Day 317

I took some time for quiet. I looked around from a mountain. The mountain made me not much bigger than a mote, relatively.

I gave my attention to the wind, which took it playfully and carried it off to the clouds.

I studied the remains of things that once were very much alive and that now are art, shaped by time and the elements.

I studied them closely and found worlds there as large as the sky, full of detail, at least at this proximity.

Way up here, troubles have small voices. Up here, the invisible can be visible. It can fill our vision if we allow it.

All of this I took inside and, wrapped in the gracious hospitality of my good friend, I worked it in pencils, wood and clay.

It's sound and sane to embrace quiet. It allows things to fall silently into their places, where they make more sense.

It was a good place from which to approach Halloween. I came back down the hill and celebrated with children and candy, with greetings to others in masks. I celebrated also in a quiet inner place, where Halloween feels right and real.

Hope yours was good.

Day 314

I've stepped away, into higher elevations and lower temperatures. A change of scenery does a world of good. The high desert is beautiful and I'm finding inspiration everywhere I turn. When I get back, I'll share some of it with you.

Your artist is taking a rest and a deep breath of fresh air.

Day 313

Sunrise. Not nearly enough sleep. I stayed up way too late editing photos from the festival. Shouldn't have had coffee after six, but I did.

The alarm goes off and I recognize that raw feeling. I know the drill. Break it down into bits. It's cold in the house, so robe. And coffee. Yes, I know. Too much coffee. Can't fix everything at once.

For the moment, it will get me through. Then a PTG meeting and after, end of session awards program.

I'm going to be making some small prints and notecards available. I've been gathering them for a book, but I can't make that happen just yet. I don't know how many people still send physical notes, but I really like paper, textures and small bits of art. Was thinking to use images from larger work as well. I'll put them out and see what sort of feedback I get. I'd welcome your suggestions. Some of the images I'm considering are on the page. Let me know if there's something you remember and would like to see again.

I've amassed images from over twenty years of art.

It's like time travel.

I'm heading into the day. Hope your's is good.

Day 312

Thank you for yesterday.

Fell asleep listening to Mushi Shi. If you don't know it, you might want to.



This morning, sure enough, sunlight paints the view outside my windows. Color magic. I like the grey too. Dusk and Dawn are my favorite times of day. I've painted Dawn. I imagine Dusk will come in its own time.

Still, I don't plan to wait for inspiration to come to me today. I'm going looking..never mind, she's already arrived.
Whatever happens, I'll do my best to step over it to keep pace with her. It's the least I can do to show my appreciation.

Hope she comes to you when you call.

Day 311

Sigh.

Spencer, Stop commenting here. It serves no one. If you're doing so to embarrass me, you've succeeded. You say the people who'll read this aren't my 'real' friends. I had an exchange with one of them today. She's real to me. She's not words on a page. She has a life and troubles of her own. I haven't met her "in person."

Technology is forcing us to redefine many things, including art, books, friendship and conversation. Eventually, we'll have to redefine what is human. You know this. The last three years have been really difficult. The last one in particular. You know this too. I don't know what I would've done without these friends. If that's not real, I don't know what is.

That said, here we are, in this space with these friends. Let's get to it then, shall we? Here we are, airing it out in their presence. Great. Well, they seem pretty damned real to me at the moment. I'm embarrassed. Yup. I'm just loving this. Spencer, the difference between you and me is that I don't attack your character in front of your family or your friends. Your dark secrets are safe with me. They always were. We didn't make it. It didn't work. It hurt. We have two different versions that don't agree. Instead, let's call it and move on. No one is a victim. You have no claim on me.

Of course, there's this bit:

The things you left here, you dumped in my front yard as I yelled at you to stop. I gave you three weeks to make arrangements to have someone pick them up. I don't know what your circumstances were, but I know you went surfing in Malibu. I held on to the things I thought meant the most to you. They're still available for someone else to get for you, but not for much longer. I'm not responsible for your things. I didn't throw them away, you did. This the sum and total of our unfinished business.

The best we can do is go forward and live the rest of our lives, finding what happiness we can. Either way, it will all go by really, really fast. I like to think that time isn't real and that somewhere we're laughing about being human. You and me and all those other humans we know. I didn't say I quite believe it, but I sure do like to imagine it. Silly humans. In that elsewhere, we understand how tiny all this is.

But we're in this here and now. You dumped your things on my lawn. You refused to remove them. You came to my home and destroyed my property. Then you invaded this space with negative comments. Did I mention WTF?

I'm very much homo sapiens. And all that goes with. You said all you want is closure. Here it is. Stay the hell off my lawn. I won't address you again. You can count on that too. I will, however, defend my space. All of it.

To all of you, tomorrow is another day. G'night

Day 310

Today is another day. Day 310 of the 365. I'm closing in on this year. Encapsulated, it's a colorful gem. You have one too. When I started at Day 1, I didn't know at all what the rest of the days would hold. Some were real surprises. But I'm not done yet. I'm going to see the year through, then there will be something else. I haven't read back through the entries yet. I suspect that will need a glass of wine, or three. Or maybe I'll not try to sum it up other than to say I'm grateful for the experience. That one, I can be sure of. Dark and light, I love life.

No hint of the sun yet. Orion is still sleeping. Bilbo's found a tidbit and is batting it around.

Today is another day. Let's go see what this one's about.

Mine begins with studies of Old Souls.

Hope yours is good.

Day 306

Poppet is murdered.


Last night was the school's fall festival. Yesterday was full of errands in preparation. This time, I was gone for inside of an hour. I returned to find her lying on the ground, her shattered wand thrown into the street. She lay in the sunlight, in a litter of smashed pots and cigarette butts.
The gate was kicked open, the small lock broken. Around the house were angry stories---vines torn from the windows, the grill tumbled on its side, other pieces broken. There were no signs of attempts to enter the house. This house can't be entered so easily. At least there's that.
But Poppet lay brutally broken. This was personal.
I know who did this. Breaking up is hard to do, the song says. Breaking up with an unstable person can be dangerous. I've learned that most creative people have oddities. That seems to go with the territory. But some of those people have oddities that run deep. They aren't revealed until they have no more reason to hide them. I've acquired a new phone, changed my other numbers, secured my house.
His oddities include violently blaming others for troubles he created. Now it appears to be my turn to shoulder this blame. In his heart of hearts, I'm not the one he's angry at. This is the stuff at the center of many stories of demons and monsters. A human at war with himself.
And now poor poppet is murdered.

Be careful, dear readers, whom you let into your lives. Some things cannot be uncovered even with background checking. They must be found by other methods, beginning with looking past the glamour of love. I saw signs. In retrospect, I see they were flashing neon ones. I rationalized past them. It's me, after all. Things are different with me. Yes, be careful. Otherwise you'll be where I am now, deeply shamed for my gullibility, blaming myself for someone else's actions.
Or worse.
Poor Poppet.
I carried her back to the spot where she'd stood under the trees and laid her gently down. Her spirit very likely still lives and now I must create a new place for it and see if it moves in.

Take care. Really, take care.

Day 303

I'm up in the semi-darkness. It drains the balls in the pool of their color, so they look like strange guardians sliding over the surface. Watching, searching.
Another six a.m. morning, dragging myself up after having stayed up too late working. School will be off track for November. I'll sleep then. The sounds of the coffee maker tell me it's nearly done. That last gurgle and hiss was close enough to Pavlov's bells. I'm an addict.
It's worth it to me, to have this quiet time before I wake Orion and begin this day. I outlined it last night, as I nearly always do, in a list of reminders and plans. I have work to do for the school's fall festival. It's the people who are already too busy who seem to get things done. I see it on their faces. The committee could use some sleep too.
I smell the coffee. I wonder where I'll find inspiration today. Possibly I should take Jack London's words to heart and 'go after it with a club.' The balls glide past, one, two...three, and off again, caught in the current. They're just toys after all. If I'm seeing them as dark sentinels, possibly I won't need the club today.
It's dawn. Here comes the light and color and birdsong. Just like that.

Hope your day is inspired.

Day 298

I went to sleep at midnight, having stayed awake long enough to put clothes in the dryer and cobble together the bones of another chapter. The moon was bright and round. I wished it a good night.




When the alarm went off at six I hit the snooze and got up anyway. Orion was there beside me, having come in around three. Bad dreams. I waded blearily through a pool of hungry cats to the coffee maker and stepped outside to dispose of the grounds. The moon was bright and round. I wished it a good morning.



I roused Orion with waffles from the toaster and strawberry milk from Nestle. Everyone in my generation knows how to spell 'Nestle.' It's that song. Like the other name my b o l o g n a has.


My heels clicked across the floor. It's a sound I'm getting used to. I've worn stockings more often in the past two months than in the past two years. There's the business of life and the business of art. Both require armour. Sometimes the armour is heels, jewelry and makeup. Remember this one girls-- that makeup isn't about beauty. You're very likely more beautiful without it. Makeup is about power.

I'm off to a PTG meeting at school, but dressed for court, which I'll head to after. The meeting is to plan the October festival. Court is for Pete and me to clean up the mess we made three years ago. It's all good stuff. It all requires energy, and sometimes, heels.

I spritz on a bit of Ralph Lauren, feeling very polished indeed. Not to last overly long--as I'm opening the first can of Flavorful Salmon and Rice, I get a spritz of Flavorful Salmon and Rice juice. Oh good. Now I'm ready to face the world.


I'll be in charge of the photo booth for the festival. Now to decide what sort of image I'll make with holes for fresh little faces. The first ideas to come to mind delight me, but would be sure to make parents unhappy and me no longer welcome at PTG. So to find a balance of sweet and funny. I'll have to leave creepy at home for this one.

In court I had two interesting talks with the DA, who looks distractingly like actor John Hamm. Eye to eye, there was that moment when I knew that he knew that I knew what his concerns really were. We had an understanding. It was a good moment. All in all things went well. We have peace, and two parents choosing the higher road. This is good. Respect can be resurrected from these sorts of efforts.

After was a lovely dinner with my friend Paul. And wine with James Burke explaining how human inventions are connected. He speaks from decades ago, wearing a leisure suit that was in high fashion at the time. His dimples are timeless. Technology allows us this time travel and the programs are as relevant and entertaining as they were then. It's good to feed the brain.

Finally I feed the wild bunch and go outside to enjoy the desert air. The moon is bright and beautiful and I wish it a good night.

That was my Friday. Hope yours was good.

Day 296

It's early morning. Soon the light will come sliding down the backyard fence. The autumn weather of last week is gone. This week reminds us that the desert is still in charge. For now.

I'm working, working, working. Little time to manage other things. I'm grateful for the help of friends.

October is here. I hear her whisper, just softly. Perhaps she knows I'm tired and in need of more sleep than I'm getting. I'll need it too, because soon enough she'll not be whispering, she'll be yelling. She'll want me to run with her and I know I will, to wherever she takes me.

I've been thinking a lot about early humans. Their lives were very different from ours, but there's every reason to believe they felt the change of seasons, laughed at each other, played with toys. Possibly I'm trying to find a connection from there to the human connected to its devices. Possibly I'm sensing that the definition of what it is to be human is going to change, sooner than later.

That wouldn't be so off the mark. Artists throughout history have predicted things to come. I could write pages and pages on that. But I'll leave that work to Leonard Shlain and others. My work is to make art.

I've begun to put art up on Ebay and new pieces for October in the Etsy store. POPPETSLIKEBRAINS is the coupon code. I have to find homes for this work and funds so I can keep doing what I do. Please pass this on to anyone you think might be interested. I'll take all help offered. I thank all of you who adopt poppets and art. What would I do without you? I don't even want to think about that one.

That said. Go outside today. What do you see? Is it rolling hills, a city street? Look way back to what it was before. Look way forward to what it might be in the future. Who will we be? What will we be? And around again, to where we came from. Primitive human was intelligent, inventive and as real as you and me. If I see creatures in bones, you can bet they did too.

Think about it. It's like time travel. It can be full of inspiration for your day, which I hope is a good one.

Day 292

Little Pink and Bunny had a windy day.




I had an inside day, working and listening to music. Here we go into a weekend. Today Orion didn't wear shorts to school.
October is good.

Day 291

Just when I said I should at least show up, I didn't. It's not that I don't think about showing up. Of course I do, usually when my hands are dirty with the dirty work of sculpting, or I'm in the car doing the driving work of a mom.
I'm in survival mode. I wonder how well I'm doing, because sometimes I think I'm not doing it at all. I wonder how other single mom/artist types are getting along. I'm guessing if they're out there (and I'd assume they are) they're sort of like me and don't spend the time to seek each other out.
If you're struggling, tell me how you're doing it. I'd like to know more about the company I'm in. It's difficult enough to be an artist. More so in a time when art gets usurped by the immediacy of other concerns. We must step back, we artists (and writers too) and look at our collective long term contributions to this human experience. We may not feel very needed right now, but we are. Don't think for one minute that we're not.

That said, there have been good moments. There are always good moments, even when things are difficult. It serves us well to focus on those and on other people. Eventually, some day in the future, today may make a bit more sense.

On Wednesday, Orion and I got up early, watched the sunrise together in the chilly morning air and joined his fellow students, teachers, parents and city officials for our Walk to School Wednesday.
On Tuesday before that, we jumped into the pool and climbed out as quickly as possible. What a difference a week of cooler weather can make! We stuffed ourselves into neoprene and tried it again with more success.
I'm adjusting to life without Aubrey here. Not only do I miss her company but I miss all her help with Poppet Planet. I haven't decided how to fill the gap yet. In the meantime I'm getting a bit of help from friends here and there. She posted some lovely photos on facebook of herself and Jordan at a lake. It looked chilly, green and beautiful there.

It's very easy to get discouraged, especially after a week of getting up too early and working too late. But when I got in tonight there was a box waiting by my front door. I saw David Kirkpatrick's name on the return and a little spark went off in my brain. I haven't opened it yet, but I know it contains bits of laboratory discards. They'll be packed in protective material, and secreting inspirations and little stories.

I want to be done surviving. I want to disappear into other places and bring back stories. But it's not my time, not just yet. Just like it may not be yours. Don't give up. When the time comes, it will be all the better for the wait. I didn't make this up. It's just the way it works. Trick is, to believe it now. In the meantime, don't forget to laugh. Silly humans.

Is this reason, or faith? Talk to me.

Day 283

Aubrey has officially and literally flown the coup for new adventures in other lattitudes and time zones. She will, without a doubt, create wonder wherever she goes. She is Aubrey, Fair-Haired Ruler of the Elves. And all that goes with.



And here, her magic lingers though we miss her already.


g'night Aubrey. Tomorrow, wake up and fly.

Day 280

Eclectic

are my tastes. My life is mix of new and old, simple and ornate. Furnishings, clothing, art, books, music, friends and ideas came from discordant decades, styles and places.

What is it that ties these things together? How is it that they fit? Perhaps the connections can't be seen by others, though I'm told it's an interesting place to visit, full of subtle surprises. I see it very clearly, but I can't define it.
Over time, this life has translated itself into my work. My work is made of collections of oddments, bits and pieces in little cabinets. Nightmarish figures with bits of kindness, old bones in bright toy colors, dead insects wearing tutus and tuxedos.

I begin to understand the thread.
This is the good stuff. It's the kind of stuff that begins to happen after twenty years of studying a subject.

About that many years ago Harlan Ellison told me I was a true- to- life monomaniac. He was right. I don't have to tell Harlan he was right. He knew, even then. But I didn't. I didn't know what the word meant. Not twenty years ago.
All this time I've been looking at the absolute absurdity of being human through a specific lens. Through eyes distant and amused, kind and dangerous. I've been teaching myself a language I'm creating as I go.

Some of my earlier works have codes engraved or painted or sculpted into them. Other's have the cipher.
I've tended to amuse myself in odd ways...
It's like time travel.
(I've told you this before.)

Such discoveries are hard won. Possibly you've had some and you're smiling. Possibly you haven't yet. Not to worry. The difficult stuff is also the best stuff.

Tonight the desert is burning to the west of us. My son is safely asleep in his bed. Another Hellish Summer is over and it's time to laugh, seriously.
g'night

Day 274

Sitting here, starting to write, I realize I was so eager to get Red to her new owner that I forgot to finish her photographs. No matter, I'll catch the next incarnation.


This morning I was hardly aware of a deep rumbling before I became acutely aware of a great hissing, cat-wise. It was Soosi, behind me at the kitchen window, staring wild-eyed at the crane and cup of a tree trimming truck passing on the street behind our house. I can't imagine what was going on in her brain, but mortal fear was in every other cell of her body. I've never seen a cat in such full bloom. Her tail was huge--seen that before--but every hair on her head and body were standing at end. Her pupils were like olives. This was a cat staring Death in the face. Or at least Death's tree-trimming truck. I didn't dare touch her, but I kept repeating soothing things, it's alright, Soosi, you're okay, it won't hurt you. I could've said anything, I know. It's not the words, but the tone that matters. Presently, she...deflated. And that face on her! Just...hanging. I'm not exaggerating. I thought I'd cry. I spent the next twenty minutes holding her until finally she purred and fell asleep. I've never seen an animal so scared. I can't say I'd like to again.


The rest of the day was quietly productive. I had the great pleasure of hearing Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, uninterrupted. It never fails me. That particular work might be my constant. I first heard it when I was no more than six. When I hear it, when I listen, there is no time.

I'm the last one awake now, Orion and kitties all snoring together, including Soosi.


Hope your day was good.


g'night

Day 269

Here's where I left off with "Red."























Skin is made of a lot of different colors. I make a palette of antique white, canyon orange, king's gold, white, red and even a bit of navy. I use a soft brush and stipple until I'm happy with the results, both color and texture.

Blocked in the mouth and tattoo.

Softening and cleaning up between lines where colors meet.

Gaining on it here. Still a bit of detailing and clean up, but she's starting to gain some life.

The first wash of Alazaran Crimson over the red. It's still transparent enough to let the texture and color show through, but adds a great deal of richness to the red.

Have to use some restraint here. Too many layers will make the color opaque and the depth could be lost. Live and learn.

Lots of clouds and changing lights today. Loved it, but not so good for photographing. Will get her finished portrait up tomorrow. But I'll miss the clouds, for sure.

Kitties in late afternoon sunlight.

It seeks Bilbo out and changes him into a storybook kitty.

At least, I see it that way. Then, my vision is affected by love for both cat and sunlight.





Hope your night is good and you wake up ready to go again, dear human.

Day 268

This morning Orion and I woke at 4am to booming thunder and great, jagged columns of lightning. He climbed in with me and we watched for a while. It was an awesome and spectacular show. (I'm not one use the word 'awesome' lightly. When I use it, I refer to actual awe, you know, mouth opened, heart humbled awe.) The kitties joined us and soon it was just me watching, with boy and felines sleeping around me.
I enjoyed it as long as I could before drifting off again. When the alarm went off two hours later, rain was pouring and there were flash flood watches. I needed real coffee.
Red is finished and lovely and I'll get the photos up tomorrow. Tonight I'm going to sleep reading "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" by Robert M. Pirsig. It's a loan and I promised my friend I'd try not to drool on his copy. I'll do my best to get Little Pink between the pages and set it aside before my eyes close for the night. I wonder where I'll go when I sleep. I suppose I'll know when I get there.

g'night

Day 265

Painting "Red" today. (I'll be amazed if the captions line up with the photos. stoopid blogger.)

If not, I'll trust you to figure it out. I R sleepy.

After cleaning up the casting and sanding, a thin layer of black primer (spray) then a painted layer of acrylic after the primer's fully dried at least 24 hours.

First layer of drybrushing is very, very, very...dry. Drybrushing is a real discipline for me. It has to be done in layers to be done well. The first coat is a fine all over brushing. After that is a little less dry and, using a very flat brush, touching fewer hightlights. Easy to screw up. Lots of cussing.

Boys in the pool, me working outside. The poppet bird house is made by John Baucum. I'm hoping he'll make some for the Etsy store in the fall. It's held up wonderfully, even in this desert heat.

Full dry brush.

Back, fully dry-brushed.

Detail of drybrush. This is after several rounds of drybrushing, each lighter, touching fewer highlights than the previous. It's a subtle thing, but in the end, adds a luminosity that just isn't there without it.

I don't buy palettes or palette paper. I use old phone books for dry brushing and magazines for other painting. The pages are slicker and don't dry the paint. For dry brush, the newsprint leeching the water out is a benefit.

Red's a transparent color. I start with this bright red layer, undiluted but applied thinly so the lights and shadows of the drybrush show through.

Red dress. Stage the 1st. Sunlight is great for photographing such bright colors.

Self-snapshot of the artist, Saturday afternoon.
Tomorrow is the 10th anniversary of the events of 9/11/2001. I feel as I did on 9/11/2006:

I'm not a patriot. I'm a human being.

Tomorrow I'll finish up this piece and photo as I go. Please ask me anything about the painting process. Or anything else for that matter.

I hope you're sleeping well. I wish us all a good day.

g'night

Day 262

Let's think about color.

Once, many years ago and many miles from here, I was a student with little money and a budding aesthetic. I learned to dye natural fabrics with coffee, tea and certain dark vegetables. I learned that a set of mismatched solid and striped towels could be unified with an application of powdered dye in black, turning them into coordinating deeper shades of themselves with black flecks.

Probably should've been a clue to rethink that biology major.

Wasn't.

Possibly I found my palette there. Reds were deep, orange was burnt and yellow was gold. Purple became eggplant, Blue muted by winter, French and midnight. Green shades of sage, moss and Charleston. Rare touches of pink dampened into deeper shades found in varieties of flesh.

Possibly it goes way deeper.

It rained the other night and I turned everything off so I could listen to the sounds. As I lay there, Bilbo bit at my toes. I knew what he wanted. He wanted to ride. He climbed on and hung on tightly while I bounced my foot up and down, up and down. I imagined the spring-based tot rides at the park. How about a giant foot to bounce on? Bilbo is getting too big for this. Soon it won't work anymore.

I can no longer throw Orion in the pool.

In a way, it's like shrinking.

But I was talking about color. As I lay there listening to thunder and bouncing Bilbo I looked at the art on my walls. My work and that of others, all in the palette I'm drawn to. The same colors that followed me to and from all the places I've lived.

My furnishings fall within these shades.

As do the clothes in my closet.

Basic colors with undertones of black. It makes perfect sense for me.

Shades, not tints. Is my palette made up of ghosts of other colors?

Children ask each other, "What's your favorite color?" It is, after all, a completely logical question.

What's your favorite color then, and why might that be? Let's talk about color.

Day 261

September 6th. Labor Day has come and gone, signaling the end of summer. Or, at least the end of white shoes. As if. I'm calling it anyway. End of summer. Because of all the suckass summers I've spent in this desert, this was the suckassiest. I curled myself up into a little ball. Then I rolled on the floor. Back and forth, up and down, side to side, for a few months. It sort of feels that way. But I figured some things out too. Some of the things I figured out were worth the effort.
Possibly it's time to let Poppet do the talking. I'm preoccupied, thinking, which is significantly better than rolling.

Summer is over for me because I say it is. I'm not up, but awake, before the alarm.