PAPER STUDY 1

20x20"
oil on linen
$750

Finally! Himself solved the memory card issue thank goodness. We'll see if a new camera is in our future in a few days. This was, to date, the most fun I've had painting. There's still more to do, but it's too wet to work on. I think I'll re-post when I'm done and do a comparison. I guess I just needed to get my crayons and and stay within the lines for a while, cuz it sure felt good! No likeness to match, just shapes, shadow, light, cool and warm studies. It was heaven. I am busy bawling up paper as we speak. More to come!

HINKY CAMERA

I finished a 20x20" paper study yesterday and was very happy with it. I very excitedly set up to shoot, took 5 snaps and headed up to download and post. Nuthin'! Bubkiss! Nada. I tried everything. It just wouldn't mount. So there are a few quick fixes in the works and a few extensive expensive ones, like a new camera. And it would be nice if the quality was such that prints could be made from those shots. Much to consider.

In the mean time I hope I'll be able to post this afternoon. My friend is on her way over with her growed up Nikon so there's hope. I think this paper study thing has legs. We'll see. Later.

SUNDAY

6x6"
oil on canvas
$125

Posts ago I went on about how one must work in order to stumble upon "concepts that ignite and excite," as they used to say in the corporate world. Apparently, I forgot. Thank you for the positive feedback on Today's Concept. Proof perfect. I worked. A concept appeared. Who knew?

I feel better now. I so enjoy the bugs, but I don't want them to get thin. I'm excited about a new series of scrunched up paper! Most representational artists go through the paper phase at one time or another. Might as well get mine done now. They're fun and a perfect shapes, values, color-temp type exercise for me. I'm beginning one on a 20x20" linen surface tomorrow, playing cool against warm, using different colors. I guess this is how it works! One works. A concept appears. It's fun. I like it.

I thought a warm color might be a nice challenge. The surface the paper is resting on is a window seat where I rest my paints, brushes and other implements of creation, which would explain the flecks of color that I hope break up the preponderance of warmth.

I feel good today.

TODAY'S CONCEPT

6x6"
oil on canvas
$125

Just started to type and let out a weary sigh. Re-read this and did it again! The painting speaks for itself, I guess. Bupkiss. Nada. Nuthin. If I could spell that raspberry sound I just made that gave my screen a refreshing summer shower, I would. Oh well! Until somthin' happens, I'll just keep bawling up bad ideas and painting them. Could be worse.

HOME AT LAST

NFDP

We went to pick up our Little Man today. The ashes didn't do what I thought they would. Guess there's really nothing except time as they say. Since his passing, we have received so many wonderful messages of comfort from people we hardly know and some we've never met. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. You'll all never know how much it meant.

This is ARFROD—A Reasonable Facsimile of Devlin, the little man's ashes (we're looking for the perfect urn), the tag that was on the tasteful forest green shopping bag he came home in and his collar. A fitting tribute to the best damn dog that ever lived, don't you think?

Ashes are strange. You look at the tin and try to imagine it having some sort of personality. Himself actually opened the tin and looked inside. I had to admit out loud I was expecting him to see something recognizable. Silly.

I had a boss a few years back that wasn't a tyrant. She was one of us which is why the corporate world didn't get along with her all that well. She has that spirit that attracts people. Always up, always happy and always willing to look at things in a different way.

When her husband passed away, far too early, not only had they planned the funeral together before he died, they decided it would be a joyful occasion. Long story short, no one seemed pleased with the atmosphere, in fact some folks seemed downright uncomfortable. She had his favorite music playing, a jazz number straight out of New Orleans, his favorite shoes sitting jauntily on top of the coffin and lots of great anecdotes that had filled their lives with joy.

A few months after the funeral I got a phone call from her. Oh, I thought, she's having a bad time. Just get it out, I said hoping to be of some help, knowing I couldn't. She tried to speak in between sobs but it wasn't long before I realized she was laughing and not crying! I couldn't believe it. I was glad she was laughing but I couldn't imagine at what.

"It's John!" she croaked between racking sobs of laughter. "He's.... he's..."
"What?"
"It's John! He...he's in..."
"What? What's wrong??? What about John?"
Finally she managed to squeak out..
"He's in the DUST BUSTER!!"

I lost it, again, and the two of us laughed until we cried. When we regained some composure, she explained she had been transferring John's ashes to the brand new, expensive, one of a kind urn she had taken great care in choosing and purchasing, when it slipped out of her hand and her late husband ashes spilled out and ended up embedded in the beautiful, deep pile, wedgewood blue carpet on the bedroom floor.

There was no retrieving them without suction of some sort. She could only gather the ashes with a dust buster, at which time she completely lost it and considered it was his way of telling her he preferred causal instead of high end. And there he rests to this very day.

BUG LIFE: AN ENDING

20x20"
oil on linen
$135

Been thinking a lot about endings. Surprise! Still, not all endings are bad are they? I'm always happy when the dentist is finished. All change doesn't have to be negative, although it might seem like anything but in the beginning. One can employ bumper sticker wisdom to any seeming changes...this too shall pass...when one door closes, another opens...the light at the end of the tunnel is really another train...it gets darkest just before it turns completely black and so forth.

Why? Why do things have to change? If reality is different for everyone, how can it be reality? What if we're making all this up? What if this is the most intense practical joke ever and we're playing it on ourselves?

When my trial marriage ended, I was devastated. It wasn't a good marriage. I'll be forever grateful trial husband had the courage to leave. It was exactly the hatchet to the forehead the universe knew I needed. I saw, in time, that it was a good ending after all. He was too young, I was too crazy. He was a good guy except he thought he could do anything without benefit of instruction or knowledge, which presented, as you may imagine, quite a unique set of challenges. What follows is one of my favorites.

We had an above ground pool installed our first year in the house. I didn't care if it was a kiddy pool, as long as it was a body of water I could spend time in. (Jaws had all but ruined paddling about in the ocean without a care.) My trial husband decided to build a deck for the pool. I busied myself in the house. He was very fixed to traditional roles. Me housewife, you cut the lawn type of thing. Each time I'd stop to check on his progress I'd notice our neighbor was watching him as he worked. He looked amused. I wasn't surprised. Fred was one of those extreme handy guys. The wife would go on a weekend business trip and come home to a fully completed, furnished loft in the top floor of her home. Sick little carpenter he was. Anyway, as the deck reached completion, I decided to go out to see if I could help in any way. As I slid the door shut, I noticed Fred was beckoning us over to the fence with his finger crooked, much like a knowing parent calling a naughty child.

"Good job! Real good job." He paused and savored the moment. "Any thoughts on how you might move that thing over there, next to the pool?"

My heart sank. We all turned our heads—my bro and his wife were over for the weekend— and sized up the deck. It was nice. It was finished. It was also sitting in the middle of our rather large backyard, more than 45 feet from the pool! No one said a word. We all wanted to blame Trial Husband, but not one of us noticed the problem, huge though it was!

We all got together and eventually moved the thing. It was like moving a rickety, unmanageable, lop-sided mountain. It was dark before we finished. When we were done, we all fell into the couches in the den, exhausted. After a few minutes of complete silence, my brother stood up and asked where the flashlight was. Why we wondered, did he need one? "Because," he said, "I think I lost something out there. It's round, and it's small and I used to have two!"

We dissolved into laughter. And the next day, our struggle and pain was forgotten as we sat on the rickety, lopsided mountain and enjoyed the pool.

TORSO SKETCH

conte crayon on paper
$50

Scattered. That's the only word I can come up with to describe how I feel. I don't think I can draw anymore. Holding a brush is out of the question. Been here before. I'll just ride it out. There are no unseen forces screwing with me, I know it's me in the wheelhouse. Are all artist angst-ridden?