And I really like this painting. there were many happy moments and pleasant surprises that happened when I did it earlier this year. Or late last year. Hell, I can't remember. I just know it has made me mucho happier than a lot of stuff I have done. Well, letting go is an art in itself. Really.
After a long ponder, and some advice from a friend, I decided to give my first white horse oeuvre to the Art for Life Auction this year. Now I love my paintings. I suppose I know that the whole object is to sell them so some lovely person out there in the big bad world will have something delightful to gaze at every day. But I will really miss my first white horse, if it sells, that is. It is possible that I will be able to attend the event, sip mineral water and gnosh on chichi munchies, check out all the OTHER art, and the other artists, hobnob with the rich folks who love art and attend with the hopes of getting some, cheap, and still come home with my beloved painting. This is not it, by the way, this is one that I added to the opus to replace the one I am donating. And it is unlikely I will bring anything home, mine or otherwise. I have, after all, sold my piece now for four years running, and I am somewhat proud of that, as that does not happen to all the artists who donate. Somewhere out there, there are four folks who have an original painting by MOI on their wall. That is kind of sweet, yes. Whatever, it is not til September, and I have time to knock out a few more white horses.
Friday in the little yellow house. I started to post this, then realized it was looking a little flat and a lot messy, so I straightened that out. Now have an opus of koi. Working on my white horse opus, next. Really, I need to get more instructions, work on my STYLE, which is, as always, elusive as hell. I was reading about IMPORTANT art, RELEVANT art, in other words, New York art. Apparently, it should reflect our culture, make social statements, be edgy and cutting. In other words, UGLY. Drab, colorless, depressing and downright bizarre. I don't even want to look at that art, much less create it. I have been depressed for many of my years here on the Big Blue Ball. I don't need reminders of that darkness hanging on my walls. Okay, fish are remarkably prosaic. Ditto birds, horses, cows. Tigers, lynx and lions are a little more jazzy. Still, I am refreshed by these paintings. My soul feels lightened up, just knowing there are these wondrous creatures in the world. I look at my egret every day, all curled into itself, that look of infinite knowing in its eye, refreshing. Yes, that's me. Little old prosaic me, just wanting some wonder and beauty, some that I made myself.
Well, I got sick. And though it seemed impossible not so long ago, I am getting well, again, too. Not as springy as I used to be, and, because my appetite dropped out of existence, I was hella weak for a bit. All this is hella scary when you live alone, like I do. Both dogs survived, even the tomato plant still has life in it. And the world kept right on turning. Now, onward. I framed the tiger, and, for a quick and rather sketchy piece (on very dramatic black paper), he is really fine now. I'm calling him "Burning Bright", and he may be the choice to go to Art for Life. Or not. Really, I surprise myself , all the time. I finish these paintings, put them away for a while, and it is as if I have never seen them before, and someone else did them. Well, Someone Else did, held my hand and pushed it around. Life is just one big surprise, you know.
Just started, and coming up nicely if I do say so myself. I don't know if this is a good idea or not. It is picky picky, and the actual image is not very large, and maybe it is better to do close-ups of the koi and the lily and the lily pads. Hell, I don't know. I started it, so I will keep picking away until it is something I think is worth looking at. Or not. The paper has two sides, you know. Meanwhile, back at the little yellow house, health seems to have rebounded now that Vitamin D is replenished. It has cooled down this evening, pleasant breeze coming in open door. The Punk is throwing toys all around the office floor and Pickle is hunkered down in her last bastion of solitude, the bed, which Punk still cannot get up onto under his own steam. He is wearing his soft harness, and has not shrugged it off completely, so it is fitting a tiny bit better, though his leg gets out of its hole a lot. It provides me with a convenient handle to grab him by, and he needs grabbing regularly. Huge box from Crate and Barrel on the table, new dinnerware, birthday gift from my daughter and her husband. Blessings, everywhere.
My new Kindle Fire arrived. Yippee. Trouble with new electronic thingymagigs is that they never work the first time out of the box. Or the fourteenth time, either. First, gee, I had to hightail it to Best Buy for some Wifi. Didn't have any of that around. Decided I didn't need to be THAT connected, so just got a router for the little yellow house. And spent a happy couple of hours trying to get it up and running. Didn't even know when it was, actually, but saved $70 by not having the Geek Squad do it for me. Then came the Kindle. Not good at that little keyboard app. Fingers are too big, and mind are not the largest, so it must be fun for everyone else, too, right? Oh, I hope so. If I thought I was the only one that struggled with this stuff, I'd slit my throat. Now connected, Wifi speaking, and registered, Amazon.com speaking, and wondering where are all those books in the Cloud? Why doesn.'t my Kindle just display them, download them, or whatever it is supposed to do? Well, working on that. I did get a book on loan, and began reading it. Don't know what to do when I am through with it. Return it? Will it self-destruct? Aaaaaarrrrrgggggh! Oh, and the fish, well, it's Art for Life time, and thinking of donating this piece. Or not. Have a month to mull. And read. I love the Kindle, really I do.
It is Art at the Source time here in wine country, the west county artist's open studios, so I sojourned over to my hometown, to the street that I grew up on, to visit an artist who lives right across the street from the house my parent's built in 1953, where I lived for the next 10 years, till I got married. That in itself was pretty surreal. This artist works in pastels, and I was hoping for some pointers about things like paper, strokes, stuff like that. Here's what I learned - he works solely on sanded paper, which is not my favorite as I like to blend things a lot until the final layer, and it eats up my little spongy thingies. He uses his fingers. Okay, not doing that. He had drawers full of pigments, and yet in the painting he was working on, nothing was very bright. I like a lot of bright colors, can you tell? And he uses tiny marks. Don't think that will happen for me any time soon. I am, as my teacher told me, heavy-handed. I like to work fast and with a bold stroke. Okay, I had a moment of wondering if I am all right here. Should I change what I do, would that be more "artful"? Maybe someday. Not today, though. Hell, Van Gogh was considered nuts, Monet was considered "sketchy", everyone's a critic. I don't have to be one, too. I like my cow. He makes me smile. Smiling is never a bad thing.
I sold these two paintings. Well, surprise. I AM a professional artist now. I am SUPPOSED to sell my work. Still, it is like giving up children for adoption. This first thing I notice is wonder that I did them at all. That is, of course, because I didn't. I just channeled that God-given ability, kept pecking away, till all that was there was what Spirit wanted to be there. It is a magical thing, being an artist. I live in perpetual wonder. And I will miss these guys. They were seminal paintings for me. I used to just do cows, because no one really knows what a cow looks like. But everyone thinks they have a horse's aspect down, and if there is even a tiny deviation from that image, I am sunk. Big leap of faith to do these at all. Time to do a whole bunch more. They seem to be the ticket for more $$$ to buy more frames to make more paintings to fill them. Busy, busy life I have. Wondrous, too.
Dates that I no longer celebrate: September 14, March 5, August 2 - all old wedding anniversaries; March 18 and Fathers' Day, now that Dad has gone to the big golf course in the sky; November 9 and September 21 - ex-husband's birthdays (first one is dead, you see); May 30, my parent's wedding anniversary (actually, I stopped doing that one long ago, when a very expensive gift I gave got my mother's arrogant ho-hum). There are one or two dates I will always celebrate: June 8, my natal birthday; December 26, my sobriety birthday; and June 2, the day I quit smoking. For the last time, that is. I missed my usual ritual this year as I had a visit from big kiddo and his new gal, so I went off today to SHOP. You see, I save so much $$$ not smoking, over $4,500 a year, I calculated, estimating $5 a pack and 2 1/2 packs a day, it is cheap to buy myself presents on this auspicious date. And not included in that amount is the co-pays for all the doctoring I had to do, like I had pneumonia 5 times, and numerous bouts of respiratory distress. So spending $300 is nothing, right? And actually, I got $100 from my mother for my birthday, so actually, I only spent $200. Yes, very important date to honor. Meanwhile, here is my latest endeavor, still embryonic but coming up so nicely with its bold value contrasts. Loose geese. Just like those ducks I keep trying to get in a row, the ones that constantly run amuck.