paper beads

I just love making these things...I get vey focused and it becomes zen like...takes my mind from my troubles...

Summer

Has propelled me outdoors and away from the studio...which means less art...but more photography. Here are some from my garden...

The nitty-gritty

So here are my latest Try it Tuesday gambles...a technique I really enjoy fiddling with: faux rust! Gesso, gold foil, sand, sugar, alcohol inks, acrylics, pearl ex powders,and watercolors.

Be sure to check out the Try It T's link to the right; I am sponsoring this weeks prize with a tote bag from my Cafpress press store stuffed full of art goodies!

Journal Pages-influenced

Some more art journal pages..this time the assignment was Gluebooks...haphazard collage with paper ephemera...but as usual I could not give in to chaos and wound up with not only an arranged series of collages but a theme. Gah. Heavily influenced by reading the DaVinci code, the notion of the Divine Feminine and the balance of the sexes crept into one...and messages in art in another...Ah, well, I like them anyway. Also a few other random pages...

graphicsperiment

One of these days I will try photoshop. Or something like it. One of these days I will brave the world of digital manipulation and not be freaked out by all the Scary Complicated Toolbars. In the meantime, I do stuff with MS paint and my free fujipics software...how pathetic.
Here is an odd self portrait. All the colors are fragments of my photos, pictures of the flowers in my garden...iris, rhododendron, bleeding heart, forget-me-not, peony and pansy. Odd, but I like it anyway.

New techniques and new blooms

A combined-subject post, since both these things came about on the same day. Yesterday I got some nice macros of the rhododendrons and peonies in the yard; thought I'd share. And the artwork is a result of my latest "try-it Tuesday" challenge: easy image transfers. Believe it or not, for all the years I have been doing art, this is something I have put off learning. I think now I am hooked! The background is primarily watercolors, acrylics and embossing powders. The pearls and text are stamped on, the leaves and stem are acrylic, and the flower and face and tranfers.

20 years!

So, its not art...but I survived my 20th reunion, and that takes talent and skill!

Try-it-Tuesdays challenge

I took on Chrysti's Try It Tuesday challenge last week and here is the result; I did a gel image transfer and added some paper lave for texture over the acrylic background. it was a lot of fun and I learned an easy technique; what more can you ask for?

Mother's Day

One of the best things about being a mom. Mother's Day. And roses from your boys. My whole studio smells like an English estate garden. Heaven.

More journal pages

I have been a bit startled by the effects this art journal has had on me. It occured to me as I was working in it, that this is the first art I have done for myself in over two years. For me to keep! Not to trade, sell, auction, donate, barter or gift. It completely changes the way I relate to the work. It is far more fearless and authentic. I love the feeling. Here are some pages (or some portions, if the text is too personal!) that I am pleased with!(click on the images to see detail or read the poems)

Letter to a Muse (handmarbled paper)

Crazy Quilt (Stamp pad/Prismacolor)

Underneath (gel image transfer/WC/Pittpens)

Verdant (text and other papers/pearlex/gesso/acrylic)

Art Journaling

So, I have been blessed enough to have an amazing supervisor, Zura, who is teaching this wonderful 3 month art journaling workshop, and she graciously gifted me enrollment! This is a leap for me, as I have done a fair amount of journaling and a whole heap of art, but never the two entwined as a form of expression unto itself. The Pitt brush markers I bought were begging to be used for this, so along with some watercolors and gel image transfers, I create my first two pages. (The assignment was "What is a journal for?" and "Why do I want to keep a journal?"

Tag!

I have been tagged by Amyma for this particular meme; seems I have to answer these four questions and then tag some other poor unsuspecting bloggers.

Five items in my fridge:

1.Strawberries
2.three kinds of lettuce
3.Asian sesame dressing
4. fresh mozarella
5. cream


Five items in my closet:
1. A number of items that are too big
2. Several shoes with no mates
3. a pile of sketch books, all full
4. a hand painted silk scarf from Thailand
5. a black garter belt, worn once

Five items in my purse:

1. Mint breath strips
2. Business card for my sons' psychaitrist
3. Driver's License that expired today
4.Various charge cards: Kohls, Old Navy, Target...
5. A picture of my youngest son.

Five Items in my car:

1.Umpteen Bionicle pieces.
2. mix tapes from high school and college
3. broken sunglasses
4 .An air freshener shaped like the sun
5. A large tribal butterfly decal

Five people I've tagged:
1 Tammy
2 Edna
3 Braen
4 Tam
5 Beth

Less than Pretty

So, I've grumbled in the past about my reluctance to get a bit more...well...raw with my work.Been keeping it nostalgic, or dreamy, or opalescent, and quite impersonal. Tonight, as I say farewell to 37, I decided to honor a deeper part of my vision and do a canvas with less emphasis on pretty and more on real. It measures about 10 x 10", acrylic, gesso, watercolor, alchohol inks, pearl ex. Called "There Are Ghosts".

Papa

When I was a kid, my grandfather scared the tar out of me. Let's be clear; I loved him very much then, and do today. At 95, he still keeps a respectable amount of his wits about him, and the more I learn about his life, the more I realize my fear over the years has given way to awe and respect. Mostly I think I was scared because he was so very disciplined and formal, and I was a really scattered kid (who has morphed into a flaky adult). This led to a great deal of conflict, meaning, I screwed up a lot, he got mad a lot, I got punished a lot, and I assumed he did not like me very much.

The fact is, he was very much a product of his culture, raised youngest of three boys in northern Germany from 1910 until the mid 1930's, when he and my grandmother came to New York. They were high school sweethearts and were married for over 60 years before my grandmother's death.

The reason I chose to write about him today is my parents just came for a visit, and spent some time at my grandfather's apartment. My father returned to my house with boxes full of ephemera, years of the accumulated paper flotsam and jetsam that collects in the homes of those who have lived long and well documented lives. My grandfather saved virtually EVERYTHING. For several hours my father sifted through old passports, photographs, financial statements, menus and letters. A portion of some of these marvels he gifted to me, and I wanted to share my grandfather's extraordinary artistic talent with my friends. Papa was an artist, a graphic designer, a calligrapher, a technical illustrator. His work was precise and detailed and beyond the scope of anything I could ever hope to master. In my collection I now have portfolios of the amazing illustrations and designs he generated for Ingersoll-Rand in the mid 40's. I also have a handful of random sketches from ruled notebooks, and some scratch card art. So here, in honor of his talent, are some items I found particularly impressive.

Trapped

At home today with my youngest, whose allergies have triggered a terrible cough and wheezing. This always makes me nervous, as I feel so helpless watching his labored breathing. He is subdued when ill, which means he is more like your typical boy than his wild, war-whooping self. He is such a contrast to his brothers.

Behind our house is a small shed, a very sturdy structure built as well as our house was built. Underneath are three "denmates" whom I frequently observe coming and going uncover of darkness. They are the oddest little group, like three bachelors sharing an apartment. Out on the deck at night, when I look down, most often I see the possum as he waddles out to nose around and gather some newly fallen leaves to line his nest. He is an ugly, ugly critter...but almost sweet, he is so ugly. He is very shy and timid.

Denmate number two is a young racoon; at least I assume it is young, he is not very big. He is pretty bold and will come up and sit on the deck and watch us through the sliding glass doors like we are some zoo exhibit. He is also responsbile for attempting to get at our garbage (sometimes succeeding) and is the reason I invested in a lifetime supply of bungee cords for the trash can lids.

Lastly we have the skunk. He is squat and wide and silent. He is generous with his scent, which he seems fond of realeasing directly under the bedroom air conditioner. Silent...but deadly.

These three vastly different critters all cohabiting under one shed. It reminds me of my three critters. My oldest, the possum, quiet and retiring, slow moving and deliberate. My middle, the raccoon: cheeky, bold, clever, cute but don't cross him. And my youngest: the skunk. Though not silent, he is a study in contrasts, his mood goes from black to white in seconds. His reactions are extreme, and affect everyone around him. And yes, I'll say it...he can be a real stinker!

"FunkedUp Flowers" for Artellavisions Mojo of the Month
pen and ink and watercolor followed by digital manipulation.

Commission

Been pushing myself today to complete a commisioned piece which I am delivering Friday. There are so many layers, I sort of burned out partway through and had to come back to it. Its a collage (yeah, I guess that is obvious by the pic). There is a buildup of layers of vintage text pages, tissue, handmade and mulberry papers, watercolors, acrylics, pearl ex powders, silver embossing powder, matte medium and PVA. My studio is now a riot of torn paper and purple puddles, but I am happy with the result. The collage itself measures about 10 x10". Next I need another push to get myself going on my Masterpiece Copy atcs for Sharpie Scouts. I treated myself to a brand new package of the full array of ultra fine points, since my kids left the tops of half of my previous set. Grrr. I also treated myself to a set of Faber Castell Pitt brush pens. Holy crap, they are awesome. The pigment is sublime and the brush tip so flexible. I am going to get hooked on these.

Doing Battle

Yesterday morning I stepped outside to revel in the beautiful start to the day; the fruit trees in front of the house are in full, riotous bloom, and it is a real sprirt booster. (Here at our house, we call them the "cotton candy trees", since that is exactly what they resemble).

Stepping back for a better view, my eyes fell on my lawn, and I was filled with irritation. How can I call it a lawn, really, when it is 80% dandelions? Literally thousands of those scrubby yellow heads, in infinate varities, bobbing in the breeze. I decided it was time to wage a small war.

This required a trip to Home Depot for some weed killer. I already had a fabulous weed yanking device, almost like a walking stick with a vicious claw on the end that, when pushed down over an offending plant, grabs the whole obnoxious little entity and thoroughly evacuates it from the ground. Nevertheless, I meant business, and figured a follow up dose of something lethal would send a more serious message.

I got more than I bargained for when I reached the store, however. I walked down the hardware aisle (yes, I know weed killer is in the garden department; It's just that I browse Home Depot the way some women browse shoe stores. I love the smell of the lumber, and sifting through boxes of copper pipe fittings. Then there's the paint chips. ::shiver:::...but I digress.)
All of a sudden a voice bellows,
"MY GOD. THERE she is!"

Oh no. Oh no, no...its Peculiar Dad.

Peculiar Dad is the father of one of my sons classmates. I don't think I can even remember his real name, and I have known him over two years. The last time I ran into PD was at the post office a few months ago. I walked in, surveyed the line of 20 or so people, and was ready to walk out when I heard, "MY GOD. THERE she is!", and yes, you got it, it was PD. He did not stop there, though...he waved his arms in the fashion of a band leader and hollered to the full lobby, "Is she not a SHOWSTOPPER? My GOD. If my wife were pregnant right now, she would be the reason. Hoooo!!" Whoa, hello...what?! What kind of creepy compliment is that? And why was he shouting it to all these people who were now staring at me? I did not know whether to be flattered, or to honor my body's request to go someplace quiet and throw up.

So here he was, waiting to pounce, and I could feel the innapropriate compliment he was preparing to launch building up momentum by the wild-eyed look he gave me.

"My God, look at her!" He grabbed the clerk to his left and pointed right at me like I was on fire. "Are you dieting to death, woman?? You look good enough to eat!" He turned to the four or so other occupants of the area, and roared, " She is a goddess, men, a GODDESS!" Oh, sweet merciful misery. I s it wrong my horror was almost eclipsed by my taking pleasure in the fact that this man of questionable sanity was publicly declaring my fabulousness? The man clearly needs medication (or is on medication with some serious side effects), but I could not decide if I should stay and risk more creepy praise, or run while the praise was still (relatively) inoffensive. I opted to run. Who knows where he could have taken that speech next?

Once home, battle began with great seriousness. I discovered I had purchased Weed and GRASS killer by mistake, due, I am certain, to being rattled by the PD. So, all that was left for me was the yanking device. For the first twenty plants, it was supremely satisfying. After the next fifty or so, I began to get bored. By the time I had cleared half the front lawn, I had a blister on my palm. All in all, it took over three hours of gouging and pulling with that weed wand before being able to declare victory. In addition to my sore hand, aching arms, and frequent sneezing attacks, I also have a fierce sunburn on my left shoulder. Yes, I should be pretty miserable. But you know what? Not only did I beat the weeds, but lets remember...I am a GODDESS!

My gratitude

I cannot begin to express how much I am bouyed by the comments and private emails you have all sent. Today is better; I seem to be moving on down the line away from anger and into acceptance. It is really good to have company along the way; I could not ask for better friends. I thank you all from my heart.

The Diagnosis

As I reported earlier, we have been working for the last few months to get a diagnosis for the troubling behaviors of my five year old son. We got the news on Monday that it is as I suspected (and wished was not true) that it is a combination of ADHD and cyclothymia (a form of bipolar that in adults is "mild", and in children is considered a precursor to full-blown Bi-Polar disorder). I have spent a lot of time being really pissed off at the universe about this, despite being reassured that there is good news here, early diagnosis, smart kid, effective meds, etc. All true, but ......People, I have to say it...THIS SUCKS.

It sucks on so many levels I don't know where to start. It sucks because he's so little and has no friends. It sucks because in all likelihood his issues will become more extreme and there are few teachers/adults/friends with the patience to deal with him. It sucks because I am so freaking tired and even I cannot deal with him much of the time. It sucks because I already have struggled with wearing the Brave Mom Fighting for my Special Kid role with my oldest for years now, (he has a form of autism), and I am tired. It sucks because I am tired of labels, I am tired of meetings, I am tired of appointments, tests, committees, pills, bills, confrontations, humiliations, frustrations, putting a "positive spin of things", "looking at the bright side" or "hanging tough".

It sucks because it is costly. It sucks because the meds are tricky, can have side effects, can be expensive, can even send him into psychosis. His brothers can barely tolerate him, his classmates are a bit scared of him, his teacher is fed up with him. It sucks because I love him with every cell in my body and half the time I cannot stand to be near him! He radiates such an unnaturally high speed, frenetic, exhausting output of sound, energy and intensity, it feels like drowning. He is a blast furnace of thought and movement.

Let me be clear: I love this child fiercely. I know he is the same little boy he was last week, and I will always strive to be the best mother to him I can be. His diagnosis will never define him, and I will not think of him as limited in any way. I sense his potential. I just fear I have so little left to give him.

Today I am just feeling the pain of what we now truly know. There is work to be done.

I realize we have been given the gift of time, hope, and multiple other blessings, and to those wonderful friends who have reminded me of this, I thank you. Please do not let this virtual pity party convince you I am ungrateful for loving words.

Right now, however, I am celebrating an unapologetic angry funk.
I am feeling really, really pissed off at the newest cards dealt from the deck of life into our hands. My heart is more than a little bit broken, as is my spirit.


Give me a few days to rally and I am sure my poor sportsmanship with improve.
It has to.
As I said...there is work to be done.

April Showers

And so damn many of them! It rained the whole flippin weekend. Still managed to get myself to the beach, as crazy as it sounds. The beauty of going to the beach when it is 50 degrees and windy and raining, is there is not a soul there. I had a whole long, magnificent stretch of Atlantic coastline to myself. I did share the experience with some redwinged blackbirds, however, and has one glorious moment where a snowy egret exploded out of the marsh next to me as I walked along the footbridge to the sand. It seemed close enough to touch, and after I recovered from the shock, I laughed myself silly. It was beautiful.

Down at the waters edge the surf was roiling and the wind nearly blew me backwards, but I felt like I was flying. I was listening to some favorite music and, taking advantage of the solitude, danced on the sand and sang at the top of my lungs while the rain pelted me in the face. Heavenly.

This latest watercolor was inspired by a friend who has recently found love thanks to the magic of the internet. Her joy is so evident, and she has waited a long time for something this meaningful. I chose a number of symbols and languages/cultures, because I had so much meaning I wanted to cram into the image, but still give it universal appeal. (I know, there's a hint of overkill there!) For now they live far apart (ok, one state apart, but still), but I am very hopeful for them both. Blessings on you both , K&J.

Clicking on the image should give a more detailed view of it.

The words around the dreamcatcher are translated as follows:
Agan mein awas hon to tum mera geet ho. (Hindi) "If I am a voice, then you are my song."
Mo anachara, A chuiske mo chroi. (Gaelic) "My soulmate, pulse of my heart."
Tehila okablaya kiciyus. (Lakota Sioux) "Lovers freely holding one another."
Concero (Latin) to connect, join, twine together.

The green Celtic knot (a form of sacred geometry that symbolize the interconnectedness of all things) that forms above the heart becomes symbiotic double helix of sorts, to reflect the natural state of loving and being loved, in balance. The lotus behind the heart is a symbol of wisdom, purity and beauty. The dreamcatcher offers protection from bad dreams and disapointments; its red jasper beads denote courage. And the two hands? Like I need to explain that to you, silly!

Now all it needs is a title. Any ideas?

Photo: after the storm, Maine, 2004
Feeling a bit sorry for myself today. This upcoming reunion reminds me of the changes I have been through over the years, the friends who wont be there.
Gretchen, my sweetfaced and impish friend , Anita, sassy woman who always made me laugh, Wendy, whose gentle heart was such a blessing be near...thpough it has been a number of years since I lost them, it still creates a hollow ache to know I could never see them again no matter how far I traveled on this earth.
Life is a series of hellos and goodbyes, and all we can do is hold on until the next embrace reunites us with the ones we love.
And hold on to hope, knowing that those that matter will find us again one day. Somehow.

" If I were a painter
I would paint my reverie
If that's the only way for you to be with me
We'd be there together
Just like we used to be
Underneath the swirling skies for all to see
And I'm dreaming of a place
Where I could see your face
And I think my brush would take me there
But only ...
If I were a painter
And could paint a memory
I'd climb inside the swirling skies to be with you
I'd climb inside the skies to be with you."

-Norah Jones

I signed up for many more art swaps than it was wise to do, but I am grateful in a way. I have not done any art in weeks; even my ebay sales, which were doing so nicely, have ground to a halt. There are multiple roadblocks on my ususal ink-and-mica covered road, and here, for your perusal (or perhaps to your dismay) is a partial list:

1) We are in the process of seeking a diagnosis for my youngest son, now 5, in light of years of difficulties in social settings and in life in general. He is a font of imagination, creativity and passion, quick to erupt ith either joy or rage.Since real kids find him a bit larger-than-life after a short time, his most frequent companions are his imaginary friends Elizabit and Apple. So....We will know on Monday if we are dealing with ADHD or early onset Bi-Polar disorder. Or, God Help Me, both. Having all 3 boys in the house for Spring Break this week has really helped me see why he winds up, despite being a humble kindergartner, in the principal's office at least once a week. Which brings me to

2) Making plans for my 20th high school reunion here in CT the weekend of May 19th. THIS I am excited for, not only to revisit a time in my life when less pressing issues consumed me, like was I going to die a virgin, or panicking when I misplaced my favorite lipgloss. The other reason this thrills me is I will be ALL ALONE, no hubby and kids, God love em, but just me in a quiet hotel room for not one but TWO nights! Technically, the second night is a gift to myself. The party will be all but over Saturday afternoon, but I decided not to drive home that night but enjoy the sanctuary of silence and a kingsize bed, maybe a candlelit bubble bath (I wonder if the hotel has candles I can borrow? Might have to bring my own!) some soothing music, some room service, and a chance to reconnect with the quieter part of my mind. I look forward to seeing old friends, and will be sad for the ones we've lost along the way, or those too far too travel...though I would urge them to make the effort! It has been too long!

3)SPRING! Getting out and breathing in the breezes and the sun is unspeakably delicious. I love the months of April and May (could it be my May bday?) adn am planning to spend at least one weekday in the next few weeks at Silver Sands State Park, a beautiful beach in Milford, without the kids, just by myself, beach combing and BREATHING. It is a wonderful place for long walks, and if you have the right company, long talks, and I look forward each year to spending a handful of hours there before the sunworshippers overrun it.

4)My new duties at my job keep me very busy, but happy busy. One of my favorite new duties is being on a panel of esteemed judges for the poetry contest. Not only does this give me the honor of seeing first hand some wonderful written work, but has inspired me to start churning out new poems of my own, and revisiting old ones.
Just because I like you, here is one now:

In my palm rests a certain shell;
Ordinary to most eyes, its curves and sunbleached linen walls
Unremarkable.
Yet, I sense that you would know,
If I placed it in your hand,
What a gift from my heart it was, as all I have to offer,
A relic that survived the seas embrace for a long and uneasy ride.

The palest ribbon of loss
That for so long bound our deepest bones
Now flutters like a flag of surrender over the dunes;
Truly would you cross over to where I stand?
My bare feet set at the water's edge,
I breathe in salt and memory.
Would you close those open miles
And reach across the sea
To linger next to me
For the next few sunlit hours?

The seabirds wheel and dive
On the watercolor sky, while
The restless ocean glitters, mineral and wet,
In this sunshine,
This transient gift of fleeting gold.

Short Beach, Stratford, 2005

Watch out, Shakira...

No really, I might injure those around me when I attempt this...
I have decided to learn to bellydance. Two weeks ago while out at a Turkish Restaurant in NYC I got to watch some dancing up close. It was fabulous, so sensual and sexy and female and seductive. Working out at Curves has its place; it has been helpful, no doubt, but I am getting bored, and this seems like a fun adventure, so long as I don't herniate a disk in the process. Of course, this could all be a ruse I am creating just to have a reason to wear something like this...or this...

Easter Morning

Drifting into Spring...

I have been promoted! I am now the Administrative Assistant at Artella Magazine. I am so proud to be working for such a creative resource. I can honestly say I have never enjoyed a job more!

This morning I was up at 6 to hide eggs in the yard for the children. It was chilly and the sun was just creeping up; I wandered the garden and peered at all the green buds, blossoms-in-waiting and other signs of renewal. It was a quiet wonderland of moss, cool breezes and birdsong. It was just the sort of alone that makes me deeply happy.

What it means to be foolish...

Don't we all have our weaknesses? Certain indulgences, or people, or feelings best left unfelt? Envy, shame, regret, misplaced affection...
I wish I could explore these things artistically. Instead I tend to merely indulge them emotionally without trying to build something tangible from them. Truth is, I am terrified to let the chaos out on paper. Because perhaps, secretly, I enjoy my rage and my heartbreak, and wallow in it with a sort of bitter joy. As though this is what makes me alive.

I am trying to work up the courage to do more than just indulge my silly emotional binges, get braver and look them in the eye and maybe even try to wrestle them onto canvas. Why am I such a fuckwit about this?

Art does not always have to be cute or pretty; perhaps I am afraid if my art shows its uglier face, the pretty things I make will resonate as hollow, rather than sincere?

To pretend I am nothing but a basket of pretty feelings and precious, tender hearted sentiment is to believe in rubbish.

I ache and I seethe and I rage and I burn and I collapse and I break and I erupt and I wail.

Why is this warrior never seen or heard?
Why does she paint flowers?

A virtual tour

So at last...pictures of my studio. It has taken me a year to make this place presentable enough to share pics!

Primary workspace...up on the wall, art inspires...works by Amyma Smith, Kelli Perkins, Heather J Fillman, Heather Rowley, Clara E, just to name a few...


Over my desk is an army of art dolls...on the shelf way up there is Eclaire's winter art doll with her bag full of snowballs, as well as Lucy the Left-Looking Lime and Leopard Llama.

I really went nuts for these drawers from Ikea.

Rubber Stamp Central, and behind the door, the Fiber Library.


And one of my favorite things in here...My permission slip, given to me by author SARK (Who also made the "Scintillating Nici" sign over my desk!) encouraging me to put myself back into the picture of my life.

No request is too extreme...when you wish upon a star...

Two atcs...one sold on Ebay, one damaged beyond repair (after I scanned it) due to a messy desk mishap involving therapy putty. (Don' ask. Lets just say I am a spaz.)

Life is full of shake ups and restructuring...even in suburbia, the onetime hausfrau (yours truly) finds wave upon wave of good fortune, new roles, surprise outcomes. Aside from successful sales of my art, which is a joy, I have recently begun work as an administrative support type person for Artella Magazine where I get to be near the pulse of all sorts of creative happenings. Add to that the wonderful email I had today:

Dear Nicole,

I am pleased to inform you that your story "Survival" has been selected for publication in A Cup of Comfort for Parents of Children with Autism. It will be published under the title "Beyond Survival."


Yes indeed-y; I am to be published! This is a first for me. Lets hope there's more to come!