from the Labyrinth

Trollfish

2011-09-11T22:29:00.007-10:00

# 6 - Draw a Well Loved Object or Childhood Toy
#211 - Draw or Paint an Object "In the Style of" an Old Master or Notable Painter

I recently followed a thread on the Every Day Matters list which asked where inspiration might come from. I didn't jump in then because I wasn't feeling very inspired at the time. Tonight, however, I seem to have successfully courted the muse, and now I wish to share my process. How did the idea for this particular illustration come about?

The train of thought began awhile ago, when I became obsessed with the idea of atelier classes. Suddenly I decided it wasn't good enough to procrastinate on the completion of my own paintings in my own style -- I wanted to sign up for intense training in sight line drawing and various obsolete oil glazing techniques, so that I could never quite get around to finishing paintings that looked more like those of the masters. To this end, I called for information on an ongoing atelier workshop, and learned that the next session would focus on the style of Gustav Klimt.

Being an insecure sort, I rushed out to buy a Klimt coffee table book so that I could bone up on his style ahead of time. Then two things happened: first, I read enough about the artist's personal life that I became disillusioned with the man himself, and second, I talked myself out of taking the workshop, supposedly because I disapproved of the way he expected his sister-in-law to take care of all his domestic needs, and allowed his studio models to bear his progeny without benefit of marriage. The cur! (OK, you probably have figured out by now that the real reason I didn't show up for the workshop was because, well, I'm an insecure sort.)

I did fall in love (again) with the painting "Goldfish", and at one point I gessoed an elongated scrap of plyboard with the intention of someday creating a derivative piece. I meant to use my figure drawing CD program for reference, but my studio monitor went dead. Then my eyes stumbled across these lovelies (I'm keeping them around for a future art doll project) and suddenly it hit me - who needs naked women when you have naked trolls? Whence cometh my inspiration, ta-da...
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A Complete and Total Cop-out!

2011-01-31T12:44:00.008-10:00

# 305 - Draw Something Huge

I painted another mandala last week. This one is really huge, so it (sort of?) meets the challenge. Unfortunately, it is SO huge that even when I lie on my back, on the floor, in the center of the labyrinth gazebo, I cannot fit it all into the viewfinder. It is a real painted mandala, you just have to trust me!

It began with a gallon of really good, expensive brand name paint setting on the "oops" shelf at Home Depot. It called out to me. Seriously, it did! It said "Hey, you there in the marathon t-shirt! I know I am a very intense, dramatic color that you would normally have no interest in, but if you buy me, I will look wonderful in your gazebo!" I didn't believe it (him?), but on the other hand I'd never been propositioned by an inanimate object in exactly this manner before, so for five bucks, how could I refuse?

It took more than a year to get a round tuit, but now it's done and it looks pretty darned good, if I do say so myself. So you just have to look at this little slice, shot from the side, and pretend you are there, looking up to the ceiling. The very top is white and (reminiscent of exercises I endured in Color Theory 101, many decades ago) it deepens in concentric rings to a dark, dark teal. (Again, you must trust me on this because the photo doesn't accurately depict the depth of the darkest hue.) Now my ceiling sports a giant mandala that resembles a skylight during the day, and by night, when the hanging candlelabrum is lit, sets the gazebo aglow!

And now I've met my intention of posting four times in the month of January, as well. I'm bending the rules to get it done, I know. I am currently working on a 'real' drawing to be posted next week, but then again, you must trust me on this!

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Process, Awaiting Product

2011-01-17T10:59:00.003-10:00

A joyful and prosperous 2011 to all! I know, I'm a little late with that greeting. I'm actually having a very productive and creative start to the year, but I've been neglecting drawing challenges, and this blog.

To jumpstart a return I decided to share my process of making affirmation mandalas. This is difficult for me, as it exposes all the 'herky-jerky motions' going into a painting when I only want to show the finished product, and then only if I like it. But, anyway, here goes...
My affirmation for 2011 is "I Choose Happiness." Now I am documenting that intent with a mandala painting. I write it into a 36-degree angle, one half of 72 degrees, or a 5 radial design, because the number 5 is related to playfulness. I like playfulness. It makes me happy!

(Continued below)

As Idle Hands Are the Devil's Playground...

2011-01-17T10:28:00.006-10:00

I could use PhotoShop or any number of grapics programs to do this step, but I can't figure out an easy way to transfer the pattern without using a printer, and it will go on a gessoed plyboard. So, I trace the radial ten times, flopping every other radial as a mirror image.

I do so love busywork - it keeps me off the street, as they say. (Who are "they," do you know? I think I saw one of "them" yesterday in the...) Ooops, my mind tends to wander as I trace. Which brings me to another point. As I work on this piece, my intention is to stay on point. That is, try to keep my monkeymind on the affirmation itself. Think positive! Think happy! Nail that emotion to the board by being in it as I work!

Now, notice how the capitol 'I' makes an intricate flower design in the center? That will be my focus on the next step, to follow.

(Continued below)

Ugh! Don't like it yet...

2011-01-17T10:12:00.005-10:00

Using thin acrylic washes, I begin picking out color fields and patterns. I work from the center out. I must admit that normally by this stage I find something about the design I really like, but this time I haven't, yet.

It's the colors. I think I'm forcing something, here. For "happy" I wanted to use pure, bright colors (not my usual pallet) AND I read somewhere that orange symbolizes that emotion, especially when paired with turquoise. A stretch for me, but I'm determined to make that work. Stay tuned, should you find this process of interest. I promise the final product will be more aesthetically pleasing, or I shall not be happy! And then, what would be the point? :)

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Tiny Miracles

2010-12-10T21:06:00.005-10:00

#250 - Draw Something You Got For Free

I've been engaged in an experiment for the last two weeks, called "Miracle Walks."

I leave the house for my morning run (OK, so I changed that part a little, but I have to get a run in, and I'm so slow it's almost like walking anyhow...) and I set the intention to find a miracle along the way.

On the first day I had an idea that I might find something fantastic, or at least useful, and draw it for the challenge listed above. I always pick things up along the way, cans for deposit fees, found objects for my recycled art, coins, etc. This wasn't really anything out of the ordinary for me, but I thought by starting with small miracles I would be assured of success. I was wrong. I found nothing. I did see a rubber slipper along the side of the road, but there was only one slipper and I have two feet, so it wasn't of any value. I came home empty handed, carrying only resentment that those people who litter the street with footwear are never considerate enough to pitch both halves of the pair out their car window.

Day two, I again left the house stating my intention to find a miracle. Again, the only thing I saw was that stupid lone slipper. As I passed it, I was feeling a little guilty. Maybe I really should pick it up just for the sake of community service. Or might it be re purposed somehow? I was becoming obsessed with the darned thing.

Day three, same intention, same results. Not even so much as a soda can; pickings were really slim! On my last mile, I again saw the slipper. I almost kept going, but reluctantly stopped to scoop it into my bag. I was just picking up my pace again when I saw -- the other slipper! OK, I know what you're thinking. That's not much of a miracle, it was there all along and I just didn't see it until the third day. You are probably right, but yet, it was there in plain sight, not hidden by weeds or camouflaged by its color, less than four yards away from its mate. And I have an eagle eye when I'm out treasure hunting. It is (to me, at least) a puzzlement!

One day during the next week I woke up with the feeling I'd just had a very important dream, but try as I might, I could not remember any part of it. I did remember a scrap of music, though. It was a sweet, bluesy tune, I knew it was fairly contemporary and sung by a man, but I couldn't come up with the name. All through my morning "miracle" run, that music kept playing in my head, an annoying loop that just wouldn't quit. And the only words I'd matched to it were - "Tragedy... somethingsomethingsomething ...me" I really wanted to find the lyrics, because I thought they held the clue to the message from my dream that I'd forgotten. A google search later yielded no answers.

By the next morning I'd forgotten all about it, until the rhythm of running brought that @*$# music back into my head. I completed my run and emptied my goody bag -- about a dollars' worth of cans and bottles, some beads, and a CD. I had intended to paint a mandala on the CD, but on closer inspection it was in perfect shape, shiny as a new penny, seemingly not a scratch on it. Then I read the titles, the artist... Continuum, by John Mayer... a shiver was travelling up my spine. There it was, sure enough, on track #4. Gravity!

I dusted it off and it played beautifully (except for one track I had no interest in.) My "message" was clear as glass, and I quote: "Oooh twice as much -- ain't twice as good -- and it can't sustain like one half could." Get it? My message from the Universe was, stop carting home all this junk, for gosh sakes! I think that's absolute proof that God has a crackerjack sense of humor :)

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Pickers and Hoarders and Reality TV

2010-06-27T14:05:00.008-10:00

#30, Draw a Chair;

#182, Draw a Truck;

#206, Draw something that is familar to you that is called something else in another region

I am on the glitzy side, the touristy side, the fussy and pretty side, of our wonderful island. DH and I woke up in a nice hotel. It's a special weekend away for us. It is a dry, hot day under cloudless Kona skies, so instead of hanging out by the pool or on the seashore sipping Mai Tai's , I am doing what, exactly? Well, I'm hangin' out in a scrapyard, of course! Hubby is digging through some shipping containers full of old marine hardware, and I, after oggling some really cool vintage autos, decaying Art Deco hotel furniture and old neon signs - I am lounging in the shade of an old tractor trailer and sketching a scene of someone else's hoarded junk. This is bliss!

I have a new favorite TV show. When I first stumbled upon it, I must admit, I was drawn in by the background scenery of fields and farmsteads. Immediately I thought - "that looks like home!" And it was. The show is set in LeClaire, Iowa; a river town I used to gaze upon from my bedroom window vantage point in Rapids City, Illinois - directly across the Mississippi. A lifetime ago - I used to live there! But the appeal of the show is about something else.

I come from a long line of auction, yard sale and dumpster diving collectors. Now, thanks to the History Channel, I know there is a word for us; "pickers." We hunt, we buy, we store, (hoard?) and hopefully eventually use, refurbish and/or resell. You can have your boutiques, fashion houses and upscale shopping. We "pickers" love nothing more than a collection of, well, this.

I'm in Hawaii. I'm in a junkyard. I'm in heaven. (Oh, and #206? Some call them Snow Cones or Shaved "with-a-D" Ice, but if you live here, you know they are and will always be "Shave Ice!"

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I Seem to Have It Backwards(?)

2010-06-23T14:59:00.005-10:00

#268 - Draw Something You Need

When I first saw this challenge (yes, it was a long, long time ago!) all I could think about was Abraham Maslow's theory of the hierarchy of needs. I wished to illustrate this in terms of the first level of human motivation - as in, we humans most need air, water, food, sleep, etc. I was planning to get quite "cute" about this, but couldn't quite put my finger on how.

Meanwhile, I'd fallen into one of my extended periods of funk, which always coincide with artist's block/existential depression. For me they are one and the same, just something about the way I am wired. So, looking back to the date of my last post here, I "blocked" around Thanksgiving of last year. Between then and now the rest of Maslow's levels, as regards my life, have all been threatened by the depth of my bad moods and miserable behavior. That is to say: Level two - safety, (employment); Level three - love and belonging, (marriage); Level four - esteem (sense of achievement). It's not until the last of these levels - five, self actualization; that creativity comes in, according to the master. And yet for me...

Something I need - hummmmn - at first I thought I would illustrate a still life of art supplies. But I do not need those, I have more than enough. Nor do I need the time to use them, I have that, too. I just need "permission" to get myself into the studio and JUST DO IT!!! Yet I've recently spent seven months spinning my wheels, trying to do only that, and swimming in self loathing all the while and making those around me nuts.

Recently I sat myself down with the least worthy of my supplies stash (Crayola poster paints, to be specific, and toned bristol cover stock) and forced myself to do nothing more than push the paint around the page, and to play. And this came into being, a weird non-symmetrical mandala, which I sort of like. So that's what I need, most of all, to stay sane. Just to do something, anything, to create.

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Herding the Munchkins

2009-11-21T14:53:00.009-10:00

#234, Draw Something That Doesn't Belong To You; #153, Draw Something Under Plastic; #152, Draw a Nut

Like so many others, our state is experiencing a financial meltdown. Now the government, local labor unions, and the Board of Education are involved in a power struggle, understandable from several points of view (i.e., perspective, which as an artist I completely get) but the outcome is really, really sad. Our public schools have closed for one day a week. This would be tragic anywhere, but here in Hawaii, we already have one of the shortest school years and woefully inadequate educational systems in the nation. We cannot afford to rob children of classtime. I'd get on a soapbox but I don't have one -- or a solution, either.

So I got involved, on a whim, really. I volunteered to "help" with this program that offers art education on "Furlough Fridays." I'm not a teacher, I don't have children of my own, or much experience with the little critters. I just thought that I could pitch in somehow -- office work, I thought, or preparing lunch. I didn't think I'd be thrown into the front lines! Now it's my job to keep the 7 to 9 year olds together, and move them through four class periods per day, one day a week. It's been trippy! I don't want to get into stories, because there are so many (kids are so cute!! Whodda thunk?) and I'm afraid once I start relating the stories I couldn't stop, but I will share one pet peeve. Why the HECK do they show up each morning carrying snacks and trinkets that I ultimately have to be responsible for?

Last Friday I came home, emptied my purse, and found these: a plastic, robotic sort of toy that three little boys were fighting over. Once I confiscated him, "Tron" immediately got lost in the depths of my purse. The sand filled crocheted ball is meant to be bounced off of feet in a show of agility, but instead it was getting thrown, hard, at other kids. The bag of smoked almonds has been in and out of my purse several times now. A teacher takes it away during a drawing class, I carry it back to the breakroom and return it to its owner's lunchbox, until it shows up once more in the next class and the cycle starts over. I try to return all of these 'purse treasures' at the end of the day, but since the parents show up whenever they feel like it to take their kids home I often miss the opportunity. So I have to keep these objects safe, until next Friday, when no doubt I'll inadvertently bring another haul home with me.

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Send Out the Clowns!

2009-11-11T19:04:00.011-10:00

#247 - Draw Something Creepy

Maybe I'm perverse, but I just never found them cute, or the least bit entertaining. In fact, they sort of creeped me out. An adult, decked out in Kabuki face paint with grotesquely exaggerated expressions, communicating only in mime, perhaps punctuated with blasts from an 'aruuugah-horn,' and this is supposed to represent happiness? Joy? It simply didn't work for me when I was a child, still doesn't. My stereotype is more Stephen King's Pennywise than Bozo or Clarabelle!

I thought I was alone in this opinion until I met my future husband, and he told me his clown story. When he was 7 or 8 the circus came to town. The neighborhood boys were told that if they helped with setting up the tents, they would be given free tickets to the show. For a whole day they hauled lines, hoisted bales and ran errands. But then, when all was finished, the tired, hopeful little boys outnumbered the proffered tickets and those not quick or big enough to push to the front of the line were sent home, crushed and empty handed. He was part of this group.

At showtime he bravely marched back and told the ticketbooth lady what had happened, politely requesting admission in the name of fairness. She refused. He slipped away to the side of the tent, found a gap near the ground and rolled himself into the Big Top. Unfortunately he tumbled right on to a giant floppy shoe. A clown -- one not the least jolly -- roughly grabbed him by the shoulders and marched him out the back entrance, threatening police intervention and peppering him with foul language all the while.

"I hate clowns!" my husband says. And he means it. We are reasonable people, somewhat sociable; we've both been described as having a good sense of humor. But we share one dark secret -- we discriminate against clowns.

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Have We Met In A Past Life?

2009-11-05T15:25:00.008-10:00

#185 - Draw a Cat

Meet Squirt, the sole feline member of our little household. He is a recycled feral creature, which means he has lots of quirks, issues and attitude. His typical day starts with breakfast on the lanai. Here he allows us the honor of giving him some food, so long as we don't linger to watch him eat it. We might be so bold as to touch him on a good day, but if we do he stays shock-still until the ordeal is over. Later he will mosey over to his nap spot outside the bedroom door and lay down on the doormat after pummelling it into a lumpy wad. While on the lanai he tolerates our presence so long as no petting or prolonged eye contact is involved. If he catches sight of us down in the yard, however, he runs as if from death itself and hides. The same thing happens if he sees us exit the house from the back door instead of the front. Out the back door, we are monsters! From the front, we might feed him. (At least I guess that's his reasoning.)

Then comes bedtime. Around eleven, he scratches at the door and my husband lets him in. He jumps into bed with us, and now is a different animal. He demands touching, cuddling, petting. His purring is so loud it's hard to sleep! Should we ignore him, he launches himself against our bodies and performs a weird somersaulting movement, pulling himself against us to simulate the sensation of stroking. Sometimes he will even wake us with tentative pawing, in the early morning hours, to experience more touch and attention. But come daylight we are again treated with great suspicion and reserve.

"He is so bizarre!" my husband and I declare. "Have you ever seen such behavior?" we ask each other. Well, actually, I must admit that the behavior isn't totally unknown to me. I just realized recently that when I was a single lady (years ago!!) I met, or heard from my girlfriends about, many such males. If I were to believe in karmic reincarnation, then maybe my Squirt was once a commitment phobic Lothario!

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Miracle Babies

2009-10-31T13:28:00.009-10:00

#245 - Draw Something
"October"

I have pickleworm, a.k.a. Diaphama nitidalis Cramer. Now, don't panic, it isn't contagious (at least not by Cyberspace contact) but it prevents me from growing certain cucurbits; cucumbers, squash, pumpkins, and the like.

When I first moved to this island in 1991 I attempted to grow a kitchen garden, and one of my favorite vegetables was a variety of winter squash the locals commonly but erroneously call "pumpkin." This plant was terrific - place it on fallow land and it choked out invasive weeds. It grew and grew and grew, and produced lots of fruit that was not only tasty, but a really good subject for still life renderings. Then, when I reached the point of readiness to paint my produce, pickleworm arrived!

Pickleworm is a nondescript grey moth which lays its eggs on a blossom. The hatchling caterpillars eat out the center of the flower, preventing the formation of fruit. Last year I planted some squash seed, and though I had scores of blossoms, the squash never formed. Then a miracle occurred. I say it's because I got sloppy. I stopped weeding the perimeters, and false staghorn fern and other viney unwanteds swallowed up a portion of the garden margin. My squash vines were able to hide a few of their blossoms under cover of the weeds. Fruit actually formed and thrived, and I was able to harvest three lovely "pumpkins." I don't know what was more rewarding, the soups and casseroles I made for consumption, or the photo I captured to turn into this drawing.

Lesson learned? Sloth isn't always a bad thing. If I hadn't let a few weeds into my garden, I would not have these lovely squash. Now I am looking for a similar reason to find saving grace in a lapse of housekeeping -- say, laundry piles, or dirty dishes? I know, Penicillin has already been discovered, but maybe there is something else out there for me to find. One can always hope!
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For Sheila P. Where'er She Be

2009-10-22T11:43:00.009-10:00

#4 - Draw a Mug or Cup

My personal experience with pottery ended in the eighth grade, which not coincidentally was the end of art instruction in our local public school. We were allowed to play with fired and glazed clay only once a year, and I considered my seventh grade project (a lumpy maroon bowl I'd propped up on a stem and daringly christened a "wineglass") to be a huge success. I immediately began planning for next year's ceramic opportunity. It would be a trinket box, a horse's head on the lid, the neck in low relief, but the poll-to-nose surface turned high toward the viewer, cunningly forming a handle. It would be the envy of Unit District 226, teachers and students alike -- Oh, it would be grand!

A year passed and we filed down to the art room. As the slabs were passed out, an assignment was given. It must have been near Halloween because we were told to make (oh, horrors!!) a monster face. I begged for my own artistic vision, but was denied. I reluctantly made one scary face, then I quickly and surreptitiously did another because my friend Kathy, sporting a new mood ring and fresh nail polish, didn't want to sully her fingers. Unfortunately this second piece was so sloppily made that it blew up in the kiln. Miss Doty was livid. She had carefully instructed us to beware of the possibility of air bubbles expanding in the intense heat. When the next class came about she made Kathy stand in front of the class and apologize for "her" carelessness, to the two other students whose work had been ruined. That had been myself and a stolid farm boy named Jeff. Apology given, we were told to respond. I said as far as I was concerned, the accident had only improved my work. With nasty shards sticking out of its face, my monster was only scarier, right? Jeff said he didn't care, because he thought the monster face was babyish and stupid and he had been planning to use his for target practice, anyway. Most of the class must have agreed with Jeff, as he went home with several other faces donated to his cause.

This story of thwarted creative ambition may explain why I collect discarded school projects from other people's kids. This cup, for instance, is one favorite. While it doesn't function very well to hold coffee (it's both unnaturally shallow and wide; the brew would cool too quickly. And the ornate "S" curve of the handle, while esthetically pleasing to the taste of prepubescents, makes the cup hard to pick up and balance) I love the craftsmanship and thought that went into the making. I also love that the artist etched her name, Sheila P., boldly across the front instead of discreetly on the bottom with the notation "Gr. 8." She also figured out how to make three colors from one glaze, by leaving funky geometric motifs bare, and utilizing a double coats of glaze in wide stripes, making both a deep blue-green and a soft moss green in the final firing. I like to think of the unknown eighth grader feeling the same jolt of pride in all these little ideas and touches that I would, had my equine geegaw been finished.

So now this cup resides near my drafting table holding odds and ends that I would loose track of if I put them away. I see it every day, and sometimes I take the time to think, "Hey, Sheila -- ya done good, kid!"

Ay, Carambola!

2008-10-31T13:35:00.006-10:00

#106 - Draw something tart or sour

It sounds vaguely like a Spanglish cussword, but it's Averrhoa carambola, a.k.a. starfruit. The seedling I planted in my backyard years ago is now probably over 25 feet tall and veerrry productive. Why, I'd wager its annual yield exceeds the Gross National Product of some small countries! But the fruit is so sour as to be inedible. I know, I've tried. Last year, muttering the family motto "waste not want not" under my breath all the while, I marched out there and picked a dozen of the fattest, ripest fruits. I ran them through a juicer and kept adding sugar, an obscene amount, until I could force a glassful of the green-gold liquid past my lips. It made my molars itch, and the back of my throat felt as if it had just been massaged with a wood rasp. I told myself that a draught so -- uhmm -- bracing, must be very good for me! Over the course of the next 24 hours my digestive tract did all it could to dissuade me of that theory.

There are a couple of things I've learned in the meantime. First, fruit trees grown from seed, as this one was, might hearken back to some far less civilized ancestor and not produce usable fruit. Second, the acrid aftertaste I attributed to an overabundance of citric acid (Vitamin C, as in, protects you from colds) was more than likely supplemented with a strong dose of oxalic acid (as in, shreds your kidneys!) Normally there's not enough to hurt a healthy person, but most likely the process of juicing concentrated what was already, due to the poor genetics of the tree, an overly large amount.

This year my wicked carambola tree is flaunting another huge crop. I look at the heavy clusters of beautiful fruit with disdain. I'm married to a man with a chainsaw -- I could easily have it whacked!! But it is just so pretty. That should count for something, shouldn't it?

The Subtle Art of Pricing

2008-10-21T16:32:00.008-10:00

#191 – Draw Some Paper Money

I was at a yard sale where a bubbly woman had a small table of kitsch and bric-a-brac under a hand printed sign saying "35 cents each." What I next saw sent me into a tailspin. It was a tiny origami shirt fashioned from a dollar bill. I took it to the cashier's table to show the sweet but obviously math-challenged lady her mistake.

“This is a dollar.” I said.
“No,” she countered, “it’s thirty-five cents.”
“But it’s made from a dollar bill!” I sputtered.
“But now it’s a paper aloha shirt.” says she. “Isn’t it too cute?”

We proceeded to have a debate. I had it in my head that “legal tender” must mean I was engaging in a crime if I bought a dollar for thirty-five cents. She was determined that if someone paid less for it, they would not think of it as a dollar, and she didn't want it unfolded and spent. I retorted that the average person, paying a reduced price for a dollar, would be all the more motivated to spend it. Eventually I bought the paper shirt for the asking price and no more, still feeling karma will someday get me for it.

I was at another yard sale where a little girl was hanging a crayoned sign over a box of kittens saying "$2.00 each, or 2 for $5.00." We proceeded to have a debate during which I pointed out the logical marketing intent of two-for-one sales and bulk buying, and how she had the idea all wrong. She graciously acknowledged my advantages in education and life experience, even admitting her own mother had told her much the same thing, but trumped me with her Daddy’s words. He had opined they were her kittens and she should sell them however she pleased!

Not being one to give up easily, I had a brilliant idea. I could buy one kitten for two dollars and take it too my car. Then I would come back and buy a second kitten for, again, two dollars, thereby proving beyond all argument that the fair market value for two kittens could not POSSIBLY be more than four dollars. Hah!! But... then I would be left with two kittens I really didn’t want to live with, despite their obvious appeal, and one husband I really had to live with despite his total lack of appeal (once he found out why I'd bought them, I mean, and got all outraged about it) so there was no more debate.

Round and Round and Round She Goes

2008-10-15T08:49:00.007-10:00

#151 - Free choice

This summer I spun out. That is to say, I had too many paintings, projects and fanciful ideas going at once and consequently I couldn't seem to make progress on any of them. So I returned to the circle. I try to have a mandala design going when those phases sneak up on me. If I have a complex circular design drawn out, then coloring it in is mindless, soothing and repetitive work. I can handle that, when facing overwhelm.

I finished this mandala painting last week, though it has been in progress for a very long time. It started as play. I picked up a marvelous little low tech Spirograph-like toy in a dollar store. That produced the center rings. Once enlarged, the rest I built on, using templates cut from thin plastic.

I'm finding much meaning in this mandala even though it started as "just a design." Basically it speaks, to me at least, of the chaotic and distracting stuff between the calm center (my true purpose and potential) and the encroaching darkness outside (what I am able to make manifest; bring to fruition.) I could go on about the directions of spin, the significance of colors and numbers and all manner of symbols popping out, but that's like trying to explain a dream -- most likely the one explaining is the only one enthralled. So, I'll sum this up as I began. This summer I spun out.

The One With Boats

2008-10-11T14:32:00.006-10:00

#129 - Draw People Doing Something; #192 - Draw Something That Floats

Newcomers to our fair little city, those of a nautical bent that is, might wish to join a yacht club. If they hook up with the oldest and most venerable they can enjoy tennis courts, a swimming pool, a fine restaurant, bar, and other amenities (for an upscale annual fee, of course) but chances are they will not be able to find co-members who want to talk about trimming the sails and love of the sea and objects floating thereon. Being a fan of irony this amuses me no end! I did some research into the history of the Hilo Yacht Club because I had it in the back of my head that there must have been a time in its 95-year history when an obvious connection to yachts was lost. This is what I found:

HYC was conceived in 1913, to create a social club promoting "aquatic and other athletic sports and pastimes." Surprisingly enough, the aquatic sport then of choice was "the lively interest in competitive rowing!" Up until the tsunami of '46, which evidentially swept it away for good, this club maintained a boathouse and some rowboats. Any other connection with yachting as a sport is confined to the fact that in 1962 their governing board voted to change the official title of chief officer from "president" to "commodore." I ask you, does a fleet of rowboats, gone nearly 20 years, actually require a commodore?

Na Hoa Holomoku of Hawaii Yacht Club on the other hand (it's a mouthful, but the other name was already in use) owns and maintains several sailing vessels and actively promotes sailing. If you have even so much as a whim that sailing might be fun, show up at their Sailing 101 Sundays, held without charge once a month on the bayfront. They will gladly give you a taste of the sport. Join, take classes, and help out with maintenance chores for the fleet and you can be a sailor - aargh! But, they don't have a clubhouse and swimming pool.

To be fair though, I must give credit to the Hilo Yacht Club for being politically correct. Why, as early as 1984 they voted to allow women to hold membership "under their own right!"

Customers Say the Darndest Things

2008-08-16T15:21:00.006-10:00

#15 - Draw a Tree

I had the good fortune to spend five years working for a bonsai master. I wish I could share one tenth of what I learned from him in this short essay. Heck, I would be happy if I could just remember one tenth of what I learned!

I spent most of my time in the nursery, which was generally blissful, the rest in sales which sometimes could be frustrating. What is this obsession with age, for instance? Yes, there are some trees that have lived in captivity, so to speak, for a hundred years and more. This is a fun fact, but let me say this as clearly as I can, you cannot purchase such trees in a commercial nursery for nineteen dollars and ninety-five cents. Yet on more than one occasion I've had people stomp away from the cash register in a huff because I was trying to cheat them with a tree too young to be "genuine bonsai."

Outside of the antique plant market, rules of esthetics count far more in the valuation of bonsai than age. Without continuous and skilled training, a bonsai does not automatically appreciate with each passing year. This is hard to explain to the gal who picks up a starter plant from the cheapest table, points to the custom collection plants priced in the hundreds, and asks - "How long must I wait until this tree is worth as much as those?" I was often confounded by this question, and never came up with a concise reply, at least not a polite one. Then there was the gentleman who insisted on buying three very expensive plants even though I'd tried to talk him into something better matched to his skill level, which I'd judged to be rather low. While I was finalizing the purchase, he told me he'd never had much success with keeping houseplants alive in the past, but that was about to change because these bonsai were "already trained." While the process of reducing and styling the plant material into a shallow pot is referred to as "training," I guess he thought it meant they'd been taught to care for themselves. What really gave me pause was his final comment. He said he didn't have children, but it made him feel good to know these lovely trees would continue on long after he was dead and gone!

Please Don't Tell PETA

2008-06-29T00:44:00.008-10:00

#173 - Draw something from memory

I've been working through Julia Cameron's excellent book Vein of Gold. One of the major tasks is to analyze and write about my past. Questions are posed to help with the process. One is, what was your favorite toy, game, or pastime at ages one to five? I had an obvious answer.

My mother was a child of the depression, you see. It seems the trauma she never got out of her system was not hunger or homelessness, but a terrible lack of dolls. Ergo, she bought all of her daughters dolls aplenty, whether we liked them or not. I certainly didn't. Why would I play with something so stiff and lifeless when, as a farm kid, I was surrounded by lovely furry animals? The accessories were cool, though. And if God didn't intend for doll dresses to be put on baby cats, why did he make them perfectly kitten-sized?

I won't go so far as to claim the little furballs liked this game, but my older brother tells me he was clawed and bloodied whenever he attempted a rescue, and once undressed they would often run straight back to me for a change of costume. To this day he calls me "The Cat-Whisperer."

Is It a Case of Either, Or?

2008-06-08T12:35:00.006-10:00

#125 -- Draw a bird

I always thought once I stopped working, I would easily and automatically return to the easel. But then, I helped build our retirement home in the country. Afterwards I was compelled to grow things and raise some critters. I evolved into what my relatives back in the Cornbelt scathingly refer to as a "pretend farmer." I drove a little Mazda "pretend" pick-up truck to the feed store to buy supplies for my "pretend" livestock (dwarf rabbits, call ducks, and fancy booted bantam chickens, all of which were given their own names, and subsequently never treated as actual agricultural product!) A decade passed in a gentlewoman farmer's dream, with seemingly no time for art, when I stumbled upon a quotation that really got under my skin.

This is attributed to Anna M. (Grandma) Moses - "If I didn't start painting, I would have raised chickens." Around this same time, I'd been trying to analyze what kept me from picking up the brush and under my list of "energy drains" had suddenly popped up my beloved poultry collection. Could this quote work in reverse as well? It didn't happen overnight, but slowly I divested myself of the flock right down to the last, this little black and white Frizzle rooster. He was just so skittish and shy I could never catch him to be sold down the river. In the years he spent as our only chicken I always felt bad because lack of female companionship had reduced him to the sad and hopeless habit of courting wild lady doves.

This January a road crew was working near our house, and the noise scared little Cochise so badly he ran away from home. Over on the next block, he found just what he had been longing for - hot chicken women!! - and it didn't take him long to decide on a permanent change of address. I do miss him, but about that same time I began a slow but sure return to the studio. Coincidence? I'm really not sure.

Mary Had A Little Lamp

2008-05-22T11:55:00.007-10:00

#168 - Draw your daily newspaper; #116 - Draw something green; #2 - Draw a lamp.

I was looking over our daily paper to see if there was any inspiration therein to use as a writing prompt. I soon found it, in the classifieds. Now, we locals like to joke about the lack of proofreading abilities displayed by the Tribune-Herald staff. Rumour has it that all new job applicants are immediately given an elementary spelling test. If they can pass it, the interview is over and they won't be hired.

As much as I like poking fun at our Trib, I think for a small paper on an underpopulated island, they do pretty well. Besides, I have to admit I kind of enjoy typos. They usually make me laugh, and always make me feel, well, sort of superior when I find them. Also, it can be like solving a little puzzle to figure out what it was supposed to say. You know how important it is, as we grow older, to exercise our brains on a daily basis!

I found this advertisment under LIVESTOCK FOR SALE. "Premium hair sheep. Lamps and breeding yews. 555-5656." Not only did it make me chuckle, but it gave me an idea for an EDM triple score.

Breaking My Own Rules

2008-05-22T08:29:00.003-10:00

I have a "rule" about posting without an accompanying drawing or painting, but I guess this will be a temporary exception to my own rules.

This is a photo of my labyrinth garden, taken by my friend Rev. Angelica Taggart, who some years ago encouraged me to build it. It's more recent than the depiction of the same garden in the banner.

I'm writing about it now because it has been mentioned in a magazine article which I can probably only link to until the next issue is published. I always meant to explain my connection to labyrinths and what they mean to me somewhere in this blog, but I never know quite how to go about it. It's a mystery! Anyway, maybe the article will help.

Just Because We Can -- Period

2008-05-14T09:44:00.006-10:00

#170- Draw a zipper

I like the woman, she does much good for the world and she produces an uplifting publication. That said, I was home after a hard day’s work at the bonsai nursery. A casserole was in the oven, so I relaxed with a fresh new copy of Oprah Winfrey’s magazine. I was reading an article on age appropriate dressing, and I agreed with most of it, until Oprah herself chimed in to share a pet peeve. She acknowledged that many employers in this day and age allow casual attire for the job. Evidently this fact is troubling enough, but what really distresses her is that women of a certain age are now wearing blue jeans to work. If they could only be honest with themselves, they would admit an older body cannot carry off this look, and it is so much kinder to those around you to dress attractively. In essence, just because women over 40 can wear jeans to work, doesn’t mean they should. Ever!

I had spent that day shoveling cinders, screening peat, hefting 50 lb. bags of fertilizer, and now I learn that all the while I had been subjecting my poor co-workers to the indelicate sight of my middle-aged behind in snug denim. Oh, the shame! I re-read the few lines of copy, surely there was some loophole? Some mention of “in the office” or “metropolitan” or “white-collar”, but there was none. I didn't bother to do the research, but there must be many women employed in agriculture, in construction, and driving trucks. I may be going out on a limb, here, but I think at least a few of them might be over the age of 40, and probably do not plow and hammer and toil in the designer corduroy and tweed slacks that “O” has blessed as appropriate work wear (none of which, by the way, cost under $300.00.) I know she had another type of woman in mind, but do the rest of us not exist? After giving the matter a lot of thought, I formulated an opinion of my own. Just because a media mogul can project her standards of dress onto the masses, doesn’t mean she should.

Grog Wasn't Just Redecorating the Foyer

2008-05-12T14:44:00.010-10:00

#117 - Draw Something Round

Consider, if you will, the cave painters. How did primitive man, (or woman, we don't really know!) render such beautiful two dimensional depictions of live moving objects from the three dimensional world, without even the help of a reference page torn from Nat'l Geographic? Just the "how" of it boggles my mind, and then I must go on to the "why." Again, we don't know, but I think s/he did this to capture the animal in the spirit world, so hunters could experience a successful hunt in the real world.

This is why I paint mandalas. It all began as an experiment in capturing the "spirit" of something I wished to manifest. You could easily argue that every artist does this with each attempt at art, but I try for something a little more... what? Intentional? Esoteric? New-agey? Goofy? I dunno, you decide.

I begin with affirmations which I write longhand into a wedge shape. After these word-forms are repeated around a center point to form a circle, I end up with a complex linear pattern. Then I pick out shapes using color and contrast. While coloring in the pattern, I try to meditiate on the feeling of the affirmation, be it joy, abundance, health, protection, whatever. It is a calming, centering process, and I wanted to share it with you. (OK, I also wanted to buy time while I finish challenge #170, which is taking longer than I thought it would.) This particular design is built on the affirmation "I love my home, with each passing day its positive energy increases."

Ode to My Old Friend Jeeves

2008-05-05T16:28:00.005-10:00

#169 - Draw a piece of cake

I was introduced to AskJeeves soon after I discovered the Internet. We immediately hit it off. I could ask him anything, he was never too busy to talk and he never ridiculed my questions. He was especially helpful when I came home late from work and didn't have a meal planned. I would look in the pantry, make a list of three or more ingredients, and ask "What can I make for dinner with (fill in the blanks?) Often I was given menus and recipes which exactly fit my needs, sometimes it was necessary to make a few substitutions, and even if no close answer appeared I always received an idea to build on. Then one fateful evening I was down to a couple of condiments, wilted lettuce, and a half bag of Gummi Bears. In desperation I typed the question anyway and hit "search", fearing that the CPU might explode, or that Jeeves might decide he didn't want to be my friend anymore. But instead he came up with an answer and it was spot-on. The first hit was "How to make dinner reservations online"!

This reminiscence came about because I first had to bake a cake in order to draw one. Being a practical person, I searched for a recipe using two ingredients I have an overabundance of: dried, natural coconut from our front yard, and bran cereal from an unfortunate experiment in case lot buying. I didn't think I was going to like this crumbcake, but it turned out to be surprisingly good. The main flavors, coconut, coffee and almond, blend so beautifully that no one dominates. The recipe is a keeper, the drawing -- not so much.

Warning: Some Content May Be Disturbing

2008-05-01T12:07:00.003-10:00

#167 - Draw something that needs to be fixed.

I found the first at a garage sale on the seedy side of town. Soon, needing more, I was haunting thrift stores, flea markets and even church bazaars. I approached a family member for help. She didn't even bat an eye at my macabre request, which may suggest that my dark imaginings are an inherited trait. She found more that were promptly subdued, strapped into unmarked boxes, and transported over state lines. Once they reached my workshop terrible things happened, things I would rather not describe.

You see, my muses once bid me to make an "art doll". I had what I thought were some terrific ideas and threw myself into the project with unbridled zeal. I collected all the raw materials, tools, supplies, and teeny-tiny props necessary. But each time I begin working on the task my initial vision expands, morphs, becomes more complicated. I cannot seem to get past the deconstruction phase on this job without changing direction or stalling out entirely. In short, I have a terrible habit of not finishing my creative projects, and this habit is what very much needs to be fixed!

With Solitaire on the Hard Drive, Who Needs Real Cards?

2008-04-21T11:39:00.000-10:00

#163 - Draw a deck of cards

I tore my house apart looking for standard playing cards, and nary a tattered Joker turned up. I did, however, find the little yellow silk purse I use to hold my old Medicine Cards(TM) deck. I never had much interest in fortunetelling, but I guess these could be described as tarot-lite. Now that the challenge is done, I must look up the meaning of this spread before I can put them away. The descriptions run a couple of pages, so I will just pick out pertinent bits to share, OK?

CROW: "... keeper of sacred law... shapeshifter.. bends the laws of the physical universe... rare and unique ability... few adepts in today's world, fewer still have mastered (it)" Whoa! This is so appropriate, you see, because I "shifted" the challenge to another type of cards. Not only was I justified in doing this, but I was using my special rare talent in the process. Why, I could even have drawn credit cards, or greeting cards, or a CARDinal, because, unlike the rest of you, I AM NOT BOUND BY PETTY RULES!!

The next card is upside down, so I have to look up MOOSE, REVERSED: Let's see, "in tooting own horn... ignored teachings... others have same potential... excessive ego can ruin accomplishment..." Hmmm, I see. This means -- that is, could be interpreted as -- well, err -- ohnevermind!!!

Of Beauty, Eyes and Beholders: My Fish Tale

2008-04-10T18:08:00.000-10:00

#166 - Draw a fish.

He is about one foot in length, made of some lightweight cement mixture rather crudely smeared on a wire mesh armature. If you can't see his charm, I can only assume that is because my drawing failed to capture it. I found him, serendipitously, at a craft fair, only because I had stooped down to tie my shoe. He and his half-dozen fish and amphibian friends were stashed far out of sight under a table of very nice but very expensive pottery.

When I asked his price the vendor seemed confused, or maybe a little insulted. It seemed these quirky creatures, fashioned by a ne'er do well in-law, were only brought along to the fair out of a sense of familial obligation. The potter could not imagine that anyone would actually want to buy one! After I finally convinced him I was serious he quoted me a price of five bucks. I left happy, and so did my husband, because he had impulsively told me to pick out anything I wanted. Nothing else I'd looked at that day had been priced at less than a hundred dollars. (I've always been a cheap date!)

I feel I've been here before...

2007-06-22T19:55:00.000-10:00

In starting this blog, I am attempting to develop a new habit. I wish to draw and paint. Well, I already do that, but now my goal is to actually finish those little works I'm always blocking out, then getting bored with and abandoning. If I feel a need to post, then I will have to carry on to the end, bitter or otherwise, right?

Challenge number one on the EDM list is "a shoe", and because of this my first drawing posted is of old running shoes. Coincidentally, I recently unearthed a sketchbook from more than twenty years ago. On the very first page was another pen and ink rendering of a tennis shoe. I'm fairly sure that if I could find my other old sketchbooks -- there have been many others -- they each began with various stabs at shoe portraiture. Why is this? Maybe it's an archetype in the collective unconscious of art students everywhere. Or maybe it's just practicality -- you grab a fresh new sketchbook and a pen, look around, and there beneath you, already in a subservient position, is a pair of objects that look as if they would be willing to stay still and not put up too much of a fuss no matter how long it takes to portray them. And so you begin. And so I did, once more.