#5 second post

Bottom right, look who I found peeking out at me when I took the lid off of this box. Perhaps I should quit saying that I can not draw people. I don't prefer it. But I guess I can do it. When I have tons of time. Of course what you don't see is the mistake I cropped that makes me say I can't draw people.

Another mannequin angel, a stained glass idea inspired by Michelle Ward and the stained glass windows in the old churches. I think I was reading Iris Johansen at the time, Beloved Scoundrel, a pomegranate and fig sketch.

Itching to Work

All of this retrospective unboxing is all well and good. But I am itching to get started on the new work. I keep telling myself I need an uncluttered start so that I can dig in and get messy. But... I found two of my favorite tools and now they are nagging at me to get to it.

I've had word that a new album is coming not this fall but by next. And Sting is releasing a new one in September. I really need to get the work out that Unendlich has inspired before there is new stuff to muddle the senses. Well... they don't get muddled as in confused. But muddled as in changed. Unendlich and Unverwundbar have been the Albums for this Summer. Last Summer it was Reim 3.

This Summer it is Unendlich.... the "we will go on", "for King and Country" and "these are the shapes of my soul" kinds of songs while Unverwundbar is the "everyday armor" I've been wearing so that I do not get duped again. Unverwundbar is a rockin' metaphor of Ephesians 6. I would not go so far to say that singing these songs like a talisman against false security is EXACTLY like wearing the "Full Armor of God" (maybe Indy should go looking for that next). But it is close in sentiment.

And with this music there is a certain color scheme that comes with it. While I am feeling the colors, sensing the lyrics as it applies to this time in my life, the time of hearing, I need to be working. I don't know why  I am hung up on the mess. I will thoroughly destroy the studio space while working anyway. It's part of the artistic frenzy. But I suppose I need the space to start clean so that my mind is clean. If only it didn't smell so much like a basement!

It looks like the next few weeks are going to be busy. I've got canvases to splash with paint and a print company in town to find. I swear that place is as hard to find on purpose as an entrance into Narnia!

Talkies

Two hours and a few wet into wet layers yields a good start in
for this portrait of a talkative little crow.

Crows are famous for being the bearers of mystic messeges both good and bad. Sting's food for a crow lyrics tell the story of forseen doom. But the bird never really says anything. He just sits and looks. He shows up at the wrong time before a battle begins. Isis's bird Tut always seemed to be able to hunt down the missing kid... better than an RFID tag. Poe's talkative feathered friend is late to the party and never seems to shut up. Granted, the dark winged visitor doesn't say much. What little he says he seems to say it a lot.



And it is that irredescant crackle that is the subject of so much fascination for me. I've always been fascinated by the prolific little buggers. Crows and starlings seemed to love our garden more than any of the other birds that hang out in Northern Michigan in the Summer. Like cats, their timing is flawless so that it seemed that their cawing was part of a conversation with their surroundings. Eerie.

So when I found Poe again and decided to participate in an call for artwork on the theme of Poe, I went right to the Raven. And somewhere in the back of my mind, there was Johnny Crow and his garden. So this crow is dressed for an evening visist with velvet violet pantaloons.

I envision the idea that maybe he stopped by Edgar's after the evening opera or symphony. Maybe the music or an actress reminded him of Lenore and that is why he decided to torment ole Edgar.

When the portrait is finished it will be incorporated into acrylic canvas in the style I am acustomed to working in. I do not want to do the whole thing in watercolor because I want to be able to use rubberstamps. So that means there will be a trip to the photo booth. And some cutting. I hate cutting. But I kinda don't have a choice with the plan I am following. You just can not brush gel medium on watercolor without it running. Bummer. :)

I have to admit that I am scared to add the next layers to the portrait. One mistake with the black and hours of work go down the drain. I also have some layers of mica infused watercolors to use in this one. I am excited about that prospect.

Now.... to finish this without a lot of tap tap tapping tapping on my door....

six hours into the portrait and things come to
a head. Colors are dark and jewel toned. Greys
and black come next.

Flow my Tears & Bleeding Heart

a quick watercolor sketch of a closed bleeding heart

Flow, my tears, fall from your springs!
Exiled for ever, let me mourn;
Where night's black bird her sad infamy sings,
There let me live forlorn.


Down vain lights, shine you no more!
No nights are dark enough for those
That in despair their lost fortunes deplore.
Light doth but shame disclose.


Never may my woes be relieved,
Since pity is fled;
And tears and sighs and groans my weary days
Of all joys have deprived.


From the highest spire of contentment
My fortune is thrown;
And fear and grief and pain for my deserts
Are my hopes, since hope is gone.


Hark! you shadows that in darkness dwell,
Learn to contemn light
Happy, happy they that in hell
Feel not the world's despite.

John Dowland, 1563- 1626

My friends have such heavy hearts these days. And I as well. I am tempted to wrestly Sting's Labrynth CD from the bottom of the CD pile. I strive not to do so. Even though sad songs are good for the soul because they promote the cleansing tears, I have cried so much on my own that I dare not.

So many things are working themselves right from the convoluted mess that they were. And yet there is still sorrow. For myself, I feel as though I have been abandoned yet again. And as usual it revolves around feeling completely inadequate for the priviledged task of being someone's girlfriend... and now not even that mere friendship is available to me because of the damage that I have wrought. One would think I were an F5 tornado ripping through a sleeping Kansas city. I am not. But I feel as though I am. I know I am at least in the realm of a High Wind advisory when I get into the self-preservation mode. But I am not an F5. I've met women like that. I run screaming for the nearest Klingon ship when I meet women like that. Still.... to be told a thing on one day and then something else the very next. It is disruptive to say the least.

And so I am better off now with art, music, the bursts of joyful color and the reinstitition of the things I became convinced I did not "deserve". A daily fru-fru mocha, which is now as inexpensive as 1.25 a day thanks to a lovely Christmas gift from the company. Internet interactions with a world I relish thanks to inclusive rent. Music I find uplifting and inspiring and can listen to because I am not with someone who doesn't appreciate the deep melodious tones of Sting & Matze's voices. Uninterrupted art time. Candle lit baths. Nay! Candles at all are a wonder since the one I hade been with had issues with scents. Non-processed foods thanks to two wonderful friends who lent me crock pots.... all in all things are looking very well. So why am I sad?

For all there is it is not enough.
I've lost the local & physical manifestation of my tribe. It took so long to find the tribe members... member. And now... I am left to my own devices.

But I am not alone in my sorrow. Nor am I alone in the healing. Separated by space, we have facebook, texting and email. Sure, I can not go to a movie with them. But there is nothing that really lets me wallow in the sadness. And we each know how it feels to be bereft of some special person(s). We can send each other kindness and love with thought and prayer. And it is a relief to know that others know the pain. And, with Sting & Matze, there is hope that there will be a time to heal.