Friday, October 31, 2014

Finished and Signed



 It seems only fitting that these two pieces should emerge from the studio together, finished on the same day. Both have this beautiful blue-green-purple analogous color scheme. I was adding the final layer of dioxazine purple to the canvas (while talking on the phone with my Aunt K :)) when I decided to take  brush to the ring. It might not be a "real" patina (this is almost impossible to get after the stone is set---or at least it's unknown to me) but I can always re-paint it.

The painting is going to Arizona. It will hang in an office on the Apache Indian reservation in the mountains. 
The Amethyst/Aquamarine stone was purchased at White Light bookstore in KC.



 For those of you who want to see the back of the ring---and the real patina on the earlier steps.


Monday, October 27, 2014

Another layer


Gold Leaf fairy caught in the act.


Here's the video of the gold leaf flying before I knocked it off. Yesterday was the best possible day of the year for this step of the painting. What a gift!



Saturday, October 18, 2014

Eye Candy

When I look at this guy's art (disguised within functional objects) I am deeply moved. One meal at a table set with these dishes and accessories could fill me for a very long time. Put that table on a terrace in Italy and I'd probably melt into another dimension.

I think about setting all the coral cabs on this branch---running my fingers over what must be fabulous, cool texture. Or how about the craftsmanship of this bowl? It appears to suspend metal in its molten state. And what do you think a Pink Champagne scented candle smells like? The Malachite pattern is amazing---and the amethyst topper is unexpected yet so delightfully right.

I might survive drinking from one of the tea cups on my back deck.



More So Great Photos

Gray Malin. Yes, please.

Sunday, October 12, 2014

In Sunlight and In Shadow

I am taking my time enjoying every word of this book. The ideas and sentences (Mark Helperin) are unbelievably beautiful. Here are a few of the hundred I could share.

About New York City:
"You know those Russian Easter eggs that you look into? I have a few, excessively bejeweled.... When you look into these things...you see something perfect, rich in color, mysteriously deep. As a child I wanted more than anything to be able actually to go inside them and enter another world.
---And there it is, self-contained, gold at sunset, red at dawn. And in between run all the blues, greens, and grays of every sea in every condition of light. An isle in the water, infinitely complex and forever giving, the hive of millions. Everything happens there, just and unjust, beautiful and hideous, joyful, painful, powerful---and it's all there for you threescore and ten if you can make it. Then it's gone."

Returning to "normal" life after war:
"Though he had never stated it, he had felt from early childhood that life was magnificently intense, in splendor overwhelming, in sight demanding and in time very short. And that therefore the only worthwhile thing other than a noble showing in the face of its dangers was the ravishing connection of one heart to another. This made him uninterested in the idea of people sitting at table, talking and posing. But occasionally he would attend dinner parties, because he recognized that not everyone in the world thought as he did, and he had always hoped that someday at a painful social event he would encounter a woman whose views were in this regard the same, and who, like him, was so naturally lonely that, for her as well, making small talk and holding cocktails was somewhat like being burned at the stake."

About a beautiful woman:
"---when she put down her purse on a bench the strap fell over the arm in two perfect, parallel sine waves, as if she were infused with so much beauty it had to find outlet even in her accidents."

"She was twisting her pearls dangerously. He imagined them clattering onto the terrace floor and rolling out the drains to rain down on the garden below."

About a sailboat's wake in water:
"The Crispin's wake rolling out on the sea was as soft as the glint of polished silver."

About driftwood:
"They were fishing near a beach littered with driftwood silvered by Maine winters. Their nearly divine economy of movement, their speed above the waves, their darting, their effortless suspension and decisive plunges were evidence that they had received their instruction from the angels."

From the perspective of an artist:
"The painter had watched him, and understood that in taking in the true composition of the scene he had stopped time, which is what the painter did day by day. He, the painter, smiled and held his daughter tight as he watched Catherine rise from the group and, as if loosed from the moorings of gravity and time, glide across the sand until, hardly knowing what she had done she had clasped Harry in her arms as though no one had been watching, because they had all drifted away long before."

About those who have, and those who have not:
"From the east, fame and art; from the west, power and wealth. Each probed the world of  the other in search of advantages less likely to find them than would a direct meteorite strike. By definition, the artists, writers and actors were so desperate for money that, had a decent amount been offered for doing so, they might have taken the few steps to the Atlantic Ocean and swum it, and yet they never talked about money in the presence of those who had it, lest those who had it think they might need it. And those who had the money came because , having crested the top of the hill and seen that on the other side was nothing, they wanted to feel the touch of life they had left on the slope behind them. This was why they spoke so little. The artists thought it was because of the monied were deracinated WASPS who somehow had less soul than others, and that, at least in comparison to the newly arrived and deeply engaged, they had nothing to say. But it was not so. IT was only that success had introduced the bankers and lawyers to futility, and they could do nothing but look back, as if from the land of the dead, and with gentle envy and equal affection at those still animated in struggle."

Monday, October 6, 2014

Gnawing One's Own Tail


State Change, M-P

The Son of Morn
in weary Nights decline
inherits silver
with enough light
to watch it slowly degrade.

The Lost Traveler
under the hill
dreams of silver
by dark of night
where it shines forever pure.

Edit: That I can even write such a poem, credit is owed to Paul Hill, the writer of this article, and of course to William Blake.

Friday, September 26, 2014

Currently On My Mantel

The sea turtle shell is still front and center.

Fossil filled Limestone, Elephant from India (I've had since 2nd Grade), & hand built vase Cody gave me in H.S.

Thrift store shell, hand built vase from Cody, Crystal from Crystal Bridges, Puffy ceramic by Cody and tangled Copper wire heart shaped from an old drawing

Jung's book from Hannita, Tennebrae bucket full of Co river rocks, Brass Tic-tac-toe inherited from Cody's grandparents

Cody's egg shaped vase, Cody's hand built cut away ceramic bird, Mason's small bee-hive pottery piece holding our feather collection (The feathers are found from Alaska to KS)

Brass star lamp from Chloe and thrifted Brass door knocker anchor

Pair of jasper wands, Cody's pottery, puffy hand built piece, Mason's thrown candle holder & a thrifted photo of beehives

These are a few of my favorite things. I love that the earth, water, air and fire are all now represented in the middle/hearth of my home. These objects are each so rich in symbol and meaning.