May Day 2019

Not the best photo as the art is square, 10 x 10 inches, and not the best art by any means. Technically, it’s flawed. And, I totally missed the mark. My intention was a controlled pour with a rainbow of colors… blues and white in the “sky” region, greens in the foreground, and a splash of vivid floral colors in the mid-zone for an abstract field, a wild flowers effect. I ended up with this chaotic mess.

Oh May Day, may day… what does one expect when paints sit idle too long?

This was my first Art for Breakfast since I started prioritizing my daily activities by heading into the studio with my first cup of coffee on at least one day a week. I was going to put the photo with my last post, but rambled on too long… not everyone wants to read all that.

As messed up as it is, I still like it. Maybe because life is chaotic at times or everything looks perfect on the outside but inside, you feel like this.

UPDATE: Replaced photo after signing and wiring for hanging. The painting goes over and down the 3/4 inch sides, so there was no need for framing.

Here’s what it looks like on a blue wall.

Yes, it is square, 10 x 10 inches… the half blind photographer is slightly askew. I take a zillion photos (or at least a dozen) and sometimes, I cannot tell if the image is slightly blurry or if it’s just my vision.

Here’s how I finished the back… tidy up a bit with black paint and wall protector dots on corners. Yes, those are my fingerprints from holding it up like a waiter’s serving tray, turning it this way and that while checking my edges. Maybe someday I won’t be so messy.

There’s a nail and hook in the little baggie hanging on the wire, just an extra touch in case anyone is ever interested in buying it.

Thanks for looking!

Studio Cat


Meet Max, as in Maxwell Storm. He’s only 8 weeks old.

He got his name because “Max” popped into my head when the girl who brought him to my door asking if I’d adopt her kitty handed him to me. Then I asked if she had named him yet. She said his name was Storm; that she’s been calling him Stormy. So I said okay, he can be Max Storm.

He is a storm, plays like a little whirlwind out in the main rooms, running and jumping and acting nuts. But, come in here and he’s like a totally different cat… calmly explores every nook and cranny, curls up on this foot stool, sits on top of storage bins under the work table, and he’s got a favorite spot to nap in the closet where he can hide for hours while I’m busy doing whatever.

Oh yeah… he’ll be a good studio cat.

I really, really REALLY like my new work space. It’s not quite ready for prime time show & tell, but the vibes in here are great. I haven’t had a dedicated work room that felt this good since… well, I don’t know when.  Bringing in the computer, swapping chairs out, and placing that curb find table in just the right spot made a huge difference. I can actually work in here, write in here, and do what I want in here.

Yes, I’m amazed. For a minute there, when my daughter was using this room as Santa’s Closet with her online purchases being shipped to this house, I began to wonder if my so-called work room would end up becoming just another storage room. That’s what happened every time before.  I’ve set up rooms when I lived in Warren, Salem, and Struthers, but there was always something off. It didn’t feel right. Try as I might, I just couldn’t make myself do much of anything inside the designated room.

Maybe it’s because I’m older now… maybe it’s THIS space.

Maybe because I’ve taken my time setting it up, repainted the walls and everything, after packing up the vet’s stuff back in July. This was “our” bedroom and I couldn’t sleep in here anymore, woke up crying, bawling buckets every day. Now all those vibes are gone.

I’m down to organizing supplies, putting things away, and all those bins tucked under tables need sorted out. No rush… it will slowly get done.

I’ve started doing a “Weekly Pour” with liner notes on my other blog (ybworks.com) as I’m just learning how to do acrylic pours. I like abstracts, so it’s fun… I’m up to five practice pours on paper. The first was a total disaster, chopped the second one up, and the last three are still drying. Suppose I could post them here, too… maybe just the ones that turn out okay.

Like here’s Pour #2. I can’t tell if the photo is fuzzy or that’s just my eyes. This being half blind sucks, but I’m thinking acrylic pours is something I can do… tried painting something delicate with tiny brushes and most of my strokes landed in the air.  It gets frustrating but, oh well… try something new.

And, here’s how I chopped it up as 4 ACEO’s, one 5×5, a bookmark, and a cover.

Of course, I had to make a little 28 page book for that cover (shown on far right in above photo). It’s the perfect size for passwords, birth dates, phone numbers, and notes for old ladies like me who can never remember. I like to write on paper that feels good so I used 7 folios of 50 lb sketch paper pamphlet stitched to the blue card stock liner.

Yeah, I know… you are supposed to pour onto gallery stretched canvases, but I’m just learning how to control this flow stuff. Practicing on 140 lb cotton paper yielded a nice surprise…  it feels good dry, almost like a leather. I’m very happy with my little book. It makes me want to make more.

Well, ornery got up where he’s not supposed to be… thank goodness that mat is dry. Guess I should get busy and get my mess cleaned up.  Sooner or later, it will all be neatly organized, too.

Thanks for reading!

Touch Points

Woke up in the wee hours and laid there thinking about touch points… the little comforts of skin to skin… the way his foot tends to feel for me in his sleep until a toe just touches my leg; but, sometimes his foot will linger, like when he gently cupped my bent knee with the insole of his foot. Or, how his bum always wiggles up to touch my belly when we spoon with space between us. And how my fingers inadvertently touch his fingers when I stretch in my sleep and reach for one of the iron rails of the headboard only to discover that his hand is already wrapped around the same post.

I was thinking about how each little touch arouses me and comforts me in that twilight moment between half awake and half asleep before drifting out again. I was feeling fuzzy warm about our relationship, smiling to myself, and thinking of how nice it is to share a bed with this man. And then he rolls over with that fucking pillow, hugging it like a teddy bear squished in between us, and I cannot tolerate that damn thing touching me.

There is something about a pillow touching the small of my back or pushed up against my belly that makes my skin crawl. I can’t stand it. I have to get away. Sometimes, there is not enough space on the bed to distance myself far enough away from that pillow so it does not touch me.

Any effort to remove the pillow will rudely awaken him akin to snatching a bottle from a hungry baby. Nah, it is more like poking a hibernating bear. The resulting pillow fight would not be playful. It is best just to exit the room until he rolls back over, taking the offensive pillow with him.

So, that’s why I was up in the wee hours, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes in the kitchen, typing the draft of this via one finger taps on my phone.

I can’t explain why it bothers me so much. It is not the texture as the pillow is identical to one of my own and all our pillowcases and sheets are made of soothing cotton fabric. Perhaps feeling that pillow triggers some kind of body memory as it jerks me instantly awake and it always takes a while before the repulsion fades. I’ve racked my mind for clues, but my brain will not release any bad memories involving pillows.

An hour or so later, still before the light of dawn, I slipped back into bed.  He had rolled with his back towards me, but was still hugging his pretend teddy bear. I didn’t want him to roll back over with it, so I was careful not to touch him. I had snuggled in, got myself all comfy and warm curled up with my back to his back with space between us, when his foot found me. I drifted off to sleep listening to the sound of his soft snores while his heel rested in the curve of the instep of my sole.

Awe, the sweet comfort of his gentle touch.

 

MANY HOURS LATER:  I know what it is… I can’t stand the pillow touching me when he is breathing near me at the same time. Therein hides the memories. It’s not about pillows. It’s about teddy bears and the child I used to be so long ago silently whispering her own little #metoo.

 

ART PLUG: “Calm Sky” is available for purchase at http://webstore.com/id=82405180