AN APRON FOR MOM

Since it is so hard for me to find my old blogs, I am sort of re-blogging.  Is this a word?  I have a habit of making up words, which seems to be an American habit.  Just look at Wikipedia if you don't take my word for it.

These last few weeks have been a lot of tedious as well as hard physical labor.  Packing to move isn't anyones' favorite pastime that I know of.  On top of that, now two of our beloved dog children are quite ill and each visit to the vet costs about $130.  Yet our vet dresses very simply and is a plain person, my kind of vet.  Most vets would be charging twice as much for these lengthy diagnostic visits.  She has a gentle hand and heart and that pleases me, especially with old -12 years old Maxie boy.  He has Lymes' Disease and bronchitis and Ziggy the puppy has Kennel cough and is impossible to keep quiet.  By bedtime last night she was running a high fever and couldn't eat anything.  Nor did she until late in the day today.  And then vomited it all up.  Poor thing.

Max has done nothing but lose weight with this illness, diagnosed about one month ago.  Ziggy was just diagnosed yesterday, but I noticed she was sick a couple of days ago.  It is so hard loving my silent little angels.

Thinking about silk wall hanging for weeks...

So this is why I have insomnia. I get a vision of a piece I want to make, and then I start making it in my head. Seems easy enough, but I never really was taught to do some of the more complicated things which I do. If they are off the charts, I will try to find something like my 'vision' in a book, but that is silly because it is a unique thing, and my ideas usually finally start keeping me awake at night, and then start entering my dreams, where I experiment making the piece several different ways. When I am really stuck, various obstacles enter my dream. I can't remember how to thread my machine, or I can't find the right weight of thread, or the machine jams up with fabric. Sometimes I forget how to oil the machine. I am ancient you see - 59 years old, and was taught to never ever start a days worth of sewing without oiling my machine, and brushing out lint with a special tiny lint brush. It is all so aggravating getting ready to start, it is almost as bad as writers' block, because it takes me about 1/2 an hour to prepare my machine to sew.

I have two kinds of quilts - well, quilted wall hangings, since none are made for a bed, haven't been made for a bed in almost 40 years. It amazes even me how long I have been making 'art quilts'. But my daughter Rebecca told me that the 'colorfield' movement in art quilts began in the 60's, something she just read. I was amazed, because I don't even remember when I started making my miniature to moderate sized pieces, but then it dawned on me that I must have seen something that inspired me, and thus, stole the idea. I felt horrible for about ten minutes, until I remember there is no such thing as a new idea in the world.

So finally, I used to piece together my quilts mostly by hand and then quilt them by hand as well. But my hands are achy with arthritis now, and I must learn to use the machine in an attractive way because I attempt to make beautiful quilts. There is a new trend in the art quilt world that personally doesn't move me, and it is for fairly ugly quilts. One of the ugliest pieces I saw in years was made by an artist who is now teaching at a famous school. I don't quite 'get' this, but then again, I am an old thing, and don't feel I need to go along with the herd anymore. I really never did...

Now Life Gets Tougher and the Tough Go Nowhere

So we go nowhere but stay here for now and grit our teeth; But when I go I go in my pink boots and have happy feet. And a happy heart. I slept with Baya, now amazingly 3 3/4 years old, and she grinds her teeth so loudly I thought she had a mouth full of rocks in there...  She actually awakened me twice, to this mysterious sound.  She is quite the little grinder, but then again, so is her twin sister Esme.  

My still, thank heavens, husband, Steven, informed me that tooth grinding is quite common in these little children, and so I just relaxed about it, and patted their precious little heads.  In the morning we awakened to the most frozen house.

For the second time this winter, no heat in over 12 hours.  The wind blew down the power lines, and we didn't have our heat back this time for about 15 hours, the same as last month.  One might thing that after all these power outages, the state would smarten up and bury the lines, instead of having these tragic storm outages, where some people even die, or burn their homes up trying various dangerous ways to stay warm.  The only safe thing to do for people like us with only a dirty fireplace is climb into bed with a huge pile of bodies and blankets.  Thus the term "three dog night".  We only have one dog allowed in bed, as the puppy isn't reliable, and LuLu who is three is quite independent and hates being in bed with us.  She sleeps on the sofa and guards the mice.  Ugh, ever hated mice.  That is another blog altogether!

So I am back and now 'attached' to a new website called VerveEarth.com. By invitation and I feel quite honored. They are apparently looking around at blogs the world over and creating a map where one can find a blog that might interest them by content. I was 'discovered' as a New Hampshire artist and blogger, as I understand it to work. So those of my few reader, thank you and look forward to much more frequent entries and many more frequent photographs of my new art, as the website is a new way to help expose my work to a more broad audience.

And heaven knows, as do you all, that selling my work is so necessary. Bills to pay, and news to share. We are moving down off the mountain top after nearly five years of isolation. Not because we choose to but because we are being taxed off, mortgaged off, and the stinking rotten economy is driving us off... it is hateful really, but when as I mentioned, Life gets tough, the tough get tougher! My mama always taught me the Lord would never give me more than I could handle. I know she is right, because I am like tempered steel. A tempered steel cream puff, but none the less, I am one strong steel cookie and I won't go down the mountain in tears, but in my bright pink boots.

My dear friend Diana has rented us a small condo, and the downstairs will be my studio. So all the plans are made. Upstairs are two decent sized bedrooms and that is that. We shall sell one of our two cars, as with the price of gas growing more ridiculous, and so forth, and with me being semi-disabled, I never drive mine more than once a month anyway. So it is a waste having two. You ask me any questions at all and I have a positive answer for you. No tears about this new change in our lives. We are together, we have a new French Bulldog puppy who should be ready to show in September, if I can get her to stop carrying her leash in her mouth! Although it is rather adorable...

All for now, off to the bank to deposit our security check, and do a very little bit of business with my husband. Thanks for waiting so long for another entry, and be on the look out for new photographs of my work. Love and Blessings to you all, friends, old and new, and my precious family.

A Nanas' Love

As Esme and Baya have grown up a bit more, the miracle of speech has delighted me more often. The heck with syntax, they will learn that all too soon. Ditto gender differentiation. It is hilarious to me, to listen to them refer to Max, the old male Pug as "she", or "her". Here is a fairly typical sentence, and do keep in mind, they are not quite 3 1/2 years old. "Does her have to go outside, Nana?" Or, again, "Why you still sleep Nana, Max,he want to wake up now!" This second observation just after midnight, when Esme wandered into 'my' (where I stay at their home) little studio half asleep, wanting to climb into Maxies' crate and spend the night there....

Esme, I suggested, you will both get squished in there, sweetheart, come lay down in Nanas' bed, and get under the cover, it is freezing in here, as I am at an age in life where I cannot abide by a warm room to sleep in. And the twins wear nothing but little pull-ups to sleep in. They rarely can be convinced to put on one of their lovely nighties, but I think they are nudists at heart. So the poor child was shivering. And of course, refused to get under the covers. I said fine, but just feel how soft and lovely this flannel duvet cover is against your skin. Nice, she said, and allowed me to wrap her up like a "burrito". However, she would not move over to make room for me, and I was terrified she would topple out of bed during the night and crack her head open, for a change. An all too common event for these fearless and stubborn little girls.

So I did something I remember my own mother doing, and pulled a big chair out from under the desk, and lined it up right next to her, so that if she happened to roll out of bed, she would end up sleeping in the chair! Oh I felt so very clever, and she didn't fall out of bed either, happily.

When I awakened that next morning, I found my pleasure had doubled, and both of them were in the room with me. Baya was standing in the doorway at about 6:00AM, and soon their mama, my dear baby girl found them, brought them their morning milk, which they hung around in my bed drlnking, and giggling, and talking to me, while I tried to catch a few more hours of sleep. Ha. How naive I am to their ways.

One question followed the other until I gave in. First and mostly their questions surrounded letting Maxie boy out of his crate. I told them, if they let him out, they would have to take him outside to go do his "business". Which meant carrying his chubby self down the stairs, and walking around until he made his poops in this new and strange territory. He is used to living in the forest, not the city, and the slightest new sound distracted him. He didn't eat or poop for almost 5 days before I stuffed him into his crate and brought him back here to be with his 'sister' and 'daddy'.

It was a lovely reunion for them all, and a heartbreak for me. He is almost 12, and the love of my life. But I must leave him behind when I leave here for good in a couple of months, because he is too uncomfortable to change his way of life at this age. In exchange, I get to spend time with my little lovelies everyday - my granddaughters, and my precious daughter and my wonderful son-in-law. They are very good to me, and are taking me in until further notice.

My marriage of nearly 20 years has fallen apart and only causes pain for us both. There are no children at home to stay together for, and why torment each other any longer? The love we have for one another will never die, but unfortunately that doesn't mean we can live together. Perhaps it can be said of us that we make better friends than lovers. Our marriage has been disintegrating for a long time now, and the pain it causes us both has gone on long enough.

So making this kind of change at my age - 59 - is almost terrifying, but I will be brave and be done with it. I will paint more, and spend time working on my personal issues, and try to help my daughters' family as much as I possibly can. Those are my goals and that is my direction. And try to hold myself together.

Regarding The Turker Thing

An Artists' Life:

There are two problems with my last post; one was a wrong word (Still can't fix it-find it, that is, and replace it with the right one), and the next problem was forgetting the point of the whole story.

Well I wanted to say that I was the one who had earned tons of some kind of "Turker"-like units of satisfaction, honored by Kylies' devotion. And feel responsible for the few children that do seem drawn to what I am doing. At least they stand by my side and watch me paint for as long as I am painting for that particular session, sometimes an hour, sometimes much longer. And they will just stand around watching, and I feel like their 'art guardian' for that period of time.

And when I am done, I like to nurture their interest, and offer them a bit of paper and paint to mess around with, because the older ones are waiting without asking; I was, at their age, so I just assume. And they've none turned down the offer of a min-lesson and supplies.

Our little twins? - just the same. We've had several art projects and they've loved them for the most part. The main delight we have with our projects is that we have twins - two and one half years old and it is lovely because their mama and dada have really been wonderful about teaching them peaceful coexistence. And so I can offer them a lesson at the same time, which I think is heavenly and they love messing around with all things creative. And rarely does anything unreasonable occur. If it does, it is more like this:

Take a look at the painting of mom & cat:a self-portrait. Notice how the lines are all wobbly and bumpy? This is because Baya was leaning on one side of me and Esme the other, as they each struggled to demand colors and to get the first view of what was emerging from the blankets. They actually "oohed" and "aahed". It feels almost like cheating to paint for them, because they are so easily pleased.

And little ones like ZZ and Baya seem extra amazed when the final picture emerges: how did you do that, Nana? is the question most often asked. The funny thing is, it will be so easy to show them how to make my simple kind of pictures when they have developed that hand-eye coordination that helps them keep their crayons on the paper, just where they want them to go. That alone is the first big deal.

To sum it up, when I teach, I learn, and when I give, I receive. And those ironies are what I learn from. When someone tries to teach me something I get all snooty and my ears get stuffed with cotton balls and I can't hear a thing. But when I offer my knowledge, I offer it freely and happily. I am a big contradiction , so what's new about that?

I am a Turker, when I am bored.

What do Turkers do? Answer questions for the Amazon Mechanical Turk; in other words, answer questions which the computer cannot, or do other things the computer cannot: differentiate between pink, say, and red, the difference between a pizza and a manhole cover. Yup, computers cannot tell you those things, nor can they draw you a picture of a "mom". Which is one "Hit" which I took on and then couldn't send in for credit because I was in Rhode Island with my granddaughters and my email doesn't send out from there. I shouldn't even get email to come in, but I do receive it, regardless. Mysteries aside, my frustration was out of place because none of these tasks pay very much at all. Pennies. But for me it is about finishing what I start, and once I hit the "accept" button for any given task, I will knock myself out trying to complete it in the time allowed, and submit it to the Mechanical Turk.

For some interesting reading, check out the Mechanical Turk history. Someone built an old machine out of wood which could play chess. No one could figure it out, but it could apparently play chess. What a wonder, hey? Why what I am doing is called Artificial Artificial Intelligence is that - amazing - I am needed because I am smarter than the computer and for someone or somebody just like me, who loves questions and puzzles and earning bits of money for doing it - well then this is great fun. Otherwise you will be called a slave wager by your friends like I am by mine. Don't let this sound like I have tons of friends who care about my activities, farthest thing from it. But one or two do think I get so much satisfaction from earning - so far since about last December, $10.83. It would be more, but I paint a lot more than answer questions for Amazon.

This painting was going to be for $.18 but I couldn't email it out in time. Therefore I get to keep it and perhaps one day sell it for more than that. But it brought to mind the story of when I was on Monhegan Island many years ago, and feeling kind of lonely after being there several weeks by myself. A nice little girl named Kylie came and watched me paint for hours and wanted to buy the painting. The problem was I was hoping the ask $240 for it.

Kylies' friends kept dropping by to ask her to go to the store with them to buy candy and she didn't buy any. Brought me her candy money, and I had painted her a little 4"X4" painting much like the large one she had watched me paint all day. Only this one was a surprise. She seemed very happy, and I was very delighted to meet a little kid who would give up their candy for art.

A few years later her mother introduced herself to me on Monhegan again and told me that Kylie still sleeps with that little painting right next to her bed. Isn't that the sweetest thing? It means a lot to me that my pictures can be important to a child. To anybody, but especially a child, because maybe that will help nuture their interest in art as well.

Origami Salami Shattered #1: A Self-Portrait

I was so shocked to hear _____s' comment to me upon looking at todays' painting, 'Oragami Salami: A Self-Portrait', that I felt my heart bump in my chest with anger. Bump. Bump. Bump. The exact words were: "It doesn't look like your other paintings." The very first words out of the mouth of this person. Not, it's interesting, not, I don't like it, not, stupid title, what does it mean? (I will tell you later). No. Those kinds of remarks I can live with; they express someones' honest opinion and everyone is entitled to that.

This comment hurt my feelings and set me off on this rant which has been going on since I started selling my paintings and art quilts at the same time in galleries. Apparently everything you do should look something like everything else you do. I rebel against this concept because it is anti-art and anti-artist. And most certainly anti-creativity. Oh, and it hurts my feelings most of all because my paintings are like my babies. Why would you like one more than the other? Bad analogy I guess. Think of it like this instead. My paintings are like my dogs. They show me unconditional love and have taught me to be fearless when it comes to taking artistic chances. Because I love art it is all good.

We are sensitive little beasties and growing up my mother yelled at me all the time for being so sensitive... I wonder if she saw the irony? Or is it just me? It seems I analyze and hold onto each remembered hurt like a treasured jewel, and wonder if I shall be buried in a casket overflowing with so much angst there will be no room for my body.

I offer you something like nothing else I ever was able to paint before. I have wished to because I love decorative papers, and Origami paper is my favorite among them. I was exploring the program which I use for digital painting. The maual alone has 461 pages, and I have read 16 of them. And painted about 90 or so pictures. It takes up so much time to read that bloody manual, but oh there are secrets in there I really want to know.

Anyway, for no particular reason, I started playing with the icons, and after mixing up the possibilities I came up with "Origami Salami: A Self-Portrait" several hours later. It was one of those pieces which was so tedious to paint that I sort of fell into a trance of peacefulness and stopped worrying for the first time all week, crossed with a undercurrent of buzzing excitement that I had stumbled upon a brand new way of painting with my software. Yippee. Creative minds like to discover things, and have fun.

Does 'Origami Salami' look anything like, say, "Happy Birthday Dear Rebecca..."? Should it have to? Should I have to sit down to work, and think about what my finished piece must look like before I even begin ? Because I never do work like that. It's a big mystery to me, and seeing how it comes out is part of my fun. It's called a Self-Portrait, as have all my paintings in the last five months, because they are all about the huge upheaval going on around me, and that has shattered my life. Origami Salami really looks shattered to me, and thus, another self-portrait. I painted each of those cherry blossom flowers and it took forever it seemed, but finished the last one feeling centered and calm.

There is one of the ironies of art - it interacts with your state of mind while you create. I think it might be called endorphins, or something, or just the pressure is off, because all my attention gets sucked into the picture and out of the real world. For this reason, I feel very lucky to be able to do this. It isn't easy, but I practice my art every single day, and have done this almost every day that I can remember of my life. Doodles in the beginning, watching my mother, the worlds' greatest doodler. As I recall, my brother Lou is quite the doodler too, or was. Is doodling around a gene, or a curse? I think really it is a simple pleasure that we make both too little and too much of.

Hey if anyone ever reads this thing, please leave me a comment now and then and tell me if you like the paintings, or if you were here! I never know and feel lonely, like I am howling in the wind up on my blog. I do it for me, but want to know if you're out there anyway... or if you hate the paintings and like the musings. Or hate them both. Neither way do you get me to close up shop, it's too much fun and it is free. Plus it gives me a strong reason to keep painting new pieces for a show I hope to hang this coming summer or fall.