents were working two jobs each at the time, both too exhausted to make the drive right then, so they came down the next morning.

Doctor, Doctor

The X-rays came back and a doctor started to tell me what was wrong with me according to that see through piece of paper. "It looks like both your ankles were broken, and..." I cut him off. "What? No, they're not! My ankles are fine!" And I proceeded to roll them both this way and that, up and down, as far as I could while being strapped down. He said, 'Well, I guess that must just be scar tissue then." "Yeah, I jumped off of a lot of fences when I was a kid. Also took dance." I was not so confident in this doctor at this point.

I asked if my shoulder was dislocated because it hurt so bad. "No, it's probably just whiplash from being pulled on by your seat belt." "But it's my right shoulder." "Yes, it was probably from your body straining against the shoulder strap of your seat belt." "But IT'S MY RIGHT SHOULDER." "Yes, it's probably from your seat belt. When it held you in place, your body strained against it, it'll be fine."

I gave up. Yes, my right shoulder has a slight permanent shift to it, a slight dislocation that even massage can only quell so much. And it was not from the seat belt that was going across my left shoulder.

My hand was smashed. My left hand. It was bloody and hurt pretty bad and sorta numb, too. They couldn't tell what was broken and since they were just an Emergency Room, they just wrapped it up in a whole lotta gauze.

My left eyelid was cut going back toward my temple. My right ear had been sliced nearly off. I had dried blood and broken glass all over me.

Another doctor came in, apparently a plastic surgeon on night call. He was there to stitch me up. To sew my ear back on. To sew my eyelid back together.

When you're at a broken & beaten point, strapped to a effing backboard, dried blood in your eyes, one eye swollen closed, and someone is leaning over you with a needle, what do you do?

I chose to scream.

It's not like I didn't warn him. I told him I know what he's doing, I know he has to do this, and I know it's not really like my eyeball, just my eyelid, but I'm going to scream anyway. And I do. And I have a damn good scream. He says knock her out.

Finally.

According to the bill I got for those stitches though, I must have screamed good. He charged a thousand bucks a stitch.

I was still on that gurney or whatever the next morning when I came to. A family friend who lived in San Angelo came by to check on me, my parents had called him, he was like my other dad. My parents came in. They moved me to a hospital room. They explained their version to my parents.

Sometime in there they gave me lemonade with Barium in it (I still have a tough time choking down a glass of lemonade because of this), and sent me for another test, I guess to see if I was bleeding internally. The thing is, I'd been strapped to that board for however many hours overnight, I'd probably had a large bottle of water or two as I usually do on long trips and had not stopped for a bathroom break yet. I was planning on stopping in San Angelo, another 10 minutes down the road... but I never got there. And now a plastic cup of lemonade? My bladder was full. I told them this before we left the room.

They put me on that machine for an MRI or CAT or whatever anyway and I told them I needed to pee. So they brought me a bed pan.

Have you ever tried to pee into a bed pan? I'm not male, I can't aim like that. I was in too much pain to be too embarrassed, and I'm not proud of it at all, but I peed all over myself and that pan and whatever gurney or machine I was on.

This is another reason why they should listen to the patient.

Anyway. No internal bleeding. They kept me in the hospital for the next four days because my "blood was too low." I told them to "quit coming in to take it every other hour" and it would be fine.

My iron count was too low - I was anemic. Didn't matter to them that I'd pretty much always been and that I'd just finished my period a few days before. They pumped me full of these very toxic iron pills until my levels were to their liking before they could release me.

I slept a lot. I couldn't see anything because they'd taken my contacts out and I didn't have my glasses. Not that that mattered, I couldn't wear them anyway, the stitches on my ear and a broken nose. Oh, yes - a broken nose. From the damned airbag. I hate those things. Seat belt saved my life, an airbag broke my nose.

Anyway, yes. My body was beaten and bruised, so I slept, a lot. My parents stayed with me, I think sleeping in the chairs. I asked for peanut butter and bananas, a comfort food. The cafeteria or nurses station only had peanut butter crackers. My dad offered to scrape the peanut butter off the crackers for me. Turned out the peanut butter crackers they had were separate, so he didn't have to.

Somewhere in those days my parents went to get whatever was left of my personal stuff from the wreck. They went out to the site. My mom told me they could tell where it was from the smashed bottle of nail polish across the ground. Also the broken glass and bits of truck. They took pictures. Of the site. Of the truck. Or what was left of it.

Sunday came, they said I could go home as soon as the doctor released me. The doctor was apparently busy watching the Cowboys football game that day. I was antsy. I was feeling better enough and I wanted out of there. I'd had enough rest and wanted to go home. My body was ready.

He finally came, signed the forms, we loaded up to go. They gave my mom the iron pills I was 'supposed' to take. My body smelled like rust from that stuff. I didn't take them.

We went home. My mom took me to a couple of doctors over the next week to check the stitches and my left hand. They unwrapped it for the first time since it had been wrapped on Wednesday night of the wreck. Several days of dried blood, major bruising, and broken glass. It smelled bad and hurt worse. It was three sizes too big, purple, green, yellow, blue, and disgusting. I joked that someone had removed my hand and replaced it with a prop from a bad 'B' horror movie.

One bone broken though. In all that mess, just one broken bone. A tiny one, a metacarpal. But the rest was swollen and bruised badly. I'd had my hand on the steering wheel as I rolled, smashing it. So I got a soft cast and six weeks of showering with a plastic bag over my hand.

I slept a lot more. I couldn't drive for awhile. I relied on my family for so much.

Things changed for me that night.

Tomorrow I'll expound further.

17th of December, Part 2

2008-12-17T00:00:00.000-06:00

Part 1 here...

Rollover on the Highway

I had a truck. A little Ford Ranger. Green. It had a crack in the windshield from a rock chip from the resealing of city streets the past summer.

I was tired. I'd been awake since sometime around 4am. I'd taken some form of over the counter sinus stuff the day before for allergies. (Did that play a role, hardly, but I've since gone homeopathic & don't touch the over-the-counter stuff at all.) I'd driven the six hours out to Austin, done the audition, and driven more than halfway back home. I wanted to be home.

But I was tired. And I couldn't tell that the street lights up ahead were for a different road that went one way while the road I was on curved the other.

And I swerved. And I panicked. And I over-corrected. And I tensed up every muscle in my body. And I said "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit..." And I remember the track the CD was playing. I remember the song. I remember where in the song. I remember the lyrics at that point in the song. I remember being very, very unhappy at what was happening.

They tell me I rolled several times. My parents told me they unwrapped my dog tags from around my rear-view mirror three times. I went across the median. Into oncoming traffic. Rolling. Rolling across the median. The truck stopped on the passenger side on the other road. Where another car hit my truck and sent me spinning in it.

I was the scene people slow down for. To see what happened. But I couldn't see what they saw.

My view was a very different perspective.

My left eye was bloody and swollen shut. My right eye didn't want to open until the blood covering it dried. My right shoulder hurt. My left hand was excruciating. My feet were cold. And I was in the cab of that small truck looking at a swath of dark red blood across the ceiling above me.

The back window had popped out somewhere on that roller coaster. The front window was smashed. As were the driver and passenger windows. I had enough of my wits about me to turn off the engine. I released my seat belt which let me drop the last few inches so my feet were on the ground through the passenger side window. Good thing I'd waited till the truck wasn't moving anymore, because had my feet drooped through that window before the spinning, they would have been cut off at the ankle. I leaned back on the seat with seatbelt locks digging into my side as voices shouted and hollered outside.

They asked me where I was going. "Home. To Odessa." They asked me where I was coming from. "From Austin." That can't be, they said. I was on the wrong road, they said. I must have it backwards, they said. I must have been going to Austin from Odessa. "NO!" I said. I was hurt, not stupid. I hadn't lost my brain capacity. I was angry.

I offered to try and climb out. They told me to stay put. To wait for the police and ambulance. I told them, someone, anyone, to find my purse. Please. It had a cell phone in it, please find it and call my parents. Just let them know. I know now that no one did.

More questions. Asking what happened, what hurt. Eventually I was told they brought in the Jaws of Life. I figured it must be pretty bad to get that. They put a sheet over my head to protect me from the shards of glass and metal it would be cutting away. Someone placed the neck brace thing on my neck even though I told them my neck was fine. They slid in a back board and strapped me to it. They rolled me to the waiting helicopter and flew me into town to the hospital.

My first helicopter ride involved me being strapped to a backboard, not able to see anything, and was really cold because one door was still open and it felt like my feet were hanging out.

The wreck happened around 10pm. I was on the road into San Angelo, right around a tiny little area called Wall. They've since put up those big yellow arrow signs on that curve, because I apparently was not the only one to not realize the road curved. The sheriff or police officer, I don't even know which, told me I would be given several tickets. Failure to control vehicle. Failure to yield right-of-way or going into oncoming traffic or some such. And something else. I honestly don't remember what else.

It didn't matter to me. I was in pain. And the wreck was just the beginning...

...to be continued...

17th of December, Part 1

2008-12-16T00:00:00.001-06:00

I am afraid. Yet the date comes and goes and I drive the same road several times a year. I persevere.

Some part of you is going to read this, sickly fascinated by what happened, because it's something that draws everyone. It's what makes us slow down to see what happened and be thankful it wasn't us.

And some part of you may have no desire whatsoever to ~~hear~~ read about a twisted, mangled pain that may have healed to the best of healing ability in the physical manner - but still aches as a reminder.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

December 17, 1997.

A Wednesday. Cold enough for Winter in Texas, but not as bad as the sudden 10 inches of snow we would get a year later.

I wanted to be an actress. I'd wanted to be one for years. I did the community theatre, the high school shows, the after school children's productions. I did the modeling and training, the late night rehearsals of Shakespeare and musicals. I wanted Broadway, but being practical about my chances as an actress as I was about college, I didn't go.

A friend wanted New York, too. We decided on Austin as a stepping stone to get to NY eventually. Austin from Odessa was a huge step. We decided to move in the Spring, after the holidays with our families.

I like a plan. Whether I stick to it or not, I like having some sort of framework to go with.

We had a plan now. So when I saw an audition ad for "Angels in America" by Tony Kushner at an Austin theatre, meant to be performed a few months later, I decided this was a shot! A chance to audition for a show and move to a big city and see what I could prove!

So I figured it out. My day job at the time was as a graphic operator or sound tech for the local morning news show. Sometimes commercial stuff like helping to dub or make the phone number go across the screen. This Wednesday I would get off work around 11am. I left and headed out toward Austin, taking Brady and Llano across - a road I'd driven a few times before. I remember stopping to pickup a few things as Christmas gifts for my family. A couple of puzzles for my younger brothers, coloring books for cousins. I'm not sure anymore really.

I remember I had time to grab a sandwich and find the theatre. I remember sitting in the hallway going over the lines before the audition. I remember I wore my best blue t-shirt and a blue denim jacket with my best blue jeans. I guess I probably had tennis shoes on... oh, that's right, I did. White Keds. I remember thinking I did pretty good, but I was nervous, so I knew it wasn't a 'knocked their socks off great' audition. But I wanted that role. I wanted this show to be a sign I should move to Austin.

The drive home

Yes, it was dark, but I didn't think it's be a problem. I'd borrowed my dad's cell phone (because at the time only busy business-type people had one, really), so I was going to call my parents when I got to San Angelo just to let them know I was about two hours out. I also didn't want to use the roaming minutes and San Angelo was close enough it wouldn't.

Good. A plan.

It didn't happen like that. My parents got a call several hours later from either the hospital or the officer, I don't know, to let them know their daughter was in a car accident.

...to be continued...

to thine own self be true: effort

2008-12-09T22:14:00.001-06:00

Where I first off admit I'm not great as staying in touch with people, not only in blogging and commenting, but in the real world where I have friends I've actually hugged before. (a real physical hug, not a facebook app hug) I have a hard enough time mailing a card once in awhile, much less reaching out to visit.

It does require effort. Sometimes more than I can muster, depending on what emotional state I'm visiting. But there are days I call everyone and send letters and can't read and comment enough, it's like air - I breathe in your lives and words and stop by to say hi.

It takes as much effort to update my own blog depending on what I've got going on. I suck at downloading pics to upload to the site, and Rob & I are trying to work on designs for Ride & Rub, trying to figure out how to move forward with that crazy little world. Amongst all these little worlds.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In which I profess love, adoration, and stalker status of the writers that I read in absolutely no order other than I think to write them down because I read them in whatever random order my moods are befitting at the time I open my favorites list:

Havi & Selma - The Fluent Self: An awesome pair who calm people down just by explaining how to calm down.

Scott - Caveat Emptor: Scott tells stories and has conversations that I only dream of having, but then he writes them down, so he has way more markers in the "Writing things down so they will be remembered for generations" category.

Brandon - /thepenismightier\: I do believe this man has far more alias' than I have, and let me tell you, I have quite a few. He often has problems with pants, but then, don't we all? He has a way with words that get down on their knees and beg me to lick them up, just once, pretty please, because these words will never do me wrong again. I've had the honor of having him guest post for me before - and he nailed it.

James - Double Danger: He's over in Midland & he shares writing and insight with his wife Shala. It's nice to have another voice of reason & common sense to connect to in the area, and even though we're no more than 20 miles apart, we haven't met yet!

Gina - Art Tripper: My sister-in-law, so I know her art stuff. She graduates this weekend (yea!) and is intent on developing the art scene here in Midland-Odessa, launching a sales venue & gallery & gathering group to grow the talents we have out here.

Neil - Citizen of the Month: One of the first to comment on my other writing, a huge encourager, a man not afraid to stand in the middle of the street and yell at the people passing by and then post about it because it makes great blogfodder, and yet he's still so vulnerable you just want to make him hot cocoa & give him extra marshmallows.

Jenn - Doktorchik: One of my friends from high school who has blogged about her weight loss surgery & some very yummy recipes, as well as the happenings in her life. She's a friend I need to see again the next time I'm going to San Antonio.

James - d is for delightful: His latest incarnation (this man has more lives than a cat, thank goodness) is open, honest, & thought-provoking to say the least. James, you sir are one of my Gabriel friends, though we've not met in person, our stories have crossed paths.

David - Sparky Firepants: An artist who is making a living as an artist! He has offered an ear if I were to need it, and encouragement to keep making the art happen. He lives by some alpacas, and while I have not made the acquaintance of an alpaca, he claims they have great creative inspiration qualities. I'll take his word for it.

Nathan - Doodleist & Nathan Bowers: A genius at code and wordpress and other web/computer things that I don't understand, but that's ok because he does and that's why he's there. He started doodleist to showcase art, his own drawing & painting and that of those he likes - it's intriguing to see the development process from a different angle. Just from grabbing a pen & some paper. Any paper.

Pam - Escape from Cubicle Nation: Because I'm working on my own plan to get out from behind the desk for someone else and in front of a table saw & canvas like I belong, and she offers great advice as well as daily thoughts and encouragement from her life as she writes her book!

Bobbi - The Gar-Lop-Son Spot: My friend Bobbi who moved to New Mexico to be with her honey & while I miss her, I see that they get to go hiking a lot! (And they got snow today!) She's got a good little family life going & it's inspiring to see. (Now wondering when Amber will get a blog! heehee)

Melissa - They Call Me Crazy: She's not really crazy, but appease her by telling her she is, ok? While we may not agree on a bunch of things, she deals with things I don't, so I shut up & let her talk. It's better that way. Also, her hubby is serving his tour in the sandbox & I give her props for not crying every single day, because I totally would if Rob got deployed.

Maggie - Okay. Fine. Dammit.: A woman who can wrap words around her finger so gently they fall into place like one of her bouncy curls. She's pushing the walls of her mime-box back to make her space bigger and more her own and she shares a lot of great insights along the way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yep, I like twitter too - it makes the stalking and networking easier. It has made it easier to meet people I like online and someday I hope to meet them in person.

Oddly enough, Rob & I met online, yet he doesn't spend nearly as much time on the web as I do - it's hard enough to get him to check his email! But I'm glad he was on that one weekend, he's worth it.

Someday I hope to meet lots more. When I actually make the effort to do so, that is...

Let Them Come To You

2008-12-02T23:39:00.003-06:00

Sometimes I find myself wondering if I come across as trying too hard.

Not the anxiety/paranoia situation where I am standing in front of a group explaining something and in the back of my mind is the little voice going “What the hell are you doing? What makes you an expert here? Why are you talking? No one is listening to you anyway. You have sweat stains under your armpits, keep your arms down! Oh, don’t bring up that again!”

No, that little voice I’m used to and can ignore with the help of wonderful meditation techniques, homeopathic anti-anxiety tabs, or a glass of wine. Or just barreling through so fast the voice can’t get a word in edgewise and nobody understands what I’m saying!

This is the vibe of unreason that says “This person thinks you’re trying to kiss their ass.” Or “This person feels like you aren’t worth their time.” Or “What, she got invited to this? What is she doing here? She doesn’t know enough to be here!”

This is me standing in a room with strangers and acquaintances alike, conversing with whomever happens to be near as we all swirl around on our ‘networking paths’. Where I’m extremely comfortable with the subject or the place and can spend the next hour talking with a handful of people about really cool stuff we’re all working on, or I can spend an awkward two minutes and thirty-six seconds talking with a handful of people about projects, the weather, or what so-and-so is up to.

Because the latter is a conversation with someone who seems to think I’m still the 15 year old girl they saw in a play or my education is lacking or I’m not really qualified to be talking about things even if it’s just opinions.

It’s a weird vibe and I dislike it. I feel like I’m being me, trying to make a conversation, but feel as if they think I’m trying too hard.

But I feel I have to ‘play nice’ because so many of these people that make me feel this way are influential in many of the business and networking circles in this area*, and as I develop my own brand and portfolio, I need to at least be cordial.

This is not about the former. Those are conversations I’d love to have every day. These are people who know I’m genuine when I ask about their family or plans, they know I’m not there to kiss ass or hope for a few minutes of face time just so I can hand someone my card. I don’t play that way. The modeling world, amongst the management and other lives I’ve lived thus far, taught me that I’d much rather be the real me.

So Rob tells me to just say “Fuck ‘em”, although he did point out I should not walk around saying it repetitively out loud. He may have a point.

I’m perfectly capable of holding my own in most conversations. I’m fairly well-read, I know the difference between marketing and sales, I have a varied but talented background, and I’m not as young or innocent as I look. I’m content enough in myself to stand to the side and watch others dance the ego-tangos and chat and mock laugh while absorbing the choices in music and food and art on the walls without feeling the need to go stand next to someone so I don’t feel left out.

So what if I choose not to interact in a few instances?

Instead of getting the vibe that they think I don’t know anything and I’m trying too hard, what if I choose to not bother with them. Does this make them feel slighted? Annoyed? Like I’m a bitch? When in reality I’m off in my own world, which is a place I’d rather be anyway, not trying at all?

It’s difficult to navigate this avenue of perceptions and networking while retaining a sense of reality and self. I mean, I’d much rather tell that small voice in the back of my mind to fuck off rather than another person who is treating me like I’m not worth their time.

*Thankfully, not everyone. Just a lot of them. There are some genuine folks who do what they do well, who care, who talk to everyone as equals and are leaders in this area, and I admire them greatly. If you know Bob Rice, you know who I mean.

a little bit o' the crazy

2008-11-26T11:51:00.003-06:00

Partly expression, partly depression, partly wondering (aloud and in my head) what I'm doing.

The ideas and the other websites are going, slowly, but going. I'm impatient, I want it done now! But suddenly my neck launched into an allergy attack that has had me clawing at the sensitive skin for nearly two weeks. Am ever so thankful for homeopathic medicine and the wonder of the human body. Still haven't figured out what I got into, but my neck looks less like a rabid raccoon has attacked and more like I have a really bad sunburn. Still, ick.

Rob is coming in for Thanksgiving, and thus we will be spending as much time as possible together, and when we're not kissing we'll try to work on the Ride & Rub stuff.

I need to get back to writing for real, it's been too long. So, that's a plan too.

But for now - Happy Thanksgiving! I'm thankful for family & friends & that I can finally see Rob again!

Since I wrote it anyway: Gallery Night 2008

2008-11-14T12:00:00.001-06:00

Because of glitches & groans computerwise, the November issue of Good Times of West Texas Magazine did not make it to print. (insert frowny face here) But since Gallery Night is coming up next weekend - here's the article I wrote about it anyway!

Art Walk-ing 2008 in Alpine Texas

The crisp late fall air whispers down Holland Avenue welcoming artists of every shade to Alpine’s 15th Annual Art Walk this November. Expression is in high demand over the two-day experience also known as Gallery Night.

Stores will be open until 10:00 pm Friday November 21st and Saturday November 22nd along with the many galleries that line this main thoroughfare, encouraging folks to step inside to enjoy the warmth and take in all they have to offer. Find Christmas ornaments to decorate your tree or serene designs painted onto plates for serving dinner. Admire and purchase a subdued black and white print of the familiar and evocative West Texas thunderstorm rolling across the mesquite covered mountains. Brightly decorated tabletops will catch your eye with sparkling handmade jewelry displayed next to a rack of cozy scarves or carved walking sticks.

With over twenty official locations for music, live exhibits, videos, food, and art means there will be plenty to satiate all your senses. Pick up a copy of the Alpine Avalanche newspaper on Thursday the 20th for a complete guide to all locales, where the artists will be hobnobbing, and a map to help you find your way from the fajitas to the stage.

This year the festivities welcome Honored Artist Tom Curry who designed this year’s Gallery Night painting and will be showing his works in The Alpine Studio on Murphy Street. Tom and his wife Susan moved to Alpine in 1993 and he’s since developed a varied art career. Along with the bigger, newer paintings Tom calls “Texas Chic with regional flair” will be prints, cards and reworked oils. His portfolio also includes magazine editorials and illustrations for seven children’s books, so don’t be surprised at anything you may see on the gallery walls!

When your tummy starts growling just follow your nose to find the grilling and food stands in the Hecho y Mano open-air art and food market in Arbolitos Park near the Union Pacific train depot. Here you’ll find fajitas, gorditas, burgers, hot chocolate, and many other locally made culinary indulgences. Taking a cue from the diversity of the evening, no two food stands will be offering the same fare, to encourage a wide variety of savory options.

Thank Mark Pollack of Trans-Pecos Guitars for his role as Musical Director in lining up such a distinct and entertaining list of musicians for the performance stage in the Kiowa Plaza parking lot. Beginning at 6:00 pm on Friday this is the place to catch The Doodling Hog Wallops and Matt Skinner, Terra Peters, Crain Coffee and Grupo de la Paz as nightfall sets in. Saturday evening the parking lot will again become a dance floor as Matt Skinner, Terra Peters and The Derailers take to the open-air stage under starry skies.

Kiowa Gallery owner Keri Arzt is quite proud of how Gallery Night has grown, commenting that “it has taken on a life of it’s own. Over the 15 years we’ve watched it grow, and the people come together and the energy is great!” An economic boost for the area because of all the people who come in to ‘find’ new art, the Gallery Night has also developed into a non-profit organization that gives back. There are scholarships to Sul Ross State University and money goes to schools in the tri-county area for art programs.

This is really a great weekend for the entire area to come together in so many ways. Curry admits, “I look forward to seeing friends I haven’t seen in awhile. Everyone comes out, a great time to see everyone at once and catch up, see what’s new.”

Yes, Gallery Night weekend is a wonderful time to see what’s new!

For more information please contact Keri Arzt at Kiowa Gallery at 432.837.3067 or visit www.alpinegallerynight.com for the studios, restaurants, offices and stores participating in this year’s event.

If you find yourself aiming that direction, say hi!

new horizons

2008-11-12T23:15:00.002-06:00

Rob & I are working on a couple of projects together, and both can be found --> over there under my profile. Technically we're not ready to launch completely, but we're working on them.

Holidays are looming and work is crazy. So, you know, normal stress levels. We're all trying to balance a few things out with this much going on, but I'm excited for the direction we're headed in, so yea!

Leave a note, here, or over on Bunnyfly alley, or the motorcycle & massage spot and let us know what you think as we go along!

this title is yet to be determined

2008-11-04T01:09:00.001-06:00

Here I go again, trying to type in a title for a post I'm barely beginning to formulate.

I don't work that way. I should know this by now. Really. I should.

It's one of those things, that my brain starts somewhere in the middle, or the end, and works backwards or outwards or whatever, filling in the puzzle gaps along the way. All those writing assignments in school where we had to turn in a title and outline and synopsis like weeks before the actual writing thingy was due - well, that sucked for me, because I never had a title until I was done. More often, after the reprimands & bad grades for "not completing work on time", I just made shit up. Whatever, it worked to appease the teacher who wanted a title & outline on her desk by a certain day. I figured out it didn't really matter if I changed it later after the real stuff was written.

That's how I do things. It's how I roll, baby.

That has very little to do with what I want to write about, though.

Today is the day the world holds a collective breath to see who is going to be head ~~stormtrooper~~, ~~puppet~~, poombah of these United States. Lots o' hype leading up to this circus, we're all tired of it.

I voted for Obama/Biden. Do I need to explain? No. I don't need to. I'll spare the stuff that you don't need to know about me or care about anyway and just say that I want to be able to look forward, not backward. I believe every person on this earth has a right to love and be loved, no matter their skin color or sexuality. I believe that women deserve far better in so many situations and am thankful a man like Joe Biden has stood up for those rights. I believe the man that Barack Obama is shines through in the way he treats his wife and family over the rest of the political dancing. The things like taxes and the war and the 'promises' do not matter as much to me as the ability to keep calm, make decisions based on how they will affect his own family as well as others instead of the quick-temper reaction that does more harm than good, a quick-temper reaction that I know all too well in my family.

I'm ready for the hope to move forward and make changes.

Personally.

Not just as a nation.

Personally.

So I bought (at least I think I did, it takes '24 hours to process') a domain name. But it's not the name we wanted, because the one we wanted is already taken by someone else. grumble. We're creating ideas & developing these lil' guys and their stories and having fun, and we want to share this with others.

But I know enough basic html to make a mess, and I'm good at picking and gleaning from other codes to figure a few things out, now I'm freaking out over the "How the hell do other people do this web building stuff?". Because I'm hard-headed (no kidding, really?) and I want to figure it out and do it on my own. Because I figure I'm capable and should know how to do this, so why don't I?

I also jumped on the NaNoWriMo bandwagon again this year after not doing it last year (something about driving back & forth from Florida & no regular internet connection & job hunting being a priority at the time, but whatever. excuses, excuses). I have maybe 600 words towards that 80k total by the end of November, and I'm using it as a chance to push myself and develop a few things.

One is the bunnyflies stories with Rob. One is the command of customer service stuff with Amber. One is an article on the boot camps that daddy & Papa Earl do for the museum. One is a piece of fiction that has been rolling around for awhile.

The best advice for NaNoWriMo is to just write - clean it up and edit later, like in December. So what if I'm using four different things to gain that word count, I'm trying to make it happen and learn about myself as a writer along the way.

There will always be some level of crazy going on. Election or not. Economy or not. Seasonal or not. Relationship or not. But I still have words to put to paper, I still have things I jump into the middle of and feel my way out of. And I'm looking forward to the day I can show off my stuff and be proud of it, because I learned something along the way to making it happen.

internal selves

2008-10-26T22:57:00.002-05:00

The artist in me creates. That's what she's good at. Give her a stage and tell her to make it look real, and she will. Give her a bunch of paints, and she'll go to painting something. Crayons, chalk on the sidewalk, markers, any form of color expression.

But the creative self has limited concepts about business, she just knows it would be nice to sell her stuff someday. So she needs the logical me to kick in.

The logical self who says "You have to sign your work."
"You have to build a portfolio."
"You really should submit to more shows."
"You need to keep track of your receipts for your supplies, you can use that on your taxes."

So creative self sits there, listens to logical self, and then turns around and skips away. Sometimes, when she's feeling particularly feisty, she pushes logical self out the window, then goes about painting things.

Logical self feels put out that creative self isn't listening, that she's being impudent and selfish, and that logical self has to set the rules and be the one in charge.

Creative self doesn't really care, she didn't appoint logical self to be the one who decides, but she's not gonna fight it, because she doesn't want to be in charge either. She wants to paint, and draw, and write, and make the world a pretty place.

Thus logical self and creative self have "differences of opinion", and decide to leave each other alone for awhile. Neither writes or calls. Creative self doesn't, because she's thrown herself into her work, and while she respects logical self and her thoughts and ideas, she won't bow down to them.. Logical self doesn't call because she thinks she's right, and wants creative self to admit it first, so she'd rather let her stew for awhile and learn her lesson.

Eventually though, creative self admits she wants logical self around for balance, and logical self admits her world pretty much sucks without color and art and creative self around to liven the place up.

Originally published Nov 2005

So? I'm snarky.

2008-10-21T23:03:00.003-05:00

All the political talk has me agitated just as much as religion talk usually does. But I'm good with what I think & believe. I know where I stand and why. I have my reasons, you have yours.

Allright then.

So this whole 'socialist' movement that Palin keeps pushing about Obama's platform - well... here's what I have to say about that:

I mean, I talk on the phone, a lot, and I text, a lot, and I twitter, some, and I blog, some, and I facebook and myspace a bit... so I'm pretty social, right? I mean, aren't we all?

*Pimpin' over at cafepress - get it on a sticker or a t-shirt. make a tongue in cheek comment of your own.

reminders

2008-10-11T00:48:00.000-05:00

trying to figure out the words but tonight I'm not finding them the way I want to. so instead I'm giving you pictures of things I find pretty. or inspiring. or fascinating.

it's been crazy stressful. I'm looking for bright spots and highlights and the good stuff. somewhere. anywhere.

thankfully I've been stumbling across a few things that make me smile. I pick up a project in progress to look it over or flip through a magazine to see something shiny & nice. or the bonus is finding a friend blogging again and seeing his post with something that reminds me I was there for friends before, that things can be ok, and that I am not alone.

working on some wings tomorrow... maybe I can fly too.

(thank you James)

I've changed my fingerprints by making art*

2008-10-04T23:04:00.001-05:00

So that canvas I stretched myself, that five foot by three foot one, the one where I didn't quite measure the corner cuts right and it looked a little, well, 'off'?

I did something with it today.

In a couple of hours I threw the paint down and sang along to the music in my ipod. I started out with a paintbrush, but after about, oh, say two minutes, the paintbrush was shoved into my ponytail and forgotten until about an hour ago.

Finger painting is what I went with. Dipped my fingers in the light pink and the wine red and the cream white and the magenta and the ocean blue and the peach and the apple red. Dipped and scooped paint and smeared across the canvas. Blending colors and smooshing edges.

I was in the zone. Grooving. I was making colors move and I love it. I love that zone. Totally in the groove. *happy sigh* That is a feeling I want to hug and squeeze and love and adore forever.

As for the painting... anyone have a 5x3ish space on their wall they want to fill with a giant heart? Let me know.

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*Umm, since I was fingerpainting approximately 15 square feet of canvas with my bare fingers, I, umm, abraded several layers of skin off my first two fingers by rubbing them across the canvas. Crazy. Thankfully I already love Burt's Bees Res-Q Ointment, so I've smeared the green stuff on and am learning to type with my pinky!

and this here is a pretty lil' piece o' land, just right for the pickin'

2008-09-30T23:20:00.000-05:00

For this one night I have no pressing deadline. I do have bills, but I can't pay those till I get paid later this week so they don't matter tonight. I could do laundry or cleaning or any of the other tens of things on my mental list of "things I think I oughtta be doing", but you know what? I'm not.

Tonight I've attempted to watch Grey's, but that's not happening for various reasons. So instead I had it on Ace of Cakes, I cut out words & pictures in old magazines, I put away some clothes that have been sitting here since sometime a week ago when I laid them out to air dry. I am choosing to continue to ignore the hundreds of emails in my inbox because I still can't bring myself to care what might be in there. I'm using a can of Pringles and a jar of sand as my foot rests. (shrugs) It works.

I'm actually proud of myself for having enough money in my bank account to buy a new battery for my car (proud too that it lasted from October of 2001 till now) but the only reason I had enough in there was I was saving it to pay for my car registration renewal this week anyway. C'est la vie.

I'm back from Jacksonville and missing being in Rob's arms. A long weekend of holding hands and kissing and snuggling and now back in separate worlds. And it sucks worse than screaming children scratching their nails on chalkboard during a fire drill. Or something equivalent to being numb & depressed & angry & annoyed & tired all at the same time.

We drove to Tallahassee for his aunt Susan's service. I met more family there. She was a passionate & spirited lady who was a delight to get to visit with when we went through several times. Cancer took her body, but it didn't take her spirit. I love how supportive and caring and creative and supportive his family is. My own family has it's own way of being supportive, but theirs is a lot calmer and loving through all the generations. Mine, well, sometimes I feel as if I don't live up to what everyone expects of me, and that can be tiring in itself.

We took complete advantage of sleeping late, curling into each other and reading "Peter and the Starcatchers" to each other all weekend. Dinner with friends one night, dinner with his parents another, dinner watching the sunset on the Intercoastal another. Being able to say exactly what was on my mind, usually to hear him say the exact same thing. We connected and it felt so good. The hard part was getting on the plane to fly back, alone. Damnit.

Yes, the papers on my desk at work have been multiplying like over-caffeinated rabbits and has me a bit stressed in the hours I have to be at work and doing job-related things like answering calls and writing newsletters. Then there is the explosion that is the remnants of me moving furniture and art supplies around my room, as well as the leftovers of Airsho which I pretty much just dropped wherever there was an empty square inch. Soo, umm, yeah. There is plenty for me to do to keep busy for the next two months when I can see him again.

This whole financial 'crisis' that seems to be a scary big-deal for the rest of the country does not seem to affect us here in the oil fields of West Texas. We are a remote bubble in so many ways. I work for a non-profit with no benefits, so whatever was left of my 401k I cashed out in January, well, I have no idea if there is anything left at all now, and I wonder if I shouldn't have just cashed in the whole thing and done a few things my way at the time. That's what I get for not listening to myself.

Things will change here eventually, they always do. I keep up best I can at work, I try to keep up the article writing, too. And yet, I still have the itch to be working on something I want to be working on, to be making something, to be doing something for myself.

It's not easy. At all. But some nights the hardest part is when I actually prefer to cry myself to sleep rather than open a tube of paint or glue. And that's not right. Because I do actually remember a part of myself that would rather paint or carve or sand things till the wee hours of the morning rather than sleep. Something got switched and I don't know when.

There are things in this world that still give me hope. I look forward to finding them again. In the meantime I'll stumble along and ask for whatever guidance the universe is willing to send my way.

I have these thoughts, you see... I know they can be something, but I'm not sure what just yet.

*Decsion making is harder than it looks. Sometimes.

2008-09-13T22:59:00.005-05:00

*Note: this was written & stored in draft for a couple of weeks, while I turned the blog off for whatever reasons I had at the time. I forget now. Doesn't matter. Thus, downtime, combined with some crazy time and exhausted time, has given me lots to think about. As if that is at all any different from anything else that gives me plenty to think about.

I tell ya what, I'm gonna pause this note nonsense and just go write another post. ok? good. see you in a few.
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How confusing can they possibly make all the trademark & copyright info? Very. So in the realm of confusion, I think I'm still figuring things out. I'd like to trademark the name but I'd like to copyright the work. Trademark costs a couple hundred bucks, copyright costs a couple twenties. And there is lots of the paperwork filing. Why can't I just find a happy little paperwork gnome to do this paperwork for me?

What I seem to be struggling with the most is making that decision and going with it.

I knew what kind of car I wanted (nearly 10 years ago, of course) and while I test drove and looked at other jeeps & such, when I found my car on the edge of the lot one Saturday afternoon, I knew. Sure, I still had the "Am I crazy to commit to a five year car payment?" and the other flutterings of buyers remorse, but yes, I still drive this pretty little car, even if she is more dented & road worn now.

I know the color palate I want to use, even if the finished painting varies between the first brush stroke and the last. I knew what kind of tattoo I wanted to get, each time I got one, and for future ones. I knew when certain things were going the right way and when they weren't. Call it gut feeling, call it intuition, call it stars aligning, call it whatever - it works for me.

What doesn't work for me is going against that. I know this, even when I do it, more often than I'd like to.

So what I do in the situations when I'm not completely sure is do lots of research and reading. Lots. Days & weeks worth. Late nights and lunch breaks (when I get them) worth of reading. I like to make sure that if my gut doesn't have a say in what direction I'm going in, then at least I know both sides of every option so I can feel comfortable making a decision.

Sure, voting can be like that. It's what I did four years ago, & it's what I'm doing now. But not so much now - my gut has already spoken and I know who I'll be voting for in November and for what reasons.

Don't worry, I'm not gonna get into politics here, I have no need to, I already know what the right choice is for me.

Now, I can reiterate here as many thoughts and ruminations regarding past decisions, but I'm not sure if it'll do any good. Unfortunately right now there are several things going on that I can't say anything about. This sucks. This sucks because I believe in saying what I feel, and think, and right now there are people I could offend or piss off, so I have to shut up.

I'm trying so damn hard to focus on something good. I'm trying to figure out this particular project

Meanwhile, Rob has continued the creative streak for these guys & I've continued to keep myself busy with writing & work & some travels.

What gets to me right now is the design stuff. I've already nixed the Creative Commons stuff for this stuff. I know it's Trademark & Copyright. Now it's just the paperwork stuff.

I'm a visual person. Even when there's nothing to see. Yet.

Zombies. And line breaking. And Asparagus.

2008-09-08T01:38:00.004-05:00

In the weirder than normal department of my dreamscape, I woke up, heart pounding & pulse racing in the middle of the night the other night from a dream/nightmare about, well, zombies. And vampires. And a few other crazy horror movie leftovers just for kicks. It was odd. To say the least. (Odder still that I turned on the tv today to find "Shaun of the Dead", and then moving on from that put in a dvd to watch and one of the pre-view trailers was for some cowboy western 'undead' movie. Three references. Means: pay attention!)

It involved running, lots of it. It involved looking for my cellphone, finding a mini-flashlight, because you know, those do come in handy in the dark and all that, but they do not come in so handy with the fending off the undead the same way those huge hefty maglights do.

It also involved me fairly actively searching for solutions, answers, ways out, as I was aware enough it was a dream & I was trying to figure things out while in the middle of it. Doesn't mean it didn't freak me out though - I woke up and called Rob just trying to calm down. While walking back through it, going over all the parts I could remember - what I was doing, why, where, what I was wearing, etc... it posed that I've got some issues I need to get fixed pretty damn quick. For my own sanity. And apparently for my own health, with wanting to not have the life sucked out of me and all. I totally know what it represents. I totally understand that I think finding my cellphone is important, because it's like a life line. I am totally thankful that zombies don't move all that swift so that I can run off. And I'm totally wearing running shoes a helluva lot more often.

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If you haven't clicked away by now, well, then you really need to go find better reading material. Seriously. There are way better bloggers and writers out here. Some even get paid for it, so you know they're good. I just yammer a bit here and there, and even this is falling to the wayside sometimes. The writing I do for work is taking all my good words and decent thinking away, I haven't even written any good short stories in months. Oh, wait. I haven't written any short stories in months.

I'm striving for something better. I really am. I've rearranged furniture and cleared working space (sort of. it's amazing how fast it fills up again) in an effort to stir up the creative energy. I'm waiting to see how much of it works.

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This is a shout out of love for blogspot / blogger, because I've been using them for years and it works so smoothly every time. Editing is a breeze and html is fairly easy to code. AND WHEN I HIT 'ENTER' FOR A LINE BREAK, IT EFFING WORKS! That last part, the yelling there, is because I write for another blog twice a week, that is unfortunately hosted on word press, and well, word press sucks when it comes to things like line breaks and simple coding (which, admittedly, is all I can do without accidentally making the web page go in reverse or something...).

See that! Right there!^ That is a line break! One that works!

And this - is a quick screen shot of the page I just spent the last THREE EFFING HOURS trying to get to work. There really are supposed to be separate lines there. Really. It makes me want to cry. What makes me want to cry even more? The IT people who actually do the hosting talk to me like I'm an idiot, like I've never used a computer before, like "Have you tried hitting shift + enter?" Sigh. I wonder why I bother sometimes.

No wonder I'm tired. I keep trying to do things that really don't matter to make things work for someone else. I need to be doing things that matter. And I need to be doing things that work for me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Which gets me onto what matters. There is some story that has been passed around, somewhere, I don't know where, but I swear I heard it before - the PR or marketing sites, I dunno. Anyway, Rob & I were chatting about the things we sign up for or get signed up for, and what we believe in. Here's what I remember of the story:

There's a guy, a very busy, dedicated guy, head of a big, fancy, money making company. Who cares what company, it doesn't matter. But he was a huge, I mean a mega-huge, supporter of "Save the Whales!" He donated time and money, did volunteer work, did what he could. Soon other organizations approached him to help them "Save the Chickens!" and "Save the Asparagus!", asking for donations and volunteer hours.

Next door is a gal, a very busy, dedicated gal, head of a different big, fancy, money making company. She volunteered and donated her time and money and resources to "Save the Whales!" as well. And soon "Save the Chickens!" and "Save the Asparagus!" came asking her for donations and volunteer hours as well.

Here's what happened. The guy said "No, thanks." The gal said "Sure." He volunteered his time to paint signs and push whales back into the ocean, he donated huge checks for nice whale watching things, and he enjoyed it. She volunteered her time to paint signs for whales and chickens and asparagus watch groups, she went to the rallies and made out checks for special feed for the chickens and rehabilitation for the asparagus and never had any time to do anything else. Her work suffered, but that's not the point. We'll pretend that her company could continue without her. But if it couldn't, it would have already failed.

She was burned out. She was tired. She was very cranky. (huh. no comment needed on this, 'kthanx.) She went next door to ask the guy how he did it.

"How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Volunteer and give without losing yourself?"

"I only volunteer and give to those things I believe in. I believe in saving whales."

"But what about the chickens and asparagus?"

"There is someone else out there to believe in those other things. It doesn't make you a bad person to only believe in one project/thing/idea, you know."

Ok. That was a really long and drawn out way of saying there are some things I do believe in ("Save the Fairies!", "Save the ice cream!", & "Save the graffiti!" have my vote) and some things I don't. There is someone else out there to believe in those things I don't. (i.e. jury duty. ugh.)

I have things I'd rather be doing and working on, but right now, I need a paycheck to live off of, so I am kinda stuck doing a few things I don't believe in. And it's in danger of sucking the life out of me. Thus the zombie reference. Duh. (Oh, as if you already hadn't figured out I was talking about work.)

So. I'm trying to bring in good creative energy. I'm trying to work on things I like. I'm trying not to throw my computer against the hearth because it's not her fault the program won't work, as is evidenced by the fact that this program DOES work. And I'm trying not to go crazy while saving the asparagus from the chickens that the whales are eating. Or some such nonsense. And I'm buying a heavy-duty, head-bashing worthy maglight to keep by my bed.

All These Things That I Have Done* Part II

2008-08-28T23:00:00.001-05:00

Layers of blues. Will overlay in... something else. I'm not entirely sure what yet. But, I like this base, so if I can keep from going overboard and throwing some crazy non-complimentary color onto it and then cringing.

Because I totally did this. The non-comp color & cringe. I have this beautiful dark green weave on a canvas, that for some reason I decided to try to write on with a paint pen. Yeah, my handwriting isn't readable when I write on paper, so whatever crazy inspiration hit that made me think I could write on a painting, well, that crazy inspiration should be ignored next time. So I tried to paint over the words in blues and pinks, hoping to make it look like a flower pattern... Yeah, not so much.

Probably a good idea to sketch these things out before jumping in, but then, it wouldn't be me if I did.

Ooof. Pardon. I just pulled the dried paint brush out of my ponytail & went to wash it & see if I can save it. Yes, it's savable. (It was only $1.49 & I have dozens of them, but still...)

Hmmmm... I was probably 12 and taking some art class during the summer at the college and I remember the boy across the table from me reprimanded me for leaving my paintbrush in the water!

"You'll ruin the brush!" he exclaimed.

I'm pretty sure I ignored him and left the brush in the water, because I don't like being told what to do by anyone, especially a boy. That, or the fact we were probably using like tempra paints and the cheap plastic paint brushes you get a dozen for .50 cents.

Admittedly, most of the art 'techniques' I've learned over the years came from listening in while standing as a model in the middle of the room. And from trial and error. Error like writing on a painting then covering it over with bright colors in hopes it'll work. Error like leaving paint brushes in my ponytail to dry, then remembering them hours later and trying to wash them out. Like I said. $1.49 at the worst.

Anyway. So. It's blue. Ish. It's a start. And it's a better frame for my mind to be in than the days before.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*More of The Killers. It's a good one. Loud. Very, very loud.

"I got soul, but I'm not a soldier
I got soul, but I'm not a soldier"

All These Things That I Have Done* Part I

2008-08-27T01:38:00.000-05:00

I can't write this on my blog. Or can I? Do I want to taint this image that I hope I you have of me here? It's hard. Will I hit delete or publish?

I called in sick on Monday and half of Tuesday. Sore throat. Allergies. Drainage. Sure. Whatever.

My throat is sore because I'm not speaking for myself. I'm not voicing my true opinions because I'm afraid of pissing someone off, of saying the wrong thing, of doing what I want to do.

I know this. I know why it hurts.

I know why I'm depressed. Because I spent all day Saturday wandering around shops with my two best friends, looking at these creations that others have made and they sell. And I want to be doing that too.

So badly.

And yet, I can't. Not right now. Who knows if ever. Right now I have to get up when my god-forsaken alarm goes off so I can drag my ass into a job that is actually an ok job in the list of jobs I've held. I get to write, I usually feel good about helping people and in this area the pay is ok.

But. I sit all day. In front of a computer. I sit and my scars hurt so bad some days it really isn't pleasant. I listen to people complain about something and wonder why they fell for it in the first place, then remember I've done my fair share of 'believing' and fell for a few things, too. So then I wonder why can't they just learn from it and go on with their lives. I did. I've never taken sunflower seeds from friend or foe again since that one afternoon in fifth grade...

So. I know I'm depressed when I want to stay in bed all day. I have the small (tiny, minuscule, piece of fuzz...) small moments of manic creativity - but those flames are so quickly put out nowadays. Just remind myself of where I'm living. What money I don't have to spend. The projects I haven't finished, much less started. The projects I've made messes of, and the fact that it's 1:30 in the morning and I need to get some sleep so my alarm can wake me up in a few hours. Snap. So easy. Drop down like a lead balloon.

I am proud of myself for finally being able to call myself a writer - because I get paid for some of these words I put together in other places.

I am proud of myself for...

For what? Working 40 hours a week (no more than - no overtime allowed) to pay off debt so that maybe someday I can again dream of building my own space?

No. Actually I'm miserable. Because this is not where I had hoped to be at this point in my life. And this is not where I want to be even with the changes that have happened.

And I may want things for my life that no one else understands but it's one of those things. When I follow my heart, my gut, my instincts - I'm right. When I second guess myself because someone else pipes up and says "You're doin' it wrong!" - that's when it sucks.

Because alarm clocks and desk jobs may work for you, but they sure as hell don't work for me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*The Killers.
"Yeah, oh don't you put me on the blackburner
You know you got to help me out
You're gonna bring yourself down...
If you can hold on
If you can hold on..."

Holding on...

I hit publish.

Lotsa Thinkin' Goin' On

2008-08-25T23:19:00.001-05:00

I pondered the differences of trademark vs. patent vs. copyright. What do I need to get for these guys before we get really into it and find out someone has taken the idea or worse yet, already had the idea and I didn't know it.

Googling those three is no easy task - all the proper governmental websites have pages and pages full of big, hard to grasp words that seem to talk in circles.

Why can't anybody just make a point anymore? I blame all those english classes that force people to write descriptive sentences and extra paragraphs, and now these poor people think that's what they have to do is fill pages full of extra words for a good grade.

Perhaps this is why I like Twitter. It's 140 characters - you have to get to the point.

Ok. Side rant. Done.

From what I've been able to grasp of the skimming (because reading all that stuff was making my eyes dry out) and from Gina who is sorting out her own copyright/trademark/patent issues.

So. If I understand it correctly, I need to copyright.

But what?

Each character? The name? My name & list everything under it? The design? The idea?

I have no clue. I have 12 pages of the "Copyright Synopsis" - the short version - of how it's supposed to work and what I need to do. And then there are eight pages of things to fill out and send my hard earned-from-my-day-job money in to take care of. If I can do it once, that would be better, but if I need to do this for each idea & character - then I'm gonna give up right here. I'm not that ambitious, I hate to say. Just too much damn work to design a few things.

But that's where I need to do it, I know. Because I can design & draw & write & Rob can sculpt & if they're not "protected" then someone else could come along and do the "too much damn work" and it would disappear.

Sigh.

Why can't I just create? Why does it have to be so hard to deal with the rest of it?

I have ideas for a line of cards, for paintings, for sculptures, for carvings, for these characters - and I'm tired from my day job and from trying to figure out the "how-to" stuff... Where's the gnome to sort it all out for me?

On other notes - spent the weekend with Amber & Bobbi down in Menard & over in Fredericksburg - lots of ideas. Lots of hope & possibility. Lots of "If these people can make their own unique business work, then so can I. Someday. I hope."

And in other notes - I figured out I much prefer taking pictures looking up than looking down. Catch some beautiful sight lines this way.

So. Maybe this means I need to look at things from another perspective. Get down on the ground more often. Get down to the "doing" and figure out the cover-your-a$$ legal stuff later. Keep it all in the dark just a bit longer till it becomes more apparent.

Or just magically falls into place by itself.

in which I start. something.

2008-08-18T20:38:00.002-05:00

This is going to ramble a bit, or maybe it won't and I'll get straight to a point. Maybe. Maybe not.

Idea: these little amusing characters that Rob & I made up to amuse each other. A cast that can be made into stuffed toys or vinyl toys and have children's books with their stories in them. So far rob has been way more creative & productive than I have with these guys. But we have fun making up scenarios and putting them into them to see what they do. We let our imaginations run free and it's fun.

Stuck: He's sculpted a few. I've drawn a few. We talk about them & make up stories. Want to actually "bring them to life", so to speak - write out these stories, make these characters, draw the pictures.

But. I. Haven't. Yet.

Fear: Lots. Things like "failure" and "finances" and "do something useful with your life" keep popping up. There are other, smaller, slightly less pestering fears that filter in here and there, but those 3 are the main ones. The big ones. The "DO NOT HIT THIS RED BUTTON" ones.

Havi: The awesome inspiration of Havi Brooks and Selma, over at The Fluent Self, whose blog I read for great "You can do it!" type of thinking, who does amazing things with yoga and brains (totally in a smart way, not in a weird "Ruutting on dee Ritz/Frankenstein" way) and offers ways to stop procrastinating that are really, really effective and well, awesome. We talked last week, as a training session (I got to play guinea pig for her to work on a new method in return for a bit of help and insight to what I want to work on) where I voiced those fears and walked through some of the things affecting my creative process.

Let's just say I learned that this is one tree I want to climb and am figuring it out as I go along.

This is where this "start. something." comes in.

Process: I now admit I'm not good at the photos part. I admit I dislike video blogging, and 99% of the time I will close a page with a video article because I'd rather read. And I know writing takes the time and effort, but it's what I prefer. I prefer the tactile of painting, sculpting, making messes. Remembering to take photos -then download, resize, save, and upload -those photos takes a lot more time than I am willing to invest on a real routine basis. So I will do my best to continue the photos as I can, but I'm going back to the words. Because to me that's what blogging is all about.

More process: Havi suggested (gently urged in that "Just Do It" way she has) that I write myself a permission slip to take 45 minutes to actually, well, "Do" something with this.

Ok. So I failed for this past weekend. I let myself procrastinate on this 'process' and did not use that 45 minute permission slip. I stretched canvas & gesso prepped. I worked on the articles I have on deadline in the next few days. I attended an Airsho meeting where we sorted things out for the Sho next month while beating the usual dead horses (not literally, that would take more than the four hours). And I spent time talking to Rob whom I hadn't gotten to talk to much for the past two weeks.

But! I feel ok about this. It's like I'm clearing the table to make room to work on things. I get these articles done & I can work on these self projects.

And here is where I will document it. Because as we worked out, there have got to be lots of other artists out there who have the same fears and wonders about bringing these things together and making them happen the way we visualize them.

So. Raise your glass. Or tube of paint. Here's to figuring out the process, accepting that it is all about the learning, seeing where it goes, and making things happen. And knowing that this is just one tree. There are plenty more trees out there to go climb later. Right now, this is the one I want to climb.

(Thank you Havi. You are wonderful to work with. I bow in your presence! And will name one of these lil' guys after you. Or Selma.)

spider dance

2008-08-02T22:46:00.002-05:00

In the realm of symbolism, I can understand meanings. Usually. If I'm paying attention.

A delicate weaving of threads so light that they catch the morning dew to glisten in the rising sunlight. There is a peaceful space here, between the broad leaves of a flowering plant. I cannot name the names, other than the daisy or the rose, and the hibiscus next to the jasmine vine. So I have no idea what this yellow blooming thing is. And in the long run of life, I realize I don't really care. I'm way more fascinated by the delicate webbing softly strung between the broad green leaves.

I have a respect for this space. The flowers and the webs. The leaves and the earth. I can respect that this space is sacred and beautiful and meant for this little creature to call home.

So I ask for the same respect in my space. It is unnerving to see a small eight-legged creature making its way across the wall above my bed or desk. It moves so silently, so quickly, so effortlessly across whatever path it may be on.

There is enough of awareness in me to know if the spider I'm watching is a menace or not. After all, a black widow or brown recluse is far more dangerous than the scorpion that stung me the other night, and a daddy long legs is just a very awkward little spider body with big long legs that brings out the torture gene in most children but really can cause no harm.

Spiders mean creativity. They are a sight to behold as much as the learned fears that we react to. Does it mean I'm on the path I belong on, the path across the world that leads from one place to another, is the right path? Or that I perhaps need to follow another direction? Am I in a beautiful garden, weaving a delicate and resiliant home between blades and flowers, reflecting the light and dancing in the breeze? Or am I wandering across the wall in someone else's space, trying to figure out where I belong, running into dark corners in avoidance of being squashed?

some art bits

2008-07-24T21:04:00.001-05:00

Painting. Spent the evening playing with green paint on a cardboard heart, rearranging paints & brushes, gluing random things to other random things.

I like being artful.

This one is the large 5x3 painting I currently have leaning against the wall in front of me when I'm working at the drafting table. It's a work in progress, like many things are, I just haven't figured out the pattern for the overlay yet. Very inspired by Pollack, yes.

Hi!

2008-07-15T20:41:00.002-05:00

I'm back from the travels of the past few weeks - haven't had time to download the over 400 photos yet, though. I'm hoping to do that this weekend. In between I've got several pieces to write - so all my words will be going there for a few days, 'k?

6 feet of beat up wood

2008-06-14T21:18:00.003-05:00

He told me it originally came from Denver, he bought it from a lady selling off stuff up there a good number of years ago. He used it for several projects, repairing or putting together his own stuff. Now he & his wife are moving to a smaller place and getting rid of lots of stuff (awesome old stove, but I didn't have the $995 to pay for it...)

It has this musty oil & dirt smell that I'm hoping to work out a bit, maybe sand it down as my brother suggested, maybe work in some orange oil or beeswax to help the wood. Yes, I know, it'll just get messy again. But now it's mine & I want to clean it up a bit before going to work on it.

It's sturdy. Thank you to Momma, Daddy, Lawrence & The Gina for helping with the loading, wrist twisting, unloading, and general maneuvering of this thing today!

It was a price I was willing to pay for something with history and something that will handle what may get thrown at it. It has a grinder, a vise grip, six drawers, and a wood grip. The backboard (seen leaning against the wall in the photo above) has hooks for tools like saws and hammers, and three rows of metal screw on lids for the box full of jars - meant for screws or nuts or bolts or small nick nack things. Since I have jars full of art stuff on my bookshelves already - things like beads, copper pieces, cloth strips, brightly colored condoms, confetti, my great-grandmothers knitting needles, necklace charms, and mini-nail polish bottles - I figure this will be a good place for them all!

This work bench is not made of mdf board or a kit. This is heavy, thick, sturdy wood. I am in awe at the find and everything fell into place for me to get it. And! When we went to pick it up, there were about a dozen small blue & grey butterflies flitting about where we parked in their yard. To me, that is a good sign.

Now, well, now I have to figure out where to put it, get the wiring fixed (cause it's severely old and shredded and looks like it was made before the light bulb was invented), and then actually start using it. (hmm, I almost typed 'losing it', but that makes as much sense because I do tend to pile things on top of things and never see them again... let's try not to do that with this...)

Oh! I also have this little round thing, almost like a stool, no more than a foot across and maybe five or six inches high, with three little feet on the bottom, that I picked up at an antique store last year for 3 bucks - turns out it was an ice cream blending board from Blue Bell. Crazy. Can perch this on the work bench too!

Ok, so I like the wood. (totally not meant to be an innuendo... seriously. really. but if you actually know me, well, then... you know...)

Enough. Have also been clearing things here and there, and am now to the moving of things around part. Sorta. It's getting there. But I'm giddy at having a new (to me) work bench, and the ideas and thoughts that come from the creative freedom to think of what I want to do next!

the problem with 'organizing' is...

2008-06-09T22:20:00.002-05:00

In the process of moving things around, pushing stuff out of the way and boxing things up to store, well, I can't find where I put my wire cutters and wire and hooks.

The hand held blue cutters/pliers are not where I thought they were. Nor are they where I thought they weren't.

They are not under my bed. Nor is the roll of wire.

They are not on the futon by the door. Nor under it.

They are not on the cd bookshelf. Because I'd notice them standing out against all those cd cases.

They are not in my tool bag. There are books, drill bits, a flip razor box cutter, a bag of m&m's, a bottle of lotion, and a sharpie in that tool bag, but no wire piler/cutters. Shut-up, the m&m's and lotion totally count as tools. Um, so do the books. The sharpie is for drawing on random things like walls and Rob's legs... oh, distracted from the hunting...

They are not in the closet where I was also looking for a shirt to wear that did not involve sleeves.

They are not in that box of paints and brushes, but I did find the pink I was looking for last week.

They are not in my backpack, on the bookshelf with the ducks, or under the shoes by the door.

I'm taking this as a sign that these three pieces are not ready to be wired or hung yet, and so will leave them alone for now. Move onto another project... where I'm sure they'll show up eventually anyway.

swiping the green

2008-06-02T22:10:00.000-05:00

Picked up some small plastic containers for storage - I'm sorting my own random trinkets into clear boxes, because then I can see what I have. I'm also shifting some of Lawrence & Gina's art supplies into storage so I can use the drafting table for the bigger pieces I'd like to work on.

Picked up some more wood - still kinda wet, waiting for it to dry, so I can make my own frame to stretch a canvas. New painting now in the works.

I've been contemplating dying my hair blond, don't really know why, just feel like it for some reason. We'll see what happens there. That mood may pass.

commence mint rant speech

2008-05-29T23:00:00.002-05:00

Surviving high school is not an accomplishment to be proud of.

If it were, it would be up there with getting a gold star for not getting into a car wreck on your way to work every day. Or not pulling a gun and going crazy because the local walmart can't keep cashiers and so they have three lanes open for 75 people wanting to checkout. Or for the ability to remember to put pants on before you leave the house. These all deserve a ceremony with a goofy robe and silly hat.

No. Not really.

Things to really be proud of include landing on your own two feet after a jump - literally and metaphorically.

Seeing blood and pain and twisted bodies and moving into action to do something instead of passing out.

Making an investment that succeeds. Or making an investment that succeeds after one that failed.

Taking responsibility for your actions and accepting or dealing with the results - good or bad.

Making one person smile. Giving one person a hand, or a ride. Being there for one person - friend or foe.

Thinking for yourself. Making a statement or decision that was not prepped for you.

Seriously. What is such a pride inducing thing about surviving three years with people who torment each other? Spent having your spirit crushed? Spent being 'taught' the cookie cutter curriculum and the lemming platform? Spent making increasingly dumb mistakes because you stupidly believe you are well on your way into adulthood? (Let me tell you something, I've been outta high school for 12 years now, and I feel no closer to 'adulthood' than I did then. Make the choices because you believe in them, not because someone else told you to.)

I'm still trying out the real world, seeing which parts of it fit. But I can guarantee you that the best and hardest times I remember were not spent in a classroom. They weren't spent hiding my true self in shame, being teased, or surviving the so-called education.

Fine. Feel proud of yourself for a millisecond or two. Then get over it and go on with the living. Do not relive your glory days of high school. Do not boast gleefully that you were in the top 50% as if you just performed brain surgery with a spoon. Don't get caught up in how easy it was once you leave, the best is yet to come.

Because the best is what's really gonna push you, stretch you, make you learn instantly, overwhelm your senses, fill you with desire and passion, make you scream and dance and cry, and ultimately let you figure out who you really are.

Now, go put on your pants and go do something with yourself. Then you can be proud. And wear a silly hat if you wish.

Memorial Day - catching up

2008-05-28T21:46:00.000-05:00

Rob was in town for the weekend, doing some job hunting and hanging out with me, which I enjoyed very much! He took the MPD tests and did well, now it's paperwork and wait & see. He helped out with the Memorial Day services at the American Airpower Heritage Museum, participating in the 21 Gun Salute. There was a great shot by Cindeka Nealy in the Odessa American newspaper of the Salute, with Rob in the front. I love the way he looks in uniform anyway, but I was so proud of him!

The Flag Folding Ceremony was beautiful, the cadets were so crisp and did a great job.

The Veterans in the crowd stood during the Sun Country Gentlemen singing of the songs from each military branch. Watching their faces, seeing the pride for what they've served for, seeing the dignity and respect they demand and deserve for serving this country.

My grandparents sat there, on the front row. It was a great chance for me to take their picture, too!

Weekend over, everyone back to routines and work. I'm not much in the mood to write much, so I figured the pics would help. It's tough now that Rob is back in Florida again, I miss him, I don't feel like writing much, except to him! The texts are flying again!

Wanted: Dead or Alive

2008-05-20T20:40:00.000-05:00

Notoriety is a bit more pleasurable, even when you see your own picture on the 'Wanted: Dead or Alive' posters. Kinda like your 15 minutes, until you realize that everyone standing around you sees the same thing and is now turning to look at you as if you might just be dangerous. Which of course, you are.

They say the best laid plans of mice and men are the ones that go awry. Or at least I think they say that. They say so many things that I'm never sure which are real and which are made up. My guess is that most are made up. Personally, the mice tend to just run around all skittery, while a man will run only if he thinks he's being chased. Notice I said 'thinks'? Yes. Be it a rarin' bull, a bucking horse, or a woman whose bed he just left.

I've detoured. I believe you paused today when you heard about the 'Wanted' poster. Or I want to believe you stopped to see what happens next because of that. Hell, at this point I can believe anything I want to. So can you.

It's not a great likeness. But then, I always could find fault within my own lines and features. Is it still a feature if you don't like it? If I don't like it? The pencil sketching shows me with perfectly round eyes, when my left one leans a little to the side. The etching has a dusty trail ride feel, with my bandanna tied to my neck and my hat pulled low over my forehead, as if I was a hardened killer like Billy The Kid or something. Jesus, I like to think I'm prettier than him. Why can't I have a better etching than that fool boy? Besides I wear dresses and rouge and powder in an attempt hide the bruises and scars. Throws the boys off when they hear the rustle of petticoats instead of the whisper of chaps. I look just as good in both, or at least I've been told. Just once I'd like to see a poster with my hair in curls and the ruffles of my best dress. Then, I suppose, if I wish hard enough, the day they finally do catch and hang me, I'll get my wish.

He wasn't supposed to die. The bastard knew the whole plan. It was his plan. He was just dumb enough to think that I would follow it. For Finnegan's sake, I told him I loved him, not that I would follow him into the street for a fire fight after we rode back into town. Damn fool. Most men are, in my opinion. Which is why it's easier to stay wanted and not caught. What a man will do for a little thigh grabbing and ankle spreading... or vice versa... Ahh, I don't need to tell you that, you just use your imagination a little and you know exactly what I'm sayin'.

His plan was to walk right into the Bank and walk back out. My plan was to let him. See who's standing now? I loved him, but I didn't say I was as stupid as him. I went out the back door, down the alley, and up the stairs to our room at the hotel, where I walked out onto the balcony with the rest of the town to see the sheriff pull his foolish, bulleted body out of the road.

All I can do is sigh. He was easy enough on the eyes and rough enough on my body. The girls standing next to me know, they turn away to whisper about me. I turn around and let them. By nightfall I'll be on saddle and gone. This time flush with cash, and a three day ride to anywhere else. Give a few of those bruises time to heal before I don the lace and silks again. Stay low to the sights, find the towns that see the most of the land rushers and sojourners that there are no questions asked about a woman traveling alone.

Three. I don't count the last one, the sheriff did that for me. I only count the three I pulled the trigger on myself, you see. Of all the things I do in this life, I will remember them. Responsibility weighs just as heavy as guilt, that it feels about the same. Riding alone, camping under the stars, asking for the forgiveness that only the preacher can give when I finally do hang, and then making myself believe one more time that I'm not wrong. Justice is funny that way, ain't it? You can believe that I'm as innocent as the day I was born if I wanted you to. Till I tell you I knew right what I was doing each time. Didn'n make it any easier.

I've been back to those towns twice. Once to pick up what I'd squirreled away in waiting, and once just to see if'n I'd be caught. Not a bat of an eye at another lady on the street. Not a second thought at another whore in the saloon. Just another drunk to follow me up the stairs and mysteriously be found shot the next mornin'. Not just any drunks, mind you. I hold my reasons as close as I hold my aces when playing cards. When the time comes to lay them on the table, then you'll see what I've been hidin'.

Plain as day, I stand here in the general store, purchasing a few more tinned goods to pack for the next ride. I'm standing right next to the poster, when the recognition crosses the gentle man's face. I just smile sweetly, nod once and thank him for my purchases, then I spout up "Well, my stars! Have they not caught up to that girl yet? I wonder if any of us are safe in our beds with her on the loose!" He gets my hint with fear in his eyes. Poor man, I mean him no harm, but he will surely be afraid for a long time to come, knowing that I stood across the counter from him holding a can of dried meats and had a gun strapped to my thigh.

That bold heft of metal against my leg, either strapped to the outside of my pants or tucked underneath the layers of my skirts, gives me the cocky attitude of invincibility. It's when I take it off at night that the world feels just a bit more intimidatin'. Sometimes I think I can go just far enough away, ride for days till I or my horse drops, before I can start all over. Then sometimes ends and I know that I'm the only one who knows it was me in the first place. Those are the days I pull that hat a little lower and let them whisper what they will. Because most of the time I think the stories they tell are made up ones anyhow.

(Written March 2007)

quick stitching between the tactile and the visual

2008-05-15T18:58:00.002-05:00

The pillows now reside in their new habitat, my dad's office at the museum, for those rare occasions anyone will actually sit still during their meetings in his office.

I've made one for Rob and sent it to him, as a hug across the miles. He seems to enjoy having it tucked behind his head while reading! The tye-dye green/red one I'm keeping here and have used it to tuck under my knees when working (as I tend to work on the floor while at home, you know, all spread out, things everywhere).

Amongst my twitter wanderings and stalkings I found this diy on figure making via this guy from his comment to someone else and I decided to follow him. Can I say I'm not alone in this networking and commentary that is the twitter-verse? I've found some great and inspiring blogs and writers, artists and industrialists.

And so that diy link up there ^, well, that rattled my creative juices a bit in the direction I think I may be going.

Oddly vague, I know. But until I get the feel the way I want it, I feel that sharing will be ...

....

oops.... things going on again! (good distraction there, huh?!) Gotta run, don't wanna just save as draft because who knows when I'll finish. so - art ideas with pillows and vinyl figures, and I'm writing again - for reals - and it feels soooo good. I'll get to that later when I do have time.

..... the phone again, gotta run!

the need for green

2008-05-06T20:24:00.002-05:00

Today is a very cloudy, weather turmoil-y day, and with all the stuff that is going on with family and friends right now, well I turn to the green for some comfort in color.

This started out as a pre-prepped, store bought canvas. I use the Van Gogh Acrylic in one of the deeper, more emerald green.

I used a one inch brush as I applied the paint, going with one layer, but a very thick layer. While applying I used the thickness of the brush to measure out a one-inch-ish basket weave pattern across the whole canvas.

One solid color is rare for me, but the thickness and thinness in the lines gives the whole piece enough variation to appease my sense of light and dark compliments.

Falling into the "I like texture" category, because I like things that I can touch and feel, I broke out the glue and fabric leaves!

All those pretty green leaves that didn't get used on the Queen's Rose Garden in "Alice in Wonderland" last summer were just hanging out waiting for a project! So I glued them along the edge, making a pretty alternating level border.

But then my color contrast needs kicked in and I found some orange faux maple leaves, the fall leaves with all the orange/green/yellow veins that make it stand out on the green canvas background.

Much in the same style as the roses, I tossed a handful of the leaves in the air and glued them down where they landed. Only, not totally glued - just a small attachment dot of glue at the base of the leaf, so that the rest of the leaf moves with a breeze. Gives the entire pieces some movement, makes you want to touch it, makes it 'dance' a bit to the eye.

This pretty ditty was a gift to Bobbi, and I'm hoping it compliments her decor in her new home!

making marks

2008-04-29T17:59:00.006-05:00

I'm looking into more options in the realm of art - one includes engraving, but I'm not as sure of how steady my hand would be. Now doing the carving into wood is one thing, I go with the flow of the grain and let it happen - so goofs or not, it turns out pretty anyway.

But polished stuff, like these guys at corporate plaques, well - there's a reason they do what they do and I do what I do, I think. I mean, they have the shiny tools to make precise and clean cuts and designs.

So, methinks, that maybe way down the road, you know someday after I get around to learning glassblowing and such, then I might brush up on working with metals...

(p.s. that company is giving away freebies, if you're interested - Customized Engraving, 'cause I don't mind helping promote someone else with a bit'o'marketing.)

pillows! pillows! pillows!

2008-04-28T22:02:00.003-05:00

keep on keepin' on

2008-04-22T22:12:00.001-05:00

Not much to see here - I've gots things to say, plenty thereof really, it's the forming of actual words in an attempt to make sense that seems to be complicating my process.

Anyway, the photo above is of the red canvas I'd started, the one that eventually got finished and is now belongs to Amber.

Pre-prepped canvas bought from the store (they do the staples so much better than I do...), red acrylic paint brushed on thick then using a half-inch brush to swirl into the base coat. Let's see if I can find a photo with a closer view of those swirls - can you see them?

Then I started lining out in orange paint across the canvas lines at angles. Odd angles, angles that don't appear to be on purpose, but they are to the whole picture! Really!

And here's where I failed to get a whole picture of the whole painting - see, all that loading the car to drive back across to Texas, and all that driving, and all that weekend with the girls where I wired both paintings for hanging for them, and the hanging of this red & orange one on Amber's wall where she said she likes it and it fits her personality - well, with all that going on, I forgot to take a photo of the finished piece! (hanging my head in mock shame) (so, Amber, can I get a photo?) (grin)

Oh - and I have a job! Yea! I start monday!

two weeks later than before

2008-04-13T00:14:00.003-05:00

I'm going to try to catch up a bit here, it's been a bit crazy for me these past two weeks, and I realize that if I don't at least attempt to catch up now, it'll probably never happen.

Let's see, after many goodbye kisses and leaving a handful of notes for Rob in the apartment, I left Jacksonville at 9am on Wed, March 26th.

I made decent time across Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana into Texas - down to Galveston to stay with my parents on the beach - altogether a 15 hour drive, about 848 miles. I was tired, but it was sooo nice to see my parents after nearly three months.

I went to lunch with Momma on Thursday, we wandered the square for a little bit, getting ideas and looking at all the pretties. Then I went to a job interview for a marketing position with a rally - I was impressed, I liked the position and was very inspired by even having an interview! He offered me the position, if we could move to Galveston, and let me tell you, after nearly five months of job hunting, that felt nice!

Since Daddy was in town for the TAM meetings, I tagged along to the museum tours that night with them. Texas Seaport Museum - where they handed us bags of popcorn and cups of Shiner! That alone made it nice to be back in Texas! -

Then to the Ocean Star Offshore Drilling Museum - seeing the difference in drilling out there in the gulf compared to the drilling out here in the dirt.

Last stop was the Lone Star Flight Museum, after the bus driver took us over the bridge into Houston and back again, you know, the scenic route... A band played, a good number of planes in the hangar, a chocolate fountain with marshmallows (see what sticks in my mind, huh!)

Back to the hotel, sleep and back on the road Friday morning - heading up through San Antonio traffic into Fredericksburg to interview for a couple of massage therapy interviews - both went well, both would be great jobs too - and finally on to stay with Amber & Bobbi in Menard for a couple of nights.

Now, for me, this is a perfect escape. Usually.

I don't have any cell phone signal down there, none at all, which is usually nice and perfect for hanging out and chilling with Amber & Bobbi, and playing with the boys. But I'm quite fond of Rob, and missing him lots, and am putting my texting and phone minutes to good use with him, so limited communication for a couple of days is kinda tough.

So we girls hung out, catching up on everything, and we spent Saturday in Brady shopping.

We wandered a little antiques store where I found a heart-shaped cookie cutter, where we giggled at the animal print purses and the camouflage print bedsheets, where we ogled all the pretty shiny things that caught our eyes.

Then to the store to find things to throw on the grill for dinner that night, things like corn on the cob, mushrooms, bell peppers, sausage, steak, chicken, - oh, almost everything except the roadkill possum, thank goodness! ;) We decided to cut the corn into half-inch slices, but as Bobbi and four different knives can attest, it's not easy! But it's very good when grilled!

Amber made grapefruit margaritas, consumed while making dinner, while watching Austyn playing outside, while giggling and telling stories.

Dinner was wonderful, we chatted into the night, ummm, nearly 3am, right? We discussed life and work, past loves and past regrets, hopes and dreams, wedding dresses and hairstyles, all sorts of things that I'm glad Rob wasn't there for! The hanging out with my two best friends was the best part.

Headed out on Sunday, back to Odessa, back to cell phone coverage.

Let's see - since then I've had several interviews, and have several more lined up in the next week, here in Odessa. We're trying to find Rob work out here, to encourage his moving out here. I'm hoping, but am well aware of his commitment to the Army Guard in Florida, and am dealing. But for this Texas girl, it's nice to be home. I'm feeling better, but still taking medicine in hopes of getting over this mess soon. I've finished my taxes (finally!) and am now focusing on finding a job that will work best for me while here.

Gina and I are going to be looking at Papaw's old building on Andrews Hwy later this week, if by some miracle things work out financially, Lawrence can use the office for his business and we can use the rest for an art gallery and art workspace. At least having the space here to work I can pick up where I left off on the carvings and paintings, especially since there's not a whole lot on tv worth watching!

Allrighty, it's late, and I'm tired. Next post I'll try to have some art stuff up.

stopping in to say hi

2008-04-08T21:41:00.000-05:00

I've been a bit on the sick side this last week, making me very lazy in the updating. But here's pics of the yummmy grilled dinner and the margaritas.

I have downloaded my camera, and do have several things to show you all when a few other things settle in around here. Since Bobbi & Amber now have their paintings, I can post pictures of those here, too. ;)

alrighty

2008-03-31T22:48:00.002-05:00

Back in Odessa, after several hours, miles, and stops. Once I get my camera downloaded I'll post about it all. Right now it's just nice to be in a comfort zone for me.

travelling...

2008-03-25T12:33:00.002-05:00

I'll be heading back to Texas tomorrow - stopping in Houston to see family and job interview, then on across the state for more interviews and to stay with Amber & Bobbi (and grapefruit margaritas, so I hear... which I'm looking forward to!) Then on to Odessa, and a few more job interviews lined up in the Midland-Odessa area.

This means about a week of travel, this means I've got to load my car with a few things, this means that for now Rob will not be traveling with me - and that sucks.

So - to those I'll be seeing soon - see you soon! And to everyone else - can I catch you on the next trip? 'Cause if Rob is gonna be in Florida, I'm gonna have to find one of these great jobs so I can go back and forth and see him more often!

back to the art stuff

2008-03-19T16:01:00.000-05:00

Since I'm sure that's what you came here for.

This one is an 11x14 pre-stretched canvas, picked up at either Michael's or Hobby Lobby, since those are both relatively easy to find and procure canvas' like these.

It started off as white, really.

I had picked up a remnant of wine and blue colored fabric and some wine and blue colored little woven roses, miniature ones that come in a little bunch for like a buck.

Gina had told me about this magazine, Cloth Paper Scissors, and I was a little inspired to try out this form of mixed media. Sorta. In my own way.

So I have a canvas, some fabric, some roses, and some 12 inch dowels... oh! and some muslin, can't forget the muslin!

Of which I have glued one edge across the back of the fully painted canvas. (Note: when painting the front and back, it is not advisable to be like me and try to accomplish both sides at once, because this ends up with wet paint somewhere- hands, knees, carpet... Best to do one side at a time so something is dry when you lay it down.)

Anyway - I painted the whole thing with black, with squirts of wine and blues to pick up the colors I plan on using. Glued the muslin on one side on the back, in preparation for attaching other stuff to it. I've made a four inch cut in the center - opening it up like doors.

The plan is to roll the "doors" onto the dowels - attach the dowels to the canvas with wire or glue and ribbon, open up the center to show the layout attached to the muslin behind it. Does this make sense? It does in my head. Hopefully it will in reality...

the sky is falling!

2008-03-18T05:39:00.000-05:00

Seriously? I'm not used to trees. This is crazy!

So that's what falling sounds like...

it's the displacement of the air of an object falling, moving through space pulled by gravity.

Tree branch came easily down - the crunch - and the falling sound of a large object heading downward. On to what? Us? Unknown till it hits.

The landing - somewhere - roof? No thud. Yard? Driveway? Street? Still too dark to see out the window.

Don't move. Do not move. Stay with me here in bed. The perceived safety of being in your arms. Don't go look just yet - just wait a few more minutes. Until the dust settles. Until the boughs are done falling. Until my heart stops pounding.

oh, is that what today is?

2008-03-17T16:56:00.005-05:00

Happy St. Patrick's Day - go drink green beer or kiss someone Irish or eat corned beef or talk with a fake accent at your own whims!

And if you know The Gina - go wish her a Happy Birthday tomorrow - She's super-busy in her final stretch of semesters for college and kinda crazy with all the art and work and keeping Lawrence and the beagles coordinated. So drop her a "Hi!" or a "How's it goin?" or a "Sup?"

whirlwind weekend

2008-03-16T22:38:00.004-05:00

YUM!

Oh, you should try this!

Our friend Steve had told us of this little place down in St. Augustine, this little place that has Chocolate covered Key Lime Pie on a steek (We heavily reference Jose Jalapeño when saying this... and if you have no idea what I'm talking about and want a laugh, click here.)

It was a lovely day Saturday, windy, but sunshiny, and after a lot of rain here recently, I was enjoying it. We went and wandered some of St. George Square, along with hundreds of others out savoring the day. Lots of bikes on the roads, lots of shorts and sandals, lots of people wandering about.

Some post-it art found on random signs along the streets:

Which is cool to me, I love random art in random places. But these post-its were all over the Square, not just near the local Art Society building or the art galleries in the tourist square streets.

Since St. Augustine is historical to the point that the whole place is a museum, and it's right there on the ocean and inter coastal, there area a lot of influences in the local artist's work shown here. Lots of blues. Lots of glass.

We took full advantage of the lack of plans for the afternoon and stopped at this little pizza & beer place with a nice little courtyard.

Shade, beers, and just the two of us chilling out discussing the "what we might do someday" thoughts that rolled past.

More meandering, wandering shops with clothes or books or jewelry or art or chimes or whatever goods were being sold. We tried to grab dinner at a cafe on A1A, but they were closed for a wedding, so we stopped at a sea side diner place and had more! beer (and a piña coloda), chips, and peel & eat shrimp. Sort of an appetizer, because we then came back to town and grabbed burgers for dinner.

All in all a great, random, art-filled, meandering, relaxing day.

Today we ventured out to the beach for a walk, again beaucoup of folks out and about. We kicked off our sandals and walked awhile, turns out long enough to get us both a little sunburned. Eh, it happens. I kept singing made up songs about the shells and the beach. We watched wind surfers and little kids and puppies and seagulls, while splashing in the water.

Now we're hanging out, watching the Pirates trilogy, and drinking rum. Seemed like a good day to do so, after being at the beach and having sand between our toes...

a bit more

2008-03-12T23:09:00.002-05:00

I'm about halfway down the board now. Lawrence asked if I was gonna use this for printing purposes. Umm, nope. While using relief carving for printmaking is where I first saw this technique used, it's not what I look to do with the pieces.

I enjoy the carving process the most. It's the smell of the wood, the feel of the wood, the feel of the hand tools, the movements, the texture of the finished carved piece. Usually, and what I'll be doing with this one, I then stain or paint the piece of wood - laying in color into the grooves, painting the color on the surface, then outlining the cuts in effort to make it "stand out", so to speak.

To me this makes the final piece dimensional. It's texture. I want these pieces to be touched. For you to run your fingers over them. I want it to be about the color and sight of the piece as much as about the feel. It's about the tactile impression as well as the visual.

Oh, yeah. That.

2008-03-11T16:45:00.002-05:00

The Bubbles! They are FINISHED! (Eh, except for sealing it, that really will have to wait till there is a day where the humidity here is less than 40%. It may be awhile.)

Used eye hook screws and hanging wire on the back, and now this piece is hanging in our living room.

Rob's comment was "I feel like an adult now, with art on the walls."

wood were it that easy

2008-03-11T16:28:00.003-05:00

I'm attempting something new for me with this one. Instead of carving out the design I draw in, I'm carving out the stuff around it. I've started to attempt this before, but that was on a large 18-inch chunk of wood I was attacking with a mallet that is still sitting in the garage in Texas.

This one is another remainder board, 1x6, white wood.

I'm using #4 and #2 gouges.

The #2 is V shaped, the #4 is more U shaped and wider to get the larger areas. The #2 gets in between the lines and edges easier, then I scoop out with the #4.

I haven't quite decided what to do with the spaces on the other half of the board yet, so those are blank for now.

I'll sand down the pencil lines and all the rough scooped out areas later.

are the lines moving?

2008-03-10T15:36:00.001-05:00

Basic white wood - usually pre-treated white wood found at the local wood- and- tools- and- paint- and- general- building- of- things- stuff store. Picked up a few of these cut off remainders for like 50 cents each.

This piece is roughly 2 feet long. It's a 1x6 board. It's a softer wood than some, so in between the veins is a soft and fairly malleable stretch of white wood.

I picked up a lattice stencil and drew it on in pencil. Am using gouges in #1 and #2 size to cut the wood out with. The drawback to the soft wood is that the gouges will tear more than cut in some places. This leaves a final cut that may go off in another direction completely. It happens.

This is a long work- in- progress. Each leaf, each line.
It's kinda zen like to be doing it this way.
Each line is drawn on, each line is cut out, one at a time.

Sure, I could look down the stretch of the piece and see how many I have yet to go, and see what I have yet to paint, or stain, and edge, and seal... It can be overwhelming...

But the part of me that is holding that very sharp gouge in one hand and holding the wood in another is just there. In that cut. In that moment.

Like I said, very zen like.

and there was this one time...

2008-03-07T14:25:00.002-06:00

I'm finished with the painting of Bubbles - I need to seal it, if it ever stops raining long enough. The sealer won't work with humidity, go figure.

Have a handful of other projects am working on - need to get photos of them for this. One is a piece of wood with a lattice type stencil I'm carving.

The other thing rolling around in my head is hardened resin in a particular shape, but again, does not work well in humidity, so this may have to wait till I'm back in Texas. Also working with this stuff needs plenty of ventilation, and there's not much of that here. Anyway - I also want to use barbed wire for this particular piece - probably easier to get in Texas than in Florida...

Anyway. Carving, sealing, and finishing a few other small projects. Will post pics again soon!

x-peck-tah-shin

2008-02-29T14:00:00.001-06:00

I’m not, nor have I ever been one of those with perfect handwriting. What pours forth from the ink to the page falls into any category between cursive and chicken scratch. All too often, I myself cannot even diagnose what the word was originally meant to be and find the closest substitute that might make sense if I were indeed sober and awake when I wrote it. But usually I’m not.

There is a sort of filter on thoughts and things lately. The filter that shows me what I could have versus what I do have. Or, maybe, perhaps, that is just my perception on things.

The hot water boils on the stove, gets poured into the mug, then turns into something drinkable. After it cools. Because I have no inclination to scald my tongue on freshly heated water.

Distracted. Again. I do this. A lot.

I believe I was talking about handwriting before the water whistled for me to get up and come retrieve it from the burning coils on the stove. My handwriting or someone who wrote for me, I’m not sure now. All that fetches in my memory right now is the whisps of a note now forgotten, the glimpses of dreams that floated by in the last few hours, and the potential that there really is light at the end of the tunnel.

Of which I wasn’t aware we were in. Huh. Did I miss something here?

Nevermind.

It is my mind that is the one guiding this after all.

The basis of what I think I’m trying to say right now is that sometimes things change.

There. Simple enough. Now explain.

That I am an artist who makes large strokes with a paintbrush, large gouges with a sharp knife, who full heartedly jumps into projects, who fully embraces another person in a hug, makes me not the sort of person to pay attention to details. But I do. The things that when you step close to the painting to discover the small dots and lines, blended or standing alone, to give the piece a finished perspective. The things that when you run your fingers over the finished wood, you feel the flow of the cut as well as the flow of the grain, making it seem as if it was already there. The things that include charts and research out the wazoo, the customer perspective, and the bottom line, that show this project is based in this reality. The things that when wrapped in a hug, my fingers instinctively find the tension in the back or neck, in a gentle rubbing to say hello or goodbye, helps release just a little bit of the pain that was being held on to too tightly.

Sometimes finding out that what you see and feel may be something entirely different, well, that’s just cause of alarm. Or for drinking heavily and cursing. Or for screaming in fear and cowering. Or for dancing wildly and spastically, falling down on purpose, and realizing that “Hey, the world looks different from down here.”

Indeed, it does.

So, perhaps this tunnel is not the tunnel of lore, where you walk out of it, or where a train comes at you, or whatever those loring tunnels are.

This tunnel may be one of those that’s more akin to a well, Or the caves in the rocks we climbed as kids, where half the climb was straight down, crawl a bit, then climb straight up. Remembering that now makes me wonder why in the hell we did that, on purpose? I mean, snakes, nettles, scrapes, darkness, spiders, bats, flash storms, all sorts of things, were threats. What were we thinking?

And when did I let myself slide from fearless and adventurous to an adult? Yuck.

The tea cools enough to drink. I transfer the words from notebook to computer and come up with something that sounds like what I might have been trying to say in the wee hours of the morning. I take the last gulp, looking down into the empty, deep mug. Only by turning it sideways does anything fall out. Yet another different perspective.

Anyway. We climbed cautiously we worked in groups, pushing each other up, or pulling each other up. We skittered under boulders, around crevices, sliding along on our butts an awful lot. By the end of summer my jeans had lost all their back pockets to those rocks. And it didn’t matter. We went through, we found more, we crawled and got dirty, we made our way out in time to go eat dinner.

So this tunnel I’ve been in is like looking up out of those rock caves. I’ve forgotten that I am not alone. I need to get a little dirty, scoot off the rock I’ve been perched on, and ask for help climbing out.

filler

2008-02-27T19:39:00.001-06:00

It's hard to actually express what I do, or think about, while I paint. It helps if I'm actually in the mood to do something, because then it flows. Like every move, every inch, every idea just falls right into place and fills itself in. Those times I can work for hours and not realize it at all. I've gone several hours without looking up from a piece, only to find that when I eventually do - I'm hungry, thirsty, and have a sore neck from leaning over so long.

This is not those times. My giveadamn is broken and I have to force myself out of bed, much less to put clothes on that aren't sweats. So I've been filling these in maybe once, twice a week. As an effort to distract myself, or an effort to try and reclaim something I like doing. Or I'll spend hours working a fierce level sudoku, just to keep out of my own mind. Really, working on something like a carving would be much better suited...

Anyway, I don't think of muchwhen I'm actually working, except the piece. It is a good way to focus and stay out of my head. The conundrum is, when I don't feel good, when I'm spending too much time in my own head, is exactly when I probably should be painting.

Working on getting back to that.

Meanwhile, a few more photos of this. It'll be done soon, I promise, for the handful of you who are bored with it already.

More Red

2008-02-25T14:28:00.002-06:00

Another red added.

A few more circles filled in.

It looks less like the large greyish stretch of nothing now and more like what I had in mind.

I know, the pictures do not do it justice. I prefer the tactile medium of the paint over the plain visual of the photograph myself, but all too often there are things caught in a click moment that someone else posts on their site and I sit in awe at the beauty they are able to capture

more shots

2008-02-19T12:52:00.002-06:00

The wide shots, the close up shots, the in-between shots.

dark pink

2008-02-18T12:38:00.002-06:00

The darker pink now lays down. I pour it on thick, making waves in the creamy, rich, pink paint.

I do this with all the colors, trying to give the piece a bit of texture.

Beach

2008-02-17T20:00:00.002-06:00

I alternate between feeling like crap because I'm depressed and feeling like crap because I'm sick. So today, after spending entirely too much time in bed and then more than a few hours searching the classifieds and job hunting sites, when Rob said he was heading out for a walk, I suggested the beach. Today was unusually warm, about 80, and not rainy for once. So we meandered to the beach.

He loaded his backpack with weights, so he can stay in shape for his PT stuff. I took my shoes and socks off not long after we started walking. Yeah, the water was a bit chilly, but I acclimated pretty quickly. There were people swimming and surfing, so it couldn't have been too bad.

I watched the waves roll over my feet, it's disorienting. Like my focus shifts with the direction of the current, or like everything is moving and I'm standing still, but I'm moving too..

The darker silt gets left behind on the lighter sand, as if the waves were painting their own landscape. Joggers and little kids playing in the surf leave footprints behind in the wet-packed sand. The birds light little prints, Y out as they move in and out, swooping off in search of someone throwing bread.

The sun starts to set, the colors of the sky reflect in the surf, soft pinks and purples blending into the oranges and blues. The moon has risen just enough, but not so much I can't capture both it and the ocean in one shot.

dark red bubbles

2008-02-16T16:26:00.000-06:00

So the color scheme is falling into place, much as the bubbles are closer to "popping" out on their way down. Or up. I'm not quite sure which with some of these, really.

The idea sketched out was a couple of circles in a couple of colors, red, pink, and black. It has grown to fit a 24 inch canvas, with many circles drawn in all over. The hard part so far is when painting in the different colors, not getting them too close to each other. As in the reds can't overlap each other as they blend right into each other. Same with the pinks. (That comes next post.) Anyway, I'm aware that the blending would make it more, well, blended, but I want this one to stand out on it's own. And so far, it really does.

Valentines Day

2008-02-14T16:37:00.000-06:00

Amber sent me flowers for Valentine's Day. I cried so hard, she's so sweet. It's very hard being away from my friends and family for so long.

Rob got me an adorable card and he included a hand written note sharing how he feels about me. He made me cry too. He's simply lovely.

What gets so hard for me is that I do love him so, but I don't feel right being here. I miss my family and friends, I miss the space and supplies to create, I miss the sunshine. But he makes me smile. He comes home after work and we wrap together in a hug. It's his smile that makes me melt, his heart that makes me love him even more.

adding black

2008-02-10T16:03:00.000-06:00

I layer in the black bubbles.

The black paint is thicker, it responds to the pressure of the brush, to the light from above me.

I'm in the frame of mind where I need something that works for me. Right now it may only be the paint, going where I guide it to go.

Add the pink

2008-02-06T14:20:00.001-06:00

Adding the pink bubbles to the red.
Layering of sorts.
Filling in in random increments.

I like the contrast of colors so closely related.

Closeup of Swirls

2008-02-03T20:37:00.000-06:00

These are the swirls put into the second base coat to give a bit more texture.

Closeup of Red

2008-02-02T20:25:00.000-06:00

Starting Out

2008-02-01T20:20:00.000-06:00

Primed canvas.
One coat of light grey.
Next coat of light grey, thick white, metallic white - give some color variation.
Use brush to make circles as texture on canvas.
Draw circles.
Big circles.
Little circles.
Overlapping circles.
Red.
Paint a few random circles in a red.

bright

2007-11-24T16:14:00.000-06:00

There's the heart, can you see it?

layers

2007-11-23T16:06:00.000-06:00

No particular pattern, just laying down the squares.
Then lines in the alternate colors. Designs of whim and flow.

compare

2007-11-22T16:12:00.001-06:00

It's never fair to compare objects or thoughts or emotions. We do it anyways. It's a way of setting ourselves up and dropping ourselves down. One beat at at time again.

Matters not, really. What we see is what we see. What we hope for becomes things we may not have imagined. One hope at a time, I guess.

I miss it all. I compare here and there and know that isn't fair. Do it anyways. But is it a case of grass is greener or a case of familiarity or a case of just plain wanting things the way I want them.

gloss or matte

2007-11-21T16:01:00.000-06:00

Each base was a matte black, about two coats thick. Then in a similar fashion to the Mosaic piece, single brush strokes to from squares in green, blue, and pink.

volumes

2007-11-20T15:55:00.002-06:00

We're back in Florida, I have extremely limited supplies here. The handful of brushes and paints and stuff that fits into a plastic container. So I pick up a pack of three small cardboard canvas' to work on.

More Alice

2007-08-28T14:14:00.001-05:00

Patrick actually made the teapot - out of a large plastic barrel and casters, with cut foam for the handle and wood for the spout. He painted the base ivory type color on it. Then he let me go to town on the color and designs.

I used purple, red, blue - all royal, rich colors. On the sides and spout and handle, I used random designs, swirls, checkers, stripes, etc. On top of the lid he had found a circular piece with a fleur type design on it, then put a knob in the center for the handle. I kept with the red and purple, then added hot pink and neon green to the fleur parts and on each side of the knob. A very eclectic piece of art that fit perfectly at the Mad Hatter and March Hare's tea party!

Alice In....

2007-08-25T14:06:00.003-05:00

Ahh... "Off With Their Heads!"

The Red Queen's Royal Garden. Well, the basis of it anyway.

Green fleece, a bit streaked with lighter colors - very pretty, very stretchable, looked good on stage under lights. And on sale that week at Hancock Fabrics!

Pick up several bunches of roses from wherever fake flowers are sold, pull the roses off the stems and quick stitch them to the fabric at random intervals. I actually spread out the measured and cut fabric, threw a handful of rose heads up in the air and let them fall, then stitched them where they landed. This was a pretty fun thing to work on, and I kinda wanted to keep the finished pieces to hang on my walls. It's better they ended up staying at the theatre to be used in the traveling set pieces.

Wonderland

2007-08-17T13:57:00.001-05:00

Working on "Alice In Wonderland" at the Globe. I'm playing the Cook, so I get to be silly and dance with a pepper shaker. It's all good. (grin)

Anyway, am also helping with the painting and creating of things. One is the painting of the Walrus and the Carpenter that Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum talk about with Alice.

This is a shot of it stretched out on my bedroom floor while I worked on it over the summer. I used a painters canvas - it was slightly more flexible than regular canvas, it was already the dimensions I mostly needed, and same cost. Then I found sketches of the Walrus and Carpenter in various books and on the web, drew it in free hand, making sure to leave room down the center to cut it and faded out on the edges to help with the surreal effect.

After sketching I started painting, using basic acrylics, filling in the clothes, rocks, and skin tones. The oysters were easier - I painted grey and black and white swirls in circles all along the bottom. I used a sharpie to outline the clothes and eyes and such, then to fill in the lines on the oysters and their little shined shoes on their little feet! (If you know the poem, you know what I'm talking about!)

I spent half the time in rehearsals and the other half doing other projects, and the other half traveling to El Paso to see Rob, or he'd come here and we'd hang out more than I would work on anything useful. It happens. Especially with a wonderful and handsome man like him!

Here's the shot of it finished, and still in one piece. (It had to be cut in half for the turning triangles for the set.)

Road Trip!

2007-04-30T13:56:00.006-05:00

We had a wild girls weekend in Georgetown. (if Georgetown could be wild, this was about it) Amber, Bobbi and I meandered the street vendors and the great little shops at the Red Poppy Festival, then cleaned up a bit and ate dinner and went to the Trent Willmon concert/street dance.

Ok, that was the condensed version.

I went to stay with Amber on friday night, we left Saturday and aimed her minivan towards Georgetown. Along the way we stopped and took pictures of wildflowers and each other taking pictures of wildflowers.

We sang along with the radio, joking and chilling along the way. Thankfully Amber made maps, otherwise it would have been a much longer trip! The town square is a neat little place anyway, but the streets were full of vendors with lots of eye catching things. Yeah, and we were admiring the men we saw as well... ;) Lots of pretties - necklaces, rings, artwork. Bobbi & I found photograph prints at one guy's booth that we bought - pretty photos and supporting another artist. I picked up a delicious jar of strawberry-rhubarb jelly, we looked at the cars and trucks in the car show down one street. And then we found the chocolate shop - they had pretty wreaths and ornaments and stuff, but they also had chocolate! Like chocolate covered marshmallows and chocolate covered fritos! Yeah! Grabbed a couple of hotdogs and a Miller Chill at the food tent, we could have done without the Miller Chill. If anyone ever tells you they're good, like the lady selling them at the booth did, please smack some sense into them, it's like lime-ish piss. Thankfully we had chocolate to make everything better!

We made our way around and out, found the hotel and a bit more shopping. Shoes at payless, nail polish and a couple of pretty dresses on sale, back to the hotel to clean up for the night. We dressed up and went back to an italian type restaurant on one of the street corners, we ordered drinks and ogled the waiters, one of whom became our waiter when we were seated.
Dinner was great, we were close enough to the balcony to hear the music starting outside, so after a bit more flirting with the waiter (on my part), we aimed for the stage. Bobbi moved up to the stage taking pictures and swooning (my words, not hers, although she was). I got camping chairs out of the van and we parked ourselves off to the side to watch and listen.

After the concert he came out and signed cd's and took pictures - Trent Willmon really is very nice. I've met some artists who aren't, but he did the street festival for pretty much free because he's from Texas, he played a great set, and he visited his fans. We were all smitten, not just Bobbi, by time we left.

A good long saturday, giggled and talked till we fell asleep, then got up on sunday to head back. We stopped to eat lunch, more people watching, then back on the road. We stopped at Lake Buchanan to take pictures of the ducks - and Bobbi sat down to visit with the ducks.
After they figured out she didn't have any food, they wandered on.

A few more picture stops, we rolled into Menard. Lots of hugging goodbye and I got on the road again to head back home. A huge storm was rolling across past San Angelo as the sun set. I think it was a beautiful way to sum up the weekend as I caught a bit of the lightning on (digital) film, for memories.

So.... where to next, girls?

Moving Forward (ish)

2007-02-04T14:45:00.000-06:00

Step one: Find something to write about. Supply pictures.

This will be a foray into showcasing both writing and painting, and maybe on occasion some wood carving. One step at a time, showing the process, writing short stories, whatever.

Since I've been writing under pseudonyms for the last three years, I figured it's also time to air out a few more of my writings in effort to strengthen my skills.

Fredericksburg Lights

2006-12-10T20:12:00.002-06:00

A weekend getaway to wander and visit. Street lights glint in the cooler air, the store are all selling holiday cheer. It's like a welcoming cup of hot apple cider, saying "Come, sit a spell. Watch awhile. There's some pretty things to see here."

Close up

2006-09-20T14:17:00.003-05:00

It's become kind of a signature thing now for me, to have a heart symbol somewhere in all my works. I have a stamp I use on the back of carvings usually, and the paintings have the heart somewhere worked into it.

More Mosaic

2006-09-19T14:14:00.000-05:00

Full Shot

Done Blue Moasic

2006-09-18T19:59:00.002-05:00

Sometimes I can't sleep. Sometimes I stay up late anyway. Such as being a night owl. The dark surrounds and I flip on the lights in the garage. The humming fluorescent lights. The smell of sawdust from the last project. Or the smell of paint from the last time I worked out here.

This is a lovely space to make a mess, to hum along with the music pulsing through my earphones, to dance around the table and shimmy and press the brush into the paint then to the canvas.

Squeeze out the paint, swirl onto the brush, tip the paint to the black canvas. Press, slide, lift. Almost like a dance. Leaving a mark of color behind.

The finished piece looks like pixels falling in alternate colors. The finished piece now hangs in my parent's living room. My mom likes the blues I used.

The Blue Grows

2006-09-05T19:56:00.001-05:00

More Blue

2006-08-25T19:54:00.001-05:00

Close shot of the brush strokes.

The Blue Mosaic

2006-08-09T19:49:00.001-05:00

Single paintbrush, different colors. One square. Per. One square.

This one began with a black matte on primed canvas. Two layers thick to keep from bleeding through. Then the blue variations in squares at various points. There was no plan, other than to have a lot of squares make a pixelated looking painting.