No Concept

This pathetic little critter is our pet. He's guarding his favorite toy, a stuffed monkey. His pedigree in the dog world equals Prince Charles in the people world. He has taken it upon himself to roll in poo twice in the last three days.

The concept art isn't going so well...mainly because we aren't concept art types around here. At this point, anything I paint won't have time to dry before it's due for installation at Lawndale Art Center, so it's this concept idea, or nothing at all. The vote around here is nothing is preferable to the concept.

A Beautiful Concept

Funny how recurring threads of conversation keep popping up, no matter the situation or crowd. At two separate parties, including the Post-Diversionist dinner (photo above), with two completely different sets of folks, the conversational theme centered around Art with regards to Beauty versus Concept. Had I been up to date on philosophical readings, I would have deferred to Kant and his view of aesthetics. The following paragraph is quoted from a wikipedia article on aesthetics.

Viewer interpretations of beauty possess two concepts of value: aesthetics and taste. Aesthetics is the philosophical notion of beauty. Taste is a result of education and awareness of elite cultural values; therefore taste can be learned. Taste varies according to class, cultural background, and education. According to Kant, beauty is objective and universal; thus certain things are beautiful to everyone.

Quoting wikipedia again...

Conceptual art is art in which the concept(s) or idea(s) involved in the work take precedence over traditional aesthetic and material concerns. In conceptual art, the idea or concept is the most important aspect of the work.

My own artist statement reflects my personal belief that without beauty, art is undefined. A concept, while often thought provoking (yet sometimes just plain baffling,) is, in my humble opinion, not necessarily art. That said, I'm working on a concept for a piece to be in Lawndale Art Center's upcoming Dia de los Muertos exhibit. I hope that, even though it is a concept, it will be recognized as beautiful, and therefore, art in it's own right.

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

Life is never short of misadventures. To say that the week has been unusual would be an understatement. Without going into details, suffice it to say that life, at the moment, is abundantly full.

One thing that I'm actually looking forward to and have been preparing for all week is a gathering of the Houston area Post-Diversionists for supper at our house this Friday evening. The Post-Diversionists are a collective of various artists from the Houston area who, for whatever reason, have all done individual portraits of Martin DeVore. Martin is an endlessly enthusiastic supporter of working artists in the Houston area and one of the founding members of the Post-Diversionists.

It will be my first time to meet several of the artists in the group. It will be their first time to try Sarah's Spaghetti Sauce. And yes, this time I'll remember to go easy on the cayenne pepper.

Angel Oak Tree

Almost all week I've been working on a painting for Angel Store, an exhibition featuring angels and benefiting the Justice for Children Foundation. Normally, I wouldn't even enter this type of exhibit, because painting angels isn't really my thing. But the cause is a good one, and a dear friend was incessantly persistent that I enter.

It must be fairly obvious by now (for regular readers) that I paint what I see. Honestly, I haven't seen any angels floating around the studio lately. So then, what to paint? After an extensive amount of Google-ing, I finally found something of interest. Instead of a traditional biblical angel, which are all artist renderings anyway, I decided to paint the Angel Oak Tree which incidentally is located in the Charleston, South Carolina area, not too far from where my little brother lives.

This painting is purposefully more lively and colorful that the norm (for me.) The look and feel I was intending to portray is other worldly...like an angel.

Some Influences

As mentioned in a previous post, the weather has been unseasonably HOT in Houston this summer. So when some cooler dryer air blew in earlier this week, I took advantage of the opportunity to paint en plein air.

In the photo at right, I am putting some finishing touches on a painting of the lilies in our pond. Using water lilies as subject matter is undoubtedly influenced by the late great Claude Monet.


The next day I started this. It's meant to be in the style of Picasso's Self-portrait with a palette, 1906.

In our pseudo-library is a decent collection of art books, the numbers of which grow on a fairly regular basis. On the cover of one of the Picasso books is a close up of the Picasso self portrait. Generally, I'm not a fan of Picasso, but there's no doubt of his influence on the art world.


At a little more than 100 years later, I guess this one should be called Self-portrait, 2009. This is my offering of a smidgen of respect for Picasso's universal appeal, and my own intrigue at some of his more realistic works.

A note of observation: It was too muggy to paint outside when the self portrait was started, or I probably would have painted the lilies again. One can see how my hair got more frizzy as the day progressed. In the beginning, it was straight. By the end of the day, it was back to it's more normal puffy disheveled-ness.

Saucy

I have a confession to make.

When I was in college lo these many years ago, I was complicit in a not so nice trick played on a friend's house mate. The housemate (we'll call him Jim) was quite full of himself. Jim was certain he was the best ____ (fill in the blank) at everything he did. Jim made sure everyone within earshot knew about his many accomplishments. Jim was convinced that he was the best looking fella on campus. Jim knew that all "the babes" were in love with him, a topic of which he spoke with great frequency. (They weren't.) Jim would leave home every day at the same time and go for an hour bike ride. Jim would return, go to the pantry and take out a can of tuna. Jim would then open his tuna can with great flourish as he expounded on the numerous virtues of tuna. Jim would then fix a tuna fish sandwich for lunch. Jim was absolutely convinced that his tuna fish diet would turn him into a lean mean fighting machine (which it didn't.) This bike ride/tuna routine happened every day...like clock work.

Well, my friend and I got a little (OK, a lot) annoyed at Jim's constant narcissism.

Back then, I don't know if it's the same today or not, I haven't checked lately, but back then, cat food cans looked remarkably similar to tuna fish cans.

One day during Jim's daily bike ride, my friend and I went to Star Market and bought a few cans of cat food. We then went home and with an X-Acto knife, carefully peeled the labels off the tuna fish cans and applied them to the cans of cat food...and put the cat food back exactly where the tuna had been before in the cupboard. Jim came home from his ride, and predictably, went to the pantry. Jim opened the can of cat food (with a tuna fish label) and fixed himself a sandwich, all the while delivering a sermon on the glory of all things Jim....and of course, the virtuous attributes of tuna.

Jim never noticed that he was eating cat food.

The reason for the confession is this: somewhere somehow, the universe remembered what I had done to Jim all those years ago. The universe decided that I needed a taste of my own medicine, so to speak. The universe played a trick on me.

What is undetectable in this photo is the spiciness of this particular batch of spaghetti sauce. My grave mistake in this batch of sauce was inadvertently adding cayenne pepper instead of chili powder. The jar was mislabeled. Even after adding more tomato sauce to the pot, it was still quite spicy. It's not the first time this has happened...though I do hope it's the last.


Sarah's Spaghetti Sauce

* 2 cans tomatoes
* 1 can tomato paste + 1 can red wine (with a little splash for the cook)
* 1 onion (grated or chopped)
* a few garlic cloves
* 2 t paprika (or a little more)
* 3 T olive oil
* 3 T brown sugar
* 2 t chili powder (NOT cayenne pepper)
* 1 T Worcestershire sauce
* 2 T ketchup

Combine all and simmer several hours. This, when prepared properly, (without cayenne pepper) is a family favorite.

Art Surfing

Normally high energy, my little sister was exhausted last night. In town for two days, she had requested an art tour of things art/big sister related in Houston. That's a mighty task to accomplish. Originally, a one day tour was planned, but even with two days worth of time, we barely accomplished everything on the list. She said that if I had gone to San Diego and surfed (her specialty) for two days straight that I would be as exhausted as she was seeing art (my specialty) for two days straight. She said it was as if we had been catching the big waves and art surfing for two days.

The spaces we actually walked in and around included the Byzantine Chapel, the Rothko Chapel, the Cy Twombly Gallery, The Menil Collection, the MFAH, The MFAH Sculpture Garden, The MFAH Glassell School of Art, the Contemporary Arts Museum, the Beer Can House, Xnihilo Gallery, the Japanese Garden, Lawndale Art Center, Block 7 Wine Company, and the Guild Shop.

Drive by's included the Pioneer Log House Museum, Winter Street Studios, David Adickes Sculptureworx Studio, Elder Street Gallery, the former Earth Gallery, the Art Car Museum, the Rose Garden, Bering and James Gallery, and the location where Reese and I go busking. :)

We also enjoyed the food at La Guadalupana Bakery, Tacos a Go Go, and the Chocolate Bar.

Yes, there were good times, big laughs, and tired feet in the Hazel house with my sister and her husband, and the art surfing in Houston was swell.

Is it?

Is it kind? Is it true? Is it timely? Is it necessary? Life is so much more pleasant when I remember to ask myself these four questions before speaking.

Inside Outside Upside Down

There's a children's book that we used to read to our daughters in the Berenstain Bears phase of childhood. It's called Inside Outside Upside Down. It's about Brother Bear playing in a cardboard box....which is an insignificant fact in and of itself. The book's simplicity and repetition is what keeps going through my head as I work at the computer. For directly above my head is this candelabra.
It is inside.
Inside the study.
On an outside wall.
Inside the study on an outside wall.
It is uncommonly hot.
In Houston.
Uncommonly hot in Houston.
The weather is overwhelmingly and uncommonly HOT in Houston this summer.
It is even hot inside my house.
It is hot inside my house in Houston this summer.
Upside down.
The candles are upside down.
It is so hot inside my house that the candles have melted.
The candles inside the study on an outside wall of our house are upside down because of the uncommonly hot Houston summer weather.
Inside outside upside down.

A Little Life

As mentioned in my last post, the Western Appliance Meets Wine Warehouse art exhibit opening was last Friday afternoon. The opening was scheduled from 4 - 7pm. At 2:30, Reese called to say that his car was overheating. Less than an hour later, he had called to say that he hoped his car would make it to the new St. Arnold Brewery location downtown, where he could park it for a few hours without fear of being towed, and which so happens to be within a 5 mile radius of Block 7, and if so, would I please come retrieve him from there? (Reese had been stopping at various intervals between Baytown and downtown on account of his car overheating and to use the payphone.)

By the time Reese and I hooked up on the feeder road at I-10 and San Jacinto, it was about 5 minutes til 4. Normally, I wouldn't fret over being "late" to an event such as this, but several people had specifically communicated that they were determined to make it to the opening on my behalf, and were definitely going to be there at FOUR. So naturally, I felt an amount of pressure to arrive in a timely fashion. At 4:05, Reese and I arrived at Block 7's opening reception and were relieved to discover that we were the first humans in attendance. Sigh.

Again, it bears repeating that the owners of Block 7 are super nice, at least the ones I've met. The above photo was taken in a moment of relative tranquility opening night. Standing with me are fellow artists, Aime Krebbs and Jeanne Haner.

Many times throughout the night, as I explained the story of how the art was created, the response most often repeated was that the ukulele was George Harrison's favorite instrument. Even though I was previously unaware of this fact, apparently it's fairly common knowledge.

Little life distractions during the opening were:

1. Reese and work -- he was in the middle of delivering a bond to the downtown jail when his car overheated. He left the opening for two hours to get his innocent-until-proven-guilty client out of jail.

2. Joy driving to Austin and checking in a couple of times asking questions about speeding and tickets. Joy asked, "For instance, are both the driver and the owner of the car responsible if the driver gets a speeding ticket?"

3. Hilary flying in from Bozeman, Montana, after working in Yellowstone National Park all summer, and missing her connecting flight in Denver due to Air Force One's priority on the runway and airspace. Turns out that Obama was due in Bozeman the day and hour Hilary and James left.

4. The curating of the Ukulele Still Life series -- the three pieces are displayed in the hallway outside the restrooms. After being my own docent for three hours, and explaining the series to more people than otherwise would have seen it in the retail area, it wasn't an altogether bad thing.

Finally!

The Block 7 Wine Company grand opening will be this Friday night, August 14th.

The art series I created in conjunction with the wine bar opening was started way back in the first week of January. The first opening date was supposed to be in March, then it was rescheduled for April, and then the schedule suggested that perhaps sometime in mid-May would be the opening. Honestly, I was beginning to think that all my work was for naught, so yesterday, I was delighted to get an e-mail extending an invitation to the Grand Opening. (there was much rejoicing....yaaaay.) Apparently, the art work created using the previous warehouse leftovers will actually be shown (!) and will kick off the weekend with a special exhibit reception on Friday, Aug 14th from 4-7pm. Events are free to the public all weekend, so please come enjoy wine tastings, food and live music if you are in the Houston area.

The exhibit is called Western Appliance Meets Wine Warehouse and features works (mine included) created from salvaged materials from Block 7's warehouse. According to the e-mail I received, Block 7 will have a special display set up for Friday, and the pieces will all be up at least until the end of the month.

Reese and I will be at Block 7 (720 Shepherd Dr., Houston, TX 77007) from 4-7 on Friday. Y'all come see us. (Call them for directions if you get lost on the way. :) 713 572 2565.)

Also, earlier this week a reporter with the Houston Chronicle came over to complete an interview and take a few photos. If the article is published, it will be in the Thursday's This Week section. If it's published, it will be about my cruiser bike lamp story. (We met the reporter at the bike workshop in the Third Ward a couple of months ago.) The photo at left is not the best quality, but at least there's proof that a super nice reporter named Tom Behrens was in our home. If nothing else comes of it, we had a nice little visit.

Lastly, a mother's pride swells my heart as I watch the below posted video. This is a glorious performance by my youngest, now 18 year old daughter Joy, eating a McDonald's hamburger in two bites. Such skill! Such talent! Such delight!

Skipper and the Three Hour Tour

On the way home from Mississippi, we stopped for a few days at The Antlers. The Antlers is a log cabin on Lake Cherokee that was built by Reese's great grandfather, Ewart Hoyt Lightfoot in 1948. Descendants of his son, Reese's grandfather Thomas Ewart Lightfoot have had use of the cabin in the six decades since. For a few more years, before the Antlers changes ownership, Reese and I have limited use of the cabin, and consequently the lake.

As mentioned in the last blog entry, Skipper, the petite pedigreed poodle pet of ours follows me with great devotion. He, at least with regards to me, truly is an always faithful dog as his middle names imply; Semper (always) Fido (faithful dog.) No question about it, Skipper adores me. In fact, it's fairly common knowledge that if Skipper had the strength to force Reese to walk the plank, he would, just so that he (Skipper) could have his mistress (moi) to himself.

Skipper, poor dear, is getting old. His teeth are falling out, his hair is so thin that one can see all his liver spots on his pink skin, undeniably, he has cataracts, and it appears that he may actually be blind in one eye. We had newly arrived at the Antlers, and were already on our second journey to pier's end to enjoy the view. Skipper is not new to the lake house. Skipper has walked on the pier many times. As I mentioned, he follows me everywhere, so back and forth on the pier is no exception. We heard his little clickety paws trailing behind us as we walked; and then.....the tiniest of splashes. Skipper, bless his teeny fast beating heart, pranced stage right off the pier and into the lake. Accidentally, of course. Thank God that Reese has long arms. He prostrated himself and rescued the poor pooch just before he swam out of reach. Reese gallantly took off his shirt, wrapped the pitiful sorrowful waterlogged pet in it, held him until his body heat transferred to Skipper and the shivering stopped. We were naturally distraught for Skipper and yet extremely tickled at the same time. Honestly, at random intervals throughout the evening, one or the other of us would laugh, and in the next breath say, "Oh, the poor dear."

The lake house is in possession, thanks years ago to Reese's dad, of a 1970's small fiberglass Sunfish sailboat. Some of Reese's fondest memories have been out on the lake in that little sailboat. This trip was no exception. After repairing the rudder, and re-attaching the sail, we harnessed what little wind there was and headed for a small island several miles away. Reese tacked back and forth and about 45 minutes later, we had sailed around, what is commonly referred to as Bikini Island. We paused, took a dip in the lake to cool off, refilled our water bottles, pointed north, and set sail for the cabin. Only now, there was no wind. In the space of a few minutes at the island, the lake surface had literally become as smooth as glass. It would have been perfect for water skiing had we the use of a ski boat, but it was not so great for sailing. Without wind to fill the sail, we were so still that we actually had time to become friends with a family on shore. It took us so long to "sail" past their pier that we watched a young teenage girl walk to the end of a pier, start fishing, catch a fish, the grandparents come out to congratulate the young fisherman, and us all discuss how proud we were of this young lady's accomplishment. [The fish was this big, as I hold my hands apart to demonstrate.]

Still no wind. Reese paddled. Reese jumped in the lake to push and pull us. Reese paddled some more. Every now and then I would shout, "I feel a breeze!" We would catch a wisp of air that would take us about twenty feet, and then perfect stillness again. It was a good thing that before our journey began, Reese encouraged me to bring a book and snacks. I have borderline hypoglycemic tendencies, which means that it's best for the environment at large that I eat on a regular basis. The book was Jane Eyre, which is so wordy and antiquated, that, being well fed, I was therefore quite distracted with reading. Hours passed, but many thanks to Reese's valiant efforts, by the grace of God above, we safely made it back to the Antlers. In my humble opinion, not sailing that afternoon made for an absolutely wonderfully charming memory with the most amazing Reese. And of course, our little pet couldn't have been more content. He was with me on the sailboat and he spent the entire time imagining that he was finally my Skipper, (and naturally Reese would have been his Gilligan) on our slightly more than three hour tour. Oh, the poor dear; Skipper still doesn't win.....I have always had a preference for Gilligan. :)

Amazing Grace

Last week Wednesday was another one of those days. In between cleaning and preparing to leave for a little vacation, it occurred to me that there might be a few hours that could be devoted exclusively to painting. So, I painted. But for various reasons, even after starting with brushes, I finished by using my fingers. Honestly, it's probably a cancer invoking health hazard to use one's flesh with lead based paints. If I grow a third ear, or cut off one of the ones already attached on either side of my head because of lead paint based insanity, I'll be sure to let my gentle readers know.

There was barely enough time to clean fingers and brushes before Reese and I were due at a neighbor's house to play bridge. The neighbor had knocked on the door to fetch us, but wanting to photograph the painting in good light, and knowing that we wouldn't be home before dark, and thinking there would be time to write about finger painting after bridge, I carefully yet hurriedly put the painting on the ground outside the back door to photograph it.

We have a pet. We have a five pound neurotic pedigreed out the wazoo toy poodle named Skipper Semper Fido. Skipper, with great devotion, follows me everywhere all day long. If I take three steps to the left, Skipper also travels the same distance in the same direction with the nails of his little paws clicking on the wood floors like a tap dancing lady in high heels. Add his identification tags which are a miniature version of a cow bell all day long, and please understand my immense dismay when I heard the clicking tinkling tiny cow bell at my heals. Skipper saw me in the doorway and was desperate not to be left behind. He launched himself into a stag's leap out the back door. Mid Skipper flight, it slowly began to dawn on me what was happening. That very wet painting was positioned exactly in the way of his landing. That dog must have somehow re-calculated and adjusted his flight pattern, or more accurately the landing based on the physics of everything, because those tap dancing high heeled paws of his just missed, by God's amazing grace, the wet painting on the sidewalk outside the back door by a hair's breadth. The neighbor was at the door waiting to play bridge, the dog almost gave me a freaking heart attack, and the excessively wet paint of the painting produced a big glare, as is evident in the accompanying photo.

And then, because of last minute preparations to drive to Mississippi for a Heidelberg family reunion, there still wasn't time to write a blog entry until now, now being one year exactly from our last visit here.

One year ago to the day, we were all in Jackson to celebrate my dad's 70th birthday. One year ago today, we went to church with my parents. One year ago today, I lost my glasses after leaving them in a pew at church...in Mississippi. Today, exactly one year later to the millisecond, after church, Reese and I were pointed in the direction of the lost and found. The lost and found is in a desk drawer of the church receptionist's office. The receptionist's desk and the drawer were behind a locked door. Providentially, someone with a set of keys to the office was near by, and knew which desk drawer hosted the lost and found. Slowly, Mr. Set of Keys opened the drawer. There appeared a surprising number of lost glasses. We looked through the ones in the front. None of those were mine. What about those glasses in the back? Mr. Set of Keys said that those were the glasses that had been there the longest. Then I said that that's where we should look, as my glasses had been lost one year ago today. As I looked in the back dark corner of that office drawer, the heavens opened and the angels started to sing. What amazing grace! Exactly one year later, in the deep dusty dark bottom of a desk drawer in a church receptionist's office in Jackson, Mississippi, were my glasses. Like the old hymn Amazing Grace says, they once were lost and now are found. I was blind, but now I see.

Best Laid Plans

Me, small and meek, and curiously busy
but has not time or moment to seek
more than some housework, which makes me dizzy,
the washing and folding, an occasional weed
to pull in the cracks and crevices
before the weed spreads to seed.

The days, weeks, and moments of planning
to work on a painting, the time is unjust
and what I imagine is time for the taking
is only a matter of time to adjust
my schedule to one or another of lacking
adequate time to begin the said painting.

The frustration experienced while trying to honor
the tug and the pull of different directions
the doer of chores, a wife and a mother,
the sweeping of floors, amidst imperfections,
never ending expectations to bother,
preparing a meal and tasty confections.

What will I do? Will time grant some peace?
Or a piece of time in which to begin
that blasted painting? Or will the mouse
win this battle with men
and nibble away at resolve like a louse
never a moment's piece of zen.

For what happens when hope is lost or is missing
and all of these years hope has been practiced
religiously believed and now it is dashing
like a wave on the shore relentlessly splashes
the moments add up and all of the sudden
one is broken, lost, and is perishing.

My hope is or was to work with a passion
whether cooking, cleaning, or things of that sort
to live each day in some sort of fashion
that elevates beauty, pure thoughts to transport
But life's best laid schemes require so much tension...
naive and hopeful, maybe tomorrow's for art.

Lady in a Red Coat

Painting portraits is hard. What on earth possessed me to think that anything about painting a portrait would be something that came naturally? Why do I keep torturing myself? Perhaps it's a disadvantage to have not studied art. It seems like for every painting, I have to re-learn how to mix paints to get the right colors. Well, at least this way, nothing is formulaic.

Painting is always a little easier (for me) when I pose the subject, or take my own reference photo. The subject of this painting is a very lovely friend, and this painting really doesn't do her natural beauty justice. Her husband took the reference photo, which is a piece of art in it's own right. But for the purpose of the painting, I took a few liberties. In the photo, she's wearing a black winter coat, which made it very difficult to distinguish where her hair ended and her coat began. Painted with the colors in the reference photo, the portrait looked dull and boring. But then, after changing the color of her coat to red....voila, it worked.

Silly Signs

OK, really? Eyelash Arts and Sciences? What?


Gender neutral? This must be here on account of those who might not remember whether or not they are male or female....just in case. It is in the corridor outside a bar, so maybe when one is inebriated, this facilitates a quick trip to the loo. Though, in a drunken state, the sign seems more likely to confound rather than relieve confusion with regard to gender. Or maybe it's only for those who are neither male nor female.(?) Or perhaps, this restroom is for those who consider themselves to be androgynous, a person who does not neatly fit into typical societal gender roles. So....all things considered, it is a rather thoughtful gesture, I suppose.

Dear Diary,

It would be a really good idea if I took advantage of tomorrow's quiet, empty house. Sigh. Deep breath. Relax.... Just practicing some self soothing techniques. Wouldn't it be great if the techniques actually worked? Well, sometimes they do, but not right now. I've got the jitters because I might actually have time, place, and opportunity to paint tomorrow. Nervous excitement is what Reese calls it. Whatever it is, I'm a bit apprehensive that my brain and hands won't remember how to paint, and yet strangely pleased that I get to try.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, I'll start the day tomorrow with a smile....

Martinizing

It's so easy to get sucked into the computer vortex. Good grief! One thing leads to another, and another, and before realization fully kicks in, it's been hours. Presumably, time management would be enhanced if thoughts would flow a little more freely. But today, when I sat down to write about this week in art, so many competing ideas surfaced that it has taken a while to coalesce them in a concise manner.

Last week, I finished the painting of the Guadalajara Beggar Woman. It needed some refining touches, and now they are complete. Mmmm, looking at it here, I can see it might need more work...again. With oil paintings, it seems that they change some as the paint dries. And when I don't obsess over them for a while, then I can step back and assess the paintings more objectively, less passionately, which sometimes helps produce a better painting in the end. We'll see what happens with this one....

This week and last, I worked on a portrait of my good friend, Martin. It is unfinished as of yet, but Martin came over today and saw it, and liked it, so it stands to reason that a photo wouldn't offend in any way. One of the most difficult challenges of painting portraits is that everyone be pleased with the finished product. Maybe it helped that before he saw the painting, he was prepared by a gentle admonishment that the eyes, mouth, and fingers would be re-worked after the paint dries a bit....next week some time. It took forever (OK, not forever) to select and sketch the pose, but when I finally got this one on the canvas, it practically started to sing....or chat, as Martin often does. :) That's one reason of many I like him so much. Oh, and by the way, this painting is 95% finished. Sometimes though, that last 5% takes a long time to get done.

Also, the top photo was taken outside (Beggar Woman) and the bottom one (Martin) inside. Neither are true to the colors in their respective paintings. It's often a frustration that the photos of the art aren't a true match to what it's like to see them in person.

Jake Shimabukuro

A quick little poem to ensure
that readers have cause to endure
almost a week's break;
we drove to see Jake
and listen to uke playing pure.

His name is Jake Shimabukuro.
He can only be called virtuoso,
an ukulele he plays
and performs to amaze;
he's become an uke playing hero.

We saw him perform at the Cafe
named Cactus on campus at U T;
an intimate crowd,
spellbound and "wow"ed...
we listened and cheered and were happy.

But now to the new tasks at hand
without which life would be quite bland;
a painting to paint
and supper to bake...
'n staying cool in house air conditioned.

Bikes, Blogs, and Behold!

Finally! It took more than a lil' bit of time to finish this painting. There were many frustrating moments where great globs of paint were scraped off and thrown away like yesterday's news. I'm very pleased with the finished product, though. It's extremely satisfying when a painting comes together and (according to me) works.

This is the third time that I've painted this image. All three paintings are a little different, with different colors, brush strokes, and viewpoints. The other two were more landscapey, while this one (in my opinion) is almost like a portrait of this particular bit of city forest. It's called Trees in Hermann Park - 3 and is 36" x 24", oil on linen.


Farm on Highway 71 will be displayed in Houston's City Hall for either nine months or a year...the specifics of the exact details have been a little sketchy. I just found out a few hours ago that the exhibit opening is tomorrow between 11:30 and 1pm. Houston area artists were invited to submit up to two works for consideration in an Art on Loan Exhibit for the City of Houston. This one of mine was accepted!

Yesterday, I took my cruiser to a bike workshop in the Third Ward. The poor groovy bike is old, and needed some tender lovin' care. When the gracious folks who volunteer there asked if I wanted to patch my flat tire, or install a new tube, of course I asked for a price comparison. Free for the patch vs $3 for a new tube? Just show me what to do to patch this baby! Three attempts at patching later and I was happily buying a new tube. Then, because real fear occurs when bike brakes don't work, I installed new brake pads...for all of two dollars. The way this bike workshop works is that people bring their bikes in to get fixed, and then do the work themselves. It was the first time I had ever worked on a bike. So, for $5, and a couple of hours of sweat equity, this cruiser works like a charm.

Also, I'm starting a new blog. :) It's called Purely Poetry, and will basically be a compilation of poetry that I've written for this blog...and if I feel really brave, maybe some random prose.

Busking in the Afterglow

Getting whooping cough has been one of the best things to ever happen in my life. The constant tiredness caused by the cough forced me to slow down, and because of that, I finally had both time and opportunity to learn to play the ukulele. For whatever reason, I've taken to the ukulele like a duck to water. And delight of delights, Reese (on guitar) and I (on ukulele) play music together morning and night.

Not long into this new found love, it was decided that Reese and I needed to take it to the streets. So last night, spur of the moment, Reese and I went busking. (Busking is the practice of performing in public places for tips and gratuities.)

We live a short walk from a shopping/restaurant area of Houston. Deciding that was the place to have our first outdoor public performance, we loaded up the guitar, some sheet music, the ukulele, a djembe, the playlist, and a hat...for the tips, IF we got any. In the actual act of putting one foot in front of the other to walk there, not knowing what was about to happen, Reese and I both started to get a little nervous. But honestly, there was nothing to worry about...we would just play the same songs we play and sing in our living room every day. Piece of cake.

Sure enough, once we got started, there was nothing to it. Because the playlist wasn't very long, we ended up rotating through the same songs over and over. We played for an hour and earned enough money to buy ourselves a few beers plus a tip for the waiter....during which time,
while enjoying said cold frothy beverage, we realized the whole busking event had been undocumented with a photo. So, we went back and performed the songlist again, this time making sure to ask if someone would please take our picture. (?) And yes, during the second set, we earned more tips.

All in all, it was a most excellent adventure, one we are eager to repeat.

Extra! Extra!

Read all about it! I've been featured on the Block 7 Wine Company blog. Sweet.

Thoughtless Limerick

Lost for the right words, I am thinking,
but thoughts disappear, or are shrinking;
ever smaller they grow
'til, as you'll soon know
not one small synapse starts it's linking.

So therefore, my mind is a puddle
of nonsense, I am quite befuddled.
I can't seem to think,
my eyes they just blink...
but onward I go, now to muddle.

Muddle through old cardboard boxes,
searching the mess is a shocks-es.
What might I find there?
I had better beware;
there might be a box full of rocks-es.

Or socks-es without the right mate,
just please please contain all the hate,
for with boxes to rhyme
I ran out of time
and thus, sealed my fate, second-rate.

Is it clear that the boxes discussed
in the musty old attic of rust
is akin to my brain
on the border of sane
or at least full of chaos and dust?

Now back to the ole misty fog
that my brain, that ole addled nog,
is trying it's bestest
to have small successes
and write for the readers of blog.

To search all day long, it could happen,
for thinking and thoughts overlappin'
are infrequent it seems
not one thought to scream
about which I could start a rappin'.

And so, gentle reader, adieu;
not one thought from this head came unglued.
Pure nonsense it's been
from the start to the end,
forgive if you think that's just rude.

Evil Jerry

NEVER NEVER NEVER shop at Jerry's Artarama. Not only is the quality of the product inferior, the customer service is LOUSY!

With great anticipation, I ordered some linen canvases online. As I've mentioned several times throughout the course of this blog, professional quality art supplies are expensive. When a friend forwarded an e-mail touting great deals through Jerry's Artarama online store, I was happy to jump on board. Imagine my complete dismay when the package arrived, and the quality of the canvases was grossly sub-par. Within moments, I sent an e-mail trying to find an amicable solution to a big problem.

Days later and still no response from the e-mail, I called the 8oo number. I waited 37 minutes to speak with someone, who, in the end, basically told me to go #@** myself. The one small concession was that we could return the product at our local store and get a full refund. Houston is a big town. The local store is a 45 minute drive -- one way. But, hoping for resolution, Reese and I went. Turns out, local stores have nothing whatsoever to do with the online part of the business. They didn't even carry the same product line. The person on the other end of the 800 # call knew full well, and sent us on a wild goose chase anyway. The local store told me I was screwed, but must have done something on my behalf. Because, a week later I actually got a call from someone at the company...not saying, "Oh, we're so sorry. What can we do to help?" Instead, they said, "Prove it."

Then, they said, "We're bigger and more important than you. You are a tiny insignificant speck. We don't have to do anything to make this right. You're up *%#@ creek without a paddle. HAHAHAHA!"

So again, NEVER purchase anything from Jerry's Artarama. They are very bad people.

Guadalajara Beggar Woman

Last summer, Reese and I were an extra pair of hands on a senior high mission trip to Guadalajara. Walking through El Centro one afternoon, we saw this woman sitting on the steps of a cathedral. When I saw her, I saw a painting, exactly like when I first saw the woman in Jamaica.

For various reasons, though, life happens, and painting doesn't. It seems like ages since I picked up a paintbrush. How do I begin? Do I really know how to do this???? Do I have a clue? What happens if I pick up a paintbrush and it's all been a fluke?

So, with a small leap of faith, I squeeze out the paints. I take out the palette knife and start mixing colors. Then, just one stroke is applied to the canvas, and another, and another. Soon, the process overwhelms, and it's been hours. To be honest, I've been working on this particular painting in my head for almost a year. But, now, look! It is a painting! The woman and child look like what they are supposed to look like! It is the beginning of what I've envisioned for all these long months....

Reese comes home and cheers. Realizing how much of my soul has been invested in this painting, I start to cry. What a blessing....I'm so grateful that I can be a part of this. Amen and amen.