Curious Meanderings from an Artist's World

Maybe it's mine, maybe it's Kleins, but some kids never grow up!

As I just now answered a terrific email on the article of mine published today in FineArtViews.com, "Operating a Hedge Clipper Without a License and Other Foolish Things" which includes a list of eight basic safety rules, I realized that my own household could benefit from having some of my safety rules memorized by certain family members, maybe tattooed on their bodies in an easy to read spot. And I'm not talking about my husband, Bill, this time.

It seems everyone at my end of the neighborhood is enjoying the gorgeous weather we're having down here in NC today, and getting a little bit giddy. It is the first official holiday half-day-school-day-off for my grandson, Nate, so I picked him up from school at noon and brought him home to hang with his Awesome Uncle Jake and Mike the Construction Assistant as they cover the front columns of my house with some stone.

Nate just dashed in here and grabbed his coat. He was extremely excited, and having so much fun with Uncle Jake! "Guess what, Nonnie," he said to me as he pulled his hood up over his head. "Staples don't hurt at all!"

I was like, "Are you kidding me? What about Rule #3?" I had to drop everything and run out to save him from my husband's son. (My son too, but those reckless genetics obviously come from Dad's side. You know, other than that nine months plus one week and a pretty quick delivery, I don't think I've had a whole lot else to do with it...)

Having demanded that Uncle Knucklehead follow Rule #3 without any exceptions (including the one that he promises not to shoot at Nate's face and the other that Nate likes it), I can now relax for a few minutes.

As I was going to tell you, this is also the first day of vacation for Bill and me. Christmas is coming, and we have hardly any presents bought, and the tree isn't even up yet. (Well, we did have four birthdays last month already...) On Christmas Eve, we are expecting our four youngest "children" home with one wife, one baby and two boyfriends. We have a lot to do before we can call ourselves ready.

Jake did get a few more tacky decorations ready for Bill yesterday. But now that will have to be tomorrow's post. As for today, I have to go check on the kids again. You can't trust 'em with a staple gun even when they're grown, I'm afraid.

But like I always say, it's never dull around here. Well, especially not today.

BE SAFE and you don't have to ever say you're sorry!

deber

(I always have to be the grown-up around here anymore.) Oh, and here's a picture of Nate for you. Bundled up and "protected" from staple guns and other hazardous construction tools. He's headed for the creek, now, bare feet and all. The crawdads await him, as we speak.

I promised a photo of my necklace, so here it is.
I actually copied it on my scanner, using an antique cookbook as a backdrop. (The International Cook Book, compiled and written by Margaret Weimer Heywood, published by Merchandisers Inc, 1929). I got the book at a junk store recently. (I think most people call them "antiques shops".)  I opened up to a random page, which just happened to be seasonally appropriate. The Cranberry Sauce recipe. Serendipity. I love serendipity.

About the necklace, originally I had planned on making it all stark black. But I guess that just doesn't work for me. I pulled out my crystals box, and my pure silver box and tossed a few extra-special beads in with everything that didn't really "match" at all, but brought out the colors of the crystal drops and Voila! Of course, it really wasn't that easy, as I had to restring it.

Because:

I picked my two oldest grandkids from school on Friday afternoon before I was able to figure out all the design problems, (13 and 9 years old) and we had a wild and carefree afternoon. I had been a little depressed, so they cheered me up tremendously. By the time I got back to my necklace construction, I'd forgotten my finishing plan, and had to undo and do over.

This is the result.

By the way, when the kids left, hubby Bill said, "Boy. That was one wild pair of kids tonight!"  We had eight, you know. I had to laugh. Memories fade so quickly. As they spent their afternoon chasing each other around the house, wrestling and screaming, I had a few flashes (no, not hot ones). I found myself wondering how Bill and I had survived this times four every single day, year after year. What's really crazy is how I was able to write and do art with all that comotion going on around me. Nowadays, I have to turn off all noise in order to write.

Well, my best boyfriend, Bill, is calling. (Uh-oh. Caught at the computer again.) We need more decorations and must go on the hunt for cheap, plentiful large Christmas ornaments again. We should get about 20, but I tell Bill a smaller number. Otherwise, only the front of the topiaries will be beautiful.

Maybe I'll photograph my topiaries when he's through with his masterpiece of Christmas Cheer. He's doing a better Chevy Chase act than last year's. You know, as hard as he has worked on decorating in the past, I didn't blame him if his enthusiasm got a little puny for a couple of years there. I'm glad to find him excited again this year. Well, I must cheerlead if I want him to finish today.

TTFN. Have a great and wonderful!

Deber

Do you dread those company parties as much as I do?

It's not that I don't like the lovely people my husband works with. Honestly, they're wonderful. But I don't know them well, so when the whole thing is over, I'm a wretched mess. Occasionally I can fool people into thinking that I'm some sort of party-girl gadfly. But I'm no Social Butterfly, no matter how much I flutter my wings at a party!

The company my husband works for is having their Annual Holiday Affair on Saturday night. It is semi-formal, and I'm 95.7% casual. So as with every year, I had to go shopping for that special something. I easily found a fancy new outfit for it yesterday (which is actually comfortable!). Then I went on a mad hunt for the perfect bunch of pretty crystal beads or maybe some black fresh-water pearls with which to make my Annual Matching Holiday Necklace and Earrings. 

The outfit was easy to find, for once. But the beads were difficult to pick out, to say the least. 

A disgruntled employee was feverishly stocking the bead isle, and I was obviously in her way. (I sort of thought she was in my way, seeing as how I was The Shopper. But being the overly submissive social pacifist that I am, I steered clear apologetically, as if I had no right to be there what-so-ever.)  She politely said, "You're okay," but I knew she was annoyed with my inability to quickly choose my beads and get on with life so she could get on with her stocking.

I understand. I was between her and her task at hand on Isle #4 for two full hours. That's a long darn time. As it was, I finally had to find an out of the way place to sit and look things over. My stocker friend could have solved the whole time-consuming situation by just looking over at the conglomeration of beads in my hands and pointing. "Those three are great, but ditch the golden pearls and get rid of the smoky quartz, already." I'd have just said, "Yes ma'am," and been outta there. 

At last I managed to pick out my beads, and I headed home semi-triumphantly. Of course, I won't know if the beads are a trophy or trash until I finish my necklace this afternoon. I know it's going to be three strands, but I haven't yet got any solid ideas about how to combine all those pretties into one cohesive string of stunning gorgeousness. I am hopeful, however. After all, they're already a mighty pretty pile of fancies laid out expectantly upon my work table.

I'll try to photograph them when they're all done.

But for now, TTFN (Tigger talk, remember? "Ta-ta for now.")
Deber

Guess what I've been doing.
You're so smart. Yes, anything but art.

It's not that I don't want to be painting. I woke up this morning with several ideas, and some are seasonal, so they are "time sensitive", you might say. But Life is interfering with my artist. Sunday, Bill and I made a house for our dogs. One that fits right in the corner outside of the back door. As soon as I get a little farm-style heat lamp for it (this afternoon), three little doggies are going to stay on the back deck in their little doggy coats on when I have errands to run, because they'll have a cozy, toasty warm dog house to hang out in. This will eliminate a great deal of mop duty around here, if you get my drift.

When I get back from the farm store, I have to go on line and do NC Tax Form #500, or something like that. Yes, Sales Tax. And then there are bills to pay. If there's any time left, I will do art, beginning with the time sensitive stuff.

As for dinner, we're having birthday party leftovers. No cake or ice cream, but just some potatoes, salad and roast beef. Yum.

A question for You. What's your greatest distraction from doing your art?

I'm glad I'm an artist, and not a crafts person. I can paint quickly, but knitting is a slow process, even though I'm a fairly fast knitter.

Knitting is the kind of activity that I never want to do in the summer. I survived for years without doing any knitting at all. But now it is back in style, and the scarves and gloves I see in stores don't appeal to me again this year. So I've been knitting for myself. And for my daughters, for Christmas. That's a lot of young women who appreciate my simple designs. Five daughters, three daughters-in-law and a granddaughter. Last year as you could imagine, I ran out of steam before they all got a pair of fingerless gloves. So this year I'm making gloves again.

But being a little selfish, I can't resist making myself a couple of things, too.  Daughter Allie gave me some really crazy yarn last year. One skein of hand spun bamboo yarn in peachy pink and cream, with big lumps of colorful wool in it. I've been saving it for something special. Knowing it wasn't enough, I started a scarf with it and ran out about 1/4 of the way into my scarf. I had another pretty wool blend yarn that I used next, knowing I didn't have enough of that either. So I added a third yarn, an unusual cotton of blended turquoise shades which I added in thin strips here and there, finishing up with about 6" of it. This scarf is the coolest thing I've ever knitted, and its warm.

I wore it this weekend along with some fingerless gloves I made last winter, and got some nice complements on it. One lady said, "If you bring a bunch of things in like that into my work, you'll sell out so fast!" I would, indeed, but I told my husband later that the scarf's yarn cost about $30.00, and it took at least 6 hours to make. I could sell it for $50.00, maybe.  That means I'd get at most $3.33 dollars per hour. I'd make more money per hour working for minimum wage, and maybe even get benefits.

Makes me believe that making art instead of crafts is a lucrative business.

So why make crafts at all? Because I love the uniqueness of hand crafted things. Although you can sometimes get handmade things in the store, they aren't unique. Also, crafts can be a fun change from painting. I sometimes sell my crafts on Etsy because it gives me an excuse to make these things, but I don't expect to support myself by selling crafts. Not when you consider having to keep an inventory of sellable items. It does pay for some of the materials I use, though.

Well, today I'm going to do more knitting, and some writing. It's also my granddaughter's birthday, so she and her mom and brother will be coming over for dinner and cake. It's going to be another busy Monday. I've got a busy day ahead.

Have a good day, yourself!

Deber

Briefly, today I have another confession to make.

I seem to take artistic license with my memories more often than perhaps even I realize. At least that is the unspoken word I sense coming from my sister, Jeanie. No, seriously, Jeanie doesn't really care if I embellish my writing for the sake of making our life sound more interesting than it really was. She gets a kick out of my writing. But if I read something with my memories to her or to my other sisters Nancy or Ellen, they never seem to be able to resist the urge to correct any "mistakes".

But like I said in yesterday's post, they're my memories and I can alter them if I so choose. Honestly, if my sisters want to write their own versions of my memories, I think it might be fun! But I'll surely have to set those three crazy girls strait about a thing or two.

So back to the Santa story with my best friend, Molly McFarland. I am beginning to wonder if I actually was told the Real Truth About Santa by Molly or if my younger sister Nancy was really the one who told me the truth about Santa. Nancy always has been very practical and near perfect (for real!). Maybe Molly told me first and then Nancy confirmed it. Nancy will know for sure. I'll have to ask her. The one truth I am sure of is that I love fantasy, I always have, and I've never been one to give it up without a struggle.

But enough of Santa, already. I gave him up, struggle and all, a long time ago.

***Today's question, if any body's listening, is: What is your primary motivation for making art? Money, emotional nurture (personal sanity which I call self-applied occupational therapy), or you just can't seem to stop yourself?

By the way, Santa Stories are still welcome, along with any other crazy stuff, like True Tooth Fairy Tales. I may need to hold your Easter Bunny stuff for later. As for the Tooth Fairy, I have a really cute true story from my sister Jeanie that I'll save for another day soon.

But for today, I have need to make some art. I'm going to work on hand coloring some photos of my three girls for a "Sisters" project, and one of my grandmother (the one from the Thanksgiving story printed on FineArtViews.com). I'll show them to you later.

deber 

Its funny how much I remember of my childhood.

I wouldn't admit it to just anyone, but to you I will admit this. I'm not sure just how accurate my childhood memories are. I mean, I remember being broken-hearted when I heard the truth about Santa Claus which was told to me by my best and considerably brighter friend, Molly McFarland. But I can't remember the "real truth" about old St. Nick. Was it:

A. that the one at the department store downtown was really just some old guy that they had pulled out of the alley the day before just like in the movies, OR

B. that the Santa I had always loved and believed in was really a bold-faced lie my parents told me in order to make a fool out of me and have something to laugh about in the privacy of their bedroom late at night, OR

C. because we didn't have a fireplace, Santa wouldn't be able to come to my house ever again. My parents would have to do everything for him including buy all the presents at the store.

I think it was "C" but may have been a little of A and C.

If my memory doesn't deceive me, I recall Molly adding, "Beside, Deborah, EVERYBODY in third grade knows Santa is just pretend. Except you! You're too old to keep believing in Santa. He's FAKE!" (More than likely, Molly worded it a little kinder, but my memory tells me this is the way it went.) Okay! It was third grade, so I was seven. No, eight. That probably was too old to believe in some jolly old chubby guy dressed in a red velvet frock that runs a factory with a bunch of busy dwarfs and brings presents to the whole wide world in a sleigh pulled by eight flying reindeer. All in one night.

But I do remember that I believed because I wanted to. And if I didn't believe, then what? For one thing, I'd have to pretend to believe to my little sisters from now on (which I did, but not very convincingly) and admit that my parents had played this game with me for my whole life of eight years (which took me 20 years to do, but by then it didn't bother me). Besides, Santa was nice. I liked him a lot.

Well, these are my memories, and they belong to me. So like a pot just being taken off the wheel, I'll alter them if it suits me.

Actually, some of my earliest childhood memories are of an art nature. If you have read my writing before, you probably already know this. I drew and colored all the time. Then in high school I fell in love with Monet in Mrs. Marcos' Humanities class. So my mom bought me a beginner's oil painting set.  Now that I think about it, it seems like I picked it out and got it for Christmas. After that, I painted little impressionistic Monets on little squares I cut from cardboard cereal boxes. I kept them in a hard plastic jewelry case. I remember going to bed at night after painting all evening, closing my eyes and seeing all my dreams in brush strokes.

But MY memories aren't the question of the day. The question of the day is for you, dear friend.

I want to know what your childhood memories are. Not about Santa, though. That's just a seasonal tease for you, although if you have some funny Santa story, I'd love to hear it, too. I really would! But what I'm really looking for are your "Growing Up Artist" stories, which I would want your permission to possibly use in future articles.

What I want to know from you is this:
What is the first art memory you have of making art? What kind of art did you do as a kid? I'd also like to know if you were self-taught, and a little about what kinds of art you did in school.

I will be having more art questions for you at a later time. So check back with me again soon!
Thanks ahead for your taking the time to answer my question!

In the meantime, Paint on!