Autumn Wreath

I got inspired by all the autumn goodies lying about the sidewalk and made this fall wreath for my friend Diane. I hope she isn't reading my blog these days because it will ruin the surprise. (Act surprised if you read this Diane. :D)

You'll need a wreath, oak leaves, acorns (both parts), marbles, decorative wire, and a hot glue gun.

Acorns can be wrapped in wire or glued back into the cupule.

Alternatively, you can glue marbles in to the cupules.

Then go wild with the glue gun! Happy gluing and wiring!

Updates

It has been over a year since I posted here and what a year it has been. My excuse is that I had a baby and raised her all by myself for 6 months while my husband was deployed. I think that is a pretty good reason to take a hiatus. However, during that time I was only taking a break from my blog, not from writing and art. I taught several drawing classes and really enjoyed that. I will be looking for future opportunities to share my knowledge with more people. I have worked on a few different art projects, but have been concentrating on the ice dragon. Here is a sample of the technique I am using to paint his wings. So far he is delicious (yes, I have been watch too much Sesame street with Sabrina) and I can't wait until he is done to show you all.

I have been writing too, but I feel pretty eclectic with this. I attempted Nanowrimo last year, but did not make it. My daughter was born Nov 12th and I was just not able to write a 50K novel in 11 days. I continued to work the novel over the last couple months, but I feel there is something missing and until I figure out what that is, I think this novel will be on the shelf for a while. I also have been inundated with nonfiction writing ideas lately, but I have just been writing some notes rather than full articles.

This last weekend I had a table at Fantasci in Chesapeake, VA. I found out 2 days before that I would be able to do it and so had little time for preparation. However, this was the best show I have done to date. I talked to so many people and sold some prints. Even better, I recognized a few people that I have seen at other conventions. That was a first and it made me feel like I belonged. :)

I am moving to the Washington DC area in August and I am excited about this for many reasons. I think that DC will be great to explore and can't wait to spend some time in Museums being inspired. Also, there are so many writing and art groups that I can join and I have already started looking.

Art Madness

Despite the lack of posts in the last 6 months, I have been busy. Here are a few of the paintings that I have finished recently.

Three Piece Installation
Straight Mist, In the Mist, and Mystic Spirals Now looking for a good home at the Harbor Gallery!! :D

Autumn Haze Now waiting for acceptance into the Mid-Atlantic Art Show. (crosses fingers)

Another art project was to submit a portfolio to a card company. Here is a new one and my favorite from the portfolio.

Orange Poppy Curves

And last but not least, my current project... I am trying to be better about planning my work before execution, so this is a sketch of the drawing. I am going to change a few things and do this in color next. I am supposed to do a color study first, but I am just too eager to wait.

Hope you enjoy!

July Art

Here are a few pieces I was able to finish in July.

Glass Poppy
Water Color / Acrylic
14" x 22"
Looking for a good home (i.e. For Sale)

In the Mist
Acrylic on Flat Panel canvas
16" x 20"
For Sale

Grasp 2
Acrylic on Flat Panel canvas
16" x 20"
Comission by Anna and Rob (Thanks!)

First Double-Burn Pepper

Since I couldn't sleep last night, I got up at 4 am and made the final push to finish this drawing so I can take prints to a show to try and sell this weekend. It's called "First Double-Burn Pepper."

I took it to the printer today and they got some pastel from a previous piece of art on it. There were stripes on my brand new picture. I am just angry and kind of sick about it. Since the junk was on the scanner, they didn't even get a good clean scan before the screwed it up. I tried to erase the smudges, but it lifts up the varnish coating and then the color pencil. I will have to spend some time cleaning it up and recoloring parts of it. I am so pissy about it. Then I remind myself that it could be worse, like another artist I talked to recently who lost lots of art in a fire.

How to Walk the Dog.

I wrote this as part of an application for Howcast.com. They produce how to guides, both serious and comical. Insert Max whenever you read Rex. Let me know what you think!

_______________________________________

Congratulations! Today is a new day. You have decided to reform your dog walking techniques. No more detached limbs or involuntary speed walking. When you finish this how to, you will have controlled, sedate walks. As a step in the right direction, we suggest you buy that book by that Dog Whisperer guy.

1) Open book.
2) Intending to turn straight to the chapter on dog walking, you find yourself sucked into the Red Zone chapter about bad behavior and the warning signs.
3) One hour later, see Rex’s squirrel induced trembling in a whole new way. The trembling is no longer cute, but a sign that at any moment, he will break on out into rabid dog mode and eat your car…with you in it.
4) Softly (so he doesn’t eat you) tell Rex to stop whining. You’ll go for a walk in just a bit.
5) Give up on the book
6) Watch the TV show for a couple hours instead…learn so much…
7) Finally you are ready to begin. Get off couch.
8) Step in Rex’s pee. Apparently he wasn’t whining out of anticipation.
9) Curse.
10) Clean up pee and try not to look Rex directly in the eye in case it sets off his raging inner beast. Suddenly his name, short for T-rex, is no longer cute either.
11) Get out leash out of hall closet.
12) Drop leash and leap into closet because Rex has finally achieved mania. All that bouncing and drool, he must be about to excise your knee caps.
13) Consult your trusty Dog Whisperer instruction guide and realize that it is excitement, not mania.
14) Step out of closet and look furtively around, hoping no one saw you hiding in the closet.
15) Use your commanding voice to tell Rex to sit. Instead he runs circles around you like a deranged bee.
16) Finally, as your command voice shifts into pitch of a deranged bee and you grab a hold of his collar, risking amputation, to snap on the leash.
17) Yank…whirl… face plant!
18) Yell at Rex to calm down while detangling his leash from around legs.
19) Remind self that the Dog Whisperer says that raising your voice is bad. (Because it is liable to wake Rex’s inner demon?)
20) Move collar up right under Rex’s chin, holding his head up like a little princess, just like Dog Whisperer says.
21) Make Rex stay while you exit first as “leader of the pack.”
22) Pick self off the front step and yell at Rex for tripping you in eagerness to exit.
23) Adjust collar to choke position and set off.
24) Stop while Rex fights the new leash position like a fish on the line.
25) Start again.
26) Ignore awful retching and choking noises coming from Rex because he is too stupid to realize that if he slowed down, he wouldn’t choke himself.
27) Ignore horrified looks from people who think you are choking your dog.
28) Hold head high as if you are the Queen of Sheba (Dog whisperer says bearing and body language convey that you are “the leader of the pack.”)
29) Curse as you trip over sidewalk and then over Rex.
30) Curse more as Rex takes the opportunity to get his nose to the ground and collar back in proper pulling position.
31) Curse profusely as Rex suddenly finds traction and pulls you along like a kite that can barely fly.
32) Resort to squealing at Rex to please, please stop! (So much for Queen of Sheba).
33) Manage to direct Rex to pull you home with well time jerks on the leash, like guiding a runaway horse.
34) Open door.
35) Get run down as, in a last effort to take control, you try to get through the door first.
36) Detach arm from leash and let Rex do whatever the hell he wants.
37) Get out shot glass.
38) Drink.
39) Find chiropractor in phone book to put arm back in socket.
40) Sneak up on Rex while he is sleeping and unhook leash.
41) Hide leash in closet before Rex wakes up and thinks you are going again.
42) Hide in closet with leash.
43) Tear useless and frightening book into little bits.
44) Eat little bits because you are hungry, yet afraid to come out of closet to get food.

Withywindle Lillies

Here is my latest color pencil drawing. I am going to enter it into the Color Pencil Society Annual show. It's due today, so I guess its a good thing I finished it. :)

The Pepper Imp’s Lesson

The following article will be printed in the Color Pencil Society of America's (CPSA) biannual publication called To the Point this spring. I know that I revealed several levels of nerdiness with that sentence, but I am ecstatic that they are going to print it. I don't get paid, but seeing my words and art in a magazine will be reward enough. I know that most of the article is for the target audience, but I was so excited that I had to share it anyway.

I have always had this dim inkling that there was an aged argument against using photos as a basis for art, but, since I had no intention of being a professional artist, I ignored all the anti-picture “rules”. I happily used photos as reference for my art and modifying them as I needed. Since my topics tended to be fantastical in nature, I never worried about violating a copyright law. I like to draw dragons and fairies and seeing as no one has been able photograph them (despite numerous offered rewards), I was forced to rely on my imagination. In bliss, I happily scribbled along with my reference photo system. Then I joined CPSA and saw the amazing art others were creating. Gulp! Suddenly a new horizon had opened before me, but I feared to stray from my formula. Until last spring when I attended a mini demo at a chapter meeting and along came Nicole Caulfield with a photo of a pepper.

“Uggh!” I thought, “Who would want to draw a pepper?! It’s so boring.”

I already knew how to draw a pepper, but I reminded myself the demo was about the pastel board not the pepper. I consoled myself with the thought that I could add a “Pepper Imp” scaling the pepper later and so, bent to the task. Shortly, I learned I did not, after all, know how to draw this pepper. I became completely engrossed in the highlights in the picture and the attached shadow and even the little light ring on the pepper created by the flash. Oh, it was a heaven of technical exercise! When it was done, I had an exact replica of the picture. It looked like I could pick up the pepper and eat it. Friends could not believe it was color pencil (and we have all heard that before).

So I took it home and propped it up on my desk to admire it. I did that! All the while, I was mentally sketching my Pepper Imp. Then it occurred to me that because I had followed the picture exactly, I would never be able to draw a Pepper Imp out of my head to match the realism of the pepper. The shadows would be wrong and the highlights would be cartoonish. Everyone would know. Despair… Downers never travel alone, of course, and about this time I received negative reviews of my art to contend with. I had recently posted on line and had received some early reviews from one person, favorable in some instances, negative in others, but not constructive. (I consoled myself later with the knowledge he had “critiqued” almost everyone’s art on this very large website and was reaping the rewards of such an endeavor. I won’t say anything about his skill because … umm…something about being nice.) Somewhere deep in a bottle of wine, the pepper imp problem and one of his comments melded into a coherent thought. The critic had said I was better at drawing objects than animals (I am paraphrasing here, because I deleted the comments after they angered my father…good old Dad). I still maintain that my mythical creatures were just as well drawn, but I couldn’t ignore the fact that I had used pictures as a basis for my scenery, while my mythical creatures were entirely imagined. The critic picked up on a subtle difference, though poorly articulated. It was the same problem stalling my proposed pepper imp. I eventually gave up on my pepper imp and put another pepper behind the first one (working from another picture and equally fun.)

About the time I identified this area for improvement, there were several articles and conversations marinating in my brain on the use of photos. Old school artists reminisced about the days when the use of photos was shameful and artist would hide or destroy originals. Then there was controversy on copyright issues. I started to look on photos as bad things, concerned that working from a photo would reduce me to a glorified camera. I did a few more pieces without photos, then I took a picture of my dog swimming (well call it swimming if you must, because it was so funny the people on the beach were dying with laughter). It was a great photo and I only wished the tennis ball had been in front of him instead of behind. Then I thought…I could draw this with the tennis ball where I wanted it. So I did and it was just as much fun as last time I worked from a photo and it turned out fantastic. But it would be the last time from a photo, I told myself.

Fortunately, I have an extremely short memory. I took a wonderful picture of water lilies and I love it so much, I just want to live inside the picture. I had to draw it. This time, I am not using it as a mere model for a sketch and changing it to suit some other theme, but am drawing it color for color and highlight for highlight. I am learning so much! (I should say that I have taken a total of two college art classes and one of those was independent study, so my background is pretty much self-taught.) Previously if I wanted to draw a leaf, I would probably use four colors: red and 3 shades of a similar green. Now as I try to match the colors, I am using about 10 different colors for each little flower petal. Without the picture, I would have just picked a premade color and moved on, but now am creating colors. Also, I am learning to see color with my eye and not my brain. Leaves aren’t always green! I am including completely random highlights with no idea of their origin. For this project, I have taken my cherished rules of a specific light source, a complimentary color and no black pencil and thrown them out the window.

And I am so engrossed in the project that I am pining for it as I write this essay. At the same time, I am afraid I won’t capture the realism and it will instead look silly, but I also realize fear has been holding me back in previous works. Fear of weird highlights and how stupid they will look because no one will be able to explain them. Fear of not using the color compliment because it will look cartoonish. I have had to lock all these fears in a trunk and hide the trunk behind the vacuum (shudder) where I will never find it. Beginning today, I will revel in the joy of being a glorified camera, because it is my own picture after all. I will learn from copying pictures, in the same way actual, real live art students learn by copying a master. And someday, while walking woods, I will see that elusive dragon and be able to snap a picture…or not because dragons are wicked fast. Sigh… but I hope, by doing this exercise of copying my own photos, I will improve my artist’s eye. When I start drawing dragons and fairies again, the result will be somewhere in the middle, realistic but not real. So to all those artists on the fence about pictures, I say go for it (just don’t violate copyright laws). I say don’t listen to anyone who says not to do something because it is not traditional fine art. If I had followed that kind of advice, I would have put my pencils down long ago and would now be a pretty lousy painter.

Patronage

Every day as I watch the depressing events in the news, I can’t help but feeling a little angry. Every other story seems to be pointing out the greed of the corporate fat cats, huge bonuses, corporate retreats in Las Vegas, and private jets. Maybe this is just a media slant, but how can I know. Meanwhile businesses are closing and people are losing their jobs. This however is only the backdrop for my concerns. A magazine called Realms of Fantasy is closing and along with many others. I do not regularly read Realms of Fantasy, but I was happy knowing it was out there and alive and well. As these magazines close because of a decrease in sales, it means that there are fewer venues for writers to publish their works.

Now it has been a long held that the arts do not receive enough support. I often wonder who is supposed to provide this support. I don’t necessarily think that the government should provide this support except at schools. So, who should support the arts? I like to look backward for some answers. Artists used to have patrons in old Europe. The extremely wealthy often supported artists and commissioned works. They also supported musicians. If we return to our time, the extremely wealthy comparable to the European aristocracy are rock stars and actors. Here we stumble into another cesspool of excess and—dare I say it—hedonism. Just watch shows like “The fabulous life of…” and it will almost make you sick with disgust at their spending. In addition to the profits they make from their acting skills, they are now adding to that by becoming “moguls” and branding everything they possibly can. They ask for more and more money from the little people; watch my movie, listen to my music, bye the product that I say are cool. So we have two branches of art: poor artists and writers and wealthy actors and rockstars. Of course there are more people that fit into these categories, but very general will do for this essay.

Since there is such a disparity between these two groups, it almost seems as if support of the arts should come from the arts. Take the magazine Realms of Fantasy. It has been supporting writers as they begin their careers, develop their voice and become the writer that will pen a fantastic novel. Many times these novels will be made into movies, such as the Golden Compass, Twilight, and Tarzan. If one Hollywood megastar who owes their career or even a portion of their wealth to a fantastical plotline were to become a patron of this magazine, it would not have to close. But I guess they have better things to do with their money like start an namebrand empire or buy a Lamborghini. I don’t want to come off as bitter about their spending because I am not. There is a part of me that enjoys that such a lifestyle is possible in the same way that I like knowing there are still tribes in South America who have no knowledge of the industrial world. The ridiculous wealth and spending keep an element of wonder in the world. On the other hand, it makes me sad to see that these uber wealthy are so focused on increasing and enjoying their wealth that they cannot support the roots of their craft, such as Realms of Fantasy. It would take one patron to keep the magazine alive. I just feel that it is time to revive the tradition of adopting artists and becoming their patron. I think that the worthy in our society should be supported by the undeservedly wealthy.

Relatedly, I think that it is time we had a shift our business world away from the “all about me” attitude to more humanitarian goals. What happened to the days where people would start a business to give their neighbors jobs? What happened to the altruistic nature of our country? I feel that if we are to change the direction of our country’s economics, it will have to come from the ground up. Everyone will have to change their attitude from “What can I get?” to “What can I do?”

In the words of Rumi, “You are searching the world for treasures but the real treasure is yourself. If you are tempted by bread, you will find only bread. What you seek for you become.”

What is it that our country is seeking?

Milk

The following is a short story that I am going to expand. I would love to hear your comments before I make the attempt. Thanks!!!
________________________________

Jenna stumbled eagerly into the kitchen, but her hope died as she saw the morning sun glinting off the translucent, white liquid puddled on the tile floor around the rocking glass. He was still angry. She watched its amoeboid like progress in the tan grout and the strange, creeping edge that was just a little blue. Every day for a week now… She flung the tear away angrily, trying not to remember. Each morning, in that confusing place between sleeping and waking, she thought it was a bad dream… until she saw the evidence on the floor. She tried not to think about how it began, but it felt like she had to remember the whole story from the beginning.
___

Long before she met him, she had loved the sun and would sit for hours on end in the bright patches of light, just staring at the sparkling dust motes. She would try and touch them, moving slowly so she wouldn’t cause even the slightest breeze. They always remained just out of touch. Until the day she brought a glass of milk with her. Usually she only had milk with her cereal, but the gallon was about to expire. She watched the sunlight shine through the milk, projecting unexpected colors, and she forgot all about the sparkling dust motes. That is, until they converged above the milk in a swirling sparkle. She almost imagined there was a figure in the swirls, delicately sipping the milk. It was another month of sunshine and crispy milk before she was sure, but a form was there. Then he showed himself, a beautiful translucent fairy with skin the color of milk. While he sipped the milk, he told her stories of the ages and of Queen Mab and of black horses with glowing eyes. He was enchanting and she was enchanted. She ceased going out on the weekends, spending more time with him instead. Her friends stopped calling and making plans. She lost that fire that distinguished her at work and she lost her job. If it hadn’t been for the trust fund, she would have been in serious trouble. Yet, she was happy in the sun with her fairy and nothing else mattered.

One day as she was wishing aloud that she could be an immortal fairy and be with him forever, he told her there was a way. At first, he wouldn’t say more. When he finally explained, she balked. There was no way. She couldn’t tear the heart out of her family like that. She couldn’t do it, she told him. After that, he didn’t join her in the sunlight anymore. The crisp milk sat untouched until it got sour. She left a glass of milk on the counter every night before she went to bed, hoping. She wiped up the puddle every morning.
___

She had just pulled a paper towel off the roll to sop up the milk, when she heard the shuffle of slippers. Her grandmother came through the doorway in Jenna’s borrowed bathrobe. Grama had arrived last night on the 8 o’clock flight from Georgia, because she was worried about Jenna, just like the rest of the family.

Seeing Jenna’s tear streaked face, she smiled gently and stooped to help.

“You know, there is a saying my dear,” Grama said with a little chuckle. “Don’t cry over spilt…”

Jenna didn’t hear the rest, even though she knew what was coming. She ran out of the room crying harder. No one ever cried about the milk did they? None of the women from his stories had ever cried over a spill, she was sure, but no one else had ever understood that. She thought about the beautiful dairy maid from one of his stories. She would sing to him and laugh and squirt milk into his mouth as she milked the cows. She had been funny, he had told her, but she had died young. They had all died young…he had told her… all the women…all his lovers had died young… about her age. Yet, he was still looking for an eternal companion? Had they been afraid to do what he wanted her to do? Or had they gone through with it? Suddenly resolved, she had to know. Shutting herself in her room, she sat in the sun and used the decorative dagger replica from that movie with all the elves to make the incision on her wrist. The dagger wasn’t sharp, but it was enough. As the blood welled up, it looked ghastly. Some dripped on the window sill, in a scarlet pool. Then she waited for him, kneeling in front of the window, her arms folded on the sill, her head resting on her arms and her wrists oozing. It wasn’t long before he was there.

“You are coming to join me my love? At last,” he whispered, settling in on her arm to wait with her.

She smiled at him and slowly closed her eyes, as if it would be for the last time. Then exhaled and did not inhale. With her last breath, she felt him leave her arm.

Then she stealthily inhaled and her eyes snapped open to see him on all fours lapping up the blood drops. His pale shade became mottled with red, turning him from an ethereal being into a stained creature. She sat up and he raised his face to her, hissing with his bloodied mouth. How could she have ever loved this thing? How could she have let her all her friends slip away for this? What if she had done as he asked?

“This is just your game, isn’t it? All of you fairies have a game that you have played through the centuries. Titania stole babies. Mab stole dreams. You steal the lives of young women and drink their blood. All those women in your stories were just the next game to you. Why?” she pleaded, wishing he could say something that would make it all untrue.

“It was the only way you could be with me, immortal,” he said, trying to repair some of the damage, but the blood around his lips mocked her. She could imagine him saying that to a hundred women through the ages.

“Liar!” she screamed and with all the speed she could muster, brought the dagger replica with a solid thunk though his frail body and into the wood.

A white liquid welled from around the dagger, spilling over the sill, mixing with the few blood drops and dripping down over the carpet. The door crashed open behind her and her grandmother rushed in.

“I heard you yell. Is something wrong?” Then she caught sight of the blood. “Oh, Jenna, what have you done?” she cried and ran out to call 911.

She watched as the fairy’s frail body shrivel and disintegrate back into dust motes. The milk began to soak into the carpet. There would be no evidence left and she would never be able to tell her family, her friends the truth. They would never be convinced she hadn’t really tried to kill herself. It had just been a test and he had failed. It didn’t matter what they thought at first because it would all change. Now, she would be able to get her life back, her friends, and her job. She clenched the two shallow wounds in her wrists together and waited for the paramedics, watching the white liquid drip. No, no one ever really cried over spilled milk.