Y-IKE-S

Hurricane Ike is causing a commotion in Houston. So far, we are staying put.

Here's why:

1. Our home is so far inland that it's unlikely the storm surge will affect us.

2. A few months ago, Reese pruned (whacked) a tree that usually drops big limbs in high winds, so no limbs will fall out of that tree because of high winds.

3. We have plenty of food and water. The grocery store was out of all the good (bad) snack foods, and therefore our diet will remain healthy. On the plus side, Joy is making homemade toffee today. Yum.

4. We rented a few movies -- of course, we won't be able to watch them if the electricity goes out.

5. The leaves are raked from the path beside the house so that backyard water has a proper drainage ditch-ish thing.

6. The flashlight and small radio have batteries.

7. Just in case, the gas tanks in our cars are full.

8. And last but not least, we have an old school telephone that doesn't need electrical power to operate, just an old fashioned phone line.

Burn Baby Burn

Last night I burned two paintings. It felt liberating.

There was nothing but very prettily colored ashes left.















Today, I burned another painting. It was really annoying me.

At this point, there was a need for a bigger barrel type container in which to burn stuff.











Well, I tried to burn it.

Reese liked it. Even after attempting to completely annihilate it, he brought it inside and set it up in the living room.

Yoycie and Jankee

When late morning rolls around and you're feeling a bit out of sorts, don't worry; you're probably just a little eleven o'clockish.
-- Winnie the Pooh

Most late mornings, I'm a "bit out of sorts and feeling a little eleven o'clockish" but not today. Today, at precisely eleven o'clock, I had the privilege of meeting Yoycie, Carmen, David, and Agnes. Yoycie was the grand prize winner in my blog give away art contest, and today was the day that I finally delivered her painting. We have talked back and forth through the Internet but had never met face to face. She's amazing. We had an absolutely wonderful visit despite the late morning hour. Up until today, in referring to her, I had called her Joyce. Once, after I mistakenly replied to an e-mail calling her Joy instead of Joyce, she said,

Don't worry about the misspelled name, I'm used to it, and I'll answer to anything. When I grew up my relatives called me Joyce, Yoycie, Joy, Joycita (variations on my name); also Evelyn, Shebe, Sylvia (Shebe's real name), and Zelda (those are three of my aunts, whom I supposedly resemble). Oh, and John . . . that was my brother's name but my mom was usually so frazzled that we didn't expect her to ever get our names right.

After watching her and being around her for maybe half an hour, I looked at her and said something to the effect that, to me, she looks (and acts) like a Yoycie. She laughed and said that for whatever reason, the people in her neighborhood when she was growing up in San Antonio couldn't pronounce her name correctly...so instead of calling her Joyce, they called her Yoycie. The oddest part about that was that she had a dog named Yankee. The very same neighbors who had trouble pronouncing the J in her name, had no problem at all calling the dog Jankee....because they couldn't seem to be able to pronounce the Y in Yankee!

The whole story reminded me of this particular blog post on the pronunciation of names. Thank you, Yoycie; I had a great time!
(Carmen and David are Yoycie's precious three year old twins, and Agnes was a mother's helper.)

Astrid

I'm delighted to report that "Astrid" was selected to be in Xnihilo Gallery's Showcase Showdown; juried by Marc Brubaker -- curator for Xnihilo Gallery and Elizabeth Murray of Art Lies Magazine. Opening reception will be September 13th from 7 - 10pm, with the exhibit running until October 13th.

Reese and I will be at the opening. Please come join us (!), have a glass of wine, and enjoy the variety of art presented in this exhibit. Awards for Best in Show, Second Place, and People's Choice will be acknowledged at the opening reception.

Xnihilo Gallery is located in the heart of the Montrose district at 2115 Taft Street. Walk through the coffee shop/book store to access the gallery.

UPDATE: Opening reception now September 26th from 7-10pm.

NeoHooDon't

After reading positive reviews my curiosity was aroused. The Menil Collection is hosting an exhibit called "NeoHooDoo: Art For a Forgotten Faith." According to the Menil brochure, "the works in NeoHooDoo illuminate various ways of living in the present day Americas. They are an embodiment of ideas in the forms of the ritual and the sacred that come from this unique and vast cultural expanse, and they validate the spiritual as a foundation for the making of contemporary art." The NeoHooDoo Manifesto "believes that every man is an artist, and every artist is a priest." Hmmm, to draw from one's personal cultural experience in order to signify and add meaning to one's artistic endeavors; to elevate one's art to a form of worship; to be a conduit for the spectator to one's inner soul; well, this sounded intriguing to say the least.

Going in with an open mind, the first image that caused me to wonder was the entrance sculpture. It was an upside down liquor store neon sign with the tips of the toes of shoes woven around the empty dead extinguished light. Does this mean (my interpretation) that if alcohol is exalted, then one's world will be turned upside down, the light of spiritual illumination will be dulled, and one will be walking through life partially shod....only on the tips of one's toes? Therefore, one can never be fully grounded because liquor makes us lose our footing? OK, that makes sense....

The next sculpture was a very large gilded brass ring, which could easily be interpreted for wholeness, continuity, and beauty.

In another room, there were totem poles made out of tennis racket bags -- an easy leap to mass consumerism in the US and elevating sports to a form of idol worship. I actually thought this sculpture was quite clever and slightly ridiculous.

Not expecting to agree with the various artists' spiritual views was a given. It didn't mean that I couldn't appreciate the art form and process. However, by the time I had made the circuit to the last two galleries in the exhibit, I was truly disturbed. There was an almost life size photograph of a reclining nude with an enormous scar diagonally across her back. It was stitched together with red beads as if they were cascading from the wound. There was a short film with someone being repeatedly immersed in water...not a baptism, but a drowning. It was very hard to watch. Each turn of my head and it felt as if I was assaulted by something else -- screaming hatred and showing me the utter emptiness of the human soul in NeoHooDoo. The last straw (for me) was a sculpture of small graves set in the wall. The top layer of the grave was a thin film of transparent skin stitched in place with the same kind of stitches that held me together during my tomboyish childhood. It was just too vivid. The description card on the wall said that it was animal fiber sewn with surgical thread, but it looked like an ancient tribal ritualistic skinning of a human. The skin was transparent, and entombed in the tiny wall graves were shoes. If it was meant to be offensive, it worked.

Am I the only person who sees the total depravity of the human condition that accompanies elevating this form of "art?" Art that screams hate is exalted time and time again. Why? Is this type of art really meaningful to society? Why do I look at exhibits like this, and think that the emperor has no clothes? If every artist is a priest, then what kind of faith am I perpetuating?

I am a tiny voice.

Tubing or Not Tubing

Believe it or not, one of the Reese Hazel family traditions is to play hooky together once a year. It all started when we ran out of money for grand vacations, but were still desperate to do something fun and cheap. So the day before school starts, we skip church, pack the suburban, drive three hours to San Marcos, have a picnic, and go tubing. At best count, this is at least the tenth year we've done this.

For a few years now, one or two of our daughters would drive in from Austin to join us. Some years we smoke cigars while we float. Some years friends join us. There's nothing particularly noteworthy about floating down a river.... it's just pleasant. The water is cold. The day is hot. The conversation is lazy. We give ourselves one last day to fully embrace everything about a hot Texas summer.

After floating a few hours, we have a snack, pack up, and head home. It's always a relaxing way to spend the time before the urgency of the calendar that inevitably starts each school year.

Fill in the Gaps

It's finally happening! The mosaic table top that I began two years ago is this close to being finished. It will be such a relief to be done with it. All but one corner is set, and beyond that, all that's left is to fill in the gaps.

Not Spilling the Beans

It's not possible or practical to write (on this blog) about every little detail that happens around here that relates to art. If that were the case, gentle reader, you could be, no, would be bored to tears. One particular heretofore unwritten about opportunity that has been a huge part of my summer is a commission. But alas, it's a surprise for someone else's loved one, and therefore, out of courtesy to the client, has been off-limits as a blog topic. I didn't want to spill the beans if this particular person was a blog reader...or if someone recognized the subject in the painting and innocently mentioned it to said loved one....way too may variables. It has been one of those projects that has been worked and re-worked through times of elation and frustration. It had gotten to the point where I wanted to start over from scratch. The Amazing Reese encouraged me to keep at it. He reminded me of other paintings that I had wanted to chuck out the window, but with perseverance turned into happily completed paintings. With Reese's gentle persuasion, I painted and painted and painted. As of this afternoon, I'm VERY happy with the completed painting and am certain the client will be, too. Some day soon, when the time is right I'll share a photograph of it....but not yet.

Painted Sketch

This was an exercise to see if I could re-create with paints what I do when sketching with grey scale pastels. It's quite different. In order to not be tempted to add color, I painted one of my small indoor concrete statues. What I stupidly did not anticipate was the way oil paints cover the surface. With pastels, one can move, erase, smudge, add, and manipulate to continue to alter the drawing until it is what one wants to portray. If one does all that mixing with oil paints, one ends up with a big messy muddy mess. So this painting, even though it looks like a sketch, took several sessions to complete, because I had to let it dry between painting, in order for it not to be a muddy mess. It's 8" x 10" painted on a prepared linen canvas, which mostly means that I had painted the orange red background and let it dry before beginning the painting.

First Cousin Twice Removed

"Drop anchor!" said my friend, John.

We've been away from here for a couple of weeks. While it's nice to be back home in Houston, it was great to see sister, brother, in laws, nieces, nephew, and various 1st, 2nd, and 3rd cousins while celebrating Papa's 70th birthday in Mississippi. One of the highlights of this trip was when Erin was able to identify her 1st cousin once removed, or maybe it was my 2nd cousin once removed or her 1st cousin twice removed. Whatever it was, she got it right, I whooped, high-fived her, and a small victory dance ensued.

This is a photo of some 9th and 10th generation of Heidelberg cousins after several cousin families had left the small "Heidelberg" celebration. We missed the Heidelberg family reunion this year, so it was terrific that so many came to visit while we were in Jackson.

On a sad note, my glasses are nowhere to be found. Naming this blog Finding My Glasses was a play on words -- my glasses are oft misplaced, and these artistic pursuits are a fresh new vision (of mine) being applied to linen canvas. This time, however, I'm pretty sure that my eye glasses were left in a pew at First Pres after church on Sunday.

Bummer.

Reese and I went back to church Sunday afternoon to find my glasses with no success. Reese is still hoping that they will be found in the car or in some luggage....we'll see.

A Rose

It wasn't a vacation, but it was fun. Reese, Hilary, Joy, and I just returned from an extra long week in Guadalajara Mexico. Mornings were spent mixing concrete, painting, cleaning, and destroying in order to rebuild a school in the Santa Ana district of Guadalajara. More than the job and the accomplishment of an amazing amount of work, we, along with other members of our church's high school youth group, hope that our time working alongside the Mexicans was as much an encouragement to them as it was to all of us.

The photo on the left was taken at a spot just down the street from the school. We were there during the Fiesta de Santa Ana, a week long festival to honor the patron saint of the area. Every day at noon, fireworks would explode in anticipation of the parade at week's end. The noon time explosion signaled something completely different for our group. Noon meant that there was only one more hour before quitting the day's hard labor. We eagerly anticipated the firework "clock."

Sumptuous Mexican lunches were lovingly home prepared for us by Lulu, one of the members of the church congregation in Moctezuma. Lulu starts from scratch with all of her ingredients. All from scratch, all the time. EVERYTHING WAS DELICIOUS. Now, I have the inside scoop on how to acquire her locally famous recipes. Woohoo!

After lunch, in Moctezuma, our group helped host a Vacation Bible School for children in the neighborhood. In spite of a potential language barrier, everyone found a friend from another country by the end of the week. We played games, sang songs (in Spanish,) did some crafts, and talked about faith in El Señor.

The most amazing thing to me about the whole trip however, was how well everyone gelled -- within our group, and with the Mexicans. The potential for high stress was huge, but it never seemed to be an issue. Every night we had a sort of debriefing to give everyone a chance to discuss their day. We used the analogy of a rose bush for our talking points. A rose was some one's favorite thing of the day. A thorn was the least favorite thing of the day. And a bud was something for which someone was hopeful for the coming day. It was great. Some experiences overlapped, good and bad, but all in all the longer than a week week was extremely positive, like a sweet smelling rose.

Guadalajara

Sweet Bygone Days

This painting might or might not be finished. For three years, three years, I've been working on it. Sister Friends lives on a wall in the studio. Every now and then I'll add a little brush stroke, or re-work and entire section. During my recent 21 days days of painting quest, many of the little painting projects that have been indefinitely postponed were re-worked, this being one of them. It is interesting to note that after writing the Pocketful of Posies blog entry (most recently published,) I realized that I had started a painting three years ago of my young daughters bringing Mommy a bouquet of flowers one Easter morning.

These two sister friends, now grown, are driving here for an action packed quick visit this weekend. Happiness abounds.

Pocketful of Posies

Back in the day, our young daughters would, out of the overflow of their hearts, gift me with a handful of clovers or dandelions from the back yard. They would rush in, fresh faced, excited, thrust the bouquet forward and breathlessly say, "here Mommy, these are for you." These bouquets would go in all kinds and shapes of vases, glasses, jars, even plastic cups. One of my favorite things is to have fresh flowers in the house, but more than that, I cherished that our sweet daughters looked for ways to show mommy undiluted love and devotion.

When I was at the farmer's market a few weeks ago, one of the vendors had bunches of fresh cut flowers stuck mish mash in a big plastic pot. The randomness of the posies reminded me of the impetuous bundles our daughters brought in long ago. So, I grabbed a handful, brought them home, put them into this vase and had a delightful time painting them.

What kind of flowers are these? Never having seen this kind of flower before, I would dub them sweet bygone days.

Georgia On My Mind

One advantage of being stuck in bed is having undiluted time to relish the luxury to read at leisure. Reese has kept a steady supply of various art books at the ready. As he was selecting a book to bring upstairs yesterday, he noticed that I have several books on Cezanne, several books on Monet, several books on Mary Cassatt...

When one likes a musician, for example, it's not uncommon to have in one's personal collection several albums (cd's) of the same artist. People who swoon over Elvis generally have more than one Elvis album in their collection. Same with The Beatles; a true Beatles fan has more than one album by the fab four. It's the same kind of thing with people who like certain artists...lots of books about one particular artist. Reese noticed this, and instead of bringing me a book of an artist I know and love well, he chose
Georgia O'Keeffe An Eternal Spirit by Susan Wright. I don't remember ever having read this book. Turning the page to the introduction, it said,

Early in 1915, when she was 28 and teaching art in South Carolina, Georgia O'Keeffe decided to take stock of her career. According to her friend Anita Pollitzer, the artist hung all of her paintings around her room and proceeded to go through a monumental self evaluation of her work. O'Keeffe by then had studied at several schools around the country under notable teachers of the time. She concluded that each one of her paintings was derivative of these influences and so destroyed every piece.

Destroyed every piece! I can relate. When I first started painting, I took 12 classes from a local art instructor. While I'm eternally grateful for someone showing me how to get started, in that short amount of time I was becoming someone else. I was painting the way the art instructor painted. I didn't want to be the next (insert teacher's name here.) I want to be the next Sarah Hazel, just like Georgia O'Keeffe wanted to be Georgia O'Keeffe, not a derivation of each art instructor.

Row Row Row

Day five of my imprisonment wasn't as bad as it could have been. Still on bed rest for a few more days, impatience is barely disguised. Being still for days on end might be fun for some, but is slow, exasperating torture for me. The desire to get well overrides otherwise impetuousness to get out of bed before wisdom dictates. A lot of words to say that I want to get well as much as I want to get out of bed.....so therefore, I'm resting, so that my back heals as quickly as possible.

It's also been one week since the completion of the 21 days of painting quest. I finished what I set out to do, painted every day for 21 days in a row. The two main things it taught me were that it's not really all that difficult to commit oneself to the habit of painting; and, there are so many other things that matter in life besides painting.

In the week since the 21 days has been over I haven't painted once. OK, so I'm not allowed out of bed, but that's beside the point. Would I have painted if I had been able?

Yes, but not out of duty, which is sometimes how the self imposed 21 day test felt. I would have painted because I was compelled to paint. Something -- love, desire, an unseen force -- drives the spirit within me to paint. As a naturally goal orientated person, to keep pursuing painting without a specific goal in mind is almost silly. When I was a runner, I trained for specific races. But now, I don't have any specific shows for which I'm "training." There are no big art events on the horizon. The motivation to paint is derived purely for the love of it.

The Rest of the Story

Rest really does help. Another week and a half of rest is what the doctor ordered. The doctor diagnosed a severe sprain of the sacroiliac joint, which basically means that my lower back is killing me. Our sweet, kind, wonderful family doctor laughed twice during today's appointment. Once, when he was testing my knee reflexes; it tickled and I giggled which really seemed to amuse him. Then again, toward the end of the visit, he was writing a prescription and asked if I had any questions. I asked if there was any way possible that the back pain was psychosomatic? He laughed, and said no, the pain was definitely in my back and not in my head.

The fountain looks great! Well, I think it still looks fine. Reese has been making me stay in bed, so I haven't actually seen it in a few days. It will look wonderful some day. Once my back heals, then work can be finished which was barely started last Saturday. I've got grand ideas for the fountain area of the
garden, but they will have to wait. Everything, basically, will have to wait.

From my resting perch (propped up on pillows in bed,) I can see a bit of the mural on our house. It's a part generally unseen from the backyard, unless one is told about it and goes to a different part of the yard to look. I'm glad it's here. It's so much more pleasant and cheery to see a painting out the window instead of a blank wall.

Resting is difficult.

Photos and publishing this blog entry through the generous contribution of the amazing Reese.

It's Back

Several years ago, I bought a charming cherubic fountain at an estate sale. At the sale, the fountain was in a small child's wading pool. Thinking it was a little tacky, I opted to bring only the fountain home, not the wading pool. I went to Lowe's, bought a small landscape pool, came home, dug a hole, installed the fountain, and within several hours all the water had splashed off the little cherubs shoulders and the pool was empty.

The next day, I went back to the estate sale, picked up the child's wading pool, came home, dug a bigger hole, re-installed the fountain, and by the next morning the pool was empty.

So I went back to Lowe's, got a bigger better landscape pool, dug a bigger better hole, installed the fountain, bought some goldfish for the fountain, and the next morning, all of the water had splashed out, and sadly there were no more goldfish.

Frustrated by the fountain not working properly, and exhausted from digging so many holes, I planted a tree in the bigger better hole, and set the nonworking charming cherubic fountain in the yard as a statue.

A week ago, Joy and I were shopping at Academy. By the front door at Academy were largish kiddie wading pools for the low low price of $13.88. Oh, the possibilities! Ever hopeful, the excitement built. I thought about buying that wading pool all week long. Maybe my fountain would work after all! Maybe this time the width and depth of the pool would support the water splashing off the little cherubs shoulders. And if it didn't work, at least the neighborhood kids could play in it. One week later (on Saturday) I bought the pool. No way was I going to dig another hole. This time, we set and installed the fountain above ground.

The part of the garden where we put our above ground very tacky child's wading pool juxtaposed with a sweetly charming cherubic statue has been sadly neglected. I spent several hours pruning, raking, re-arranging, and by nightfall two things had happened. The fountain was gloriously working, and my lower back was killing me.

I managed my way through Sunday by popping ibuprofen in large doses, using an icy hot heating pad, and resting on the back massage pallet. By 10 pm, every inch of my body was exhausted. Finally in bed, barely awake, the realization that I hadn't painted all day struck me. It was day 19 in my 21 day quest. Dang it. I would have to start over. It's not that difficult a goal, is it? Is missing one day of painting going to matter? Does this silly quest to paint every day for 21 days straight really matter, even to me? After an angst ridden internal debate, I crawled out of bed, stumbled to the studio, found my inner Marla and finger painted. To speed up the process and reduce clean up time was the reason for finger painting. No brushes to clean. The paints were already on the palette, so no colors to mix. Day 19 is over, and still counting. Whoever wants this painting can have it. In one week all the names of those who want the Day 19 painting will go in my new favorite St Arnold cap, and my daughter Joy will draw the winning name. Remember, it's free.

Sweet Baby Anna

On some canvases I prep the surface by painting a thin underlay of color. That way, if some parts of the canvas accidentally get left unpainted, at least a glaring white canvas isn't peeking through. As this image was taking shape, the simplicity of the painting as a whole greatly appealed to me.

Hmmm, thinking back, I had just gone to see John Alexander's exhibit at the MFAH for the third time. He has more than a few paintings on display where only the image is drawn, and there is no background to distract the viewer.

It's an intriguing exhibit. The movement through the years, seeing his work evolve, is very thought provoking. From the messiness of the 80's to the relative peacefulness of the 90's, when he seems to be gathering his soul....then the explosion of this decade where thirty years of his essence/being collide; it's a sight to behold. These last few years he really seems to be tying the bits and pieces of every painting he's ever done together in a grand way, on a grand scale. Epic.

1000 Words

Day 11

Of the 11 days that I've painted in a row on my new quest, about half of the days have been complete flops. Half of the days I've spent wiping off as much paint as I've put on the canvas. Some of the progress is encouraging, but in all 11 days, not one painting has been completed.

Painting is a lonely process. I need the calm and quiet when I paint, but quite frankly, it exhausts me. Is that even possible? I've heard that if one is an introvert, that being in big crowds can be exhausting. Could the opposite be true as well? That an extrovert would be exhausted from the solitude?

My Kid Could Paint That

There's a recently produced documentary about a four year old girl named Marla who has allegedly created works of art that have sold to collectors worldwide. The documentary raises questions about the authenticity of Marla working alone on these pieces being attributed to her. The parents' adamant insistence that Marla created these works herself appears to be a lie. Perhaps, when the parents initially started promoting their daughter and her art they believed that they had no hand in helping. But after a 60 Minutes hidden camera captured the little girl struggling to create a particular piece, and hearing sideline coaching form her father, serious doubts were raised about the authenticity of Marla completely working alone.

In one scene, Marla tries to get the attention of her father to give credit to her little brother for painting the "green one" all by himself. The "green one" is in Marla's gallery show in Los Angeles.

In yet another scene, the parents are trying to prove that Marla is indeed the sole creator of her art, with no assistance from the father, and allow the documentary film maker to videotape Marla painting something from start to finish. Marla is struggling and says to her father,

"Your turn to do it."
"You have to tell me what to do right now."
"You paint a face."
"Alright just help me dude."
"Or tell me to be done or help. What one? Pick."

The mother in the piece seems genuinely duped into believing that her daughter is the sole creator of her work. The father appears to believe whatever story will propel his daughter to fame and fortune, and everything that goes with it. He reminds me of when my own kids were two, three, four. It's as if he keeps coming up with a new facet to the story (that's not true) in order to convince himself and others that it is true. When the mother says that she wants to take a polygraph to prove that Marla is the sole creator of the art, the camera focuses of the father's face. He's clearly nervous at the possibility of trying to pass a lie detector test.

The part of the movie that's most unsettling to me is the implication that the father is grooming his daughter to be a fraud. The undercurrent is that he's teaching her to lie...small untruths that will cloud her judgement into adulthood. What the movie really is is a commentary on moral relativism, the philosophy that, it's true for me if I believe it.

Day 6

Here’s the back-story: In the summer of 2006, a pastor from Kansas challenged his congregation to go 21 days without a complaint. His intention was to help them each to see the brighter side of life. Each individual was given a purple bracelet, and each time he or she gossiped, whined, moaned or complained, he or she had to switch the bracelet to the other wrist. The three-week countdown then started over. Apparently, habits form, good or bad, in as little as 21 days.

Taking this idea of developing a good habit lifestyle, I decided to try to paint every day for 21 days in a row. I'm on day 6. It's an exciting adventure!

Even though it's only day 6, there is a noticeable dwindling of paint. They are going to love me at the art supply store these next few weeks. Anticipating replenishing painting supplies during the 21 day total, the cash amount I likely will spend might pay this month's rent at the art supply store.

Meat Loaf

Last night while at a party celebrating Urban Chef, Reese and I laughed with a long time friend about his movie rental matrix. What's amazing to me is how different minds think. The process of the brain that puts information together in matrix form to make decisions is, to me, astounding. My brain doesn't work like this.

Nils was a little embarrassed. He said that he recently read an article presenting that the best way to make decisions is to sleep on it. So, these days, instead of making matrices, he prefers to make decisions after a good night of sleep.

I've often thought that dreams are the subconscious working through problems on our behalf. Many times I have dreamed about something and woken up with a renewed sense of purpose and direction, particularly with regard to painting. This week, the dreams haven't been so beneficial to solving problems. It's been a week of cluelessness. The grand ideas are still grand, but as of now, unattainable. Perhaps, I need more sleep.

Daydreams can be just as powerful. Just yesterday, while at lunch with a friend, I realized that I was staring at my friend's face, but not hearing a word she had said. There was an unresolved issue with a painting on which I had been working. As soon as I realized that I was mentally working to solve the painting "mistake," I stopped and refocused on my friend and our conversation. She must have noticed that I was daydreaming. She makes her living reading people; she's a therapist.

I could have used a good dream to help with today's efforts as well. First thing this morning, I prepared my palette. With grandiose ideas, I started mixing colors and applying thick paint to a large canvas. It was all wrong. I wiped that off, remixed more colors, started again...all wrong. Wiped it all off. Started a third time. Again, just not right. After wiping all the paint off for a third time, I decided it best to get out the pastels to sketch the image before painting. That's as far as I got today. I'm looking forward to sweet dreams tonight.

Pomp and Circumstance

What could be better than a typical cheesy high school graduation photos of the graduate squeezed between parents and grandparents? Our third daughter has finally commenced, graduating from Lamar High School's class of 2008. If one looks closely at the photo, the mortarboard tassel reads 2007. She borrowed a hat from one of last year's graduates, and the gown from her big sister. I couldn't be more proud....that she was OK with not having all her own stuff to wear, and that she's finished with high school.

Looking at this photo of Hilary with Mimi and Papa, it's amazing to me how much she looks like her grandparents. After a two hour ceremony, it was also amazing to me that we were all this cheerful.

The rush of life happening right now has temporarily delayed a brewing art idea. For a few weeks now, I've had an idea percolating around in my brain, waiting for the right time to begin. Maybe in the next few days, my art life can re-adjust and all these ideas can materialize. The "extra" time to organize my brain and mull over details has been great. The fullness of life that has precluded the start of the art project has been wonderful.