Overwhelmed and Unproductive

Haven't I said this before?  I commit to too much, wear myself to a frazzle, then retreat! Retreat! for a while.  I know the grammar and punctuation are criminal, but I made my point.

After finishing the last art doll, I just wanted to have fun.  I got a bee in my bonnet about making a quilt and started putting it together.  Sewing remains the most cathartic thing in the world for me, but I'm just killing myself trying to make time for everything.  I've been on Weight Watchers since August now and find that the whole process of losing weight takes time.  It takes time to calculate the food stuff since they changed the freakin' frackin' program on me, it takes time to work out (then there's the recovery, shower, etc.) and then there's the craziness that comes with the holidays and my son's birthday all wrapped into one.  I have purchased exactly two presents.  Oh, and then there's the high school band stuff, the friends visiting from out of town and staying here (in the studio, to be precise, and I love having her), but OMG!  Stress alert!  I'm babbling again.

Now that I've vented, it's time to come up with a plan and a schedule and shut down the whining.  I may not get the quilts finished in time for Xmas, but I will get them done and will enjoy doing it.  I may decide not to do the sketchbook project I signed up for because I don't sketch and the failure is more stressful!  I'll doodle and keep it and be happy for the relaxed doodling time.  I'll reread Debbie's posts and chill.  Time to put a little more fun back into life this week.  My husband and I have recommitted to entertaining again (one creative grownup party this last week, the high school trumpeters party here this coming weekend) and rebuilding friendships that we were letting fall by the wayside.  I'll find the balance.  Really!

OK, I feel better.

Yikes, it's been a while!

I hadn't realized how long it had been since I posted.  Wow!

I met the deadline for the auction, but with only one piece completed.  There was a lot of negotiating with my husband to prevent him from making the purchase of my artwork, which I won.  My friend who solicited the contribution turned around and bought it, returning it to my husband as an early Christmas gift. It resides next to the last piece he bought.  Sigh.

So the piece that I didn't finish in time will simply be donated a little later, I think in February.  This gives me more time to work on the concept and fine-tune the piece.  We'll see what pops up.

As much as I am compelled to make these figurative pieces, I must admit that I feel an enormous amount of less-than-pleasant pressure to "perform" or produce work about which I continue to lack confidence.  In the course of working on it, I picked up a couple of magazines that featured quilts and was immediately inspired.  Sewing is something I can do in my sleep and a skill with which I have a terrific sense of confidence and ease, so I decided to get back into the swing of the machine.  I wanted to make quilts for my friend's daughters for the holidays, but don't think I'll really have enough time.  In any event, I have begun one of the two and love the time I spend on piecing.  I am using one of Jan Mullen's designs that look like abstract flowers of very bright red, orange and pink.  The recipient is only 5, but I tried to be sure the fabric choices would carry the quilt's use for a few years. 

My beloved "old" and dearest friend since childhood will be flying in to town this week to stay with us for a while, so the studio has been converted to a guest room.  While I may be too busy to post for this next week, I'll continue plotting ideas for future quilts, figurative work and sketching practice. 

I'm a happy camper today.

When at first you don't succeed....

I sculpt, then I smoosh, then I sculpt and smoosh it again.  For two days I've been working on the same piece.  The clay has been behaving oddly, I'm finding colour on my hands (panic!) that I can't figure out the source and have re-sculpted the mouth over and over and over again.  At one point, the face looked more like a skull in a Nazi officer cap.  Then it looked like a bug, followed by someone whose lips puffed up due to some horrific allergic reaction.  I've pulled out my "How to sculpt a face" book, watched a few videos on line (thank goodness for the pause button), and looked at other work just to try to get the basics right.  I am not attempting realistic, just recognizable. 

The face is finally finished.  My problem now is that this piece is looking just too much like a previous work.  It didn't start out that way, but is certainly headed down that path.  Deadlines are not always good for art.

This go round I have enjoyed working more than I did even a week ago.  Turning off the phone, television and shutting down Facebook helped.  Playing the Gregorian Monks was very relaxing, though may be a contributing factor in terms of the macabre appearance.  Hmmm, not sure why one should follow the other.  While this work is a little dark in terms of mood, it feels comfortable.  After I get the oven cleaned (homemade pizza is messy) and can fire the clay, I can move on to the next step.  We'll see how it comes out.

Earthling or Alien?

I'm working on a new piece, laughing at myself as I ponder whether this one looks more like an Earthling or alien.  Sculpting is hard!  The practice causes me to lose all sense of time.  It's been a long while since that's happened.  Concentrating on the work and silencing the inner critic is still a challenge, but I'm certainly doing better than a few weeks ago.

I've worked with Sculpey clay for a number of years and don't know if this extra squishy batch is squishy because of the colour, or what.  It's a mash up of four separate packages of the same colour and feels odd.  Every time I sculpt one part of the face, another looks like the melting Wicked Witch of the West.  I've got to work on sculpting without smooshing.  How can I wrangle those out of control fingers?

Back to the grindstone.

Progress at last!

I set aside the piece with which I was struggling as advised by my valued teacher/supporter.  What a smart suggestion!  After cursing a lot at my printer and snarking at Photoshop, I worked on a different project for a while.  Glancing at the unfinished bits today, I picked them up and started tweaking and, hurray for me, got an idea and ran with it.  Progress!  Tomorrow I'll make the support stand, but the primary piece is finished.

My sister called me tonight and we talked about art for a while.  She's amazing.  We make very different art and have very different styles.  Her style - make what you love, love what you make, and to heck with what anyone else thinks.   She is happily prolific in her creativity.  Her work has been selling at a consignment shop in northern Minnesota where she lives.  I listened to her tell me about having had to drop the prices on some of her work but just flat out refusing on others (the ones that sold!), as well as sharing about taking up more merchandise yesterday.  Not once did she ever express reluctance to share her artwork, nor worry about whether or not anyone would like or buy it.  Oh, and she works in whatever tiny little corner she can find in her home, without the benefit of a well-stocked studio like me.

From what gene pool did I spring?  I've been such a prat.

This is the body I finished today:

Have I blabbed on about the second piece?  I want to focus on past generations, people to whom I owe my life, quite literally.  These are the beautiful and soulful eyes of previous generations of my family - my mother, my grandparents, my great grandparents and other members of the family that passed away decades ago.  They should be more than simply unidentified faces in photos tucked in a box in the closet or under the bed.  This will be an interesting project.  I have played with gradient backgrounds (the printed fabric isn't as much blue as faintly bluish shades of gray) and layers.  If nothing else, I do like the fabric.

More play time tomorrow...

Breakthrough!

After feeling incredible pressure to be creative on a time schedule and sharing my thoughts (not often enough) with my cyber support team, I feel like I've had a breakthrough.  I stopped looking at my library of "how to" books and just started working on images to use in my project.  I don't know why, but I had an epiphany about the next step this afternoon and am ready to crank!  I'm going to use a new technique (OK, I got the idea from one of my books on paper cloth, but I haven't looked at it for months).  I'm actually looking forward to the next few days.

What a relief.

My Inner Critic is Yelling

Oh double ugh!  I look at what I do and wonder about why I do it, and think and think and criticize and think some more.  I have to take ownership of squashing the fun of being creative.  Next, I have to figure out how to knock it off.  I should remember to play, whether it's playing with paint or clay or the sewing machine.  Maybe I can find a good old fashioned coloring book.  That takes the pressure off.

Being a Mom Stinks Sometimes

When my daughter was still home with us, she and her little brother used to tease me about being like that mom from the TV show, "Malcolm in the Middle."  They'd sit in the back of the car singing the theme song under their breath and laughing.  I am definitely not that bad, but I do have a creative mothering streak.  For example, I find the air horn to be the most wonderful device for stopping a child from sassing, talking back or arguing with me with little more effort than a little press of the finger.

My charming teenage son has a very short and reasonable list of daily chores.  The list has been the same for years now, so imagine my lack of sympathy or understanding when he tells me that he didn't do one or more because he "forgot."  This week he "forgot" to take out the trash when it had shrimp shells in it.  I told him while I was making dinner, again while we were eating dinner, and yet again when he was clearing the table that the trash needed to go out so that the house didn't smell like a neglected fishy funeral home in the morning.  He fussed about possible encounters with the skunk, at which point I reminded him that we have "Skunk Off" should the need arise. 

The next morning I took the little beast to school, came home and stopped in the kitchen.  I noticed a distinct eaux de old shrimp debris.  He didn't take out the trash.  Now I was mad, particularly given that this was a repeat offense.  So I did the only thing any ticked off mom would do.  I took the trash can down the hall, into his room and shut the door.  It was a particularly lovely and warm day here, so it got pretty good and ripe by the time he got home from school.

Now he was mad.  That was OK with me.  I pointed out that since he didn't mind the stench, I was happy to confine it to his little area of the house.  After much fussing and spouting, the trash was taken out, the fan was whipped out and a LOT of air freshener was used down the hall.  I don't think he'll "forget" the trash again.

I pointed out that he should keep in mind the challenges the cats will have accessing their litter box under his bedroom sofa if he "forgets" that task as well.  It could get messy.

Mom wins!

Distractions, Distractions!

A few weeks ago I joined Weight Watchers.  Thank heavens, my husband joined with me.  After years of struggling with my weight and making excuses, I've had greater success in sticking with it just by virtue of the fact that he's doing it with me, not asking, "Can you have pizza on Weight Watchers?" in the second week.  The problem is that my art is suffering.  I'm so absorbed and distracted by this decades-long battle that I'm having a hard time fitting everything in to my daily routine.  I got a friendly poke from my beloved cyber buddy today to remind me that I can't let the art go by the wayside.

A few days ago, I started to sketch out some ideas, mentally and on paper, for the next figurative piece.  I thought about internal structure and decided to head to Home Depot for some materials.  It was quite amusing that with all of the times that I've been there and could actually have used help finding something, the one time I go for "art materials" is when I have someone asking me every two aisles if they can help me find something.  One guy heard me talking to an offerer-of-help when I was having a tough time finding a particular wire and he took me to exactly what I needed.  It was on the very end of the very last aisle I'd checked and in an area I would have avoided entirely, so thank heavens for eavesdroppers!

Tomorrow I get out the wire cutters, clay and crank up the iTunes.  Thanks, Debbie, for the teeny poke/reminder.  You help me more than you know.  I need to focus on what makes me happiest, and I've been losing sight of that lately.

I spoke too soon

Never give up!  At least not when that many hours have been put into a project.  I tweaked, used acetone, tweezers and more paint and saved the piece!  I was inspired to add more detail to the clay face and hand that made a huge difference in the final product.  What a happy accident!

Tomorrow I'll make the gizmo for photographing the piece in outdoor light (thanks for the web site, Debbie) and post pics.  My photos never show the detail I'd like, but it's fine for documenting the save!

Time for piece #2.

Ruined Art

Big sighs.  I put on the final touch to the first of two figurative pieces for the fundraiser/auction, and I think I've ruined it.  I tried too hard to make do with something I wasn't thrilled with and ended up making a right-up-front mess that I don't think I can fix.  I suppose I should focus on the fact that the only part I did like is salvageable - the head and the wire piece around the throat.  But the body is now wrecked because I just NEEDED to attach that clay hand to the front and the only thing I could think to use was E-6000 adhesive.  I suppose it wouldn't have been a totally moronic notion if the hand had been flat and if I'd not looked away and let my own hand slip and smear goo on the front.

More big sighs.

Back to the drawing board.  That and a glass of wine.  Two points, here I come.  My fellow WW'ers will know what that means.  ;-) 

Publish Post

Cat Barf-o-Rama

Do we capitalize the "R" in "Rama?"

This week I realized how close I am to the deadline for the art due for the Boys & Girls Club holiday auction.  However, I've been a bit distracted by my cat Sox's barf fest.  After 24 hours of yacking (over a holiday weekend with no vet available for less than the price of a small child), I managed to shove his feisty behind in the (smallest EVER) cat carrier.  The vet suggested that considering everything else is fine - he has no fever, the plumbing isn't backed up - he may have simply consumed a "bad spider."  What's a good spider?  I'm sitting there thinking the cat earns his keep by eating spiders, crickets and other flying and jumping kitty croutons.  Who is this vet to suggest that any of these items is inappropriate for kitty consumption?  Clearly, he's just mad as a hatter and lacks ANY sense of humour.  Sense of humour should be an aboslute prerequisite to admission to vet school.  My backup vet is not my favourite guy in the world.

So I spent two days with the carpet cleaner, sucking up cat yack.  I gave up on the inadequate carpet shampoo and loaded that puppy with Tide and Clorox II.  Mission accomplished.  I now have weekend time to pull off a miracle and whoop up some impressive art in just a few days.

Dumb cat.

No Complaining Zone

With a plumbing backup in the kitchen and laundry room, I'm having to stay home and wait for the plumber (my neighbor and the funniest guy I know) instead of going shopping for quilting fabric.  I sat down to look at my calendar and was reminded that later this month, an old friend will be attending the first days of a murder trial.  The victims of this horrible crime were her wonderful son and two darling little grandsons.  The accused, their mother.

Today, I don't have to worry about taking time off of work for the plumber.  I have a studio stuffed to the gills with art supplies.  I have reconnected with a handful of friends.  I am planning my two-week long birthday trip to Hawaii next summer.  I've got the iTunes blaring while I clean up a bit before heading into the studio. 

It's so very easy to forget about keeping life in perspective and really, truly appreciate every day.  I am humbled by my friend Jan's strength, by her determination to get through life while bearing this unimaginable never-ending emotional burden.  If life throws me a curve ball like blocked plumbing, I will celebrate that this is the biggest challenge I face today.  I'm going to feed the birds and not yell at the morning doves that can't grasp the fact that I've reminded them it's FINCH food and they aren't finches.  I'm going to get the sidewalk chalk and draw a silly something on the cinderblock wall to improve the view out my studio window.  I'm going to chuckle every time I hear the little neighbor girl's high pitched scream (she really is funny, and I can't figure out why she does it so many times a day).  I'm going to hug my son this afternoon when he makes me grumpy.  He's 15.  He WILL make me grumpy about something, but I'll still have him here to hug and tease.

Another day in the "No Complaining" zone.  Time to make some art.

I have a play date!

Today I got a call from a former co-worker.  I left that job a little over two years ago and, as I've shared here, have found myself feeling very lonely and isolated.  I've joked (and sometimes been serious) about feeling the need to take out an ad in the newspaper, "Wanted: Friends!"  I'm a social beast and have found that my isolation has had a negative impact on my creativity.  This one phone call has changed my mood so much for the better.

Mary is a remarkable person.  While she has been single for some time and her grown children have moved away, she has remained very socially active.  I have always envied her theatre group, book club, quilting retreats and fabric runs with friends.  I have allowed having a family and NOT having an outside job to consume all of my time and have not pursued friendships or outside activities.  Today Mary called just to chat.  We talked about my struggle with isolation.  She told me that another former co-worker is now joining her at her home on Sundays to learn to quilt, inviting me to join them for crafty time, lunch out, and then more crafty time. 

While it may seem a simple thing or something that everyone else on the planet does routinely, getting together socially at the invitation of another is a big deal to me.  I wish I were able to engage face to face with my cyber friends and distant friends and can't help but think that my happier mood will have some impact on my creativity.  We'll see!

Artistic "Borrowing"

I was reading the Summer 2010 issue of Somerset Studio Gallery and was just jaw-dropping stunned when I read the tip offered by author Shannon Sawyer.  In reference to using another artist's work, "even from a nationwide magazine," she advises, "It is best to either manipulate their work until it is unrecognizable or at the very least be sure to give credit where credit is due.  List their name as the artist for whatever it is you're including in your piece."  She does not suggest you get the permission of the artist, just try to disguise it and pass it of as your own or make a note of the real artist's name somewhere.

Is she kidding?  What was the editor thinking?!?  So it's OK for me to take an image of Charlie Brown, give him a Hitler mustache, a pair of butterfly wings, a crown and draw some hair on him, submit it for publication, mention Charles Schultz name as the original artist and suggest this is appropriate?   Maybe just hope that no one recognizes the Charlie Brown under the disguise?  I bet Mr. Schultz's family would be just thrilled with that, eh?  The author appears to justify using the work of another artist's (copyrighted) work to create ATC's and publish them because she's seen other people do the same thing.  Wow.  I've seen a lot of people run red lights...


Is it just me?  Something seems terribly wrong with this advice.  Boy, I'm really cranky about this today!

Taking the Big Step

I did it.  I mailed the canvases to the Art House.  It's the first time in my life that I've done something like this and I have such an overwhelming sense of it being OK and not getting an ulcer.  This is very exciting!

Contributors to this project were informed that if the pieces were going to be made available for purchase, the artist must include a price on the back of each canvas.  I was just going to include the postage required to have them sent back, but my son insisted that I try to sell them.  He reprimanded me when I suggested no one would actually BUY one.  In order to take that one additional step out of the comfort zone, I went ahead and put a price on each painting.  We'll see, eh?

This wasn't so bad, this business of pushing myself to do something new and different.  I had to give myself quite the wedgie with my big girl pants to get up the courage, but I survived. 

Next, it's time to work on the figurative pieces for the Boys & Girls Club auction.  Of course, after I do a load of laundry and make sure the weasel's back pack doesn't have some disgusting remnant of lunch from the last school year buried in its nooks or crannies as we start the new school year.  Yuck. 

Finished!

Self-criticism is probably not the healthiest thing, so I'm going to try to limit myself.  I finished my three canvases.  The 3rd is my least favourite, but it's finished!  Painting on canvas is just not my forte.  I really like doing it, but not for display beyond my living room.  Because these will be in public, I'm a little nervous.  Because they'll be on display on the opposite coast, I'm a little less nervous :-)

The first one, "Pinky" was hard in terms of coming up with the plan.  Once I had the epiphany and started rolling, it was really fun to finish.

The second one, "Atmosphere," was more of a challenge.  I knew what I wanted to do, but struggled with the execution.  I wanted to include a photographic image in a transparent envelope and attach that to the canvas.  I ended up removing all of the staples and taking the painted canvas off of its frame, creating an envelope with paper that was designed for scrap booking and stitched it on the canvas using my sewing machine.  Putting the canvas back on the frame was easier than I'd expected.

The third canvas, "Contain," was tough.  I immediately thought of how I feel so stuck in the solitude of the house now that I'm in a studio versus a hospital-based office.  What a different and lonely world (which I'm working on).  I do chores and see activity going on outside - the neighbors with their little girls on one side, people walking their dogs out the front, neighbors across the gully who frequently throw large parties and have GREAT bands - and I feel so confined.  I wanted to create an image that reflected that emotion - feeling contained indoors while seeing the world outdoors going on without me.

While the artist was encouraged to use any medium, my lack of skill in other areas that could be applied to a canvas are lacking even more, so paint was going to be it for me.  I like it OK.  I'm not Picasso, but I still feel pretty good about it.

The last decision I have to make before these hit the mailbox Tuesday is whether I've got the courage to put a price on them or just include the post-paid envelope to have them returned after the show.

How brave do I feel today????  Hmmmmm.

Fighting with Art Supplies & Deadlines

The lid to one of my glass bottles of liquid acrylic is sealed shut.  Seriously sealed.  I used it only one time and thought I was really good about keeping the mouth of the bottle clean.  This stuff sticks!  Sigh.

I've nearly finished the second of the three canvases for my project.  I like this one.  There are some challenges like figuring out how I'm going to attach an envelope (vellum or transparent plastic) to a canvas this is almost entirely backed by wood.  This is one of those 3x3 gallery wrapped canvases provided by the art house, so I had no choice in the matter.  I'll figure it out.  It's nice to have that mental challenge as opposed to the usual sitting in the studio with a blank mind.

Tonight, I start on canvas #3.  They have to be postmarked September 1.  The closer I get to the deadline, the sharper I feel my thinking is when it comes to the project ideas.  Years ago I had a boss, the wonderful MaryJane, that teased me about the fact that my work was never closer to flawless than when we were under incredible stress to meet a deadline.  Every now and then when things were slow, she'd stand by my desk and holler, "Hurry!  Hurry!  Hurry!" while whacking on my desk with rolled up paper or something else to make noise.  She'd burst out laughing and chuckle her way back to her office.  Some things never change.  My house never looks better in the blink of an eye than when someone calls and says that they're in the neighborhood and want to stop by...in ten minutes.  I should have more deadlines.  That, or turn off the phone and disconnect the doorbell.  ;-)

Back in the game

I've recovered from my fit of yesterday.  I worked out, the endorphins kicked in (I had great music blaring, which always helps), and feel good.  My artists' round table group is all home and I have some good advice to get moving in the studio, so I'm looking forward to putting something together more than I have for a few weeks now.

I promised myself that I would stop referring to books and magazines for help getting motivated or confirmation that my own ideas were OK.  Last week I went back and looked at the web site for the Art House Co-Op and checked out previous entries for the project in which I'm participating.  Shame on me.  For the first time, I didn't feel like beating myself up and chucking my work.  I reflected on the words of my cyber-mentor Debbie and was really OK with what I'm doing.  This is a nice change for me.  Better yet, I went out and purchased three copies of the magazine in which my swap pendant was published which really made me feel good.  My teen son even asked if he could have a copy.  It was a simple project, but a great confidence booster.

Yeah me!

Two Days on Weight Watchers, a million more to go...

The cats better not slow down.  Even the finches on the bird bath are fair game at this point.  I worked out this morning, cursing for most of that time.  I watched a television program about getting fit that I thought would inspire me.  One of the hosts was grunting, groaning and complaining more than me which amused me greatly and reminded me that I'm not alone.  I will never understand people that run long distances or for a long time that aren't being chased by an axe murderer or bribed to do so.  Who really loves this stuff, honestly?  I kept waiting for that endorphine-induced delirously happy mood that I've heard about to kick in.   Someone is a big fat liar.  I zipped along for 2.2 miles on the elliptical and I never felt like a party on the Precor.  Thank goodness for microwave packing material (aka popcorn) and that sprinkly try-to-tell-yourself-it-tastes-like-butter dust I doused it with this afternoon.  Otherwise, I think I'd have resorted to biting my nails and calling it a snack.

Do I sound like a mad woman or what?

OK.  That's it.  That's all the fussing I'm allowing myself.  I am just having a hard time with so many changes at once that I'm distracted from art.  Oooh, and I just saw TWO sticks from lollipops that my son left by the computer.  Ack!!!!

OK, really.  I'm finished.

I have just 15 days to complete my canvas projects and get those bad boys in the mail.  I'm still working on #2 of 3 and am determined to have it finished by Friday at which point I'll post photos.  I was also reminded that I agreed to contribute art to a fundraiser in October, but I'm not terribly worried about meeting that deadline.

Apropos of nothing (but that I mentioned art), I stumbled on this alley in Vancouver, BC on our recent holiday there.  Initially I thought there was just a small mural at the end of the alley, but as I approached to photograph the work, I was startled to see the entire dumpster-filled alley covered with work of various artists.  What a fabulous accidental find!

Today is a fine "Mom" day

You'd think I'd be in the studio, delirious about having the house completely to myself and cranking on the art, but instead I was plowing through a box of photographs I'd forgotten I'd stashed under the office desk.  The box is filled primarily with photos of Kevin, with Erica's being in more manageable boxes and better organized (always the case with the first baby).  I got a lot of laughs at all of the bottomless photos (he was bottomless, not a bottomless stash), sure to pop up in a wedding slide show down the road ;-)  There are a lot of photos of Kevin laying on the kitchen counters, trying to get up close and personally involved in whatever food prep was happening.  Sometimes he wore clothes, sometimes he just couldn't be bothered.  Then there were the multitude of photos of Kevin and dogs.  Anyone's dog.  When we went on vacation to outdoorsy locations like Mammoth Lakes, the greatest joy for Kevin was finding someone with a dog and asking if he could pet the pooch while sporting the most adorable ear-to-ear grin.  What a cutie.

For as much as Erica didn't seem thrilled about a new baby in the house after being an only child for so long, there are so many photos of her holding Kevin with the sweetest smile on her face, reading to him, playing the violin for him, or baking his birthday cake that show how much she loves him.  I never tire of hearing them tell each other that they love the other.

I grew silly weepy looking at the photos of my beautiful daughter and marvel that so many years have passed.  Way back then, our furniture was cheap and falling apart, our decor was made up of the mismatched stuff we could find and immature decorating experience, but in front of the ugly walls, tile and mismatched furniture are a lot of smiles, friends, celebrations and a visual recording of these good times.

This was a good mom day.

Progress again!

I finished one of my canvases!  On a walk through the home office, I had an epiphany when I eyed the Aboriginal painting my daughter brought home from her study abroad adventure in Australia.  Filling in the canvas with all of those little dots (yeah for chopsticks!) was really very relaxing.  "Pinky" is complete.

Scary days

I woke up in the middle of the night with the most wretched pain in my jaw, both top and bottom of the left side.   It came and went, and when it came, it hit hard.  I managed to get in to see my most fabulous dentist, and got a little weepy as I told him that I knew jaw pain could be symptomatic of a heart attack in women.  My father had his first heart attack when he was two years younger than I am now, followed by a cardiac arrest years later that have left him a very sad, lost man.  I advised Dr. Greg that I would like very much for him to find an abscess or cavity or some other explanation for the jaw pain that would be dental in nature vs. just plain medical.  Alas, all looks good on the dental front.  Who in their right mind is UNhappy not to have a dental emergency?!?  He bounced a few ideas off of me regarding medications I'm taking and possible side effects, and made a couple of suggestions including going back tomorrow for a cleaning and a follow up to see if I'm any better.  In the meantime, I know I've got to see my PCP and give him yet another nudge to help me make sure my heart is OK so that I can continue to try to shed this useless caboose that my knees are tired of holding up and get healthier.  I'm frustrated with feeling blown by doctors off given my family history.  Harrumph.

I actually managed to remember to shove the current art doll project in my purse as I'd promised the dentist's staff that I'd show them how I'm using the tools they give me the next time I came in to the office.  The reaction was less than enthusiastic, but I was OK this time.  Maybe I AM developing a little thicker skin!  Someone asked me if it was crafted after Voldemort of the most recent Harry Potter movies.  I made the head a couple of years ago, so it most definitely was not even influenced by that character, and I was even a little annoyed at the question.  Maybe my skin isn't quite thick enough ;-)  Oh well, I'm still OK with the wrinkled noses and the pause before their comments.  I'll be they all have white walls in their houses and silk flowers.  Ha ha!

Being a brat is so cathartic.

Bravo's new reality show "Work of Art"

While I have to admit to watching the Real Housewives programs and getting a laugh out of the bratty behavior (reminding my husband that I am FAB-u-lous compared to these wicked and ill mannered folks), there is a line that I just won't cross.  I will not continue to watch Bravo's "Work of Art."

I can't imagine a worse idea for a reality show.  My mental mantra has become "art is not a competitive sport!"  It's one thing to just not "get" someone's notion of art.  I know, I ranted about the dude who put carpet cleaners in acrylic boxes and called it art.  Mea culpa.  At the same time, my fussing wasn't loud (beyond the security officer I was teasing), to the artist's face, on national television, nor did it result in a public dismissal of the artist or his work from the museum.  I just wrinkled my nose and walked to another part of the museum to thoroughly enjoy the Renoir exhibit.  Somebody thought it was art and paid for it.  There's art in my living room that I know friends have raised a brow toward when I wasn't looking.  Let's just set the record straight.  I'm right; they're wrong! :-)

Shame on Sarah Jessica Parker and everyone else involved in the production of "Work of Art" and the public squashing of artists. 

Boo.  Hiss.  One episode was one too many.

Part II: Back Sans the Whining

So I went out to the pool, fussed for a few minutes, then just sat toasting my ankles and watching my friendly lives-under-the-deck lizard do push ups until he'd achieved quite the impressive yoga position.  I really thought about what was taking the fun out of art for me, reflecting on my friend Debbie's recent comments.  She hit the nail on the head.  I have been trying to do too much in terms of technique and media, wandering from what I really want to do and enjoy most.  I love so many different styles and types of work - pieces that incorporate fabric and paper, collage pieces that are truly thoughtfully composed, sculpture, paintings...but I don't do many of those things, at least not well.  I want to learn, but I was feeling under crazy pressure and impatient to get better faster than is reasonable.  I was becoming stressed with all that I wanted to learn to do, but had put aside the thing that is my passion - my figurative work.

I started thinking about artists who put out a modest number of pieces that are not just barely different versions of the last piece produced, but a wonderful variety of pieces that demonstrate remarkable skill.  Then there are the artists that crank out a zillion similar versions of the same item or style of piece that are incredibly successful in terms of sales, but how boring is that?!?.  I don't want to become artists #2.

After my pout-fest, I marched back into the studio.  I took the piece that I was grumping about, pulled out the stuffing, turning it inside out and got to whacking.  I made it more narrow and shorter, created a gusseted bottom, then whipped out all of my textile paints and started going to town, first with a brush, then just massaging it in with my bare hands.  I now love the colour!  I decided to take the wire "crown" I'd crocheted and woven and converted it into a collar.  Now I'm plotting how I can add more wire to create a marvelous neck piece and I feel like I'm back.  I'm back on track, I'm having fun, and I'm feeling more like I can participate in my other projects (the three canvases and the sketch book for the Art House Co-Op) without apologizing for my work and just have fun with it.

Much better!!!

P.S. for Debbie: I feel like I should buy you a pony or something since one can only dish out so many "Thanks!" and still sound sincere.  :-)

Frustrated Mom and Artist!

Today I felt compelled to pull out my box of incomplete art doll bodies and pieces and finish one project I've been messing around with for a while.  I'm sitting in the studio, grumping at the unfinished art doll.  I realize that the body is way out of scale for the size of the head and extremities I already made, and I am really unhappy with part of the design idea for assembling the piece.  Hemostats are great for yanking out the stuffing so I can cut down and resize the body.  I'm wrestling so much with scale that I feel like I'm just floundering and guessing.  I need to learn more.  See?!?


I broke my own rule with respect to art.  I looked at a few other artists' work that participated previously in the project that I've signed up for and they're amazing!  Alarmed at the thought of strangers picking up my project and guffawing (the technical term for snorting is disdain) at my efforts, I immediately started doing all the wrong things - going back to reference books to look at other artists' work for inspiration, criticizing my work and busting my own chops.  This time, I caught myself and tossed the books down, closed the web site and reminded myself that I used to do art for fun, it's not a competitive sport, and I've have GOT to knock it off and keep in mind all of the advice I'm getting from friends willing to put up with my eternal self-doubt while they continue to encourage me.

The family is all home for the long weekend.  It's actually harder for me to work when they're all home and I can hear televisions and computers, the fridge opening and closing, splashing in the pool...sounds that remind me that there's fun stuff going on outside the studio.  I think I need to take a break, refresh and defrost my brain and THEN try to get back to the project at hand. 

Thinking at the Round Table

The art part of life:  I'm so grateful for the help and direction I'm getting from my cyber-friend and mentor Debbie (even when Debbie isn't reading this!).  As is obvious in my previous blog posts, I can really ramble and go a million different directions at the same time!  This wandering of the mind makes me wonder if my charming son didn't get his ADHD from my side of the family.  Like having too many cooks in the kitchen, I just have too many ideas in my head and on my desk at the same time.  It is so easy to stop working and keep going back to reference books for that perfect idea to get us going instead of just making art.  It helps to have someone gently push me not just to get back on track, but to think about the track or path I want to be on while I work.  This is the most focused I've felt in a long time.  Art today feels like a fun project, not a stress-filled deadline, real or self-imposed.  

The mom part of life:  I think Kevin is coming down with a cold.  He is so determined to have a friend sleep over on Friday so they can stay up like sleepless zombies playing World of Warcraft, that he's coming up with the silliest reasons for all of his sneezing (I've nearly lost a window or two) and sniffles.  The story last night was that he doesn't have a pillow case on one of his feather pillows that he slept with the day before and the feathers have, after several years of sleeping on feather pillows, triggered a reaction when used without said pillowcase.  Yeah.  Right.  He should be very, very worried if he thinks he is his most brilliant at 15 and we just get more dopey as we get older.  I'm so grateful that I no longer have to stress between monstrous office obligations and deadlines and a child of any age home sick.  I was lucky to have bosses that let me bring work home when I could under such circumstances, but it was still hard. 

Being a mom and artist is good.  As unbalanced as life can be some days, I'm happy to be where I am in life.  Great family, lovely home, good friends, fun cats and a studio.  Oh, and coffee.  Is there anything more important? :-)

I made the magazine!!!

Even with two bad discs in my back, I did quite the shrieking dance in the street this week, much to the amusement of family and I'm sure a few neighbors.  I often grab the mail as I'm heading to the car to pick up kids from school, throwing it in the back of the van to retrieve when I get home.  I guess I just forgot it one day, but spotted the back of a magazine when popping things in the trunk for a trip to the beach.  I saw it was the most recent issue of Cloth Paper Scissors and almost chucked it in the house before heading out.  I realized this was probably the issue that would have photos of selected charms from the first swap in which I have participated, so while I didn't expect much, I thumbed through the magazine quickly.  There on the first of a four page spread was my charm!  I am #6!!!  Woohoo!  OK, I know they aren't numbered according to fabulosity, but I can pretend.  :-)  It was SO cool to see my name in print.  It was so hard to jump in to this project, so stressful to participate, but I did it to push myself and I made it.  I am so very excited, eagerly anticipating the next swap and project. 

This week, I'm off to the races with my wonderful cyber friends and our roundtable blog, more sketching practice, and just getting in the art groove.  My sister was here this week sharing ideas and projects she is working on, offering even more inspiration.

To quote Martha Stewart, this is a good thing.  Is that right?  It's close enough for government work.

P.S. and apropos of nothing...

I read an article in the Sunday LA Times that began, "Laprise started his presentation by dumping a pail full of sand on top the conference table, alarming executives who worried about the wiring embedded in the table for PowerPoint presentations and technology demos. Armed with three rocks, a small wooden elephant and a flashlight, he spent an hour weaving a tale of a boy on a quest to locate meteors that have fallen from the sky and to uncover their meaning."  This is for a new controller-free game device for the XBox 360, from Microsoft collaborating with a guy from Cirque du Soleil.  Apparently, just body movements run the game.  All I could think of is what happens if you twitch or sneeze...a meteor strikes your car, your spaceship flips upside down...?  I don't know.  I can imagine a few problems playing this one.  And I'd make Laprise clean up after himself.  Artists.  Sheesh.  :-)

My blog title says it all...

The only thing I've done in my studio in the last week is sleep (someone snores!).  I have been good about carrying around my sketch book and actually sketching, and I did play a little with my pretend Picasso painting (we're joking it and calling it the Licasso...Linda, Picasso :-) but I fear I've made it worse instead of better.  I guess that's what practice is for, eh?

This has been a week of being one seriously cranky momma.  Kevin's ADHD seems to go into higher gear when he's under stress or pressure.  While he has two finals a day (thank HEAVENS for block scheduling), he was constantly stepping outside to dig in the dirt or put up a few decorations for the big pool party this weekend - anything but study.  You know things are bad when the purchase I'm most excited about isn't the great decorations or the perfect tiki designed paper goods, but the air horn.  Two, in fact.  Kevin sassed me that afternoon, and I wonked away.  Oh, it was glorious!  I didn't have to argue or get into it with him and it is so very satisfying.  I would recommend this for every mother of a teen. 

I've got to channel Mary Poppins or Spongebob Squarepants or someone more cheery than myself to get through the summer without becoming homicidal or just flat out bonkers.

Focus on the positive!  With the change in some of our summer plans, I am going to be able to attend the International Quilt Festival in Long Beach again.  I love going there for the amazing inspiration provided by these incredible artists!  While plans changed too late to be able to take a class, I may be able to squeak into a  workshop.  If nothing else, they have an ATC trading wall for anyone that wants to swap.  How fun!

That's it.  I'm finished grumping.  Really.  ;-)

Summer = Artistic Challenges

There is only a week left of high school, then my lovely teen son will be home for almost three months.  On the "I'm trying to be an artist!" front, the summer worries me.  His plans tend to change, unannounced, in a way that pulls me out of the studio and turns me into a grumpy troll.  Last week is a perfect example.  He's in jazz band and they have a final coming up.  Of course, he can't tell me when.  First he said Saturday evening.  Duh, I think not.  Then he said sometime next week.  School is out on Wednesday.  Now he's just not sure again.  But they need to practice, he tells me, and they want to come here because we have more room and their parents all said no.  Oh, and they all need a ride.  All of them, because they live so far away and it's too hot to walk and they're carrying instruments and their parents won't bring them...the reasons go on at length.  They all manage to get here, when I find I have to take my husband to the hospital for what appears to be a spider-bitten finger.  He's diabetic, so a swelling, hot and red finger is a serious worry.  We make it to Urgent Care, he's given antibiotics, and we make it home in time to find an impromptu pool party going on.  I should note a pool party with toys flying, breaking the horsetail bamboo around the pool two weeks before a huge pool party.  Then there are the soda cans, chip bags and cookie crumbs all over the house.  Sigh.  We have a rule about kids swimming with no adult home.  My son apologized.  More sighs.  He doesn't seem to get that apologies don't unDO the mess and the rule-breaking.  It's been two days and the broken bamboo is still all over the yard.  I send him out to clean it up, then I hear digging.  He has a thing about digging.  It's very weird.

Summer means Kevin staying up late, wanting to sleep until 1 p.m., then inviting friends to come over at 4 p.m. to go swimming.  The stay up late & sleep in thing is fine.  It's summer vacation.  But summer also means that every directive (get up earlier if you wants friends over today, invite the friends at least a day ahead of time and let them know they MUST go home before dinner so your working father can have peace on weekday evenings), is met with daily attempts at negotiation on his part.  I am a pretty tough mom.  If I tell him that arguing gets extra chores and he argues, he gets extra chores.  Heck, I can get the whole house clean on those penalties alone.  But I'm tired of it.  Exhausted.  The life is sucked out of me.  All day every day is full of conflict.  Not screaming, ugly conflict (well, not often...but it can happen), but the frequent efforts to try to get the preferred answer out of me that makes me just nuts.  I grew up getting the crap beat out of me for just existing and making the mistake of showing up in a room, and have little to no patience for someone who talks back or tries to negotiate everything again and again and again.  I would not have survived to see a sunset if I had even squeaked, much less argued. 

I need an air horn.  It worked when he was five.  I'm getting an air horn.  Argue, he gets the horn.  Sass me, and he gets the horn.  It will save me time and effort, but what will the neighbors think, hearing that stupid air horn blasting every two minutes?!?

So how much art work will I get done this summer after 1 p.m?  How much time will I spend arguing, fussing or fuming instead of painting, sewing or gluing?

If he makes me nuts, I think I'll make him wear a tiara.  That'll do it!

I may get some artwork done after all.

Biding my time

It  has been a few days since I reinjured my back and I'm getting seriously cranky about it.  I had to call my neighbor/plumber yesterday for an exploding irrigation line, and we both walked around the yard with our hand on our back, comparing symptoms, physician advice and medication recipes.  Ridiculous.  And neither one of us is even 50 yet!  About all I managed to do was watch television, almost nap (I can't sleep during daylight, but I can remain still and useless for a long stretch at a time), watch basketball (GO LAKERS!) and fold laundry.  Oh joy.  Oh, and I did manage to take an enormous number of photos of birds, in addition to the baby skunk that has begun visiting us every evening.  What in the world I will do with the photos, I don't know.  Discovering the use of many of my camera's features was good, so it wasn't time completely wasted.  My feet have a lovely tan, too.  OK, so it wasn't all so bad waiting to get better.

Today I'm going to work on an art project, even if done from a prone position.  I have a couple of new ideas for art dolls and even for wonky paper dolls.  I'm eager to see what my friend Debbie has in store for online sharing and learning (still trying to get over my fear on that!), and am determined to do something worthwhile as I sip coffee and wait for the return of the plumber.  He's the funniest guy in the world, so I actually look forward to burst pipes.  :-)

What kind of art can I do on a heating pad?

Oh ugh, what a day!  I have struggled for a few years now with a back that is just wearing out.  For eight years, I worked in a spine center with the most wonderful spine surgeons and pain management doctors.  My boss would tease me that I was "bad marketing" when I injured my back and was hobbling around bent over and just miserable.  I insisted I was GREAT marketing because our patients knew that I could really relate to their pain!  I've got two discs in my lower spine that are just not behaving.  Sometimes the bulges are worse and putting more pressure on nerves than other days.   Some days I just get one big, fat muscle spasm that feels like someone kicked me in the back with wicked cowboy boots.  Today is one of those days, started with a breakfast of coffee, toast and meds to try to release that wicked spasm.  Oh, yum.

So here I lay, surrounded by the laptop, sketchpad, pen and pencil, remote control for the tv (I need voices other than my own talking to the cats), phone, a novel and a heating pad.  The manufacturer clearly expected this heating pad could double as a roaster, even on low.  Ouch!  So I keep having to turn it off and on so that I don't turn my caboose into a well-done hunk of moo.

I'm so very excited to begin a new art adventure with my cyber-mentor and friend Debbie.  I'm terrified at the same time to open that door.  This causes me to think about my younger sister Victoria who passed away a year ago just before her 47th birthday.  I was convinced that she didn't try anything (a job, finishing high school, etc.) because she was afraid to fail.  If she never tried, she couldn't fail.  That's what I'm afraid about with art.  I am terrified that if I try, I'll be discovered to be a big fat fraud.  But I just can't let my fear of failure stop me from trying and learning.  I keep telling myself that the worst that can happen is that I realize how much work I need to do to improve.  If I make art out of a love of creating something and just expressing myself, I can't fail.  It's not a test.  That will be my mantra.  Art is not a test.  Art is not a test.

I'm still a scared big baby.  But I'll face my fear and move ahead.  I may cover my eyes now and then, but I'll still move ahead.

AADD - Artist's Attention Deficit Disorder

I'm one of those distractable persons that will start on a mission like going through the contents of my old cedar chest to thin out, toss and organize the contents.  Then I find myself digging, wondering...where did I stuff those autographs from Bucky Dent and Jonathan Cain?  Where is that magazine with my photo when I was 16? Oh, here it is!  I'd better scan it before it turns any more yellow.  Ooh, then I'll put it on Facebook to share with friends with whom I used to attend these goofy events...then I'll yap with my friends on Facebook for a while.  Now the room is a mess, the contents of the cedar chest are scattered and as I try to put it all back (later, much later) less stuff seems to take up more space.  How did that happen?

A similar thing happens when I go into the studio to work.  My husband loves Picasso and, of course, we can't afford to buy one (and I just don't go for posters since his grad school days), so I decide I'm going to paint one.  I get the Picasso book out, let him pick one and figure out how to enlarge it to fit on a canvas that is NOT the same size or shape.  I go to get my paints, and I see the canvases from the art co-op project along with my sketch book of ideas.  Then I see my Mac.  I turn on the Mac...I'll just check email real quick and jot down more ideas for the co-op project.  Then I see magazines and books I didn't put away, so I start to shelve them, then see the one on dollhouses....oooooohh!  Not actual doll houses, but more like collages-in-a-box that add up to a house.  Hmmmm.  Ideas.

I started on the painting, I didn't get all the magazines put away (I had to drop them and run before I read them all) and remain distracted by other projects that I want to try.  I'm still thinking about that sort of family tree of paper dolls idea that I've been knocking around, and the quilt for which I've bought the fabric, but haven't started. 

Is it just me?  How do I stop my mind from going a million different directions on a million different art projects and actually get focused?  Today, I'm going to try to focus on the painting.  It's supposed to rain tonight and tomorrow (someone didn't tell the weather dude that this is Southern California and the business was supposed to be wrapped up in February!) so I've got a day to myself.  I need to put parts of the brain on pause, figure out how to center my attention and just get something done.

On that note, I'm going to have coffee and then paint.  We'll see how many times I'm distracted and my attention wanders.  Focus, focus, focus!!!

Caught without makeup!

I knew someone would be coming to the door sometime today.  As I scrubbed off the last vestiges of yesterday's mascara (it's waterproof and TAKES two days to get it all off), I was chanting in the bathroom, "I just know this is when she's coming, I just know she won't call first as promised."  And voila, the doorbell rang.  You have never seen a woman slather on foundation to cover up those dalmatian spots so fast in all your life!  I had no choice about answering the door.  This was the designer picking up our living room chair for re-upholstery, coming on her day off from quite a distance.  She'd forgotten our phone number back at the office and couldn't warn me she was coming.  Harrumph.  I told her that I was trying to play along with the folks from the Today Show that a week or so ago decided to do a day of broadcasting with no makeup for anyone.  I was just a little late.   I figured I'd get distracted and just forget after awhile and relax.  Nope.  I look very much like my husband with no makeup.  Haha.


In Studios magazine, I saw something about whether or not artists dolled up to work in their studio, or just staggered in wearing pajamas and crazy hair.  The responses were quite varied.  I always figured that if I went totally natural, I'd scare the bajeebers out of anyone that came to the door.  Blech.  The transformation that occurs with a little mascara and blush for me is significant.  I refuse to give it up!  OK, unless on a tropical vacation.  Then it's just sunblock and more waterproof mascara ;-)

Today I have shockingly little housework to do, so I'm going back into the studio to try to rebuild (or at least just start again) the clay face that I had to chuck when my son embedded the entire clay surface with the black embossing powder.  Oh, and the savage little friends also stopped in to visit the studio (uninvited and unescorted) that week and draped a damp towel from their swimming excursion over the same sculpture and my sketch book!  Teens have been banished from the room!  I know they like coming in and checking it out, but what little beasts to be so careless.  It will be an "Artists Only" zone for now. 

Have I Said This Before?

I decided to take another "be brave!" step and post a photo (the same old one) of a piece of artwork to the web site of the magazine Cloth Paper Scissors.  Well, actually I posted two - the photo of the pendant I created for the magazine's swap, and the photo of the art doll that I last made and love the most.  As I cruise through other folks' work, I am reminded of images or items I want to avoid in my own so that my work doesn't start to look like that of so many other craftspersons and artists:

No birds
No bird cages
No bugs
No wings
No feathers (at least not on hats or as wings)
No party hats
No fairy anything
No crowns

There's nothing wrong with artists using these images, of course.  It's just so hard for me to find my own style (other than my art dolls - that's easy to be unique there) that if I allow myself to use any of these things, I fear there won't be much unique to the work. 

Today I'm struggling with having had a couple of rough days with my kids.  Sometimes "home" feels more like just "house" or "address."  It hasn't been a happy few days.  How do I make art when I'm grumpy?  Instead, I'm sitting at the computer at nearly 10:30 in the morning wearing a political t-shirt, my hair looking like a starched football helmet and yesterday's waterproof mascara the only thing keeping my face from looking like my husband's.  I can't quite reach to kick myself in the behind and get moving.  Perhaps I should just give myself a makeshift kick and back up into the wall real fast, THEN hose myself off, put on a decent shirt, fresh makeup, ignore the mess in the kitchen and just go make something.

I think I shall.

Saying the wrong thing

I'm really very distracted today.  Two people that I love very much are having serious life challenges.  It's hard to know what to say when we talk.  With one, we have been so close for so many years that I try to just listen, offer a little advice and just be present.  With the other, I feel that absolutely every single word out of my mouth makes it worse.  I am not as good a listener as I should be, always tempted to share a story or say something that I hope will help put things in perspective so as not to seem so desperately sad or stressful.  I have failed miserably.  It's pretty much impossible for me to watch someone so close to me struggling and not want desperately to help fix it.  But I can't fix it.  If just listening helped, I think I'd be better at just listening, but this is the kind of stuff that doesn't get better by just listening.  How hard it is to accept that I can't fix it!  I have advised that if I start blabbing and making it worse, to just tell me that I'm making it worse and I'll just shut up.  That will be hard.  I don't shut up well.  I should, but I don't.  Something to work on.

It's hard to heave a big sigh on a blog.  Read this as one big, long, loud and sad sigh.

Life then death then life goes on while we're lucky

My husband has zipped off to Arizona for the funeral of an old friend of ours.  Ed worked for him as the Chief of Campus Safety at Whittier College many years ago.  He was our friend and a wonderful guy.  He was too young - only 65 - and just two years older than my mother when she passed away.  I was thinking about Ed this week, recalling the times he lived nearby and would come to our home for dinner, laden with nasty, stanky (and I do mean STANG-ky, not stinky - stanky is much worse) cigars for the "boys" to smoke down by the pool.  I pointed out to them the remarkable NON-coincidence that each and every time they lit up one of those wet-bags-of-garbage-on-fire-sticks that our friendly neighborhood skunk would "le pew."  Does one need a less subtle sign that the stink sticks are just that?  Stink sticks!  Good grief, they were foul!!

When our daughter was in elementary school (I believe it was 4th grade), all of the students in her year were given the same writing assignment, to write a report about whatever native American Indian tribe they selected.  In his youth, Ed's parents divorced and, while living with his mother in Colorado, he was befriended by a gentleman in their apartment building that was a native of this country and assumed the role of father figure for Ed.  This gentleman took Ed under his wing and brought him up in his tribe's tradition.  Learning of Erica's school project, Ed volunteered to make a presentation to all of the 4th graders, followed by a special presentation in her class alone.  It was at this event that Ed adorned me with a necklace, inviting the children to guess the material of which the necklace was crafted.  Much to my disgust and the utter delight of the kids, Ed announced that the necklace was comprised of horse teeth.  He was now the hero of all of the 4th graders.  Gross!!!!!!!!  The kids loved it.

So today we appreciate life.  We are reminded that it is ever so short and we should enjoy the dopey little things like picking out all of the orange jelly beans from the bag of assorted Jelly Belly jelly beans, or cranking up the iTunes SOOOO loud and trying to dance with our teenage son until he runs laughing outside.  Today we rejoice in Ed's life and the wonderful (though sometimes STANKY) memories of times we shared.  We remind ourselves that "life is short!" and "stop and smell the roses" aren't just cliches, but good things to remember.

Sniff those roses!  Crank up the music, do a silly dance and wear hot shoes that give you blisters just because they're hot and make us look FAAAAAbulous.  OK, just for a few minutes.

OK, Just One More Kitty Tale (no tissue alert!)

After having to put kitty Fred down last week, we have been comforted by one of our two remaining cats, Sox.  He's the one that thinks he's a dog.  He wags his tail, brings a ball and drops it to initiate a game of fetch...everything but bark.

Then there's Charlotte.  She is just a bizarre and often horribly unpleasant cat.  Charlotte started off delicate in temperament, a lovely little ball of fluff adopted with Sox at the age of eight weeks old.  After a few months, she appeared to have developed a crush on Fred and thus determined that she could not love two boy kitties, so she would HATE Sox.  She skulks, growls, hisses and hides until we go to bed, at which time she appears for limited petting and spontaneous shedding, the fur somehow aimed with remarkable accuracy at my eyes.

Recently, we noticed a sort of stinkerooni when Charlotte was present.  Her fur wasn't looking so fabulous, and I figured she was just getting lazy about grooming.  I could feel a few knots building up in the coat on her back during rare sessions of being permitted by Her Royal Viciousness to give a pet.  Then she started to act bizarre around food, growling, snatching bits of canned food and running off with it, then letting out a wicked yowl and running in circles with her belly to the floor.  Clearly, there was an issue and I suspected she had something wrong and painful in her mouth.  I managed to get her to the vet.  Barely.  Thank heavens for vast amounts of catnip.  It appears that in addition to wicked matting in her fur, she also has some major gum yuckiness going on.  Now I was charged with having to give her oral antibiotics and oral painkiller until her return visit after the weekend.  I pleaded with the vet to give her whatever shots he could because I don't OWN a shark suit or Kevlar gloves.  I couldn't imagine surviving the experience of attempting to give Charlotte meds.  Oh my.

So Charlotte was sent home with meds, at which time I immediately opened a bottle of wine.  We could both have used some, but...there are rules I suppose.  Why oh why didn't the vet give me kitty Valium or blow darts?  It took two adults, a large beach towel and a lot of trickery to get that lunatic cat on the counter.  We got in one medication and she shot out of the towel and across the room like a bullet, leaving bleeding limbs in her wake.  Oh well.  At least we got the antibiotic in her.  The ramifications of this have come in the form of an exploding cat.  She stands in the litter box, but insists on hanging her caboose over the edge, doing a remarkable amount of damage to the floor.  Thank heavens I have a teenage son who has been charged with responsibility for the cleanup.  I knew revenge for his behavior could be sweet, but this is the BEST! ;-)  The howling from the kitty's bathroom is hysterical.  I hear him yelling, "HOW HARD IS IT TO KEEP YOUR BUTT OVER THE LITTER?"  I laugh.  He doesn't.  I laugh more.

Charlotte was to return to the vet yesterday morning for a semi-anesthetized grooming, aka a good shave of all of the hair knots, followed by a dental cleaning under anesthesia.  I got out the nearly-antique cat carrier that has contained many a fine large cat.  Apparently, it was not designed to withstand the likes of Charlotte.  I put a catnip toy in the box, let her get a good nose hit from the container of catnip and scooped her up.  While putting on my shoes and grabbing the car keys, I heard a terrific scuffle and a bang, then saw the grey ball of fur shoot past like a rocket.  She had quite literally rammed a Charlotte-shaped hole out the end of the carrier, leaving the rim covered with bits of fur, and disappeared.  Sigh.

I rescheduled her procedures for this morning.  I found the 2nd old carrier, smaller and providing less room to build up the momentum to charge.  I wrapped the ends with duct tape, inside and out.  I had left the damaged carrier within eye shot to trick her.  It worked.  I calmly walked past her, turned, snatched and slam dunked that beast into the carrier.  I'm no dummy!  I raced her to the van, slipped the seat belt through the handle, and shoved a seriously thick hardcover novel against one end, pressing the other against the seat.  We zipped off to the vet, where I warned them that I was not about to let go of the ends to sign in and have Cujo the Cat blast out the end of the carrier.  I apologized to everyone in advance for any harm she may cause, once again telling them this is likely to be the one and only chance to get it all done.  Clearly they heard me.  There are a number of glaring, "CAUTION" stickers all over her paperwork and they indicated they would have her until about 4 p.m.

All this for about seven pounds of fluff.  Good grief.

Living La Vida Loca...I Wish

I have a very close friend going through some major life drama.  Right now, I am living vicariously through her and wishing I had some drama of my own.  My life is feeling terribly drab and predictable.  Is this what it means to be about to turn 50?  I don't like it all that much.  It's not that I feel 50.  OK, I do some days.  Many days.  I don't think I look 50 yet.  I creak and hurt in places that should neither creak nor hurt without having been whacked or bumped to cause such discomfort.  I forget words mid-thought and find myself going through the alphabet to fill in the blank.  What a goober!  I feel bruised and achy, though young at heart and sometimes downright resentful of being so darned drama-free.

I'd really like a little drama.   Just a little.

Starting over

Last week, my son had a project for school that he, unfortunately, put off until the last minute because he "forgot" about it.  Argh!  It was the final step related to a paper and presentation he'd made, requiring an artsy final project.  I introduced him to a few of my art supplies, showed him how to use the stuff, and let him work.  The "stuff" was a fine BLACK embossing powder, and he was using it to finish the edges of faux trading cards of mythological beasties.  Alas, the beastie was the boy with the black embossing powder that ended up all over my studio desk.  Worse, it ended up sprinkled all through the unbaked polymer clay of a sculpture I was working on and failed to cover completely (I'm not used to sharing studio space and was a dork not to think of this).

Tonight I tried to scrape a thin layer of clay off of what looked like a head with a five o'clock shadow from brow to chin and all the way around.  Imagine what it would look like baked!  OMG. 

I have just pulled all of the clay off of the foil base and thrown it in the garbage.  I saved the glass eyes I'm trying for the first time. 

The beast himself just delivered a fabulous jalapeno margarita crafted by my husband.  All is right with the world.  I'll just make a new head tomorrow.  Maybe it will be better than the one I had to chuck today.  I'm sure of it.  That will be my mantra throughout dinner.

Cheers!

Dancing Queen

My husband has been traveling for most of the last three weeks.  While I have enjoyed sleeping on the lump in the middle of the bed (as opposed to the dents that are usually occupied by our fannies) and watching television into the wee hours (insomnia blows), I am happy he's coming home tonight.  Yesterday I was able to join him at the closing dinner dance for his conference at the Disneyland Hotel.  What a party!

We have not danced like that together since our first date in 1977 and had a blast.  I had to laugh when another conference attendee (and good friend of my husband) teased that he was happy to dance with me, chuckling at Harold's 30+ year old version of the "old man funky chicken" or whatever that was.  I think dance lessons are in order for someone.  I won't name names.  :-)  We laughed and danced, then danced more until the band was finished.  What a fun reminder to get out of the slump that happens when one has been married for a zillion years.  I had hoped to get photographic evidence of his shenanigans, but he was a wild man and I couldn't get the shot in the crowd.

So I've got a lot of work to do to make the house look like I kept up all week.  Perhaps I'll pull that stunt of throwing some flour on my face and shirt and spray everything with Windex to make it look like and smell as if I've been slaving away.  I guess I'd better turn down the music too. ;-)

Today is a very, very good day.

Homage to Fred

When my son was young, I found it more convenient and less smelly to take him to the local pet store as opposed to driving to the zoo in Los Angeles.  We had fun looking at all of the lizards, snakes, frogs and fish and playing with puppies after which we did not have to scoop any you-know-what.  On one occasion about 11 years ago, the pet store had on display a large cage filled with a litter of kittens that had been abandoned at their doorstep over night.  They appeared to be about six weeks old.  Two of them (identical!) were soundly beating the tar out of all of the other kitties, purring loud enough to be heard across the store while they cheerfully administered their whooping.  Kevin and I sat on the floor and played with the kitties through the bars for a good 45 minutes.

They were all available for adoption.  I had promised my husband that I would never, ever bring home an animal that we hadn't agreed would be adopted.  He was under an enormous amount of stress at work and I didn't want to make it worse, but I just couldn't see NOT adopting this one adorable orange ball of fluff.  We had two kitties at home, one of which was two years old (Ricky) and always wanted to play; the other (Lucy) clearly never wanted to play and let Ricky know with a sound boxing of his ears daily.  We thought this kitty would make a nice playmate.  I called my husband and provide lengthy details about the divine qualities of this kitty.  He sighed and told me that if I just couldn't leave without the kitty, he understood and that was OK.  That was the day we adopted Fred.  If you already have a Lucy and a Ricky, you MUST name the new boy in the house Fred!

Fred has been a wonderful member of the family.  He was an amazing hunter, able to catch a hummingbird with a tall leap and a clap.  He routinely saved the yard from gophers and saved me from attacking June bugs (all I had to do was call, "Fred! Come get the kitty crouton!" and he'd come running, taking his job as crouton-catcher very seriously).  He was a big, furry bundle of purr and a talker.  He didn't meow as much as chirp and talk.

Last summer we noticed that Fred was rapidly losing weight.  He's a Maine Coon and at his peak, weighed 16.5 lbs.  While dropping weight like mad (and still eating), we found an open sore on a paw that just wouldn't heal after a few rounds of hefty antibiotics.  We finally got the diagnosis of cancer.  Over the last couple of months we watched him lose the vision in one eye and very recently found another of these tumor-like booboos on another paw.  We have cried for a week, knowing our days with him were numbered.  We sprawled on the lawn in the sun together this week while Fred chirped about the birds and lizards and the wild winds.

I was with Fred when they gave him the shot to help him relax, and then the 2nd to help him fall into that deep, deep sleep of no more pain and suffering.  I knelt down and put my nose to his and we looked eye to eye as he dozed off, stroking his fur and asking him to tell Lucy and Ricky to play nice with him up there in kitty heaven.  I'm so sad.  The whole family is so sad.  While I teased early in my blogging days about not writing about my pets, this is about love and loss and compassion of a fuzzy family member, not a cat.  We hope Fred is romping in a field of heavenly catnip with loads of sunshine in which to roll around.  This morning and every morning from now on, I will raise my coffee mug to my lovely Fred and thank him for giving us eleven years of kitty-parenting bliss.

Emotions running high

My mother died 13 years ago next month of Lou Gehrig's disease.  It was a sad and terrible way to end her life much too young.  I am reminded of her as we approach Mothers Day and look into the garden. 

Mom knew that my husband's favourite flower is the iris, and purple irises in particular.  She had a remarkable green thumb, which I was not fortunate enough to inherit. 

About three years before she died, she gave Harold a birthday gift of a single bulb for a dark purple bearded iris .  He happily planted it, and watched the greenery pop up and grow beautifully tall.  Sadly, it just wouldn't flower.  Three springs came and went and he waited patiently for the sign that he might see something other than green, hoping it would sprout a flower.  Then Mom died, only six months after being diagnosed. 

As the anniversary of Mom's passing approached that following spring, we noticed a bud on the top of a stalk.  We had done nothing special to the garden, not adding fertilizer or improving the irrigation...nothing.  Frankly I'm surprised anything survives my thumb-of-plant-demise.  But there it was.  On the anniversary of her passing, the bud opened into a huge, beautiful iris.  It has bloomed every year since.

Finding my way to happy

Boy, have I been hitting "delete" and "backspace" a lot this afternoon!  I should NOT blog when I'm in a funk.  It is just so easy to fuss and grump and think about things I wish were different.  Time to put on my big girl pants, give them a wicked yank and snap out of it.  Good grief.

I spent a second day in the studio working on a new piece and using the glass eyes I bought.  I suck!  Not the kind of suck that has me upset and reworking the piece, but the kind of suck where I can laugh at how terrible my sculpting skills are and how wonky the face of this poor piece looks.  It's really quite amusing.  Surprisingly, I'm not losing my mind about it.  The squishing of the clay and experimenting with scale (OK, I'm not experimenting as much as I just can't get it right) has been very relaxing.   I had hoped to find some of that polymer clay that has fibers in it that give it the look of stone, but have discovered that living in a dusty neighborhood seems to be doing a lovely job of adding fiber to the clay while I work with it.  :-)  

Since I am not going to be able to attend Art and Soul this year with too many (major) family calendar conflicts, I think I'm going to take the leap and take an online course.  Some folks may think it's no big deal, but while I am the class clown in public, I'm the terrified kid in my head when it comes to stuff like this.

Time to put away the blog, clean up the studio and get a glass of wine.  Cheers!

Lowering Defenses

The artist's life: For the longest time, I've moaned and groaned about being mortififed about sharing my work and comparing my skills, either in my head or in cyberspace, to that of artists who really kick booty.  For the last couple of days, I've been looking at my wonderful cyberfriend Debbie's work and, thanks HUGELY to her constant positive feedback and that of my mates on Milliande, I am really, truly enjoying just enjoying.  I'm loving her work, and wishing my sister would put more of hers in cyberspace for others to enjoy (hint, hint Lisa!) and feeling inspired by them instead of whooping myself.  Of course I'm at the studio desk trying to make a new piece and laughing at the face right now, but it's fun chuckling instead of self-berating chuckling.  This is a good feeling.

My wonderful friend Deb has asked me for another couple of pieces for the next annual Boys & Girls Club fundraiser, giving me tons of notice (I have until October).  She shared that this was a personal request of a board member that was outbid by my husband last year.  He is forbidden to participate this year!  He can just write them a check and let me see what happens.  I'm happy to have this much time to work and am eager to get hopping.

I also made a personal commitment to participate in every swap in Paper Cloth Scissors as long as I have the basic skills required to do so.  The next swap is for a holiday project for which I feel infinitely more qualified to participate given my obsession with holiday decor.  This will be fun!

On the Mom front:  It's hard to get studio time in when Kevin has huge projects for school.  He is so lost when it comes to organized thinking and is mentally overwhelmed by the big picture when it comes to these projects.  He had to write an analytical paper, create a PowerPoint presentation on the top that will run simultaneously with a 5 minute oral presentation, followed by a visual presentation (they have a lot of creative options for this), with staggered deadlines.  He sits like a deer in headlights and does nothing if I'm not sitting with him, asking questions and teaching him HOW to do the job (I refuse to be one of those mothers that does the job for their kid) so that he can succeed in college when Mom isn't there to help!  We don't seem to be making much progress.  It's very frustrating and, selfishly, time consuming.  But it takes first priority, so I must get face-making while the time is available.  I have about an hour and a half before I start hauling kids home.  Ugh.