Tiny Miracles

#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

#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(?)

#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

#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!

#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?

#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

#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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