Happy Birthday Little One

My oldest daughter is turning 9 this week. When she was 7, I promised her I would redecorate her room for her 9th birthday. I'm sure that was only 4 weeks ago! (my perception of time frightens me). She wants her room painted bright pink, orange and lime green. I'm devising some kind of eye protection, surely my retinas will burn during this project.

She also has this new chair which she has decided to live in for the past 2 days.

As she rolled down the hall, she shouted,"Look mom! I never have to use my legs again. I can just wheel EVERYWHERE!"

I may have to install a safety bar beside the toilet after her legs atrophy.

I chose the above baby picture because it's cute (but as her mother I'm sure I can objectively say every picture of her is just so cute and beautiful) and, doesn't her sun hat put on backwards make her look like a baby Storm Tropper? Appropriate as dad is a bit of a Star Wars fanatic. And related to this, here is someone who had put their Storm Tropper collection to good comedic use.

Now I'm off to bed to get ready for that big painting project tomorrow. G'night

More Traveling Sketchbook

"The Pearl"

This is my contribution to Katie's traveling sketchbook. I'm a bit late in posting this, it's been sent off to Australia and I'm in the midst of working on Dinah's now. If you double click on the image, it becomes actual size. Katie, an artist who works with stained and fused glass, painted a vibrant, geometric, abstract design on hers and added stamping and string. I'm kicking myself for not taking a picture but you can see it here.

My youngest daughter enthusiastically posed for me for this illustration. I'm working on another illustration with my older, 8 year old daughter, but she keeps trying to negotiate some form of payment, "A dollar a minute mom, so for every 5 minutes I pose, you give me 5 bucks okay?" The big payout of course, didn't happen, but I admire her audacity. She has all the makings of a lawyer or politician (god forbid).

Blogging Intermission

My sleepy, uneventful summer suddenly became busy with a camping vacation and lots of outdoor day trips around Vancouver. The computer was mostly forgotten. I'm still not quite 'back' mentally, so forgive me for all the unanswered emails or blogs I haven't visited lately.

Yesterday I was back at White Rock. The air was balmy and the ocean felt like bath water, it was so relaxing. I realize I've become pretty attached to this place. Now if I just had about a million dollars, I could buy myself a little ocean front condo to breath in this air every weekend.

I spotted this 'dog' walking by with it's owner.

It may not be so recognizable in this picture, but seeing him in person you can tell this dog is mostly a wolf. I stopped the owner to ask for sure and she said he was a rescued dog and yes, mostly wolf, a little bit husky. When I asked to take a picture, she noticed the book I was reading about crows and ravens and said it was a great book. She happens to be a zoologist and had read the book. Ravens and wolves have always been associated with each other as the ravens follow wolves to get food from a successful wolf hunt. A chance meeting with a zoologist and her pet 'wolf' who has read the same obscure book on crows and ravens as I had in my hand, it gave me some kind of fleeting 'geek' high. Sometimes it's a small, synchronous, connected little world in which we live.

I also noticed this shoe along the shoreline, luckily no foot inside.

Cowboys in Suburbia

Off the top of my head, I can think of 3 words that would make me flee-

1) Fire!
2) Bomb!
3) Rodeo!

And rodeo it was last weekend. As much as I wanted to run away, I stubbornly stayed put, because having wasted that much money on admission, overpriced toxic food and carnival games, I was damn well going to see more than sheep and goats looking bored in barns (note to self: do not wear sandals to these events, hence the squishy stuff on the bottom of them).

We didn't last more than 15 minutes into the rodeo. When it comes to cowboys, I've discovered I'm not the only one with this aversion, at the very least, people don't seem to like hearing songs about them. Dave Soldier composed "The Most Unwanted Song" based on a poll of over 500 Americans. He concluded:

The most unwanted music is over 25 minutes long, veers wildly between loud and quiet sections, between fast and slow tempos, and features timbres of extremely high and low pitch, with each dichotomy presented in abrupt transition. The most unwanted orchestra was determined to be large, and features the accordion and bagpipe (which tie at 13% as the most unwanted instrument), banjo, flute, tuba, harp, organ, synthesizer (the only instrument that appears in both the most wanted and most unwanted ensembles). An operatic soprano raps and sings atonal music, advertising jingles, political slogans, and "elevator" music, and a children's choir sings jingles and holiday songs. The most unwanted subjects for lyrics are cowboys and holidays, and the most unwanted listening circumstances are involuntary exposure to commercials and elevator music. Therefore, it can be shown that if there is no covariance—someone who dislikes bagpipes is as likely to hate elevator music as someone who despises the organ, for example—fewer than 200 individuals of the world's total population would enjoy this piece.

I challenge you to listen to it here. It won't be on any of my playlists but I appreciate the concept, absurd and ridiculous, words I relish.

If the world doesn't like cowboy lyrics, they must like cowboy photography. This photograph by Richard Prince sold for $1,280,000.

This print is "re-photography", appropriated from the Marlboro Man advertising. It's not so much about cowboys as it about pop culture and iconic images in American culture.

Now that you've had your fill of Cowboy conceptual art, I reckon this little lady better git herself some shut eye. I'm plum tuckered out. Before I do, if you want to insult some one in Old West slang, you can find what you need here. I think my favorite is, "His mustache smelled like a mildewed saddle blanket after it had been rid on a soreback hoss three hundred miles in August". Having been away from the internet for a while, I realize after coming back, I've gone a little crazy web surfing. I'm pretty sure I'll never look for another cowboy related link again. Later partner...

Yes, but is it art?

I'm limiting my computer time for a little while. I'm trying to enjoy the summer weather, because in British Columbia, you must absorb and store as much sun in your system as you can to prepare you for the 289 freakin' straight days of rain that begin in the fall. I'll be back more frequently to the blog world soon.

I've also been working on a lot of small format art pieces. Whenever I immerse myself intensely in art, I annoy myself by asking the same question, why does the art I admire and want to talk about, not the art I want to make or to own? I think I'm finally getting over myself and lightening up. And in that lighter tone, here's a hilarious scene from Absolutely Fabulous, when Edina (Jennifer Saunders) decides she needs to leave a legacy by investing in 'Art' after her father dies.

On Aging

My skin care routine consists of soap and whatever else I nab from hotel rooms. The extras don't happen very often as I don't go anywhere. So I'm coveting these from my last hotel stay. They look almost identical don't they? I've just discovered I've accidentally been putting hair conditioner on my face this past week, which would explain the weird breakout I have on my cheeks. Why bring up this mildly embarrassing piece of trivia? Because I can. Because at 41, I just don't care.

Here is my pseudo-scientific theory of aging. Since most physical aspects of aging suck - the sags, wrinkles, weight gain, aches, pains, etc., mother nature has left us one aging grace - mild oblivion. I'm convinced some of the brain cells that die off with age are the ones responsible for excessive self-consciousness and anxiety. We mellow. Which explains why parents are an embarrassment to their teenage children and are usually fine with being told so and old people talk excessively to cashiers. You just don't give a sh*t what people think of you so much anymore.

At 21, I wanted to do great things, change the world and I passionately hated and loved everything. I thought I would die of a broken heart because of a rocky relationship. I believed I was so utterly unique and unusual that there could be no one on the planet who could truly understand me.

Now I know, everyone questions themselves at times, life is never certain and even though the degrees vary, everyone feels the same emotions. A friend said to me, 'everyone is just assembling'. We piece a life together from fragments that fit us comfortably. Some seem to do it easier than others, some struggle a bit more, but it's all just one beautiful, crazy journey and when you age, it gets easier to settle in for the ride.

In the words of Jack Handy, ""If you ever go temporarily insane, don't shoot somebody, like a lot of people do. Instead, try to get some weeding done, because you'd really be surprised."

Yep, that's mellowing.

Using Mistakes

"Old World Dreams"

Ellen Sereda

Yesterday, I was working on a new drawing that was wasn't going well. As it was ink on bristol, I couldn't fix it, so I cut out the part I liked, the crow, and made it into something new. I also was going insane with all the fussy realism and I wanted to loosen up. I slathered some ivory paint on a wood panel and scratched out the first image that came in my mind, a loose interpretation of Tallinn, Estonia. I had a dream I went back there and it was magical. I love doing stream of consciousnesses artwork, it feels so liberating.

Traveling Sketchbook

"Homecoming"

Ellen Sereda

Dinah has arranged a sketchbook exchange, and here's my 1st sketch on it's way to Brigette in Australia. A crow, of course, but look a snail too, I do like my references to be close by. I was going to draw a slug, but they grow jumbo size here in BC and frankly, I find them scary.

Cleaning and Dumb Blondes

A 1950's prediction of cleaning made simple in the year 2000. If you take away the tiny girdled waist, coiffed hair and replace the pleasant expression with one of manic fury, that's me!

I hosed out my polypropylene rug yesterday and am cleaning and organizing terminator style. I'm doing it all not because I love the joyful upkeep of my house but when finely tuned systems are in place, like using my kids as free labour, uh...I mean, delegating more age appropriate responsibilities to my children, I can do more art. I'm determined to fit at least 4 hours of studio time in a day this summer (broken up time it'll have to be). I think that's realistic, but anyone out there with advice for balancing the creative with the domestic, please speak up!

Here are more retro images of domestic bliss. I was too young for this ad, but I do have a faint memory of going to the grocery store and seeing coloured toilet paper.

And remember when luxury was a good slab of meat?

Things have changed, although now that my daughters are entering an age when being pretty = popular, I need to remind them that they are more important things,like brains. Check out these dumb blond commercials.