On Hiatus 

I am taking a break from blogging in order to get my company up and running. Visit Mezzo Art + Design at mezzoartanddesign.com

to see all of my creations.

R E F L E C T I O N 

It's a Dog's Life

I feel like a dog.

I'm packing seven years of life into one. 

I can't keep up with the pace. 

I can't get time for my paintings. 

So what does an artist do when overwhelmed by a million adult responsibilities? Take a day off to visit a friend of course! And it was there, at my friend Jen's house, that I met her dog, Roxy.

Jen rescued this English setter on a parkway. Abandoned without a collar and dangerously close to traffic, she caught Jen's eye. Dirty and matted, Roxy was welcomed into Jen's car and became part of the family.

Since I last visited Jen, she changed homes, got a pickup truck, and added Roxy to the family. As the GPS led me up her new driveway, I was greeted by a barking dog and I wondered if I had the wrong address. "Do you have a dog???" I texted her from my car, afraid to get out and engage with a strange animal. Jen's blonde head popped out the front door assuring me that all was well. She introduced me to Roxy and I fell in love with this old soul.

I was struck by her giraffe-like freckles... 

 and the joy in her whipping tail.

Roxy welcomed my attention and I felt a sense of peace as I pet her silky head. As Jen and I laughed and chatted as old friends do, Roxy slept peacefully by our sides. She reminded me to be content with the simple things and to be present in the moment — even if you are living seven years in one. Thanks Roxy!

R E F L E C T I O N 

Tongue-tied

I have not completed my first Oneliner painting. I'm stuck. 

The best thing is to move on to my second painting. 

I find it helpful to have several paintings going at once.

Prepping the Transfer

This one is called, "Tongue-tied." It's how I feel many times, especially when I am upset. I need time to think before I speak — something we are encouraged to do — but by the time I have considered a thoughtful response, the culprit is usually long gone.

First Layer

Painting with Transfer

R E F L E C T I O N 

Mother, May I?

Do you remember playing the game, "Mother, May I?"

I used to play this as a child. One person was "mother" and the rest of us lined up a distance away. We would say things like, "I would like to take three giant steps. Mother, may I?" Mother would then say yes, no, or "no — but...you can take three baby steps." This would go on until someone made it across the finish line. Such a silly game, which often ended up in an argument. My favorite ones were the umbrella steps which involved placing your hand on your head and spinning with each step. I loved to spin.

Now I am really "mother" and some weeks I can only allow my art to take baby steps. I did these sketches in 15 minutes while waiting for the dermatologist. That is the only way I can fit art into a life going at warp speed. I don't have a fancy studio with assistants. It's just me. 

Next week I would like my art to take giant steps. Mother, may I?

Madame Librarian

Bedhead

His Sunglasses

Her Sunglasses

Scary Lady with Lipstick on Her Teeth

A Lot on My Mind

The Bad Haircut

R E F L E C T I O N 

Distorted Reality

Are distortions of original art original art in themselves? 

I have been struggling to find the right form for my One Liner sketches. I've drawn, transferred, and painted, but I find my photographs of the drawings, transfers, and paintings more interesting. Distortions of reality. But where does that leave me?

R E F L E C T I O N 

Who stepped on a crack?!!

"Step on a crack, break your mother's back." 

My mother has a broken back. Her L1 vertebrae is cracked straight through resulting in 2 months of agony. So I ask? Who stepped on a crack?! I am one of 4 children, so someone is responsible!

I used to mumble this phrase to myself as my skinny legs jumped and skipped along the concrete boundaries of my youth. It was a fun little game tinged with fear. If I CHOSE to step on a crack, harnessing my free will, would it really have the power to hurt my mother — the person on whom my very existence relied? Heavy thoughts for a 5 year old. Yes, even then, I struggled with adult-sized neurosis.

The internet will tell you that this phrase dates back to the 19th century. Some say its origins are steeped in racism and that the line "break your mother's back" used to be "turn your mother black". I was sad to read that. Another thought was that is was from a poem by A.A. Milne called "Lines and Squares" in which a step on a crack resulted in being eaten by a bear. Other's say that cracks represent a portal where one could fall into the netherworld.

At some point it all morphed into a children's game.

But in the world of adulthood, a mother with a broken back is far from a game. It means hours spent in the hospital watching my mom endure pain that takes her breath away. If only a carefully navigated walk down the sidewalk could heal her, life would feel magical again, but I've outgrown magic. We have slipped down one of those dark cracks and are left wondering when we will see the light again.

R E F L E C T I O N 

The Human Painting

Paintings are like human beings. 

They are born as a cute little sketch, full of promise and hope, but before you know it, they're in the ugly adolescent stage — grumpy and gangly. You hope that they will grow up into well-adjusted adults, but only time will tell.

One Liner No.1 Sketch(Born 12/1/14)

One Liner No.1(Age 2)

One Liner No.1(Age 4) 

One Liner No.1 (Age 6)

One Liner No.1 (Age 13)

My painting is an adolescent now. I wish I could return to its childhood. I liked it better then, but that image is gone forever, buried beneath layers of paint. Will it mature into a handsome adult? After 20 hours of painting, I sure hope so. 

Onwards!

R E F L E C T I O N 

Walking into the Cornfield

(Field of Dreams reference)

Hours 

are minutes. 

Insecurity

stops the clock. 

The Pendulum 

swings. 

I journey on. 

I have begun a body of work (One Liners)that will take months to complete and I have no idea what the outcome will be. 

I began my first painting with a tracing transfer. The transfer didn't work out and I began painting before the canvas was properly prepped. I do that a lot. I just needed to start painting — I grow impatient with rules and technique. Intuition is my guide.

At the end of the day, the transfer lay upon the canvas slightly off registered and I snapped this shot. I think I will like this image more than the finished piece. I like things when they are messy — just like life.

 

R E F L E C T I O N 

Lost in the Dark

I dropped my faith

in a dark room

and cannot find it. 

It slipped between 

my fingers 

and fell to the floor

just as sadness 

shut the light. 

I grope in the darkness, 

but come up 

empty handed.

Dark winter days have been a fitting backdrop for world news and personal stories. This week, I watched as the world mourned deaths an ocean away, and again, I watched as friends walked behind the casket of their son.

I searched for comfort outside my window as cold hardened the creme brulée snow. An apparition — my bunny — my Lumpy Bunny with the forever twisted leg, emerged from the brush and danced for me under the moon. Snow sparked as he kicked, leaping poetically with his broken leg, reminding me I must do the same.

The next day I open my shade to reveal a blur of fur. Lumpy Bunny, again. He had nestled under the bushes just below my window. Is he seeking protection from harsh winds...or is he protecting me? I keep checking back — brown eyes gaze into green. He sits in stillness for hours until the mailman forces him to disappear.

This morning I looked down to see Lumpy's foot prints along my back step. He has stayed close to me, this tragic bunny. I'm am grateful for his company. He has lit a candle in a dark room.

R E F L E C T I O N 

Waiting on Line

I grew up since my last post.

After a 6-month home renovation, a job change for my husband, parenting my 15-year-old, launching a book, hosting Thanksgiving, and quickly regrouping for Christmas, I thought I might begin a new body of artwork — my "One Liners". But a mother with a fractured spine cannot wait on line. So my lines must wait for me.

I have reached the age where I'm parenting my parents.

Umbrella in hand, I steady my self as I walk the line between caretaker and taking care(of myself). A balancing act performed without any training.

Not being able to write or paint for weeks made me realize that my art is not a luxury, it is not a hobby, it is essential. It is my work. It is my joy. 

Like a thief, I steal time today, so I may begin my painting series for 2015. I plan to do at least 20 paintings based on my continuous line sketches — the ones I create while my tea steeps or my son takes a violin lesson. I will document the process here on my blog.

Its time to steal back some joy!

R E F L E C T I O N 

Chair Person

Chicken breasts sat on styrofoam trays. 

Peas hid in the freezer. 

Potatoes, like cast off shoes, 

lay on the counter. 

Dinner would be late — once again.

I had picked up this chair for $5 at a local thrift shop. Like Goldilocks, it seemed "just right" to me. It was perfectly worn out with hints of green paint revealing a past life.

 

No seat, no problem. I can weave one! And so I did, way past dinner time. Obsessed with my project, I became lost in under & overs as twine scraped through my fingers.

We ended up with a handmade chair — for a few bucks, a few blisters, and a late night dinner. 

No so bad, right John...John?...John?

R E F L E C T I O N 

Super Girl

What does a young artist do 

when forced to go to 

school wearing a uniform?

Hide a superball in her pocket, 
of course. 

I was restricted to grey and navy, but in my pocket was a multi-colored secret. A tiny work of art. The treasure would be revealed at recess, powered by my own force. Bouncing far above my head, it lifted my gaze — flying colors framed by sky. I could escape the plaid polyester. I was free.

R E F L E C T I O N 

A Room of One's Own

(and the construction hell I went 

through to get it.)

I have been sleeping on the floor of my family room for three months sandwiched between a love seat and an armoir. I have had various men showing up at my house before I've had my first sip of morning coffee — since August 15th, sometimes 6 days a week. (Here is the point where you roll your eyes and say, "Oh poor baby! Dealing with construction. First World problem.")

But for an artist who suffers from anxiety and OCD, it has been close to unbearable. It has given me a renewed compassion for people who are displaced from their homes due to war, fire, or natural disaster. This doesn't even come close to those scenarios (and I know my version of hell will someday come to an end), yet I feel so overwhelmed. I am displaced by my own choosing, they have been displaced by fate. My emotions, however, are not paying attention to logic.

This also speaks to the fact that an artist needs peace, quiet, and time to daydream before getting to work. It sounds like pampering, but it is essential. Not an easy commodity to attain in a world spinning off its axis. 

My good friend Luke, fellow artist, told me that Chuck Close said inspiration was for amateurs; professionals just get to work. I will get to work, but I need a daydream vacation, and a room of my own. The corner in the basement next to the boiler room ain't cutting it anymore.

When I can put things back in their place, and organize my art supplies once again, I will be grateful for what I have, and I will get back to work at daydreaming.

R E F L E C T I O N 

Blog Contest Winners

Question: 

What treasures are over your sink?

On my last blog post, I posed this question to my readers.

I loved the following essays I received. 

Each writer has won a box set of Hair-Raising Thoughts notecards. 

Thank you for taking the time to make such thoughtful submissions!

W I N N E R  O N E: M I K E

W I N N E R  T W O: C A T H Y