Surreal

There's a surreal that's particular to cold symptoms, then to the meds that treat cold symptoms. First when the cold is 'fresh', that acute hyper-alertness where air currents seem alive, like eels swimming past.
The closest approximation to this phenomenon, as I recall, happened years ago at the cryo lab. I was working very late on a project report using Xylene- based markers in a tiny office with, as I discovered, extremely poor ventilation. Clearly the experience impressed me and though I don't remember all the details, I'm pretty sure I glimpsed the other side that night.

Anyway, after that, when the cold 'sets in' there's the foggy/fuzzy world of antihistamines.

Orion felt good enough for Pete to take him to see Ninja Turtles. I, being a day or two behind him, felt only good enough to watch a marathon of Stargate SG 1 and eat fattening things.
All soft foods are fattening and, just so you know, chocolate and Alka Seltzer Plus tasted together are strange and alien and not at all in a good way.

The National Coalition Against Censorship sent me three very cool T-shirts. The back of one of them reads:
Stop Book Banning!

Kids have a right to read:

In the Night Kitchen

The Lorax

I am the Cheese

Mother Goose

The Alfred Summer
Bridge to Terabithia

Blubber

etc., etc., etc.,

I agree. Possibly I should make it a mission to be sure all these are here in this house, which seems to be growing into the nest I always wanted, all on its own, which is to say, a combination of library, garden and art gallery. Huh. how'd that happen?


I got stir crazy enough to work on some little things I could do with my feet up. No writing. Too fuzzy for that one. But I made these tiny masks for poppets. I'm thinking, if I micro-drill holes in the sides and use fine wire...hmm...Little Red Poppets could actually wear these.

oh dear.

cocooning in company

Orion and I are under the weather, hunkering down for the duration with blankets and video games and books, Sponge Bob and Samurai Jack, juice and antibiotics.


It's Jack, actually, who teaches us to patiently wait these things out. It's Stephen King who comforts the Mom and Mr Square Pants who cracks us both up. Ouch. No laughing.


After a marathon, one can see that at some point SpongeBob jumped the proverbial shark. But when? Now that we know, we can file each into pre- or post-jump.

These could be our nerdiest moments to date.

Poppets are making their ways from here in all directions as I type this. I wish them all success in their travels. Hope some at least will send photos.

arrrgh. sniff. sigh. I will patiently put stuff into my brain while I'm too Nyquil-ed to pull anything out. Later, it will pay off. It always does.

g'night

Between

It's weird, not waking up every morning to head straight to the computer in my pajamas before the coffee is done to work with Ravyn on Poppet Planet for several hours before the 'day' has officially begun.
Then to work on articles and schedules and correspondence.

Sometimes it's necessary to spend a large amount of time on things that support the art instead of creating art. It's more than necessary. Seeing other creative people sharing ideas and links on the Poppet Planet forums tells me it's worth it. It's like working with authors---never in the direction I expected and nearly always better.

Still, when I go for too long without tapping into the creative force, I start to feel sort of thin and empty and not at all like the self I know.

A fortune teller named Jack waits for me, and a painting for Peter Beagle's Strange Roads. (btw, I read his novelette, " El Regale" in the Oct/Nov issue of Fantasy & Science Fiction. I fell once again under the spell of his funny and heartbreaking voice.)

Yes. Much work to be done and there's a pig's skull waiting to dance.

In the meantime, I'm catching up on other important things, like making block towers with Orion, who turned five on March 19 and is learning to add, and ride a bike.

On Sea Monkeys: Apparently sea monkeys do have expiration dates, as mine floated on top of the solution for three days, not at all turning into monkeys of any sort but turning the water green. And yes, I followed the directions correctly.

We swam on St. Paddy's day. It was clear and bright then. Now it's warm and stormy. Weird today((in a good way) in the car with Aubrey, listening to The Shins with the clouds moving fast enough to be creepy and the palm trees bending this way and that. Our own trees are loaded with orange blossums. The air is full of birdsong and bits of drifting fluff and petals and a fragility that, once noticed, never goes away.

We'll be sending out lots of Little Red Poppets in the next few days. I'm looking forward to some POT photos, hoping for a video or two and then, I'll be in the studio, welcoming me back.

g'night

POPPET PLANET IS LIVE; THE GALLERY IS OPEN

Well, it is Saturday, officially. One minute after midnight. I'm reading instructions for Sea Monkeys and half listening to Stargate. TiVo will let me watch it another day, with Orion.

I took lots of photos of the Little Fox Poppet Puppet collaboration with Robert Johnson Jr.

This http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4jPVAbQ-rpM
can happen when taking photos of a Puppet late at night and your spouse walks in with a cell phone.

The Gallery is open this week, celebrating the Vernal Equinox. Little Fox Poppet Puppet is among the new pieces, along with new Poppets, new Foppets and other stuff too.
New Pieces will be added until 5PM.

Note:
Neil Gaiman Rats will return in June. If you want to be on the mailing list to be notified, email to ravyn@poppetplanet.com

Another Note:
Ten percent of sales from Little Fox Poppet Puppet and all Little Red Poppets is for the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund. Little Mary Poppets are for NORML. Twenty percent of Star Play goes to the National Coalition Against Censorship. The auctions don't allow mention of that.

And Poppet Planet is up and running.
Already people are talking on the forums. TAKE A CLOSER LOOK.

And the last note:

Now that Poppet Planet is up, Ravyn and I are taking much-needed vacations.

Sheesh.
She's going snorkeling in the ocean. I'll snorkel at home.

That works out-- if there's Sea Monkey activity, I'll let you know.


Happy Saint Paddy's Day!

Do Sea Monkey's Have Expiration Dates?

Martin Mystery: "I'd rather be crazy than narrow-minded."
***

Random thought: It seems that, compared to disappointment, anger is sort of easy. Right, it starts as fear. I get that, but it's like converting food to sugar--once you get to the angry form, it's easier to digest. An angry person can become a whirling dervish of productive activity and work it off. He can yell and curse and tear it off like a skin.
Disappointment is different. It sinks in like dye and clings. It clogs and slows things down. Disappointment can make you just want to eat butter.

***

Baaaah, Baaaaah, Baaaaaaah. Sheep that I am, I will eventually try a Test Tube Alien. http://www.testtubealiens.com/ Yesterday I took a break with Orion to watch Martin Mystery and have Otter pops. Orion's favorite flavor is blue. Mine is pink. I saw an ad for TTA. I'll have to get one. I could make a good case for study, marketing curiosity. After all, it could be a lot of hype about, well, not much.
In the end, it doesn't matter one bit why I'll choose to spend money on this instead of something else. The bottom line will be simply that I did.

Which reminds me. Our Sea Monkeys have been sitting around forever. Time to add water. We'll consider this entry Day 01.
***
If you'd like to check out Poppet Planet before we officially open on Saturday go here: www.poppetplanet.com/ . It's mostly all up, this beta version (Ravyn calls it 0.9) except for the Vernal Equinox Sale stuff, which will be up on Saturday afternoon. The forums are already running, so check in and say hi to the moderators.
***

Paul Fisher(Balticon Podcasts) ask me to post this You Tube creation. http://www.lulu.tv/?p=6416 Parents of smallish kids will probably appreciate it most.
***
We are going for a walk. It's hard to hate the desert completely when the whole world smells of orange blossums. The pool water is seventy degrees. Time to dust off our suits.

g'night

One Hundred Reasons

One hundred pennies makes a dollar. One hundred years is a century. One hundred degrees Fahrenheit (and no rain) makes a desert.

I'm not ready for this. I'm not alone either. We got virtually no rain all winter and this week we're expecting triple digit temperatures. There's a fire burning in Orange County as I type this. And it's not fire season. Not nearly.

Every March, we find ourselves starting preparations for summer. The rainy season is over and the windy one begins to taper off. We repaint the pool deck and hang shades. We feed our plants and rearrange to protect them. We get out our swimsuits and flippers and goggles.
And hats. Always with the hats...
We sit outside and watch spectacular sunsets, drink a bit of wine and prepare ourselves mentally for the hell to come by reminding ourselves how much we enjoyed the winter.
But, this year, winter never came to the desert. And welcoming our guests to Tatooine isn't so funny at the moment. Not so funny when reports say that in the near future billions will die because of lack of water.

Does this make art less important? No. People who seek meaning always will, regardless of circumstances. Art will always help humanity express itself.

But...damn.

This is one of those questions I look forward to exploring on the Poppet Planet forums, of which there are four:

Inner Workings---Where we can talk about the creative process.

Nuts and Bolts---Where we discuss the practical aspects of creating--techniques and tools.

The Machine---Where we explore the world than influences us.

Spare Parts---For all the odd things that fall between.

Funny thing, aspects of this question could be discussed on any or all of these forums. I believe we chose them well. This will be a place where you can ask me specific questions and where you can share your ideas with each other. Ideally, you'll find inspiration here and possibly even like- minded souls to collaborate with.

*****

Ravyn is working now on POT (poppet on tour) pages. We already have a number of photos people have sent in. I look now at the Poppet Who Lives on My Desk. She (funny how they seem to choose their own genders) is a constant and unflinching reminder to try to look frankly at all that I see, including myself.
Ravyn has told me I must send her my 'wish list' for POT. I know that one of them is a Poppet viewing the Constitution of the US. I know there are lots of Poppets in the DC area. The dreamer in me envisions them finding each other on Poppet Planet, and going on a road trip to see the monuments with Poppetvision...

It could happen.

But, for now I must get to the studio. There is work to be done. Book covers (above, me with one in progress) and carnival pieces.
Even with the sun beating down.
Even with doom and idiocy on every channel.
Even with fearing for my children's futures.
But mostly, with an unerring faith that the work will show the way.

And, with a Poppet in my apron pocket. Because, with a little help, I can name one hundred reasons to keep going.

I really look forward to hearing yours.

In the meantime, did everyone see the Neil Gaiman mention on Adult Swim? Soon, our author will be too cool for his shoes.

EDIT: Here is the mention, on Snap Judgments which, it turns out, is a sort of cool site.

And, to Rebecca (Jordan's Mom) who will be our General Moderator for the forums, and is now quite ill with an extra evil sort of flu, much and many wishes for feeling better soon.

Now. Off to the studio we go.

A Rather Large List of Stuff

I have accumulated a list of things to tell you. They are:

Balticon
I’ll be attending Balticon in May. I’m not exactly sure what I’ll be doing other than exhibiting in the art show and doing some panels---possibly something with Peter Beagle too. When I know, you’ll know.
There’s a fair possibility that there will be a launch party for Poppetplanet.com, which should be fun. I’ll be there, and if you’re at Balticon, I hope you’ll be there too. I don’t have any signings scheduled, but if you want to bring anything, this would be a good place for it. DreamHaven books will be there with copies of Strange Birds. Bereshith Books will likely be there with copies of Strange Attraction. I’ll be happy to sign prints too.

Balticon Volunteers
On that same note, Ravyn tells me Balticon is looking for volunteers to serve as GOH Liaisons for Author GOH Larry Niven, Art GOH Joe Bergeron, and the two Compton Crook winning authors. Volunteers must be able to stay at con all weekend to support the GOHs. Ravyn says it's a good opportunity to spend time with authors and artists. Email ravyn@poppetplanet.com.

One of a Kind Official Poppet Registry

If you are a collector of One of a Kind Poppets, there will be an official Registry up on PoppetPlanet. A photo with name and creation date for each Poppet is up. If you’d like your name added to your Poppet's listing, please email the information to: poppetplanetgirl@gmail.com. You can list your full name or first name or alter-ego name, geographical location, and a short quote if you like.

Gene Wolfe
If you haven’t already, don’t forget to pick up your copy of Fantasy& Science Fiction (April). Gene’s photo is on the cover, with an article entitled “How to Read Gene Wolfe” by Neil Gaiman and “Memorare” by Gene Wolfe. You don’t want to miss this one.
In addition, this month’s LOCUS, has a new review of Strange Birds.

Flash
We’re looking for someone with Flash animation skills to help with a PoppetPlanet project. I could kick myself, for someone mentioned to me at Balticon last year that if I needed techo-genius-geek help I only need mention it. I did write it down, honestly, but where, where, where?? If you’re interested, and willing to help out for art, swag and general good-will of your artist, please email Ravyn at ravyn@poppetplanet.com.


Vernal Equinox Sale

We will be opening the gallery with new work in the spirit of the Vernal Equinox. There will be one of a kind Poppets, unique sculpture and some really cool collaborations. March 17th – 24th.

Café Press
There will be a Café Press shop within PoppetPlanet.com. Most of the stuff is up already, so if you’d like a sneak preview, go look around at www.cafepress.com/poppetplanet. Let us know what you think.

Ravynesque Recovering
And finally, on a happy note, it seems Ravyn’s horse, Ravynesque, is recovering well. Here in the desert, the Gurtie is very happy as well. Not only does her tooth feel better, but she has lots of new reasons to stare reproachfully at me. And I at her. It's an honest relationship, ours.

More Kalifornia

Yesterday,

I drive Aubrey to her yoga class, then to Vons for the only cat food Gurtie will currently eat--Fancy Feast SLICED!, beef or turkey. Picture grayish squares in translucent 'gravy' more viscose than snot---slightly less than melted plastic.

The cat suddenly hates the taste of seafood, even solid white albacore.

The warm weather annoys me. The beds of snap dragons annoy me. Snap dragons and California poppies. Everywhere. No other variety.

It occurs to me that, instead of giving a small fortune to the vet, I could've run her over with the car for free.
It occurs to me that as soon as I get home, I'll need to give her another dose of antibiotics with the oral syringe. No hold works. She is the devil. The best I can hope for is that she'll puncture a different finger this time. Typing is becoming uncomfortable. I wash my hands too often for band-aids.

All the extra snow-bird traffic annoys me. There are snap dragons and poppies everywhere I look. The flowers annoy me more than the traffic.

At the traffic light a hang-dog faced man holds a cardboard "Homeless" sign. I know there's a fair certainty he's scamming. I give him five dollars. Let him deal with the Karma. I'd give him the finger too if mine weren't so sore.

At Vons, I park directly in front of a Cadillac Escolade with an elderly woman in the passenger seat, picking her nose with joyful abandon. I call Neil's cell to tell him about her and that I saw the Poppet in the 8 ball. (seems DanGuy is responsible for that one) Get his voice mail. I'd text it, but my fingers hurt. She digs for the full five minutes it takes me to listen to my voice mails and find my shopping list. Cat food. Right.

I come back to the car with a bag of loose cans of Fancy Feast SLICED! Beef in (shudder) gravy. (They were on sale, cheaper than buying a twelve pack.) A can falls out of a hole in the bottom of the shopping bag into the store's flower bed of snap dragons, poppies and...marigolds. I sneeze eleven times, then feel around in the flowers for the can. When I pull it out, I get a little cactus thorn in my finger---one of those you can hardly see, probably just sitting on one of the flowers, waiting.
I drop the can back into the bag and look closer at the thorn, which is beginning to sting like a bitch, and the bag splits and eight cans fall into the flowers. The sprinklers click and hiss on.

My head fills with white light.

I'm Yosemite Sam. I'm a steam whistle. I'm capable of levitating.
rickin-rackin-frickin-frackin...
I take a slow, deep breath. There's no rain, there's no snow on the mountains, the air is dry and there are sprinklers hissing all around me.

I close my eyes and think about Samurai Jack. No, not Jesus, (though it seems he was a pretty amazing human, if not a little delusional--who wouldn't be in his shoes?) Samurai Jack. What would Samurai Jack do?
I take several deep breaths, sneeze six more times and retrieve the wet cans, throwing them one at a time into the floor of the car.

At the corner, the homeless man with the hang-dog expression waves a bright yellow Dominoes Pizza banner.


When I pull into the driveway at home our gardener is waiting for me. He has a Razor phone and drives a nicer car than mine. He says if I put it off any longer it will be too hot.

I must decide about flowers for the beds.

Days Like This

A note about pets. Anyone who has one, or is considering getting one, really should be prepared for the day to come---because it truly is a matter of when, not if---when you give a nice Vet more money than you imagined you ever would, when you clean up things you didn't know existed, and when you balance it all in that room in your head where you make sense of things that don't.
In other words, a cat with a toothache or a horse with an eye problem can make for an interesting day. Ravyn agrees. http://ravynmaniac.livejournal.com/18770.html#cutid1


It's going to be a long night, with work going on two computers and one very clingy post-oral- surgery feline. I've spent more time writing lately than sculpting, which works out well for Gurtie as I have a lap to sit on when I'm working at my desk. It works out well for me too because it forces me to think about how visual language does and does not translate into the linear.

It's not like time travel at all, unless I consider that I can sit down to work on a narrative piece and completely lose track of time.

I did an interview for Fantasy Magazinehttp://www.wildsidepress.com/Fantasy-Magazine-4-issue-international-subscription_p_0-45.html which will be out in April. I talked a bit about when words and art work together, and when they don't. The questions were interesting. I appreciated that they didn't ask the usual five that make me want to stick the nearest sharp object into my eye. oops, sorry Ravyn.

It still looks possible that Poppet Planet will be up and running by St Paddy's day. We'll be opening the gallery for another sale then too, with new work of mine and some new collaborations.

I see a poppet-like face has appeared on Neil's Magic 8 Ball. He has snow and freezing air, I have 80 degrees and blue skies. Perhaps we should trade houses for a week. We humans are funny with our need for novelty and change. The mountains are starting to accumulate a little snow. A lot would be better. The desert didn't get even its usual share of rain this winter. That doesn't portent well for summer.

There. It's midnight. Gurtie sleeps on my lap and Orion sleeps on the sofa. Time to put them both in their own beds and decide between sleep and coffee.

g'night

Chipping wisdom

Lots of folk are digging out of snow and we are smack in the middle of basking season again. I refuse to feel guilty on this one. Believe me, it won't last long. Still, today we ate at the famous Sherman's Deli---outside---and I had half of an obscenely large Reuben sandwich. (The rest sits quietly in the studio refrigerator, snarling softly, waiting for midnight.)


The cool air and warm skies won out and I decided to try the canopy project after all. ( A wind storm several months ago destroyed our largest and I mused on replacing it with a huge papier mache...thing.) It's a fairly large undertaking and I can't really take days off to work on it, but I've decided to chip away at it in bits until it's done or I admit defeat. (Not likely, but it could happen.)

Let me say something about the wisdom of chipping away at something. I don't employ it often enough, though its logic is indisputable. It seems we wait too often. We wait and we lug our dreams around like wet baggage because we can't let go, but can't convince ourselves to find time for them. Short term goals gobble up the long term plans and the days go by and we arrive at the future blinking in surprise.

It's not like time travel.
It is time travel.

Thirty minutes. Maybe just once a week. Maybe the thirty minutes consists of cleaning a corner of a desk to work at. Possibly it consists of staring at a blank sheet of paper and thinking about the "it" we want to do.
Maybe it consists of finding a blank sheet of paper to stare at.

It is, after all, as they say, a process. Wise folk, who've written books, produced plays, learned the piano, shaped their bodies, and mastered difficult languages will say it works.

I would tend to believe them.


g'night

Pooferific

Ben and I spent hours in studio, with the fortune teller. Scuba gear would better serve to replace missing safety goggles with the air hose attached.
I couldn't find the scuba hoses.

If we don't clean the studio soon, we may have to torch it and start over.


Ravyn and I spent hours working on some very minute details for Poppet Planet. Hard work, but the technology was good. Instant, instant, instant. Not quite flying cars, but pretty damned good. I began to truly appreciate the effectiveness of fonts. Seriously. Once I saw it, I wondered how I missed it before. Huh.


In between there were the usual phone calls and emails, writing and schedules, people stopping by.


In the evening Orion and I went to Vons. We made it an adventure in silliness. When we got home, we put everything away and made "anti- smores", which is Ritz crackers and mini marshmallows, stuck on with peanut butter and toasted in the broiler of an old and sometimes slightly sinister-looking oven.

We made a game of who could stick the most marshmallows on a cracker without stacking.
Then we ate the loose marshmallows left.
Then, while we watched them swell (poof) through the oven door, we made up words with poof.

"Look, they're slightly poofy."
"No, they're quite poofious"
"Sir, the poofericity is increasing."
"But yes, they're oh so Poofilicious... don't call me 'sir'.
"Sorry, your Poofness."
and so on in the manner that makes four-year-olds collapse in giggles.

The giggling may have gone on longer, but in just moments, our anti-smores were quite brown and, once out of the heat, quite ordinary looking but very tasty.

It seems there are never enough moments like these. There never were. We tend sometimes to work hard, investing in our futures, when finally we might find out if we invested enough in good memories.

But there were some. Thank goodness for the some.

Eventually, there will be more. Because, as our dear Mr. King says, "Everything's eventual."

Where'd I go?

It's like time travel. Really. Once again reminded with the force of a slap to the back of the head that time is not, never was and never will be a constant.

I lost several days.

Sometimes I comfort Orion when he doesn't want to go to bed--which is pretty much always-- by explaining how sleeping can be like time travel. How you can close your eyes and poof! it's a new day.

It's not so much like that when you're older. Except when you're deep in schedule hell. Then the two hours of sleep you grab between gigs or flights or shifts can vanish like a vicious trick.
But I still remember when it worked like magic, when an anticipated morning, ages away could appear just by closing sleepy eyes and counting.

We're hip-deep in work, including finishing up the fortune teller. We've stretched past our deadline for this piece,even the reset one. Ok, we missed it, but don't want to admit it, even to ourselves. It won't matter so much in the long run, but for now, it means that the moment the last detail is in place, we'll photograph it, film it in motion and send it off to be crated without spending any time enjoying it.

It goes this way sometimes.

As Ben and I work on kinetics, Ravyn works to get Poppet Planet in place. We're gaining on it. Poppet Planet includes a registry of all the original poppets. If you've adopted an original poppet and want your name on the registry, cool! Just let me know at poppetplanetgirl@aol.com.

Also, this is the address where you can now send your Poppets On Tour photos.

More later. Your artist's brain is winding down. Time for sleep.

*poof!*

It Is What It Is Day

I make lists. Lots of them. Lists can break otherwise daunting tasks into specific, clear elements.

You don't build a barn or give a dinner party without making a list.

Then there's the other benefit of lists---the forgetting. Once something is put on paper, under the unauspicious heading of "Tuesday" or "To Do", you can stop worrying about it. You don't have to remember once it's on the List. You can dump it right out of your brain for now.

What a relief.

It's like that with journaling. Still, try as I might, I've never been able to fill a journal, though I'm very fond of notebooks. Hardbound with narrow, crisp lines, I must have a dozen of them on the bookshelf, none of which have more than a quarter of its pages filled. I'd like to complete one front and back, top to bottom-- fill it with ideas, private thoughts, drawings and lists. No success yet. I begin quite well but, eventually, will furiously scrawl an idea that comes too fast for neat, sane lettering. I end up with ten pages that will be meaningless in six months. Or worse, I'll shortsightedly tear out a page or two----generally sketches to pin to the easel.

The Purist in me (not the one who will only mat paintings in white or won't buy a cover or tribute CD, and who is totally sane, but the other Purist, who occasionally gets lost in details, and whose sanity is questionable), will deem the notebook voided, game over.

I've tried folding the offending pages, or marking them off with a paperclip. Nope. Even then I can't ignore the missing pages. That's a little crazy. But only a little.

Personally, I'm referring to today as Mostly Reading and Eating Various Forms of Dark Chocolate Day.

The flowers are nice too.

In our backyard is an object Pete named "The Ghost of Thanksgiving Past." He refers to events which, when told, make a longish, weird story I may tell someday.

I'll tell you now though, that the aforementioned events left me with two things:

One is a fairly strong aversion to ever consuming pork again.

The other is a a pig's skull inside a bird's cage, which has been drying in the desert sun of our back yard for several months.

In addition to being Mostly Reading and Eating Various Forms of Dark Chocolate Day, I'll refer to today as The Day the Pig Had His Due Day. In other words, I know, today, exactly what the skull wants to be.

Damned inconvenient. Then, as the button sent by Lord Daecabhir says, It Is What It Is.

It's not like I didn't know this was coming. Creative storms are preceded by warnings.
And I knew, eventually, that fucking pig would talk.

Still, it's damned inconvenient.

In Stephen King's short story "Everything is Eventual", Mr. Sharpton says to Dink;

"Because creative people aren't always in charge. And
when they do their best work, they're hardly ever in charge. They're just sort
of rolling along with their eyes shut, yelling Wheeeee."

So it turns out that one of the things I did this Valentine's Day was to float a pig's skull and jaw bones in a large doubled ziplock baggy of bleach solution, which will send billions of microbes currently living on the bones to that wondrous potato salad in the sky. The smell alone should keep cats and raccoons away, but just in case, I put the whole thing back in the birdcage, out of reach.

The whole defies photos. Do your imaginary best, and know it's even more gruesome.

Tomorrow then, will be time to unwrap a new notebook. Wheeeee!

Lovely.
Hope your day has been at least as good.

Kalifornia

We spent the afternoon and evening at the home of Ben's grandparents, Silvia and Woody, where it was not cold at all, where the grass was soft and cool under our bare feet and the children ran around for hours.


The grown-ups connected in chairs under canopies, some drinking, some smoking, some eating from the buffet around the pool. Later, under night skies, I wandered between groups, hearing snippets of stories. They were the kinds of stories kept folded neatly away in back pockets, waiting for just such an evening.

I sat for a time with Woody, who tended bar. We talked about art and vision, and eventually got around to Death. I, having lived just long enough to have a concept of how much time I might have left and Woody, who turned 90 in October, are now bound as are any two kids who saw the monster under the bed. There is strength in numbers.

Ben took our photo but had a little trouble with the focus. It occurs to me now that, after a certain number of margaritas, this may be how we actually looked to him.











Jameson, Ben and Pete.







Nothing is the end of the world except the end of the world.






Palm trees aren't really trees.



That's all I've got. Everyone's art is packed and on it's way. Tomorrow is for movies and Oreos.
Monday is a list I refuse to look at for now.

g'night

growing pains and bright spots

I've said before that learning to be an artist doesn't prepare one for running an artist's business.
No wonder I'm burned out. Yes, I know having your own business is challenging, satisfying, interesting and all that. It's just fucking great.
It's tedious and tiring and exasperating too.
Mostly though, it's necessary for many people.


Very soon I'll spend a couple of days in the studio for complete immersion in work on something that's not on the schedule...and music. Soon. These days generally choose themselves. When they arrive, we tend to recognize them, don't you think?

For about five seconds I considered focusing solely on the studio business for a year. You know, get everything in order, then make art.
PPffawwww. Uh. No. I'm not willing to invest that much of this present into that future. Tried that in my twenties. Stupid then, even more stupid now. Balance is better.

Not to mention that this plan would go against my New Year's Resolution and wouldn't be at all like time travel.
Besides, it assumes I actually have a choice. Silly, arrogant girl-thing.

I'll stick to trying to find a balance right now, between practical and fantastical. If you have a good trick for that one, please share with the rest of us. Perhaps it's not a balancing act, but a dance.

Wow. Suddenly I feel much better. I'm so glad we had this little talk. Thank you.

____

I've meant to mention Ravyn's tiny Valentine-painted foals. I've seen several of them in person. Very sweet.
eBay - Animals, Collectibles items on eBay.com


And to remind you that the Romatics at the Slaughterhouse pieces are still up on ebay for a couple more days.

Now for tea, and stories for Orion.

A day of Making

I made my hair different. It looks like this:












I made a pumkin pie. It looked like this:

















I made time to read. It looked like this:

I made "Queen of Hearts." She looked like this:

Sunday. Hope yours was good.

b r e a k

Burnout approaches.

I am a LIAR.

Ok.
Here I go again:
Burnout arrived a few days ago and your brilliant artist here decided to ignore it. Seemed like a good-enough sort of plan, this ignoring. After all, last time Burnout stopped by I'm fairly certain I put on a spectacular show of ignorance. Let me think...it was mid December...right around my birthday. Oh yeah, I remember now...

Well, Hello Burnout, my old friend!
Come in, come in. Put your feet up and I'll make you some hot apple cider and throw in a movie. Blanket? There you go. As Good as it Gets? That's the ticket. Maybe a little Colbert Report with popcorn. I'll get out the down comforter and a nice anthology. How about some short stories--d'ya Like Gene Wolfe?

Soon you'll be feeling much better....and getting the hell out of here.


Learn from my screw-ups, please, you guys. I'm am.

sheesh.
g'night

The Gallery opens gradually...

The ROMANTICS show
is OFFICIALLY OPEN today
with art auctions added until midnight tonight.

There are a number of Little Red Poppets at the regular price. Ebay doesn't allow mention that a dollar from each poppet sold is donated to the Comic Book Legal Fund, but that is indeed the case.

I listed everything in Ebay because it works well for one of a kind pieces and, this time, allowed Ravyn time to make art instead of a sale page.
AUCTIONS ARE HERE

Little Red Poppets, One of a kind Poppets, some very unique Luck's Dancers, some pieces from Bent and two collaborative Poppet sets from Ravyn and me---the making of which I'll always remember fondly---and the introduction of Little Pink, which features a brand new poem by Derek Ash.

From the beginning I've hoped SlaughterHouse would grow into a place where other artists could create with me. This is a good start. I'm very pleased.

Bent, Ravyn and Derek, thank you.

And Thank You for your comments and encouragement. Hope you enjoy these new works.

The Hours

Twelve hours after my last post, Ravyn was homeward bound and Pete and I were on our way to the park with Orion. It was a day with wind and a few cold sprinkles---not so great for a picnic but just fine for soccer balls, slides and remote control cars. Pete snapped me with his cell phone.

Tomorrow the gallery will be open for "Romantics", which was the theme for lots of the studio work this past month.



Tonight is time for putting our feet up, smoothing the fur of a somewhat reproachful and ignored cat and, of course, catching up on My Name Is Earl for which I'm ever so grateful to have been introduced. It's warm fuzzy socks for my brain.

Here are a couple of previews from the new work:


"Little Something" by Ben Warren










"Foppet's Poppet" a collaboration
by Ravyn and Lisa










"Sympatico" Poppet by Lisa

2:16

It's now 2:16 a.m. I am done playing with strange little poppets. Ravyn is not done playing with strange little ponies.

She is weird.

gnight