JR, Where The Hell Are Ya?

Did a few free hand, get acquainted heads of my son Jon. I'm not there yet. He's still no where to be seen. May have to go to pencils and erasers? May have to pull out the grid? Will trim his beard--there;s an upper lip in there somewhere. What is it with these mountain men insisting upon hiding their handsome faces behind so much hair?

JR's my baby, an x football player, (no. 77), who played both offence and defense in high school and could have played in college if he had been just four inches taller. We put him on the rack, but failed. Still just six one, only the schools with second string teams were after him, but his heart wanted Michigan State. At college, he hung up his pads and helmet and saved his knees. Grew up, moved out West, built a ranch, built an automotive garage on his land and fixes other mountain mens' trucks when he's not fixing Hondas. I had no idea he liked cars and trucks. I didn't know he knew what an engine was, how to build a structure with a well and a lift, or anything at all about automotive computer systems. He surprised and amazed me. I did teach my boys to follow their hearts. And my biggest hearted boy took the biggest step out of the life we all knew. He became his own man, an independent, self sufficient guy who makes my heart swell with pride.

The closest I got to a likeness was the sketch I blew up, but hold off on the cigars. Today, a couple of charcoals might help me get the proportions I keep screwing up with the marker. As for his California gal, she's now drinking out of a proper glass for red wine. (I had no idea Strathmore Drawing pads came in grades. Live and learn).

Out, Out Damn Spot

I don't ever use black straight out of the tube. I always mix it with something else to bring it to life. Yesterday working with "black" mixed from dioxinine, thalo green blue and raw umbra, I decided to do a study in black on a canvas board painting that had turned out badly. My plan was to mix a lot of blacks and compare them to the tube black while I thought what the hell am I going to do with Kelly? Out of laziness or forgetfulness or whatever, I had tried an art gum eraser when my knead wasn't doing an adequate job. It made a blob on her boob and it wasn't coming off. Black was what I was painting and how I was thinking.


I blacked out the little painting that had been zinnias done poorly, realizing when I was finished that mixed blacks would not be in true contrast to the tube black. Laying the mixes on top of true black,instead of white, would deaden the mixed colors. I lost interest. My mind was on Kelly. I picked a spoon from the tool jug and began drawing the stuff that was on a storage shelf using the handle as my stylus and the bowl as the scrapper. The doodle you see is what I got just before the paint dried. The exercise was reminiscent of kindergarten, but it did the trick. I relaxed and I recalled rubber cement.

Rubber cement will lift smudges if left to dry entirely and then lifted with a wad of dried rubber cement. I had one of those--made it years go. I also had my drafting eraser that could lift Rapideograph permanent ink. I got that out too and went to work. The cement applied four times lifted most of the blob, but not good enough. I was going to have to work it in. Damn. Kelly's white wine glass was going to have to be a red wine glass.-- Or her blouse could be black? I chose the red wine glass. I'll darken her arm to minimize its size but I'm uncomfortable with the implication.

What a mess. I pitched the art gum, but I do not want to pitch the drawing. If anybody knows of any other solutions, please comment. The drawing is done on Strathmore Drawing paper medium with 6B, HB and 3B Sanford Turquoise pencils--no lead so hard it shouldn't lift.

Take a Break

I gave Kelly a rest. Pencil drawings are not dashed off.They're slow and deliberate and thoughtful and tedious and hazardous to your health. Too much time spent drawing with your nose and your neck aches and rigamortise sets in from being hunched over. As much as I wanted to carry it through and get on with the other two portraits, I put it aside and went back to the paint studio where I did what I hoped to be the last correction on Mice. I jumped into Mice way too quickly and wasn't careful enough with the initial layout. The painting of pastries turned out to be just as drawing intensive as Kelly. What isn't demanding is Spring Woods. a bunch of trees doesn't call for precision. The challenge of this one is to keep it light and airy. This means tying my heavy hand behind my back. Seeing it here, I think I may be very close to signing off.

Working on multiple projects simultaneously is healthy. I'm going to add that to my other rule, Don't over think. Distract yourself with rock and roll or whatever tunes move you-- or something on the telly, or whatever will take your mind off what you're doing, let the intuitive juices flow and keep your emotions in check. Moving on to a different piece entirely is a bit more distracting than dancing to " A Hunk A Hunk of Burning Love." It's a different genre that requires a different approach. When you've got a number of things going for you and the creative process is different, if one is driving you mad, move over to the next. shake up your perspective. But a word of warning: Be careful not to over do. You do not want to spread yourself too thin. My space is limited to three projects. I raised three boys. I can handle three artworks.

Good painting.

Still in Progress

It's slow going with Kelly. I'm combining shading and contour techniques--a lot of weighing of what should be played up,what should be played down? Yesterday, I was involved with the anatomy of her neck. It's twisted. I will play the ligaments and tendons down to soften her appearance, but before I do, I have to have play them up to make the position of the head, tilted back and turned sharply to her right, readable. The anatomy will end up being just a suggestion.

Drawing often calls for subtractive techniques. The most important tools for that are the knead eraser and several erasing templates. I've also pulled out my stubs, I like skin tones looking smooth--not indicated with hatching as many pencil artists do--and not in this case. If only the figure is to be shaded with the background and foreground reduced to contours, I think softly is the way to go. My interest lies in her stroking her streaked blond hair, her eyes, her aristocratic profile, the red wine she's drinking. It's also the way to go to say Kelly. She's a contrast of vulnerability and strong opinions. Too much art talk? Too much thinking. Okay that's it. At least I wish it was.

While working on the computer in black and white the other day, I discovered I'm shy two portraits for my book. Combing through files of family photos with a multitude of pics of grandkids, I came across very few of my first and third sons.I wasn't looking for bust pics. I am not fond of just heads and shoulders. They don't tell you anything about the person and they look stiff. I like people shown living their lives.

All this searching takes time away from painting. But I want to complete that book. Once done, it will easily translate into a promotional brochure. If I'm going to spend so much time with my art, I might as well get into the business of it.

Portraits could be a possible profit center? Plus, as I've said, they're a good evening pass-time. Like some knit and do needlepoint and others read, drawing is a relaxing activity that keeps thinking about what you're doing to a minimum and allows you to keep up with Dexter, The Big C and Weeds.--I'm a little sorry that Kathy told Paul she had cancer. Now the program is in danger of turning soppy. Her husband should have been paying attention to her before she was sick.

Take Another Look or Two Before You Sign

My day was laid out in black and white.

Fact: Got up and threw out my back making the bed. Ouch. So much for housework. So much for painting.

Fact: There were big storms coupled with tornado warnings in the area. Rain was pelting the windows and high winds threatened the electricity. So much for going out and about.

Jump to conclusion: It's a great opportunity to spend as much time as possible at the computer.

So, I decided to spend the day selecting family portraits for the dedication page of the blog book I'm putting together. I thought drawings would be more appropriate than text for a book about drawings. I thought they should all be black and white, I wanted the layout to be uniform. I needed to convert a few.


The Jasc photo album and Pro 8 are wonderful two-fold art tools. As soon as you download the photographs of the art, the weaknesses and the successes of the piece become obvious. Color values and their relationships stand out clearly telling you if the composition is balanced. Turn the work up side down,you can double check the composition. Convert the painting to black and white and the values are even more obvious. Get a mirror image and you can check out the accuracy of the drawing. If all checks out well, go back to the studio, sign the piece and walk away. If not, the photographs have clued you in to where work is needed.

The computer photographic programs are a fantastic aid to evaluating your art truthfully. The transformation from artwork to photograph of artwork removes you from the studio and places you in the darkroom with a different medium. The separation puts enough distance between you and the artwork to evaluate the work with a critical eye and a lot less emotion.


My portraits of Z.S.Roth, my grandson, were drawn from a particularly lousy, flat photograph,a school photograph that was taken without proper lighting equipment. It was one of my first attempts at portraiture--and it's tight. It's flat. And while I did splash in some watercolor months after I signed it to give it some sort of depth, depth is still missing in the head. Good drawing is missing too. I can see that from the mirror image. His head is lopsided. It needs more shaping and highlights in the hair on the right. The color value on the upper lip is too light. There's also a pencil slip on his nose that looks like a stray hair. This nana would like to remove it. About all I can say that's okay with this drawing is that I like my handling of the hooded sweat shirt. I can leave that alone.

I'm not going to discard this portraiture attempt, nor make the corrections. It's what I could do in 2008. Two years later, I am doing better. My computer photographic programs are a great partner. Through the blog and having to photograph something to show daily, I've learned to check out my work photographically throughout the drawing/painting process. The photographic perspective has helped to sharpen my eye, my skills and my work.

Be A Warrior, Not a Wimp. Take Charge.

This is Victoria's Secret Wear Everywhere PINK Bra. I don't own one. If I did, I wouldn't be writing this post.

Before Breast Cancer Awareness months slips by, some words: I had a double mastectomy October 22, 2008. It's a date you don't forget. I was diagnosed stage two. I had two tiny spots in the right breast and one whopping big lump in the left. After the operation and going through all the Lets-make-sure-we-got-it-all treatments, I'm fine. I didn't get a reconstruction on the table as they like to do, because I was too thin--flattering words to my ears after all my careful eating, but a state of being that complicated the reconstruction process. Reconstruction would have required eight months of painful grafts, stuff and stretch procedures to build the girls back up. So flatter than Twiggy, (an unattractive, anorexic looking but very popular fashion model of the 60's), I chose to be. Now I choose to campaign for womens health.

LADIES GET A MAMMOGRAM if you're forty or over. You're squished by that machine some sadistic guy invented for just a split second. You can bear it; we're the stronger sex. It's a hundred times easier than any of the treatments they put you through if you get the disease and a breeze compared to the prep for a colonoscopy.

And if your breast tissue is dense, as mine was my whole life, or if your mom, grandmoms, aunts or any blood relatives had BC, or if you were adopted and don't have a clue of your medical background ( that's me again) ask for an ultrasound too--demand one if you have to. I'd been having mammograms since I was nineteen. I was familiar with the technology but knew zilch about ultrasounds. Then I learned the hard way that there's a ten percent chance the mammogram will fail to catch abnormalities. Mine did.

I had a false negative. I knew I had a lump, but it rolled around so it could just have been another cyst that do come and go when you have dense tissue. My x-ray was clean. Then a couple of months later the breast collapsed and I learned about ultrasounds, breast MRIs and biopsies.

Be a demanding bitch when it comes to taking care of your breasts. GET A MAMMOGRAM. Call you nearest hospital with a Cancer Center and make an appointment. I said hospital with cancer center. Skip the imaging clinics. They are not fully prepared to act immediately on your behalf. I went to one that was convenient to my house. Screw convenience. Drive the extra miles where they have all the diagnostic equipment to check you out thoroughly.



Out of the woods, I went back to my art seriously last January because my life had been threatened. I dusted off the talent that I flippantly left on the back burner for years. Now I'm pushing it as far as it will go for myself and my family. Breast cancer scared the shite out of me. When something like that bites you in the ass and you're vulnerability hits you in the gut, you never want to waste another minute. Everything becomes a joy to be celebrated even when the drawing turns out crappy and you wonder what were you thinking? I'm thinking, I'm lucky. So far so good. I'm a survivor of a year and a half and counting. You make sure you're a survivor too without going through the tsoris.

GET A MAMMOGRAM. GET AN ULTRASOUND IF HISTORY DICTATES. TAKE CHARGE. BE A WARRIOR, NOT A WIMP.

Dance Card is Full

I found a snap shot I liked of Mrs. JR, my California gal. I love her aristocratic, profile. It's beautiful. The pose fits in with quite a few others I've taken of the Roth women--and guys. Everybody in my family is a know-it-all. There isn't one in the bunch who's shy. It's tough being in a room with us, for the banter is quick and witty and never, ever dull. I absolutely love it.


Okay my dance card is crammed full. I've a project for my evening drawing sessions while watching TV. I can't seem to stay away from the boob tube especially when Dexter, my favorite serial killer is on. The loony, new women in Dexter's life, Lumen, is a perfect second wife. They have so much revenge in common. She's a women he could honestly share his life with. --And she's pretty too and was great in The Bourne Ultimatum.

Have you noticed the Gapingvoid link in the the left column? Have you clicked on it? it will take you to Hugh Macleod's site where you can see his cartoons, sign up for daily e-mail delivery of the newest one, buy his book Ignore Everyone, buy his prints for 150 or his originals for 1200 plus or minus. The guy's a great promoter of his art. He's got skills, we should all be working on if we're interested in selling our stuff. Take a look quickly if you're interested. I'm removing the link tomorrow. It was a stupid thing to add to my blog. While the guy makes his living as a wine dealer, I suspect he'd like to make it as a full time artist--just like the rest of us. But why should the rest of us promote his art on our art blogs without being compensated for the space he's taking up in our stores? Business is business Huge. You got me, but no more. You want me to put a sign in my window? I want a cut of the action.

The beach featured in My Backyard is in Jamaica. It's not the usual shoreline I'm used to. It's rough and scattered with jagged rocks. For ocean swimmers, the hotel we were at had carved out a lagoon a bit up from where I took this picture. But I'm a pool gal. I don't like to swim with the fish.

She's Not Quite Herself

She wanted ten pencil portraits of loved ones featured on the dedication page of the her book. She thought portraits would be better than words. The book was about her art after all, and though portraits weren't her thing, having a few did illustrate the ability. When she went through her files, however, all she found were portraits she had done of the grandchildren, her husband and just one of her daughter in-laws. And it was the end of October. So much for having the book in print and in her hands by the holidays. Unless she made a concentrated effort...


The family photo album was the place to start. She spent most of Saturday carefully examining each picture. All of them were snapshots of people busy living life--looking out at the falls, contemplating what they were going to order off the menu, caught in animated conversations or standing like statues while she coaxed them to smile and yell "cheeseburgers." By the time Wyatt Earp was riding off after shooting the last of the Claytons, she had come to the conclusion that her missing loved ones would have to be pictured informally doing whatever they were doing. Maybe she could get them doing things together, which would be more space efficient for the layout.


This was what I did yesterday. I looked for photographs. And I really need to take some of Mrs. JR when we go to the wedding in June. She's rarely pictured and when she is, she's in a pensive mood. The free hand study sketch above was the only one I could find where I could see her full faced. It's still not her, but it's better than a drawing I did a few months back. I learned some things about her sturcture last night while watching Tombstone.

Did you notice I wrote the first two paragraphs in the third person? Honey pointed out that this blog is really a personal art journal. It's about I,I,I and me, me, me. He's so quick sometimes, I can't keep up with him. Of course it's a personal art journal, that's why I started it. It keeps me drawing. It's gotten me back into painting. I'm not encouraging anybody else to draw and paint. This blog is selfishly me.

When I want to write a book book, instead of just put together a collection of my better blogs, it certainly won't be about a gal looking through her family album and noticing she didn't have the right pictures. It would have mystery and sex and strangers meeting on a train going no where with no stops and no exits. Scary stuff. Fun stuff. And my main character would have a name. Ignacius T. Merryweather. His friends called him Iggy. He was a quiet guy, used to be a banker, till bankers were getting shot in the head and dumped into swamps by angry town folks forced out of their homes and into the streets by the very guys who gave them a mortgage in the first place.

Pastries and The Four Seasons

What better time to paint spring than in the fall and get my mind off winter.

When I got back to Chocolate Mice, I faced the fact that the drawing needed corrections. I had been avoiding that issue all week while I worked on boots. With that drawing done, it was time to face up to the flaws. (I could have left the painting as it was. No one would have been the wiser-- but me. The drawing just was't quite right).

Usually I make drawing corrections while I'm painting, but this subject doesn't allow for correct-as-you-go. The forms are precise. So instead of mixing butterscotch and getting on with Mice, I masked off the two areas that needed adjustment. Sealed the areas with medium to prevent seepage, then whited them out.


While waiting for things to dry, I pulled out photographs I took of the woods over spring and summer. Selected the one you see here--Early Spring. I decided the twenty by twenty painting will be one of four but hung together as one. I like working in increments. I like the woods. I love the Four Seasons,(in the woods as well as the hotel). the subject is carefree. A nice balance from pastries.

So my painting plans are made--painting pastries and the four seasons. Two entirely different subjects, two different artistic responses. One tight, the other loose. Nothing boring going on. Diversity is how I like it. Diversity, I suspect, just might be my "artistic voice," the elusive thing so many blogging artists are looking for.

Let The Snow Fall

Let the snow fall. I'm ready. My boots are in the back hall closet waiting for whatever. My still life has been dismantled. My pencils stored. Merlita can wipe away
all traces of my art from the bar. My attention has returned to the studio and the color of butterscotch--some Cadmium Yellow Medium, some Yellow Ochre, a dash of Dioxinine Purple to gray it down and perhaps some Titanium White? Chocolate caramel cupcakes here I come.


Snow Boots was a long, tedious draw. It came out fairly well. I liked, but didn't like the paper I chose--90 lb. water color.It wasn't good enough for watercolor, I thought it might work for colored pencil. And it did. While colored pencil is very difficult to erase on Stratmore drawing paper, erasing was a breeze on this stuff. But at first I didn't like the way the colored pencil went down--rough. Then I realized the subject was rough so it all worked out.

In spite of having to take frequent breaks, the boots held my interest. I liked the laces-the way they overlapped one another and then fell this way and that. Subjects like this--shoe laces, tree branches, grasses, ribbons, linear things are attractive in the way the forms intertwine turning negative space into positive. Then, I do love shoes. Perhaps I'll have another run at my water aerobics? There's another pair I hope never to put on again.

Boots To Get The Boot Today

On my way home from the dentist, a light bulb went off in my head. Boots became a full blown "painting" when I thought they should be sitting on a plank wood floor with grain and water drops to give the impression of melted snow. Right now they're sitting on a white terry cloth towel spread atop a 18"W x 12"D x 12"H decorative box I keep for DVDs on top of my bar in the lower level, which has become my permanent drawing station much to Honey's distress, (He's a neatness freak). Then I wondered where was I going to get a look at plank flooring? The answer came immediately: out of one of the many flooring catalogs I have in my design studio--or better yet, my deck. The material didn't have to be finished, it had to be rough, like the boot.


When I turned West onto Lone Pine, I gave up the idea. "Well," I thought, "let's just drag this thing on. Put off the finish as long as possible. As long as those boots are on that white towel on top of that box on top of the bar in the basement, maybe no snow will fall? The miracle would be the magic of art." Turning North on Orchard Lake, I came back to earth. My housekeeper was coming tomorrow and my still life had to go. She's a whirling dervish with a Swifter. The boots must get the boot.

I sat down again with the drawing and turned on the telly. Dr. Oz was tell us how hazardous high heels are to our health and how much better flat shoes with plenty of cushion were for avoiding slips, falls and most of all osteoarthritis-- particularly in the knees. Although that horse had left the barn, I was glad I had my wooly stompers. By the cocktail hour, boot one was looking like itself, (though I still think it needs a shadow behind the left lace), and had the start of a mate. By end of Thursday, they would be a pair on paper and my models would be back up in the hall closet waiting for whatever gets dumped on us.

God Bless Them Every One

Drawings like Boots don't belong in this blog. Sketches like this do.

Would you believe I had to work my day job yesterday! It got in the way of Boots and Mice. Is an artist an artist if they aren't making art? I don't think so. Steady production is the way to artistry. Unfortunately I didn't get around to dashing this drawing off till well after the dinner hour. I almost drew nothing at all. But if I had let that happen, I would have let myself and my craft down.

I shouldn't complain that my paying job got in the way. When the price of art supplies always exceeds any profits from the endeavor, one should not neglect the folks, my unknowing art patrons, who enable the pursuit. Yesterday, they were well taken care of to the point where the batch of chili I'd put on the stove nearly burned while I was conferencing over ceramic tile selections.

I'm off to get my crown--my design clients pay for stuff like that too. God bless them every one!

They Used to Call Me Quick Draw Till Boots

After hearing on the weather channel that there was "a dusting" in the upper peninsula, I figured I'd better get back and finish my drawing of my Snow Boots. As much as I dislike the idea of wearing them,if you-know-what falls in my backyard, I might have to put them on and ruin my still life set up. I'd never be able to get the laces in the exact same position.

Some drawings take a minute or two to complete, others take days. Snow Boots is the later. What you see here is an hour and twenty minutes spent yesterday. Then there was the initial drawing a couple of weeks ago. And tomorrow there will be more time put into this as I finish this shoe and move over to the next.


A detailed drawing is time consuming,a sketch isn't. Most of the drawings I've done for this blog are indeed sketches,done very quickly--twenty minutes or less, a half hour to an hour was a lot. The Birmingham Theater is an excellent example of a dash off. I put my pen down on the paper and let it go. The street scene was drawn "automatically." The details didn't have to be explicit, only suggestions. They didn't count--I was drawing the action on the street, not what the lamp posts looked like. Tuna Bowl was a fifteen minute sketch of light, shadow, reflection, recorded simply with no details to dwell upon. Boots has details and is being drawn close and personal. Those boots with those laces and that lighting require slow and steady deliberation.

In the drawing gallery at the museum, there's both short term sketches and long term drawings. I love the drawing gallery. There's always a new exhibit. They rotate the drawings often, so don't plan to see what you loved last time the next time you visit. They rotate the drawings often, because exposure to light--just artificial light mind you--has a drying effect on the papers. Constant rotation keeps the museum's collection safe. The fragility of the works and the fact your favorites might not be seen again for years, is what makes this gallery so special and a place to visit often.

Yet,there's very few visitors. I can always get front row to see the artist's handiwork with pencil or pen, sometimes enhanced with washes. It's my guess the public thinks less of drawings (or not at all) and more of paintings so passes the little gallery by on their way to see the big stuff. That's surprises to me. There's not a painting or a sculpture in that museum that didn't begin with a drawing or twenty done fast and slow before hitting the canvas or the block of stone. Drawing is where concepts are explored and developed. Drawing is where art begins.

Boots, Pastries and Windmills

My snow boots are still sitting there waiting for me to finish the drawing. I seem to be reluctant--I haven't touched it since I touched it the first time. Is this a clue that the boots are symbolic of stuff I hate and why I cringed when I heard this morning there was a light dusting of the stuff in the upper corners of the state? Absolutely.

So when someone at the B party asked me yesterday what I painted and I said pastries and they said why? I thought it was a pretty damn good question. I said I have no idea. Then I started to think about why. I've never been a pastry fan; I skip over them at the sweet table--and usually skip the sweet table entirely. When my dad made me order dessert, because it came with the dinner when I was a kid, I'd order jello--or prunes, not ice cream or molton lava chocolate no flour cake. So why now in my life do I find pastries so appealing?

When I photographed those pastries in the case at the pastry shop this last summer I was drawn to their colors. They were rich, bright, pure and very happy. Painting is about color. They were also lined up in the trays in an orderly fashion on shelves, one above the other. The lighting was warm and inviting. But they still didn't make my mouth water with desire. Taking the photograph was satisfaction enough. It wasn't till I downloaded my photographs that I thought the sweets would make a good triptych and started drawing them. My attraction wasn't the sweets, it was the line up of those glorious colors and the stacking of the colorful trays that intrigued me, the artist/designer. --Just as it intrigued me in The Closet. I like the architectural relief aspects of painting things that stack on thick canvases where wall and cast shadows become one with the painted panels. Next B party I'll be ready.

Speaking of ordering food. A couple of weeks ago I took photos of the squash cart at an open air market. The colors and the grouping of the items were the prompt. Squash Windmill resulted from playing around with it in Publisher. I featured this photograph today because it's much more interesting than my tuna fish bowl, which is the drawing of the day. the bowl is an icon to remind me of one of the chores I have on my agenda. The top try was more successful than the bottom. Neither is terrific, but a better draw than snow boots.

Windmill will probably never become a painting. The photograph is good enough.

The Color of Chocolate

I may have failed at showing you some very unique architecture, (and that did irritate the hell out of me), but I ignored the failure and moved on to do a lot of painting. Mixing up the colors of chocolate was fun, but difficult. You have to be careful with browns when it comes to foods. The wrong brown could make the wrong impression, something less than luscious.

Chocolate Mice is going to take some time as I expected. As I worked on the canvas, I found myself wishing I had two more easels to set up so I could travel between the three paintings in this triptych. But I don't--nor do I really have the space, so slow and steady...Lot's of drying time. Lot's of mixing.

We had a lovely surprise on Friday afternoon. Son #1 dropped in totally unexpected for lunch. I loved it. Never happened before. He lives a few towns away. We talked about Facebook and the ironic isolationism of the social networks.

Saturday, Son #2 called to say "Hello" and I had a nice chat with him who warned me that we're all going down the crapper because we don't make anything anymore. We just sit and chat or shop our days away on line. His special lady--mine too--said don't pay attention to him, he loves to antagonize. As one who hardly has time to even make dinner, I'm here so much, I thought he had a point.

As yet, no word from Son #3--but he usually calls later today. Not that I sit around waiting, but...a son is a son till...and I'm so thrilled when ours take time out to give us a ring. The conversations are always lively and beyond the scope of "Hi, how are ya?"

We're off to a surprise party this afternoon. It's casual. It's laid back. It's for someone with a lifetime spent in music and a milestone birthday I hope to reach. Heresay has it, we're going to be dancing the Flamenco. I'm off to the florist to buy a rose.

Architecture With Character

You might have seen these, but then again, you might not have. I thought you should. I love architecture with character and these buildings definitely have it. Think of me while you're in awe. I'm in my studio playing with my mice.

If these pictures don't come through being that this is another "let's see if I can do this" experimentation and I've never e-mailed a post to blogger before, I probably won't do it again. But I am going to click "publish" with my fingers crossed. If I succeed, enjoy. If I not, see ya tomorrow. I am going to the studio. There will be no quick sketches quickly posted to make up for drawing a blank.

I drew a blank. Damn. These were really terrific structures from all over the world.
If I had your e-mail addresses...

But I don't so,I'm going fishing.

TGIF

Okay, but not as well as I would like. Chocolate Mice is going to need a lot of paint and top glazing. I've even been thinking that oil may be a more appropriate medium and changing to that after the flat colors are all decided upon and laid down. But I hate working with oils. I can not stand the fumes or the clean up. I gave my oils away years ago. I'll figure something else out.

This painting and the other two in the triptych are more difficult than
Out of the Closet. Out of the Closet was about flat shapes with some dimensioning. In these paintings, dimension is definitely an issue. The pastries recede into the background. Color mixing is key. I'm still in this phase. The paintings will take some time and more concentration.

I haven't had a lot of time for that. As you know, I've been side tracked working my day job and fixing stuff--the latest item being the Subzero refrigerator. The repair guy was supposed to come next week, but had a cancellation. He showed up yesterday at ten thirty and took over the kitchen for two hours knocking my lunch date off the calendar and pushing cooking into my painting time. So little was done yesterday other than working out the base color of chocolate. I think I may have gone too dark too quick?

Then I've subtracted a day from my studio schedule. I've initiated a weekly movie date with Honey--every Wednesday afternoon. Last week we saw Wall Street, Money Never Sleeps. This week we saw The Social Network. Jesse Eisenberg was terrific as Mark Zuckerberg. We liked both flicks. And it was especially nice to see Honey smiling as he watched the screen. He's been pretty down these days of more free time than work.

The Social Network got me to go back into Facebook when we got home from the theater. I hadn't been there in months. I was never into it that much. I mean how many people did I know at the University of Michigan a zillion years ago--twenty, thirty tops? I didn't go sorority. I thought they were too much togetherness. Besides, I transfered to art school. So who would I know and who would know me? But signing in again and fooling around, I stumbled into my son, grandson and granddaughter. Small world.

My grandson got a car for his birthday. Who knew? I poked them all to let them know I was around. I uploaded a few pics of them I had never seen before and made a comment on my closest friend's wall. It was fun--but blogging, also a social network, is for me. Time is short enough. I prefer a more lengthy exchange of ideas over playing Mafia Wars and finding out what my IQ is. While Mark Zuckerberg was opposed to advertising, it looks like he gave in.

As for Mice, Today is a painting day barring any sudden repair guys showing up to fix something. Hopefully tomorrow too?

TGIF everybody. Oh, and if you come across a recipe for Ocean Perch Espagnole pass it by. Honey and I thought it sucked.

The Fixings for Perch Espagnole, Cereal and Art

Ala James Beard is what's for dinner tonight. This is the set up of what's needed to be done first--chop this, dice that prepare the sauce--later I bake it according to the Canadians--ten minutes per inch in a very hot oven. Perch are thin, after the sauce is made, I'm ten minutes away from done. I'm going to throw in some mushrooms too even though they are not in the recipe.

This drawing took twenty minutes all together. My time was split by Honey wanting to get his breakfast. Me and my spontaneous still life were blocking his way to making his cereal. I got out and went to the computer to read the new blog I'm following.

The discussion this morning was "What is Art."

I used to hate that question( because I didn't know the answer). Then, in time and a lot of looking at art, I decided there was no one definitive answer. All you have to do is walk through any great museum and you'd see that art is whatever anybody wants it to be--from a single dot on a field of color to found objects addressed to
Judith with Maidservant and The head of Holofernes. I left a comment saying just that yesterday. It was rejected. Not what the lady wanted to hear I guess? She's still looking for definitive. She's young, or didn't notice in art history that the Impressionists were the first to redefine art followed by the Cubists, followed by the Abstract Expressionists, followed by the Minimalists, followed by a lot of other movements launched by a lot of artists all looking for the answer to what is art to them. The fact of all those movements means it's anything the artist wants it to be. I adore the impressionists--not because they brought color to the art scene, but because they threw the art scene open to artists of all persuasions.

From my point of view. I do think that art is anything I find expressive of my feelings towards the subject in front of me or on my mind. I always have a subject, but it's not always apparent. Today it's the ingredients for a dish I'm going to make. Two or three posts ago, the subject, pulled from out of my head, was a figurative abstract of frustration. Years ago I did a massive painting about ambivalence--very abstract--has figures in it, but they are barely discernible. Then there was the one that was a journalistic collection of paper casts of my hand. The subject of that one was tenacity. And now, chocolate mice. What's that all about? I really have no idea--but I do think pastries are beautiful and I particularly like the gross idea of making a mouse, a dislikable rodent, out of chocolate, a very likable substance, to be eaten. I like the contrast of ideas. So my art goes all over the place depending on what is happening in my life and how I feel towards it. I'm an intuitive painter making art for art sake. But that's just me.

What about the public? What does the general public call art? What art do they buy? After twenty years in the art business (prior to the design business), the paintings that sold the most were figurative--flowers, landscapes, portraits, still lifes. The paintings that sold the least were abstracts--colors and forms and textures not attached to any recognizable subject. But all sales depended on how that painting would fit in with the decor of the customer's home. In business, I learned the public likes and buys art that the subject of the piece is clear and it's decorative too. If they are collectors/investors, they don't care about subject or decorative. They buy (bet) the artist whose work is going to increase in value over the years and cheer when the artist passes away.

The best part is: everybody is right and all art is valid. I think the question "What is art" belongs in The most Boring Art Blog. The lady should stop reading and start painting.

Beethoven's Piano Piece in B Minor At Long Last

This is just me fooling around again trying to upload my own video in case I'm about to cause some confusion. It may just turn out to be now you see me, now you don't.

Apples and Oranges

But they could be oddly colored onions. While drawing I was discussing Mrs. M's job with Mrs. M on the phone. I thought we had settled everything yesterday, but there's still some details she wanted to go over. I didn't mind the interruption. I was also having breakfast while I was talking and drawing.

I like doing something else while sketching--talking to others, watching TV, dancing to my tunes, eating anything that get's me not to think about what I'm doing. The pictures usually come out better for my distraction. I said usually. I was using my big marker set--which isn't so water soluble as I would like so I couldn't lift the color in areas that needed it. I also found that 100 markers may not be enough. I'm missing some pale hues that would have been more suitable. But it's just another quick, warm up drawing. The object is to warm up, loosen up and get on to more exciting work. I'm headed toward the studio now.

After Work

After work, I went to work sitting on my couch in the great room with only my sketch pad and Le Pen and a Flare. I did a fast sketch of what was in front of me--the sectional our black lab used to sleep on after everybody was in bed and the cocktail table where Honey and I eat dinner every night. I was too tired from the day's activities--drawing up final plans for Mrs. M's Master Suite changes,quoting them, doing the laundry, and making dinner--to get to the studio. Hell, I didn't even get outside and the weather was beautiful. How long was that going to last?

I felt badly about not doing what I wanted to do--go to the studio and work on Mice. Hugh MacLeod, in his book Ignore Everybody, advises artists to keep our day jobs, but yesterday my day job spoiled what had become my day job of preference. The rest of the evening I doodled away my distress. My primary day job pays a lot more than the secondary one I wish was primary. It's difficult to ignore what pays the rent best Hugh, and that does tend to get in the way of making art for art sake.

Why Am I Such A Glutton?

I drew this picture with Rapidiograph pens in 1986 when Honey's business was failing and he had his head in the oven big time. I did one of these everyday we were going through the motions of shutting it down. I would start with a doodle and develop the drawing from there. I did ten of them. Of everything I ever did, I like these drawings the best. They really said something about my life and how horribly sad I was, Honey was and the boys would be when the repercussions hit them.

While I'm not feeling particularly horrible about anything as horrible as that part of our lives, I was reminded of this set of drawings as I once again looked into uploading my video and once again failed. And then there it was.

While changing courses for one where I'd be a winner, I came across the drawings while getting my materials together to work on a cabinetry design for Mrs. M's master suite. I was hoping to spend the day in my studio, but Mrs.M comes first.

What Did You Do Sunday?

Close your eyes. What do you see? Nothing. That was the result I got from a morning laboring over this post.

I was trying to upload a video I finally made of me playing my piano--a piece by Beethoven called Piano Piece in B Minor. I intended to post the drawing I did of my piano along with it. I had wanted to do this the first time I published the drawing, but failed then too. This morning I was determined to be successful.

I was not. After an hour and change, a hundred percent upload, and the publish sign ready for action. I clicked. Everything published But. A pitbull by nature, I consulted help. I changed my browser to Firefox to speed things up. I checked this. I checked that. I did it all. Still nothing. Ironically, what I had written about was what a waste of time Facebook and Twitter is, but not Blogger.

Whose Little Piggies Are You?

A photograph caught my attention as it slid by my desktop. It was a picture of feet. Four pair. I knew immediately who took it, where it was taken and whose little piggies were whose.

I thought the photo was brilliant. What did feet under a table reveal about the relationships and the conversation going on above the table? What did the style of the shoes reveal? Two pair of New Balance Walkers, two pair of flip-flops. Two going to or coming from a walk? Two going to or coming from the beach? The female flip-flops belonged to the photographer. You can tell her pedicured toes at six o'clock are deliberately placed together out in front so they'd be in the picture. Her chair is set back so she could get a clear shot. She has a sense of humor.

More subtle things are going on with the others. A flip-flop pointed toward a New Balance not laced to the top shows a connection has been made. Two feet making a move towards the center--aggressive, excited, stressing a point--or just nursing a bum knee? Nursing a bum knee,that was me. That was Puerto Vallarta. That was odd. I thought I'd worn my Pumas the whole time?

You think I might have an obsession with shoes and feet? I think so. Those snow boots I started drawing a week ago are on my mind. If I ever finish it, it's going to be good. Same with Mice. The weather has been so glorious, I've been thinking of sailing more than shoveling. Life comes first, art second.

Tooth Fifteen and the Tomato Lady

On the way home, I thought of the woman I had photographed at the market buying cherry tomatoes. I could probably eat cherry tomatoes if I put them in the blender...if I made gazpacho?

I had been to the dentist. I had spent two hours in the chair getting a temporary for the crown I've been putting off for five years. The Novocaine was wearing off. My jaw was killing me. But I didn't make gazpacho or anything else at home. I sat around most of the afternoon moaning at the computer waiting for the throbbing to stop.

Why me? Why now? Why did I decide to get the crown I'd been avoiding? I knew it was going to hurt. Tooth fifteen is the last molar on the top left side--opening your mouth that wide for that long was definitely going to put a strain on the jaw. And then they lean. Heavily. They poke. They prod. They drill and drill and drill the decay away. But it wasn't the decay that made me make the appointment, my tooth felt fine. It was my cool. I had to get it back.

I was tired of having to floss after eating just three pistachio nuts, after eating a simple dinner salad, after eating a couple of grapes, after eating anything. I was tired of being an obnoxious sneak who broke all rules of etiquette flossing in public. Lipstick, okay. Floss, no. In restaurants, I would point out to my friends anyone or anything I could find that could be called ridiculous to distract them as I would sneak a bit of floss from my purse and pry out that pesky piece of meat stuck between fourteen and fifteen. Sometimes I would find whole tuna salad sandwiches there as well. My food wasn't getting where it belonged. I had lost my cool. I had never been to Miss Evelyn's Finishing School for young gentlemen and ladies to learn table manners--yes, there were such places and yes, my mom thought her daughter needed some taming. The tooth had to be addressed. I couldn't take it anymore.

Wine helped. It wasn't called the "drink of the Gods" for nothing. And what better ice pack to hold against your hot and throbbing cheek than a cold glass filled with an elixir you can drink? To add to my distress, I couldn't think of anything to draw, so I photographed my pain. Well there may have been nothing to draw, but there was plenty to erase. The photograph clearly showed my deep wrinkle night cream wasn't working-- where's the damn air brush in this software anyway? Still hurting and knocked down a few pegs by the horrors I'd just seen, I got my sketch book and the tomato lady. Once into it, I once again was lifted to another plane where all was forgotten and all was well. This morning I'm fine--and you be fine too. Have a lovely weekend.

From Michelangelo to The Cubist Epoch

I've got quite a collection of art books, from Michelangelo to The Cubist Epoch, from Hess to Drawing Cartoons. And I've read and reread, referred to and consulted them on a regular bases for years. This drawing is only one half of the lot in the great room, (in our neck of the woods, another way to refer to the living room).
the rest are next bookshelves over, upstairs in the guest room, in the linen closet, and downstairs in the bookshelves I had built there. Then there are the ones just lying about in stacks and in baskets. I love them all. And this latest one, Thiebaud, is the greatest. We've share so many sensibilities, I feel a kinship.

The squares on the lower shelf in this drawing are pictures of my kin. I gave them that space temporarily. When Honey starts complaining about the stacks of art books on the coffee table, my kin will have to find another home. I must have my books within easy reach.

Some of my books I've lost to flood, when Honey didn't turn off the outside water supply and the pipes froze and burst. Some were salvageable. Others no. But I hunted them down and bought them again. Replaced every one. My insurance company was very understanding and paid the price. A person's books are her portrait.

I have no desire to own a Kindle. I love the way the books look on my shelves. I love they way they look stacked on tables. I love to touch them and stroke their glossy jackets. I love to read and underline and write in the margin. I'm not the only one either. A couple of the books I replaced were used and the previous owners had left their marks, marks a lot like mine. Kindred spirits brought together. With a Kindle, my shelves would be bare, a place for what? Hummels? I don't think so.

Out of Ink

After a bike ride yesterday morning, the wind chill suggested I get my snow boots out of storage and look them over. They are not my favorite shoes, but excellent drawing material. Not a quick knock off like Squash or Beef Broth, but a getting acquainted drawing that took a couple of hours. With corrections still to be made, the drawing would have to wait. After lunch, Mice was my priority.

But Mice never happened. The painting got pushed aside when Honey's HP Four-in-one suddenly wasn't making copies from the copy bed. All he was getting were black ink soaked papers. The copier was bleeding. We lost half a cartridge finding out we weren't dreaming. The machine was broken. Being the in-house wonk, painting was out of the question.

After a lot of fooling around in properties certain I was just a click away from fixed--and then with HP on-line help, which wasn't--I called Malaysia and was on the phone for nearly an hour with a patient and polite techy who pin-pointed the problem. I needed a new light bulb. I said, 'Send me one. I'll put it in. Where does it go?' Big mistake. He didn't know. He'd ask his supervisor.


A half hour on hold wishing I wasn't on my cell phone, he was back. We had to take it somewhere locally to be repaired. It needed more than a bulb; it needed a new scanner assembly. He apologized profusely for the long phone call, praised me for how patient I'd been,(he was too polite to say dumb), and how terrible he felt that the machine was just ten months out of warranty and he couldn't send us a new one. Heavy sigh, I said goodbye. My ear was throbbing and Honey was whining. He was convinced his ink loss and copy problems were my fault. I printed too many weird photos on the Photosmart printer. Did you hear what I said? THE PHOTOSMART PRINTER. Tell me technology gone wrong can't spoil a person's day.

Our four-in-one, now a two-in-one, I scanned by hand a football photo taken by Senor Hector Gabino/El Nuevo Herald. I admired the photographer's tight composition. While Honey did the dinner dishes, I lightened up. I doodled the aggressive photo in ink.

From Squash to Minestrone

Aside from the acorn squash, I had no idea what the rest of them were piled high on the cart in front of the market. The pinkish-tannish one just in front of the acorn might have been spaghetti squash, but my ignorance didn't matter. It was a perfect subject for me--all forms positive, all negative spaces positive too. It was an intense still life. The colors were exhilarating. The air was crisp. The crowd was light. Honey had forged ahead with his shopping list in hand. Everything was perfect for a quick draw in the open air.

THIS IS NOW THAT




HERE'S WHAT HAPPENED:

I took 2 large carrots chopped, 2 stalks of celery chopped, one medium onion chopped and a tablespoon of minced garlic and cooked it all in a couple of teaspoons of olive oil in a dutch oven for 3 minutes. I added 32 ounces of beef broth, two and a quarter cups of water, one can of tomato paste, one can of diced tomatoes,a teaspoon each of oregano and basil, a quarter of a teaspoon of pepper and brought it to a boil. Then I added three quarters of a cup of elbow macaroni, turned down the heat and let it simmer for ten minutes. When the timer went off, I added one 15 ounce can of garbanzo beans, one 8 1/2 ounce cans each of string beans and corn--ALL CANNED VEGETABLES HAD BEEN DRAINED. Then last, but not least, I added three quarters of a cup of frozen okra. Brought it to a boil again. Turned down the heat and let it simmer ten minutes more. ALL INGREDIENTS WERE LOW SODIUM, but if sodium isn't an issue for you yet, it doesn't matter. The pot makes 8 to 10 one cup servings of minestrone pending how you use your ladle. And it's good for you too: 200 calories; Sodium 609; Protein 9.3mgs; fiber 6mgs; carbs 32 mgs per cup. The soup's dinner in a bowl. So goodbye Beef Broth. Hello Minestrone, my first homemade soup of the season.