And lo, she made all manner of marks within the paint.
While the music shook the studio, she sang. And danced. And jumped up and down on concrete playing a mean air guitar.
The marks became layers. And the layers became more. And more.
And she became sore of shoulder. Developed a knot in her back. And her knees and hips screamed quit jumping up and down on concrete!
But she arted on, saying, “I’m taking one for the (art) team.”
(Actually she said “Holy Crap! I’ve got a show in a month. I can’t stop painting now!!!”)
The photo up above is supposed to be a square. Who edited this anyway? Oh…me. My bad.
Until the painting spoke to her and said, “Wait, I may be done now…or maybe not. Go do something else for a while and let me think about this.”
And so she did. But I won’t confuse you by showing the start of the new painting. Not in this post.
Disclaimer: Despite the size differences between the photos, these are indeed the same canvas. It’s a big puppy, 48 x 48 inches. As of yet it has no name. For now we’ll call him Red Bob. He is the first cousin to Red Dreams, a much smaller oil and cold wax I did last year. There is a strong family resemblance.
As always, my sweetums, if you like this please pass it along to your friends. And be sure to take a minute and say hi in the comments below. I will bake you a chocolate cake if you do. And I will eat it for you too, because I am your friend…and that’s what friends do.
I’m clearing out the cottage. The place where Mama spent her final seven years, the place that once was my studio. I’m getting ready to rent it out.
At this point it’s not the big stuff, it’s the things in the drawers and closets. The things on the shelves.
The things I’ve been avoiding dealing with.
Mama’s things. And mine.
Yesterday I filled my car with books. Art books I haven’t looked at in years.
Books I once thought I could never part with but now I realize I’ve grown beyond. Way beyond.
I don’t need them anymore but others will find them useful, will be as excited as I once was to open them up and learn new techniques. So I took them to the thrift store, the one that provides medical care for the animals in the local shelter.
It was a good place for my books to go.
A few days earlier I took another carload of stuff…mugs, kitchen things, linens… this and that’s that were once the everyday of Mama’s life… I took all of that to the Hospice thrift store.
Because we owe so much to Hospice.
Today I walked into the cottage, looked around and thought Holy crap, there’s still a lot of STUFF here!
The stuff I never wanted to deal with. Like shoebox (size 8) stuffed to the rim with notes and cards from when Daddy died.
I looked through them, reading each and every one and wondered if Mama did that from time to time, before her vision failed her. I read them, notes from people I haven’t seen in years and years. Notes from people I never knew.
I set one letter aside, the rest–box and all–went into the recycle bin.
Because it’s time to move on.
I loaded up my car with more things. And then I went up to the new! improved! Studio Grande. Cranked up the music. And painted.
Because I can’t think of a better way to remind myself that life goes on.
You first met Leland in Chocolate Chip Awesomeness. He was the one who promised to wear a pink dress if I brought more cookies.
I might just do that.
Leland has graciously agreed to appear on Arty Life from time to time. Lend a little color to an already colorful blog. If he behaves himself I might let him say something.
Ten years ago my son was an 18 year old Marine. He was among the first troops into Iraq and went back AGAIN and AGAIN for a total of three deployments.
Three. Combat. Deployments.
I spent four years being batshit crazy because, you know, I didn’t raise my son for that.
Ten years after shock and awe, Dubya is shocking us again with his godawful paintings. His teacher says he’s going to go down in history as a great painter. Mawhahahahahah. Give. Me. A. Break. You can check out some of his work here. Be sure to scroll down to see the nudes. Self-portraits. Damn, you know those suckers will sell just because. And that is so not fair because they are truly mediocre. If that isn’t enough to earn him a place in hell than I don’t know what is.
Oh…maybe his war.
His goddamn effing war, the one that left 4,488 American service members dead, 32,021 injured. And well over 100,000 Iraqis but no one has the exact numbers. Many of them innocent civilians. Children. And then the coalition forces…
The war we BORROWED to pay for, the war that set our economy and our national reputation, straight into the toilet.
Ten years later GWB is painting pictures of himself in the shower. In the tub.
At the end of the day he’ll be able to wash the paint from his hands but there some things he’ll never be able to scrub from his soul.
