Do you have a favorite color? I confess, I do not. In fact, I am hard-pressed to find a color that I dislike, but that hasn’t always been the case.
In the folly of my youth, I would have quickly denounced yellow and orange as gaudy colors- obnoxious and undesirable. Avocado green sent shudders up my spine and triggered flashbacks of shag carpet and outdated appliances.
Fortunately, life propels us toward change! Each day we are blessed with the opportunity to see the world with fresh eyes. And if we earnestly turn our attentions inward, we will note the fatigue in our very bodies from clenching relentlessly to notions that no longer serve us.
Today my closet proudly harbors multiple yellow items including a pair of pants and sandals that have each found their way into my weekly rotation. And while I still maintain appliances should not be manufactured in Avocado Green, I am happy to spread it on a canvas, welcome it into my home, and wear it without shame.
Do you have a complicated relationship with color? Or are you one of those who can readily answer the security prompt- “What’s your favorite color?” Inquiring minds want to know!
In the Studio
This month I completed my first commissioned watercolor pet portrait. These two darling kitties are nestled in among the Daylilies. I have a couple more commissions in the works.
I finished my Okie-themed Christmas card and have sent it off to the printers. I can’t wait to show it off, very soon! It features a gold-foil star in the night sky and a silent lone bison.
I have been prepping new cards for the Cedar Ridge Outdoor Market which is this Saturday- Sept. 18th from 9-2.
I exited the internet superhighway this summer and traveled the skyways and highways, recharging my connections to friends and family.
My travels began with a week in Burbank, CA to visit a childhood friend.We met in 7th grade when my family moved to Sugarland, TX.I don’t recall how we met, if it was a shared class or a chance encounter, but the three years I lived in Sugarland I spent with Christine, riding our bikes to Target for Cosmopolitan magazine and the latest cosmetics, trading Sweet Valley High romance novels (carefully preserved in white homemade book covers), and shopping and dining at the mall.Today, half a country and an infinite number of life experiences separate us, but the friendship endures.While visiting, we attended the Rose Bowl Flea Market, the Getty Museum, and Last Chance bookstore.We ate…. a lot!
Her new pup delighted in the discovery that I liked to rise early and spend the morning on the patio.I painted and journaled.She chased birds and guarded the perimeter.Meanwhile the raucous laughs and staccato drills of the local woodpeckers filled the air and the hummingbirds sliced through the air like squadrons of daring WW2 aces- darting, diving, retreating in the blink of an eye.
Second trip of the summer was an overnight Mother-Daughter excursion to Norman and Oklahoma City.We spent an afternoon marveling at dinosaur bones and the sheer enormity of earth’s history at the natural history museum.We splurged on a stay at 21C Hotel in OKC- an art gallery and hotel in one.We ate dinner under a magical canopy of “greenery” and lights at the hotel’s pop-up restaurant.
The final trip of the summer took the family to Chicago where we attended a Cub’s game, absorbed the exhibitions at the MCA, and attended the four day outdoor music festival, Lollapalooza!This trip deserves an entry of its own, so I will leave it for another time.
With summer fading, I know my time to merge back into the high speed traffic has arrived.I enjoyed the reprieve, but I have noticed a lack of discipline and drive. Resuming my online activities and reconnecting with my online communities will help me focus my efforts once again. Summer has given me a vast and timeless world of inspiration; so, I will see you in the fast lane!
You can find me on Instagram and Facebook. Be sure to say “hello” when you drop by!
I needed to create, to leave behind the rain, the dark clouds, the dark thoughts.But when I climbed the stairs to my neglected corner of the universe my spark fizzled in a storm of clutter, disorganization, and sheer chaos.
The spacious room lay buried under piles of past and future projects and felt crowded by the ghosts of the people I have been.I knew that to create something new I must make space for it.And I must make space for the person I want to become.
So I cued up a few podcasts* and set to work.The initial thought to “tidy up” quickly mutatedinto a need to move furniture, store objects of questionable worth, and contemplate new organizational strategies.
Some tasks came easily.Putting away the art supplies that littered the horizontal surfaces, tossing paper scraps and old notes into the recycle bin, finally throwing out those weird little fabric scraps I kept for absolutely no good reason.
Part of the fun of tidying up is rekindling the love for adored possessions.In this instance I lingered at my bookshelf.It could use an hour devoted to simply cleaning it out.I tossed out old jewelry making catalogs, workshop instructions for digital scrapbooking and Photoshop Elements, and pulled a pile of graphic design magazines out to recycle.But this is where I began to falter.
I had purchased the magazines at a used book store.I had spent hours pouring through the magazines marveling at the digital secrets held within their pages.But with a rudimentary understanding of Photoshop and zero understanding of Illustrator, their secrets seemed closed to me when I purchased them.But now- now is a different time and I am a different person.I speak these languages!And while technology has changed drastically, I thought those magazines could still hold some valuable lessons for me.So I put them back on the shelf for another day.
I didn’t finish tidying up the space or clearing the ghosts.I stuffed some of those ghosts into pretty little boxes along with a considerable collection of mostly dried up ink pads from my Rubber Stamping days.There remain other ghosts- an English teacher who defends her laminated posters of illustrated literary elements, a crafter or two who dabbled in polymer clay and jewelry craft, a wannabe photographer, the mother of two Lego obsessed children.But it takes energy and commitment to exorcise ghosts, and they don’t make too much noise.So, I left them for another day.
*Would you like to know which podcasts I am listening to? Click the links below to listen for yourself.
An uncomfortable but necessary look at our nation’s education system and how earnest intentions can cause more harm than good.
In the Studio
I attended my first live event early in May.I spent many weeks preparing- and afterwards I needed some downtime.I have been working with such an outward focus and I was missing out on the joy of doing for the sake of doing.So, I returned to play!My wonderful children and husband gifted me new liquid watercolors for Mother’s Day and I took them out for a spin.
The image to the left is a page from my sketchbook: dragon with Snapdragons. Ink and liquid watercolors. The previous image also comes from my sketchbook and is a leafy seadragon, further play with my liquid watercolors.
I am already preparing my next visit with you- a reflection on journals.During my studio cleanup adventure I revisited my journals and I am looking forward to sharing them with you! Do you keep a journal?
The scissortail flycatcher, the blanket flower, and the Eastern redbud represent Oklahoma’s natural beauty. The sun image is a nod to our Native American heritage and represents hope.
Details of the Scissortail, Indian Blanketflowers, and Eastern Redbud.
I have gone to ground for the past month as I prepare for my very first live booth event! About a month ago I got the opportunity to participate in a one day outdoor event- and I leapt at the chance. Let me clarify this by stating that I leapt into it the same way I leap into a body of water knowing it will be cold. I held my breath and it felt a little as though I had stepped off a ledge when I clicked the “send” button.
It sounds foolish when I say that aloud. I can list hundreds of intimidating things I have embraced in my life- years on the stage, entering a strange high-school as a young substitute teacher time and again, teaching, earning my Shotokan brown belt, competing in karate tournaments, and birthing two babies. These are scary experiences, especially to the uninitiated. So I had to turn inward to ask “why the hesitation”?
Was I scared that I couldn’t “do it”? Nonsense. Like anything else, the act of showing up is a simple mechanical process of putting one foot in front of the other. And while the list of things I must accomplish in four weeks to prepare was long, by simply doing one thing and then moving on to the next, I knew it was manageable. So this could not be the cause of my faltering.
Was I afraid of what others would say or think? Sadly, there was a little truth in this. My HEAD knows my family and friends will encourage me and want me to do well. But there remains a small but VOCAL demon within that shouts at me. “They will think you are a delusional child. They are just patronizing you. They know that when you fall on your face you will give up this stupid charade and move on.” Insert the maniacal laugh of your choosing here.
But the fear of looking like the fool to my family was not the only thing holding me back. There was still something else- and I knew it was my fear of complete failure. What if NO ONE stopped at my booth? What if no one bought any of my art? What if I have been wasting my time? And that is where I stopped myself.
I had let something get in the way of my joy. When I sit down and create it comes from a place of joy, every time. I cannot think of a single time I have created from a space of sadness, loneliness, or anger. I admire artists who can harvest these raw emotions and the artists who use their canvas to expose the evils of the world and push for change. But my art journey thus far has remained an expression of joy, admiration, and awe. Allowing the fear of judgement into the arena ties my hands. How can I mine the joy if I am only concerned with how many people are following my Instagram, reading this blog, or liking my FB posts?
So I purposely set aside the social media and the paint. I picked up my pencil and sketchbook, I enrolled in some new online classes, and I immersed myself in the process of simply creating and learning. I LOVE learning. I am not the fastest learner and my retention sucks- but I love expanding my horizons. I have submitted to notion that whatever happens on May 8th, it does not determine my relationship to art. Only I can affect that. And if I crash and burn on May 8th, my family will not see a failure, but a woman who is committed, determined, and persistent. And I can think of no better lesson for my children.
I am still a little nervous about May 8, but I am a body in motion and I am hurtling towards May 8th with renewed vigor and enthusiasm. I am looking forward to seeing people and introducing my creative efforts to them. If you live in Tulsa and feel safe venturing out, I hope you will stop by my booth and say “Hello”. For information, check out this link- https://saltandsoulmarket.com/birthday-bash/.
The event is the Salt & Soul Birthday Bash and it will be at the Broken Arrow Brewing Company May 8 from 3pm-8pm. If you are still unfamiliar with Salt&Soul it is an online market featuring Oklahoma vendors. I have a shop there and after May 8 I will be loading new items into my shop as Salt&Soul exclusives- meaning they will not be listed here on my website but must be purchased through Salt&Soul.
Persist in joy, my friends.
In
The
Studio
Clowning in the Garden or Clownfish in Chrysanthemums. Watercolor.
This began as an exercise in painting chrysanthemums but the undulating petals morphed into anemones in my mind’s eye. Where there are anemones, there are clownfish. We have five bubble tipped anemones and two black and white clownfish at home. Little fish with big personalities!
Male purple finch in gouache from my watercolor sketchbook.
Vector artwork- the Tulsa Driller holding hops. This is a coaster design which I will debut on May 8.
Pattern created featuring the Oklahoma motifs. Another example of vector artwork.
Staying with the Oklahoma theme, I painted a vintage gas pump. Watercolor.
“Failure is not an option.”Who the hell said this?Who uttered these words only to have them etched into our psyches?I find myself ashamed when my project fails- or provides less than stellar results.Like a child who has broken something, I shove the evidence into some dark crevice and pray to the forces-that-be for no one to ever discover my ugly truth.Perhaps worse, sometimes I deny the failure- masking it in false optimism and a “laissez faire” attitude. But underneath the bravado my frail sense of self-confidence is shriveling- like the weak scrawny seedlings in my grow tent-the trigger for today’s rant.
The past 6 years or so I have successfully propagated my summer vegetable garden from seed grown indoors in a make-shift greenhouse.Each year I carefully measure out seeds, one at a time, into their allotted spot.Then I save the rest for the next planting.By peak season, a good 90% of my garden began as seeds.
This year it has failed.This year I will be buying a significant number of my garden plants.My frugality has finally become the tragic flaw in my homegrown garden.The basil sprung up within 18 hours!Seven days later one Squash surprised me.Soon to follow, one tomatillo and one Costoluto tomato.That leaves me with 55 empty cells.Cells whose soil is now covered in green moss because of the humid conditions under the plastic dome.If I had to guess- I would say that it was a lack of CONSTANT refrigeration of my seed this year.Usually all my leftover seeds live in a plastic shoebox in my refrigerator.But for one reason or another this year, I removed the shoebox for a few days at a time to make room in the fridge-multiple times.
And while I am angry at myself for the failure, I know that it is not the end of the world- or my garden.I simply have to swallow my pride this year and buy plants.So this year, “The Tomato Man’s Daughter” will get more of my money than usual.
Happy Belated Saint Patrick’s Day!
I had no intention of creating art for Saint Patrick’s Day.But while grocery shopping I spotted the purple shamrock and its geometry struck me.I happen to be taking an online class in vector illustration and this happy little pot of triangles seemed to beg to be the star.But is it?I really like the moth- which came about while studying the leaves of the shamrock and noticing how much they look like purple moths.And the whole experiment brought Charley Harper to mind.The rest they say is history- or in this case layers and layers in Adobe.
Next up…. a delightful underwater scene for a coloring book. The coloring book is part of a charity event to raise money and awareness for our ocean life. Be sure to check back soon, because I will be posting my entry here.
For many, the holidays consist of a series of days marked by frenetic busy-ness and large doses of overstimulation. The long lists of gifts to buy, food to cook, rooms to clean and decorations to set out effectually become blinders, narrowing our vision to the tunneled exposure of the task at hand.
What spots?
I wear such blinders more often than not, but this Thanksgiving the pandemic changed the narrative. There was still cooking to be done and the impending impact of Christmas to consider, but I began to examine my relationship to Thanksgiving, and in turn to the many other ritualized moments of our lives.
When I began to examine my reaction to a covid-altered Thanksgiving, I had to go back to the beginning. What was Thanksgiving to me? And only when I took Thanksgiving out of its present context could I begin to grasp my relationship to it.
For me Thanksgiving will always be at my Grandmother’s, with my Nanny, grandfather, parents, sister, and step-siblings. With women working together in the kitchen to bring together the last minute details and my dad grumbling about the green-bean casserole, again. It was red ice-cubes made of frozen Hawaiian Punch served with 7-Up. The grown-ups always ate at the kitchen table and the rest of us ate around a game table. This was my Rockwell-worthy Thanksgiving, and it could ONLY reside in the past.
This year we experienced our first Thanksgiving meal as a family of four at our own table. I set out my wedding china and crystal to commemorate the special occasion. I looked at my children, tall, self-aware, teetering on the brink of adulthood, and I wondered what their Rockwell-worthy Thanksgiving would look like when they too stood on the hill of mid-life looking back.
That’s the thing about memories; they surprise us. We can’t begin to know which moments will burn indelibly into our beings, becoming defining experiences against which all others are measured.
Psychedelic Poinsettias: An infinitely repeating pattern inspired by my childhood in the early 1970’s.
In the Studio
I have been bouncing around in the studio between small sketchbooks and larger canvases. I have smeared acrylic with my fingers, experimented with gouache, created digitally, and played in watercolor, of course.
I am addicted to the process of learning and am simultaneously working through an online perspective course, teaching myself how to create a website (thanks for hanging with me!), learning about gouache, and working through an online course to encourage a more intuitive creative process.
One of my small victories has been a long time coming- my own online shop. Currently I am offering greeting cards as I ease into this new adventure. I will be offering small prints in the near future as well. If you haven’t seen the shop, be sure to check it out by clicking on Shop in the Navigation menu.
Some of the season’s art experiences have found their way into my Society6 store- check out my Steampunk Snowmen, my Holiday Anglerfish, and the Psychedelic Poinsettias (Society6 in the Navigation menu).
And if you shop locally, I am excited to be a part of Salt and Soul- an online market in Tulsa featuring local goods, arts, and services.
