Crapticon!

Well, that smarts. I forgot to up the contrast, which I do sometimes so that my work is visible. Dang it all. I am not rescanning them again because I have a roast beef in the oven and Greek green beans, aka, "Candied Green Beans" (how does 1/4 t. of sugar work out to be so deliciously sweet?) and my scanner is slooow. And my paper is the wrong size. It's the paper I've been using for the past few pieces, and you'd think I'd learn that it's a PITA to scan it as I squeeze the scanner cover to the base of the scanner. You'd think, wouldn't you?

Both of these were done in the style of Julie Mehretu, at least what I think of when I think of her. The first time I ever saw one of her paintings at the Walker in Minneapolis I near about fell on the floor - how did she get into my head? Her work is the way that I frequently imagine the world but have been unable to get onto paper. So here is my homage to her, in her style by my hand.

A Place of Dreaming

A Sense of Humor

I would like to endorse the following:

• Foyle's War starring Michael Kitchen and Honeysuckle Weeks. It's quiet, it's thoughtful, it's set in WWII England. Honestly, Christopher Foyle is the grown-up the world is so dreadfully short of.
• Cava Mezze. I love this place. I love the falafel. I love the Crazy Feta. I love that they compost about 90% of their garbage. What?
• Greek Green Beans, as mentioned above. About six minutes hands on time, about 45 minutes cook time, and delicious, delicious green beans, even for those of us who really detest green beans.

It should go without saying, but probably doesn't, I'm not at all compensated for saying this. I just thought you might like to know how I felt about Foyle's War, a restaurant you probably can't eat at, and Greek Green Beans.

HAPPY LABOR DAY....
Remember the struggles

Feminist Hands

I can't brush my teeth without thinking of the Tomforde Farm. I can't eat popcorn without thinking about a former colleague, Max. And I can't draw hands without thinking about my high school art teacher, Mrs. Hansen, who does have a first name but because I didn't ask her permission to write this I'm omitting it. Cause you can't find anything on the internet.

While doing a unit on statuary in art history (I think? Sorry, Mrs. Hansen, high school was many eons ago) she pointed out that statues of women tend to be missing their hands and arms. There was more to it, and I'm going to botch this, probably, but some feminist scholars allege that this was a way of signifying the helplessness of women. 

As we watch many of our elected officials try to strip women of their rights of self determination, I think of Mrs. Hansen, and feminist hands, and I hope you are registered to vote. And have the requisite State ID that will enable you to do so (you may insert your own eye roll here). 

Oh, and I really, really have difficulty drawing hands of either gender - so people hold lots of bouquets, tuck their hands behind their back or into pockets, or otherwise hide their fingers and I have no intention of signifying a state of oppression or helplessness. 

Bea Arthur, a little chunky

Bea Arthur is, of course, deceased, and while she was a tall lady, she sure wasn't chunky. So I can't figure out why the society matron I doodled looks, for all the world, like a matronly Bea Arthur.

She gave us Maude and she gave us Dorothy and I gave her wide hips. I'm sorry. You only helped shape my view of the world in your awesome, brightly colored and oversized sweatshirts with the weirdest collars anyone has ever seen. Oh, and you took no crap from anyone, even Ma.

There's also a penitent with a disfigured face and strange haired military officer. So I might need to draw more from life and less from imagination.

A Very Belated Congratulations, Carrie and Dan!

An autumnal bridal bouquet

Hog Sisters

Abstract Cross Stitch Study #1
Approximately 6.5 inches x 5.25 inches
Unframed

It certainly exists, but you know what I don't see enough of? Abstract cross stitch. Even the pieces that are yielded by a simple internet search aren't, to me, "abstract". They aren't quite so literal, but they aren't "abstract".

So here is an abstracted cross stitch, truly.

Calligraphy for the Reserve Officers Association

Several months ago I was priviledged to be asked to do some calligraphy for the Reserve Officers Association. This is the completed work.

Although it looks like I have no sense of scale, this book was enormous (and beautiful!), on the order of almost two feet tall.

Good luck, Johanna!

Party installation for Johanna. Good luck to you in all your new beginnings!

Baby Girl

Wrapped gift for an expected little girl. Bag purchased from Target, envelope from Paper Source (addressed by me) and tissue paper flowers made by me.

The past has already written the future
Written the future in code
To break the code, however, we must live it

From the back of my eyelids...

Do you ever get images that "pop" behind your eyelids at night when you lie down to sleep?  I do.

Clearly, this is the Empress of the Sea finally shoving the evil Ruby Skeleton off his pedestal in his Ruby Chateau. Clearly. You couldn't tell?



The era in which you're born must have a pretty bold effect on forming your vision, rather how those experimental cats that were only exposed to vertical or horizontal lines can only see vertically or horizontally (don't ask me to explain it further. I didn't understand then and I don't get it now.).

For better or worse my formative years were in the 1980s, so you know what images were burned on my retina. Big hair still seems okay, as does satin and chintz, and I have a deep and abiding sympathy for "grandma colors" on nails and lips. Frankly, "blush" and "bashful" are okay to me.

So this is a vision that I would have adored in 1988. Aw, hell - I adore it now.

Party Lady

Would that all our lives involved regular black tie, sparkles, and streamers...