mixed media painting and thoughts on stuff.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
MADusa
Oil bar on canvas primed with grounding medium, used some brushes and paddles. Totally screwed one up before this, learn, learn, learn. Don't give up.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Mighty Meg
Oil bar on watercolor paper. Struggle too much tack. Want to try a subrate that I can scrape off but will not becompletely without absorbtion. Straight canvas no good too slippery. Getting closer with these sticks but they're still tough to work with. Little brush gets detail, But complexion gets muddied. Started with underlay of blending stick, flesh tone and white to where areas are raised. Added in shadows, lot of scraping back and forth. Tough, but want to learn. Stubborn.
Monday, October 25, 2010
oil bar portrait
oil sticks are tricky. But they are fun, but the right surface makes all the difference I think. She was kind of a quick sketch, but I had fun with it.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
New Blog
Hey friends, fellow artists and bloggers. I'm starting a new one It's called Mistakes not Withstanding. www.mistakesnotwithstanding.blogspot.com. Check it out if you get a chance.
I'll paint tomorrow I hope...
I'll paint tomorrow I hope...
Monday, October 11, 2010
Typically, I hate rain.
It makes the sky look like an iron shell threatening to crash down on me at any moment.
It also makes my wavy hair frizz in a profoundly unflattering manner. In darker moments, I wonder if God isn't weeping.
Yes, it can get that gloomy sometimes.
But there was good rain. And I'm not talking about the rain that the terminally cheerful among us proclaim "yes, but we need it, think of the crops!" I live in a fairly urban area--there are no crops that I can rally, and even if there were, the eco-system does not need me to cheer it on. It's far bigger than I, and one of the very few things I will stubbornly admit is out of my control.
But, I remember warm summer rain from when I was a kid. When as a child one could go out and run in it, let it soak your skin, and yes laugh. I remember the beauty of watching the water collect and braid down sewer drains, the iridescent rainbows made from gasoline leaks on the roads. The joyful splash of a gigantic puddle. We greeted the rain with a joyful, lusty response, we met it head on, and challenged it.
So maybe it isn't just the rain. It's our learned mature, adult fear and aversion to it. As adults we cower from it. Hide beneath our umbrellas, run from our cars to shelter as quickly as possible.
We would certainly not linger in it, let it fall on our face, or leap like a half crazed lunatic into a giant puddle.
In my case, any and all observers of this behavior would simply nod in a collective affirmation of a long presumed opinion: "She is just odd."
But what would they really see-- defiance, a pursuit of joy, and wonder?
And would I be brave enough to be that odd, to find that long lost kid who just didn't care. Instead of the adult who has long since put away notions of embracing happiness wherever and whenever one finds it.
Even if it's just warm, soft drops of water on one's face.
It makes the sky look like an iron shell threatening to crash down on me at any moment.
It also makes my wavy hair frizz in a profoundly unflattering manner. In darker moments, I wonder if God isn't weeping.
Yes, it can get that gloomy sometimes.
But there was good rain. And I'm not talking about the rain that the terminally cheerful among us proclaim "yes, but we need it, think of the crops!" I live in a fairly urban area--there are no crops that I can rally, and even if there were, the eco-system does not need me to cheer it on. It's far bigger than I, and one of the very few things I will stubbornly admit is out of my control.
But, I remember warm summer rain from when I was a kid. When as a child one could go out and run in it, let it soak your skin, and yes laugh. I remember the beauty of watching the water collect and braid down sewer drains, the iridescent rainbows made from gasoline leaks on the roads. The joyful splash of a gigantic puddle. We greeted the rain with a joyful, lusty response, we met it head on, and challenged it.
So maybe it isn't just the rain. It's our learned mature, adult fear and aversion to it. As adults we cower from it. Hide beneath our umbrellas, run from our cars to shelter as quickly as possible.
We would certainly not linger in it, let it fall on our face, or leap like a half crazed lunatic into a giant puddle.
In my case, any and all observers of this behavior would simply nod in a collective affirmation of a long presumed opinion: "She is just odd."
But what would they really see-- defiance, a pursuit of joy, and wonder?
And would I be brave enough to be that odd, to find that long lost kid who just didn't care. Instead of the adult who has long since put away notions of embracing happiness wherever and whenever one finds it.
Even if it's just warm, soft drops of water on one's face.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
still....trying....
that's me in the corner, that's me in the spotlight, losing my religion.
Trying to keep up with you, and I don't know if I can do it.
Oh no, I've said too much, I haven't said enough.--REM
What can I say they speak to me....especially lately....I cannot verbalize the feeling of estrangement from life as I knew it sometimes. I feel that I am crossing a shaky bridge ready to give way at any step. Yet if I make it, things will be good....So I persevere....sometimes angrily, sometimes resignedly.
trying
don't fall on me....
I am so drawn to the beauty of the lyric. The anguish I hear in the music draws me in so deeply. I wonder how in their depressed state with their lyrics they create beauty. These lyrics have been my background, my soundtrack....don't fall on me. I struggle to create, when all I want to do is sit in bed and read fantasy, because reality has become so oppressive. I push myself, and my music stays at my side, holding my hand, guiding me, leading me. I am thankful...
buy the sky, and sell the sky, and lift your arms up to the sky, and ask the sky and tell the sky...don't fall on me....
--REM
I am so drawn to the beauty of the lyric. The anguish I hear in the music draws me in so deeply. I wonder how in their depressed state with their lyrics they create beauty. These lyrics have been my background, my soundtrack....don't fall on me. I struggle to create, when all I want to do is sit in bed and read fantasy, because reality has become so oppressive. I push myself, and my music stays at my side, holding my hand, guiding me, leading me. I am thankful...
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