Category Archives: Thinking Aloud

Arachnophobe Alert!

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I have, however belatedly, realized that I should probably come with a personal warning-label. Perhaps a flashing light on the top of my head, or a large Hazmat sort of logo emblazoned on my forehead in neon colors, or a nice blaring air horn that goes off intermittently and scares the socks off of everyone within a two-mile radius. Or some combination of these. In particular, it should ward off any unwary spider-haters from my vicinity, for their safety and sanity are of such importance to me.

You see, I have always recognized that my head is full of cobwebs. Dust bunnies, too, perhaps, but clearly those are less dangerous than cobwebs, which of course bespeak the presence of web makers, i.e., spiders. It never occurred to me before that I was putting the health and happiness of arachnophobes so at risk–in addition to any threats to vitality and salubrious sentience that might be inherent in my mere personality, that is. I am heartily sorry for this oversight. Now, consider yourselves warned. And yes, close your eyes as you skim past the photos.photo

As it is, the whole of the idea was brought bubbling to the surface from my murky depths by the difficulty I’m having waking up today. I could blame it on jet lag, on overcast skies, on increasing age and so many other possible causes. But if I am to be fully honest and transparent about this whole thing, I do have to admit that the cobwebs and spider-friendly environment existed long, long before any such influences were at work. The cavern of my skull may well have been arachnophilic to this extreme from sometime around when I spoke my first words–and indeed, that would explain a great many of my thoughts, blurts and actions in the ensuing years. It might also be instructive as to why I find actual spiders and their artistry rather charming and attractive, but that could simply reflect other aspects of my oddity and have arrived on its own.

In any case, here I sit, well after the noon hour on a day that ought by all rights to be a productive and purposeful one (and undoubtedly is, for saner and more useful persons), still trying to emerge from the glutinous bonds of cobwebbery and hoping that nothing catches fire until I do. I beg your patience. At least the spiders in the neighborhood will stick around to keep me company.photo

 

Bottom the Weaver!–After the Fact–

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graphite drawingAh, Shakespeare me boy, do tell me. I’m just curious: did Bottom have any sort of Fairy Fella epiphany after his little ass-hat adventure? Me, I am fairly certain that had it been me I would have felt smugly brilliant in my newly dawned state of knowledge the moment I was un-donkey-fied again, but I’m even more certain that I would have slipped right on back into my unwise natural state just about as quickly as twitches a donkey’s tail. Because I am so very much a silly, stubborn creature of habit.

Mr. Shakespeare, whatever his level of formal education or high culture or (if you’re of that particular school of thought) of being multiple persons, had a decidedly perceptive eye for ordinary human nature. The bard’s keen observation and sharp understanding are the fundamental reasons his plays and poems have so long endured–he had us figured out, my friends. I may sometimes wish that the characters in Shakespeare whom I resembled most were the heroic and compassionate ones, the witty, the powerful and the sage. But alas, it’s in Bottom that I recognize myself, in Shakespeare’s dolts and fools and in the obstinately self-centered and weak and wooly-minded characters.

I guess I should just thank Mr. S. for having raised my humbly mortal state to high art and sashay back over to perch in my little flower bower. I rather hope that one day these moments of revelation won’t need to be as frequent or as rudely transformative as getting me visibly turned back into the braying boob that represents my true inner being.

Sometimes the Glass Half Empty is Better than the Glass Too Full

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photoYes indeedy, Thanksgiving time is overeating time here in my personal culinary corner of the ol’ US of A. I’ve been fairly well-behaved in recent times regarding my quantity and quality of food intake, but most of my wisely moderate behavior flew right out the window when a Thanksgiving stretch of family and travel and freedom presented itself to me. I am a weakling when the opportunity to be happily outrageous is staring me right in the kisser.

As it happens, I gave in with no hesitation whatsoever. But oh, my friends, I am for the first time in memory actually looking forward to the return home for its concomitant return to saner eating. My stomach will give its own Thanks, enjoying the chance to return to greater comfort and happiness and appropriate, sensible eating. I might not have believed it possible only a short while ago, but here I am in my semi-old-age looking forward eagerly to being better behaved and healthier. What is the world coming to these days!

Apparently even dedicated self-indulgence rebels can be reformed.

Don’t worry, though–it’s possibly the only way in which I’m ever likely to make any sort of attempt at improving myself, and it certainly won’t Fix me. Good intentions or not, as long as pretty and savory and sweet and fat and appealing foods are within reach, I will always find plenty of times and excuses to over-indulge. I just know I’ll need to have more and deeper recovery times in between. I think I feel a leaning toward fasting asceticism just now that is quite a novel experience for me. But don’t be afraid to keep the cookie jar and a big, splashing, over-full glass of something with which to wash it down close at hand, just in case, for that time will undoubtedly come again, too.photo

Pardon Me While I Gather Some Wool

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I’ve already admitted to what I’m certain can have come as no surprise to you: that I was frequently in trouble during my school days for spending my attentions on observing things outside the window, counting the holes in the acoustic ceiling tiles, or mentally redesigning the architecture of the building rather than focusing on the requisite elements of discussion (I was too shy to speak up anyway, so what was I going to contribute there?) or question-answering (when I didn’t already have the entire assignment complete to my satisfaction I was the last one willing to offer a participatory guess anyhow), or perhaps at least getting some more study and writing done. That last was, of course, what I thought I was doing quite efficiently while I was apparently staring off into the ether, but the parallel actions I performed of contemplating Other Things were clearly not obvious ways of meeting class requirements, at least to my teachers and fellow students.

All I can say in response to this is that (a) I have managed to live a remarkably happy life and get a few useful things done along the way despite these obvious shortcomings of mine and (b) conformity is highly overrated. Oh, and (c): thanks to my wilfulness, I did get to grow up (relatively speaking, anyway) and follow a ‘career’ path that takes full advantage of–even encourages–such Frivolity as woolgathering, lollygagging and other highly refined forms of daydreaming. I’m an artist, y’all. So you will just have to sit by and suck it up when I choose to so use and/or abuse my time on a continuing basis. I take the liberty of assuming that if you’ve shown up here, and especially, if you’ve come by and still bother to return after seeing what I’m doing (or not doing), then you evidently either condone or at least tolerate such shenanigans on my part.

In that spirit, I’ll hand over, if not my actual homework for the day, a doodle of some other fanciful daydreamer, and we’ll call it good. Or good enough! And I wish you all, in turn, the freedom and ample opportunities to live in your own little fantasy worlds too, and if it suits you, to produce nothing more pertinent than whatever odd little items appear as evidence of these flighty fun activities of yours. Because I’m here to tell you, it’s a mighty fine way to have a life, even if it doesn’t make you a living.

Cheers!graphite drawing

I am So Very Thankful

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Today marks the official national celebration of Thanksgiving in America. I am truly grateful every single day that I have such a wonderful, rich, happy and blessed life, but it’s a fine thing too to have occasional designated moments to devote to recognizing what I’ve got to appreciate.

So I must say once again how glad I am to have you, my readers and commenters, those of you whose blogs I so enjoy visiting when I can as well, and all of you who have become dear friends to me through our correspondence and sharing of ideas and delights through blogging. This is a gift by which I never imagined, those 520 or so days ago when I first started daily posting, I would be so enriched and in which I would find such pleasure and inspiration. Thank you, every one.

I am also humbly grateful for the unearned joys of good health that I have, and for the comforts of a well-fed, cozily sheltered and remarkably stable daily life. I am grateful as can be for having a superbly generous and warm and colorful and downright fun family. And most of all, I am grateful beyond all words for the love and friendship and constancy of my dear life partner, my spouse, my goofy comrade-in-silliness and my tender and unfailing support, the guy with whom I first went to dinner and a performance (however blithely ignorant I was of the earth-shaking import of the occasion at the time) seventeen years ago this weekend. The thankfulness and thanks-giving will never end.digital artwork + text

 

Waiting–for What? For Whom?

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digital artwork from a vintage photo

Her Champion

By the light of the window, pale and solemn, quiet, reticent,

She sat and gazed, the age-old tale of waiting, in this variant

Not for a lover or for change that was supposed to bring her hope–

No, but for something passing strange: a subtly altered isotope

Or subatomic shift of sorts that would reveal to her at last

That she was whole, and all reports that indicated in the past

She’d fallen, lost, or failed, or died were clearly false and incorrect;

That anything she chose or tried was incomplete in that respect–

What she awaited, delicate and silent in her ray of light,

Was just this news she ought to get: already she was fine, was bright,

Was loveable and brave and keen and capable as one could need

Or hope to be; by this I mean just that she was quite great indeed.

If you wait validation too, and sit in patience for the news

To be presented thus to you, get up! There’s not a breath to lose,

For simply knowing that your soul already harbors strength and worth

Is proof enough that you are whole; no greater treasure lives on earth:

Rise from the ashes of your fears, wake up from timid, silent gaze,

And race like a runner, months and years stuffed into the space of weeks, of days

Because your courage speeds and grows–leap forward! No more waiting: run!

And as joyful living overflows, you’ll find you were the awaited one.

I Fall for It Every Time

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Autumn, that is. I’m kind of a sucker for all seasonal changes, but there’s something a little romantic in the sweet melancholy of seasonal natural decay and the nostalgia brought on by the beginning of each school year and cultural season that catches at my heart every year anew. Even here in the Texan climate, where autumn is likely, as this year, to arrive no sooner than winter is appearing farther north, once the Fall comes it’s a welcome joy.photo

I love the bold colors of the wild grasses and the few leaves that turn to flame before falling off the branches, and the flocking birds pausing to fill a whole grove of trees with raucous whistles and laughing chatter on their way south. I adore the loamy scent of the finally cold air tinged with wood smoke from nearby chimneys, and the perfumed indoors redolent of clove and cinnamon. I am enamored of the grey spray that airbrushes the sky on a frosty morning and the crunch of dry stems and seeds underfoot during an afternoon’s ramble. And I feel the sting of pure joy in me whenever I look up at the blazing blue of the bright autumnal sky stretching brilliantly in the spaces between the craggy oak and the spiny acacia and the hedge-apple festooned bois d’arc branches as they reach up to draw back those cerulean velvet curtains and reveal that winter’s just ahead.photo

Call me sentimental, but maybe it’s precisely this sense of brevity that makes the autumn seem so desirably rare and refined to me. Carpe diem, I think, for only in the very moment can I hope to revel in such ephemerally earthy happiness. Still, while the moment may be infinitesimal, the falling for Fall appears to be endless, and repeatable, for as long as I live.

More Fun with Drawing Toys

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Not much needs to be said here. I’m on another of my tangential rambles with my art practice, and what pleases me a great deal about crawling my way into the digital era is that not only can I document my work better than I used to do, I can retain it in numerous, widely varied states and play with it without nearly so much difficulty in changing my mind and erasing or altering things as I like. Talk about a bonus for a mercurial goof-off like me.graphite drawing

digital artwork from a drawing

You Inspire Me

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Many people who know me think that I have two middle names. Legally, that’s correct–when I got married I took my spouse’s last name and just upgraded my original last name to being a second middle name. Most people get that I did not hyphenate but rather have four individual names. It’s hardly unusual, and even those notoriously fussy creatures known as federal agencies have figured out how to address me as a four-named person without batting a governmental eye.

But to be entirely transparent with you, I ought to add that I have a sort of unspoken additional middle name, that to which I’ve alluded here before, and it is: Lazy Pants. Okay, that’s two more middle names if we’re being truly precise.

Laziness is at the very center of my being. Believe me when I say that this is not bragging; I do realize that it’s not an enviable, admirable trait or one that should be emulated by others. But it’s my reality, and greatly affects what I do and don’t accomplish in this life of mine.

The happier news here is that I am surrounded by non-lazy people who not only know how to do fantastic things but get out there and DO them. This is pretty much a life-saver for your correspondent Miss Lazy-Pants. It means that someone more energetic and probably a lot more skilled is doing what needs to be done. Perhaps more importantly, it means that sometimes I receive the blessed necessity of a kick in the lazy pants to DO something myself, and better yet, the needed information and inspiration to help me do it better than I would have in the first place.

This is a gift I enjoy receiving regularly from those lovely people who, as family and proximal friends, make up my immediate daily surroundings and embrace me in their great and comforting network of support. Thanks to my life of blogging I have now got the auxiliary family of encouraging people to push me out of my comfortable lazy cocoon and make me willing to tackle actual projects, motivate me to do something new and maybe different and, just possibly, even useful.

And I thank you, each and every one of you. I’d say ‘you know who you are’–but a whole lot of you don’t even know that you inspire me, let alone how deeply you inspire me. If you’re reading this and I’ve ever, ever visited and commented on your blog, you have inspired me. Even if I’ve only lurked at your blog and never come out of my shell enough to say Hello or make a remark, I have probably learned useful things that lit a friendly little fire under my lazy pants to get back to work and do something that, if not useful in a universal way by a long stretch, will prove useful in improving me as a person and as an artist.

One of my regular inspirations and motivations comes from those bloggers who focus on making art, because it’s one of those things I love to do but often have to get pushed into starting no matter how much good I know will come from getting back to work. So today’s post is brought to you in part by the good graces of you, all of you, and I thank you.

Specific thanks for this bit also go to that marvelous pencil-wielding mistress of Drawing Saudade, who daily doses us with her creatures, characters, costumes and comforts in a marvelous flowing style that made me want to play with something similar for a change from my own typical stuff, as well as return to a longtime fascination with costume design. Thanks, friend!graphite drawing

Teaching the Digits to be Digital

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One of the great challenges of leaving behind my personal Stone Age is finding a useful balance between who I am by nature and what I am trying to achieve by effort. Given my formidable inner desire for inertia (a.k.a. Laziness), the main trick is to find entertaining enough ways to achieve any wanted result that I’m willing to actually get up off my leaden posterior and Do Stuff.

One of the greatly intimidating challenges, for me, is learning anything that smacks of the technological. Whatever my reasons and/or excuses, I’m timid about those things that require elemental knowledge let alone mastery of anything with Parts, anything requiring Processes. Machines. Electronics. A bicycle, for heaven’s sake. So it’s hardly surprising that I should be nervous about figuring out how to use techno-tools for art, along with any other Luddite fears I may harbor in my dimly-lit soul.

Having three sisters who are all skilled at using numerous sorts of computer equipages and their various companion software programs, I should feel, at least, the camaraderie of the struggle, if not the surrounding angels of educators. But of course, besides the little problem of living thousands of miles from each other there is the larger problem that even on those rare occasions when I know how to describe what I’m trying to do, posing the question to the Three Graces of computer wizardry is still impracticable, because they–unlike me–are using their computers to do useful, practical and normal things like handling spreadsheets and communications. Me, I am trying to make the computer my pencil, pen, paintbrush, eraser, scissors, glue, welding torch, carving chisel, and serendipitous doer-of-things-unexpectedly-artistic. Not their sort of problem, you see.

My solution: mess around and see what happens. I do realize that there are classes, really fine and useful classes and innumerable tutorials, available both in person and online for this sort of thing any time I should step up and behave like an intelligent adult. But, while I am in the interminable queue that wends its way toward maturity, I remain stubbornly ill motivated to learn things via proper channels and techniques, and instead spend my time poking at the keyboard and zigging and zagging my fingers around on my trackpad at irregular speeds and intervals and just seeing what happens as I go. What does happen is just often enough entertaining enough that I continue my willfully aimless art-making in this mode and sometimes hit upon something that seems recognizable as a picture.

Who knows, this might be my own version of the correct method after all.

digital drawing from a photograph

Louise Brooks tags along with me into the 21st century . . .