The Good Book

While Anna was home for Christmas, she graciously posed while reading her book so that I could begin a new painting. "Young Lady Reading" has been a theme I have been wanting to try for a good long while. After less than an hour of painting, we started losing light, and Anna had another commitment---another booking, so I took some reference photos in order to finish the painting later....

What I didn't know and had never experienced until now, was that when the atmosphere is charged with electricity as it often is during winter, and one tries to upload photos on a computer, the teeniest and tiniest of charges can erase an entire disc. In an instant approximately 200 photos were erased, including the reference photos of Anna reading her book.

After Anna was in her car ready to book it back to Austin, it dawned on me that I had lost the reference photo of her reading. I frantically knocked on the passenger window, explained the dilemma, she turned off the car, came back inside, sat on the love seat, grabbed a book, and quietly posed....again.

Thanks, Anna. It was the perfect book end to your stay.

Remote Commander Reese

What might be a little difficult to see in this photo is Reese's birthday present. In his hand is the remote control device, and in the air above his head is the remote controlled helicopter.

While shopping for the remote controlled helicopter yesterday, Anna and I began to experience what Arnold Schwarzenegger's character did in Jingle All the Way. Since Reese's birthday is on January 2nd, and I am not generally accustomed to buying him toys for this celebration since we obviously got married after his childhood, it never once occurred to me that a *RC helicopter* might not be available for purchase this close after Christmas. Happily, we stumbled upon the prize not too far in our quest.

It's a really cool gift if I do say so myself.

It's A Wonderful Life

It was great having our daughters here for Christmas.

In left to right order: Anna, Joy, Hilary, and Erin.

Repent

While Francois and I were painting together earlier this week, I painted over part of my painting to improve it.

Francois got excited and said,

"Oh, you are repenting."

"Huh?"

In french, the word to take something out of a painting, or to cover over what has already been painted in order to improve said painting, is the same word that one would use when confessing ones sins. Repent. And it means the same thing...to cover over, to turn from, or make a change for the better because of remorse.

Repenting is a useful habit, in painting and in life.

Two Turtle Doves

There are more than two
of this I am sure,
their goal is to poo
outside our front door.

Bird poo is a nuisance
of that there's no doubt;
when stepped on with shoes
it gets tracked in the house.

I sweep with a vengeance
or use the leaf blower,
but they laugh at my dance
and the poo seems to grow...er,

(I had a hard time
with that last little bit
coming up with a rhyme
about all the bird sh...)

My patience is waning
as I look in the branches;
birds keeps on raining
bird poo every chances.

I'm dreaming of sling shots,
and arrows and bow,
of B B's, and pellets,
to make the birds go.

Maybe borrow a cat,
or a big grizzly bear;
Would birds scare of that,
or still poo without care?

Some poisoned bird seed......
No, nothing so drastic,
but life bird poo free
does seem rather fantastic.

Out, out of that tree!
the birds hear me say,
Please, please leave us be.
Be gone! Go away!

Favorite Things

One of my favorite things about life in the Hazel household has been our family supper time. Until very recently, we would all gather at the table for a meal at 6:30 every night. But with Erin and Anna grown, and Reese working late, and Hilary and Joy babysitting so much, we just haven't had nearly as many meals together.

It's not the food, though something inexplicable happens when people eat together....comraderie? I don't know. Maybe. But what happens at our table is that each person at the table talks about their favorite thing of the day. Two things happen. One, everyone at the table contributes to the conversation. And two, everyone at the table listens to one another. Because we discuss favorite things, the family time remains positive.

Since no one is home tonight, what was your favorite thing of the day?

Mine was painting with Francios, my french teacher neighbor friend. We agreed today that I would give her a painting lesson while we studied french. The time flew, and before she was finished it was time for Francios to pick up her children from school. Hopefully she will have time to come back on Monday to finish her painting. Now, *if I can just keep the flowers alive....*

22 Twain

Does 22 seem like a lot or a little? Old or young? Because I've only completed 22 paintings this calendar year, and it doesn't seem like very many to me. And my oldest daughter is 22; I am twice her age (as of last week) and that doesn't seem so old to me, either.


Tomorrow night is the *holiday art sale* opening at Bering and James Gallery. My "Landscape" (catchy title, I know) will be offered for $300. Part of the proceeds from the sale will be donated to DePelchin Children's Center, part go to Bering and James, and part go to me. This is a very typical breakdown of where the money goes when someone buys a painting. Add in the cost of supplies, time, and effort at marketing, and the term "starving artist" comes to mind.

Thank God for Reese. He encourages the best in me, he provides for our family, and he delights in me pursuing artistic endeavors. He is content with this year's 22 paintings, and with me being 44. And he absolutely loves having a 22 year old daughter....and a 20 year old, and an 18 year old, and a 16 year old......

Hubbub

The house was full last week; full of warmth, loving family, dear friends, good smells, tasty food, flowing wine, continuous laughter, mutual acceptance, and excessive clutter.

For the last ten (?) years, we have celebrated Thanksgiving with our Australian neighbor friends. Between the two of us, Jennine and I have finally perfected the Thanksgiving dinner...for our families. It was great.

After the hubbub of the Thanksgiving holidays died down, I called my mom to see how things were in Mississippi. We were talking about this and that, nothing of life changing importance when she asked,

"Do you really like painting?"

To which I replied, "I love painting."

She then said something about deadlines and the business of art, to which I insisted that I thrive on goals and deadlines. Don't even think about asking me to focus on details, but to have a short term goal, or a long range plan, and it's like having a jolt of electricity coursing through my veins....in a good way.

That's why it was a bit of a personal disappointment the other week when I had written down the wrong deadline for something, which was completely my fault. Thinking that I had until the end of the month to put the final touches on a few paintings....and not being able to before the November 15th deadline (not November 30th) threw me off a little.

Ah, well. Can't get too hung up on disappointment. There's another deadline approaching. Or maybe it's a lifeline.

Rain Rain Go Away

This is as good as it gets. Reese took this photo with my cell phone about 15 minutes before sprinkling rain stopped our work. My friend Cynthia had come to help me paint my square for Via Colori, but even with her assistance we were no match for Mother Nature. All three of us struggled in the wind and rain to tape a large plastic drop cloth over the big square. Then we sat on a drizzly curb and waited. There was one point when Cynthia and I thought that the rain had cleared enough to start drawing again. We peeled back part of the plastic and started working on the door in the painting. But there was not a chance that the weather was going to clear. Not even a 50 percent chance.

The deluge lasted all night and throughout the morning, and even so, I honestly thought that today I would get to finish the work. So after church Reese and I went downtown, hopeful...hopeful that the plastic and taped down edges had kept all the rain off the image, hopeful that we could redeem the time and still finish the painting, hopeful that the show would go on...

What we saw when we got there was a big splot of colorful mud. The pastels used for drawing on the street make a lovely pasty glob when wet.

It was sad.

Poor Judd is Dead

The deadline was supposed to be on November 30th. Or so I thought. November 30th is what I wrote down when I was organizing my time frame list because my brain gets all muddled with details. So I make lists. Most of the paintings I had planned on completing by November 30th weren't even begun, much less finished...because the deadline is really November 15th. Tomorrow.

In spite of the "new" deadline, Reese and I have worked efficiently together. He takes photos of the paintings, preps the photos for the website, and whatever else needs doing. He does a lot. I just paint. We were on track to complete as much of everything that we could by the looming November 15th deadline. Then the cd burner didn't/wouldn't work. Busted. (The cd burner thingy is essential to completing this particular project.) After chatting online with a computer guru for an hour trying to fix the issue, we found out that it will take 2-3 business days for them to mail the software and replacement part before the problem could even begin to be solved.

The deadline is tomorrow.

On the plus side, we uploaded six new paintings to the website.

It Happens

While painting today
the canvas fell on my head
my hair turned orange

Sometimes it happens
I start thinking in haiku
I can't help myself

Last night I partied
at Art on the Avenue
I bid on some wine

Twenty one bottles
the highest bidder was me
all for a good cause

Dress code: warehouse chic
laughing, talking, and laughing
meeting new people

This Saturday night
you can come bid on some art
all for a good cause

If you buy my art
it will help pay for the wine
all for a good cause

Wine out the wazoo
drop in sometime for a drink
or maybe to laugh

P.S. I don't know (?)
blog comments aren't working right
trying to fix it

Running on Empty

A friend of ours has a house, well not so much a house, but part of a building downtown in Palacios. He invited some friends down last Saturday just for fun. Preparing for the long car ride, I brought the french tapes and one of my art books on Cezanne. We got home rather late, and totally against my character, I left the tapes and book in the car instead of bringing them inside.

Sunday morning was harried, even though we all had an extra hour to get ready for church. Someone had forgotten to charge the moped battery, so Hilary couldn't remotely get to St. Paul's where she sings in the choir. As a non-morning person, I knew just how the moped felt. Empty. But that wasn't going to help Hilary get to St. Paul's.

Skipping a few essentials, such as using the restroom before leaving home because I could just as easily go once we got to church, Hilary, Joy, and I made our way to St. Paul's to drop off Hilary. Exacerbated by our drive to Palacios the day before, the gas gage was on empty. No worries, I thought. I can make it.

As we were driving west on Bissonet, Joy and I noticed a black cloud of smoke in the distance. It seemed surprisingly odd, especially since the closer we got to church the more the smoke seemed to be right where we were headed. Approaching the railroad tracks, the West University cops had the way blocked, and motioned for us to go left/south. Church was north/right, so I turned right, just as the last drop of gas was being consumed by the suburban. Empty. Guess what else? While talking to AAA on my cell phone, the battery started beeping like it was running out of juice, too. Then the tow truck driver couldn't get to me because the roads were blocked because of that smokey fire Joy and I had seen in the distance. To top it all off, I really had to go to the bathroom.

Joy, bless her heart, started walking to church, stopping at Shipley Donuts on the way. But I stayed with the car. And because I hadn't cleaned out the car from our trip to Palacios the day before, I had the french tapes to listen to, and a book on Cezanne to read, which was a huge huge blessing.

If Reese and I hadn't gone to Palacios the day before, and I hadn't been so exhausted when we got home, the book and tapes would have never been in the car in the first place.

Finding My Center

Via Colori is in a couple of weeks. Last year I modified my painting to make it seem a bit more three dimensional. This year's image isn't quite so malleable. (I'm using Door in San Miguel, a painting I no longer own.) Plus, The Center for Hearing and Speech has asked for a 10 inch by 10 inch replica of the 10 foot by 10 foot image that I'm drawing/painting on the street so that they can auction it to raise even more money.

In theory it's a great idea---auction off a smaller image of the giant street drawing. That way at least one person gets to go home with something that won't disappear in 48 hours, considering that everything gets washed off the street by the end of the second day. But drawing this smaller image has posed a bit of a problem.

In order to make the small "painting" as much like the street painting as possible, I painted the background of the Masonite board grey. I even went outside to copy the color of the street in front of our house to make sure that the small reproduction would be as similar to the finished street painting as possible. Then I thought it would be a good idea to use the exact same pastel chalks that will be used for the street painting. Well, this poses a problem with matching colors because the original original painting was done in oils. With oils one can create and endless variety of colors. But with pastels, one is limited in one's choice. Apparently there is a much greater variety of pastels on the market, but I am trying to reduce the overall cost of the whole event, and am planning to only use the pastels provided by the Center for Hearing and Speech for this event. This limits the accurateness of the drawing (small and large) quite a bit. Hence my frustration.

Reckon?

The exact date is uncertain, but right about this time three years ago I started painting. Three years and 108 paintings (more or less.) Here I am standing in Lawndale Art Center next to my latest painting to be exhibited and sold. A friend* of mine recognized that it was one of my paintings, not from the style, not from my name, but from the figure in the painting. He thought that it must be a relative of mine because he thought it looked like me so therefore I must have painted it. OK, it is a painting of my father's mother, and I've always thought that I look more like my dad than my mom, but how is it that Bob* could have possibly recognized the family resemblance?

At the absolute complete opposite end of the spectrum at the opening, I said hi to a new friend of mine who looked at me...thoroughly clueless.

"I'm Sarah Hazel," I said. "We met at such and such and this that and the other. Remember?"

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at me. With the slightest hint of acknowledgement she vaguely said, "Wow. I didn't recognize you. You look nice."

Dia de los Muertos

Tonight is the opening Gala and Silent Auction for Lawndale Art Center. Yesterday, Reese and I went to see the exhibit...partly because it will be so crowded at the opening tonight, but mainly because Reese has been working nights and can't be two places at once.

To recap, this is the exhibit for which I painted a retablo, or small devotional painting in the mexican tradition. All 240-ish retablos at the exhibit will be offered for sale; the proceeds benefitting Lawndale Art Center.

If you want to join me tonight, I have access to a few extra tickets, so call me.

Gone With The Wind

One of the things I did last week while painting was listen to my Ultimate French Advanced tapes. After a particularly long day, I was telling Reese and Hilary about my attempts at learning French. Hilary asked me what I could possibly be learning from listening to tapes in which I don't understand a single word.

"What are you learning?" she asked.

Without a second thought I said in my best french accent, " I am learning 'ow to tawk like zeese."

However, the tapes didn't follow me to Hermann Park today. Houston has had an abrupt change in the weather, and from the comfort of home, the day seemed perfect for painting en plein aire. So, I loaded up the french easel (French is everywhere) and headed to the Japanese Garden in Hermann Park. What a pretty day; crisp sky, brisk wind.

It has been a l-o-n-g time since I last painted outside. Undeterred but slightly nervous (Reese calls it nervous excitement,) I methodically set up my work space. The paints were orderly laid out on the palette. The french easel was screwed together extra tight on account of the wind.

The initial start was sketchy, and by that I mean not so good. So I wiped it all off and started over. My second go was much better....but the wind was practically gusting. First, the turpenoid (odorless turpentine) spilled all over the palette. Not a huge deal, but then my paintbrushes started falling one by one in the dirt. OK. I can handle that, too, but as I was packing it all in to come home, the painting fell face down....in the dirt, grass, leaves, and pine needles. All of nature represented in the Japanese Garden is embedded in what's left of the painting.

Reese received a text about my small misery. He texted back...wwmd? What would Monet do? :)

It's only a guess, but I think Monet would have gone inside for un verre de vin rouge. (That's french for a glass of red wine.)

French Lessons

For many years I have wanted to learn the french language. The great artists from the last couple of centuries studied in France, and invariably their paintings are most thoroughly described in french. The benefit would be great.

It just so happens that one of our new neighbors is French and she has graciously agreed to give me french lessons. Our first go was yesterday. Despite her patience, my thoroughly Americanized pronunciation of french words/phrases leaves a lot to be desired.

After she left, I walked a few blocks over to Half Price Books to search for any sort of help with regards to learning to speak french....mostly out of courtesy to Francoise. The poor dear might not want to return if I languish in leçon un for weeks on end.

There I was in the foreign language section and for the life of me I couldn't find anything regarding french. There was a sign that said that everything was alphabetized, but when I looked where "F" should be there were all these books on how to learn Greek. I know that F comes before G, yet I still looked to the right....Italian, Russian, Spanish....it slowly dawned on me that the F's would be left, but then there were books on German! Good grief. What's the deal?

It was a small moment of triumph when I discovered the french books---very properly alphabetized. Ah, I found the perfect set of lessons on tape; 8 sixty minute cassettes with an accompanying 400 page text book, in great shape at a modest price. Bought it. Came home. Put in the first tape. A long string of indecipherable french words came pouring through the atmosphere.

What?!

For someone who is a visual learner, I wasn't very observant. The program that I bought was ULTIMATE FRENCH ADVANCED. Not Beginning. Not Intermediate. Advanced.

Oh, well. C'est la vie.

The Raggedy Man

Prompted by a good friend, I'm adding "not necessarily art"-related stories to this blog. This other life of mine seems to eventually relate somehow to time spent working on art type things.

This is the story of Reese and me going to the airport a few weeks go to pick up the Shaws, whom I mentioned in the October 1st blog entry.

As we were driving to the airport, we noticed that the car was driving a little rough. We pulled off at the next exit to see if we had a flat, and noticed smoke coming out from under our hood. There was a Shell station at the next intersection; we pulled in to check under the hood. Sure enough---lots of smoke.

Reese went in the little convenience store attached to the gas station to buy some coolant. Then he pulled the suburban over to the water hose at the edge of the gas station parking lot to add the coolant....He had just gotten the hood up, and had added the water/coolant mixture, when out of nowhere a raggedy old man appeared. Looking under the hood, he said,

"You have a problem with your thermostat. I can fix it."

In his left hand, the tattered and timeworn fella held a bag of aluminum cans. He said that he had been out collecting cans when something (someone?) told him to walk toward us. He said that in a past life he had been a car mechanic. Then he opened up his right hand and much to our surprise, there in his filthy fist was a small supply of tools. Not waiting for permission, he immediately started loosening this and tightening that. He kept up a running commentary of the work he was doing and why it needed to be done. He crawled under the car, worked a bit more, looked under the hood again, tightened one last bolt....then said,

"Well. That should take care of it. You shouldn't have any more problems."

I asked if we should tow it home.(?)

He said,

"Lady, you could drive it to New York." (which is a long way considering we live in Houston, Texas)

Still a bit stunned from the suddenness of it all, we tipped the guy and drove off.

With extreme gratefulness in our hearts, we safely made it to the airport just in time to greet our friends as they walked out of baggage claim.

In case you are wondering, the car is fine.

Happiness is....

Monday, I bought flowers and set up a still life in the studio.

Tuesday, I re-arranged the still life endlessly, then mixed paint time and time again, never quite satisfied with the colors.

Wednesday, I worked on my resume, delivered a painting, and generally avoided actually painting....until late afternoon. And then, it happened. The joy, the excitement, the delight, and pleasure that sometimes happens when I paint overwhelmed me.

Such is happiness.

Joansing

As Winnie-the-Pooh says,

"It's so much more friendly with two."

There is no doubt that the weather in Houston is at it's best in the fall and spring....which makes those times ideal for plein air painting, or painting outdoors. Last spring--or maybe it was a year ago spring--Joan and Joan joined me in the Japanese Garden for a morning of painting. The camaraderie is great....just to have other friends who are compelled to paint like I am, and to cheer each other in our small artistic achievements. The two Joans are great encouragers.

This painting was the result of our day together.

"Crepe Myrtles at the Japanese Garden" has been auctioned (as of tonight) to raise money for the Susan G Komen Foundation. All money from the sale of this painting goes to the Houston Chapter to help eradicate breast cancer through research, education, screening, and treatment.

Sleepovers

A lot of people have been asking for an update, especially with regards to the Spice Show a whole weekend ago. It was a grand event, well attended and thoughtfully considered. Because of e-mail forwards, we had a whole group of old acquaintances come out to join us. Reese and I caught up on a few years worth of news from the old hood, which is always entertaining and amusing.

Last week, we had the delightful pleasure of hosting an *our parent's age* couple from England in our home. We chatted endlessly, giggled, and spent a day visiting the MFAH and Byzantine Chapel. Rosemary and David Shaw had never seen nor heard of Frederick Remington, the famous American painter, illustrator, and sculptor who specialized in scenes of the old wild west. The MFAH has several Remington paintings and one of his bronzes. Remington has an unique way of depicting light and/or darkness. One painting is full of soft greens to depict the moonlit night at an open corral on the high plains. It is a painting of a horse being surrounded by wolves in the darkness.

"It's quite fierce really. Yes. Shocking." (they both said with nods of approval.)

As some might recall, my art studio doubles as the guest room. The only complaint from Rosemary and David was that the room got a bit cold overnight. Everyone who sleeps in the studio says the same thing. I must remember to make up the bed with a nice warm blanket before you come spend the night.

A Full Fall

There are several art related things on the calendar for the fall, the first being the Spice Show opening this Saturday at Elder Street Gallery.

On October the 4th, one of my paintings will be in the Susan G Komen Race For The Cure Pasta Party Silent Auction at the Westin Galleria. Tickets for the Pasta Party are available at Komen-Houston.

Something fun and new I'm working on will be in the silent auction for Lawndale Art Center's Dia de los Muertos Silent Auction on October 26th.

The Center for Hearing and Speech is hosting Via Colori on November 17th and 18th. Like last year, I am painting a 10 foot by 10 foot square on a street in downtown Houston. I have almost decided on an image to transfer for this HUGE disposable art. In addition to the painting on the street, Via Colori will also auction a smaller reproduction of the piece on the street, if that makes sense. So I will auction off a ten inch by ten inch painting, and draw a ten foot by ten foot giant painting of the same image on the street that will be washed off by the end of the festival. Someone will get to keep the smaller painting, though.

And I'm having a piece for sale in Bering and James for their annual Holiday Box Sale on December 1st.

A Leaf Treader

I have been treading on leaves all day until I am autumn tired.
God knows all the color and form of leaves I have trodden on and mired.
Perhaps I have put forth too much strength or been too fierce from fear.
I have safely trodden underfoot the leaves of another year.

All summer long they were overhead, more lifted up than I.
To come to their final place in earth they had to pass me by.
All summer long I thought I heard them whispering under their breath.
And when they came it seemed with a will to carry me with them to death.

They spoke to the fugitive in my heart as if it were leaf to leaf.
They tapped at my eyelids and touched my lips with an invitation to grief.
But it was no reason I had to go because they had to go.
Now up, my knee, to keep on top of another year of snow.

Robert Frost

Spice

Elder Street Gallery is hosting a nine woman exhibit called "Spice." It just so happens that I am one of the artists (!).... along with Susan Donaldson, Shelly Shanks, Jerrie Glidden, Bridget Vallery, Alissa Fereday, Sorange Castillo, Rose Marie Moore, and Susan Goettsche.

Instead of being Spice Girls, we are Spice Women. Call me Zesty Spice....or just call me.

The opening reception is September 22nd, 6-10pm. Every one is invited, of course. The gallery is located at 1101 Elder Street in the really old refurbished Jefferson Davis hospital. Drive around back to the gallery entrance.

"Whoever controls the spice controls the universe."
—Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, Dune

Bertie On Our First Date

On July 4th, we were invited to an old fashioned Southern style Independence Day picnic where the guests were encouraged to bring a family dish AND include a photograph of the relative from whom the recipe came. This task first required looking through a very disorganized box of recipes. Having found a recipe for Mills' Homemade Ice Cream, the next order of business was to find a photograph of my father's mother, Gramma Mills.

Now, I realize it's very unlikely that this recipe was invented by my grandmother. And it's also very probable that it wasn't passed down from her, but I do remember going to her house in the summertime and eating homemade ice cream. She was really cute. She would get so excited in the kitchen when she was cooking for us. Sometimes she would have saved some snow ice cream from the previous winter....Now remember, I was young. The story was that since it didn't snow in our part of Mississippi, she would save some snow ice cream for us to eat when we came to visit. In my childishness, I imagined that all snow fell in drifts of colors and flavors. One would go outside in the winter and gather a bucketful of vanilla or strawberry snow ice cream to save for the coming year. I'm convinced that's why we tell our youngsters not to eat yellow snow....if it's yellow it must be lemon flavored, right?

The photograph I found was stuck in an old album. It's the only picture I have of Gramma Mills. She didn't still look like this when I loved her.


This is what she looked like when my grandpa first loved her, for on the back of the photograph, it says in a lovely script,

"Bertie on our first date"

Did my grandpa know *on his first date* that he was going to build a life with this woman?

For the last 20 years, the Lawndale Art Center has hosted a Dia de los Muertos exhibition inviting Texas artists to create a retablo, a small oil devotional painting. This precious photograph of my grandmother and what it signifies---the beginning of a life and love that is a huge part of the reason that I even exist---was the inspiration for the retablo I'm painting.

The plan for this piece is to have the Gramma Mills part in black and white (as shown below) to indicate life from the past. Then I plan to paint the background in color to show that love flourished and grew, and is still growing from this first date. The whole "family tree" aspect of the retablo will be suggested by a tree in the landscape. The finished piece will be auctioned in The Retablo Gala and Silent Auction for Lawndale Art Center on October 26. (I might need to buy this piece back.)


Mills' Homemade Ice Cream

6 eggs
3/4 cup sugar
1 can condensed milk
pinch salt
4 teaspoons vanilla
2 cartons whipping cream
1 pint half and half
2 cups milk - more or less - fill to line in machine

Ice and lots of salt
Also drain water as it turns